Человек-невидимка
At Port Stowe
"Comeup,"saidaVoice, andMr.Marvelwassuddenlywhirledaboutandstartedmarchingoffinacuriousspasmodicmanner. "You'dbettermoveon,"saidthemariner. "Who'smovingon?"saidMr.Marvel. Hewasrecedingobliquelywithacurioushurryinggait,withoccasionalviolentjerksforward. Somewayalongtheroadhebeganamutteredmonologue,protestsandrecriminations.
"Sillydevil!"saidthemariner,legswideapart,elbowsakimbo,watchingtherecedingfigure. "I'llshowyou,yousillyass—hoaxingme!It'shere—onthepaper!"
Mr.Marvelretortedincoherentlyand,receding,washiddenbyabendintheroad,butthemarinerstillstoodmagnificentinthemidstoftheway,untiltheapproachofabutcher'scartdislodgedhim. ThenheturnedhimselftowardsPortStowe. "Fullofextra-ordinaryasses,"hesaidsoftlytohimself. "Justtotakemedownabit—thatwashissillygame—It'sonthepaper!"
Andtherewasanotherextraordinarythinghewaspresentlytohear,thathadhappenedquiteclosetohim. Andthatwasavisionofa"fistfullofmoney"(noless)travellingwithoutvisibleagency,alongbythewallatthecornerofSt.Michael'sLane. Abrothermarinerhadseenthiswonderfulsightthatverymorning. Hehadsnatchedatthemoneyforthwithandhadbeenknockedheadlong,andwhenhehadgottohisfeetthebutterflymoneyhadvanished. Ourmarinerwasinthemoodtobelieveanything,hedeclared,butthatwasabittoostiff. Afterwards,however,hebegantothinkthingsover.
Thestoryoftheflyingmoneywastrue. Andallaboutthatneighbourhood,evenfromtheaugustLondonandCountryBankingCompany,fromthetillsofshopsandinns—doorsstandingthatsunnyweatherentirelyopen—moneyhadbeenquietlyanddexterouslymakingoffthatdayinhandfulsandrouleaux,floatingquietlyalongbywallsandshadyplaces,dodgingquicklyfromtheapproachingeyesofmen.
