AURAL TUITION.
The only other occupant of the carriage was a well dressed man of middle age, clad in English clothes, but from many slight signs palpably a foreigner of some sort.
Soon after the train started I noticed that his mouth and throat were twitching and I surmised that he was about to speak. But speech is no term in which to describe the queer animal, vegetable and mineral sounds which issued from him. First his mouth opened slightly and he seemed about to sneeze. Next I was conscious of a scraping noise in his throat, accompanied by a slight ticking. It appeared that he was going to have a fit and I regretted that we were alone. The noise grew louder, took on speed and rose in a crescendo almost to a screech. Then a few more scrapes, as of a pencil on a slate, and I began to detect that he was speaking. His lips did not move, so that his voice had a curiously distant sound. Nevertheless the words were clearly audible.
The following is what he said in a low, metallic monotone: “Good morning, Sir. I am very pleased to meet you. Can you tell me what o’clock it is? I am much obliged. I wish to descend at Manchester. At what hour do we arrive there? There are few passengers to-day. The weather is fine. I beg your pardon if I do not make myself clear. I do not speak English perfectly as yet. No doubt I have need of much practice. Can I send a telegram from the next station? Is there a good hotel at Manchester? Will you do me the favour——”
“Stop,” I cried, after having several times opened my mouth to answer one or other of his questions.
As soon as I spoke the words ended with a sudden click; the voice descended and became a scrape; at last silence.
“My dear Sir,” said I, “I shall be happy to give you any information I can if you will ask one question at a time. You evidently speak English very well indeed.”
His face lighted with approval of the compliment and then the whole performance began over again. Once more the wheeze, the scrape, the screech, the tick and all the rest of it. I became terrified at these painful impediments in his speech.
I remembered that somebody had once told me what to do on such occasions. It was either to throw the patient upon his back and move his arms up and down in a travesty of rowing or to slap him violently on the back. Seeing that the stranger was several times larger than myself I chose with diffidence the latter course. Rising to my feet I turned him round and thumped his back vigorously. He received the treatment with amiable smiles. Next he produced from his pocket a booklet, which he handed to me with a polite bow, desisting entirely from his menagerie noises.
I am of a nervous temperament and needed some minutes’ rest in which to collect myself. Then I began to examine the stranger’s gift.
It was a well-printed pamphlet, obviously an advertisement:—
“HOW TO LEARN FOREIGN LANGUAGES.
The One Truly Scientific Method.
The only way to acquire the real accent of the native is to listen repeatedly to the language spoken by a native. With our phonograph No. 0034 and a selection of suitable records the student may listen for as many hours daily as he chooses to the voice of a native speaking his own language.”
Lower down I saw: “Contents of Records. No. 1, At the Hotel; No. 2, At the Railway Station; No. 3, In the Train.” Ah! there it was—the whole monologue:—
“Good morning, Sir. I am very pleased to meet you. Can you tell me——?”
The explanation relieved me; I turned to my fellow-traveller.
“My dear Sir,” said I, “I congratulate you on being the perfect pupil. Your teacher, could it feel such emotions, would be proud of you. Only to an exceptional student can it be given so faithfully to reproduce ‘His Master’s Voice.’”