other wagged his head slowly and took a drink of whisky.
"Nevertheless," he said, and raised his finger solemnly, "you were
thinking that I resembled Edgar Allan Poe!"
"Good heavens!" I exclaimed, for the man had really amazed me. "You
clearly resemble him in more ways than one. I must really ask you to
inform me how you deduced such a fact from a mere glance of mine."
"I will tell you, sir," he replied. "But, first, I must replenish my
glass, and I should be honoured if you would permit me to replenish
yours."
"Thanks very much," I said, "but I would rather you excused me."
"As you wish, sir," replied the American with grave courtesy, "as you
wish."
He stepped up to the counter and rapped upon it with half a crown,
until the landlady appeared. She treated me to a pathetic glance, but
refilled the empty glass.
My American acquaintance having returned to his seat and having added a
very little water to the whisky went on:
"Now, sir," said he, "my name is Colin Camber, formerly of Richmond,
Virginia, United States of America, but now of the Guest House, Surrey,
England, at your service."
Taking my cue from Mr. Camber's gloomy but lofty manner, I bowed
formally and mentioned my name.
"I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Knox," he assured me;
"and now, sir, to answer your question. When you came in a few moments
ago you glanced at me. Your eyes did not open widely as is the case
when one recognizes, or thinks one recognizes, an acquaintance, they
narrowed. This indicated retrospection. For a moment they turned aside.
You were focussing a fugitive idea, a memory. You captured it. You
looked at me again, and your successive glances read as follows: The
hair worn uncommonly long, the mathematical brow, the eyes of a poet,
the slight moustache, small mouth, weak chin; the glass at his elbow.
The resemblance is complete. Knowing how complete it is myself, sir, I
ventured to test my theory, and it proved to be sound."
Now, as Mr. Colin Camber had thus spoken in the serious manner of a
slightly drunken man, I had formed the opinion that I stood in the
presence of a very singular character. Here was that seeming
mésalliance which not infrequently begets genius: a powerful and
original mind allied to a weak will. I wondered what Mr. Colin Camber's
occupation might be, and somewhat, too, I wondered why his name was
unfamiliar to me. For that the possessor of that brow and those eyes
could fail to make his mark in any profession which he might take up I
was unwilling to believe.
"Your exposition has been very interesting, Mr. Camber," I said. "You
are a singularly close observer, I perceive."
"Yes," he replied, "I have passed my life in observing the ways of my
fellowmen, a study which I have pursued in various parts of the world
without appreciable benefit to myself. I refer to financial benefit."
He contemplated me with a look which had grown suddenly pathetic.
"I would not have you think, sir," he added, "that I am an habitual
toper. I have latterly been much upset by—domestic worries, and—er—"
He emptied his glass at a draught. "Surely, Mr. Knox, you are going
to replenish? Whilst you are doing so, would you kindly request Mrs.
Wootton to extend the same favour to myself?"
But at that moment Mrs. Wootton in person appeared behind the counter.
"Time, please, gentlemen," she said; "it is gone half-past two."
"What!" exclaimed Mr. Camber, rising. "What is that? You decline to
serve me, Mrs. Wootton?"
"Why, not at all, Mr. Camber," answered the landlady, "but I can serve
no one now; it's after time."
"You decline to serve me," he muttered, his speech becoming slurred.
"Am I, then, to be insulted?"
I caught a glance of entreaty from the landlady. "My dear sir," I said,
genially, "we must bow to the law, I suppose. At least we are better
off here than in America."
"Ah, that is true," agreed Mr. Camber, throwing his head back and
speaking the words as though they possessed some deep dramatic
significance.
"Nevertheless," he said, and raised his finger solemnly, "you were
thinking that I resembled Edgar Allan Poe!"
"Good heavens!" I exclaimed, for the man had really amazed me. "You
clearly resemble him in more ways than one. I must really ask you to
inform me how you deduced such a fact from a mere glance of mine."
"I will tell you, sir," he replied. "But, first, I must replenish my
glass, and I should be honoured if you would permit me to replenish
yours."
"Thanks very much," I said, "but I would rather you excused me."
"As you wish, sir," replied the American with grave courtesy, "as you
wish."
He stepped up to the counter and rapped upon it with half a crown,
until the landlady appeared. She treated me to a pathetic glance, but
refilled the empty glass.
My American acquaintance having returned to his seat and having added a
very little water to the whisky went on:
"Now, sir," said he, "my name is Colin Camber, formerly of Richmond,
Virginia, United States of America, but now of the Guest House, Surrey,
England, at your service."
Taking my cue from Mr. Camber's gloomy but lofty manner, I bowed
formally and mentioned my name.
"I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Knox," he assured me;
"and now, sir, to answer your question. When you came in a few moments
ago you glanced at me. Your eyes did not open widely as is the case
when one recognizes, or thinks one recognizes, an acquaintance, they
narrowed. This indicated retrospection. For a moment they turned aside.
You were focussing a fugitive idea, a memory. You captured it. You
looked at me again, and your successive glances read as follows: The
hair worn uncommonly long, the mathematical brow, the eyes of a poet,
the slight moustache, small mouth, weak chin; the glass at his elbow.
The resemblance is complete. Knowing how complete it is myself, sir, I
ventured to test my theory, and it proved to be sound."
Now, as Mr. Colin Camber had thus spoken in the serious manner of a
slightly drunken man, I had formed the opinion that I stood in the
presence of a very singular character. Here was that seeming
mésalliance which not infrequently begets genius: a powerful and
original mind allied to a weak will. I wondered what Mr. Colin Camber's
occupation might be, and somewhat, too, I wondered why his name was
unfamiliar to me. For that the possessor of that brow and those eyes
could fail to make his mark in any profession which he might take up I
was unwilling to believe.
"Your exposition has been very interesting, Mr. Camber," I said. "You
are a singularly close observer, I perceive."
"Yes," he replied, "I have passed my life in observing the ways of my
fellowmen, a study which I have pursued in various parts of the world
without appreciable benefit to myself. I refer to financial benefit."
He contemplated me with a look which had grown suddenly pathetic.
"I would not have you think, sir," he added, "that I am an habitual
toper. I have latterly been much upset by—domestic worries, and—er—"
He emptied his glass at a draught. "Surely, Mr. Knox, you are going
to replenish? Whilst you are doing so, would you kindly request Mrs.
Wootton to extend the same favour to myself?"
But at that moment Mrs. Wootton in person appeared behind the counter.
"Time, please, gentlemen," she said; "it is gone half-past two."
"What!" exclaimed Mr. Camber, rising. "What is that? You decline to
serve me, Mrs. Wootton?"
"Why, not at all, Mr. Camber," answered the landlady, "but I can serve
no one now; it's after time."
"You decline to serve me," he muttered, his speech becoming slurred.
"Am I, then, to be insulted?"
I caught a glance of entreaty from the landlady. "My dear sir," I said,
genially, "we must bow to the law, I suppose. At least we are better
off here than in America."
"Ah, that is true," agreed Mr. Camber, throwing his head back and
speaking the words as though they possessed some deep dramatic
significance.
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