Complete Works of J. M. Barrie

by Unknown

  Soon after Primus came to me I learned that his schoolmaster had given him a holiday task. All the “fellows” in his form had to write an essay entitled “My Holidays, and How I Turned Them to Account,” and to send it to their preceptor. Primus troubled his head little about the task while the composition of it was yet afar off; but as his time drew near he referred to it with indignation, and to his master’s action in prescribing it as a “low trick.” He frightened the housekeeper into tears by saying that he would not write a line of the task, and, what was more, he would “cheek” his master for imposing it; and I also heard that he and Johnny had some thought of writing the essay in a form suggested by their perusal of the “Comic History of Rome.” One day I found a paper in my chambers which told me that the task was nevertheless receiving serious consideration. It was the instructions given by Primus’s master with regard to the essay, which was to be “in the form of a letter,” and “not less than five hundred words in length.” The writer, it was suggested, should give a general sketch of how he was passing his time, what books he was reading, and “how he was making the home brighter.” I did not know that Primus had risen equal to the occasion until one day after his departure, when I received his epistle from the schoolmaster, who wanted me to say whether it was a true statement. Here is Primus’s essay on his holidays and how he made the home brighter:

  “Respected Sir: — I venture to address you on a subject of jeneral interest to all engaged in education, and the subject I venture to address you on is, ‘My Hollidays and How I Turned Them to Account.’ Three weeks and two days has now elapsed since I quitted your scholastic establishment, and I quitted your scholastic establishment with tears in my eyes, it being the one of all the scholastic establishments I have been at that I loved to reside in, and everybody was of an amiable disposition. Hollidays is good for making us renew our studdies with redoubled vigor, the mussels needing to be invigorated, and I have not overworked mind and body in my hollidays. I found my uncle well, and drove in a handsome to the door, and he thought I was much improved both in appearance and manners; and I said it was jew to the loving care of my teacher making improvement in appearance and manners a pleasure to the youth of England. My uncle was partiklarly pleased with the improvement I had made, not only in my appearance and manners, but also in my studies; and I told him Casear was the Latin writer I liked best, and quoted ‘veni, vidi, vici,’ and some others which I regret I cannot mind at present. With your kind permission I should like to write you a line about how I spend my days during the hollidays; and my first way of spending my days during the hollidays is whatsoever my hands find to do doing it with all my might; also setting my face nobly against hurting the fealings of others, and minding to say, before I go to sleep, ‘Something attempted, something done, to earn a night’s repose,’ as advised by you, my esteemed communicant. I spend my days during the hollidays getting up early, so as to be down in time for breakfast, and not to give no trouble. At breakfast I behave like a model, so as to set a good example; and then I go out for a walk with my esteemed young friend, John Fox, whom I chose carefully for a friend, fearing to corrupt my morals by holding communications with rude boys. The J. Fox whom I mentioned is esteemed by all who knows him as of a unusually gentle disposition; and you know him, respected sir, yourself, he being in my form, and best known in regretble slang as ‘Foxy.’ We walks in Hyde Park admiring the works of nature, and keeps up our classics when we see a tree by calling it ‘arbor’ and then going through the declensions; but we never climbs trees for fear of messing the clothes bestowed upon us by our beloved parents in the sweat of their brow; and we scorns to fling stones at the beautiful warblers which fill the atmosfere with music. In the afternoons I spend my days during the hollidays talking with the housekeeper about the things she understands, like not taking off my flannels till June 15, and also praising the matron at the school for seeing about the socks. In the evening I devote myself to whatever good cause I can think of; and I always take off my boots and put on my slippers, so as not to soil the carpet. I should like, respected sir, to inform you of the books I read when my duties does not call me elsewhere; and the books I read are the works of William Shakespeare, John Milton, Albert Tennyson, and Francis Bacon. Me and John Fox also reads the ‘History of Rome,’ so as to prime ourselves with the greatness of the past; and we hopes the glorious examples of Romulus and Remus, but especially Hannibal, will sink into our minds to spur us along. I am desirous to acquaint you with the way I make my uncle’s home brighter; but the 500 words is up. So looking forward eagerly to resume my studdies, I am, respected sir, your dilligent pupil.”

  CHAPTER XX.

  PRIMUS TO HIS UNCLE.

  Though we all pretended to be glad when Primus went, we spoke of him briefly at times, and I read his letters aloud at our evening meetings. Here is a series of them from my desk. Primus was now a year and a half older and his spelling had improved.

  I.

  November 16th.

  Dear Uncle: — Though I have not written to you for a long time I often think about you and Mr. Gilray and the rest and the Arcadia Mixture, and I beg to state that my mother will have informed you I am well and happy but a little overworked, as I am desirous of pleasing my preceptor by obtaining a credible position in the exams, and we breakfast at 7:30 sharp. I suppose you are to give me a six-shilling thing again as a Christmas present, so I drop you a line not to buy something I don’t want, as it is only thirty-nine days to Christmas. I think I’ll have a book again, but not a fairy tale or any of that sort, nor the “Swiss Family Robinson,” nor any of the old books. There is a rattling story called “Kidnapped,” by H. Rider Haggard, but it is only five shillings, so if you thought of it you could make up the six shillings by giving me a football belt. Last year you gave me “The Formation of Character,” and I read it with great mental improvement and all that, but this time I want a change, namely, (1) not a fairy tale, (2) not an old book, (3) not mental improvement book. Don’t fix on anything without telling me first what it is. Tell William John I walked into Darky and settled him in three rounds. Best regards to Mr. Gilray and the others.

  II.

  November 19th.

  Dear Uncle: — Our preceptor is against us writing letters he doesn’t see, so I have to carry the paper to the dormitory up my waistcoat and write there, and I wish old Poppy smoked the Arcadia Mixture to make him more like you. Never mind about the football belt, as I got Johnny Fox’s for two white mice; so I don’t want “Kidnapped,” which I wrote about to you, as I want you to stick to six-shilling book. There is one called “Dead Man’s Rock” that Dickson Secundus has heard about, and it sounds well; but it is never safe to go by the name, so don’t buy it till I hear more about it. If you see biographies of it in the newspapers you might send them to me, as it should be about pirates by the title, but the author does not give his name, which is rather suspicious. So, remember, don’t buy it yet, and also find out price, whether illustrated, and how many pages. Ballantyne’s story this year is about the fire-brigade; but I don’t think I’ll have it, as he is getting rather informative, and I have one of his about the fire-brigade already. Of course I don’t fix not to have it, only don’t buy it at present. Don’t buy “Dead Man’s Rock” either. I am working diligently, and tell the housekeeper my socks is all right. We may fix on “Dead Man’s Rock,” but it is best not to be in a hurry.

  III.

  November 24th.

  Dear Uncle: — I don’t think I’ll have “Dead Man’s Rock,” as Hope has two stories out this year, and he is a safe man to go to. The worst of it is that they are three-and-six each, and Dickson Secundus says they are continuations of each other, so it is best to have them both or neither. The two at three-and-six would make seven shillings, and I wonder if you would care to go that length this year. I am getting on first rate with my Greek, and will do capital

  if my health does not break down with overpressure. Perhaps if you bought the two you would
get them for 6s. 6d. Or what do you say to the housekeeper’s giving me a shilling of it, and not sending the neckties?

  IV.

  November 26th.

  Dear Uncle: — I was disappointed at not hearing from you this morning, but conclude you are very busy. I don’t want Hope’s books, but I think I’ll rather have a football. We played Gloucester on Tuesday and beat them all to sticks (five goals two tries to one try!!!). It would cost 7s. 6d., and I’ll make up the one-and-six myself out of my pocket-money; but you can pay it all just now, and then I’ll pay you later when I am more flush than I am at present. I’d better buy it myself, or you might not get the right kind, so you might send the money in a postal order by return. You get the postal orders at the nearest postoffice, and inclose them in a letter. I want the football at once. (1) Not a book of any kind whatever; (2) a football, but I’ll buy it myself; (3) price 7s. 6d.; (4) send postal order.

  V.

  November 29th.

  Dear Uncle: — Kindly inform William John that I am in receipt of his favor of yesterday prox., and also your message, saying am I sure it is a football I want. I have to inform you that I have changed my mind and think I’ll stick to a book (or two books according to price), after all. Dickson Secundus has seen a newspaper biography of “Dead Man’s Rock” and it is ripping, but, unfortunately, there is a lot in it about a girl. So don’t buy “Dead Man’s Rock” for me. I told Fox about Hope’s two books and he advises me to get one of them (3s. 6d.), and to take the rest of the money (2s. 6d.) in cash, making in all six shillings. I don’t know if I should like that plan, though fair to both parties, as Dickson Secundus once took money from his father instead of a book and it went like winking with nothing left to show for it; but I’ll think it over between my scholastic tasks and write to you again, so do nothing till you hear from me, and mind I don’t want football.

  VI.

  December 3d.

  Dear Uncle: — Don’t buy Hope’s books. There is a grand story out by Jules Verne about a man who made a machine that enabled him to walk on his head through space with seventy-five illustrations; but the worst of it is it costs half a guinea. Of course I don’t ask you to give so much as that; but it is a pity it cost so much, as it is evidently a ripping book, and nothing like it. Ten-and-six is a lot of money. What do you think? I inclose for your consideration a newspaper account of it, which says it will fire the imagination and teach boys to be manly and self-reliant. Of course you could not give it to me; but I think it would do me good, and am working so hard that I have no time for physical exercise. It is to be got at all booksellers. P.S. — Fox has read “Dead Man’s Rock,” and likes it A 1.

  VII.

  December 4th.

  Dear Uncle: — I was thinking about Jules Verne’s book last night after I went to bed, and I see a way of getting it which both Dickson Secundus and Fox consider fair. I want you to give it to me as my Christmas present for both this year and next year. Thus I won’t want a present from you next Christmas; but I don’t mind that so long as I get this book. One six-shilling book this year and another next year would come to 12s., and Jules Verne’s book is only 10s. 6d., so this plan will save you 1s. 6d. in the long run. I think you should buy it at once, in case they are all sold out before Christmas.

  VIII.

  December 5th.

  My Dear Uncle: — I hope you haven’t bought the book yet, as Dickson Secundus has found out that there is a shop in the Strand where all the books are sold cheap. You get threepence off every shilling, so you would get a ten-and-six book for 7s. 10-½d. That will let you get me a cheapish one next year, after all. I inclose the address.

  IX.

  December 7th.

  Dear Uncle: — Dickson Secundus was looking to-day at “The Formation of Character,” which you gave me last year, and he has found out that it was bought in the shop in the Strand that I wrote you about, so you got it for 4s. 6d. We have been looking up the books I got from you at other Christmases, and they all have the stamp on them which shows they were bought at that shop. Some of them I got when I was a kid, and that was the time you gave me 2s. and 3s. 6d. books; but Dickson Secundus and Fox have been helping me to count up how much you owe me as follows:

  Thus 6s. 4½d. is the exact sum. The best plan will be for you not to buy anything for me till I get my holidays, when my father is to bring me to London. Tell William John I am coming.

  P.S. — I told my father about the Arcadia Mixture, and that is why he is coming to London.

  CHAPTER XXI.

  ENGLISH-GROWN TOBACCO.

  Pettigrew asked me to come to his house one evening and test some tobacco that had been grown in his brother’s Devonshire garden. I had so far had no opportunity of judging for myself whether this attempt to grow tobacco on English soil was to succeed. Very complimentary was Pettigrew’s assertion that he had restrained himself from trying the tobacco until we could test it in company. At the dinner-table while Mrs. Pettigrew was present we managed to talk for a time of other matters; but the tobacco was on our minds, and I was glad to see that, despite her raillery, my hostess had a genuine interest in the coming experiment. She drew an amusing picture, no doubt a little exaggerated, of her husband’s difficulty in refraining from testing the tobacco until my arrival, declaring that every time she entered the smoking-room she found him staring at it. Pettigrew took this in good part, and informed me that she had carried the tobacco several times into the drawingroom to show it proudly to her friends. He was very delighted, he said, that I was to remain over night, as that would give us a long evening to test the tobacco thoroughly. A neighbor of his had also been experimenting; and Pettigrew, who has a considerable sense of humor, told me a diverting story about this gentleman and his friends having passed judgment on home-grown tobacco after smoking one pipe of it! We were laughing over the ridiculously unsatisfactory character of this test (so called) when we adjourned to the smoking-room. Before we did so Mrs. Pettigrew bade me goodnight. She had also left strict orders with the servants that we were on no account to be disturbed.

  As soon as we were comfortably seated in our smoking-chairs, which takes longer than some people think, Pettigrew offered me a Cabana. I would have preferred to begin at once with the tobacco; but of course he was my host, and I put myself entirely in his hands. I noticed that, from the moment his wife left us, he was a little excited, talking more than is his wont. He seemed to think that he was not doing his duty as a host if the conversation flagged for a moment, and what was still more curious, he spoke of everything except his garden tobacco. I emphasize this here at starting, lest any one should think that I was in any way responsible for the manner in which our experiment was conducted. If fault there was, it lies at Pettigrew’s door. I remember distinctly asking him — not in a half-hearted way, but boldly — to produce his tobacco. I did this at an early hour of the proceedings, immediately after I had lighted a second cigar. The reason I took that cigar will be obvious to every gentleman who smokes. Had I declined it, Pettigrew might have thought that I disliked the brand, which would have been painful to him. However, he did not at once bring out the tobacco; indeed, his precise words, I remember, were that we had lots of time. As his guest I could not press him further.

  Pettigrew smokes more quickly than I do, and he had reached the end of his second cigar when there was still five minutes of mine left. It distresses me to have to say what followed. He hastily lighted a third cigar, and then, unlocking a cupboard, produced about two ounces of his garden tobacco. His object was only too plain. Having just begun a third cigar he could not be expected to try the tobacco at present, but there was nothing to prevent my trying it. I regarded Pettigrew rather contemptuously, and then I looked with much interest at the tobacco. It was of an inky color. When I looked up I caught Pettigrew’s eye on me. He withdrew it hurriedly, but soon afterward I saw him looking in the same sly way again. There was a rather painful silence for a time, and then he asked me if I had anything to say.
I replied firmly that I was looking forward to trying the tobacco with very great interest. By this time my cigar was reduced to a stump, but, for reasons that Pettigrew misunderstood, I continued to smoke it. Somehow our chairs had got out of position now, and we were sitting with our backs to each other. I felt that Pettigrew was looking at me covertly over his shoulder, and took a side glance to make sure of this. Our eyes met, and I bit my lip. If there is one thing I loathe, it is to be looked at in this shamefaced manner.

  I continued to smoke the stump of my cigar until it scorched my underlip, and at intervals Pettigrew said, without looking round, that my cigar seemed everlasting. I treated his innuendo with contempt; but at last I had to let the cigar-end go. Not to make a fuss, I dropped it very quietly; but Pettigrew must have been listening for the sound. He wheeled round at once, and pushed the garden tobacco toward me. Never, perhaps, have I thought so little of him as at that moment. My indignation probably showed in my face, for he drew back, saying that he thought I “wanted to try it.” Now I had never said that I did not want to try it. The reader has seen that I went to Pettigrew’s house solely with the object of trying the tobacco. Had Pettigrew, then, any ground for insinuating that I did not mean to try it? Restraining my passion, I lighted a third cigar, and then put the question to him bluntly. Did he, or did he not, mean to try that tobacco? I dare say I was a little brusque; but it must be remembered that I had come all the way from the inn, at considerable inconvenience, to give the tobacco a thorough trial.

  As is the way with men of Pettigrew’s type, when you corner them, he attempted to put the blame on me. “Why had I not tried the tobacco,” he asked, “instead of taking a third cigar?” For reply, I asked bitingly if that was not his third cigar. He admitted it was, but said that he smoked more quickly than I did, as if that put his behavior in a more favorable light. I smoked my third cigar very slowly, not because I wanted to put off the experiment; for, as every one must have noted, I was most anxious to try it, but just to see what would happen. When Pettigrew had finished his cigar — and I thought he would never be done with it — he gazed at the garden tobacco for a time, and then took a pipe from the mantelpiece. He held it first in one hand, then in the other, and then he brightened up and said he would clean his pipes. This he did very slowly. When he had cleaned all his pipes he again looked at the garden tobacco, which I pushed toward him. He glared at me as if I had not been doing a friendly thing, and then said, in an apologetic manner, that he would smoke a pipe until my cigar was finished. I said “All right” cordially, thinking that he now meant to begin the experiment; but conceive my feelings when he produced a jar of the Arcadia Mixture. He filled his pipe with this and proceeded to light it, looking at me defiantly. His excuse about waiting till I had finished was too pitiful to take notice of. I finished my cigar in a few minutes, and now was the time when I would have liked to begin the experiment. As Pettigrew’s guest, however, I could not take that liberty, though he impudently pushed the garden tobacco toward me. I produced my pipe, my intention being only to half fill it with Arcadia, so that Pettigrew and I might finish our pipes at the same time. Custom, however, got the better of me, and inadvertently I filled my pipe, only noticing this when it was too late to remedy the mistake. Pettigrew thus finished before me; and though I advised him to begin on the garden tobacco without waiting for me, he insisted on smoking half a pipeful of Arcadia, just to keep me company. It was an extraordinary thing that, try as we might, we could not finish our pipes at the same time.