H. G. Wells

The Complete Novels of H. G. Wells


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middle of the room rubbing his hands together.

      “I wish you’d knock,” said Bensington, looking vicious over the gold rims.

      Winkles was apologetic. Then he turned to Redwood. “I’m glad to find you here,” he began; “the fact is— ”

      “Have you seen about this Royal Commission?” interrupted Redwood.

      “Yes,” said Winkles, thrown out. “Yes.”

      “What do you think of it?”

      “Excellent thing,” said Winkles. “Bound to stop most of this clamour. Ventilate the whole affair. Shut up Caterham. But that’s not what I came round for, Redwood. The fact is— ”

      “I don’t like this Royal Commission,” said Bensington.

      “I can assure you it will be all right. I may say— I don’t think it’s a breach of confidence— that very possibly I may have a place on the Commission— ”

      “Oom,” said Redwood, looking into the fire.

      “I can put the whole thing right. I can make it perfectly clear, first, that the stuff is controllable, and, secondly, that nothing short of a miracle is needed before anything like that catastrophe at Hickleybrow can possibly happen again. That is just what is wanted, an authoritative assurance. Of course, I could speak with more confidence if I knew— But that’s quite by the way. And just at present there’s something else, another little matter, upon which I’m wanting to consult you. Ahem. The fact is— Well— I happen to be in a slight difficulty, and you can help me out.”

      Redwood raised his eyebrows, and was secretly glad.

      “The matter is— highly confidential.”

      “Go on,” said Redwood. “Don’t worry about that.”

      “I have recently been entrusted with a child— the child of— of an Exalted Personage.”

      Winkles coughed.

      “You’re getting on,” said Redwood.

      “I must confess it’s largely your powders— and the reputation of my success with your little boy— There is, I cannot disguise, a strong feeling against its use. And yet I find that among the more intelligent— One must go quietly in these things, you know— little by little. Still, in the case of Her Serene High— I mean this new little patient of mine. As a matter of fact— the suggestion came from the parent. Or I should never— ”

      He struck Redwood as being embarrassed.

      “I thought you had a doubt of the advisability of using these powders,” said Redwood.

      “Merely a passing doubt.”

      “You don’t propose to discontinue— ”

      “In the case of your little boy? Certainly not!”

      “So far as I can see, it would be murder.”

      “I wouldn’t do it for the world.”

      “You shall have the powders,” said Redwood.

      “I suppose you couldn’t— ”

      “No fear,” said Redwood. “There isn’t a recipe. It’s no good, Winkles, if you’ll pardon my frankness. I’ll make you the powders myself.”

      “Just as well, perhaps,” said Winkles, after a momentary hard stare at Redwood— “just as well.” And then: “I can assure you I really don’t mind in the least.”

      4.

      When Winkles had gone Bensington came and stood on the hearth-rug and looked down at Redwood.

      “Her Serene Highness!” he remarked.

      “Her Serene Highness!” said Redwood.

      “It’s the Princess of Weser Dreiburg!”

      “No further than a third cousin.”

      “Redwood,” said Bensington; “it’s a curious thing to say, I know, but— do you think Winkles understands?”

      “What?”

      “Just what it is we have made.

      “Does he really understand,” said Bensington, dropping his voice and keeping his eye doorward, “that in the Family— the Family of his new patient— ”

      “Go on,” said Redwood.

      “Who have always been if anything a little underunder— ”

      “The Average?”

      “Yes. And so very tactfully undistinguished in any way, he is going to produce a royal personage— an outsize royal personage— of that size. You know, Redwood, I’m not sure whether there is not something almost—treasonable … ”

      He transferred his eyes from the door to Redwood.

      Redwood flung a momentary gesture— index finger erect— at the fire. “By Jove!” he said, “he doesn’t know!”

      “That man,” said Redwood, “doesn’t know anything. That was his most exasperating quality as a student. Nothing. He passed all his examinations, he had all his facts— and he had just as much knowledge— as a rotating bookshelf containing the Times Encyclopedia. And he doesn’t know anything now. He’s Winkles, and incapable of really assimilating anything not immediately and directly related to his superficial self. He is utterly void of imagination and, as a consequence, incapable of knowledge. No one could possibly pass so many examinations and be so well dressed, so well done, and so successful as a doctor without that precise incapacity. That’s it. And in spite of all he’s seen and heard and been told, there he is— he has no idea whatever of what he has set going. He has got a Boom on, he’s working it well on Boomfood, and some one has let him in to this new Royal Baby— and that’s Boomier than ever! And the fact that Weser Dreiburg will presently have to face the gigantic problem of a thirty-odd-foot Princess not only hasn’t entered his head, but couldn’t— it couldn’t!”

      “There’ll be a fearful row,” said Bensington.

      “In a year or so.”

      “So soon as they really see she is going on growing.”

      “Unless after their fashion— they hush it up.”

      “It’s a lot to hush up.”

      “Rather!”

      “I wonder what they’ll do?”

      “They never do anything— Royal tact.”

      “They’re bound to do something.”

      “Perhaps she will.” “O Lord! Yes.”

      “They’ll suppress her. Such things have been known.”

      Redwood burst into desperate laughter. “The redundant royalty— the bouncing babe in the Iron Mask!” he said. “They’ll have to put her in the tallest tower of the old Weser Dreiburg castle and make holes in the ceilings as she grows from floor to floor! Well, I’m in the very same pickle. And Cossar and his three boys. And—­Well, well.”

      “There’ll be a fearful row,” Bensington repeated, not joining in the laughter. “A fearful row.”

      “I suppose,” he argued, “you’ve really thought it out thoroughly, Redwood. You’re quite sure it wouldn’t be wiser to warn Winkles, wean your little boy gradually, and— and rely upon the Theoretical Triumph?”

      “I wish to goodness you’d spend half an hour in my nursery when the Food’s a little late,” said Redwood, with a note of exasperation in his voice; “then you wouldn’t talk like