Tobermory
by H.H. Munro
It
was a chill, rain-washed afternoon of a late August day, that
indefinite season when partridges are still in security or cold storage,
and there is nothing to hunt - unless one is bounded on the north by
the Bristol Channel, in which case one may lawfully gallop after fat red
stags. Lady Blemley's house- party was not bounded on the north by the
Bristol Channel, hence there was a full gathering of her guests round
the tea-table on this particular afternoon. And, in spite of the
blankness of the season and the triteness of the occasion, there was no
trace in the company of that fatigued restlessness which means a dread
of the pianola and a subdued hankering for auction bridge. The
undisguised open-mouthed attention of the entire party was fixed on the
homely negative personality of Mr. Cornelius Appin. Of all her guests,
he was the one who had come to Lady Blemley with the vaguest reputation.
Some one had said he was "clever," and he had got his invitation in the
moderate expectation, on the part of his hostess, that some portion at
least of his cleverness would be contributed to the general
entertainment. Until tea-time that day she had been unable to discover
in what direction, if any, his cleverness lay. He was neither a wit nor a
croquet champion, a hypnotic force nor a begetter of amateur
theatricals. Neither did his exterior suggest the sort of man in whom
women are willing to pardon a generous measure of mental deficiency. He
had subsided into mere Mr. Appin, and the Cornelius seemed a piece of
transparent baptismal bluff. And now he was claiming to have launched on
the world a discovery beside which the invention of gunpowder, of the
printing-press, and of steam locomotion were inconsiderable trifles.
Science had made bewildering strides in many directions during recent
decades, but this thing seemed to belong to the domain of miracle rather
than to scientific achievement.
"And do you really ask us to
believe," Sir Wilfrid was saying, "that you have discovered a means for
instructing animals in the art of human speech, and that dear old
Tobermory has proved your first successful pupil?"
"It is a
problem at which I have worked for the last seventeen years," said Mr.
Appin, "but only during the last eight or nine months have I been
rewarded with glimmerings of success. Of course I have experimented with
thousands of animals, but latterly only with cats, those wonderful
creatures which have assimilated themselves so marvellously with our
civilization while retaining all their highly developed feral instincts.
Here and there among cats one comes across an outstanding superior
intellect, just as one does among the ruck of human beings, and when I
made the acquaintance of Tobermory a week ago I saw at once that I was
in contact with a `Beyond-cat' of extraordinary intelligence. I had gone
far along the road to success in recent experiments; with Tobermory, as
you call him, I have reached the goal."
Mr. Appin concluded his
remarkable statement in a voice which he strove to divest of a
triumphant inflection. No one said "Rats," though Clovis's lips moved in
a monosyllabic contortion which probably invoked those rodents of
disbelief.
"And do you mean to say," asked Miss Resker, after a
slight pause, "that you have taught Tobermory to say and understand easy
sentences of one syllable?"
"My dear Miss Resker," said the
wonder-worker patiently, "one teaches little children and savages and
backward adults in that piecemeal fashion; when one has once solved the
problem of making a beginning with an animal of highly developed
intelligence one has no need for those halting methods. Tobermory can
speak our language with perfect correctness."
This time Clovis very distinctly said, "Beyond-rats!" Sir Wilfrid was more polite, but equally sceptical.
"Hadn't we better have the cat in and judge for ourselves?" suggested Lady Blemley.
Sir
Wilfrid went in search of the animal, and the company settled
themselves down to the languid expectation of witnessing some more or
less adroit drawing- room ventriloquism.
In a minute Sir Wilfrid
was back in the room, his face white beneath its tan and his eyes
dilated with excitement. "By Gad, it's true!"
His agitation was unmistakably genuine, and his hearers started forward in a thrill of awakened interest.
Collapsing
into an armchair he continued breathlessly: "I found him dozing in the
smoking-room and called out to him to come for his tea. He blinked at me
in his usual way, and I said, 'Come on, Toby; don't keep us waiting';
and, by Gad! he drawled out in a most horribly natural voice that he'd
come when he dashed well pleased! I nearly jumped out of my skin!"
Appin
had preached to absolutely incredulous hearers; Sir Wilfred's statement
carried instant conviction. A Babel-like chorus of startled exclamation
arose, amid which the scientist sat mutely enjoying the first fruit of
his stupendous discovery.
In the midst of the clamour Tobermory
entered the room and made his way with velvet tread and studied
unconcern across to the group seated round the tea- table.
A
sudden hush of awkwardness and constraint fell on the company. Somehow
there seemed an element of embarrassment in addressing on equal terms a
domestic cat of acknowledged mental ability.
"Will you have some milk, Tobermory?" asked Lady Blemley in a rather strained voice.
"I
don't mind if I do," was the response, couched in a tone of even
indifference. A shiver of suppressed excitement went through the
listeners, and Lady Blemley might be excused for pouring out the
saucerful of milk rather unsteadily.
"I'm afraid I've spilt a good deal of it," she said apologetically.
"After all, it's not my Axminster," was Tobermory's rejoinder.
Another
silence fell on the group, and then Miss Resker, in her best district-
visitor manner, asked if the human language had been difficult to learn.
Tobermory looked squarely at her for a moment and then fixed his gaze
serenely on the middle distance. It was obvious that boring questions
lay outside his scheme of life.
"What do you think of human intelligence?" asked Mavis Pellington lamely.
"Of whose intelligence in particular?" asked Tobermory coldly.
"Oh, well, mine for instance," said Mavis, with a feeble laugh.
"You
put me in an embarrassing position," said Tobermory, whose tone and
attitude certainly did not suggest a shred of embarrassment. "When your
inclusion in this house-party was suggested, Sir Wilfrid protested that
you were the most brainless woman of his acquaintance, and that there
was a wide distinction between hospitality and the care of the
feeble-minded. Lady Blemley replied that your lack of brain-power was
the precise quality which had earned you your invitation, as you were
the only person she could think of who might be idiotic enough to buy
their old car. You know, the one they call 'The Envy of Sisyphus,'
because it goes quite nicely up-hill if you push it."
Lady
Blemley's protestations would have had greater effect if she had not
casually suggested to Mavis only that morning that the car in question
would be just the thing for her down at her Devonshire home.
Major Barfield plunged in heavily to effect a diversion.
"How about your carryings-on with the tortoise-shell puss up at the stables, eh?"
The moment he had said it every one realized the blunder.
"One
does not usually discuss these matters in public," said Tobermory
frigidly. "From a slight observation of your ways since you've been in
this house I should imagine you'd find it inconvenient if I were to
shift the conversation on to your own little affairs."
The panic which ensued was not confined to the Major.
"Would
you like to go and see if cook has got your dinner ready?" suggested
Lady Blemley hurriedly, affecting to ignore the fact that it wanted at
least two hours to Tobermory's dinner-time.
"Thanks," said Tobermory, "not quite so soon after my tea. I don't want to die of indigestion."
"Cats have nine lives, you know," said Sir Wilfrid heartily.
"Possibly", answered Tobermory; "but only one liver."
"Adelaide!" said Mrs. Cornett, "do you mean to encourage that cat to go out and gossip about us in the servants' hall?"
The
panic had indeed become general. A narrow ornamental balustrade ran in
front of most of the bedroom windows at the Towers, and it was recalled
with dismay that this had formed a favourite promenade for Tobermory at
all hours, whence he could watch the pigeons - and heaven knew what else
besides. If he intended to become reminiscent in his present outspoken
strain the effect would be something more than disconcerting. Mrs.
Cornett, who spent much time at her toilet table, and whose complexion
was reputed to be of a nomadic though punctual disposition, looked as
ill at ease as the Major. Miss Scrawen, who wrote fiercely sensuous
poetry and led a blameless life, merely displayed irritation; if you are
methodical and virtuous in private you don't necessarily want every one
to know it. Bertie van Tahn, who was so depraved at seventeen that he
had long ago given up trying to be any worse, turned a dull shade of
gardenia white, but he did not commit the error of dashing out of the
room like Odo Finsberry, a young gentleman who was understood to be
reading for the Church and who was possibly disturbed at the thought of
scandals he might hear concerning other people. Clovis had the presence
of mind to maintain a composed exterior; privately he was calculating
how long it would take to procure a box of fancy mice through the agency
of the Exchange and Mart as a species of hush- money.
Even in a delicate situation like the present, Agnes Resker could not endure to remain too long in the background.
"Why did I ever come down here?" she asked dramatically.
Tobermory immediately accepted the opening.
"Judging
by what you said to Mrs. Cornett on the croquet-lawn yesterday, you
were out for food. You described the Blemleys as the dullest people to
stay with that you knew, but said they were clever enough to employ a
first-rate cook; otherwise they'd find it difficult to get any one to
come down a second time."
"There's not a word of truth in it! I appeal to Mrs. Cornett--" exclaimed the discomfited Agnes.
"Mrs.
Cornett repeated your remark afterwards to Bertie van Tahn," continued
Tobermory, "and said, 'That woman is a regular Hunger Marcher; she'd go
anywhere for four square meals a day,' and Bertie van Tahn said--"
At
this point the chronicle mercifully ceased. Tobermory had caught a
glimpse of the big yellow Tom from the Rectory working his way through
the shrubbery towards the stable wing. In a flash he had vanished
through the open French window.
With the disappearance of his too
brilliant pupil Cornelius Appin found himself beset by a hurricane of
bitter upbraiding, anxious inquiry, and frightened entreaty. The
responsibility for the situation lay with him, and he must prevent
matters from becoming worse. Could Tobermory impart his dangerous gift
to other cats? was the first question he had to answer. It was possible,
he replied, that he might have initiated his intimate friend the stable
puss into his new accomplishment, but it was unlikely that his teaching
could have taken a wider range as yet.
"Then," said Mrs. Cornett,
"Tobermory may be a valuable cat and a great pet; but I'm sure you'll
agree, Adelaide, that both he and the stable cat must be done away with
without delay."
"You don't suppose I've enjoyed the last quarter
of an hour, do you?" said Lady Blemley bitterly. "My husband and I are
very fond of Tobermory - at least, we were before this horrible
accomplishment was infused into him; but now, of course, the only thing
is to have him destroyed as soon as possible."
"We can put some
strychnine in the scraps he always gets at dinner-time," said Sir
Wilfrid, "and I will go and drown the stable cat myself. The coachman
will be very sore at losing his pet, but I'll say a very catching form
of mange has broken out in both cats and we're afraid of its spreading
to the kennels."
"But my great discovery!" expostulated Mr. Appin; "after all my years of research and experiment--"
"You
can go and experiment on the short-horns at the farm, who are under
proper control," said Mrs. Cornett, "or the elephants at the Zoological
Gardens. They're said to be highly intelligent, and they have this
recommendation, that they don't come creeping about our bedrooms and
under chairs, and so forth."
An archangel ecstatically proclaiming
the Millennium, and then finding that it clashed unpardonably with
Henley and would have to be indefinitely postponed, could hardly have
felt more crestfallen than Cornelius Appin at the reception of his
wonderful achievement. Public opinion, however, was against him - in
fact, had the general voice been consulted on the subject it is probable
that a strong minority vote would have been in favour of including him
in the strychnine diet.
Defective train arrangements and a nervous
desire to see matters brought to a finish prevented an immediate
dispersal of the party, but dinner that evening was not a social
success. Sir Wilfrid had had rather a trying time with the stable cat
and subsequently with the coachman. Agnes Resker ostentatiously limited
her repast to a morsel of dry toast, which she bit as though it were a
personal enemy; while Mavis Pellington maintained a vindictive silence
throughout the meal. Lady Blemley kept up a flow of what she hoped was
conversation, but her attention was fixed on the doorway. A plateful of
carefully dosed fish scraps was in readiness on the sideboard, but
sweets and savoury and dessert went their way, and no Tobermory appeared
either in the dining-room or kitchen.
The sepulchral dinner was
cheerful compared with the subsequent vigil in the smoking-room. Eating
and drinking had at least supplied a distraction and cloak to the
prevailing embarrassment. Bridge was out of the question in the general
tension of nerves and tempers, and after Odo Finsberry had given a
lugubrious rendering of "Melisande in the Wood" to a frigid audience,
music was tacitly avoided. At eleven the servants went to bed,
announcing that the small window in the pantry had been left open as
usual for Tobermory's private use. The guests read steadily through the
current batch of magazines, and fell back gradually on the "Badminton
Library" and bound volumes of Punch. Lady Blemley made periodic visits
to the pantry, returning each time with an expression of listless
depression which forestalled questioning.
At two o'clock Clovis broke the dominating silence.
"He
won't turn up tonight. He's probably in the local newspaper office at
the present moment, dictating the first instalment of his reminiscences.
Lady What's-her-name's book won't be in it. It will be the event of the
day."
Having made this contribution to the general cheerfulness,
Clovis went to bed. At long intervals the various members of the
house-party followed his example.
The servants taking round the early tea made a uniform announcement in reply to a uniform question. Tobermory had not returned.
Breakfast
was, if anything, a more unpleasant function than dinner had been, but
before its conclusion the situation was relieved. Tobermory's corpse was
brought in from the shrubbery, where a gardener had just discovered it.
From the bites on his throat and the yellow fur which coated his claws
it was evident that he had fallen in unequal combat with the big Tom
from the Rectory.
By midday most of the guests had quitted the
Towers, and after lunch Lady Blemley had sufficiently recovered her
spirits to write an extremely nasty letter to the Rectory about the loss
of her valuable pet.
Tobermory had been Appin's one successful
pupil, and he was destined to have no successor. A few weeks later an
elephant in the Dresden Zoological Garden, which had shown no previous
signs of irritability, broke loose and killed an Englishman who had
apparently been teasing it. The victim's name was variously reported in
the papers as Oppin and Eppelin, but his front name was faithfully
rendered Cornelius.
"If he was trying German irregular verbs on the poor beast," said Clovis, "he deserved all he got."
