Their dress——upon consideration I have decided not to describe their attire. My friend, Mr. Augustus Fitz-Musicus, told me that he meant to produce a book, detailing all his adventures in New Amazonia, and it would hardly be fair to anticipate all he has got to say.
Although I started on my exploring tour with a very good heart, I was not at all sorry when some one presently rushed up to me, and shook my hand with most effusive familiarity. This some one turned out to be Mr. Augustus Fitz-Musicus. He was as much transformed as I was, being dressed in——there now, I nearly betrayed his secret, after all. Considerably to my amusement he professed to be very much disgusted at being compelled to renounce his wonderful tweeds and three-inch high collar, in favour of——well, in favour of garments that were very much more artistic and comfortable.
Like myself, he was thrown upon his own resources for a time, so we resolved to explore in concert, and exchange impressions by the way. Woman has by man been credited with an undying propensity to have the last word on each and every occasion where talking has to be done. My personal conviction is that every man who utters this fallacy knows very well that it is a libel on my sex, and that he is only warding off self-conviction by acting on the principles of first attack.
Thus, Molly Muddle tells Mrs. Bungle that Miss Pringle is too ugly for anything. She has no sooner committed this indiscretion than she becomes afraid that it will be brought home to her, and resolves to preserve her own reputation for charity by straightway informing Miss Pringle that Mrs. Bungle is taking her character away. She repeats and enlarges upon this statement until she actually grows to believe it herself.
It is just so with the men who try to foist their own failings upon women. They are just so many Molly Muddles. Mr. Fitz-Musicus fully bears out this assertion by insisting upon giving me all his experiences before I can get many words in, and by treating me to a repetition of them which lasts until it is time to fulfil our engagements to return in time for the mid-day meal.
“And do you know I am going to write everything down that I see while I am here,” he informs me volubly. “Nothing shall escape my notice. In fact, I have begun my book already, for it doesn’t do to trust to memory, and as my grasp of the subject is something extraordinary, I expect my book will be no end of a success if I ever go back to the old country.”
“Oddly enough,” I say, “I have also resolved to publish my impressions of New Amazonia.”
“Ah, yes, I daresay,” is the supercilious reply. “Of course, there can be no harm in your trying. But you are only a woman, and cannot be expected to produce anything clever. However, I like you, and don’t mind touching your work up a bit, before you send it to the printers. In that way, it may possibly be presentable, though of course, it is sure to be rather commonplace. Just listen to my opening paragraph.”
Feeling considerably like a cat whose coat is being stroked the wrong way, as I listened to these flattering encomiums on my mental qualifications, I nevertheless paid particular attention to my friend’s opening sentences, of which the following is a verbatim transcript:—
“The other night, I was with some fellows in London, and we all took some Hasheesh to make us dream. Then I woke up a tree. Then I saw somebody laughing at me, and I came down and tore my trousers. After that, a whole troop of giantesses in queer clothes came and had a look at me. They didn’t take any notice of the other party, for she was only a woman. One of the giantesses kissed me, and called me the handsomest fellow she had ever seen. I like that one immensely, and I am seriously thinking of marrying her. I understand that the marriage laws here are just the ticket for rollicking, Bohemian fellows like me. If my wife doesn’t prove very obedient and docile, I can chuck her over, and won’t even have to keep my own youngsters, if there should be any.