Jovial Ghosts

Thorne Smith

Description

Also published under the title Topper, The Jovial Ghosts puts Thorne Smith's literary imagination and quirky sense of humor on full display. A mild-mannered professional, Cosmo Topper, finds his life turned upside-down when he encounters a pair of ghosts, George and Marian Kerby. The ghostly couple soon become fast friends with Topper, which turns out to be a pleasant diversion from his passionless marriage and humdrum life.

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 février 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781776529698
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE JOVIAL GHOSTS
THE MISADVENTURES OF TOPPER
* * *
THORNE SMITH
 
*
The Jovial Ghosts The Misadventures of Topper First published in 1926 Epub ISBN 978-1-77652-969-8 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77652-970-4 © 2013 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
*
Chapter I - No Change Chapter II - Scollops Looks Inscrutable Chapter III - Mr. Topper Pursues the Sun Chapter IV - Mrs. Topper is Not Delighted Chapter V - The Nebulous Lap Chapter VI - Disaster at the Curb Chapter VII - Topper Calls on a Tree Chapter VIII - Wayward Ghosts Chapter IX - Local Historians Disagree Chapter X - The Haunted Courtroom Chapter XI - Antics of a Hat Stand Chapter XII - A Smoky Lady in Knickers Chapter XIII - Escape Chapter XV - The Singing Shower-Bath Chapter XV - Such a Restful Place! Chapter XVI - Enter the Colonel and Mrs. Hart Chapter XVII - The Colonel Orders Dinner Chapter XVIII - Mr. Topper Does Not Celebrate Chapter XIX - Oscar in Toto Chapter XX - The Return to the Tree Chapter XXI - Through the Easter Egg
*
To Celia—to say the least—
Chapter I - No Change
*
For some minutes now Scollops had been gazing searchingly at Mr. Topper.And Mr. Topper was troubled. Not definitely troubled, but vaguely so,which to some persons is the most troublesome form of trouble. Mr.Topper was one of such persons. In fact he was highly representative ofthe type. So free from trouble had Topper's days been that gradually hehad come to regard with suspicion all creatures not likewiseunencumbered. An earthquake, an eruption or tidal wave would mildly moveCosmo Topper, arouse him to the extent of a dollar donation which wouldlater be deducted from his income tax; whereas a newspaper story dealingwith bankruptcy, crimes of violence or moral looseness would cause himspeedily to avert his eyes to less disturbing topics. Mr. Topper couldexcuse nature and the Republican Party, but not man. He was aninstitutional sort of animal, but not morbid. Not apparently. Socompletely and successfully had he inhibited himself that he veritablybelieved he was the freest person in the world. But Mr. Topper could notbe troubled. His mental process ran safely, smoothly, and on the dotalong well signalled tracks; and his physical activities, such as theywere, obeyed without question an inelastic schedule of suburbandomesticity. He resented being troubled. At least he thought he did.That was Mr. Topper's trouble, but at present he failed to realise it.
He experienced now something of the same resentment that came to himupon being delayed in the tunnel on his way home from the city. Thingswere going on round him in the tunnel, dreadful things, perhaps, but hedid not know what they were. He sat in a blaze of light in the midst ofclanking darkness. Surrounded by familiar things he felt stuffy anduncomfortable. Even his newspaper lost its wonted stability. Yes, it wasa decidedly objectionable feeling that Mr. Topper had to-night as hegave himself to the solicitous embrace of his arm chair and followedwith a dull gaze the rug's interminable border design— a Doric motif,clean-cut and geometrically accurate. Once this design had appealed tohis abiding sense of order. To-night he hardly saw it, although withouthis knowledge it was wearying his eyes, and had been doing so forseveral months.
In Scollops' eyes there was an expression difficult to fathom. Mr.Topper held the opinion that the expression was uncomfortablyinsinuating, making him in some sly way an accessory before the fact.But hang it all, what was the meaning of Scollops' look? The cat hadbeen fed. He had seen to that himself as he had seen to it ever since hehad adventurously brought her home from Wilson's, the grocer's, oneevening four years ago. Four years. As long as that in this house; andonce it had seemed so new. Now it was an old house, an uninterestinghouse. Perhaps he was old, too, and equally uninteresting. Mr. Topperfelt that he was, and for the first time in his life permitted himselfto wonder about such things.
His intellectual debauch was rudely shattered by Scollops. The catyawned and tentatively thrust her nails into her benefactor's thigh. Itwas rather a plump thigh. Long years of sedentary work had served todespoil it of its youthful charm. It was a tight thigh and a fleshy one,yet it still reacted to pain. To such an extent, in fact, that Mr.Topper's sensation of trouble instantly gave way to one of mild reproachas he dropped Scollops softly thudding to the floor.
This faint discord in the domestic tranquillity caused Mrs. Cosmo Topperto look up from her needlework. Mr. Topper, glancing across the table,met his wife's eyes. It was just for a moment, then he looked quicklyaway, but why, he did not know.
"She yawned," he remarked by way of explanation. "Yawned and scratched."
"I know it," apologised Mrs. Topper, mistaking his words for a directaccusation. "I've been doing it all evening. It must have been the veal."
Topper watched his wife remove her sewing-glasses and place them intheir case. With an absorbed gaze he followed her movements as shefolded her sewing and wrapped it in a piece of linen, which she thendeposited in a basket. At this point his expression became almostdesperate, then, hopeless. No, there was going to be no change in thenightly routine—glasses, case, linen, basket. If she would only reversethe procedure, or for once forget her glasses, that would be something.Meantime Mrs. Topper, unconscious of tragedy, rose from her chair, cameround to where her husband was sitting, and brushed his forehead withher lips. Then, referring once more in a pained voice to the hauntingqualities of veal, she left the room.
Mr. Topper listened to her firm step upon the stairs. A certainsqueaking of boards apprised him of the fact that she had achieved thelanding. For a moment he thought idly about veal in relation to hiswife. Then he did an unusual thing. Instead of knocking out his pipe andlocking in the cat whose vagrant nature had caused him some rathertrying experiences in the past, he gently retrieved that animal from thefloor and fell to studying an old atlas which he had plucked from anobscure shelf.
"It made me sleepless, too," murmured Mrs. Topper an hour later as herhusband settled down beside her.
And that night Mr. Topper dreamed of eating curried veal in Calcutta. Hewas surrounded by many maidens, all of whom partook amply of veal, andnone of whom complained. It was delicious. He gorged himself.
Chapter II - Scollops Looks Inscrutable
*
Not until the following afternoon, which was Saturday and thereforefree, was Mr. Topper able to localise his trouble. The discovery came tohim as a shock which gathered intensity as the days passed. It marked anepoch in his life. Even Mrs. Topper, who steadfastly refused torecognise changes taking place around her, detected something new andtherefore annoying in her husband. But she reassured herself bybelieving that all stomachs have their off seasons, and became almostpallidly cheerful when she considered the fact that her stomach's offseason was always on—it prevailed the year around. To Mrs. Topper itwas an endless source of comfort to be able to trace all mystifyingcases of conduct, even her own, to such a tangible and well-establishedinstitution as a stomach.
It was Scollops again. . . . Scollops draped on her master's knee with aSaturday afternoon mist swimming in her eyes. . . . Scollops, theinexplicable, narrowing infinity between two orange-coloured slits.
This it was that gave Mr. Topper the shock. For the first time in theirfour years of companionable association Topper realised that the cat sawnothing, that is, nothing immediate. Although her yellow, searching gazeincluded him, it passed far beyond him down distant vistas from which hewas excluded. Caressing and condoning on their way, Scollops' eyesseemed to be roving through the ages, dwelling on appalling mysterieswith the reminiscent indulgence of a satiated goddess.
Looking into Scollops' eyes, Mr. Topper discovered that there werethings he did not know, colours of life beyond his comprehension,impulses alien to his reason. With his wife's eyes it was different. Heknew their every shade and meaning. Nothing in them lay unrevealed. Hewas familiar with the direct gaze denoting finance, the confidentialgaze denoting scandal, the patient gaze denoting servants, the motherlygaze denoting superiority and the martyred gaze denoting indigestion.
Suddenly Mr. Topper realised what was troubling him. It was eyes. Oldfamiliar eyes. He felt that he knew them all. He knew the eyes at theoffice, from the president's to the elevator boy's. It was surprising,he thought, how desperately well he knew eyes. Mr. Topper saw eyes. Mr.Topper understood them. And be had an uncomfortable feeling that theyunderstood him.
Now, however, he was alive to the fact that Scollops' eyes escaped allclassification. This both pleased and shocked him. He realised that inspite of four years of close companionship he had not the slightest ideaof Scollops' private opinion of him, or of anything else, for thatmatter. To what was going on behind her eyes Topper had no clue.
Mr. Topper found himself thinking that it would be a relief to havesomeone look at him in the manner of Scollops. Preferably a woman. Notthat Mr. Topper was loose, or romantic, or both. He had never loiteredto pluck forbidden flowers beside the marital path, but had mechanicallykep