Mr. Marvel’s Visit to Iping

After the first gusty panic had spent itself Iping became argumentative. Scepticism suddenly reared its head—rather nervous scepticism, not at all assured of its back, but scepticism nevertheless. It is so much easier not to believe in an invisible man; and those who had actually seen him dissolve into air, or felt the strength of his arm, could be counted on the fingers of two hands. And of these witnesses Mr. Wadgers was presently missing, having retired impregnably behind the bolts and bars of his own house, and Jaffers was lying stunned in the parlour of the “Coach and Horses.” Great and strange ideas transcending experience often have less effect upon men and women than smaller, more tangible considerations. Iping was gay with bunting, and everybody was in gala dress. Whit Monday had been looked forward to for a month or more. By the afternoon even those who believed in the Unseen were beginning to resume their little amusements in a tentative fashion, on the supposition that he had quite gone away, and with the sceptics he was already a jest. But people, sceptics and believers alike, were remarkably sociable all that day.

After the first burst of panic had passed, Iping began to argue. Doubt suddenly appeared. It was a rather nervous doubt, not at all sure of itself, but doubt nonetheless. It was much easier not to believe in an invisible man. And the people who had actually seen him dissolve into air, or felt the strength of his arm, could be counted on two hands. Of these witnesses, Mr. Wadgers had soon disappeared, having shut himself securely behind the bolts and bars of his own house. Jaffers lay stunned in the parlour of the “Coach and Horses.” Great, strange ideas beyond their experience often have less effect on men and women than smaller, more tangible concerns. Iping was bright with bunting, and everyone was dressed for the holiday. People had been looking forward to Whit Monday for a month or more. By afternoon, even those who believed in the Unseen were beginning to resume their little amusements, cautiously assuming he had gone away completely. To the skeptics, he was already a joke. But skeptics and believers alike were remarkably sociable all that day.

Haysman’s meadow was gay with a tent, in which Mrs. Bunting and other ladies were preparing tea, while, without, the Sunday-school children ran races and played games under the noisy guidance of the curate and the Misses Cuss and Sackbut. No doubt there was a slight uneasiness in the air, but people for the most part had the sense to conceal whatever imaginative qualms they experienced. On the village green an inclined strong [rope?], down which, clinging the while to a pulley-swung handle, one could be hurled violently against a sack at the other end, came in for considerable favour among the adolescents, as also did the swings and the cocoanut shies. There was also promenading, and the steam organ attached to a small roundabout filled the air with a pungent flavour of oil and with equally pungent music. Members of the club, who had attended church in the morning, were splendid in badges of pink and green, and some of the gayer-minded had also adorned their bowler hats with brilliant-coloured favours of ribbon. Old Fletcher, whose conceptions of holiday-making were severe, was visible through the jasmine about his window or through the open door (whichever way you chose to look), poised delicately on a plank supported on two chairs, and whitewashing the ceiling of his front room.

Haysman’s meadow was bright with a tent, where Mrs. Bunting and other ladies were preparing tea. Outside, the Sunday-school children raced and played games under the noisy guidance of the curate and the Misses Cuss and Sackbut. There was no doubt some uneasiness in the air. But most people had the sense to hide whatever fears their imaginations stirred up. On the village green, an inclined strong [rope?] was very popular with the adolescents. Clinging to a handle suspended from a pulley, a person could slide down it and be hurled violently against a sack at the other end. The swings and coconut shies were popular too. People also strolled about, while the steam organ on a small roundabout filled the air with a sharp smell of oil and equally sharp music. Members of the club, who had attended church that morning, looked splendid in pink and green badges. Some of the more cheerful members had also decorated their bowler hats with brightly colored ribbons. Old Fletcher had strict ideas about how to spend a holiday. He could be seen through the jasmine around his window or through the open door, whichever way you chose to look. Balanced carefully on a plank supported by two chairs, he was whitewashing the ceiling of his front room.

About four o’clock a stranger entered the village from the direction of the downs. He was a short, stout person in an extraordinarily shabby top hat, and he appeared to be very much out of breath. His cheeks were alternately limp and tightly puffed. His mottled face was apprehensive, and he moved with a sort of reluctant alacrity. He turned the corner of the church, and directed his way to the “Coach and Horses.” Among others old Fletcher remembers seeing him, and indeed the old gentleman was so struck by his peculiar agitation that he inadvertently allowed a quantity of whitewash to run down the brush into the sleeve of his coat while regarding him.

Around four o’clock, a stranger entered the village from the direction of the downs. He was short and stout, wearing an extraordinarily shabby top hat, and seemed very out of breath. His cheeks went slack, then puffed out tightly, over and over. His blotchy face looked anxious, and he moved quickly, though with a sort of reluctance. He turned the corner of the church and headed for the “Coach and Horses.” Old Fletcher was among those who remembered seeing him. The stranger’s peculiar agitation struck the old gentleman so much that he stared at him. Without noticing, Fletcher let whitewash run down his brush and into his coat sleeve.

This stranger, to the perceptions of the proprietor of the cocoanut shy, appeared to be talking to himself, and Mr. Huxter remarked the same thing. He stopped at the foot of the “Coach and Horses” steps, and, according to Mr. Huxter, appeared to undergo a severe internal struggle before he could induce himself to enter the house. Finally he marched up the steps, and was seen by Mr. Huxter to turn to the left and open the door of the parlour. Mr. Huxter heard voices from within the room and from the bar apprising the man of his error. “That room’s private!” said Hall, and the stranger shut the door clumsily and went into the bar.

To the owner of the coconut shy, the stranger seemed to be talking to himself. Mr. Huxter noticed the same thing. The stranger stopped at the bottom of the “Coach and Horses” steps. According to Mr. Huxter, he seemed to struggle inwardly before he could bring himself to enter. Finally, he marched up the steps. Mr. Huxter saw him turn left and open the parlour door. Mr. Huxter heard voices from the room and the bar telling the man he had made a mistake. “That room’s private!” said Hall. The stranger clumsily shut the door and went into the bar.

In the course of a few minutes he reappeared, wiping his lips with the back of his hand with an air of quiet satisfaction that somehow impressed Mr. Huxter as assumed. He stood looking about him for some moments, and then Mr. Huxter saw him walk in an oddly furtive manner towards the gates of the yard, upon which the parlour window opened. The stranger, after some hesitation, leant against one of the gate-posts, produced a short clay pipe, and prepared to fill it. His fingers trembled while doing so. He lit it clumsily, and folding his arms began to smoke in a languid attitude, an attitude which his occasional glances up the yard altogether belied.

A few minutes later, he reappeared, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. He looked quietly satisfied, but somehow Mr. Huxter thought the expression was put on. He stood looking around for a few moments. Then Mr. Huxter saw him walk in an oddly furtive way toward the gates of the yard. The parlour window looked out onto the yard. After some hesitation, the stranger leaned against a gatepost, took out a short clay pipe, and prepared to fill it. His fingers trembled as he did so. He lit the pipe clumsily, folded his arms, and began to smoke in a relaxed pose. But his occasional glances up the yard completely betrayed that pose.

All this Mr. Huxter saw over the canisters of the tobacco window, and the singularity of the man’s behaviour prompted him to maintain his observation.

Mr. Huxter saw all this over the canisters in the tobacco shop window. The man’s strange behavior prompted him to keep watching.

Presently the stranger stood up abruptly and put his pipe in his pocket. Then he vanished into the yard. Forthwith Mr. Huxter, conceiving he was witness of some petty larceny, leapt round his counter and ran out into the road to intercept the thief. As he did so, Mr. Marvel reappeared, his hat askew, a big bundle in a blue table-cloth in one hand, and three books tied together—as it proved afterwards with the Vicar’s braces—in the other. Directly he saw Huxter he gave a sort of gasp, and turning sharply to the left, began to run. “Stop, thief!” cried Huxter, and set off after him. Mr. Huxter’s sensations were vivid but brief. He saw the man just before him and spurting briskly for the church corner and the hill road. He saw the village flags and festivities beyond, and a face or so turned towards him. He bawled, “Stop!” again. He had hardly gone ten strides before his shin was caught in some mysterious fashion, and he was no longer running, but flying with inconceivable rapidity through the air. He saw the ground suddenly close to his face. The world seemed to splash into a million whirling specks of light, and subsequent proceedings interested him no more.

Soon the stranger stood up suddenly and put his pipe in his pocket. Then he disappeared into the yard. Mr. Huxter thought he was witnessing a petty theft. He leapt around his counter and ran into the road to stop the thief. As he did, Mr. Marvel reappeared with his hat crooked. In one hand he carried a large bundle wrapped in a blue tablecloth. In the other he held three books tied together. It turned out later that they were tied with the Vicar’s braces. As soon as he saw Huxter, he gasped, turned sharply to the left, and began to run. “Stop, thief!” cried Huxter, and set off after him. Mr. Huxter’s sensations were vivid but brief. He saw the man just ahead of him, sprinting toward the church corner and the hill road. Beyond him, Huxter saw the village flags and festivities, and a face or two turned toward him. He shouted, “Stop!” again. He had hardly taken ten strides when something caught his shin in some mysterious way. He was no longer running. Instead, he was flying through the air at an incredible speed. Suddenly he saw the ground close to his face. The world seemed to burst into a million whirling specks of light, and he took no further interest in what happened.