Mr. Marvel Discusses His Resignation

When the dusk was gathering and Iping was just beginning to peep timorously forth again upon the shattered wreckage of its Bank Holiday, a short, thick-set man in a shabby silk hat was marching painfully through the twilight behind the beechwoods on the road to Bramblehurst. He carried three books bound together by some sort of ornamental elastic ligature, and a bundle wrapped in a blue table-cloth. His rubicund face expressed consternation and fatigue; he appeared to be in a spasmodic sort of hurry. He was accompanied by a voice other than his own, and ever and again he winced under the touch of unseen hands.

As dusk fell, Iping was just beginning to peek out timidly again at the wreckage of its Bank Holiday. A short, stocky man in a shabby silk hat was trudging through the twilight along the road to Bramblehurst. He was behind the beechwoods. He carried three books bound together with some kind of decorative elastic band, and a bundle wrapped in a blue tablecloth. His flushed face showed dismay and exhaustion. He seemed to be hurrying in fits and starts. A voice other than his own accompanied him, and every now and then he flinched at the touch of unseen hands.

“If you give me the slip again,” said the Voice, “if you attempt to give me the slip again—”

“If you get away from me again,” said the Voice, “if you try to get away from me again...”

“Lord!” said Mr. Marvel. “That shoulder’s a mass of bruises as it is.”

“Lord!” said Mr. Marvel. “That shoulder is already covered in bruises.”

“On my honour,” said the Voice, “I will kill you.”

“I swear,” said the Voice, “I will kill you.”

“I didn’t try to give you the slip,” said Marvel, in a voice that was not far remote from tears. “I swear I didn’t. I didn’t know the blessed turning, that was all! How the devil was I to know the blessed turning? As it is, I’ve been knocked about—”

“I didn’t try to get away from you,” said Marvel, almost in tears. “I swear I didn’t. I just didn’t know where to turn, that’s all! How the hell was I supposed to know where to turn? And now I’ve been knocked around...”

“You’ll get knocked about a great deal more if you don’t mind,” said the Voice, and Mr. Marvel abruptly became silent. He blew out his cheeks, and his eyes were eloquent of despair.

“You’ll get hurt a lot more if you don’t behave,” said the Voice, and Mr. Marvel fell silent. He puffed out his cheeks, and his eyes showed his despair.

“It’s bad enough to let these floundering yokels explode my little secret, without your cutting off with my books. It’s lucky for some of them they cut and ran when they did! Here am I ... No one knew I was invisible! And now what am I to do?”

“It’s bad enough that those bumbling locals exposed my little secret, without you running off with my books. Some of them are lucky they ran away when they did! Here I am ... No one knew I was invisible! And now what am I supposed to do?”

“What am I to do?” asked Marvel, sotto voce.

“What am I to do?” asked Marvel, quietly.

“It’s all about. It will be in the papers! Everybody will be looking for me; everyone on their guard—” The Voice broke off into vivid curses and ceased.

“Word is out. It will be in the papers! Everybody will be looking for me. Everyone will be on guard.” The Voice broke off with a burst of vivid curses, then fell silent.

The despair of Mr. Marvel’s face deepened, and his pace slackened.

Mr. Marvel’s face showed even deeper despair, and he slowed his pace.

“Go on!” said the Voice.

“Go on!” said the Voice.

Mr. Marvel’s face assumed a greyish tint between the ruddier patches.

Mr. Marvel’s face turned gray between the redder patches.

“Don’t drop those books, stupid,” said the Voice, sharply—overtaking him.

“Don’t drop those books, stupid,” the Voice said sharply as it caught up with him.

“The fact is,” said the Voice, “I shall have to make use of you.... You’re a poor tool, but I must.”

“The truth is,” said the Voice, “I’ll have to use you.... You’re a poor tool, but I have to.”

“I’m a miserable tool,” said Marvel.

“I’m a miserable tool,” said Marvel.

“You are,” said the Voice.

“You are,” said the Voice.

“I’m the worst possible tool you could have,” said Marvel.

“I’m the worst possible tool you could have,” said Marvel.

“I’m not strong,” he said after a discouraging silence.

“I’m not strong,” he said after a discouraging silence.

“I’m not over strong,” he repeated.

“I’m not very strong,” he repeated.

“No?”

“No?”

“And my heart’s weak. That little business—I pulled it through, of course—but bless you! I could have dropped.”

“And my heart’s weak. I got through that little business, of course, but goodness! I could have collapsed.”

“Well?”

“Well?”

“I haven’t the nerve and strength for the sort of thing you want.”

“I don’t have the courage or strength for the kind of thing you want.”

“I’ll stimulate you.”

“I’ll stimulate you.”

“I wish you wouldn’t. I wouldn’t like to mess up your plans, you know. But I might—out of sheer funk and misery.”

“I wish you wouldn’t. I wouldn’t want to mess up your plans, you know. But I might, out of sheer fear and misery.”

“You’d better not,” said the Voice, with quiet emphasis.

“You’d better not,” said the Voice quietly but firmly.

“I wish I was dead,” said Marvel.

“I wish I was dead,” said Marvel.

“It ain’t justice,” he said; “you must admit.... It seems to me I’ve a perfect right—”

“It ain’t justice,” he said. “You must admit.... It seems to me I’ve got a perfect right...”

“Get on!” said the Voice.

“Get on!” said the Voice.

Mr. Marvel mended his pace, and for a time they went in silence again.

Mr. Marvel quickened his pace, and for a while they walked in silence again.

“It’s devilish hard,” said Mr. Marvel.

“It’s terribly hard,” said Mr. Marvel.

This was quite ineffectual. He tried another tack.

This had no effect. He tried a different approach.

“What do I make by it?” he began again in a tone of unendurable wrong.

“What do I gain from it?” he began again, sounding unbearably wronged.

“Oh! shut up!” said the Voice, with sudden amazing vigour. “I’ll see to you all right. You do what you’re told. You’ll do it all right. You’re a fool and all that, but you’ll do—”

“Oh! shut up!” said the Voice, suddenly and astonishingly forceful. “I’ll take care of you, all right. Do what you’re told. You’ll do it, all right. You’re a fool and all that, but you’ll do...”

“I tell you, sir, I’m not the man for it. Respectfully—but it is so—”

“I’m telling you, sir, I’m not the man for it. Respectfully, but it is true.”

“If you don’t shut up I shall twist your wrist again,” said the Invisible Man. “I want to think.”

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll twist your wrist again,” said the Invisible Man. “I want to think.”

Presently two oblongs of yellow light appeared through the trees, and the square tower of a church loomed through the gloaming. “I shall keep my hand on your shoulder,” said the Voice, “all through the village. Go straight through and try no foolery. It will be the worse for you if you do.”

Soon two rectangles of yellow light appeared through the trees. The square tower of a church loomed in the twilight. “I’ll keep my hand on your shoulder,” said the Voice, “all the way through the village. Go straight through and try no tricks. You’ll be worse off if you do.”

“I know that,” sighed Mr. Marvel, “I know all that.”

“I know that,” sighed Mr. Marvel. “I know all that.”

The unhappy-looking figure in the obsolete silk hat passed up the street of the little village with his burdens, and vanished into the gathering darkness beyond the lights of the windows.

The unhappy-looking figure walked up the little village street, carrying his burdens and wearing an old-fashioned silk hat. He vanished into the gathering darkness beyond the light from the windows.