LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IV, Issue 316, 17 June 1875, Page 3

LITERATURE.

‘MAD AS A HATTER.’

(Old Saying.)

‘ Alas, how light a cause may move dissension between hearts that love !’ That’s very true. But I’m not sure that it was so light a cause. Any way she oughtn’t to have sold my hat. Old ? well I don’t see what that has to do with the matter ; and if you come to that, all hats will become old hats if you only keep them long enough. Besides, what man of refinement, of a poetic nature, of festhetic tastes, loves not an old friend—coat—hat—man or—woman ? well, no, perhaps not exactly that—substitute another W, say wine—better than a new or young one !

But I don’t put it on this’footing at all. It was an act (1) of rebellion against my lawful and marital authority, as ecclesiastically, and with her own free will—very free will—and consent, bestowed upon me at the altar, and (2) it was a laceration of my individual feelings, an insult offered to what she must have known to be a well-established, and, may-be, oft-ridden hobby. For, 'my love,’ I had often said, using a conjugal and somewhat metaphorical expression—* my love, I have no insane objection to flowers of peripatetic growth, nor any morbid antipathy to antique vases (fresh from the potteries), purchased from the family of Moses during his suburban rambles; but when you have done making your own costly exchanges and have bartered for three geraniums and a glass milk-jug (blown, not cut), a dress not very much used, for which I had the happiness of paying, at no remote date, two, or it may be more guineas, I claim my privilege of being consulted as to the final, or even the intermediate, destination of my own proper and virile garments. ’ It was a long speech, and I am, habitually, a man of few words, but I was moved—moved to the heart. What ! mine own familiar friend, beneath whose shade I had often indulged in the pleasing thoughts and fancies But, no mat-ter. I only wish to account for, and to palliate the emotional ejaculation which escaped from my pent-up bosom when she greeted me with the remark —playfully uttered moreover : ‘ I have sold your old hat, dear.’ The rejoinder I made, and I am sorry to place it on record, was this. I said, ! It was only one word. There were four syllables in it, it is true, but it seemed to me, nevertheless, an aggravation of my wrong, an adding of insult to injury, that she should at once assume an offended air, and look as if she were the injured party, and not I.

We had been married for three blissful years (more or less blissful), and up to that particular day, neither at bed nor board, had aught occurred to divorce us even for a single occasion. On that day, however, after washing and deliberating, I felt it incumbent on me to express my own displeasure in a manner that should be unmistakable, and strike terror, never to be forgotten, at once and for ever into ‘ the enemy’s’ breast.

I put on my hat—it was another hat, and it rather hurt —and without trusting myself to go through the parliamentary ordeal of ‘catching the speaker’s eye,’ I remarked, * I am going to dine with Tomkins ; when I have dined with Tomkins, I am going to town again.’ And while my grasp was on the door-handle, I added, ‘on business—business of importance.’ There was nothing either sarcastic or unveracious in this supplementary close of my hard-hearted speech —she called it a hard-hearted speech many a time afterwards —neither was it a happy thought resuscitated. N.B. I don’t think the very happiest thoughts bear resuscitation. I simply said what I meant, and what the interval of lavatory and meditative pursuits had instructed me to say. It was on business, and the business was, as will presently appear, important. My friend Tomkins—Jabez was his sponsorial prefix—my friend Jabez Tomkins, I say, was as good a fellow as any man need desire for a friend; ‘trusty Tomkins,’we called him at Stubbs’ —Stubbs, Weathercoddle and Mumblebury is an old-established firm to which we both belonged—not after that fashion of trustiness described by the immortal novelist in ‘ Woodstock,’ but because no one who knew him would not have trusted him confidently Avith all that was dearest to him. Still, Tomkins had his peculiarities ; one of these was that, although a most matter-of-fact and , open minded person himself, he loved mystery in all that belonged to others. If a thing could not possibly be twisted by any effort of the most tortuous imagination into a mysterious fold, you might still and notAvithstanding —erode Tomkins —‘ depend upon it there was something in it.’ Another peculiarity of my dear friend consisted in a double, or rather alternate, greeting with which he invariably saluted his inmates. If you looked merry, ere you could speak Tomkins had exclaimed, * Hulloa, old fellow, what’s up ?’ If, on the contrary, you looked sad, Tomkins ejaculated, ‘ Hulloa, old fellow, what’s wrong ?’ In each case, if uncovered, he seized his hat; if he had it on, he took it off. No wonder, therefore, that, my soul being troubled and my spirit sad within me by reason of the loss of that particular tegument, I should hasten to disburden my sorrows to Tomkins.

He was at home when I called, as I knew he Avould be. Recognising me by the individuality of my knock, he himself rushed to the door, and nearly choked himself in his eagerness, on seeing my triste expression of face, to ascertain, while his mouth was full, what was wrong. I told my friend that he must give me some dinner, and then some counsel, and after that, if needs be, his companionship back to the city. All of which he cheerfully undertook to do.

‘ It’s a very mysterious business, my dear fellow—at least it will be —to recover that particular hat; but rely on me; if any man can help you, I can —and will. We must go back to London; we will take a cab; and, let me see, we will drive to Whitechapel direct.’ Thus Tomkins to me, after I had given him the few particulars, and one or two more, which are here set down. ‘ Whitechapel! Why Whitechapel? ’ * Oh, don’t you trouble, you leave the matter to me; we must keep it dark;’ and then, after a moment’s pause, and rising to ring the bell, he added with emphasis, * very dark.’

The cab was ordered, and we were soon en route for that region, which was to me as much terra incognita, as Iceland or Siberia. As we lived in the neighbourhood of Hammersmith, since by postal authority named W., and we were bound for Whitechapel, since christened E., and as there was

then no (well-managed) Metropolitan Railway, we of course had a tolerably long drive in store. The first thing that forced itself on my attention during our progress was that Tomkins had already established a ‘ mysterious’ understanding with the driver. For on each occasion that, for some cause or other to me unknown—and these occasions were of constant recurrence—Jabez wished to stop, the cab was pulled up with a suddenness which was not only mj sterious to myself, but unpleasant. On these occasions Tomkins would always get out. ‘ Don’t you stir, old fellow. Keep it dark. Three minutes. ’ These were his usual words while in the act of alighting from the vehicle. I observed also that our Jehu mostly got off his box. and that in every case there was a whispered conversation carried on between them. I didn’t know whether to be amused or irritated by this absurd behaviour, as I thought it; but, as I was sensible, somewhere in my inmost consciousness, of playing myself a rather absurd part, I contented myself, or feigned contentment, when in reply to my questions I received the invariable reply, * It is all right,’ when I knew it to be all wrong, or ‘ Couldn’t be going on better,’ as if I were a newly-born baby or its blessed mother.

There was another thing I observed. On a plurality of ‘ stages’ our driver made a very ready and cordial response to my friend’s question—put with a due regard to keeping up the mystery and preserving inviolable secrecy —‘ What he would drink.’ I alighted myself, I confess it, more than once, partly from curiosity, partly from thirst ; and it struck me that the voice of our Jehu on each occasion waxed not only huskier, but more familiar. I took it for granted, at about the thirteenth stage (at which I assisted), that the rubicundity of our charioteer’s nose, and the knowing manner in which he caused his dexter fore-finger to encircle that feature as he uttered the words, ‘Right you are, guvner,’ and the hurried wink by which the voice and action were accompanied, were part and parcel of the mystery. I began to wish, though, that our drive were finished. And so indeed it was, or very nearly so ; for ere we reached another stage, a violent collision and the immediate upsetting of the cab in the neighbourhood of that ancient monument Aldgate pump—since, I am informed, deceased—and the fracture of a shaft, to say nothing of my own hat (Nemesis, thought I) and poor Jabez’s nose, brought us to, a little earlier than had we reached our final destination, at the corner of a certain popular thoroughfare called ‘ Petticoat Lane. ’ Tomkins’ nose was really very badly hurt; he took it, I suppose as part of the mystery, for the first words he uttered as we picked ourselves up were (to me), ‘ Keep it dark’ (to the cabman, still prostrate withjhis horse, neither of which seemed to care about getting up again), ‘All right.’ The man’s reply was not, I thought, either a civil one or grateful. He was disentangled, however, and after some whispering, a few expostulations, and thefinal payment of a coin (Ilearnedafterwardsitwas a sovereign), Tomkins, with one hand to his nose, and placing the other on my arm, once more uttered his invariable assurance that it was all right, and adding that we were close by, and must walk, pushed briskly on through the gathering mists of an April evening. I took this opportunity, after having vainly endeavored to straighten my hat, and sincerely condoled with him for his graver mischance (I thought I heard a muttered assurance that ‘ nothing could be better’; perhaps I was mistaken ; his voice was deadened by the pocket-handkerchief he held to the lacerated feature) —I say I took this opportunity to remonstrate gently with my friend, and to beg he would give me some idea of his plan. First of all he endeavoured to put me off, next he upbraided me with ingratitude— * Had I not put the matter into his hands ?’ It was not in human nature to withstand an appeal of this kind, made by a friend who had just suffered in the cause of friendship, and who rather ‘ snuffled’ in consequence. However, at last I learned, not with unmixed feelings, that on each occasion of his alighting he had either run into the nearest police station, or else imparted to the officer on his beat the nature of my loss—errand, rather—with a general description of my unfortunate hat. I must have been mad, you say, for such a trifling matter to go on such a fool’s errand. Well, a good many others thought so at the time, cabby amongst the rest. But, not to anticipate, we continued our walk till we arrived at a certain massive stone of the obelisk order, on which I had ample time to observe, by the light of a flickering gas-jet in a shop hard by, the arms of the City of London. I say that I had ample time for making this observation, which is quite true, because Tomkins, in a voice which the fog and the extemporised bandage of his kerchief rendered more than ever mysterious, and rather hoarse, whispered me that we must wait there a little while, which we did. In fact, we waited so long that at last, without a word of explanation, Tomkins simply saying, ‘ Back directly,’ at once plunged down the afore-mentioned thoroughfare. Now, I will confess that this conduct on the part of my friend annoyed me. Besides, the evening was raw and chilly, and the April mist was depressing. I could forgive Tomkins much, especially as his nose, the bridge of which being broken I could not well get over, (Suum caique. This pun belongs, I believe, originally to Foote, the actor) had been fractured in my behalf ; but my conscience was ill at ease, and my own nose Avas getting cold in the extreme, and what with a feeling that, whatever cause I might have had for my original annoyance, I had acted brutally at home, and that ever since, with the powerful aid of Jabez, I had been making an ass of myself, I resolved, after waiting some time to give Tomkins five minutes more, and then wait no longer. The truce having expired, I exclaimed aloud, and no doubt rather hastily and testily, ‘ Well, it’s time for me to be off,’ placing at the same time my hand on the spot which my watch and chain habitually graced. Simultaneously with my discovering that both watch and appendage had vanished, and the uttering of the same intemperate polysyllable which had already once before disgraced my lips, I felt a firm hand placed on my shoulder. At this moment Tomkins came up out of breath.

I was in no mood for laughter, as may be supposed, but really my poor friend’s appearance was something so very peculiar (nothing offensive in that word), so very different from his ordinary neat, cleanly, and rather prim aspect, that, in spite of the dense air of provoking mysteries by which I felt myself bewildered, I couldn’t help

laughing a little. ‘ Good gracious, Jabez,’ I exclaimed, ‘ what on earth have you been doing ? ’ It wasn’t only that his nose was comically awry, and that his face was smeared with blood and his hat battered down, but he seemed to have undergone as complete a metamorphosis as Daphne did, poor nymph, when changed into a laurel or a gooseberry bush, or whatever it was. All his clothes were changed, and he looked as veritable a vagabond as any denizen of ‘ the lane ’ from which he had emerged.

To he continued ,