CHAPTER X
THE THEORY OF IDLENESS
I
Within the next seven days Mr. Prohack had reason to lose confidence inhimself as an expert in human nature. "After all," he reflected, "I musthave been a very simple-minded man to have thought that I thoroughlyunderstood another human being. Every human being is infinite, and willbeat your understanding in the end."
The reference of course was to his wife. Since the automobile accidentshe had become another person and a more complex person. The climax, orwhat seemed to be the climax, came one cold morning when she and Mr.Prohack and Sissie and Dr. Veiga were sitting together in the littleboudoir beyond the bedroom. They were packed in there because Eve(otherwise Marian) had taken a fancy to the sofa.
Eve was relating to the admired and trusted doctor all her peculiarmental and moral symptoms. She was saying that she could no longermanage the house, could not concentrate her mind on anything, could notrefrain from strange caprices, could not remain calm, could not keep hertemper, and was the worst conceivable wife for such a paragon as ArthurProhack. Her daughter alone had saved the household organism from acatastrophe; her daughter Sissie--
"Come here, Sissie!"
Sissie obeyed the call and was suddenly embraced by her mother with deeptenderness. This in front of the doctor! Still more curious was the factthat Sissie, of late her mother's frigid critic, came forward andresponded to the embrace almost effusively. The spectacle was reallytouching. It touched Mr. Prohack, who yet felt as if the floor hadyielded under his feet and he was falling into the Tube railwayunderground. Indeed Mr. Prohack had never had such sensations as drewand quartered him then.
"Well," said Dr. Veiga to Mrs. Prohack in his philosophical-realisticmanner, "I've been marking time for a week. I shall now proceed to putyou right. You can't sleep. You will sleep to-night--I shall send yousomething. I suppose it isn't your fault that you've been taking thedigestive tonic I sent you last thing at night under the impression thatit was a sedative, in spite of the label. But it is regrettable. As foryour headaches, I will provide a pleasing potion. As for this sad lackof application, don't attempt application. As for your strange caprices,indulge them. One thing is essential. You must go away to the sea. Youmust go to Frinton-on-Sea. It is an easy journey. There is a Pullman caron the morning train, and the air is unrivalled for your--shall Isay?--idiosyncrasy."
"Yes, darling mother," said Sissie. "You must go away, and father and Iwill take you."
"Of course!" confirmed Mr. Prohack, with an imitation of pettishness, asthough he had been steadily advocating a change of scene for days past;but he had done nothing of the kind.
"Oh!" Eve cried piteously, "that's the one thing I can't do!"
Dr. Veiga laughed. "Afraid of the expense, I suppose?"
"No," Eve answered with seriousness. "My husband has just made a veryfortunate investment, which means a profit of at least a hundredthousand pounds--like that!" She snapped her fingers and laughedlightly.
Here was another point to puzzle an expert in human nature. Instead ofbeing extremely incredulous and apprehensive about the vast speculationwith Sir Paul, Eve had in truth accepted it for a gold-mine. She did notassume satisfaction; she really was satisfied. Her satisfaction wasabsurd, and nothing that Mr. Prohack could say would diminish it. Shehad already begun to spend the financial results of the speculation withenormous verve. For instance, she had hired another Eagle to take theplace of the wounded Eagle, without uttering a word to her husband ofwhat she had done. Mr. Prohack could see the dregs of his bank-balance;and in a dream he had had glimpses of a sinister edifice at the bottomof a steep slope, the building being the Bankruptcy Court.
"Is it a railway strike you're afraid of?" demanded Dr. Veiga cruelly.
And Eve replied with sweetness:
"I can't leave London until my son Charlie comes back from Glasgow, andhe's written me to say he'll be here next week."
A first-rate example, this, of her new secretiveness! She had saidabsolutely nothing to Mr. Prohack about a letter from Charlie.
"When did you hear that?" Mr. Prohack might well have asked; but he wastoo loyal to her to betray her secretiveness by such a question. He didnot wish the Portuguese quack to know that he, the husband, was kept inthe dark about anything whatever. He had his ridiculous dignity, hadMr. Prohack, and all his motives were mixed motives. Not a perfectlypure motive in the whole of his volitional existence!
However, Sissie put the question in her young blundering way. "Oh,mother dear! You never told us!"
"I received the letter the day before yesterday," Eve continued gravely."And Charlie is certainly not coming home to find me away."
For two entire days she had had the important letter and had concealedit. Mr. Prohack was disturbed.
"Very well," Dr. Veiga concurred. "It doesn't really matter whether yougo to Frinton now or next month, or even next year but one. You're apowerful woman and you'll last a long time yet, especially if you don'tworry. I won't call for about a week, and if you'd like to consultanother doctor, do." He smiled on her in an avuncular manner, and rose.
Whereupon Mr. Prohack also jumped up.
"I'm not worrying," she protested, with a sweet, pathetic answeringsmile. "Yes, I am. Yes, I am. I'm worrying because I know I'm worryingmy poor husband." She went quickly to her poor husband and kissed himlavishly. Eve was an artist in kissing, and never a greater artist thanat that moment. And now Mr. Prohack, though still to the physical eye asingle individual, became two Mr. Prohacks. There was the Mr. Prohackwho strongly deprecated this departure from the emotional reserve whichis one of the leading and sublimest characteristics of the Britishgoverning-class. And there was the Mr. Prohack, all nerves and heart andhumanity, who profoundly enjoyed the demonstration of a woman'saffection, disordered and against the rules though the demonstrationmight be. The first Mr. Prohack blushed and hated himself for blushing.The second was quite simply enraptured and didn't care who knew it.
"Dr. Veiga," Eve appealed, clinging to Mr. Prohack's coat. "It is myhusband who needs looking after. He is not making any progress, and itis my fault. And let me tell you that you've been neglecting him forme."
She was a dramatic figure of altruism, of the everlasting sacrificialfeminine. She was quite possibly absurd, but beyond doubt she wasmagnificent. Mr. Prohack felt ashamed of himself, and the more ashamedbecause he considered that he was in quite tolerable health.
"Mother," murmured Sissie, with a sweetness of which Mr. Prohack hadimagined her to be utterly incapable. "Come and sit down."
And Eve, guided by her daughter, the callous, home-desertingdancing-mistress, came and sat down.
* * * * *
II
"My dear sir," said Dr. Veiga. "There is nothing at all to cause alarm.She will gradually recover. Believe me."
He and Mr. Prohack and Sissie were conspiring together in thedining-room, the drawing-room being at that hour and on that day underthe dominion of servants with brushes.
"But what's the matter with her? What is it?"
"Merely neurasthenia--traumatic neurasthenia."
"But what's that?" Mr. Prohack spoke low, just as though his wife couldoverhear from the boudoir above and was listening to them under theimpression that they were plotting against her life.
"It's a morbid condition due to a violent shock."
"But how? You told me the other day that it was purely physical."
"Well," said Dr. Veiga. "It is, because it must be. But I assure youthat if a post-mortem were to be held on Mrs. Prohack--"
"Oh, doctor, please!" Sissie stopped him resentfully.
The doctor paused and then continued: "There would be no trace of anymorbid condition in any of the organs."
"Then how do you explain it?"
"We don't explain it," cried Dr. Veiga, suddenly throwing the onus onthe whole medical profession. "We can't. We don't know."
"It's very, very unsatisfactory, all this ignorance.
"
"It certainly is. But did you suppose that medical science, alone amongall sciences, had achieved finality and omniscience? We've reached thestate of knowing that we don't know, and that's something. I hope I'mnot flattering you by talking like this. I only do it to people whom Isuspect to be intelligent. But of course if you'd prefer the omniscientbedside manner you can have it without extra charge."
Mr. Prohack thought, frightened: "I shall be making a friend of thisquack soon, if I'm not careful."
"And by the way, about _your_ health," Dr. Veiga proceeded, afterhaving given further assurances as to his other patient. "Mrs. Prohackwas perfectly correct. You're not making progress. The fact is, you'rebored. You haven't organised your existence, and the lack oforganisation is reacting on your health."
"Something is reacting on his health," Sissie put in. "I'm not at allpleased." She was now not Mr. Prohack's daughter but his aunt.
"How can I organise my existence?" Mr. Prohack burst out crossly. "Ihaven't got any existence to organise. I haven't got anything to do. Ithought I had too much to do, the other day. Illusion. Of course I'mbored. I feel all right, but bored I am. And it's your fault."
"It is," the doctor admitted. "It is my fault. I took you for a personof commonsense, and so I didn't tell you that two and two make four anda lot more important things of the same sort. I ought to have told you.You've taken on the new profession of being idle--it's essential foryou--but you aren't treating it seriously. You have to be a_professionally_ idle man. Which means that you haven't got a moment tospare. When I advised you to try idleness, I didn't mean you to be idleidly. That's worse than useless. You've got to be idle busily. Youaren't doing half enough. Do you ever have a Turkish bath?"
"No. Never could bear the idea of them."
"Well, you will kindly take two Turkish baths a week. You can bemassaged at the same time. A Turkish bath is as good as a day's hunting,as far as exercise goes, but you must have more exercise. Do you dance?I see you don't. You had better begin dancing. There is no finerexercise. I absolutely prescribe it."
At this juncture Mr. Prohack was rather relieved that the sound of anunaccustomed voice in the hall drew his daughter out of the dining-room.When she had gone Dr. Veiga went on, in a more confidential tone:
"There's another point. An idle man who really knows his business willvisit his tailor's, his hosier's, his bootmaker's, his barber's muchoftener and much more conscientiously than you do. You've got a mindabove clothes--of course. So have I. I take a wicked pleasure in beingpicturesquely untidy. But I'm not a patient. My life is a great lark.Yours isn't. Yours is serious. You have now a serious profession,idleness. Bring your mind down to clothes. I say this, partly because tobe consistently well-dressed means much daily expenditure of time, andpartly because really good clothes have a distinctly curative effect onthe patient who wears them. Then again--"
Mr. Prohack was conscious of a sudden joyous uplifting of the spirit.
"Here!" said he, interrupting Dr. Veiga with a grand gesture. "Have acigar."
"I cannot, my friend." Dr. Veiga looked at his watch.
"You must. Have a corona." Mr. Prohack moved to the cigar cabinet whichhe had recently purchased.
"No. My next patient is awaiting me in Hyde Park Gardens at thismoment."
"Let him die!" exclaimed Mr. Prohack ruthlessly. "You've got to have acigar with me. Look. I'll compromise. I'll make it a half-corona. Youcan charge me as if for another consultation."
The doctor's foreign eyes twinkled as he sat down and struck a match.
"You thought I was a quack," he said maliciously, and maliciously heseemed to intensify his foreign accent.
"I did," admitted Mr. Prohack with candour.
"So I am," said Dr. Veiga. "But I'm a fully qualified quack, and allreally good doctors are quacks. They have to be. They wouldn't be worthanything if they weren't. Medicine owes a great deal to quacks."
"Tell me something about some of your cases," said Mr. Prohackimperatively. "You're one of the most interesting men I've ever met. Sonow you know. We want some of your blood transfused, into the Englishcharacter. You've got a soul above medicine as well as clothes."
"All good doctors have," said Dr. Veiga. "My life is a romance."
"And so shall mine be," said Mr. Prohack.
* * * * *
III
When at length Mr. Prohack escorted Dr. Veiga out into the hall he sawSissie kissing Eliza Brating with much affection on the front-door step.They made an elegant group for a moment and then Eliza Brating departedhurriedly, disappearing across the street behind Dr. Veiga's attendantcar.
"Now I'll just repeat once more to both of you," resumed Dr. Veiga,embracing father and daughter in one shrewd glance. "You've nothing toworry about upstairs." He indicated the boudoir by a movement of hissomewhat tousled head. "But you've got just a little to worry abouthere." And he indicated Mr. Prohack.
"I know," said Sissie with assurance. "But I shall look after him,doctor. You can rely on me. I understand--both cases."
"Well, there's one good thing," said Sissie, following her father intothe dining-room after the doctor had gone. "I've done with that foolishEliza. I knew it couldn't last and it hasn't. Unless I'm there all thetime to keep my eye on everything--of course it all goes to pieces. Thatgirl is the biggest noodle...!"
"But haven't I just seen you and her joined in the deepest affection?"
"Naturally I had to kiss her. But I've finished with her. And what'smore, she knows what I think of her. She never liked me."
"Sissie," said Mr. Prohack, "you shock me." And indeed he was genuinelyshocked, for he had always thought that Sissie was different from othergirls; that she had all the feminine qualities without any of thefeminine defects. Yes, he had thought that she might develop into acreature more perfect even than Marian. And here she was talking andbehaving exactly as men at the club would relate of their ownconventional women.
Sissie gazed firmly at her father, as it were half in pity and half indisdain. Did the innocent fellow not then understand the nature ofwomen? Or was he too sentimental to admit it, too romantic to be arealist?
"Would you believe," said Sissie, "that although I was there last nightand told her exactly what to do, she's had a quarrel this morning withthe landlord of the studio? Well, she has. You know the A.R.A. on thefirst floor has been making a lot of silly complaints about thenoise--music and so on--every night. And some other people havecomplained. _I_ could have talked the landlord round in ten minutes!Eliza doesn't merely not talk him round,--she quarrels with him! Ofcourse it's all up. And as if that wasn't enough, a County Councilinspector has been round asking about a music and dancing licence. Weshall either have to give up business altogether or else move somewhereelse. Eliza says she knows of another studio. Well, I shall write herto-night and tell her she can have my share of the fittings andfurniture and go where she likes, but I shan't go with her. And if shenever liked me I can honestly say I never liked her. And I don't want torun a dancing studio any more, either. Why should I, after all? We_were_ the new poor. Now we're the new rich. Well, we may as well _be_the new rich."
Mr. Prohack was now still more shocked. Nay, he was almost frightened.And yet he wasn't either shocked or frightened, in the centre of hissoul. He was rather triumphant,--not about his daughter with the feet ofclay, but about himself.
"But I shan't give up teaching dancing entirely," said Sissie.
"No?" He wondered what would come next.
"No! I shall teach you."
"Indeed you won't!" He instinctively recoiled.
"Yes, I shall. I promised the doctor he could rely on me. You'll buy agramophone, and we'll have the carpet up in the drawing-room. Oh! Youstartled deer, do you want to run back into the depths of the forest?...Father, you are the funniest father that ever was." She marched to himand put her hand on his shoulder and just twitched his beard. "I canlook after you quite as well as mother can. We're pals, aren't we?"
"Yes. Like the tiger and the lamb. You've got hold of my silky fleecealready."
IV
Mr. Prohack sat in the dining-room alone. The room was now heated by anelectric radiator which Eve had just bought for the sake of economy. Buther economy was the economy of the rich, for the amount of expensivecurrent consumed by that radiator was prodigious, while the saving iteffected in labour, cleanliness and atmospheric purity could certainlynot have been measured without a scientific instrument adapted to theinfinitely little. (Still, Machin admired and loved it.) Mr. Prohackperceived that all four bars of it were brightly incandescent, whereasthree bars would have been ample to keep the room warm. He ought to getup and turn a bar off.... He had a hundred preoccupations. His daughterhad classed him with the new rich. He resented the description, butcould he honestly reject it? All his recent troubles sprang from the newriches. If he had not inherited from a profiteer he would assuredly havebeen at his office in the Treasury, earning an honest living, at thatvery moment. For only sick persons of plenteous independent means areever prescribed for as he had been prescribed for; the others either goon working and making the best of such health as is left to them, orthey die. If he had not inherited from a profiteer he would not have hada car and the car would not have had an accident and he would not havebeen faced with the prospect (as he was faced with it) of a legaldispute, to be fought by him on behalf of the insurance company, withthe owner of the colliding car. (The owner of the colliding car was ayoung woman as to whose veracity Carthew had had some exceedingly hardthings to say.) Mr. Prohack would have settled the matter, but neitherEve nor the insurance company would let him settle it. And if the carhad not had an accident Eve would not have had traumatic neurasthenia,with all its disconcerting reactions on family life. And if he had notinherited from a profiteer, Charlie would not have gone off toGlasgow,--he had heard odds and ends of strange tales as to Charlie'sdoings in Glasgow,--not in the least reassuring! And if he had notinherited from a profiteer Sissie would not have taken a share in adancing studio and might never have dangerously danced with that wormOswald Morfey. And if he had not inherited from a profiteer he would nothave been speculating, with a rich chance of more profiteering, inRoumanian oil with Paul Spinner. In brief--well, he ought to get up andturn off a bar of that wasteful radiator.
Yet he was uplifted, happy. Not because of his wealthy ease. No! A weekor two ago he had only to think of his fortune to feel uplifted andhappy. But now!
No! He was uplifted and happy now for the simple reason that he hadcaught the romance of the doctor's idea of taking idleness seriously andpractising it as a profession. If circumstances forced him to be idle,he would be idle in the grand manner. He would do everything that thedoctor had suggested, and more. (The doctor saw life like a poet. Hemight be a cross between a comedian and a mountebank, but he was a greatfellow.) Every species of idleness should have its appointed hour. Inthe pursuit of idleness he would become the busiest man in London. Adefinite programme would be necessary. Strict routine would benecessary. No more loafing about! He hankered after routine as thedrunkard after alcohol. Routine was what he had been missing. Theabsence of routine, and naught else, was retarding his recovery. (Yes,he knew in his heart that what they all said was true,--he was notgetting better.) His own daughter had taught him wisdom. Inevitably,unavoidably, he was the new rich. Well, he would be the new richthoroughly. No other aim was logical.... Let the radiator burn!