ARTHUR
91

Curling recently commented on Philip Hadwin's character . This man was not at all like his brother, was a famous fighter and bully, a tyrant to his children, a plague to his neighbors, and held meetings for drunkards and slackers, at the Bull's Head sign. He had no shortage of parts, and was no less feared for cunning than ferocity. He was greedy, and never missed an opportunity to surpass his neighbor. There was no doubt that his nephew's property would be embezzled if it got to his hands, and any power he might gain over his person would be used to destroy him. His children were tainted by the depravity of their father, and marriage did not improve the reputation of his daughters, nor cure them of depravity: this is the man I now propose to visit.

I hardly need to say that Betty Lawrence slander does not make me uneasy. My father has undoubtedly been deceived, as well as my father's neighbors, by this woman's intelligence. I consider among them as thieves and wasters, but their mistakes until now have been harmless to me. Maybe there will come a time that will ruin the story without my efforts. Betty, sooner or later, will take off her mask, and buy her own antidote, unless there's a new incident that makes me speed up the catastrophe.

I got to Hadwin's house . I was received with attention as a guest. I looked, among the pimply faces that filled the piazza, for the owner's face, but found it in the inner apartment with two or three more people sitting around the table. While hinting at my desire to talk to him alone, the others retreated.

Hadwin's face bore some resemblance to his brother's; but the gentle, calm air, pale cheeks, and slender shape of the latter contrasted sharply with the swelled arrogance, haughty eyebrows, and the sheer weight of the latter, and strong limbs from the first. This man's anger was raised by straws; it pushed him in an instant to vows and blows, and made his life into an eternal fight. The sooner my interview with such a figure should end, the better. I therefore explain the purpose of my arrival in full and as little as possible.

"Your name, Sir, Philip Hadwin . Your older brother William, from Malverton , passed away recently and left behind two daughters. The youngest is now alive, and I have come, at his behest, to tell you that, without his father's will, he is still there, he is preparing to administer his estate. As his father's brother, he thought you were entitled to this information."

The changes that happened to this man's face, during this speech, were incredible, but not easily explained. His cheeks contracted red deeper, his eyes twinkled, and his face showed an expression where curiosity mixed with anger. He leaned forward, and said, in a hoarse and insulting tone, "Pray, is your name Mervyn?"

I replied, without hesitation, and as if the question was of no importance at all, "Yes; my name is Mervyn."

These words create surprise. I do not intend to hide from this man the tenor and destruction of the will, or even the actions taken or to be taken by his nephew. What I should not have known seemed to have been communicated by the talkative Caleb, whose mind was more inquisitive and less sluggish than the first appearance that made me imagine. Instead of crying by the fireplace when Eliza and I were talking in the upstairs room, now it seems she has been stalking our process through some keyhole or crevice, and has told what he saw to Hadwin .

Hadwin continued to vent his anger with oaths and threats. He often clenched his fists and thrust them into my face, pulling them backwards as if it would make his punch more deadly; running through the same series of exclamations about my sassness and evil , and speaking of gallows and whips; imposing every word with accursed nicknames and hell; close every sentence with "and be rude to you!"

There was only one mode that I had to pursue; all the forced opposition to people with his strength was absurd. It has been my authority to make his anger limited to words, and to patiently wait until the attack ends or subsides on its own. To achieve this goal, I remained seated, and carefully took out from my face every indication of fear and panic on one side, and ridicule and defiance on the other. My appearance and attitude are people who expect harsh words, but do not suspect that a blow will be done.

I am indebted to my safety for the inflexible adherence to this medium. To deviate, for a moment, to either side, would bring his blow to me. That he did not directly use violence inspired me with courage, because it depended on myself whether food should be provided for his passion. Anger must develop or decrease; and, because it is in dire need of provocation, it cannot fail to subside gradually.

My attitude was calculated to dampen the flame, not only by his direct influence, but by shifting his attention from the mistakes he had received, to the novelty of my behavior. The difference in size and strength between us was too obvious to make him believe that I trusted my muscles for my defense; and, because I showed no contempt or fear, he said, he could not help but conclude that I believed in my own integrity or moderation. I took advantage of the first pause in his rhetoric to uphold this sentiment.

"You are angry, Mr. Hadwin, and threaten vehemently; but they do not frighten me. They don't cause fear or alarm, because I know I can assure you that I'm not hurting you. This is the inn, and I am your guest. I'm sure I'll find better entertainment than a punch. Come on," I continued, smiling, "maybe I'm not so naughty as you describe. I have no claim on your niece but friendship, and she is now in the house of an honest man, Mr. Curling, where he proposes to continue as long as it is comfortable.