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The Sea Lady Chapter 3 · The H. G. Wells Library

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  Speaker 1: Chapter three of the Sea Lady. This LibriVox recording is
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  Speaker 1: in the public domain recording by Thomas Copeland. The Sea
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  Speaker 1: Lady by H. G. Wells, Chapter the third, the episode
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  Speaker 1: of the Various Journalists. One. The remarkable thing is that
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  Speaker 1: the Buntings really carried out the program Missus Bunting laid down.
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  Speaker 1: For a time. At least, they positively succeeded in converting
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  Speaker 1: the Sea Lady into a credible human invalid in spite
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  Speaker 1: of the galaxy of witnesses to the ladies landing, and
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  Speaker 1: in spite of the severe internal dissensions that presently broke out.
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  Speaker 1: In spite moreover, of the fact that one of the
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  Speaker 1: maids they found out, which only long after told the
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  Speaker 1: whole story under vows to her very superior young man,
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  Speaker 1: who told it next Sunday to a rising journalist who
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  Speaker 1: was sitting about on the LEAs maturing a descriptive article.
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  Speaker 1: The rising journalist was incredulous, but he went about inquiring.
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  Speaker 1: In the end he thought it good enough to go
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  Speaker 1: upon he found in several quarters a vague but sufficient
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  Speaker 1: rumor of something for the maid's young man was a
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  Speaker 1: conversationalist when he had anything to say, Finally, the Rising
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  Speaker 1: Journalist went and sounded the people on the two chief
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  Speaker 1: Folkeston papers and found the thing had just got to them.
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  Speaker 1: They were inclined to pretend they hadn't heard of it,
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  Speaker 1: after the fashion of local papers when confronted by the abnormal,
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  Speaker 1: but the atmosphere of enterprise that surrounded the Rising Journalist
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  Speaker 1: woke them up. He perceived he had done so, and
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  Speaker 1: that he had no time to lose. So while they
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  Speaker 1: engaged in inventing representatives to inquire, he went off in
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  Speaker 1: telephoned to The Daily Gunfire and the New Paper. When
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  Speaker 1: they answered, he was positive and earnest. He staked his reputation,
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  Speaker 1: the reputation of a rising journalist. I swear there's something up,
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  Speaker 1: he said, get in first, that's all. He had some reputation,
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  Speaker 1: I said, and he had staked it. The Daily Gunfire
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  Speaker 1: was skeptical but precise, and the New Paper sprang aheadline
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  Speaker 1: a mermaid at last. You might well have thought the
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  Speaker 1: thing was out after that, but it wasn't. There are
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  Speaker 1: things one doesn't believe, even if they are printed in
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  Speaker 1: a halfpenny paper. To find the reporters hammering at their door,
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  Speaker 1: so to speak, and fend it off only for a
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  Speaker 1: time by a proposal that they should call again to
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  Speaker 1: see their incredible secret glaringly in print, did indeed, for
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  Speaker 1: a moment seem a hopeless exposure to both the Buntings
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  Speaker 1: and the Sea Lady. Already they could see the story spreading,
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  Speaker 1: could imagine the imminent rush of intimate inquiries, the tripod
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  Speaker 1: strides of a multitude of cameras, the crowds watching the windows,
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  Speaker 1: the horrors of a great publicity. All the Buntings in
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  Speaker 1: Mabel were aghast, simply aghast. Adeline was not so much
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  Speaker 1: aghast as successively annoyed at this imminent and so far
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  Speaker 1: as she was concerned, absolutely irrelevant publicity. They will never dare,
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  Speaker 1: she said, and consider how it affects Harry. And at
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  Speaker 1: the earliest opportunity she retired to her own room. The others,
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  Speaker 1: with a certain disregard of her offense, sat around the
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  Speaker 1: Sea Lady's couch, she had scarcely touched her breakfast, and
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  Speaker 1: canvassed the coming terror. They will put our photographs in
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  Speaker 1: the papers, said the elder Miss Bunting. Well they won't
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  Speaker 1: put mine in, said her sister. It's horrid. I shall
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  Speaker 1: go right off now and have it taken again. They'll
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  Speaker 1: interview the dead. No, no, said mister Bunting. Terrified your mother.
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  Speaker 1: It's your place, my dear, said Missus Bunting. But the dead,
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  Speaker 1: said Fred. I couldn't, said mister Bunting. Well some one
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  Speaker 1: will have to tell em anyhow, said Missus Bunting. You
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  Speaker 1: know they will. But it isn't at all. But I want,
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  Speaker 1: wailed the Sea lady. With the daily gun fire in
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  Speaker 1: her hand, Can it be stopped? You don't know our journalists,
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  Speaker 1: said Fred. The tact of my cousin Melville saved the situation.
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  Speaker 1: He had dabbled in journalism and talked with the literary
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  Speaker 1: fellows like myself, and literary fellows like myself are apt
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  Speaker 1: at times to be very free and outspoken about the press.
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  Speaker 1: He heard of the Bunting shrinking terror of publicity as
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  Speaker 1: soon as he arrived, a perfect clamor, an almost exultant clamor,
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  Speaker 1: indeed of shrinking terror. And he caught the Sea Lady's
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  Speaker 1: eye and took his line. There and then. It's not
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  Speaker 1: an occasion for sticking at trifles, Missus Bunting, he said,
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  Speaker 1: But I think we can save the situation. All the same,
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  Speaker 1: you're too hopeless. We must put our foot down at once.
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  Speaker 1: That's all. Let me see these reporter fellows and write
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  Speaker 1: to the London dailies. I think I can take a
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  Speaker 1: line that will settle them, eh, said Fred. I can
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  Speaker 1: take a line that will stop it. Trust me? What altogether?
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  Speaker 1: All together? How? Said Fred? And missus Bunting. You are
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  Speaker 1: not going to bribe them? Bribe, said mister Bunting. We're
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  Speaker 1: not in France. You can't bribe a British paper. A
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  Speaker 1: sort of subdued cheer went around from the assembled buntings.
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  Speaker 1: You leave it to me, said Melville, in his element,
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  Speaker 1: and with earnestly expressed but not very confident wishes for
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  Speaker 1: his success. They did. He managed the thing admirably. What's
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  Speaker 1: this about a mermaid? He demanded of the local journalists.
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  Speaker 1: When they returned. They traveled together for company, being, so
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  Speaker 1: to speak, emergency journalists, compositors in their milder moments, and
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  Speaker 1: unaccustomed to these higher aspects of journalism. What's this about
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  Speaker 1: a mermaid? Repeated my cousin, while they waived precedents dumbly
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  Speaker 1: one to another. I believe some one's been letting you in,
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  Speaker 1: said my cousin Melville, just ama a mermaid. That's what
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  Speaker 1: we thought, said the younger of the two emergency journalists.
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  Speaker 1: We knew it was some sort of hoax, you know,
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  Speaker 1: only the new paper gave it a headline. I'm amazed,
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  Speaker 1: even Banghurst, said my cousin Melville. It's in the daily Gunfires. Well,
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  Speaker 1: said the older of the two emergency journalists. What's one
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  Speaker 1: more or less of these hate me fever rags, cried
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  Speaker 1: my cousin with a ringing scorn. Surely you're not going
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  Speaker 1: to take your folks to news from mere London papers.
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  Speaker 1: But how did the story come about? Began the older
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  Speaker 1: emergency journalist. That's not my affair. The younger emergency journalist
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  Speaker 1: had an inspiration. He produced a notebook from his breast pocket. Perhaps, sir,
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  Speaker 1: you wouldn't mind suggesting to us something we might say,
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  Speaker 1: my cousin Melville, complied. Two. The rising young journalist, who
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  Speaker 1: had first got wind of the business, who must not
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  Speaker 1: for a moment be confused with the two emergency journalists
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  Speaker 1: who DeFore described, came to Banghurst next night in a
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  Speaker 1: state of strange exultation. I've been through with it, and
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  Speaker 1: I've seen her he panted. I waited about outside and
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  Speaker 1: saw her taken into the carriage. I've talked to one
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  Speaker 1: of the maids. I got into the house under pretense
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  Speaker 1: of being a telephone man to see their telephone. I
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  Speaker 1: spotted the wire. And it's a fact, a positive fact.
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  Speaker 1: She's a mermaid with a tale, a proper mermaid's tale.
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  Speaker 1: I've got here. He displayed sheets. What you're talking about,
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  Speaker 1: said Banghurst from his littered desk, eyeing the sheets with
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  Speaker 1: apprehensive animosity. The mermaid. There really is a mermaid at Folkeston.
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  Speaker 1: Banghurst turned away from him and pawed at his pentray.
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  Speaker 1: What if there is, he said, after a pause. But
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  Speaker 1: it's proved that note you printed, that note I printed
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  Speaker 1: was a mistake. If there's any of that sort going,
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  Speaker 1: young man, Banghurst remained an obstinate expansion of back, how
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  Speaker 1: we don't deal in mermaids here. But you're not going
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  Speaker 1: to let it drop? I am, but there she is.
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  Speaker 1: Let her be. He turned on the rising young journalist,
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  Speaker 1: and his massive face was unusually massive, and his voice
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  Speaker 1: fine and full and fruity. Do you think we're going
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  Speaker 1: to make our public believe anything simply because it's true?
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  Speaker 1: They know perfectly well what they are going to believe
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  Speaker 1: and what they aren't going to believe. And they aren't
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  Speaker 1: going to believe anything about mermaids. You bet your hat.
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  Speaker 1: I don't care if the whole damned beech was lizard
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  Speaker 1: with mermaids, not the whole damned beach. We've got our
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  Speaker 1: reputation to keep up. See look here, you don't learn
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  Speaker 1: journalism as I'm as i'd hoped you do. It was
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  Speaker 1: you that brought in all that stuff about a discovery
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  Speaker 1: in chemistry. It's true, uugh, I had it from a
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  Speaker 1: fellow of the Royal Society. I don't care if you
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  Speaker 1: had it from anybody. Stuff that the public won't believe
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  Speaker 1: aren't facts. Being true only makes em worse. They buy
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  Speaker 1: our paper and swallow it, and it's got to go
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  Speaker 1: down easy. When I printed you that note and headline,
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  Speaker 1: I thought you was up to a lark. I thought
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  Speaker 1: you was on to a mixed bathing scandal or something
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  Speaker 1: of that sort with juice in it, the sort of
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  Speaker 1: thing they all understand. You know, when you went down
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  Speaker 1: to Folkestone, you were going to describe what Salisbury and
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  Speaker 1: all the rest of them wear upon the LEAs and
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  Speaker 1: start a discussion on the acclimatization of the cafe and
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  Speaker 1: all that, and then you get on with this unprintable
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  Speaker 1: epithet nonsense. But Lord Salisbury he he doesn't go to Folkeston.
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  Speaker 1: Bangherst shrugged his shoulders over a hopeless case. What the deuce,
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  Speaker 1: he said, addressing his ink pot in plative to Does
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  Speaker 1: that matter, the young man reflected, He addressed Banghurst's back
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  Speaker 1: after a pause. His voice had flattened a little. I
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  Speaker 1: might go over this and do it up as a lark,
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  Speaker 1: perhaps make it a comic dialog sketch with a man
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  Speaker 1: who really believed in it, or something like that. It's
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  Speaker 1: a beastly lot of copy to get slumped, you know, knowhow,
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  Speaker 1: said Banghurst, Not in any shape. No why they'd think
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  Speaker 1: it clever. They'd think you was making game of them.
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  Speaker 1: They hate things they think are clever. The young man
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  Speaker 1: made as if to reply, but Banghurst's back expressed quite
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  Speaker 1: clearly that the interview was at an end. Nohow repeated Banghurst,
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  Speaker 1: just when it seemed he had finished altogether. I may
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  Speaker 1: take it to the gunfire. Then Banghurst suggested an alternative.
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  Speaker 1: Very well, said the young man, heated the gunfire. It
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  Speaker 1: is but in that he was reckoning without the editor
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  Speaker 1: of the Gunfire. Three. It must have been quite soon
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  Speaker 1: after that that I myself heard the first mention of
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  Speaker 1: the mermaid little wrecking that at last it would fall
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  Speaker 1: to me to write her history. I was on one
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  Speaker 1: of my rare visits to London, and Micklethwaite was giving
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  Speaker 1: me lunch at the Penwiper Club, certainly one of the
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  Speaker 1: best dozen literary clubs in London. I noted the rising
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  Speaker 1: journalist at a table near the door, lunching alone. All
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  Speaker 1: about him tables were vacant, though the other parts of
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  Speaker 1: the room were crowded. He sat with his face towards
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  Speaker 1: the door, and he kept looking up whenever anyone came in,
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  Speaker 1: as if he expected some one who never came. Once,
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  Speaker 1: distinctly I saw him beckon to a man, but the
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  Speaker 1: man did not respond. Look here, Micklethwaite, I said, why
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  Speaker 1: is everybody avoiding that man over there? I noticed just
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  Speaker 1: now in the smoking room that he seemed to be
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  Speaker 1: trying to get into conversation with some one, and that
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  Speaker 1: a kind of taboo. Micklethwaite stared over his fork. Rather,
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  Speaker 1: he said, but what's he done? He's a fool, said M'kelethwaite,
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  Speaker 1: with his mouth full, evidently annoyed. Ugh, he said, as
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  Speaker 1: soon as he was free to do so. I waited
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  Speaker 1: a little while. What's he done? I ventured. Micklethwaite did
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  Speaker 1: not answer for a moment, and crammed things into his
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  Speaker 1: mouth vindictively, bread and all sorts of things. Then, leaning
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  Speaker 1: towards me in a confidential manner, he made indignant noises
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  Speaker 1: which I could not clearly distinguish as words. Oh, I said.
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  Speaker 1: When he had done, yes, said m'clethwaite. He swallowed and
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  Speaker 1: then poured himself wine, splashing the tablecloth. He had me
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  Speaker 1: for an hour, very nearly the other day, Yes, I said,
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  Speaker 1: silly fool, said Micklethwaite. I was afraid it was all over,
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  Speaker 1: but luckily he gave me an opening again after gulping
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  Speaker 1: down his wine. He leads you on to argue, he
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  Speaker 1: said that that he can't prove it, yes, and then
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  Speaker 1: he shows you he can, just showing off how damned
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  Speaker 1: ingenious he is. I was a little confused. Prove what
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  Speaker 1: I asked? Haven't I been telling you? Said Micklethwaite, growing
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  Speaker 1: very red, about this confounded mermaid of his at Folkeston.
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  Speaker 1: He says there is one. Yes, he does, said Micklethwaite,
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  Speaker 1: going purple and staring at me very hard. He seemed
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  Speaker 1: to ask mutely whether I, of all people, proposed to
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  Speaker 1: turn on him and back up this infamous scoundrel. I
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  Speaker 1: thought for a moment he would have apoplexy, but happily
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  Speaker 1: he remembered his duty as my host. So he turned
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  Speaker 1: very suddenly on a meditative waiter for not removing our plates.
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  Speaker 1: Had any golf likely, I said to Micklethwaite, when the
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  Speaker 1: plates and the remains of the waiter had gone away.
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  Speaker 1: Golf always does make Gothwaite good, except when he is
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  Speaker 1: actually playing. Then I am told, if I were missus bunting,
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  Speaker 1: I should break off and raise my eyebrows in both hands.
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  Speaker 1: At this point, to indicate how golf acts on Micklethwaite
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  Speaker 1: when he is playing, I turned my mind to feigning
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  Speaker 1: an interest in golf again that in truth I despise
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  Speaker 1: and hate as I despise and hate nothing else in
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  Speaker 1: this world. Imagine a fat creature like Micklethwaite, a creature
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  Speaker 1: who ought to wear a turban and a long black
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  Speaker 1: robe to hide his grossness, huacking a little white ball
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  Speaker 1: for miles and miles with a perfect surgery of instruments,
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  Speaker 1: quacking it either with a babyish solemnity or a childish rage,
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  Speaker 1: as Luck may have decided, whacking away while his country
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  Speaker 1: goes to the devil, and incidentally training an innocent eyed
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  Speaker 1: little boy to swear and be a tip hunting loafer.
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  Speaker 1: That's golf. However, I controlled my old, too facile sneer
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  Speaker 1: and talked of golf and the relative merits of off links,
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  Speaker 1: as I might talk to a child about buns, or
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  Speaker 1: distract a puppy with the whisper of rats. And when
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  Speaker 1: at last I could look at the rising young journalist again,
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  Speaker 1: our lunch had come to an end. I saw that
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  Speaker 1: he was talking with a greater air of freedom than
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  Speaker 1: it is usual to display. The club waiters to the
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  Speaker 1: man who held his coat. The man looked incredulous but respectful,
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  Speaker 1: and was answering shortly but politely. When we went out,
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  Speaker 1: this little conversation was still going on. The waiter was
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  Speaker 1: holding the rising young journalist's soft felt hat, and the
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  Speaker 1: rising young journalist was fumbling in his coat pocket with
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  Speaker 1: a thick mass of papers. It's tremendous. I've got most
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  Speaker 1: of it here, he was saying as we went by.
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  Speaker 1: I don't know if you'd care. I get very little
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  Speaker 1: time for reading. Sir the waiter was replying. End of
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  Speaker 1: Chapter four recording by Thomas Copebunt I s