Meet Mr. Mulliner

by P. G. Wodehouse

  And then the door opened again, and there filed into the room a httle procession. And William, clutching the railings, watched it with bulging eyes.

  The procession was headed by an elderly man in a check suit with a carnation in his buttonhole. He was about three feet six in height, though the military jauntiness with which he carried himself made him seem fully three feet seven. He was followed by a younger man who wore spectacles and whose height was perhaps three feet four. And behind these two came, in single file, six others, scalmg down by degrees until, bringing up the rear of the procession, there entered a rather stout man in tweeds and bedroom slippers who could not have measured more than two feet eight.

  They took their places at the table. Hash was distributed to all. And the man in tweeds, having inspected his plate with obvious rehsh, removed his slippers and, picking up his knife and fork with his toes, fell to with a keen appetite.

  WiUiam MuUiner uttered a soft moan, and tottered away.

  It was a black moment for my Uncle

  William. Only an instant before he had been congratulating himself on having shaken off the effects of his first indulgence in alcohol after an abstinence of twenty-nine years; but now he perceived that he was still intoxicated.

  Intoxicated ? The word did not express it by a mile. He was oiled, boiled, fried, plastered, whiffled, sozzled, and blotto. Only by the exercise of the most consummate caution and address could he hope to get back to his hotel and reach his bedroom without causing an open scandal.

  Of course, if his walk that night had taken him a few yards farther down the street than the door of Mike's Place, he would have seen that there was a very simple explanation of the spectacle which he had just witnessed. A walk so extended would have brought him to the San Francisco Palace of Varieties, outside which large posters proclaimed the exclusive engagement for two weeks of

  MURPHY'S MIDGETS.

  Bigger and Better than Ever.

  But of the existence of these posters he was not aware ; and it is not too much to

  say that the iron entered into William Mulliner's soul.

  That his legs should have become temporarily unscrewed at the joints was a phenomenon which he had been able to bear with fortitude. That his head should be feehng as if a good many bees had decided to use it as a hive was unpleasant, but not unbearably so. But that his brain should have gone off its castors and be causing him to see visions was the end of all things.

  WiUiam had always prided himself on the keenness of his mental powers. All through the long voyage on the ship, when Desmond Franklyn had related anecdotes illustrative of his prowess as a man of Action, WiUiam MuUiner had always consoled himself by feeling that in the matter of brain he could give Franklyn three bisques and a beating any time he chose to start. And now, it seemed, he had lost even this advantage over his rival. For Franklyn, dull-witted clod though he might be, was not such an absolute minus quantity that he would imagine he had seen a man of two feet eight cutting up hash with his toes. That hideous

  depth of mental decay had been reserved for WilUam MuUiner.

  Moodily he made his way back to his hotel. In a corner of the Palm Room he saw Myrtle Banks deep in conversation with Franklyn, but all desire to give her a clout on the side of the head had now left him. With his chin sunk on his breast, he entered the elevator and was carried up to his room.

  Here as rapidly as his quivering fingers would permit, he undressed ; and, chmbing into the bed as it came round for the second time, lay for a space with wide-open eyes. He had been too shaken to switch his hght off, and the rays of the lamp shone on the handsome ceiling which undulated above him. He gave himself up to thought once more.

  No doubt, he felt, thinking it over now, his mother had had some very urgent reason for withholding him from alcoholic drink. She must have known of some family secret, sedulously guarded from his infant ears— some dark tale of a fatal MuUiner taint. *' William must never learn of this ! " she had probably said when they told her the old legend of how every MuUiner for centuries back had died a maniac, victim at last to the

  fatal fluid. And to-night, despite her gentle care, he had found out for himself.

  He saw now that this derangement of his eyesight was only the first step in the gradual dissolution which was the Mulhner Curse. Soon his sense of hearing would go, then his sense of touch.

  He sat up in bed. It seemed to him that, as he gazed at the ceiling, a considerable section of it had parted from the parent body and fallen with a crash to the floor.

  Wilham MuUiner stared dumbly. He knew, of course, that it was an illusion. But what a perfect illusion ! If he had not had the special knowledge which he possessed, he would have stated without fear of contradiction that there was a gap six feet wide above him and a mass of dust and plaster on the carpet below.

  And even as his eyes deceived him, so did his ears. He seemed to be conscious of a babel ot screams and shouts. The corridor, he could have sworn, was full of flying feet. The world appeared to be all bangs and crashes and thuds. A cold fear gripped at William's heart. His sense of hearing was playing tricks with him already.

  His whole being recoiled from making the final experiment, but he forced himself out of bed. He reached a finger towards the nearest heap of plaster and drew it back with a groan. Yes, it was as he feared, his sense of touch had gone wrong too. That heap of plaster, though purely a figment of his disordered brain, had felt solid.

  So there it was. One little moderately festive evening at Mike's Place, and the Curse of the MuUiners had got him. Within an hour of absorbing the first drink of his life, it had deprived him of his sight, his hearing, and his sense of touch. Quick service, felt William Mulliner.

  As he cHmbed back into bed, it appeared to him that two of the walls fell out. He shut his eyes, and presently sleep, which has been well called Tired Nature's Sweet Restorer, brought oblivion. His last waking thought was that he imagined he had heard another wall go.

  WilHam Mulliner was a sound sleeper, and it was many hours before consciousness returned to him. When he awoke, he looked about him in astonishment. The haunting horror of the night had passed ; and now,

  though conscious of a rather severe headache, he knew that he was seeing things as they were.

  And yet it seemed odd to think that what he beheld was not the remains of some nightmare. Not only was the world slightly yellow and a bit blurred about the edges, but it had changed in its very essentials overnight. Where eight hours before there had been a wall, only an open space appeared, with bright sunhght streaming through it. The ceihng was on the floor, and almost the only thing remaining of what had been an expensive bedroom in a first-class hotel was the bed. Very strange, he thought, and very irregular.

  A voice broke in upon his meditations.

  " Why, Mr. MuUiner ! "

  William turned, and being, like all the Mulhners, the soul of modesty, dived abruptly beneath the bed-clothes. For the voice was the voice of Myrtle Banks. And she was in his room !

  " Mr. MuUiner ! "

  William poked his head out cautiously. And then he perceived that the proprieties had not been outraged as he had imagined.

  Miss Banks was not in his room, but in the corridor. The intervening wall had disappeared. Shaken, but reHeved, he sat up in bed, the sheet drawn round his shoulders.

  " You don't mean to say you're still in bed ? " gasped the girl.

  " Why, is it awfully late ? " said WilUam.

  " Did you actually stay up here all through it ? "

  " Through what ? "

  " The earthquake."

  " What earthquake ? "

  " The earthquake last night."

  '' Oh, that earthquake ? " said William, carelessly. " I did notice some sort of an earthquake. 1 remember seeing the ceiling come down and saying to myself, ' I shouldn't wonder if that wasn't an earthquake.' And then the walls fell out, and I said, * Yes, I beUeve it is an earthquake.' And then I turned over and went to sleep."
/>   Myrtle Banks was staring at him with eyes that reminded him partly of twin stars and partly of a snail's.

  ** You must be the bravest man in the world ! "

  William gave a curt laugh.

  " Oh, well," he said, " I may not spend my whole Ufe persecuting unfortunate sharks with pocket-knives, but I find I generally manage to keep my head fairly well in a crisis. We Mulliners are like that. We do not say much, but we have the right stuff in us."

  He clutched his head. A sharp spasm had reminded him how much of the right stuff he had in him at that moment.

  " My hero ! " breathed the girl, almost inaudibly.

  " And how is your fiance this bright, sunny morning ? " asked William, nonchalantly. It was torture to refer to the man, but he must show her that a MuUiner knew how to take his medicine.

  She gave a Httle shudder.

  " I have no fiance," she said.

  " But I thought you told me you and Frankly n ..."

  " I am no longer engaged to Mr. Franklyn. Last night, when the earthquake started, I cried to him to help me ; and he with a hasty ' Some other time ! ' over his shoulder, disappeared into the open hke something shot out of a gun. I never saw a man run so fast.

  This morning I broke off the engagement." She uttered a scornful laugh.

  " Sharks and pocket-knives ! I don't believe he ever killed a shark in his hfe."

  "And even if he did," said Wilham, " what of it ? I mean to say, how infrequently in married life must the necessity for kiUing sharks with pocket-knives arise ! What a husband needs is not some purely adventitious gift like that—a parlour trick, you might almost call it—but a steady character, a warm and generous disposition, and a loving heart."

  " How true ! " she murmured, dreamily.

  " Myrtle," said WiUiam, " I would be a husband like that. The steady character, the warm and generous disposition, and the loving heart to which I have alluded are at your disposal. Will you accept them ? "

  " I will," said Myrtle Banks.

  And that (concluded Mr. MuUiner) is the

  story of my Uncle WilUam's romance. And

  you will readily understand, having heard

  it, how his eldest son, my cousin, J. S. F. E.

  MulUner, got his name.

  G 2

  " J. S. F. E. ? " I said.

  ''John San Francisco Earthquake MulHner," explained my friend.

  " There never was a San Francisco earthquake," said the Cahfomian. " Only a fire."

  VII PORTRAIT OF A DISCIPLINARIAN

  IT was with something of the rehef of fogbound city-dwellers who at last behold the sun that we perceived, on entering the bar-parlour of the Anglers' Rest, that Mr. MuUiner was seated once more in the familiar chair. For some days he had been away, paying a visit to an old nurse of his down in Devonshire : and there was no doubt that in his absence the tide of intellectual conversation had run very low.

  " No," said Mr. MulUner, in answer to a question as to whether he had enjoyed himself, " I cannot pretend that it was an altogether agreeable experience. I was conscious throughout of a sense of strain. The poor old thing is almost completely deaf, and her memory is not what it was. Moreover,

  it is a moot point whether a man of sensibility can ever be entirely at his ease in the presence of a woman who has frequently spanked him with the flat side of a hairbrush."

  Mr. MuUiner winced sUghtly, as if the old wound still troubled him.

  ''It is curious," he went on, after a thoughtful pause, '' how httle change the years bring about in the attitude of a real, genuine, crusted old family nurse towards one who in the early knickerbocker stage of his career has been a charge of hers. He may grow grey or bald and be looked up to by the rest of his world as a warm performer on the Stock Exchange or a devil of a fellow in the sphere of PoUtics or the Arts, but to his old Nanna he will still be the Master James or Master Percival who had to be hounded by threats to keep his face clean. Shakespeare would have cringed before his old nurse. So would Herbert Spencer, Attila the Hun, and the Emperor Nero. My nephew Frederick . . . but I must not bore you with my family gossip."

  We reassured him.

  " Oh well, if you wish to hear the story.

  PORTRAIT OF A DISCIPLINARIAN 203

  There is nothing much in it as a story, but it bears out the truth of what I have just been saying."

  I will begin (said Mr. Mulhner) at the moment when Frederick, having come down from London in response to an urgent summons from his brother. Doctor George Mulliner, stood in the latter's consulting-room, looking out upon the Esplanade of that quiet little watering-place, Bingley-on-Sea.

  George's consulting-room, facing west, had the advantage of getting the afternoon sun : and this afternoon it needed all the sun it could get, to counteract Frederick's extraordinary gloom. The young man's expression, as he confronted his brother, was that which a miasmic pool in some dismal swamp in the Bad Lands might have worn if it had had a face.

  "Then the position, as I see it," he said in a low, toneless voice, " is this. On the pretext of wishing to discuss urgent family business with me, you have dragged me down to this foul spot—seventy miles by rail in a compartment containing three distinct infants

  sucking sweets—merely to have tea with a nurse whom I have disUked since I was a child."

  " You have contributed to her support for many years," George reminded him.

  " Naturally, when the family were clubbing together to pension off the old blister, I chipped in with my little bit," said Frederick. " Noblesse obHge."

  " Well, noblesse obUges you to go and have tea with her when she invites you. Wilks must be humoured. She is not so young as she was."

  " She must be a hundred."

  " Eighty-five."

  " Good heavens! And it seems only yesterday that she shut me up in a cupboard for stealing jam."

  " She was a great disciplinarian," agreed George. " You may find her a little on the autocratic side still. And I want to impress upon you, as her medical man, that you must not thwart her lightest whim. She will probably offer you boiled eggs and homemade cake. Eat them."

  " I will not eat boiled eggs at five o'clock in the afternoon," said Frederick, with a

  PORTRAIT OF A DISCIPLINARIAN 205

  strong man's menacing calm, " for any woman on earth."

  " You will. And with rehsh. Her heart is weak. If you don't humour her, I won't answer for the consequences."

  " If I eat boiled eggs at five in the afternoon, I won't answer for the consequences. And why boiled eggs, dash it ? I'm not a schoolboy."

  " To her you are. She looks on all of us as children still. Last Christmas she gave me a copy of Eric, or Little by Little."

  Frederick turned to the window, and scowled down upon the noxious and depressing scene below. Sparing neither age nor sex in his detestation, he regarded the old ladies reading their library novels on the seats with precisely the same dislike and contempt which he bestowed on the boys' school clattering past on its way to the bathing-houses.

  " Then, checking up your statements," he said, " I find that I am expected to go to tea with a woman who, in addition, apparently, to being a blend of Lucretia Borgia and a Prussian sergeant-major, is a physical wreck and practically potty. WTiy ? That

  is what I ask. Why ? As a child, I objected strongly to Nurse Wilks : and now, grown to riper years, the thought of meeting her again gives me the heeby-jeebies. Why should I be victimised ? Why me particularly ? "

  " It isn't you particularly. We've all been to see her at intervals, and so have the OUphants."

  '' The Oliphants ! "

  The name seemed to affect Frederick oddly. He winced, as if his brother had been a dentist instead of a general practitioner and had just drawn one of his back teeth.

  " She was their nurse after she left us. You can't have forgotten the Ohphants. I remember you at the age of twelve climbing that old elm at the bottom of the paddock to get Jane Oliphant a rook's egg."

&nbs
p; Frederick laughed bitterly.

  " I must have been a perfect ass. Fancy risking my hfe for a girl Hke that ! Not," he went on, *' that life's worth much. An absolute wash-out, that's what Hfe is. However, it will soon be over. And then the silence and peace of the grave. That," said Frederick, " is the thought that sustains

  me."

  PORTRAIT OF A DISCIPLINARIAN 207

  " A pretty kid, Jane. Some one told me she had grown up quite a beauty."

  " Without a heart."

  " What do you know about it ? "

  " Merely this. She pretended to love me, and then a few months ago she went off to the country to stay with some people named Ponderby and wrote me a letter breaking off the engagement. She gave no reasons, and I have not seen her since. She is now engaged to a man named Dillingwater, and I hope it chokes her."

  " I never heard about this. I'm sorry."

  " I'm not. Merciful release is the way I look at it."

  " Would he be one of the Sussex DiUing-waters ? "

  " I don't know what county the family infests. If I did, I would avoid it."

  " Well, I'm sorry. No wonder you're depressed."

  '' Depressed ? " said Frederick, outraged. " Me ? You don't suppose I'm wonying myself about a girl Hke that, do you ? I've never been so happy in my life. I'm just bubbling over with cheerfulness."

  '' Oh, is that what it is ? " George looked

  at his watch. '' Well, you'd better be pushing along. It'll take you about ten minutes to get to Marazion Road."

  " How do I find the blasted house ? "

  " The name's on the door."

  " What is the name ? "

  '* Wee Holme."

  " My God! " said Frederick Mulhner. *' It only needed that ! "

  The view which he had had of it from his brother's window should, no doubt, have prepared Frederick for the hideous loathsomeness of Bingley-on-Sea: but, as he walked along, he found it coming on him as a complete surprise. Until now he had never imagined that a small town could possess so many soul-searing features. He passed httle boys, and thought how repulsive Httle boys were. He met tradesmen's carts, and his gorge rose at the sight of them. He hated the houses. And, most of all, he objected to the sun. It shone down wdth a cheeriness which was not only offensive but, it seemed to Frederick Mulhner, dehbe-rately offensive. What he wanted was wailing winds ard driving rain : not a beastly expanse of vivid blue. It was not that the