The First Men in the Moon | Page 5

gave way to amazement
and curiosity. Why on earth should a man do this thing? On the
fourteenth evening I could stand it no longer, and so soon as he
appeared I opened the french window, crossed the verandah, and
directed myself to the point where he invariably stopped.
He had his watch out as I came up to him. He had a chubby, rubicund
face with reddish brown eyes - previously I had seen him only against
the light. "One moment, sir," said I as he turned. He stared. "One
moment," he said, "certainly. Or if you wish to speak to me for longer,
and it is not asking too much - your moment is up - would it trouble
you to accompany me? "
"Not in the least," said I, placing myself beside him.
"My habits are regular. My time for intercourse - limited."
"This, I presume, is your time for exercise? "
"It is. I come here to enjoy the sunset."
"You don't."
"Sir? "
"You never look at it."
"Never look at it? "
"No. I've watched you thirteen nights, and not once have you looked at

the sunset - not once."
He knitted his brows like one who encounters a problem.
"Well, I enjoy the sunlight - the atmosphere - I go along this path,
through that gate " - he jerked his head over his shoulder - " and round
-"
"You don't. You never have been. It's all nonsense. There isn't a way.
To-night for instance"
"Oh! to-night! Let me see. Ah! I just glanced at my watch, saw that I
had already been out just three minutes over the precise half-hour,
decided there was not time to go round, turned -"
"You always do."
He looked at me - reflected. "Perhaps I do, now I come to think of it.
But what was it you wanted to speak to me about? "
"Why, this! "
"This? "
"Yes. Why do you do it? Every night you come making a noise"
"Making a noise? "
"Like this " - I imitated his buzzing noise. He looked at me, and it was
evident the buzzing awakened distaste. " Do I do that? " he asked.
"Every blessed evening."
"I had no idea."
He stopped dead. He regarded me gravely. " Can it be," he said, " that I
have formed a Habit ? "
"Well, it looks like it. Doesn't it? "

He pulled down his lower lip between finger and thumb. He regarded a
puddle at his feet.
"My mind is much occupied," he said. "And you want to know why!
Well, sir, I can assure you that not only do I not know why I do these
things, but I did not even know I did them. Come to think, it is just as
you say; I never have been beyond that field. ... And these things annoy
you? "
For some reason I was beginning to relent towards him. "Not annoy, I
said. "But - imagine yourself writing a play!"
"I couldn't."
"Well, anything that needs concentration."
"Ah!" he said, "of course," and meditated. His expression became so
eloquent of distress, that I relented still more. After all, there is a touch
of aggression in demanding of a man you don't know why he hums on a
public footpath.
"You see," he said weakly, " it's a habit."
"Oh, I recognise that."
"I must stop it."
"But not if it puts you out. After all, I had no business - it's something
of a liberty."
"Not at all, sir," he said, "not at all. I am greatly indebted to you. I
should guard myself against these things. In future I will. Could I
trouble you - once again? That noise? "
"Something like this," I said. " Zuzzoo, zuzzoo. But really, you know -"
"I am greatly obliged to you. In fact, I know I am getting absurdly
absent-minded. You are quite justified, sir - perfectly justified. Indeed,
I am indebted to you. The thing shall end. And now, sir, I have already

brought you farther than I should have done."
"I do hope my impertinence -"
"Not at all, sir, not at all."
We regarded each other for a moment. I raised my hat and wished him
a good evening. He responded convulsively, and so we went our ways.
At the stile I looked back at his receding figure. His bearing had
changed remarkably, he seemed limp, shrunken. The contrast with his
former gesticulating, zuzzoing self took me in some absurd way as
pathetic. I watched him out of sight. Then wishing very heartily I had
kept to my own business, I returned to my bungalow and my play.
The next evening I saw nothing of him, nor the next. But he was