Tobermory by Saki
It was a chill, rain-washed afternoon of a
late August day, that indefinite season when
partridges are still in security or cold storage,
and there is nothing to hunt ó unless one
is bounded on the north by the Bristol Channel,
in which case one may lawfully gallop after
fat red stags. Lady Blemley's house-party
was not bounded on the north by the Bristol
Channel, hence there was a full gathering
of her guests round the tea-table on this
particular afternoon. And, in spite of the
blankness of the season and the triteness
of the occasion, there was no trace in the
company of that fatigued restlessness which
means a dread of the pianola and a subdued
hankering for auction bridge. The undisguised
open-mouthed attention of the entire party
was fixed on the homely negative personality
of Mr. Cornelius Appin. Of all her guests,
he was the one who had come to Lady Blemley
with the vaguest reputation. Some one had
said he was "clever," and he had got his invitation
in the moderate expectation, on the part of
his hostess, that some portion at least of
his cleverness would be contributed to the
general entertainment. Until tea-time that
day she had been unable to discover in what
direction, if any, his cleverness lay. He
was neither a wit nor a croquet champion,
a hypnotic force nor a begetter of amateur
theatricals. Neither did his exterior suggest
the sort of man in whom women are willing
to pardon a generous measure of mental deficiency.
He had subsided into mere Mr. Appin, and the
Cornelius seemed a piece of transparent baptismal
bluff. And now he was claiming to have launched
on the world a discovery beside which the
invention of gunpowder, of the printing-press,
and of steam locomotion were inconsiderable
trifles. Science had made bewildering strides
in many directions during recent decades,
but this thing seemed to belong to the domain
of miracle rather than to scientific achievement.
"And do you really ask us to believe," Sir
Wilfrid was saying, "that you have discovered
a means for instructing animals in the art
of human speech, and that dear old Tobermory
has proved your first successful pupil?"
"It is a problem at which I have worked for
the last seventeen years," said Mr. Appin,
"but only during the last eight or nine months
have I been rewarded with glimmerings of success.
Of course I have experimented with thousands
of animals, but latterly only with cats, those
wonderful creatures which have assimilated
themselves so marvellously with our civilization
while retaining all their highly developed
feral instincts. Here and there among cats
one comes across an outstanding superior intellect,
just as one does among the ruck of human beings,
and when I made the acquaintance of Tobermory
a week ago I saw at once that I was in contact
with a 'Beyond-cat' of extraordinary intelligence.
I had gone far along the road to success in
recent experiments; with Tobermory, as you
call him, I have reached the goal."
Mr. Appin concluded his remarkable statement
in a voice which he strove to divest of a
triumphant inflection. No one said "Rats,"
though Clovis's lips moved in a monosyllabic
contortion which probably invoked those rodents
of disbelief.
"And do you mean to say," asked Miss Resker,
after a slight pause, "that you have taught
Tobermory to say and understand easy sentences
of one syllable?"
"My dear Miss Resker," said the wonder-worker
patiently, "one teaches little children and
savages and backward adults in that piecemeal
fashion; when one has once solved the problem
of making a beginning with an animal of highly
developed intelligence one has no need for
those halting methods. Tobermory can speak
our language with perfect correctness."
This time Clovis very distinctly said, "Beyond-rats!"
Sir Wilfrid was more polite, but equally sceptical.
"Hadn't we better have the cat in and judge
for ourselves?" suggested Lady Blemley.
Sir Wilfrid went in search of the animal,
and the company settled themselves down to
the languid expectation of witnessing some
more or less adroit drawing-room ventriloquism.
In a minute Sir Wilfrid was back in the room,
his face white beneath its tan and his eyes
dilated with excitement. "By Gad, it's true!"
His agitation was unmistakably genuine, and
his hearers started forward in a thrill of
awakened interest.
Collapsing into an armchair he continued breathlessly:
"I found him dozing in the smoking-room and
called out to him to come for his tea. He
blinked at me in his usual way, and I said,
'Come on, Toby; don't keep us waiting'; and,
by Gad! he drawled out in a most horribly
natural voice that he'd come when he dashed
well pleased! I nearly jumped out of my skin!"
Appin had preached to absolutely incredulous
hearers; Sir Wilfred's statement carried instant
conviction. A Babel-like chorus of startled
exclamation arose, amid which the scientist
sat mutely enjoying the first fruit of his
stupendous discovery.
In the midst of the clamour Tobermory entered
the room and made his way with velvet tread
and studied unconcern across to the group
seated round the tea-table.
A sudden hush of awkwardness and constraint
fell on the company. Somehow there seemed
an element of embarrassment in addressing
on equal terms a domestic cat of acknowledged
mental ability.
"Will you have some milk, Tobermory?" asked
Lady Blemley in a rather strained voice.
"I don't mind if I do," was the response,
couched in a tone of even indifference. A
shiver of suppressed excitement went through
the listeners, and Lady Blemley might be excused
for pouring out the saucerful of milk rather
unsteadily.
"I'm afraid I've spilt a good deal of it,"
she said apologetically.
"After all, it's not my Axminster," was Tobermory's
rejoinder.
Another silence fell on the group, and then
Miss Resker, in her best district-visitor
manner, asked if the human language had been
difficult to learn. Tobermory looked squarely
at her for a moment and then fixed his gaze
serenely on the middle distance. It was obvious
that boring questions lay outside his scheme
of life.
"What do you think of human intelligence?"
asked Mavis Pellington lamely.
"Of whose intelligence in particular?" asked
Tobermory coldly.
"Oh, well, mine for instance," said Mavis,
with a feeble laugh.
"You put me in an embarrassing position,"
said Tobermory, whose tone and attitude certainly
did not suggest a shred of embarrassment.
"When your inclusion in this house-party was
suggested, Sir Wilfrid protested that you
were the most brainless woman of his acquaintance,
and that there was a wide distinction between
hospitality and the care of the feeble-minded.
Lady Blemley replied that your lack of brain-power
was the precise quality which had earned you
your invitation, as you were the only person
she could think of who might be idiotic enough
to buy their old car. You know, the one they
call 'The Envy of Sisyphus,' because it goes
quite nicely up-hill if you push it."
Lady Blemley's protestations would have had
greater effect if she had not casually suggested
to Mavis only that morning that the car in
question would be just the thing for her down
at her Devonshire home.
Major Barfield plunged in heavily to effect
a diversion.
"How about your carryings-on with the tortoise-shell
puss up at the stables, eh?"
The moment he had said it every one realized
the blunder.
"One does not usually discuss these matters
in public," said Tobermory frigidly. "From
a slight observation of your ways since you've
been in this house I should imagine you'd
find it inconvenient if I were to shift the
conversation on to your own little affairs."
The panic which ensued was not confined to
the Major.
"Would you like to go and see if cook has
got your dinner ready?" suggested Lady Blemley
hurriedly, affecting to ignore the fact that
it wanted at least two hours to Tobermory's
dinner-time.
"Thanks," said Tobermory, "not quite so soon
after my tea. I don't want to die of indigestion."
"Cats have nine lives, you know," said Sir
Wilfrid heartily.
"Possibly", answered Tobermory; "but only
one liver."
"Adelaide!" said Mrs. Cornett, "do you mean
to encourage that cat to go out and gossip
about us in the servants' hall?"
The panic had indeed become general. A narrow
ornamental balustrade ran in front of most
of the bedroom windows at the Towers, and
it was recalled with dismay that this had
formed a favourite promenade for Tobermory
at all hours, whence he could watch the pigeons
ó and heaven knew what else besides. If he
intended to become reminiscent in his present
outspoken strain the effect would be something
more than disconcerting. Mrs. Cornett, who
spent much time at her toilet table, and whose
complexion was reputed to be of a nomadic
though punctual disposition, looked as ill
at ease as the Major. Miss Scrawen, who wrote
fiercely sensuous poetry and led a blameless
life, merely displayed irritation; if you
are methodical and virtuous in private you
don't necessarily want every one to know it.
Bertie van Tahn, who was so depraved at seventeen
that he had long ago given up trying to be
any worse, turned a dull shade of gardenia
white, but he did not commit the error of
dashing out of the room like Odo Finsberry,
a young gentleman who was understood to be
reading for the Church and who was possibly
disturbed at the thought of scandals he might
hear concerning other people. Clovis had the
presence of mind to maintain a composed exterior;
privately he was calculating how long it would
take to procure a box of fancy mice through
the agency of the Exchange and Mart as a species
of hush-money.
Even in a delicate situation like the present,
Agnes Resker could not endure to remain too
long in the background.
"Why did I ever come down here?" she asked
dramatically.
Tobermory immediately accepted the opening.
"Judging by what you said to Mrs. Cornett
on the croquet-lawn yesterday, you were out
for food. You described the Blemleys as the
dullest people to stay with that you knew,
but said they were clever enough to employ
a first-rate cook; otherwise they'd find it
difficult to get any one to come down a second
time."
"There's not a word of truth in it! I appeal
to Mrs. Cornett--" exclaimed the discomfited
Agnes.
"Mrs. Cornett repeated your remark afterwards
to Bertie van Tahn," continued Tobermory,
"and said, 'That woman is a regular Hunger
Marcher; she'd go anywhere for four square
meals a day,' and Bertie van Tahn said--"
At this point the chronicle mercifully ceased.
Tobermory had caught a glimpse of the big
yellow Tom from the Rectory working his way
through the shrubbery towards the stable wing.
In a flash he had vanished through the open
French window.
With the disappearance of his too brilliant
pupil Cornelius Appin found himself beset
by a hurricane of bitter upbraiding, anxious
inquiry, and frightened entreaty. The responsibility
for the situation lay with him, and he must
prevent matters from becoming worse. Could
Tobermory impart his dangerous gift to other
cats? was the first question he had to answer.
It was possible, he replied, that he might
have initiated his intimate friend the stable
puss into his new accomplishment, but it was
unlikely that his teaching could have taken
a wider range as yet.
"Then," said Mrs. Cornett, "Tobermory may
be a valuable cat and a great pet; but I'm
sure you'll agree, Adelaide, that both he
and the stable cat must be done away with
without delay."
"You don't suppose I've enjoyed the last quarter
of an hour, do you?" said Lady Blemley bitterly.
"My husband and I are very fond of Tobermory
ó at least, we were before this horrible
accomplishment was infused into him; but now,
of course, the only thing is to have him destroyed
as soon as possible."
"We can put some strychnine in the scraps
he always gets at dinner-time," said Sir Wilfrid,
"and I will go and drown the stable cat myself.
The coachman will be very sore at losing his
pet, but I'll say a very catching form of
mange has broken out in both cats and we're
afraid of its spreading to the kennels."
"But my great discovery!" expostulated Mr.
Appin; "after all my years of research and
experiment--"
"You can go and experiment on the short-horns
at the farm, who are under proper control,"
said Mrs. Cornett, "or the elephants at the
Zoological Gardens. They're said to be highly
intelligent, and they have this recommendation,
that they don't come creeping about our bedrooms
and under chairs, and so forth."
An archangel ecstatically proclaiming the
Millennium, and then finding that it clashed
unpardonably with Henley and would have to
be indefinitely postponed, could hardly have
felt more crestfallen than Cornelius Appin
at the reception of his wonderful achievement.
Public opinion, however, was against him ó
in fact, had the general voice been consulted
on the subject it is probable that a strong
minority vote would have been in favour of
including him in the strychnine diet.
Defective train arrangements and a nervous
desire to see matters brought to a finish
prevented an immediate dispersal of the party,
but dinner that evening was not a social success.
Sir Wilfrid had had rather a trying time with
the stable cat and subsequently with the coachman.
Agnes Resker ostentatiously limited her repast
to a morsel of dry toast, which she bit as
though it were a personal enemy; while Mavis
Pellington maintained a vindictive silence
throughout the meal. Lady Blemley kept up
a flow of what she hoped was conversation,
but her attention was fixed on the doorway.
A plateful of carefully dosed fish scraps
was in readiness on the sideboard, but sweets
and savoury and dessert went their way, and
no Tobermory appeared either in the dining-room
or kitchen.
The sepulchral dinner was cheerful compared
with the subsequent vigil in the smoking-room.
Eating and drinking had at least supplied
a distraction and cloak to the prevailing
embarrassment. Bridge was out of the question
in the general tension of nerves and tempers,
and after Odo Finsberry had given a lugubrious
rendering of "Melisande in the Wood" to a
frigid audience, music was tacitly avoided.
At eleven the servants went to bed, announcing
that the small window in the pantry had been
left open as usual for Tobermory's private
use. The guests read steadily through the
current batch of magazines, and fell back
gradually on the "Badminton Library" and bound
volumes of Punch. Lady Blemley made periodic
visits to the pantry, returning each time
with an expression of listless depression
which forestalled questioning.
At two o'clock Clovis broke the dominating
silence.
"He won't turn up tonight. He's probably in
the local newspaper office at the present
moment, dictating the first instalment of
his reminiscences. Lady What's-her-name's
book won't be in it. It will be the event
of the day."
Having made this contribution to the general
cheerfulness, Clovis went to bed. At long
intervals the various members of the house-party
followed his example.
The servants taking round the early tea made
a uniform announcement in reply to a uniform
question. Tobermory had not returned.
Breakfast was, if anything, a more unpleasant
function than dinner had been, but before
its conclusion the situation was relieved.
Tobermory's corpse was brought in from the
shrubbery, where a gardener had just discovered
it. From the bites on his throat and the yellow
fur which coated his claws it was evident
that he had fallen in unequal combat with
the big Tom from the Rectory.
By midday most of the guests had quitted the
Towers, and after lunch Lady Blemley had sufficiently
recovered her spirits to write an extremely
nasty letter to the Rectory about the loss
of her valuable pet.
Tobermory had been Appin's one successful
pupil, and he was destined to have no successor.
A few weeks later an elephant in the Dresden
Zoological Garden, which had shown no previous
signs of irritability, broke loose and killed
an Englishman who had apparently been teasing
it. The victim's name was variously reported
in the papers as Oppin and Eppelin, but his
front name was faithfully rendered Cornelius.
"If he was trying German irregular verbs on
the poor beast," said Clovis, "he deserved
all he got."
