the uncommercial traveller-第60章

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foreign　parts。　　Where　he　had　been　hidden；　or　what　he　had　been

doing；　I　don't　know；　for　Flipfield　vaguely　informed　me　that　he　had

turned　up　'on　the　banks　of　the　Ganges'　…　speaking　of　him　as　if　he

had　been　washed　ashore。　　The　Long…lost　was　coming　home；　and

Flipfield　made　an　unfortunate　calculation；　based　on　the　well…known

regularity　of　the　P。　and　O。　Steamers；　that　matters　might　be　so

contrived　as　that　the　Long…lost　should　appear　in　the　nick　of　time

on　his　（Flipfield's）　birthday。　　Delicacy　commanded　that　I　should

repress　the　gloomy　anticipations　with　which　my　soul　became　fraught

when　I　heard　of　this　plan。　　The　fatal　day　arrived；　and　we　assembled

in　force。　　Mrs。　Flipfield　senior　formed　an　interesting　feature　in

the　group；　with　a　blue…veined　miniature　of　the　late　Mr。　Flipfield

round　her　neck；　in　an　oval；　resembling　a　tart　from　the

pastrycook's：　　his　hair　powdered；　and　the　bright　buttons　on　his

coat；　evidently　very　like。　　She　was　accompanied　by　Miss　Flipfield；

the　eldest　of　her　numerous　family；　who　held　her　pocket…handkerchief

to　her　bosom　in　a　majestic　manner；　and　spoke　to　all　of　us　（none　of

us　had　ever　seen　her　before）；　in　pious　and　condoning　tones；　of　all

the　quarrels　that　had　taken　place　in　the　family；　from　her　infancy　…

which　must　have　been　a　long　time　ago　…　down　to　that　hour。　　The

Long…lost　did　not　appear。　　Dinner；　half　an　hour　later　than　usual；

was　announced；　and　still　no　Long…lost。　　We　sat　down　to　table。　　The

knife　and　fork　of　the　Long…lost　made　a　vacuum　in　Nature；　and　when

the　champagne　came　round　for　the　first　time；　Flipfield　gave　him　up

for　the　day；　and　had　them　removed。　　It　was　then　that　the　Long…lost

gained　the　height　of　his　popularity　with　the　company；　for　my　own

part；　I　felt　convinced　that　I　loved　him　dearly。　　Flipfield's

dinners　are　perfect；　and　he　is　the　easiest　and　best　of

entertainers。　　Dinner　went　on　brilliantly；　and　the　more　the　Long…

lost　didn't　come；　the　more　comfortable　we　grew；　and　the　more　highly

we　thought　of　him。　　Flipfield's　own　man　（who　has　a　regard　for　me）

was　in　the　act　of　struggling　with　an　ignorant　stipendiary；　to　wrest

from　him　the　wooden　leg　of　a　Guinea…fowl　which　he　was　pressing　on

my　acceptance；　and　to　substitute　a　slice　of　the　breast；　when　a

ringing　at　the　door…bell　suspended　the　strife。　　I　looked　round　me；

and　perceived　the　sudden　pallor　which　I　knew　my　own　visage

revealed；　reflected　in　the　faces　of　the　company。　　Flipfield

hurriedly　excused　himself；　went　out；　was　absent　for　about　a　minute

or　two；　and　then　re…entered　with　the　Long…lost。



I　beg　to　say　distinctly　that　if　the　stranger　had　brought　Mont　Blanc

with　him；　or　had　come　attended　by　a　retinue　of　eternal　snows；　he

could　not　have　chilled　the　circle　to　the　marrow　in　a　more　efficient

manner。　　Embodied　Failure　sat　enthroned　upon　the　Long…lost's　brow；

and　pervaded　him　to　his　Long…lost　boots。　　In　vain　Mrs。　Flipfield

senior；　opening　her　arms；　exclaimed；　'My　Tom！'　and　pressed　his　nose

against　the　counterfeit　presentment　of　his　other　parent。　　In　vain

Miss　Flipfield；　in　the　first　transports　of　this　re…union；　showed

him　a　dint　upon　her　maidenly　cheek；　and　asked　him　if　he　remembered

when　he　did　that　with　the　bellows？　　We；　the　bystanders；　were

overcome；　but　overcome　by　the　palpable；　undisguisable；　utter；　and

total　break…down　of　the　Long…lost。　　Nothing　he　could　have　done

would　have　set　him　right　with　us　but　his　instant　return　to　the

Ganges。　　In　the　very　same　moments　it　became　established　that　the

feeling　was　reciprocal；　and　that　the　Long…lost　detested　us。　　When　a

friend　of　the　family　（not　myself；　upon　my　honour）；　wishing　to　set

things　going　again；　asked　him；　while　he　partook　of　soup　…　asked　him

with　an　amiability　of　intention　beyond　all　praise；　but　with　a

weakness　of　execution　open　to　defeat　…　what　kind　of　river　he

considered　the　Ganges；　the　Long…lost；　scowling　at　the　friend　of　the

family　over　his　spoon；　as　one　of　an　abhorrent　race；　replied；　'Why；

a　river　of　water；　I　suppose；'　and　spooned　his　soup　into　himself

with　a　malignancy　of　hand　and　eye　that　blighted　the　amiable

questioner。　　Not　an　opinion　could　be　elicited　from　the　Long…lost；

in　unison　with　the　sentiments　of　any　individual　present。　　He

contradicted　Flipfield　dead；　before　he　had　eaten　his　salmon。　　He

had　no　idea　…　or　affected　to　have　no　idea　…　that　it　was　his

brother's　birthday；　and　on　the　communication　of　that　interesting

fact　to　him；　merely　wanted　to　make　him　out　four　years　older　than　he

was。　　He　was　an　antipathetical　being；　with　a　peculiar　power　and

gift　of　treading　on　everybody's　tenderest　place。　　They　talk　in

America　of　a　man's　'Platform。'　　I　should　describe　the　Platform　of

the　Long…lost　as　a　Platform　composed　of　other　people's　corns；　on

which　he　had　stumped　his　way；　with　all　his　might　and　main；　to　his

present　position。　　It　is　needless　to　add　that　Flipfield's　great

birthday　went　by　the　board；　and　that　he　was　a　wreck　when　I

pretended　at　parting　to　wish　him　many　happy　returns　of　it。



There　is　another　class　of　birthdays　at　which　I　have　so　frequently

assisted；　that　I　may　assume　such　birthdays　to　be　pretty　well　known

to　the　human　race。　　My　friend　Mayday's　birthday　is　an　example。　　The

guests　have　no　knowledge　of　one　another　except　on　that　one　day　in

the　year；　and　are　annually　terrified　for　a　week　by　the　prospect　of

meeting　one　another　again。　　There　is　a　fiction　among　us　that　we

have　uncommon　reasons　for　being　particularly　lively　and　spirited　on

the　occasion；　whereas　deep　despondency　is　no　phrase　for　the

expression　of　our　feelings。　　But　the　wonderful　feature　of　the　case

is；　that　we　are　in　tacit　accordance　to　avoid　the　subject　…　to　keep

it　as　far　off　as　possible；　as　long　as　possible　…　and　to　talk　about

anything　else；　rather　than　the　joyful　event。　　I　may　even　go　so　far

as　to　assert　that　there　is　a　dumb　compact　among　us　that　we　will

pretend　that　it　is　NOT　Mayday's　birthday。　　A　mysterious　and　gloomy

Being；　who　is　said　to　have　gone　to　school　with　Mayday；　and　who　is

so　lank　and　lean　that　he　seriously　impugns　the　Dietary　of　the

establishment　at　which　they　were　jointly　educated；　always　leads　us；

as　I　may　say；　to　the　block；　by　laying　his　grisly　hand　on　a　decanter

and　begging　us　to　fill　our　glasses。　　The　devices　and　pretences　that

I　have　seen　put　in　practice　to　defer　the　fatal　moment；　and　to

interpose　between　this　man　and　his　purpose；　are　innumerable。　　I

have　known　desperate　guests；　when　they　saw　the　grisly　hand

approaching　the　decanter；　wildly　to　begin；　without　any　antecedent

whatsoever；　'That　reminds　me　…　'　and　to　plunge　into　long　stories。

When　at　last　the　hand　and　the　decanter　come　together；　a　shudder；　a

palpable　perceptible　shudder；　goes　round　the　table。　　We　receive　the

reminder　that　it　is　Mayday's　birthday；　as　if　it　were　the

anniversary　of　some　profound　disgrace　he　had　undergone；　and　we

sought　to　comfort　him。　　And　when　we　have　drunk　Mayday's　health；　and

wished　him　many　happy　returns；　we　are　seized　for　some　moments　with

a　ghastly　blitheness；　an　unnatural　levity；　as　if　we　were　in　the

first　flushed　reaction　of　having　undergone　a　surgical　operation。



Birthdays　of　this　species　have　a　public　as　well　as　a　private　phase。

My　'boyhood's　home；'　Dullborough；　presents　a　case　in　point。　　An

Immortal　Somebody　was　wanted　in　Dullborough；　to　dimple　for　a　day

the　stagnant　face　of　the　waters；　he　was　rather　wanted　by

Dullborough　generally；　and　much　wanted　by　the　principal　hotel…

keeper。　　The　County　history　was　looked　up　for　a　locally　Immortal

Somebody；　but　the　registered　Dullborough　worthies　were　all

Nobodies。　　In　this　state　of　things；　it　is　hardly　necessary　to

record　that　Dullborough　did　what　every　man　does　when　he　wants　to

write　a　book　or　deliver　a　lecture；　and　is　provided　with　all　the

materials　except　a　subject。　　It　fell　back　upon　Shakespeare。



No　sooner　was　it　resolved　to　celebrate　Shakespeare's　birthday　in

Dullborough；　than　the　popularity　of　the　immortal　bard　became

surprising。　　You　might　have　supposed　the　first　edition　of　his　works

to　have　been　published