peewit, very remote.
"Peewit, indeed!" said Mr. Thomas Marvel. "This ain't no time for
foolery." The down was desolate, east and west, north and south;
the road with its shallow ditches and white bordering stakes, ran
smooth and empty north and south, and, save for that peewit, the
blue sky was empty too. "So help me," said Mr. Thomas Marvel,
shuffling his coat on to his shoulders again. "It's the drink!
I might ha' known."
"It's not the drink," said the Voice. "You keep your nerves
steady."
"Ow!" said Mr. Marvel, and his face grew white amidst its patches.
"It's the drink!" his lips repeated noiselessly. He remained staring
about him, rotating slowly backwards. "I could have
swore
I heard
a voice," he whispered.
"Of course you did."
"It's there again," said Mr. Marvel, closing his eyes and clasping
his hand on his brow with a tragic gesture. He was suddenly taken
by the collar and shaken violently, and left more dazed than ever.
"Don't be a fool," said the Voice.
"I'm—off—my—blooming—chump," said Mr. Marvel. "It's no good.
It's fretting about them blarsted boots. I'm off my blessed blooming
chump. Or it's spirits."
"Neither one thing nor the other," said the Voice. "Listen!"
"Chump," said Mr. Marvel.
"One minute," said the Voice, penetratingly, tremulous with
self-control.
"Well?" said Mr. Thomas Marvel, with a strange feeling of having
been dug in the chest by a finger.
"You think I'm just imagination? Just imagination?"
"What else
can
you be?" said Mr. Thomas Marvel, rubbing the back of
his neck.
"Very well," said the Voice, in a tone of relief. "Then I'm going
to throw flints at you till you think differently."
"But where
are
yer?"
The Voice made no answer. Whizz came a flint, apparently out of
the air, and missed Mr. Marvel's shoulder by a hair's-breadth.
Mr. Marvel, turning, saw a flint jerk up into the air, trace a
complicated path, hang for a moment, and then fling at his feet
with almost invisible rapidity. He was too amazed to dodge. Whizz
it came, and ricochetted from a bare toe into the ditch. Mr. Thomas
Marvel jumped a foot and howled aloud. Then he started to run,
tripped over an unseen obstacle, and came head over heels into a
sitting position.
"
Now
," said the Voice, as a third stone curved upward and hung in
the air above the tramp. "Am I imagination?"
Mr. Marvel by way of reply struggled to his feet, and was
immediately rolled over again. He lay quiet for a moment. "If you
struggle any more," said the Voice, "I shall throw the flint at
your head."
"It's a fair do," said Mr. Thomas Marvel, sitting up, taking his
wounded toe in hand and fixing his eye on the third missile. "I
don't understand it. Stones flinging themselves. Stones talking.
Put yourself down. Rot away. I'm done."
The third flint fell.
"It's very simple," said the Voice. "I'm an invisible man."
"Tell us something I don't know," said Mr. Marvel, gasping with
pain. "Where you've hid—how you do it—I
don't
know. I'm beat."
"That's all," said the Voice. "I'm invisible. That's what I want
you to understand."
"Anyone could see that. There is no need for you to be so confounded
impatient, mister.
Now
then. Give us a notion. How are you hid?"
"I'm invisible. That's the great point. And what I want you to
understand is this—"
"But whereabouts?" interrupted Mr. Marvel.
"Here! Six yards in front of you."
"Oh,
come
! I ain't blind. You'll be telling me next you're just
thin air. I'm not one of your ignorant tramps—"
"Yes, I am—thin air. You're looking through me."
"What! Ain't there any stuff to you.
Vox et
—what is it?—jabber.
Is it that?"
"I am just a human being—solid, needing food and drink, needing
covering too—But I'm invisible. You see? Invisible. Simple idea.
Invisible."
"What, real like?"
"Yes, real."
"Let's have a hand of you," said Marvel, "if you
are
real. It won't
be so darn out-of-the-way like, then—
Lord
!" he said, "how you made
me jump!—gripping me like that!"
He felt the hand
"Peewit, indeed!" said Mr. Thomas Marvel. "This ain't no time for
foolery." The down was desolate, east and west, north and south;
the road with its shallow ditches and white bordering stakes, ran
smooth and empty north and south, and, save for that peewit, the
blue sky was empty too. "So help me," said Mr. Thomas Marvel,
shuffling his coat on to his shoulders again. "It's the drink!
I might ha' known."
"It's not the drink," said the Voice. "You keep your nerves
steady."
"Ow!" said Mr. Marvel, and his face grew white amidst its patches.
"It's the drink!" his lips repeated noiselessly. He remained staring
about him, rotating slowly backwards. "I could have
swore
I heard
a voice," he whispered.
"Of course you did."
"It's there again," said Mr. Marvel, closing his eyes and clasping
his hand on his brow with a tragic gesture. He was suddenly taken
by the collar and shaken violently, and left more dazed than ever.
"Don't be a fool," said the Voice.
"I'm—off—my—blooming—chump," said Mr. Marvel. "It's no good.
It's fretting about them blarsted boots. I'm off my blessed blooming
chump. Or it's spirits."
"Neither one thing nor the other," said the Voice. "Listen!"
"Chump," said Mr. Marvel.
"One minute," said the Voice, penetratingly, tremulous with
self-control.
"Well?" said Mr. Thomas Marvel, with a strange feeling of having
been dug in the chest by a finger.
"You think I'm just imagination? Just imagination?"
"What else
can
you be?" said Mr. Thomas Marvel, rubbing the back of
his neck.
"Very well," said the Voice, in a tone of relief. "Then I'm going
to throw flints at you till you think differently."
"But where
are
yer?"
The Voice made no answer. Whizz came a flint, apparently out of
the air, and missed Mr. Marvel's shoulder by a hair's-breadth.
Mr. Marvel, turning, saw a flint jerk up into the air, trace a
complicated path, hang for a moment, and then fling at his feet
with almost invisible rapidity. He was too amazed to dodge. Whizz
it came, and ricochetted from a bare toe into the ditch. Mr. Thomas
Marvel jumped a foot and howled aloud. Then he started to run,
tripped over an unseen obstacle, and came head over heels into a
sitting position.
"
Now
," said the Voice, as a third stone curved upward and hung in
the air above the tramp. "Am I imagination?"
Mr. Marvel by way of reply struggled to his feet, and was
immediately rolled over again. He lay quiet for a moment. "If you
struggle any more," said the Voice, "I shall throw the flint at
your head."
"It's a fair do," said Mr. Thomas Marvel, sitting up, taking his
wounded toe in hand and fixing his eye on the third missile. "I
don't understand it. Stones flinging themselves. Stones talking.
Put yourself down. Rot away. I'm done."
The third flint fell.
"It's very simple," said the Voice. "I'm an invisible man."
"Tell us something I don't know," said Mr. Marvel, gasping with
pain. "Where you've hid—how you do it—I
don't
know. I'm beat."
"That's all," said the Voice. "I'm invisible. That's what I want
you to understand."
"Anyone could see that. There is no need for you to be so confounded
impatient, mister.
Now
then. Give us a notion. How are you hid?"
"I'm invisible. That's the great point. And what I want you to
understand is this—"
"But whereabouts?" interrupted Mr. Marvel.
"Here! Six yards in front of you."
"Oh,
come
! I ain't blind. You'll be telling me next you're just
thin air. I'm not one of your ignorant tramps—"
"Yes, I am—thin air. You're looking through me."
"What! Ain't there any stuff to you.
Vox et
—what is it?—jabber.
Is it that?"
"I am just a human being—solid, needing food and drink, needing
covering too—But I'm invisible. You see? Invisible. Simple idea.
Invisible."
"What, real like?"
"Yes, real."
"Let's have a hand of you," said Marvel, "if you
are
real. It won't
be so darn out-of-the-way like, then—
Lord
!" he said, "how you made
me jump!—gripping me like that!"
He felt the hand
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