9781787376038 by Anonymous

Author:Anonymous [Anonymous]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-12-21T00:00:00+00:00

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CHAPTER XI

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MR STODHAM, THE RESPECTABLE MAN, AND THE DRYAD

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To Mr Stodham, I think, Mr Torrance's books were the man. He perhaps he alone in England possessed a full set of the thirty three volumes produced by Mr Torrance under his own name in thirteen years. “It is wonderful," said Ann once, “that the dancing of a pen over a sheet of paper can pay the rent and the baker's bill, and it hardly seems right. But, still, it appears there are people born that can do nothing else, and they must live like the rest of us. And I will say that Mr Torrance is one of the best of us, though he has that peculiarity."

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Mr Stodham could not trust himself to speak. He really liked Ann: furthermore, he knew that she was wiser than he: finally, everyone at that moment had something better to think of, because Jack and Roland had put on the gloves. Mr Stodham, consequently, quoted George Borrow: “There's the wind on the heath, brother; if I could only feel that, I would gladly live for ever. Dosta, we'll now go to the tents and put on the gloves; and I'll try to make you feel what a sweet thing it is to be alive, brother."

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Jack overheard him, and at the end of the round said, “What was that, Mr Stodham? say it again." When the words of Jasper had been repeated, “Jolly good," said Jack, “but what puzzles me is how a man who knew that could bother to write a book. There must have been something the matter with him. Perhaps he didn't really believe what he wrote." And so they had another round.

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Mr Stodham liked everything at Abercorran House. Liking was his chief faculty, and there it had unstinted exercise. Probably he liked the very wife whom he escaped by going either to the country or to Abercorran House. An accident had first brought him among the Morgans. One day as he happened to be passing down the farm lane a child threw a ball unintentionally over into the Wilderness. After it went Mr Stodham in an instant, not quite missing the nails at the top of the fence. The long grass of the Wilderness and his own bad sight kept the ball hidden until the child went away in despair, unknown to him, for he continued the search. There perhaps he would have been searching still, if the Wilderness had not been built over, and if Roland had not come along and found man and ball almost in the same moment. Here the matter could not end. For Mr Stodham, unawares, had been reduced by a nail in the fence to a condition which the public does not tolerate. It seems that he offered to wait for nightfall when Roland had pointed out his misfortune. He was stubborn, to the verge of being abject, in apologising for his presence, and, by implication, for his existence, and in not wishing to cause any trouble to Roland or the family.

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