Kipps H. G. Wells (best thriller novels to read .txt) 📖

times. ’Ave Sid down. There’s bicycles⁠—”

“I don’t fancy myself on a bicycle,” said Ann.

“ ’Ave a trailer,” said Kipps, “and sit like a lady. I’d take you out to New Romney easy as anything jest to see the old people.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” said Ann.

“We’ll jest ’ave a sensible little ’ouse, and sensible things. No art or anything of that sort, nothing stuck-up or anything, but jest sensible. We’ll be as right as anything, Ann.”

“No socialism,” said Ann, starting a lurking doubt.

“No socialism,” said Kipps; “just sensible, that’s all.”

“I dessay it’s all right for them that understand it, Artie, but I don’t agree with this socialism.”

“I don’t neither, reely,” said Kipps. “I can’t argue about it, but it don’t seem real like to me. All the same Masterman’s a clever fellow, Ann.”

“I didn’t like ’im at first, Artie, but I do now⁠—in a way. You don’t understand ’im all at once.”

“ ’E’s so clever,” said Kipps. “Arf the time I can’t make out what ’e’s up to. ’E’s the cleverest chap I ever met. I never ’eard such talking. ’E ought to write a book.⁠ ⁠… It’s a rum world, Ann, when a chap like that isn’t ’ardly able to earn a living.”

“It’s ’is ’ealth,” said Ann.

“I expect it is,” said Kipps, and ceased to talk for a little while.

Then he spoke with deliberation, “Sea air might be the saving of ’im, Ann.”

He glanced doubtfully at Ann, and she was looking at him even fondly.

“You think of other people a lot,” said Ann. “I been looking at you sittin’ there and thinking.”

“I suppose I do. I suppose when one’s ’appy one does.”

“You do,” said Ann.

“We shall be ’appy in that little ’ouse, Ann. Don’t y’ think?”

She met his eyes and nodded.

“I seem to see it,” said Kipps, “sort of cosy like. ’Bout tea time and muffins, kettle on the ’ob, cat on the ’earthrug. We must get a cat, Ann, and you there. Eh?”

They regarded each other with appreciative eyes and Kipps became irrelevant.

“I don’t believe, Ann,” he said, “I ’aven’t kissed you not for ’arf an hour. Leastways not since we was in those caves.”

For kissing had already ceased to be a matter of thrilling adventure for them.

Ann shook her head. “You be sensible and go on talking about Mr. Masterman,” she said.⁠ ⁠…

But Kipps had wandered to something else. “I like the way your ’air turns back just there,” he said, with an indicative finger. “It was like that, I remember, when you was a girl. Sort of wavy. I’ve often thought of it⁠—.⁠ ⁠… ’Member when we raced that time⁠—out be’ind the church?”

Then for a time they sat idly, each following out agreeable meditations.

“It’s rum,” said Kipps.

“What’s rum?”

“ ’Ow everything’s ’appened,” said Kipps. “Who’d ’ave thought of our being ’ere like this six weeks ago?⁠ ⁠… Who’d ’ave thought of my ever ’aving any money?”

His eyes went to the big Labyrinthodon. He looked first carelessly and then suddenly with a growing interest in its vast face.

“I’m deshed,” he murmured. Ann became interested. He laid a hand on her arm and pointed. Ann scrutinised the Labyrinthodon and then came around to Kipps’ face in mute interrogation.

“Don’t you see it?” said Kipps.

“See what?”

“ ’E’s jest like old Coote.”

“It’s extinct,” said Ann, not clearly apprehending.

“I dessay ’e is. But ’e’s jest like old Coote all the same for that.”

Kipps meditated on the monstrous shapes in sight. “I wonder ’ow all these old antediluvium animals got extinct,” he asked. “No one couldn’t possibly ’ave killed ’em.”

“Why! I know that,” said Ann. “They was overtook by the Flood.⁠ ⁠…”

Kipps meditated for a while. “But I thought they had to take two of everything there was⁠—”

“Within reason they ’ad,” said Ann.⁠ ⁠…

The Kippses left it at that.

The great green and gold Labyrinthodon took no notice of their conversation. It gazed with its wonderful eyes over their heads into the infinite⁠—inflexibly calm. It might indeed have been Coote himself there, Coote, the unassuming, cutting them dead.⁠ ⁠…

And in due course these two simple souls married, and Venus Urania, the Goddess of Wedded Love, the Goddess of Tolerant Kindliness or Meeting Half Way, to whom all young couples should pray and offer sacrifices of self, who is indeed a very great and noble and kindly goddess, was in some manner propitiated, and bent down and blessed them in their union.

Book III Kippses I The Housing Problem

Honeymoons and all things come to an end, and you see at last Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Kipps descending upon the Hythe platform⁠—coming to Hythe to find that nice little house⁠—to realise that bright dream of a home they had first talked about in the grounds of the Crystal Palace. They are a valiant couple, you perceive, but small, and the world is a large incongruous system of complex and difficult things. Kipps wears a grey suit, with a wing-poke collar and a neat, smart tie. Mrs. Kipps is the same bright and healthy little girl woman you saw in the marsh; not an inch has been added to her stature in all my voluminous narrative. Only now she wears a hat.

It is a hat very unlike the hats she used to wear on her Sundays out, a flourishing hat with feathers and buckle and bows and things. The price of that hat would take many people’s breath away⁠—it cost two guineas! Kipps chose it. Kipps paid for it. They left the shop with flushed cheeks and smarting eyes, glad to be out of range of the condescending saleswoman.

“Artie,” said Ann, “you didn’t ought to ’ave⁠—”

That was all. And you know, the hat didn’t suit Ann a bit. Her clothes did not suit her at all. The simple, cheap, clean brightness of her former style had given place not only to this hat, but to several other things in the same key. And out from among these things looked her pretty face, the face of a wise little child⁠—an artless wonder struggling through a preposterous dignity.

They had bought that hat one day when they had gone