The First Men in the Moon | Page 6

very
much in my mind, and it had occurred to me that as a sentimental
comic character he might serve a useful purpose in the development of
my plot. The third day he called upon me.
For a time I was puzzled to think what had brought him. He made
indifferent conversation in the most formal way, then abruptly he came
to business. He wanted to buy me out of my bungalow.
"You see," he said, "I don't blame you in the least, but you've destroyed
a habit, and it disorganises my day. I've walked past here for years -
years. No doubt I've hummed. ... You've made all that impossible! "
I suggested he might try some other direction.
" No. There is no other direction. This is the only one. I've inquired.
And now - every afternoon at four - I come to a dead wall."
"But, my dear sir, if the thing is so important to you.."
"It's vital. You see, I'm - I'm an investigator - I am engaged in a
scientific research. I live -" he paused and seemed to think. "Just over
there," he said, and pointed suddenly dangerously near my eye. "The
house with white chimneys you see just over the trees. And my

circumstances are abnormal - abnormal. I am on the point of
completing one of the most important - demonstrations - I can assure
you one of the most important demonstrations that have ever been
made. It requires constant thought, constant mental ease and activity.
And the afternoon was my brightest time! - effervescing with new ideas
- new points of view."
"But why not come by still?"
"It would be all different. I should be self-conscious. I should think of
you at your play -watching me irritated - instead of thinking of my
work. Oh! I must have the bungalow."
I meditated. Naturally, I wanted to think the matter over thoroughly
before anything decisive was said. I was generally ready enough for
business in those days, and selling always attracted me; but in the first
place it was not my bungalow, and even if I sold it to him at a good
price I might get inconvenienced in the delivery of goods if the current
owner got wind of the transaction, and in the second I was, well - un -
discharged. It was clearly a business that required delicate handling.
Moreover, the possibility of his being in pursuit of some valuable
invention also interested me. It occurred to me that I would like to
know more of this research, not with any dishonest intention, but
simply with an idea that to know what it was would be a relief from
play-writing. I threw out feelers.
He was quite willing to supply information. Indeed, once he was fairly
under way the conversation became a monologue. He talked like a man
long pent up, who has had it over with himself again and again. He
talked for nearly an hour, and I must confess I found it a pretty stiff bit
of listening. But through it all there was the undertone of satisfaction
one feels when one is neglecting work one has set oneself. During that
first interview I gathered very little of the drift of his work. Half his
words were technicalities entirely strange to me, and he illustrated one
or two points with what he was pleased to call elementary mathematics,
computing on an envelope with a copying-ink pencil, in a manner that
made it hard even to seem to understand. "Yes," I said, "yes. Go on!"
Nevertheless I made out enough to convince me that he was no mere

crank playing at discoveries. In spite of his crank-like appearance there
was a force about him that made that impossible. Whatever it was, it
was a thing with mechanical possibilities. He told me of a work-shed
he had, and of three assistants - originally jobbing carpenters - whom
he had trained. Now, from the work-shed to the patent office is clearly
only one step. He invited me to see those things. I accepted readily, and
took care, by a remark or so, to underline that. The proposed transfer of
the bungalow remained very conveniently in suspense.
At last he rose to depart, with an apology for the length of his call.
Talking over his work was, he said, a pleasure enjoyed only too rarely.
It was not often he found such an intelligent listener as myself, he
mingled very little with professional scientific men.
"So much pettiness," he explained; "so much intrigue! And really,
when one has an idea - a novel, fertilising idea - I don't want to be
uncharitable, but -"
I am a man who believes in impulses. I made what was perhaps a rash
proposition. But