the club of queer trades-第11部分

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uck　it；　fat　'ead；'　and　she　added　something　that　sounded　like　‘It's　a　kop'；　or　（possibly）　‘a　kopt'。　And　then　the　last　cord；　either　of　my　sanity　or　the　sanity　of　the　universe；　snapped　suddenly。　My　esteemed　friend　and　helper；　Miss　Brett；　standing　by　the　mantelpiece；　said：　‘Put　'is　old　'ead　in　a　bag；　Sam；　and　tie　'im　up　before　you　start　jawin'。　You'll　be　kopt　yourselves　some　o'　these　days　with　this　way　of　coin'　things；　har　lar　theater。'

〃My　head　went　round　and　round。　Was　it　really　true；　as　I　had　suddenly　fancied　a　moment　before；　that　unmarried　ladies　had　some　dreadful　riotous　society　of　their　own　from　which　all　others　were　excluded？　I　remembered　dimly　in　my　classical　days　（I　was　a　scholar　in　a　small　way　once；　but　now；　alas！　rusty）；　I　remembered　the　mysteries　of　the　Bona　Dea　and　their　strange　female　freemasonry。　I　remembered　the　witches'　Sabbaths。　I　was　just；　in　my　absurd　lightheadedness；　trying　to　remember　a　line　of　verse　about　Diana's　nymphs；　when　Miss　Mowbray　threw　her　arm　round　me　from　behind。　The　moment　it　held　me　I　knew　it　was　not　a　woman's　arm。

〃Miss　Brettor　what　I　had　called　Miss　Brettwas　standing　in　front　of　me　with　a　big　revolver　in　her　hand　and　a　broad　grin　on　her　face。　Miss　James　was　still　leaning　against　the　door；　but　had　fallen　into　an　attitude　so　totally　new；　and　so　totally　unfeminine；　that　it　gave　one　a　shock。　She　was　kicking　her　heels；　with　her　hands　in　her　pockets　and　her　cap　on　one　side。　She　was　a　man。　I　mean　he　was　a　wono；　that　is　I　saw　that　instead　of　being　a　woman　shehe；　I　meanthat　is；　it　was　a　man。〃

Mr　Shorter　became　indescribably　flurried　and　flapping　in　endeavouring　to　arrange　these　genders　and　his　plaid　shawl　at　the　same　time。　He　resumed　with　a　higher　fever　of　nervousness：

〃As　for　Miss　Mowbray；　shehe；　held　me　in　a　ring　of　iron。　He　had　her　armthat　is　she　had　his　armround　her　neckmy　neck　I　mean　and　I　could　not　cry　out。　Miss　Brettthat　is；　Mr　Brett；　at　least　Mr　something　who　was　not　Miss　Bretthad　the　revolver　pointed　at　me。　The　other　two　ladiesor　ergentlemen；　were　rummaging　in　some　bag　in　the　background。　It　was　all　clear　at　last：　they　were　criminals　dressed　up　as　women；　to　kidnap　me！　To　kidnap　the　Vicar　of　Chuntsey；　in　Essex。　But　why？　Was　it　to　be　Nonconformists？

〃The　brute　leaning　against　the　door　called　out　carelessly；　‘'Urry　up；　'Arry。　Show　the　old　bloke　what　the　game　is；　and　let's　get　off。'

〃‘Curse　'is　eyes；'　said　Miss　BrettI　mean　the　man　with　the　revolver‘why　should　we　show　'im　the　game？'

〃‘If　you　take　my　advice　you　bloomin'　well　will；'　said　the　man　at　the　door；　whom　they　called　Bill。　‘A　man　wot　knows　wet　'e's　doin'　is　worth　ten　wot　don't；　even　if　'e's　a　potty　old　parson。'

〃‘Bill's　right　enough；'　said　the　coarse　voice　of　the　man　who　held　me　（it　had　been　Miss　Mowbray's）。　‘Bring　out　the　picture；　'Arry。'

〃The　man　with　the　revolver　walked　across　the　room　to　where　the　other　two　womenI　mean　menwere　turning　over　baggage；　and　asked　them　for　something　which　they　gave　him。　He　came　back　with　it　across　the　room　and　held　it　out　in　front　of　me。　And　compared　to　the　surprise　of　that　display；　all　the　previous　surprises　of　this　awful　day　shrank　suddenly。

〃It　was　a　portrait　of　myself。　That　such　a　picture　should　be　in　the　hands　of　these　scoundrels　might　in　any　case　have　caused　a　mild　surprise；　but　no　more。　It　was　no　mild　surprise　that　I　felt。　The　likeness　was　an　extremely　good　one；　worked　up　with　all　the　accessories　of　the　conventional　photographic　studio。　I　was　leaning　my　head　on　my　hand　and　was　relieved　against　a　painted　landscape　of　woodland。　It　was　obvious　that　it　was　no　snapshot；　it　was　clear　that　I　had　sat　for　this　photograph。　And　the　truth　was　that　I　had　never　sat　for　such　a　photograph。　It　was　a　photograph　that　I　had　never　had　taken。

〃I　stared　at　it　again　and　again。　It　seemed　to　me　to　be　touched　up　a　good　deal；　it　was　glazed　as　well　as　framed；　and　the　glass　blurred　some　of　the　details。　But　there　unmistakably　was　my　face；　my　eyes；　my　nose　and　mouth；　my　head　and　hand；　posed　for　a　professional　photographer。　And　I　had　never　posed　so　for　any　photographer。

〃‘Be'old　the　bloomin'　miracle；'　said　the　man　with　the　revolver；　with　ill…timed　facetiousness。　‘Parson；　prepare　to　meet　your　God。'　And　with　this　he　slid　the　glass　out　of　the　frame。　As　the　glass　moved；　I　saw　that　part　of　the　picture　was　painted　on　it　in　Chinese　white；　notably　a　pair　of　white　whiskers　and　a　clerical　collar。　And　underneath　was　a　portrait　of　an　old　lady　in　a　quiet　black　dress；　leaning　her　head　on　her　hand　against　the　woodland　landscape。　The　old　lady　was　as　like　me　as　one　pin　is　like　another。　It　had　required　only　the　whiskers　and　the　collar　to　make　it　me　in　every　hair。

〃‘Entertainin'；　ain't　it？'　said　the　man　described　as　'Arry；　as　he　shot　the　glass　back　again。　‘Remarkable　resemblance；　parson。　Gratifyin'　to　the　lady。　Gratifyin'　to　you。　And　hi　may　hadd；　particlery　gratifyin'　to　us；　as　bein'　the　probable　source　of　a　very　tolerable　haul。　You　know　Colonel　Hawker；　the　man　who's　come　to　live　in　these　parts；　don't　you？'

〃I　nodded。

〃‘Well；'　said　the　man　'Arry；　pointing　to　the　picture；　‘that's　'is　mother。　'Oo　ran　to　catch　'im　when　'e　fell？　She　did；'　and　he　flung　his　fingers　in　a　general　gesture　towards　the　photograph　of　the　old　lady　who　was　exactly　like　me。

〃‘Tell　the　old　gent　wot　'e's　got　to　do　and　be　done　with　it；'　broke　out　Bill　from　the　door。　‘Look　'ere；　Reverend　Shorter；　we　ain't　goin'　to　do　you　no　'arm。　We'll　give　you　a　sov。　for　your　trouble　if　you　like。　And　as　for　the　old　woman's　clotheswhy；　you'll　look　lovely　in　'em。'

〃‘You　ain't　much　of　a　'and　at　a　description；　Bill；'　said　the　man　behind　me。　‘Mr　Shorter；　it's　like　this。　We've　got　to　see　this　man　Hawker　tonight。　Maybe　'e'll　kiss　us　all　and　'ave　up　the　champagne　when　'e　sees　us。　Maybe　on　the　other　'and'e　won't。　Maybe　'e'll　be　dead　when　we　goes　away。　Maybe　not。　But　we've　got　to　see　'im。　Now　as　you　know；　'e　shuts　'isself　up　and　never　opens　the　door　to　a　soul；　only　you　don't　know　why　and　we　does。　The　only　one　as　can　ever　get　at　'im　is　'is　mother。　Well；　it's　a　confounded　funny　coincidence；'　he　said；　accenting　the　penultimate；　‘it's　a　very　unusual　piece　of　good　luck；　but　you're　'is　mother。'

〃‘When　first　I　saw　'er　picture；'　said　the　man　Bill；　shaking　his　head　in　a　ruminant　manner；　‘when　I　first　saw　it　I　saidold　Shorter。　Those　were　my　exact　wordsold　Shorter。'

〃‘What　do　you　mean；　you　wild　creatures？'　　I　gasped。　‘What　am　I　to　do？'

〃‘That's　easy　said；　your　'oldness；'　said　the　man　with　the　revolver；　good…humouredly；　‘you've　got　to　put　on　those　clothes；'　and　he　pointed　to　a　poke…bonnet　and　a　heap　of　female　clothes　in　the　corner　of　the　room。

〃I　will　not　dwell；　Mr　Swinburne；　upon　the　details　of　what　followed。　I　had　no　choice。　I　could　not　fight　five　men；　to　say　nothing　of　a　loaded　pistol。　In　five　minutes；　sir；　the　Vicar　of　Chuntsey　was　dressed　as　an　old　womanas　somebody　else's　mother；　if　you　pleaseand　was　dragged　out　of　the　house　to　take　part　in　a　crime。

〃It　was　already　late　in　the　afternoon；　and　the　nights　of　winter　were　closing　in　fast。　On　a　dark　road；　in　a　blowing　wind；　we　set　out　towards　the　lonely　house　of　Colonel　Hawker；　perhaps　the　queerest　cortege　that　ever　straggled　up　that　or　any　other　road。　To　every　human　eye；　in　every　external；　we　were　six　very　respectable　old　ladies　of　small　means；　in　black　dresses　and　refined　but　antiquated　bonnets；　and　we　were　really　five　criminals　and　a　clergyman。

〃I　will　cut　a　long　story　short。　My　brain　was　whirling　like　a　windmill　as　I　walked；　trying　to　think　of　some　manner　of　escape。　To　cry　out；　so　long　as　we　were　far　from　houses；　would　be　suicidal；　for　it　would　be　easy　for　the　ruffians　to　knife　me　or　to　gag　me　and　fling　me　into　a　ditch。　On　the　other　hand；　to　attempt　to　stop　strangers　and　explain　the　situation　was　impossible；　because　of　the　frantic　folly　of　the　situation　itself。　Long　before　I　had　persuaded　the　chance　postman　or　carrier　of　so　absurd　a　story；　my　companions　would　certainly　have　got　off　themselves；　and　in　all　probability　would　have　carried　me　off；　as　a　friend　of　theirs　who　had　the　misfortune　to　be　mad　or　drunk。　The　last　thought；　however；　was　an　inspiration；　though　a　very　terrible　one。　Had　it　come　to　this；　that　the　Vicar　of　Chuntsey　must　pretend　to　be　mad　or　drunk？　It　had　come　to　this。

〃I　walked　along　with　the　rest　up　the　deserted　road；　imitating　and　keeping　pace；　as　far　as　I　could；　with　their　rapid　and　yet　lady…like　step；　until　at　length　I　saw　a　lamp…post　and　a　policeman　standing　under　it。　I　had　made　up　my　mind。　Until　we　reached　them　we　were　all　equally　demure　and　silent　and　swift。　When　we　reached　them　I　suddenly　flung　myself　against　the　railings　and　roared　out：　‘Hooray！　Hooray！　Hooray！　Rule　Britannia！　Get　your　'air　cut。　Hoop…la！　Boo！'　It　was　a　condition　of　no　little　novelty　for　a　man　in　my　position。

〃The　constable　instantly　flashed　his　lantern　on　me；　or　the　draggled；　drunken　old　woman　that　was　my　travesty。　‘Now　then；　mum；'　he　began　gruffly。

〃‘Come　along　quiet；　or　I'll　eat　your　heart；'　cried　Sam　in　my　ear　hoarsely。　‘Stop；　or　I'll　flay　you。'　It　was　frightful　to　hear　the　words　and　see　the　neatly　shawled　old　spinster　who　whispered　them。

〃I　yelled；　and　yelledI　was　in　for　it　now。　I　screamed　comic　refrains　that　vulgar　young　men　had　sung；　to　my　regret；　at　our　village　concerts；　I　rolled　to　and　fro　like　a　ninepin　about　to