Kitabı oku: «The Associate Hermits», sayfa 8
CHAPTER XVII
MRS. PERKENPINE ASSERTS HER INDIVIDUALITY
About half an hour after the beginning of the conversation between the bishop and Miss Corona, Mrs. Perkenpine came to the latter and informed her that supper was ready, and three times after that first announcement did she repeat the information. At last the bishop rose and said he would not keep Miss Raybold from her meal.
“Will you not join us?” she asked. “I shall be glad to have you do so.”
The bishop hesitated for a moment, and then he accompanied Corona.
As Mrs. Perkenpine turned from the camp cooking-stove, a long-handled pan, well filled with slices of hot meat, in her hand, she stood for a moment amazed. Slowly approaching the little table outside of the tent were the bishop and Miss Raybold, and glancing beyond them towards the lake, she saw Clyde and Raybold, to whom she had yelled that supper was ready, the one with his arms folded, gazing out over the water, and the other strolling backward and forward, as if he had thought of going to his supper, but had not quite made up his mind to it.
Mrs. Perkenpine’s face grew red. “They are waitin’ for a chance to speak to that Archibald gal,” she thought. “Well, let them wait. And she’s bringing him! She needn’t s’pose I don’t know him. I’ve seen him splittin’ wood at Sadler’s, and I don’t cook for sech.” So saying, she strode to some bushes a little back of the stove, and dashed the panful of meat behind them. Then she returned, and seizing the steaming coffee-pot, she poured its contents on the ground. Then she took up a smaller pan, containing some fried potatoes, hot and savory, and these she threw after the meat.
The bishop and Corona now reached the table and seated themselves. Mrs. Perkenpine, her face as hard and immovable as the trunk of an oak, approached, and placed before them some slices of cold bread, some butter, and two glasses of water.
Still earnestly talking, her eyes sometimes dimmed with tears of excitement as she descanted upon her favorite theories, Corona began to eat what was before her. She buttered a slice of bread, and if the bishop chanced to say anything she ate some of it. She drank some water, and she talked and talked and talked. She did not know what she was eating. It might have been a Lord Mayor’s dinner or a beggar’s crust; her mind took no cognizance of such an unimportant matter. As for her companion, he knew very well what he was eating, and as he gazed about him, and saw that there were no signs of anything more, his heart sank lower and lower; but he ate slice after slice of bread, for he was hungry, and he hoped that when the two young men came to the table they would call for more substantial food.
But long before they arrived Corona finished her meal and rose.
“Now that we have had our supper,” she said, “let us go where we shall not be annoyed by the smell of food, and continue our conversation.”
“Is it possible,” thought the bishop, “that she can be annoyed by the smell of hot meat, potatoes, and coffee? I suppose the delicious odor comes from the other supper-table. Heavens! Why wasn’t I asked there?”
There was a dreadful storm when Raybold and Clyde came to the table; but Mrs. Perkenpine remained hard and immovable through it all.
“Your sister and that tramp has been here,” said she, “and this is all there is left. If you keep your hogs in your house, you can’t expect to count on your victuals.”
Some more coffee was made, and that, with bread, composed the young men’s supper.
When Arthur Raybold had finished his meal, he walked to the spot where Corona and the bishop were conversing, and stood there silently. He was afraid to interrupt his sister by speaking to her, but he thought that his presence might have an effect upon her companion. It did have an effect, for the bishop seized the opportunity created by the arrival of a third party, excused himself, and departed at the first break in Corona’s flow of words.
“I wish, Arthur,” she said, “that when you see I am engaged in a conversation, you would wait at least a reasonable time before interrupting it.”
“A reasonable time!” said Raybold, with a laugh. “I like that! But I came here to interrupt your conversation. Do you know who that fellow is you were talking to? He’s a common, good-for-nothing tramp. He goes round splitting wood for his meals. Clyde and I kept him here to cook our meals because we had no servant, and he’s been in bed for days because he had no clothes to wear. Now you are treating him as if he were a gentleman, and you actually brought him to our table, where, like the half-starved cur that he is, he has eaten up everything fit to eat that we were to have for our supper.”
“He did not eat all of it,” said Corona, “for I ate some myself; and if he is the good-for-nothing tramp and the other things you call him, I wish I could meet with more such tramps. I tell you, Arthur, that if you were to spend the next five years in reading and studying, you could not get into your mind one-tenth of the serious information, the power to reason intelligently upon your perceptions, the ability to collate, compare, and refer to their individual causes the impressions – ”
“Oh, bosh!” said her brother. “What I want to know is, are you going to make friends with that man and invite him to our table?”
“I shall invite him if I see fit,” said she. “He is an extremely intelligent person.”
“Well,” answered he, “if you do I shall have a separate table,” and he walked away.
As soon as he had left Corona, the bishop repaired to the Archibalds’ cooking-tent, where he saw Matlack at work.
“I have come,” he said, with a pleasant smile, “to ask a very great favor. Would it be convenient for you to give me something to eat? Anything in the way of meat, hot or cold, and some tea or coffee, as I see there is a pot still steaming on your stove. I have had an unlucky experience. You know I have been preparing my own meals at the other camp, but to-day, when Mrs. Perkenpine brought me my clothes, she carried away with her all the provisions that had been left there. I supped, it is true, with Miss Raybold, but her appetite is so delicate and her fare so extremely simple that I confidentially acknowledge that I am half starved.”
During these remarks Matlack had stood quietly gazing at the bishop. “Do you see that pile of logs and branches there?” said he; “that’s the firewood that’s got to be cut for to-morrow, which is Sunday, when we don’t want to be cuttin’ wood; and if you’ll go to work and cut it into pieces to fit this stove, I’ll give you your supper. You can go to the other camp and sleep where you have been sleepin’, if you want to, and in the mornin’ I’ll give you your breakfast. I ’ain’t got no right to give you Mr. Archibald’s victuals, but what you eat I’ll pay for out of my own pocket, considerin’ that you’ll do my work. Then to-morrow I’ll give you just one hour after you’ve finished your breakfast to get out of this camp altogether, entirely out of my sight. I tried to have you sent away before, but other people took you up, and so I said no more; but now things are different. When a man pulls up what I’ve drove down, and sets loose what I’ve locked up, and the same as snaps his fingers in my face when I’m attendin’ to my business, then I don’t let that man stay in my camp.”
“Excuse me,” said the bishop, “but in case I should not go away within the time specified, what would be your course?”
In a few brief remarks, inelegant but expressive, the guide outlined his intentions of taking measures which would utterly eliminate the physical energy of the other.
“I haven’t taken no advantage of you,” he said, “I haven’t come down on you when you hadn’t no clothes to go away in; and now that you’ve got good clothes, I don’t want to spile them if I can help it; but they’re not goin’ to save you – mind my words. What I’ve said I’ll stick to.”
“Mr. Matlack,” said the bishop, “I consider that you are entirely correct in all your positions. As to that unfortunate affair of the boat, I had intended coming to you and apologizing most sincerely for my share in it. It was an act of great foolishness, but that does not in the least excuse me. I apologize now, and beg that you will believe that I truly regret having interfered with your arrangements.”
“That won’t do!” exclaimed the guide. “When a man as much as snaps his fingers in my face, it’s no use for him to come and apologize. That’s not what I want.”
“Nevertheless,” said the bishop, “you will pardon me if I insist upon expressing my regrets. I do that for my own sake as well as yours; but we will drop that subject. When you ask me to cut wood to pay for my meals, you are entirely right, and I honor your sound opinion upon this subject. I will cut the wood and earn my meals, but there is one amendment to your plan which I would like to propose. To-morrow is Sunday; for that reason we should endeavor to make the day as quiet and peaceable as possible, and we should avoid everything which may be difficult of explanation or calculated to bring about an unpleasant difference of opinion among other members of the party. Therefore, will you postpone the time at which you will definitely urge my departure until Monday morning?”
“Well,” said Matlack, “now I come to think of it, it might be well not to kick up a row on Sunday, and I will put it off until Monday morning; but mind, there’s no nonsense about me. What I say I mean, and on Monday morning you march of your own accord, or I’ll attend to the matter myself.”
“Very good,” said the bishop; “thank you very much. To-morrow I will consider your invitation to leave this place, and if you will come to Camp Roy about half-past six on Monday morning I will then give you my decision. Will that hour suit you?”
“All right,” said Matlack, “you might as well make it a business matter. It’s going to be business on my side, I’d have you know.”
“Good – very good,” said the bishop, “and now let me get at that wood.”
So saying, he put down his cane, took off his hat, his coat, his waistcoat, his collar, and his cravat and his cuffs; he rolled up his sleeves, he turned up the bottoms of his trousers, and then taking an axe, he set to work.
In a few minutes Martin arrived on the scene. “What’s up now?” said he.
“He’s cuttin’ wood for his meals,” replied Matlack.
“I thought you were going to bounce him as soon as he got up?”
“That’s put off until Monday morning,” said Matlack. “Then he marches. I’ve settled that.”
“Did he agree?” asked Martin.
“’Tain’t necessary for him to agree; he’ll find that out Monday morning.”
Martin stood and looked at the bishop as he worked.
“I wish you would get him to cut wood every day,” said he. “By George, how he makes that axe fly!”
When the bishop finished his work he drove his axe-head deep into a stump, washed his hands and his face, resumed the clothing he had laid aside, and then sat down to supper. There was nothing stingy about Matlack, and the wood-chopper made a meal which amply compensated him for the deficiencies of the Perkenpine repast.
When he had finished he hurried to the spot where the party was in the habit of assembling around the camp-fire. He found there some feebly burning logs, and Mr. Clyde, who sat alone, smoking his pipe.
“What is the matter?” asked the bishop. “Where are all our friends?”
“I suppose they are all in bed,” said Clyde, “with the bedclothes pulled over their heads – that is, except one, and I suspect she is talking in her sleep. They were all here as usual, and Mr. Archibald thought he would break the spell by telling a fishing story. He told me he was going to try to speak against time; but it wasn’t of any use. She just slid into the middle of his remarks as a duck slides into the water, and then she began an oration. I really believe she did not know that any one else was talking.”
“That may have been the case,” said the bishop; “she has a wonderful power of self-concentration.”
“Very true,” said Clyde, “and this time she concentrated herself so much upon herself that the rest of us got away, one by one, and when all the others had gone she went. Then, when I found she really had gone, I came back. By-the-way, bishop,” he continued, “there is something I would like to do, and I want you to help me.”
“Name it,” said the other.
“I am getting tired of the way the Raybolds are trespassing on the good-nature of the Archibalds, and, whatever they do, I don’t intend to let them make me trespass any longer. I haven’t anything to do with Miss Raybold, but the other tent belongs as much to me as it does to her brother, and I am going to take it back to our own camp. And what is more, I am going to have my meals there. I don’t want that wooden-headed Mrs. Perkenpine to cook for me.”
“How would you like me to do it?” asked the bishop, quickly.
“That would be fine,” said Clyde. “I will help, and we will set up house-keeping there again, and if Raybold doesn’t choose to come and live in his own camp he can go wherever he pleases. I am not going to have him manage things for me. Don’t you think that you and I can carry that tent over?”
“With ease!” exclaimed the bishop. “When do you want to move – Monday morning?”
“Yes,” said Clyde, “after breakfast.”
CHAPTER XVIII
THE HERMITS ASSOCIATE
During the next day no one in camp had reason to complain of Corona Raybold. She did not seem inclined to talk to anybody, but spent the most of her time alone. She wrote a little and reflected a great deal, sometimes walking, sometimes seated in the shade, gazing far beyond the sky.
When the evening fire was lighted, her mood changed so that one might have supposed that another fire had been lighted somewhere in the interior of her mental organism. Her fine eyes glistened, her cheeks gently reddened, and her whole body became animated with an energy created by warm emotions.
“I have something I wish to say to you all,” she exclaimed, as she reached the fire. “Where is Arthur? Will somebody please call him? And I would like to see both the guides. It is something very important that I have to say. Mrs. Perkenpine will be here in a moment; I asked her to come. If Mr. Matlack is not quite ready, can he not postpone what he is doing? I am sure you will all be interested in what I have to say, and I do not want to begin until every one is here.”
Mr. Archibald saw that she was very much in earnest, and so he sent for the guides, and Clyde went to call Raybold.
In a few minutes Clyde returned and told Corona that her brother had said he did not care to attend services that evening.
“Where is he?” asked Miss Raybold.
“He is sitting over there looking out upon the lake,” replied Clyde.
“I will be back almost immediately,” said she to Mr. Archibald, “and in the mean time please let everybody assemble.”
Arthur Raybold was in no mood to attend services of any sort. He had spent nearly the whole day trying to get a chance to speak to Margery, but never could he find her alone.
“If I can once put the matter plainly to her,” he said to himself, “she will quickly perceive what it is that I offer her; and when she clearly sees that, I will undertake to make her accept it. She is only a woman, and can no more withstand me than a mound of sand built by a baby’s hand could withstand the rolling wave.”
At this moment Corona arrived and told him that she wanted him at the camp-fire. He was only a man, and could no more withstand her than a mound of sand built by a baby’s hand could withstand the rolling wave.
When everybody in the camp had gathered around the fire, Corona, her eye-glasses illumined by the light of her soul, gazed around the circle and began to speak.
“My dear friends,” she said, “I have been thinking a great deal to-day upon a very important subject, and I have come to the conclusion that we who form this little company have before us one of the grandest opportunities ever afforded a group of human beings. We are here, apart from our ordinary circumstances and avocations, free from all the trammels and demands of society, alone with nature and ourselves. In our ordinary lives, surrounded by our ordinary circumstances, we cannot be truly ourselves; each of us is but part of a whole, and very often an entirely unharmonious part. It is very seldom that we are able to do the things we wish to do in the manner and at times and places when it would best suit our natures. Try as we may to be true to ourselves, it is seldom possible; we are swept away in a current of conventionality. It may be one kind of conventionality for some of us and another kind for others, but we are borne on by it all the same. Sometimes a person like myself or Mr. Archibald clings to some rock or point upon the bank, and for a little while is free from the coercion of circumstances, but this cannot be for long, and we are soon swept with the rest into the ocean of conglomerate commonplace.”
“That’s when we die!” remarked Mrs. Perkenpine, who sat reverently listening.
“No,” said the speaker, “it happens while we are alive. But now,” she continued, “we have a chance, as I said before, to shake ourselves free from our enthralment. For a little while each one of us may assert his or her individuality. We are a varied and representative party; we come from different walks of life; we are men, women, and – ” looking at Margery, she was about to say children, but she changed her expression to “young people.” “I think you will all understand what I mean. When we are at our homes we do things because other people want us to do them, and not because we want to do them. A family sits down to a meal, and some of them like what is on the table, some do not; some of them would have preferred to eat an hour before, some of them would prefer to eat an hour later; but they all take their meals at the same time and eat the same things because it is the custom to do so.
“I mention a meal simply as an instance, but the slavery of custom extends into every branch of our lives. We get up, we go to bed, we read, we work, we play, just as other people do these things, and not as we ourselves would do them if we planned our own lives. Now we have a chance, all of us, to be ourselves! Each of us may say, ‘I am myself, one!’ Think of that, my friends, each one! Each of us a unit, responsible only to his or her unity, if I may so express it.”
“Do you mean that I am that?” inquired Mrs. Perkenpine.
“Oh yes,” replied Corona.
“Is Phil Matlack one?”
“Yes.”
“All right,” said the female guide; “if he is one, I don’t mind.”
“Now what I propose is this,” said Corona: “I understand that the stay in this camp will continue for about a week longer, and I earnestly urge upon you that for this time we shall each one of us assert our individuality. Let us be what we are, show ourselves what we are, and let each other see what we are.”
“It would not be safe nor pleasant to allow everybody to do that,” said Mr. Archibald. He was more interested in Miss Raybold’s present discourse than he had been in any other he had heard her deliver.
“Of course,” said she, “it would not do to propose such a thing to the criminal classes or to people of evil inclinations, but I have carefully considered the whole subject as it relates to us, and I think we are a party singularly well calculated to become the exponent of the distinctiveness of our several existences.”
“That gits me,” said Matlack.
“I am afraid,” said the speaker, gazing kindly at him, “that I do not always express myself plainly to the general comprehension, but what I mean is this: that during the time we stay here, let each one of us do exactly what he or she wants to do, without considering other people at all, except, of course, that we must not do anything which would interfere with any of the others doing what they please. For instance – and I assure you I have thought over this matter in all its details – if any of us were inclined to swear or behave disorderly, which I am sure could not be the case, he or she would not do so because he or she would feel that, being responsible to himself or herself, that responsibility would prevent him or her from doing that which would interfere with the pleasure or comfort of his or her associates.”
“I think,” said Mrs. Archibald, somewhat severely, “that our duty to our fellow-beings is far more important than our selfish consideration of ourselves.”
“But reflect,” cried Corona, “how much consideration we give to our fellow-beings, and how little to ourselves as ourselves, each one. Can we not, for the sake of knowing ourselves and honoring ourselves, give ourselves to ourselves for a little while? The rest of our lives may then be given to others and the world.”
“I hardly believe,” said Mr. Archibald, “that all of us clearly understand your meaning, but it seems to me that you would like each one of us to become, for a time, a hermit. I do not know of any other class of persons who so thoroughly assert their individuality.”
“You are right!” exclaimed Corona. “A hermit does it. A hermit is more truly himself than any other man. He may dwell in a cave and eat water-cresses, he may live on top of a tall pillar, or he may make his habitation in a barrel! If a hermit should so choose, he might furnish a cave with Eastern rugs and bric-à-brac. If he liked that sort of thing, he would be himself. Yes, I would have all of us, in the truest sense of the word, hermits, each a hermit; but we need not dwell apart. Some of us would certainly wish to assert our individuality by not dwelling apart from others.”
“We might, then,” said Mr. Archibald, “become a company of associate hermits.”
“Exactly!” cried Corona, stretching out her hands. “That is the very word – associate hermits. My dear friends, from to-morrow morning, until we leave here, let us be associate hermits. Let us live for ourselves, be true to ourselves. After all, if we think of it seriously, ourselves are all that we have in this world. Everything else may be taken from us, but no one can take from me, myself, or from any one of you, yourself.”
The bishop now rose. He as well as the others had listened attentively to everything that had been said; even Arthur Raybold had shown a great deal of interest in his sister’s remarks.
“You mean,” said the bishop, “that while we stay here each one of us shall act exactly as we think we ought to act if we were not influenced by the opinions and examples of others around us, and thus we shall have an opportunity to find out for ourselves and show others exactly what we are.”
“That is it,” said Corona, “you have stated it very well.”
“Well, then,” said the bishop, “I move that for the time stated we individually assert our individuality.”
“Second the motion,” said Mr. Archibald.
“All in favor of this motion please say ‘Aye,’” said Corona. “Now let everybody vote, and I hope you will all say ‘Aye,’ and if any one does not understand, I will be happy to explain.”
“I want to know,” said Phil Matlack, rising, “if one man asserts what you call his individ’ality in such a way that it runs up agin another man’s, and that second man ain’t inclined to stand it, if that – ”
“Oh, I assure you,” interrupted the bishop, “that that will be all right. I understand you perfectly, and the individualities will all run along together without interfering with each other, and if one happens to get in the way of another it will be gently moved aside.”
“Gently!” said Matlack, somewhat satirically. “Well, all right, it will be moved aside. I am satisfied, if the rest are.”
“Now all in favor say ‘Aye,’” said Corona.
They all said “Aye,” except Mrs. Perkenpine, who said “Me.”
