Mr. Teddy Henfrey's First Impressions

At four o’clock, when it was fairly dark and Mrs. Hall was screwing up her courage to go in and ask her visitor if he would take some tea, Teddy Henfrey, the clock-jobber, came into the bar. “My sakes! Mrs. Hall,” said he, “but this is terrible weather for thin boots!” The snow outside was falling faster.

At four o’clock, it was fairly dark. Mrs. Hall was gathering her courage to go in and ask her visitor if he wanted some tea. Just then, Teddy Henfrey, the clock repairman, came into the bar. “My goodness! Mrs. Hall,” he said, “this is terrible weather for thin boots!” The snow outside was falling faster.

Mrs. Hall agreed, and then noticed he had his bag with him. “Now you’re here, Mr. Teddy,” said she, “I’d be glad if you’d give th’ old clock in the parlour a bit of a look. ’Tis going, and it strikes well and hearty; but the hour-hand won’t do nuthin’ but point at six.”

Mrs. Hall agreed, then noticed he had his bag with him. “Now you’re here, Mr. Teddy,” she said, “I’d be glad if you’d give the old clock in the parlour a bit of a look. It’s going, and it strikes well and hearty, but the hour-hand won’t do nothing but point at six.”

And leading the way, she went across to the parlour door and rapped and entered.

She led the way to the parlor door, knocked, and went in.

Her visitor, she saw as she opened the door, was seated in the armchair before the fire, dozing it would seem, with his bandaged head drooping on one side. The only light in the room was the red glow from the fire—which lit his eyes like adverse railway signals, but left his downcast face in darkness—and the scanty vestiges of the day that came in through the open door. Everything was ruddy, shadowy, and indistinct to her, the more so since she had just been lighting the bar lamp, and her eyes were dazzled. But for a second it seemed to her that the man she looked at had an enormous mouth wide open—a vast and incredible mouth that swallowed the whole of the lower portion of his face. It was the sensation of a moment: the white-bound head, the monstrous goggle eyes, and this huge yawn below it. Then he stirred, started up in his chair, put up his hand. She opened the door wide, so that the room was lighter, and she saw him more clearly, with the muffler held up to his face just as she had seen him hold the serviette before. The shadows, she fancied, had tricked her.

As she opened the door, she saw her visitor sitting in the armchair by the fire. He seemed to be dozing, his bandaged head drooping to one side. The only light came from the fire’s red glow and the last faint traces of daylight through the open door. The fire lit his eyes like red railway signals, but left his lowered face in darkness. Everything looked red, shadowy, and indistinct to her. This was partly because she had just lit the bar lamp, and its brightness had dazzled her eyes. But for a second, the man seemed to have an enormous mouth, wide open. It was a vast, unbelievable mouth that swallowed the whole lower part of his face. The impression lasted only a moment: the white-bandaged head, the monstrous staring eyes, and the huge yawn below them. Then he stirred, started up in his chair, and raised his hand. She opened the door wide, letting more light into the room. Now she could see him more clearly. He was holding his scarf up to his face, just as she had seen him hold the napkin before. She thought the shadows must have tricked her.

“Would you mind, sir, this man a-coming to look at the clock, sir?” she said, recovering from the momentary shock.

“Would you mind, sir, this man coming to look at the clock, sir?” she said, recovering from her momentary shock.

“Look at the clock?” he said, staring round in a drowsy manner, and speaking over his hand, and then, getting more fully awake, “certainly.”

“Look at the clock?” he said, looking around sleepily and speaking over his hand. Then, waking up more fully, he said, “Certainly.”

Mrs. Hall went away to get a lamp, and he rose and stretched himself. Then came the light, and Mr. Teddy Henfrey, entering, was confronted by this bandaged person. He was, he says, “taken aback.”

Mrs. Hall went to get a lamp, and the man stood up and stretched. Then the light came, and Mr. Teddy Henfrey entered and saw the bandaged man. He says he was “taken aback.”

“Good afternoon,” said the stranger, regarding him—as Mr. Henfrey says, with a vivid sense of the dark spectacles—“like a lobster.”

“Good afternoon,” said the stranger, looking at him “like a lobster.” That was how Mr. Henfrey described it, vividly recalling the dark glasses.

“I hope,” said Mr. Henfrey, “that it’s no intrusion.”

“I hope,” said Mr. Henfrey, “that I’m not interrupting.”

“None whatever,” said the stranger. “Though, I understand,” he said turning to Mrs. Hall, “that this room is really to be mine for my own private use.”

“None at all,” said the stranger. He turned to Mrs. Hall. “Though, as I understand it, this room is for my private use.”

“I thought, sir,” said Mrs. Hall, “you’d prefer the clock—”

“I thought, sir,” said Mrs. Hall, “you’d prefer the clock...”

“Certainly,” said the stranger, “certainly—but, as a rule, I like to be alone and undisturbed.

“Certainly,” said the stranger. “Certainly, but I usually like to be alone and undisturbed.

“But I’m really glad to have the clock seen to,” he said, seeing a certain hesitation in Mr. Henfrey’s manner. “Very glad.” Mr. Henfrey had intended to apologise and withdraw, but this anticipation reassured him. The stranger turned round with his back to the fireplace and put his hands behind his back. “And presently,” he said, “when the clock-mending is over, I think I should like to have some tea. But not till the clock-mending is over.”

“But I’m really glad to have the clock repaired,” he said, noticing some hesitation in Mr. Henfrey’s manner. “Very glad.” Mr. Henfrey had intended to apologize and leave, but the stranger’s words reassured him. The stranger turned his back to the fireplace and put his hands behind him. “And soon,” he said, “when the clock repair is finished, I think I’d like some tea. But not until the clock repair is finished.”

Mrs. Hall was about to leave the room—she made no conversational advances this time, because she did not want to be snubbed in front of Mr. Henfrey—when her visitor asked her if she had made any arrangements about his boxes at Bramblehurst. She told him she had mentioned the matter to the postman, and that the carrier could bring them over on the morrow. “You are certain that is the earliest?” he said.

Mrs. Hall was about to leave the room. This time she had made no attempt at conversation because she did not want to be snubbed in front of Mr. Henfrey. Then her visitor asked if she had made any arrangements for his boxes at Bramblehurst. She told him she had mentioned them to the postman and that the carrier could bring them over tomorrow. “Are you sure that’s the earliest?” he said.

She was certain, with a marked coldness.

She was sure, and noticeably cold about it.

“I should explain,” he added, “what I was really too cold and fatigued to do before, that I am an experimental investigator.”

“I should explain,” he added, “that I’m an experimental investigator. I was really too cold and tired to explain that before.”

“Indeed, sir,” said Mrs. Hall, much impressed.

“Really, sir,” said Mrs. Hall, very impressed.

“And my baggage contains apparatus and appliances.”

“And my luggage contains equipment and tools.”

“Very useful things indeed they are, sir,” said Mrs. Hall.

“They are very useful things indeed, sir,” said Mrs. Hall.

“And I’m very naturally anxious to get on with my inquiries.”

“And naturally, I’m very eager to continue my investigation.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Of course, sir.”

“My reason for coming to Iping,” he proceeded, with a certain deliberation of manner, “was ... a desire for solitude. I do not wish to be disturbed in my work. In addition to my work, an accident—”

“My reason for coming to Iping,” he continued, speaking deliberately, “was ... a desire for solitude. I don’t want to be disturbed while I work. Besides my work, an accident...”

“I thought as much,” said Mrs. Hall to herself.

“I thought so,” Mrs. Hall said to herself.

“—necessitates a certain retirement. My eyes—are sometimes so weak and painful that I have to shut myself up in the dark for hours together. Lock myself up. Sometimes—now and then. Not at present, certainly. At such times the slightest disturbance, the entry of a stranger into the room, is a source of excruciating annoyance to me—it is well these things should be understood.”

“. . . means I need some privacy. My eyes are sometimes so weak and painful that I have to shut myself in the dark for hours. Lock myself in. Sometimes, now and then. Certainly not at present. At such times, the slightest disturbance is excruciatingly annoying to me, even a stranger entering the room. It is important that these things be understood.”

“Certainly, sir,” said Mrs. Hall. “And if I might make so bold as to ask—”

“Of course, sir,” said Mrs. Hall. “And if I may ask...”

“That I think, is all,” said the stranger, with that quietly irresistible air of finality he could assume at will. Mrs. Hall reserved her question and sympathy for a better occasion.

“I think that’s all,” said the stranger. He spoke with the quiet but irresistible finality he could summon at will. Mrs. Hall saved her question and sympathy for a better time.

After Mrs. Hall had left the room, he remained standing in front of the fire, glaring, so Mr. Henfrey puts it, at the clock-mending. Mr. Henfrey not only took off the hands of the clock, and the face, but extracted the works; and he tried to work in as slow and quiet and unassuming a manner as possible. He worked with the lamp close to him, and the green shade threw a brilliant light upon his hands, and upon the frame and wheels, and left the rest of the room shadowy. When he looked up, coloured patches swam in his eyes. Being constitutionally of a curious nature, he had removed the works—a quite unnecessary proceeding—with the idea of delaying his departure and perhaps falling into conversation with the stranger. But the stranger stood there, perfectly silent and still. So still, it got on Henfrey’s nerves. He felt alone in the room and looked up, and there, grey and dim, was the bandaged head and huge blue lenses staring fixedly, with a mist of green spots drifting in front of them. It was so uncanny to Henfrey that for a minute they remained staring blankly at one another. Then Henfrey looked down again. Very uncomfortable position! One would like to say something. Should he remark that the weather was very cold for the time of year?

After Mrs. Hall left the room, the stranger remained standing in front of the fire. He was glaring at the clock repair, as Mr. Henfrey put it. Mr. Henfrey took off the clock’s hands and face, then removed its mechanism. He tried to work as slowly, quietly, and unobtrusively as possible. He kept the lamp close beside him. Its green shade cast a brilliant light on his hands and on the frame and wheels, leaving the rest of the room in shadow. When he looked up, colored patches swam before his eyes. Henfrey was naturally curious, and removing the mechanism was quite unnecessary. He had done it to delay his departure and perhaps start a conversation with the stranger. But the stranger stood there, perfectly silent and still. He was so still that it got on Henfrey’s nerves. Henfrey felt alone in the room and looked up. There was the bandaged head, gray and dim, with the huge blue lenses staring fixedly at him. A mist of green spots drifted before the lenses. The sight was so uncanny that Henfrey and the stranger stared blankly at each other for a minute. Then Henfrey looked down again. What an uncomfortable position! He wanted to say something. Should he remark that the weather was very cold for the time of year?

He looked up as if to take aim with that introductory shot. “The weather—” he began.

He looked up as if aiming his opening shot. “The weather...” he began.

“Why don’t you finish and go?” said the rigid figure, evidently in a state of painfully suppressed rage. “All you’ve got to do is to fix the hour-hand on its axle. You’re simply humbugging—”

“Why don’t you finish and go?” said the rigid figure, clearly struggling to hold back painful rage. “All you have to do is fix the hour hand on its axle. You’re just fooling around...”

“Certainly, sir—one minute more. I overlooked—” and Mr. Henfrey finished and went.

“Of course, sir. Just one more minute. I missed...” Mr. Henfrey finished and left.

But he went feeling excessively annoyed. “Damn it!” said Mr. Henfrey to himself, trudging down the village through the thawing snow; “a man must do a clock at times, surely.”

But he left feeling extremely annoyed. “Damn it!” Mr. Henfrey said to himself as he trudged through the village’s melting snow. “Surely a man has to work on a clock sometimes.”

And again, “Can’t a man look at you?—Ugly!”

And again, “Can’t a man look at you? Ugly!”

And yet again, “Seemingly not. If the police was wanting you you couldn’t be more wropped and bandaged.”

And again, “Apparently not. If the police was looking for you, you couldn’t be more wrapped and bandaged.”

At Gleeson’s corner he saw Hall, who had recently married the stranger’s hostess at the “Coach and Horses,” and who now drove the Iping conveyance, when occasional people required it, to Sidderbridge Junction, coming towards him on his return from that place. Hall had evidently been “stopping a bit” at Sidderbridge, to judge by his driving. “’Ow do, Teddy?” he said, passing.

At Gleeson’s corner, he saw Hall coming toward him on his way back from Sidderbridge Junction. Hall had recently married the stranger’s hostess at the “Coach and Horses.” He now drove the Iping carriage to Sidderbridge Junction when anyone needed it. Judging by his driving, Hall had evidently been “stopping a bit” at Sidderbridge. “How do, Teddy?” he said as he passed.

“You got a rum un up home!” said Teddy.

“You’ve got a strange one at home!” said Teddy.

Hall very sociably pulled up. “What’s that?” he asked.

Hall stopped in a friendly manner. “What’s that?” he asked.

“Rum-looking customer stopping at the ‘Coach and Horses,’” said Teddy. “My sakes!”

“Strange-looking fellow staying at the ‘Coach and Horses,’” said Teddy. “Goodness!”

And he proceeded to give Hall a vivid description of his grotesque guest. “Looks a bit like a disguise, don’t it? I’d like to see a man’s face if I had him stopping in my place,” said Henfrey. “But women are that trustful—where strangers are concerned. He’s took your rooms and he ain’t even given a name, Hall.”

He went on to give Hall a vivid description of his grotesque guest. “Looks a bit like a disguise, doesn’t it? I’d like to see a man’s face if I had him staying at my place,” said Henfrey. “But women are that trusting when it comes to strangers. He’s taken your rooms and he hasn’t even given a name, Hall.”

“You don’t say so!” said Hall, who was a man of sluggish apprehension.

“You don’t say so!” said Hall, who was slow to understand.

“Yes,” said Teddy. “By the week. Whatever he is, you can’t get rid of him under the week. And he’s got a lot of luggage coming to-morrow, so he says. Let’s hope it won’t be stones in boxes, Hall.”

“Yes,” said Teddy. “He’s staying by the week. Whoever he is, you can’t get rid of him before the week is up. And he says he has a lot of luggage coming tomorrow. Let’s hope it won’t be stones in boxes, Hall.”

He told Hall how his aunt at Hastings had been swindled by a stranger with empty portmanteaux. Altogether he left Hall vaguely suspicious. “Get up, old girl,” said Hall. “I s’pose I must see ’bout this.”

He told Hall how a stranger with empty suitcases had cheated his aunt in Hastings. All in all, he left Hall vaguely suspicious. “Get up, old girl,” said Hall. “I suppose I must see about this.”

Teddy trudged on his way with his mind considerably relieved.

Teddy trudged on, feeling much relieved.

Instead of “seeing ’bout it,” however, Hall on his return was severely rated by his wife on the length of time he had spent in Sidderbridge, and his mild inquiries were answered snappishly and in a manner not to the point. But the seed of suspicion Teddy had sown germinated in the mind of Mr. Hall in spite of these discouragements. “You wim’ don’t know everything,” said Mr. Hall, resolved to ascertain more about the personality of his guest at the earliest possible opportunity. And after the stranger had gone to bed, which he did about half-past nine, Mr. Hall went very aggressively into the parlour and looked very hard at his wife’s furniture, just to show that the stranger wasn’t master there, and scrutinised closely and a little contemptuously a sheet of mathematical computations the stranger had left. When retiring for the night he instructed Mrs. Hall to look very closely at the stranger’s luggage when it came next day.

Instead of “seeing about it,” however, Hall was sharply scolded by his wife when he returned. She was angry about how long he had spent in Sidderbridge. She answered his mild questions snappishly and without addressing them. But despite her discouraging answers, the suspicion Teddy had planted grew in Mr. Hall’s mind. “You women don’t know everything,” said Mr. Hall. He resolved to find out more about his guest’s character at the earliest opportunity. The stranger went to bed at about half-past nine. Afterward, Mr. Hall marched aggressively into the parlour and stared hard at his wife’s furniture. He did this just to show that the stranger wasn’t master there. He also studied a sheet of mathematical calculations the stranger had left, looking at it closely and somewhat contemptuously. When he went to bed, he told Mrs. Hall to examine the stranger’s luggage very closely when it arrived the next day.

“You mind your own business, Hall,” said Mrs. Hall, “and I’ll mind mine.”

“You mind your own business, Hall,” said Mrs. Hall, “and I’ll mind mine.”

She was all the more inclined to snap at Hall because the stranger was undoubtedly an unusually strange sort of stranger, and she was by no means assured about him in her own mind. In the middle of the night she woke up dreaming of huge white heads like turnips, that came trailing after her, at the end of interminable necks, and with vast black eyes. But being a sensible woman, she subdued her terrors and turned over and went to sleep again.

She was even more inclined to snap at Hall because the stranger was undoubtedly a very strange sort of stranger. She was far from sure about him herself. In the middle of the night, she woke from a dream of huge white heads like turnips. They had enormous black eyes and followed her on endlessly long necks. But she was a sensible woman, so she controlled her fears, turned over, and went back to sleep.