“I know that,” sighed Mr. Marvel, “I
know all that.”
The unhappy-looking figure in the obsolete silk hat
passed up the street of the little village with his
burdens, and vanished into the gathering darkness
beyond the lights of the windows.
AT PORT STOWE
Ten o’clock the next morning found Mr. Marvel,
unshaven, dirty, and travel-stained, sitting with
the books beside him and his hands deep in his pockets,
looking very weary, nervous, and uncomfortable, and
inflating his cheeks at infrequent intervals, on the
bench outside a little inn on the outskirts of Port
Stowe. Beside him were the books, but now they
were tied with string. The bundle had been abandoned
in the pine-woods beyond Bramblehurst, in accordance
with a change in the plans of the Invisible Man.
Mr. Marvel sat on the bench, and although no one took
the slightest notice of him, his agitation remained
at fever heat. His hands would go ever and again
to his various pockets with a curious nervous fumbling.
When he had been sitting for the best part of an hour,
however, an elderly mariner, carrying a newspaper,
came out of the inn and sat down beside him.
“Pleasant day,” said the mariner.
Mr. Marvel glanced about him with something very like
terror. “Very,” he said.
“Just seasonable weather for the time of year,”
said the mariner, taking no denial.
“Quite,” said Mr. Marvel.
The mariner produced a toothpick, and (saving his
regard) was engrossed thereby for some minutes.
His eyes meanwhile were at liberty to examine Mr.
Marvel’s dusty figure, and the books beside
him. As he had approached Mr. Marvel he had heard
a sound like the dropping of coins into a pocket.
He was struck by the contrast of Mr. Marvel’s
appearance with this suggestion of opulence. Thence
his mind wandered back again to a topic that had taken
a curiously firm hold of his imagination.
“Books?” he said suddenly, noisily finishing
with the toothpick.
Mr. Marvel started and looked at them. “Oh,
yes,” he said. “Yes, they’re
books.”
“There’s some extra-ordinary things in
books,” said the mariner.
“I believe you,” said Mr. Marvel.
“And some extra-ordinary things out of ’em,”
said the mariner.
“True likewise,” said Mr. Marvel.
He eyed his interlocutor, and then glanced about him.
“There’s some extra-ordinary things in
newspapers, for example,” said the mariner.
“There are.”
“In this newspaper,” said the mariner.
“Ah!” said Mr. Marvel.
“There’s a story,” said the mariner,
fixing Mr. Marvel with an eye that was firm and deliberate;
“there’s a story about an Invisible Man,
for instance.”
Mr. Marvel pulled his mouth askew and scratched his
cheek and felt his ears glowing. “What
will they be writing next?” he asked faintly.
“Ostria, or America?”
