Short Fiction M. R. James (good book recommendations TXT) 📖

him which did not seem familiar. It was in blue letters on a yellow ground, and all that he could read of it was a name⁠—John Harrington⁠—and something like a date. It could be of no interest to him to know more; but for all that, as the car emptied, he was just curious enough to move along the seat until he could read it well. He felt to a slight extent repaid for his trouble; the advertisement was not of the usual type. It ran thus: “In memory of John Harrington, F.S.A., of The Laurels, Ashbrooke. Died Sept. 18th, 1889. Three months were allowed.”

The car stopped. Mr. Dunning, still contemplating the blue letters on the yellow ground, had to be stimulated to rise by a word from the conductor. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “I was looking at that advertisement; it’s a very odd one, isn’t it?” The conductor read it slowly. “Well, my word,” he said, “I never see that one before. Well, that is a cure, ain’t it? Someone bin up to their jokes ’ere, I should think.” He got out a duster and applied it, not without saliva, to the pane and then to the outside. “No,” he said, returning, “that ain’t no transfer; seems to me as if it was reg’lar in the glass, what I mean in the substance, as you may say. Don’t you think so, sir?” Mr. Dunning examined it and rubbed it with his glove, and agreed. “Who looks after these advertisements, and gives leave for them to be put up? I wish you would inquire. I will just take a note of the words.” At this moment there came a call from the driver: “Look alive, George, time’s up.” “All right, all right; there’s somthink else what’s up at this end. You come and look at this ’ere glass.” “What’s gorn with the glass?” said the driver, approaching. “Well, and oo’s ’Arrington? What’s it all about?” “I was just asking who was responsible for putting the advertisements up in your cars, and saying it would be as well to make some inquiry about this one.” “Well, sir, that’s all done at the Company’s orfice, that work is: it’s our Mr. Timms, I believe, looks into that. When we put up tonight I’ll leave word, and per’aps I’ll be able to tell you tomorrer if you ’appen to be coming this way.”

This was all that passed that evening. Mr. Dunning did just go to the trouble of looking up Ashbrooke, and found that it was in Warwickshire.

Next day he went to town again. The car (it was the same car) was too full in the morning to allow of his getting a word with the conductor: he could only be sure that the curious advertisement had been made away with. The close of the day brought a further element of mystery into the transaction. He had missed the tram, or else preferred walking home, but at a rather late hour, while he was at work in his study, one of the maids came to say that two men from the tramways was very anxious to speak to him. This was a reminder of the advertisement, which he had, he says, nearly forgotten. He had the men in⁠—they were the conductor and driver of the car⁠—and when the matter of refreshment had been attended to, asked what Mr. Timms had had to say about the advertisement. “Well, sir, that’s what we took the liberty to step round about,” said the conductor. “Mr. Timm’s ’e give William ’ere the rough side of his tongue about that: ’cordin’ to ’im there warn’t no advertisement of that description sent in, nor ordered, nor paid for, nor put up, nor nothink, let alone not bein’ there, and we was playing the fool takin’ up his time. ‘Well,’ I says, ‘if that’s the case, all I ask of you, Mr. Timms,’ I says, ‘is to take and look at it for yourself,’ I says. ‘Of course if it ain’t there,’ I says, ‘you may take and call me what you like.’ ‘Right,’ he says, ‘I will’: and we went straight off. Now, I leave it to you, sir, if that ad., as we term ’em, with ’Arrington on it warn’t as plain as ever you see anythink⁠—blue letters on yeller glass, and as I says at the time, and you borne me out, reg’lar in the glass, because, if you remember, you recollect of me swabbing it with my duster.” “To be sure I do, quite clearly⁠—well?” “You may say well, I don’t think. Mr. Timms he gets in that car with a light⁠—no, he telled William to ’old the light outside. ‘Now,’ he says, ‘where’s your precious ad. what we’ve ’eard so much about?’ ‘ ’Ere it is,’ I says, ‘Mr. Timms,’ and I laid my ’and on it.” The conductor paused.

“Well,” said Mr. Dunning, “it was gone, I suppose. Broken?”

“Broke!⁠—not it. There warn’t, if you’ll believe me, no more trace of them letters⁠—blue letters they was⁠—on that piece o’ glass, than⁠—well, it’s no good me talkin’. I never see such a thing. I leave it to William here if⁠—but there, as I says, where’s the benefit in me going on about it?”

“And what did Mr. Timms say?”

“Why ’e did what I give ’im leave to⁠—called us pretty much anythink he liked, and I don’t know as I blame him so much neither. But what we thought, William and me did, was as we seen you take down a bit of a note about that⁠—well, that letterin’⁠—”

“I certainly did that, and I have it now. Did you wish me to speak to Mr. Timms myself, and show it to him? Was that what you came in about?”

“There, didn’t I say as much?” said William. “Deal with a gent if you can get on the track of one, that’s my word. Now perhaps, George, you’ll allow as I ain’t took you very far wrong tonight.”

“Very well, William, very well; no need for you to go on as if