The Invisible Man By H.G. Wells Chapter 10 Mr. Marvel's Visit to Iping

The Invisible Man

By H.G. Wells

Chapter 10

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.