Chapter 9

Mr. Thomas Marvel

9 min

You must picture Mr. Thomas Marvel as a person of copious, flexible visage, a nose of cylindrical protrusion, a liquorish, ample, fluctuating mouth, and a beard of bristling eccentricity. His figure inclined to embonpoint; his short limbs accentuated this inclination. He wore a furry silk hat, and the frequent substitution of twine and shoe-laces for buttons, apparent at critical points of his costume, marked a man essentially bachelor.

Picture Mr. Thomas Marvel with a large, expressive face and a nose that stuck out like a cylinder. His large, changeable mouth had a greedy look, and his beard bristled in odd directions. He was inclined to be plump, and his short limbs made him look even plumper. He wore a furry silk hat. At key points on his clothes, twine and shoelaces often took the place of buttons. These marked him as a man who was, at heart, a bachelor.

Mr. Thomas Marvel was sitting with his feet in a ditch by the roadside over the down towards Adderdean, about a mile and a half out of Iping. His feet, save for socks of irregular open-work, were bare, his big toes were broad, and pricked like the ears of a watchful dog. In a leisurely manner—he did everything in a leisurely manner—he was contemplating trying on a pair of boots. They were the soundest boots he had come across for a long time, but too large for him; whereas the ones he had were, in dry weather, a very comfortable fit, but too thin-soled for damp. Mr. Thomas Marvel hated roomy shoes, but then he hated damp. He had never properly thought out which he hated most, and it was a pleasant day, and there was nothing better to do. So he put the four shoes in a graceful group on the turf and looked at them. And seeing them there among the grass and springing agrimony, it suddenly occurred to him that both pairs were exceedingly ugly to see. He was not at all startled by a voice behind him.

Mr. Thomas Marvel sat with his feet in a roadside ditch on the downs toward Adderdean, about a mile and a half from Iping. His feet were bare except for socks full of uneven holes. His big toes were broad and pointed up like the ears of a watchful dog. He was thinking about trying on a pair of boots, without any hurry. He did everything without any hurry. They were the sturdiest boots he had found in a long time, but they were too big for him. The shoes he already had fit very comfortably in dry weather, but their soles were too thin for damp weather. Mr. Thomas Marvel hated roomy shoes, but he also hated damp. He had never properly decided which he hated more. It was a pleasant day, and he had nothing better to do. So he arranged the four shoes gracefully on the grass and looked at them. Seeing them among the grass and sprouting agrimony, he suddenly realized that both pairs were extremely ugly. A voice behind him did not startle him at all.

“They’re boots, anyhow,” said the Voice.

“They’re boots, anyway,” said the Voice.

“They are—charity boots,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel, with his head on one side regarding them distastefully; “and which is the ugliest pair in the whole blessed universe, I’m darned if I know!”

“They’re charity boots,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel. He tilted his head and looked at them with distaste. “And I’m darned if I know which is the ugliest pair in the whole blessed universe!”

“H’m,” said the Voice.

“Hmm,” said the Voice.

“I’ve worn worse—in fact, I’ve worn none. But none so owdacious ugly—if you’ll allow the expression. I’ve been cadging boots—in particular—for days. Because I was sick of them. They’re sound enough, of course. But a gentleman on tramp sees such a thundering lot of his boots. And if you’ll believe me, I’ve raised nothing in the whole blessed country, try as I would, but them. Look at ’em! And a good country for boots, too, in a general way. But it’s just my promiscuous luck. I’ve got my boots in this country ten years or more. And then they treat you like this.”

“I’ve worn worse boots. In fact, I’ve worn none at all. But I’ve never worn any so outrageously ugly, if you’ll allow the expression. I’ve been begging for boots in particular for days, because I was sick of them. They’re sound enough, of course. But a gentleman on the road sees an awful lot of his boots. And if you’ll believe me, I’ve managed to get nothing in the whole blessed country but them, try as I would. Look at them! And generally, it’s a good country for boots, too. But that’s just my unpredictable luck. I’ve been getting my boots in this country for ten years or more. And then they treat you like this.”

“It’s a beast of a country,” said the Voice. “And pigs for people.”

“It’s a horrible country,” said the Voice. “And the people are pigs.”

“Ain’t it?” said Mr. Thomas Marvel. “Lord! But them boots! It beats it.”

“Ain’t it?” said Mr. Thomas Marvel. “Lord! But them boots! It beats everything.”

He turned his head over his shoulder to the right, to look at the boots of his interlocutor with a view to comparisons, and lo! where the boots of his interlocutor should have been were neither legs nor boots. He was irradiated by the dawn of a great amazement. “Where are yer?” said Mr. Thomas Marvel over his shoulder and coming on all fours. He saw a stretch of empty downs with the wind swaying the remote green-pointed furze bushes.

He turned his head over his right shoulder to look at the other man's boots and compare them. But where the man's boots should have been, there were no legs or boots. A great amazement began to dawn on him. “Where are you?” said Mr. Thomas Marvel over his shoulder, getting on all fours. He saw a stretch of empty downs, with the wind swaying the distant green-tipped furze bushes.

“Am I drunk?” said Mr. Marvel. “Have I had visions? Was I talking to myself? What the—”

“Am I drunk?” said Mr. Marvel. “Did I have visions? Was I talking to myself? What the...”

“Don’t be alarmed,” said a Voice.

“None of your ventriloquising me,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel, rising sharply to his feet. “Where are yer? Alarmed, indeed!”

“Don't try your ventriloquism on me,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel, jumping to his feet. “Where are you? Alarmed, indeed!”

“Don’t be alarmed,” repeated the Voice.

“Don’t be afraid,” the Voice repeated.

“You’ll be alarmed in a minute, you silly fool,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel. “Where are yer? Lemme get my mark on yer...

“You’ll be alarmed in a minute, you silly fool,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel. “Where are you? Let me get my mark on you...

“Are yer buried?” said Mr. Thomas Marvel, after an interval.

“Are you buried?” said Mr. Thomas Marvel after a pause.

There was no answer. Mr. Thomas Marvel stood bootless and amazed, his jacket nearly thrown off.

There was no answer. Mr. Thomas Marvel stood there without his boots, amazed, his jacket nearly off.

“Peewit,” said a peewit, very remote.

“Peewit,” said a peewit, far away.

“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.”

“Peewit, indeed!” said Mr. Thomas Marvel. “This ain't no time for foolery.” The open hills were deserted in every direction. The road ran smoothly north and south, empty, with shallow ditches and white stakes along its edges. Except for the peewit, the blue sky was empty too. “So help me,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel, pulling his coat back onto his shoulders. “It's the drink! I might have known.”

“It’s not the drink,” said the Voice. “You keep your nerves steady.”

“It’s not the alcohol,” said the Voice. “Stay calm.”

“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.

“Ow!” said Mr. Marvel, and his blotchy face turned white. “It’s the drink!” his lips repeated silently. He kept staring around him, slowly turning backward. “I could have sworn 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.

“It’s there again,” said Mr. Marvel, closing his eyes and pressing his hand to his forehead in a tragic gesture. Suddenly, he was grabbed by the collar and shaken violently. He was 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.”

“I’m losing my freaking mind,” said Mr. Marvel. “It’s no good. It’s worrying about those blasted boots. I’m losing my freaking mind. Or it’s spirits.”

“Neither one thing nor the other,” said the Voice. “Listen!”

“Neither,” said the Voice. “Listen!”

“Chump,” said Mr. Marvel.

“Idiot,” said Mr. Marvel.

“One minute,” said the Voice, penetratingly, tremulous with self-control.

“One minute,” said the Voice sharply, trembling with the effort of staying in control.

“Well?” said Mr. Thomas Marvel, with a strange feeling of having been dug in the chest by a finger.

“Well?” said Mr. Thomas Marvel, strangely feeling as if a finger had poked him in the chest.

“You think I’m just imagination? Just imagination?”

“You think I’m just imagined? Just imagined?”

“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.”

“All right,” said the Voice, sounding relieved. “Then I’m going to throw flints at you until you change your mind.”

“But where are yer?”

“But where are you?”

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.

The Voice did not answer. A flint came whizzing through the air, seemingly out of nowhere. It missed Mr. Marvel’s shoulder by a hair. Mr. Marvel turned and saw a flint jerk into the air. It followed a complicated path, hung there for a moment, and then flew at his feet almost too quickly to see. He was too astonished to dodge. It came whizzing down, bounced off a bare toe, and landed in the ditch. Mr. Thomas Marvel jumped a foot and howled aloud. Then he started to run, tripped over an unseen obstacle, and tumbled head over heels, landing in a sitting position.

“Now,” said the Voice, as a third stone curved upward and hung in the air above the tramp. “Am I imagination?”

“Now,” said the Voice, as a third stone curved upward and hung in the air above the tramp. “Am I imaginary?”

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.”

In reply, Mr. Marvel struggled to his feet, but was immediately rolled over again. He lay still for a moment. “If you struggle any more,” said the Voice, “I’ll 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.”

“This is unbelievable,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel. He sat up, held his wounded toe, and stared at the third stone. “I don’t understand it. Stones throwing 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.”

“Tell us something I don’t know,” said Mr. Marvel, gasping in pain. “Where you’ve hidden, how you do it, I don’t know. I give up.”

“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?”

“Anyone could see that. There’s no need to be so damn impatient, mister. Now then. Give us an idea. How are you hidden?”

“I’m invisible. That’s the great point. And what I want you to understand is this—”

“I’m invisible. That’s the main point. And here’s what I want you to understand.”

“But whereabouts?” interrupted Mr. Marvel.

“But where?” 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—”

“Oh, come on! I ain’t blind. Next you’ll tell me you’re just thin air. I’m not one of your ignorant tramps.”

“Yes, I am—thin air. You’re looking through me.”

“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?”

“What! Ain’t there anything to you? Vox et what is it? Jabber. Is that it?”

“I am just a human being—solid, needing food and drink, needing covering too—But I’m invisible. You see? Invisible. Simple idea. Invisible.”

“I’m just a human being. I’m solid, and I need food, drink, and clothing. 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!”

“Let me feel your hand,” said Marvel, “if you are real. It won’t seem so darn strange then. Lord!” he said. “How you made me jump, gripping me like that!”

He felt the hand that had closed round his wrist with his disengaged fingers, and his fingers went timorously up the arm, patted a muscular chest, and explored a bearded face. Marvel’s face was astonishment.

With his free hand, he felt the hand gripping his wrist. His fingers moved timidly up the arm, patted a muscular chest, and explored a bearded face. Marvel’s face showed astonishment.

“I’m dashed!” he said. “If this don’t beat cock-fighting! Most remarkable!—And there I can see a rabbit clean through you, ’arf a mile away! Not a bit of you visible—except—”

“I’m amazed!” he said. “This beats anything! Most remarkable! And I can see a rabbit right through you, half a mile away! I can’t see any part of you, except...”

He scrutinised the apparently empty space keenly. “You ’aven’t been eatin’ bread and cheese?” he asked, holding the invisible arm.

He looked closely at the apparently empty space. “You haven’t been eating bread and cheese?” he asked, holding the invisible arm.

“You’re quite right, and it’s not quite assimilated into the system.”

“You’re quite right, and it hasn’t quite been absorbed into the system.”

“Ah!” said Mr. Marvel. “Sort of ghostly, though.”

“Ah!” said Mr. Marvel. “Kind of ghostly, though.”

“Of course, all this isn’t half so wonderful as you think.”

“Of course, all this isn’t nearly as wonderful as you think.”

“It’s quite wonderful enough for my modest wants,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel. “Howjer manage it! How the dooce is it done?”

“It’s more than wonderful enough for my modest needs,” said Mr. Thomas Marvel. “How did you manage it! How the devil is it done?”

“It’s too long a story. And besides—”

“It’s too long a story. And besides...”

“I tell you, the whole business fairly beats me,” said Mr. Marvel.

“I tell you, the whole thing completely baffles me,” said Mr. Marvel.

“What I want to say at present is this: I need help. I have come to that—I came upon you suddenly. I was wandering, mad with rage, naked, impotent. I could have murdered. And I saw you—”

“What I want to say right now is this: I need help. It has come to that. I came across you suddenly. I was wandering around, mad with rage, naked and powerless. I could have murdered someone. And I saw you...”

“Lord!” said Mr. Marvel.

“I came up behind you—hesitated—went on—”

“I came up behind you, hesitated, then went on...”

Mr. Marvel’s expression was eloquent.

Mr. Marvel’s expression spoke volumes.

“—then stopped. ‘Here,’ I said, ‘is an outcast like myself. This is the man for me.’ So I turned back and came to you—you. And—”

“...then stopped. ‘Here,’ I said, ‘is an outcast like me. This is the man for me.’ So I turned back and came to you, you. And...”

“Lord!” said Mr. Marvel. “But I’m all in a tizzy. May I ask—How is it? And what you may be requiring in the way of help?—Invisible!”

“Lord!” said Mr. Marvel. “But I’m all worked up. May I ask how it happened? And what help might you need? Invisible!”

“I want you to help me get clothes—and shelter—and then, with other things. I’ve left them long enough. If you won’t—well! But you will—must.”

“I want you to help me get clothes and shelter, and then help me with other things. I’ve left them long enough. If you won’t, well! But you will, you must.”

“Look here,” said Mr. Marvel. “I’m too flabbergasted. Don’t knock me about any more. And leave me go. I must get steady a bit. And you’ve pretty near broken my toe. It’s all so unreasonable. Empty downs, empty sky. Nothing visible for miles except the bosom of Nature. And then comes a voice. A voice out of heaven! And stones! And a fist—Lord!”

“Look here,” said Mr. Marvel. “I’m too shocked. Don’t hit me anymore. And let me go. I need to get myself together. And you’ve nearly broken my toe. It’s all so unreasonable. Empty hills, empty sky. Nothing in sight for miles except nature itself. And then a voice comes. A voice from heaven! And stones! And a fist. Lord!”

“Pull yourself together,” said the Voice, “for you have to do the job I’ve chosen for you.”

“Pull yourself together,” said the Voice, “because you have to do the job I’ve chosen for you.”

Mr. Marvel blew out his cheeks, and his eyes were round.

Mr. Marvel puffed out his cheeks, and his eyes were wide.

“I’ve chosen you,” said the Voice. “You are the only man except some of those fools down there, who knows there is such a thing as an invisible man. You have to be my helper. Help me—and I will do great things for you. An invisible man is a man of power.” He stopped for a moment to sneeze violently.

“I’ve chosen you,” said the Voice. “Apart from some of those fools down there, you’re the only man who knows an invisible man exists. You have to help me. Help me, and I’ll do great things for you. An invisible man is a powerful man.” He paused for a moment to sneeze violently.

“But if you betray me,” he said, “if you fail to do as I direct you—” He paused and tapped Mr. Marvel’s shoulder smartly. Mr. Marvel gave a yelp of terror at the touch. “I don’t want to betray you,” said Mr. Marvel, edging away from the direction of the fingers. “Don’t you go a-thinking that, whatever you do. All I want to do is to help you—just tell me what I got to do. (Lord!) Whatever you want done, that I’m most willing to do.”

“But if you betray me,” he said, “if you don’t do as I tell you to...” He paused and tapped Mr. Marvel sharply on the shoulder. Mr. Marvel yelped in terror at the touch. “I don’t want to betray you,” said Mr. Marvel, edging away from the fingers. “Don’t go thinking that, whatever you do. All I want to do is help you. Just tell me what I got to do. (Lord!) Whatever you want done, I’m most willing to do.”