CHAPTER VII
LOOKING BACKWARD-WINDSOR
THREE years earlier than the incidents related in the preceding chapters, the walls and fences of that moribund and derelict country town, Windsor, were ornamented by a series of posters that proclaimed the early appearance of the renowned Professor Norris, mesmerist, phrenologist, and magnetic healer; also the gifted clairvoyant, Bertha Summerhayes, reader of the past and future. And then followed numerous details of the wonders and signs common to such entertainments, the bill concluding with this parting advice—“Man, know thyself!”
Why men generally are invited to make the acquaintance of the very second-rate article referred to was not stated. Or, having found what an unmitigated fool that person generally is, what he was to do in the matter was also a blank.
Windsor took the posters very quietly. Nothing but a circus or a Hawkesbury flood will stimulate the languid circulation of a native of its mud flats. Professor Norris and his assistant, who had arrived at Mrs. Brown’s family hotel that morning, had returned from a round of inspection, and met in their sitting-room to compare notes.
“What do you think of the town, my dear? Is it not a fine, quaint old place?”
“I don’t know about being quaint, it is old enough. Why, half of the buildings seem to be empty, and the other half public houses? Whatever do the people do for a living?”
“Perhaps they drink in each other’s bars,” said the Professor simply.
“And do you know what Mrs. Brown asked me? She said we must pay each day’s hotel charges in advance!”
“It must be her large organ of Caution. This is very unusual.”
“So I told her, but she explained that shows had so often failed to make expenses in this ‘quaint’ old town of yours, that continued losses had forced them to make this stipulation. Nevertheless, she was kind enough to add that she would give something towards the subscription to pay our fare to Sydney when the time came.”
“That was her large organ of Benevolence, and very kind of her.”
“But what a place! I am sure I thought being a professional was something nice, that at any rate people would respect me; but it seems we are looked upon as little better than tramps. For my part I’m sick of it. Windsor is the last straw. Once catch me in Sydney again, and a team of bullocks shall not drag me out of it!”
“You are too impressionable, my dear. Remember our educational mission. It is not only for our own personal ends we travel, but more especially to awaken in men a more enlightened interest in those mesmeric and electric powers that invest them. Think of the cause, my dear, think of our mission.”
“Fiddlesticks for your mission! The ‘Cause’ will not clothe us, and feed us, and pay the Mrs. Browns their bills.”
“Now, don’t fret; we may have a good house to-night, our bills are really posted everywhere.”
“Of course they are; they are on the doors of all the empty houses.”
“And who can tell how many heads I may have? I have remarked some really interesting subjects in this place. The temperaments are largely lymphatic. I saw the largest alimentativeness standing at an hotel door that I have ever seen.”
The Professor, having got on his favourite theme, would have gone on indefinitely, had not a servant come to the door to announce the visit of a gentleman from the newspaper.
“Show him up by all means,” said the Professor. “It is always wise to stand well with the Press, and besides, he may want his character read. It would be a most excellent advertisement for us, most excellent.”
The gentleman from the newspaper was coming up the stairs with an aggressive step. As general utility in the office he had been dispatched to demand immediate cash payment of the printing bill, and he felt no hesitation in undertaking the task. He had been told to stand no humbug, and he meant to act up to instructions. Hubert Gosper was a tall, lank youth, with the Colonial looseness of limb, like wheels on an old axle that want screwing up; a narrow face, regular features, the eyes small and set back, as Australian eyes are wont to be, with the accompanying lines in the forehead, and contraction of the eyebrows, due to the glare of light. As he entered the room with careless confidence the Professor bowed to him, but before he could commence his abrupt demand, his eye caught the face of Bertha Summerhayes.
And she smiled at him graciously, and from her eyes came a fire that flashed through him, seared him in some way, making him, as it were, from that moment, and instantly, in some sort, another man. For the nonce he was almost dumb, and stumbled and stammered disconnected words.
The Professor in pity came to his assistance. “Ah; no doubt you wish to have your character read? I shall do so with the greatest pleasure. Of course, members of the Press are on my free list. Take a chair.”
Hubert, or Huey, as he was commonly called, mechanically obeyed.
“Really, a most remarkable head!” exclaimed the Professor, after his fingers had passed once or twice through the hair of the sitter. “Most remarkable? I find you have intellectual gifts, which, if properly cultivated, might make a first-class novelist or playwright. A wealth of language and imagery that promises the eloquence of a great orator. In the perceptive organs you have that analytical faculty that is required by the legal mind, and, should inclination lead you to mathematics, or the exact sciences, you have all the organs required, of the most ample development. On the side of morals, I find strict integrity and lofty veneration. The Church would in you gain an ornament and a bright light. Of what are—perhaps unfairly—termed the selfish organs, your share is a wise and proper balance, and the animal only such as is required to give the requisite energy and stimulant to the whole. I say, without hesitation, that to such an endowment of intelligence as you possess no path in life, however eminent, is closed. You may be a statesman, a prelate, a poet, artist, or engineer, and I would even venture so far as to say you might in time, by diligent study and observation, be a phrenologist.”
“Be a what?” exclaimed Huey, as though some insect had stung him.
“A phrenologist, my dear sir; one of the noblest careers open to our poor, frail humanity.”
“How much a week do they get?”
“If you mean how much in paltry coin is their share, the returns, I admit, are somewhat scant, but the wealth of gratitude from honest hearts made happier, and the noble exaltation in the spread of science and truth are illimitable.”
“I’m afraid the terms won’t suit!”
“Reflect, my dear friend. This day a path opens before you. Be my pupil; such talent as yours lies buried—let it burst forth and bloom.”
Huey’s eyes by this time had again wandered to Bertha, who sat apart, and the feeling was strong within him that he must see again and talk with this girl. This proposal of the Professor’s, though idiotic from his own point of view, would form an excuse for further visits.
So when they parted a little later, without one word being said of the printing account, it was understood that Huey was to think the matter over and call again.