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The Invisible Man
Chapter 8. MR. THOMAS MARVEL
Mr. Thomas Marvel had a large, changeable face.
His nose stuck out like a tube.
He had a wet, wide, moving mouth.
His beard stuck out in a strange way.
His body was fat, his short legs made this fatness more noticeable.
He wore a furry silk hat.
The many times he used string and shoe-laces instead of buttons showed he was a man who lived alone.
You could see this at important places on his clothes.
Mr. Thomas Marvel sat with feet in a roadside ditch on the hill to Adderdean, one and a half miles from Iping.
His feet, except for socks with holes in them, were bare.
His big toes were wide and stuck up like the ears of a watchful dog.
In a slow way, he did everything in a slow way, he was thinking about trying on a pair of boots.
They were the strongest boots he had found for a long time, but they were too big for him.
The ones he had were, in dry weather, a very comfortable fit, but they were too thin for wet ground.
Mr. Thomas Marvel hated roomy shoes, but he also hated damp.
He had never really decided which he hated more, and it was a nice day, and there was nothing better to do.
So he put the four shoes in a nice group on the grass and looked at them.
And seeing them there among the grass and the growing plants, it suddenly came to him that both pairs were very ugly to look at.
He wasn't at all surprised by a voice behind him.
"They're boots, anyway," said the Voice.
"They're, charity boots," said Mr. Thomas Marvel, with his head on one side, looking at them with dislike.
"And which is the ugliest pair in the whole blessed world, I'm darned if I know!"
"H'm," said the Voice.
"I've worn worse, in fact, I've worn none."
"But none so terribly ugly, if you'll allow the expression."
"I've been asking for boots, in particular, for days."
"Because I was sick of them."
"They're strong enough, of course."
"But a man on the road sees such a lot of his boots."
"And if you'll believe me, I've got nothing in the whole blessed country, try as I'd, but them."
"Look at them!"
"And it's a good country for boots, too, in a general way."
"But it's just my usual bad luck."
"I've got my boots in this country ten years or more."
"And then they treat you like this."
"It's a terrible country," said the Voice.
"And the people are pigs."
"Isn't it?" said Mr. Thomas Marvel.
"Lord! But those boots! It beats everything."
He turned his head over his shoulder to the right, to look at the boots of the person he was talking to, to compare them.
And look! Where the boots of that person should have been, there were no legs or boots.
He was filled with great surprise.
"Where are you?" said Mr. Thomas Marvel over his shoulder, and he got down on his hands and knees.
He saw a stretch of empty hills with the wind moving the far green bushes.
"Am I drunk?" said Mr. Marvel.
"Have I seen things? Was I talking to myself? What the, "
"Don't be alarmed," said a Voice.
"Don't try your ventriloquism on me," said Mr. Thomas Marvel, standing up quickly.
"Where are you? Alarmed, indeed!"
"Don't be alarmed," repeated the Voice.
"You'll be alarmed in a minute, you silly fool," said Mr. Thomas Marvel.
"Where are you"?
Let me get my hands on you.
"Are you buried?" said Mr. Thomas Marvel, after a moment.
There was no answer, Mr. Thomas Marvel stood without boots, amazed, his jacket almost off.
"Peewit," said a peewit, very far away.
"Peewit, indeed!" said Mr. Thomas Marvel.
"This isn't the time for jokes." The hill was empty, east and west, north and south.
The road with shallow ditches and white posts ran empty north and south, except for a peewit, the blue sky was empty.
"So help me," said Mr. Thomas Marvel, putting his coat back on his shoulders.
"It's the drink! I might have known."
"It's not the drink," said the Voice.
"Keep your nerves steady."
"Ow!" said Mr. Marvel, and his face grew white among its dirty patches.
"It's the drink!" his lips repeated silently.
He stood looking around him, turning slowly.
"I could have sworn I heard a voice," he whispered.
"Of course you did."
"It's there again," said Mr. Marvel, closing his eyes and putting his hand on his head with a sad gesture.
He was suddenly grabbed by the collar and shaken hard, and left more confused than before.
"Don't be a fool," said the Voice.
"I'm off my blooming head," said Mr. Marvel.
"It's no good. It's worrying about those damned boots. I'm off my blessed blooming head. Or it's spirits."
"Neither one thing nor the other," said the Voice.
"Listen!"
"Crazy," said Mr. Marvel.
"One minute," said the Voice, sharply, shaking with self-control.
"Well?" said Mr. Thomas Marvel, with a strange feeling of having been poked in the chest by a finger.
"You think I'm just imagination? Just imagination?"
"What else can you be?" said Mr. Thomas Marvel, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Very well," said the Voice, in a tone of relief.
"Then I'm going to throw stones at you until you think differently."
"But where are you?"
The Voice made no answer, and the hills stayed empty and silent for a while.
Whizz came a stone, apparently out of the air, and missed Mr. Marvel's shoulder by a hair's breadth.
Mr. Marvel turned and saw a stone jump into the air, curve, hang for a moment, then fly at his feet fast.
He was too amazed to move out of the way.
Whizz it came, and bounced off a bare toe into the ditch.
Mr. Thomas Marvel jumped a foot in the air and shouted loudly.
Then he started to run, tripped over something he couldn't see, and fell head over heels into a sitting position.
"Now," said the Voice, as a third stone curved up and hung in the air above the tramp.
"Am I imagination?"
Mr. Marvel, instead of answering, tried to stand up, and was immediately knocked over again.
He lay still for a moment.
"If you struggle any more," said the Voice, "I'll throw the stone at your head."
"It's a fair fight," said Mr. Thomas Marvel, sitting up, holding his hurt toe in his hand and looking at the third stone.
"I don't understand it. Stones throwing themselves. Stones talking. Put yourself down. I'm finished."
The third stone fell to the grass and made Mr. Marvel jump again.
"It's very simple," said the Voice.
"I'm an invisible man."
"Tell me something I don't know," said Mr. Marvel, breathing hard with pain.
"Where you've hidden, how you do it. I don't know. I'm beaten."
"That's all," said the Voice.
"I'm invisible. That's what I want you to understand."
"Anyone could see that. There's no need for you to be so impatient, mister. Now then. Give me an idea. How are you hidden?"
"I'm invisible. That's the main point. And what I want you to understand is this, "
"But where?" interrupted Mr. Marvel.
"Here! Six yards in front of you."
"Oh, come on! I'm not blind. You'll tell me next you're just thin air. I'm not one of your stupid tramps, "
"Yes, I'm, thin air. You're looking through me."
"What! There isn't any stuff to you. Vox et, what's it, nonsense. Is that it?"
"I'm just a human being, solid, needing food and drink, needing clothes too, but I'm invisible. You see? Invisible. Simple idea. Invisible."
"What, real like?"
"Yes, real."
"Let me touch your hand," said Marvel.
"If you're real. It won't be so strange then. Lord!" he said, "how you made me jump, grabbing me like that!"
He felt the hand that had closed around his wrist with his other hand.
His fingers went up the arm, touched a strong chest, and felt a bearded face.
Marvel's face showed surprise as he stared, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.
"I'm amazed!" he said.
"This beats everything! Most remarkable!."
"There I can see a rabbit right through you, half a mile away! Not a bit of you visible, except."
He looked at the empty space closely.
"You haven't been eating bread and cheese?" he asked, holding the invisible arm.
"You're quite right, and it's not fully digested yet."
"Ah!" said Mr. Marvel.
"Sort of ghostly, though."
"Of course, all this isn't half as wonderful as you think."
"It's quite wonderful enough for my simple needs," said Mr. Thomas Marvel.
"How do you do it! How the devil is it done?"
"It's too long a story. And besides, "
"I tell you, the whole thing beats me completely," said Mr. Marvel.
"What I want to say now is this, I need help."
"I've come to that."
"I came upon you suddenly."
"I was wandering, mad with anger, naked, helpless."
"I could have killed someone."
"And I saw you,"
"Lord!" said Mr. Marvel.
"I came up behind you. I stopped. I went on, "
Mr. Marvel's face showed what he was thinking.
", then I stopped. 'Here,' I said, 'is an outcast like myself. This is the man for me.' So I turned back and came to you, you. And, "
"Lord!" said Mr. Marvel.
"But I'm all confused. May I ask. How is it? And what you might need in the way of help?. Invisible!"
"I want you to help me get clothes, and shelter, and then, other things."
"I've left them long enough."
"If you won't, well!"
"But you'll, you must."
"Look here," said Mr. Marvel.
"I'm too shocked, don't hit me anymore, and let me go."
"I need to calm down a bit, you've nearly broken my toe."
"It's all so strange, empty hills, empty sky, nothing visible for miles except the face of nature, then a voice, stones, and a fist, Lord!" said Mr. Marvel.
"Pull yourself together," said the Voice, "because you have to do the job I've chosen for you."
Mr. Marvel blew out his cheeks, and his eyes were wide.
"I've chosen you," said the Voice.
"You're the only man except some of those fools down there who knows there's such a thing as an invisible man."
"You have to be my helper."
"Help me, and I'll do great things for you."
"An invisible man is a man of power." He stopped for a moment to sneeze violently.
"But if you betray me," he said, "if you fail to do as I tell you, " He paused and tapped Mr. Marvel's shoulder hard.
Mr. Marvel gave a cry of fear at the touch.
"I don't want to betray you," said Mr. Marvel, moving away from the direction of the fingers.
"Don't you go thinking that, whatever you do, I won't help you, said Mr. Marvel."
"All I want is to help you, so tell me what I must do, Lord, and I'll do whatever you want."