Short Fiction M. R. James (good book recommendations TXT) đ
- Author: M. R. James
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âHe lived unknown, and few could know when Baxter ceased to be,â said the Squire to his pipe.
âI beg pardon, Master Henry, I was just coming to that. But when I say how he passed away his timeâ âto be sure we know âow intent he was in rummaging and ransacking out all the âistry of the neighbourhood and the number of things heâd managed to collect togetherâ âwell, it was spoke of for miles round as Baxterâs Museum, and many a time when he might be in the mood, and I might have an hour to spare, have he showed me his pieces of pots and whatnot, going back by his account to the times of the ancient Romans. However, you know more about that than what I do, Master Henry: only what I was a-going to say was this, as know what he might and interesting as he might be in his talk, there was something about the manâ âwell, for one thing, no one ever remember to see him in church nor yet chapel at service-time. And that made talk. Our rector he never come in the house but once. âNever ask me what the man saidâ; that was all anybody could ever get out of him. Then how did he spend his nights, particularly about this season of the year? Time and again the labouring menâd meet him coming back as they went out to their work, and heâd pass âem by without a word, looking, they says, like someone straight out of the asylum. They see the whites of his eyes all round. Heâd have a fish-basket with him, that they noticed, and he always come the same road. And the talk got to be that heâd made himself some business, and that not the best kindâ âwell, not so far from where you was at seven oâclock this evening, sir.
âWell, now, after such a night as that, Mr. Baxter heâd shut up the shop, and the old lady that did for him had orders not to come in; and knowing what she did about his language, she took care to obey them orders. But one day it so happened, about three oâclock in the afternoon, the house being shut up as I said, there come a most fearful to-do inside, and smoke out of the windows, and Baxter crying out seemingly in an agony. So the man as lived next door he run round to the back premises and burst the door in, and several others come too. Well, he tell me he never in all his life smelt such a fearfulâ âwell, odour, as what there was in that kitchen-place. It seem as if Baxter had been boiling something in a pot and overset it on his leg. There he laid on the floor, trying to keep back the cries, but it was more than he could manage, and when he seen the people come inâ âoh, he was in a nice condition: if his tongue warnât blistered worse than his leg it warnât his fault. Well, they picked him up, and got him into a chair, and run for the medical man, and one of âem was going to pick up the pot, and Baxter, he screams out to let it alone. So he did, but he couldnât see as there was anything in the pot but a few old brown bones. Then they says âDr. Lawrenceâll be here in a minute, Mr. Baxter; heâll soon put you to rights.â And then he was off again. He must be got up to his room, he couldnât have the doctor come in there and see all that messâ âthey must throw a cloth over itâ âanythingâ âthe tablecloth out of the parlour; well, so they did. But that must have been poisonous stuff in that pot, for it was pretty near on two months afore Baxter were about agin. Beg pardon, Master Henry, was you going to say something?â
âYes, I was,â said the Squire. âI wonder you havenât told me all this before. However, I was going to say I remember old Lawrence telling me heâd attended Baxter. He was a queer card, he said. Lawrence was up in the bedroom one day, and picked up a little mask covered with black velvet, and put it on in fun and went to look at himself in the glass. He hadnât time for a proper look, for old Baxter shouted out to him from the bed: âPut it down, you fool! Do you want to look through a dead manâs eyes?â and it startled him so that he did put it down, and then he asked Baxter what he meant. And Baxter insisted on him handing it over, and said the man he bought it from was dead, or some such nonsense. But Lawrence felt it as he handed it over, and he declared he was sure it was made out of the front of a skull. He bought a distilling apparatus at Baxterâs sale, he told me, but he could never use it: it seemed to taint everything, however much he cleaned it. But go on, Patten.â
âYes, Master Henry, Iâm nearly done now, and time, too, for I donât know what theyâll think about me in the servantsâ âall. Well, this business of the scalding was some few years before Mr. Baxter was took, and he got about again, and went on just as heâd used. And one of the last jobs he done was finishing up them actual glasses what you took out last night. You see heâd made the body of them some long time, and got the pieces of glass for them, but there was somethink wanted to finish âem, whatever it was, I donât know, but
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