The train was about three-quarters of an hour from its destination and was travelling at a good sixty miles an hour when Mr. Harraby-Ribson, a prosperous businessman, rose from his seat, lifted his suitcase down from the rack and threw it out of the window. The only other occupant of the carriage, a small, thin man, a Mr. Crowther, had raised his eyes from his book when his travelling-companion stirred from his seat and had noticed the occurrence. Then the two men exchanged a sharp glance and immediately Mr. Crowther continued his reading, while Mr. Harraby-Ribston resumed his seat and sat for a while puffing a little and with a heightened colour as a result of his exertion. The glance that his companion had given him worried him extremely, for Mr. Crowther's glance had betrayed not the smallest emotion. It had shown no alarm, no surprise, not even a mild interest, and that, surely, was very extraordinary. Mr. Harraby-Ribson's curiosity was violently aroused. And not only that. He was by nature a sociable, chatty man and he had reckoned that his action would infallibly produced conversation. But no conversation had followed and , that being so, he had had no opportunity of explaining his behaviour and he began to feel that he had merely made a fool of himself in the eyes of his companion, or, worse, that his companion might conclude that the suitcase contained a corpse, in which event he would perhaps inform the police when they reached their destination and all sorts of troublesome and humiliating enquiries would follow. Such were the thoughts that buzzed round Mr. Harraby-Ribston, robbing him of the satisfaction and refreshment that were his due.
Mr. Crowther, for his part, had also suffered some distraction. Thought he was pretending to read, he was actually unable to do so. For all his apperance of indifference, the sight of a well-to-do gentleman pitching a suitcase from the window of a moving train had surprised him very much. But he had not betrayed his surprise. The fellow was obviously counting on him for a violent reaction, and so Mr. Crowther made a point of not reacting. Whether the thing was a practical joke or not, Mr. Crowther considered it an annoying infringement of his privacy. It was as if the fellow had burst a paper bag in the hope of making hime jump. Well, he wasn't going to jump, he wasn't going to give that fellow the satisfaction. If the fello imagined that to throw a suitcase out of the window gave him some sort of importance, well, he was mistaken.
But Mr. Harraby-Ribston had reached a point at which he must either speak or burst and, preferring the former alternative, he said:"Excuse, sir, but I must say, you surprise me.
Mr. Crowther raised a languid eye from his book."Surprise you?" he said. "Does reading in the train surprise you?"
"No, no!"said Mr. Harraby-Ribston. "I wasn't referring to that. What surprises me is that you weren't surprised when I threw my suitcase out of the window."
"Indeed? That surprised you? You're very easily surprised."
"I don't know about that. Surely, surely, my dear sir, it was, to say the least of it, an unusual sight. I dare bet you've never before seen a man throw a suitcase from the window of a moving train."
Mr. Crowther reflected. "I don't know that I have; but then, to the best of my recollection, I've never seen a man eat a raw turnip in the train or dance a Highland Fling during family prayers for that matter. But what of it? If one allowed oneself to be surprised at anything, however insignificant, one's whole life would consist of a series of trivial astonishments."
"And you think it an insignificant act to throw one's suitcase out of a railway-carriage window?"
"Totally!"said Mr. Crowther, and his eyes again sought his book.
"Then what, if I may ask," said the other, evidently somewhat nettled,"would you consider a significant act?"
Mr. Crowther shrugged his shoulders wearily. "Perhaps I would have thought it significant if the suitcase had been mine."
"I see. You think yourself more important than me."
"I am not aware." said Mr. Crowther, "that I mentioned myself, but I certainly consider my suitcase more important than yours, and in saying this I make no reference to the quality of the leather, but merely to the fact that I am myself, while you are a total stranger."
" And the affairs of strangers don't interest you?"
"Only in so far as they affect mine."
"Well," said Mr. Harraby-Ribston,"I should certainly have thought that when I threw my suitcase out of the window it could hardly have failed to affect somewhat..."
"Not in the least!" said Mr. Crowther coldly.
"It only shows," Mr. Harraby-Ribston remarked, "how people differ. Now if you had thrown your suitcase out of the window, I should have been extremely curious to know why you did it."
"I gater," replied Mr. Crowther with complete detachment," That you are anxious to tell me why you did it."
"Not if it wouldn't interest you, though, I must say, I find it hard to believe that anyone could fail to be interested.
He paused, but Mr. Crowther made no reply; on the contrary, he showed every sign of resuming his reading. To prevent this, Mr. Harraby-Ribston leaned back in his seat and launched out.
"The truth of the matter is that I have just, an hour and a half ago, abandoned home and wife and am starting life afresh, and the reason why I threw my suitcase out of the window just now was that I had suddenly realized that in it I was taking some of the old life with me. Clothes, hairbrushes and so on all have their associations. and associations are precisely what I want to be rid of. Hence my rather unusual action. I'm no chickn, I admit; I'm a man of nearly fifty, I've been married for twenty-one years, and yet here I am, starting life afresh. Well, that may seem to you a very extraordinary thing to do."
"On the contrary," said Mr. Crowther,"nothing could be more natural."
Mr. Harraby-Ribston was somewhat taken aback."Natural? You think it natural? I must say, you surprise me."
"You seem to me," said Mr. Crowther, a man much given to surprise."
"While you , I take it," Mr. Harraby-Ribston snapped back, " pride yourself on being surprised by nothing."
"not at all!" replied Mr. Crowther."The point is, I think that we are surprised by different things. You tell me you've been married for twenty-one years and then expect me to be surprised when you add that your're now leaving your wife. But, my dear sir, I find nothing surprising about that. What does surprise me is that you've been so long in doing so."
Mr. Harraby-Ribston considered this view. " I take it," he said at last," that you're not, yourself. a married man."
"Not now," Mr. Crowther replied.
"Not now?" You mean you've been married and you've left your wife?"
"Not quite that. Leaving one's wife involves leaving one's home, and that was out of the question. I'm very fond of my home; a charming house, a charming garden, and doubly charming nowadays when I have them to myself."
"You mean, then, that you turned your wife out?"
"O no, no! That would have involved all sorts of unpleasantness(煞风景的事,不愉快的事)."
"Then what," asked Mr. Harraby-Ribston , all curiosity once more," what did you do?"
The other waved his hand airily."There are other ways, simpler ways.
"I should like to know them," said Mr. Harraby-Ribston.
" I don't think," said Mr. Crowther," that my particular method would be quite in you line."
"But why not?" Mr. Harraby-Ribston was simply bubbling with curiosity.
"Why not? Well, my method requires... what shall I say?... reticence, tact, and a lot of very careful planning."
"And you think I'm incapable of that?"
"Well," said Mr. Crowther," I should have said that reticence was not your strong point; and your evident desire to arouse surprise in others—that, if you were to adopt my method, might land you in a very uncomfortable position.
"You interest me enormously," said Mr. Harraby-Ribston."Now do, please, just tell me what you did."
Mr. Crowther seemed to hesitate, then to make up his mind." If I tell you, I trust you won't accuse me of any wish to surprise you. I've never had the slightest desire to surprise anybody Observe, please, that I haven't forced the information on you. If you hadn't spoken to me, we should have travelled in complete silence. I have a book here which interests me greatly and if you hadn't, if I may say so, dragged me into conversation."
"Quite! Quite!" said Mr. Harraby-Ribston, who, by now, was worked up to a dangerous pitch of excitement." I admit it; I admit it entirely. And I promise you I'll do my best not to appear in the least surprised."
"Well," said Mr. Crowther," what I did was simply this. Forgive me if it seems to you a little sensational, and remember, please, that I shall deeply resent any appearance of astonishment on your part. Well, as I was saying, I simply murdered my wife."
Mr. Harraby-Ribston took the disclosure remarkably well. He did, it's true, flinch and turn a little pale, but in a few moments he had recovered himself." Thank you, sir," he said; and let me say how much I appreciate your openness. In fact, you tempt me to be equally frank with you. Let me confess, then, that as a matter of fact I haven't left my wife, for the simple reason that I'm a bachelor. I grow vegetables on rather a large scale and once a week business takes me to London. As for the matter of the suitcase , I have some friends whose house we passed a few miles back and every week I fill a suitcase with vegetables, bring it with me, and throw it out of the carriage-window as the train passes their house. It rolls down the embankment and lands up against their railings. It's a primitive method, I know, but it saves postage and you can have no idea how much entertaining conversation it provokes with my fellow-passengers. You, if I may say so, are no exception." |