The Strand Magazine/Volume 3/Issue 14/TQS
The Queer Side of Things.
By J. F. Sullivan.
T was just the day for a picnic, fine and balmy, and discounted by no probability of rain and hurricane; in fact, we had had a long spell of settled weather—nearly a day and a half—so we were all in good spirits.
We had selected a beautiful landing-place on the bank of the Thames, and had the additional advantage of the shadow of a large notice-board—a board declaring the land, river, air, sky, clouds, and other articles around and above, to be the private property of someone or other, and warning strangers not to land, fish, breathe, exist, or otherwise trespass near the spot. The shadow of this board served nicely to keep the rays of the sun from the butter and champagne. We only regretted that Moozeby had not been able to join us.
We were preparing to sit down to our repast, when Pinniger, looking toward the "table," expressed a fear that a mist was rising from the ground just at that spot. It really seemed so, although the place we had chosen for laying the cloth on had been selected on account of its apparent dryness. Yet there was a small patch of mist, rapidly increasing in density; so, deciding that there must be a small morass just there, we prepared to move the eatables to another place.
Pinniger thereupon stretched forth his hand to seize the dish of lobsters, and withdrew it with a strange expression of face; he examined his hand: "It's the densest mist I ever came across!" he muttered; "I can feel it—feels like cotton-wool!"
Then Maud Wimble-Pinniger's affianced tried to reach the pie, and drew back her hand with a little shriek. "What is it?" she cried in a scared way; "I don't like it! I can hardly get my hand through it! Look, look! It seems to have a shape!"
We had turned green now, and were standing in a ring, staring open-mouthed at the patch of fog. It did seem to have a shape certainly.
Joe Button, who was a stolid, heavy fellow, without any nerves, had another try at it; he tried to get at the butter, and did succeed in getting the point of a finger some little way in, but drew it back hastily and turned green like the rest of us; for he and we could have sworn that we heard a sort of far-off voice crying, from the midst of that fog: "Here, I say! A joke's a joke—that hurts!"
Utterly paralysed, we stood watching that lump of fog. It was momentarily becoming more opaque, and more and more of the form of a man; then the form became rapidly clearer and clearer—until at length there sat Moozeby, solid and alive, on the viands.
"There sat Moozeby—on the viands."
"It's all right—don't be alarmed, any of you," panted Moozeby, wiping his brow as if after some great exertion; "there's nothing supernatural—I've only precipitated myself been taking lessons in it. But, by Jove, where have I landed—Why—oh, I say, I'm awfully sorry!"
With this he got up from the provisions, the greater part of which were ruined; he had been sitting on the pie, the butter, the salad, the coffee-cream, the salmon, and the tarts. We upbraided him wildly.
"I say, I'm awfully sorry!" he said, humbly, "awfully sorry. The fact is, it's very difficult to aim properly when you're a beginner. You see, it's this way—when you're distributed in the air in the form of elements, it affects the sight to a great extent; and you really cannot see exactly where you are focussing yourself. You know, I could distinguish the group of you here in a vague way, and recognise you by your voices; but I was under the impression that I was precipitating myself on that tree-stump there, see? I really hadn't the faintest idea I was among the eatables—wouldn't have played a trick like that for the world! You know me."
We did know him for a good fellow, with a mind above jokes of that sort; so we forgave him.
"But, now, what the dickens are we going to do for grub?" we said.
"I'll tell you what," said Moozeby, "I'll take the Canadian, and paddle to Sonning, and get something. Won't be ten min—"
"I say, Bob, if you can precipitate yourself, what's to prevent you trying your hand at other things—raised pies and things?"
"Gad, I never thought of that!" exclaimed Moozeby.
"I wouldn't eat such nasty, unwholesome, supernatural things, for one!" said Mrs. Wimbledon, shuddering; and we all had some such feeling.
"Well, anyhow, it won't do any harm to try. Tell you what, I'll try on a sandwich, and taste it myself," said Moozeby. "Just help me wish for it, all you fellows; it might be an assistance."
"A little patch of mist appeared over Wortleworth's head."
Fixing his eye steadfastly on the top of Wortleworth's head, so that his attention should not wander, Moozeby stood perfectly still, grunting at intervals, as if engaged in a tiring effort. In a few moments a little patch of mist appeared over Wortleworth's head, and, in another few moments, there lay a freshly-cut sandwich, right on the bald patch.
"Oh, I beg pardon—didn't mean it to come there!" explained Moozeby. He took the sandwich; we all smelt it suspiciously, and Moozeby nibbled a little corner of it.
"Upon my word, it isn't half bad!" he said. "It's ham—not American, I'll swear. It's remarkably good. I'll finish it, and chance it."
"Precipitate a dish of 'em, Bob; it won't be any bigger effort to do a whole dish than a single one, will it?"
"Mrs. Wimbledon shuddered."
He did it. We each took one, very nervously and delicately—with the exception of Mrs. Wimbledon—and turned it over, and smelt it. Each sandwich was beautifully buttered and seasoned, and looked most tempting. A notion occurred to us we offered one to Tim, the Irish terrier, and he swallowed it, unhesitatingly, and did not die in a paroxysm, or catch fire; on the contrary, he licked his lips. We nibbled a corner; we ate those sandwiches, with the exception of Mrs. Wimbledon, who declared it was wicked, and a "tempting of Providence" (whatever that may be), and shuddered again.
"Go it, Bob, old man!" we cried in chorus. "Let's have some nice things—galantines, and so on."
"Well, I'll tell you what," said Moozeby, "let's make out a list—a race-hamper list—before I go to work. It'll be one effort for the lot."
"Yes, better order 'em all at once"
"Ssh! Don't speak of it as 'ordering,' old chap. Mrs. Besant wouldn't like it if she heard; and there's no knowing if she does," said Moozeby.
The affair was a great success. We laid out a clean white cloth on the burdens of the boat, and Moozeby precipitated on to it a very choice and varied collation. There were minor blunders: he omitted to precipitate a dish for the mayonnaise. The wine was excellent—not at all like any one gets from a wine merchant; and the cigars had not that aroma of guano characterising those we obtain from Havana.
Beyond this, the new way of providing things was remarkably economical; and we all decided to lay in a large stock of wine for home use in that way. It is very strange to reflect that this useful power, exercised with so great facility by H. P. B. and our friend Moozeby, should have been so long neglected by civilised men! The more one thinks upon it the stranger it seems.
"The last train gone!"
Presently it came on to rain, and Moozeby precipitated umbrellas and waterproofs. He was invaluable: no picnic is complete without a Moozeby. Nevertheless, these articles were not such a complete success as the viands; some of them hovered an unreasonable time in a nebulous condition, and one umbrella really only became solid in parts, and let the rain through the misty portions on to Pinniger and his young lady; but we arrived at the station in good spirits—to find our last train gone!
On inquiry, we discovered that we could, by waiting an hour and twenty minutes, get home towards morning by changing at Clapham-junction, Willesden, and Loughborough-park. We were in dismay, when Pinniger was struck with a thought—
"Why couldn't you precipitate a special train, Bob?" he said to Moozeby.
Poor Moozeby looked fagged out, and said, "Fact is, I don't feel over fresh after precipitating all those other things. It's a bit of a strain; and a train's a big thing to undertake late in the day—the engine alone will take a lot out of me; but I'll do my best."
Accordingly, poor Moozeby, after a sip of brandy, went and fixed his eyes steadily on the line, while we all stood round, staring eagerly at the same point. The station-master, thinking something must be wrong, came up and asked if we had lost anything.
"Sh!" whispered Pinniger hoarsely; "don't distract his attention—you'll spoil it."
So the station-master and the porters, and young W. H. Smith & Sons silently joined the group, and stared at the line too. A quarter of an hour elapsed, and then a grey vapour began to gather on the line, uncertainly; for fully another twenty minutes it wavered and varied in density, and then the station-master began to grow anxious.
"Moozeby fixed his eyes steadily on the line."
"Beg pardon—don't want to spoil the experiment, whatever it may be," he whispered. "But it won't do to interfere with the line in any way—it's against all rules."
It became obvious that we must let the station-master into it; to attempt to work a thing on so large a scale without taking him into the affair seemed positively rude; besides which, he might be able to assist Moozeby with hints as to the proper construction of a train. So we explained the matter to him.
The station-master shook his head decisively, and said it was against rules for strangers to place trains on the line; it was obviously to the common danger, particularly as the up express was due in twelve minutes.
This was serious; we advised Moozeby to run his nebula on to a siding out of danger, and go on with it there—if we could persuade the station-master to sanction it.
But Moozeby was very tired, and got flurried over it; he found that the half-solid train would not move, the engine not yet having arrived at a working condition, so he hastily attempted to precipitate a horse to drag it into the siding; but the horse behaved in a foolish manner, too, and finally took form with only three legs, one of them being filmy. Our nervousness and excitement grew intense—the express was signalled as having passed a point three miles away, and would be upon us almost immediately; in our despair we jumped down on the line, and put our shoulders to such half-solid portions of Moozeby's train as we could find—but our exertions only made a jumbled mass of it, owing to the nebulous parts giving way; the rumble of the approaching express grew momentarily louder; the station-master and the porters and young W. H. Smith shrieked to us to come off the line; we scrambled madly on to the platform, yelling to Moozeby to dissolve his train as sharp as he could; Moozeby gasped and made one mighty effort; the express came thundering through the arch a hundred yards away; the station-master and porters and young Smith were nearly mad, and tried frantically to poke away the lumps of Moozeby's train with some poles. The express dashed by, scattering the pieces of train in all directions, and whirled away out of sight.
Lumps of the scattered train were falling about us in every direction, some of them upon our heads; but they were so light that an umbrella easily kept them off: and we breathed again, for the express had escaped undamaged.
The anger of the station-master was terrible, and he was at first about to give us all in charge; but we soothed him after a time, and Moozeby precipitated a diamond scarf-pin into his tie; and we shook hands with him, and trudged off towards the village to get beds.
"The express dashed by."
Our path lay by the side of the line; and, when about a quarter of a mile from the station, we came upon a nice quiet siding, and Pinniger glanced at Moozeby.
"All right," said Moozeby, who had refreshed himself after his recent strain with half a bottle of champagne and the breast of a fowl; "I don't feel so tired as I did, and I fancy I might get on better now. I was flurried before."
This time he went to work more methodically. We all sat down on the waterproofs and the men smoked, while Moozeby commenced at the engine, to make sure of that at any. We had decided to limit ourselves to an engine and one carriage, to save Moozeby as much as possible.
But Moozeby wasted time and strength to begin with; for, knowing but little about engines, he half-precipitated a pumping engine, having, as Pinniger remarked, probably only ordered "an engine," without stating on the order-form the kind of engine required.
However, Moozeby tried again, and presently we had the consolation of seeing a magnificent compound, leading bogie, four coupled locomotive gradually assuming shape; Moozeby was a little irritated on seeing this, as such a powerful engine was a waste of his strength, but he went on with it; and at length he declared it finished.
Still it didn't look quite right—there were parts through which you could pass the hand, which we were all convinced was not the case in an ordinary manufactured engine—however, we were glad to get anything.
Then Moozeby went to work at the carriage, but that came very, very slowly, for he was getting exhausted; and when it did appear he did not seem able to consolidate it properly. It would not set. There it was, however, and Thripling stepped into it; but the next moment we heard angry words coming from underneath it, and it turned out that Thripling had fallen through a part of the floor which had not set, on to the permanent way.
Then Moozeby got in and finished the precipitation of the floor of one compartment, and we all crowded into that; but presently Maud Wimble felt the part she was on getting nebulous again, and she found herself standing on the ground with her head and shoulders in the carriage. However, Moozeby patched it up again for the time.
"An engine-driver at last."
Then we remembered that none of us could drive an engine, and poor Moozeby had to collect himself once more to precipitate a driver; and here again he forgot to describe the particular kind of driver, owing to which he found he had precipitated a pig-driver, who was helplessly intoxicated into the bargain; but he did precipitate an engine-driver at last, who set fairly well, except part of one leg, which remained cloudy, so that the man had to move about by hopping.
Then we finally got in and waited breathlessly for the train to move. It did move! Very slowly, strangely, and creakily, showing that there was something wrong; however, that did not matter so long as we could get home somehow. We requested the driver not to drive fast and recklessly; and he replied that he was not likely to, with parts of the boiler like flannel, and requiring to be tied round with string to prevent it bursting.
That train never set properly; every two or three minutes some part or other of it would become nebulous again, the whole requiring incessant attention on the part of Moozeby who was getting thoroughly knocked up, and was losing his power.
Once the driver's body and legs became a cloud; and he called out to us that he couldn't undertake to drive in that condition; then the end of the carriage vanished suddenly into air, letting down a row of us on to the permanent way, and bruising us considerably. We were anything but comfortable, for we had to keep a very sharp look-out for trains which frequently came by; and on these occasions Moozeby would have to make a wild effort and precipitate, in all haste, a siding for us to run on to, until the other train had passed.
At length Moozeby could be kept awake no longer, in spite of all we could do by pinching and running pins into him; and the carriage, engine, and driver suddenly became soft—nebulous—air; leaving us on the permanent way, many miles from London, at two in the morning.
We were dreadfully angry with poor Moozeby at the time—unreasonably so, when one considers how much he had done for us; for after all said and done Moozeby is a very good fellow at heart, and his accomplishment remarkably useful at times; particularly when he is fresh and his precipitations will set properly.
It is foolish to attempt such a thing as a train, when one is tired; and, besides, it brings discredit on theosophy, and makes the uninitiated incredulous about it.
The doll and the raven: or, a fatal smile. 
A mustard plaster. 
Mamma—at the bazaar.Papa—at home.
Some celebrities in snow.
Street boy: "Never mind yer 'at. Hold on to yer 'air."
A difference of demeanour.
At a friend's house.At the club.