The Storyteller.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXVIII, Issue 6, 8 February 1900, Page 23

The Storyteller.

A LITERARY EXPERIMENT.

Pennison was hard up. There was no getting over that fact. He had realised it in all its sternness for the last three days, since his landlady, who was the first to recognise it, had given him formal notice .

Three months previously he had proclaimed himself a free man by spurning an office stool and, with a meagre war-chest saved from the wages of clerkly degradation, started his revolt against the despotism of Fact, under the banner of Literature. But now facts, hungering for his downfall, were clutching him in a remorseless grip. Now, for a whole fortnight he had lived upon his eloquence, but even his persuasive powers acting upon Mrs. O'Grady's susceptible Irish heart oould not prevent a reduction of rations. For that was the inner meaning of her announcement that Pennison should provide his own dinners in future. Thereupon he remembered having read in an encyclopaedia that two light meals a day are amply sufficient for a man of sedentary occupation. Three was undoubtedly sheer extravagance. So he converted his usual dinner hour into a recreation time and took walking exercise.

Mr. Pennison was a young man who hated not his fellows, but he had little sympathy with their aims. He had cultivated the aloofness of a man of thought who is above the mere toilers. He had pitied them delving for golden dross, poor slaves of bread and butter. So, in hia attempted development, he had made the mistake of considering: the material siie of life as quite immaterial.

He had ideals, if not ideas. But these ideals were so lofty that he had but reached oat towards them from afar, and had never grasped them and the guerdon of £>. s. d. which attends upon the success of noble effort. In other words, he used up so much nervous energy in the contemplation of his ideals that he was unable to translate them into print. They were so bewilderingly numerous that they gut entangled in his brain, and, in fact, became as great a nuisance as a warren of antipodean rabbits.

He had sent some of his dreams 'oa the rounds,' but the net result was the waste of postage Btamps.

Pennison. like so many men of genius, loved originality for its own sake. He would not copy current styles, but dreamed of founding a New School of Fiction which should leave the Kailyard in the background. He was convinced that he could turn out the cheap and nasty stuff which other novelists spun out at so much per thousand words, but his fastidious soul revolted from the task. He had indeed become an unconscious exponent of the Brahminic doctrine of the glory of the contemplative life.

As he smoked the last crumbs of tobacoo, which he had obtained by turning oat th^ linings of his pockets, the bitter thought of his great ideal School of Fiction floated befo-e bis mind, and as he mentally repetted the magic formula, 'A School of Fiction,' the idea took another shape with all the kaleidoscopic rapidity of his great imagination. ' Why not an Academy of Fiction ?' How often had not serio comic magazine writers suggested a school for teaching the art of telling storie". How ma-iy writers were actually in print who knew not the rudiments of their profession ? How many were there, if properly instructed, had the capacity for making a livelihood by the pen ?

Pennison had found his life-work at last. TTe need not turn out the wretched stories that were mechanically writteu and idly r> ad. But there was no less of dignity in imparting to others the rudiments of a pro'evnvi that might be made respectable if his methods were adopted. He would impart ideas. His put ils would work them out an 1 save him much drudgery, and the next generation would hail him — the teacher — as the fouuder of the new Schoo' of Fiction.

Few commercial enterprises, however worthy, can be started without a little capua'. So Pennism fumbled in his pockets and ransacked every cornpr of h ; s digtfinirs. The ore accumulated in his dfjvinjffl amounted to Is "Jd. H« also had 3Jd in stamp*.

The firm of I'ennihon v\u-> clearly limited, but the subscribed capital was sufficient for the issue of the preliminary prospectus — an advertisement in the Litt ranj JJuily. The firm had some difficulty in keeping the announcement withiu the limits imposed by their financial condition, but at length it read thus: 'Author ot ability gives tuition iv notion. Easy payments. X, 391, Literary Daily:

With the fivepenc* remaining in hands the firm had a grand inaugural banquet of trti>e and cowheel. Then the managing director returned to the humble apartment which was to be his on sufference until the end of the week, and went to bed to await developments.

When a man — not to mention his landlady — has made up his mind that he will not have breakfast or luncheon, it is got>d for him to rest. Ho Pennison rested in bed until the evening of the next day, trying to think out the details of hih project, but unfortunately consecutive thought is not always possible upon an empty stomach. At dusk he srole oat to the newspaper offl ;e, and, to his surprine, there were no less than sixteen answers to his advertisement. All the replies, he mte<i with some misgivings, were from ladies. However, be consoled hims If by a rapid calculation, which showed him that with sixteen pupils at a minimum rate of JZ2 per month his income was n««v nearly £200 per annum, with prospects besides.

Ho must explain matters f> his landlady at once His first move was to ask for pen and ink. This gave him an opening for a glowing explanation of his aims and prospjeta. which he followed up by an application for the loan of sixUen pence for postage. Pennisott was impulsive, if not energetic, ard ho sat down and dashed off sixteen copies of the following circular for his sixteen fair correspondents :—: —

' Dear Madam, — I shall be pleased to have the honour of an interview with you to-morrow at 11 o'clock a.m. at my chambers, 144 Little Went street.

' I am, Madam, your obedient servant, ' Pkteb Pennison.'

At 10 o'clock next morning he realised that it was rather awkward that he had not fixed a separate time for each reception. He jhad been calculating how he should dispose of his first year's earnngs. He would have to get a book-case, a modern writing-desk, a typewriter, and perhaps a blackboard. For the present, however, he was content to prevail upon Mra O'Grady to let him have the accommodation of her drawing-room, with the provision of seven extra nondescript chairs.

He walked up and down his room re-reading the sixteen replies to his advertisement solemnly, as a lawyer reads a brief. His first idea was that he had better go out of town at once ; his second, that his first was utterly impossible. He must stand and face them like a man and a professor of literature.

He derived some courage from a small boy's shrill whistling underneath his window that Tyrtaean air, ' Let 'em all come 1' Yea he could, no doubt, set them all to work simultaneously in a class. It is one of human nature's inconsistencies that in the most serious moments flashes of unbidden humour will arise. But Pennison did not reflect upon this great truth, for he had grown up away from the humanizing influences of female relatives and so had absolutely no sense of the ridiculous. He took himself and his work very seriously at all times.

There was a hope still. Women, he knew from the books, were unpunctual, so that they might not all come together. But, again, literature told him they were talkative. From his own slender experience since he had got in arrears with his rent he was able to corroborate the results of psychological research by independent investigation. It was not improbable that valuable time would be lost if he could not succeed in keeping his pupils well in hand.

At ten minutes to eleven he was awakened to the stern realities of his position by a loud knocking at the door. Tee, they were undoubtedly unpunctual. He heard his landlady usher one or more persons into the drawing-room.

' They are before their time,' said Pennison to himself. ' Let them cool their heels I'

By 11.20 a.m. fifteen other consecutive knockings had rousted the echoes of the dingy street and almost shattered Pennison'a nerves, but he had not yet ' gone below.'

He was growing hysterical, and hummed a bar of the ' Marseillaise ' to keep his courage up. He felt himself old in philosophy, but he was not indeed old in years, and now he felt himself very young— overpoweringly, absurdly young — as he opened the door of the little sitting-room and cast a nervous glance around what appeared to be a tossing sea of bonnets and petticoats. He had heard of a ' mother's meeting ' and had a dim conception that he had somehow blundered into such a function. He felt like a parliamentary candidate about to make his maiden election speech. He had never been a ladies' man, and had never felt his deficiencies in this reipect so keenly before, as the crowd of ladies rose with a rustling of skirts and nodding of plumes, and, to the accompaniment of sundry little coughings and murmurings, said — just like an operatic chorus, Pennirfon thought — ' Oh, Mr Pennison I ' or words to that effect.

Permibon remained for some seconds inarticulate. Then he bowed all round, and another of his good ideas occurred to him. It was impoHt-ible to interview them thus collectively. He must ask them to come int) the back parlour one at a time. He appealed to the principle of priority, but as eleven ladies emphatically protested their claim?, he withdrew the suggestion that had proved such an apple of discord, only, however, to blander into a more awkward position, by falling back on the age principle. ' t-eniores priores, aa ihe ancients had it,' said Pennison. Not a sinerle lady made a move, but they indulged in a cross-fire of looks that boded ill for the future harmony of the gathering. Fortunately after having suggested that they should toss for places, or, as he hastily added, draw lots for precedence, it occurred to the professor to suggest that they should bring some specimens of their work next day. P>y this means he got rid of nine of them and arranged hours for their attendance. The other seven had brought samples which they should like him to examine. He took them and promised to look over them. Three others then departed, but the remaining four were not to be so cheated of an interview.

There was a little boy, Pennison noted, now that the room was being cleared, a very untidy lit.tle boy with a very big head and uuk mpt hair. This youth was with a fat, vulgar woman. There was also a thin, pale, weak-minded looking female with her daughter, a miniature replica of herself.

The latter lady advanced upon Pennison and told her story. 'She's always readin' novels,' said the mother, 'to improve her mind, she pay a. An' it's nigh time she was able to aim her bread. Sometimes I thinks she's a progidy, an' sometimes I thinks she's a young id jet,' said the bewildered mama. 'I am sure /don't know what on earth \f> do with her. Girls is a nuisance.'

The daughter epoke up for heraelf without any diffidenoe and with a bimper which had a most disc effect upon Pennison. She felt sure after a month or so"s training she oould write as well as the author of Front Kitchen to Kingdom, whoee great serial, 1 The Parlourmaid Princess,' was at present running in the Cornflower Magazine. Had Mr Peunison read it ? No, he had not. Well, she would bring him all the back numbers when ehe came to take her first lesson next day. Then the little boy and hia mama came on.

' That boy, Mr. Pennison,' gaid the lady. 'My eldest, sir, eleven last FeWwary. His father, the poor dear man, was in the po'try line. Used to do po'try for boot shops and tea houses and Buch. So

it kind o' runs in the fam'ly. Now that precious boy has been an' wrote a tradejy at his age. Some say as he's a regular young Shakespeare.'

Mr. Pennison endeavoured to express interested surprise, and succeeded in looking horror-stricken. Indeed, he lost his presence of mind so far as to faintly ask what was the subject of the drama.

' It's "Robinson Crusoe," ain't it, Tommy >' said the stout lady 'Tell the gentleman all about it.'

Nothing loth, Tommy fidgehted for some moments with his cap, wriggled hia leg^ about, worked hia feature^ cGhvulshtly. at.J fixed the professor with such a stony stare that Pennison, who was utterly unaccustomed to children, feared he \va& goiny to be ill.

At last this strange boy jerked out : •- ' There's a pirate in it.' After a dramatic pause he went on . ' He comes to rob Robinson, but Friday's brother knows one of the crew and gets them all to mutiny, an' they hang the captain an" the mate.' 'They hanged the captain ; very good, indeed," said Pennison. ' An' then.' went on the young author, ' they all sailed away to find the treasure.' ' Ah,' said Pennison absently, ' where did they go to ' ' To the Spanish Main, of course,' said the boy. ' Oh, of course,' said Pennison humbly.

' There's a lot more,' said the boy, producing a dirty copy-book, which evidently contained the MS. of this dramatic version of Crusoe. l — 'He speaks it fine, too.' said the mother ; 'Do the " What ho !'" part, darlin'.'

The youth had articulated in a sepulchral gurgle, ' What ho ! my bully boys what ho I' when Pennison, suppressing a wild desire to throttle him, intervened, saying he did not care to have the interest of the play spoiled by listening to it in snatches, but would read it over at his leisure. And so he got rid of the mother and her child.

One of the two remaining clients was a widow. She was not altogether a novice, she said, and believed that the best products of art could be procured by collaboration.

She smiled upon Pennison, with a sympathetic smile and, under its influence, Pennison rashly promised to take the matter into consideration.

His sole remaining visitor was a little old maid, with cheeks like a ripe apple and gentle pale grey eyes. She had long cherished the idea of writing a three volume novel about a converted betting man who had taken to slumming work among his old associates But, in order to bring out fully the horrors of her hero's unregenerate days, she wanted to be coached in the language of the turf. Pennison, who could not tell a cab-horse from a thoroughbred, professed himself — on the strength of a mental resolution to invest a penny in a sporting paper — competent to undertake the task of depicting the dreadful associations of the ex-bookie's unreformed days.

Having arranged the hoars of attendance the little old lady produced a half -sovereign, and as he handled the strange coin Pennison felt that the tide had turned at last, and regretted that he had omitted to intimate to the other pupils that his terms were invariably in advance.

Then he sat down, with his head between his hands, to think the situation out He was in for it, that was quite clear. How he was to get out of it was not so clear at all. The more he reflected the more his mind revolted from the idea of drumming literature into those dead souls,,, The thing was an utter impassibility, and the fat boy was the last straw.

But he had taken the little old lady's half-sovereign. He had crossed the Rubicon. He might as well cross the street and have some lunch at once.

On the way Pennison indulged in the luxury of a newspaper His own economic problems had so occupied his attention for months back that he had lost sight of the progress of the world. It was a revelation to him to find that, according to the Daily Phoiimirnph, war might be declared at any moment between half a dozen different countries. But it was consoling to learn that, though constitutional government was tottering on its base, the popular mind was firmly set against the dismemberment of the Empire.

He stole a quiet glance around to read in people's faces the whirling thoughts of the eventful age. But. whatever agitation was pent up within their breasts, these people made no &ign — beyond the exhibition of exceedingly good appetites.

In truth, it was a prosaic world, after all, and as he read on, Pennison's fertile brain looked out once more at life from a different standpoint. He had learned that a lean man waxes not fat upon his dreams, and, indeed, it was now borne in upon him that his dreams were over. The cold breeze of facts cooled him and his mind was calm and resolved. He eagerly scanned the ' Situations Vacant ' columns, and determined to apply at once for several of the suitable vacancies.

He must, of course, return the old lady's money, or at least the unexpended balance, and then — well, Pennison never cared to look very far into the future. So it was that Mrs. O'Grady had to inform fifteen indignant pupils that their professor had retired from business, and when the pupil who paid appeared, Pennison silently banded her a small paper parcel on the outside of which was engrossel in neat figures ' Bs. lOd. Balance due by me Is 2d. Peter Pennison.'

The little lady put on a pair of pince-nez and scrutinised first the package and then the professor who stood in a moody attitude with folded arms. He looked much older than he really was, for hardship and hopes disappointed had left their marks upon him. and moreover, he wore hia hair long from economic as well as artistic reasons. ' My gracious me ! Mr. Pennison !' said the lady, ' What's all

'It means, Madam,' said the retiring professor, bitterly, 'that I do not intend practising the profession of literature any longer. It means also, Madam,' he added, after a pause, ' that I herewith return my fee — minus, I regret to say — the sum of one shilling and twopence, which in a moment of ' — hunger, he was about to say, but substituted — ' thoughtlessness, I expended. The debt I hope to liquidate when — when — when I obtain some other employment.' Pennison's paying pupil took down her glasses and her natural kindliness shone in her eyes. 'But, my dear young man, it can't possibly be that — that ' And then Pennison felt prompted to tell the good old soul of all his struggles, and when he camo to a sudden stup she broke in . 'Now, Mr. Penuison, you just put on your hat and come with me. I know the very place to suit you. My friend Mr. Lang is looking for a clerk, and you write a nice hand. I'm almost sure you -would suit him. l'>ut,' she whispered, 'you had better go out and get your hair cut first. You know business people have their little fads, and they prefer the Puritan style to the Cavalier. Now you take this money and you cm pay me back another time. My dear. I too had my dreams — once up >n a time.'

Pennison got the job, and was able to repay his benefactor out of his first month's salary, as well as to reinstate himself in the graces of his landlady.

Sometimes in v rare slack hour a piece of manuscript is to be found between the folios of his ponderous ledger. But he does not idly moralise, and minds his work, for in his brief revolt he learned some useful lessons — amongst others that workers are not less useful than thinkers and more useful than dreamers ; that ideals are most likely to be realised when they spring from the promptings of a kindly heart ; and, incidentally, that literature may be a good crutch but a bad stick. — Catholic Fireside.