Tales and Fantasies

by Robert Louis Stevenson
Contents

The Misadventures of John Nicholson
The Body-Snatcher

The Story of a Lie
THE MISADVENTURES OF JOHN NICHOLSON

CHAPTER I - IN WHICH JOHN SOWS THE WIND
JOHN VAREY NICHOLSON was stupid; yet, stupider men than he

are now sprawling in Parliament, and lauding themselves as
the authors of their own distinction. He was of a fat habit,

even from boyhood, and inclined to a cheerful and cursory
reading of the face of life; and possibly this attitude of

mind was the original cause of his misfortunes. Beyond this
hint philosophy is silent on his career, and superstition

steps in with the more ready explanation that he was detested
of the gods.

His father - that iron gentleman - had long ago enthroned
himself on the heights of the Disruption Principles. What

these are (and in spite of their grim name they are quite
innocent) no array of terms would render thinkable to the

merely English intelligence; but to the Scot they often prove
unctuously nourishing, and Mr. Nicholson found in them the

milk of lions. About the period when the churches convene at
Edinburgh in their annual assemblies, he was to be seen

descending the Mound in the company of divers red-headed
clergymen: these voluble, he only contributing oracular nods,

brief negatives, and the austerespectacle of his stretched
upper lip. The names of Candlish and Begg were frequent in

these interviews, and occasionally the talk ran on the
Residuary Establishment and the doings of one Lee. A

stranger to the tight little theological kingdom of Scotland
might have listened and gathered literally nothing. And Mr.

Nicholson (who was not a dull man) knew this, and raged at
it. He knew there was a vast world outside, to whom

Disruption Principles were as the chatter of tree-top apes;
the paper brought him chill whiffs from it; he had met

Englishmen who had asked lightly if he did not belong to the
Church of Scotland, and then had failed to be much interested

by his elucidation of that nice point; it was an evil, wild,
rebellious world, lying sunk in DOZENEDNESS, for nothing

short of a Scots word will paint this Scotsman's feelings.
And when he entered into his own house in Randolph Crescent

(south side), and shut the door behind him, his heart swelled
with security. Here, at least, was a citadel impregnable by

right-hand defections or left-hand extremes. Here was a
family where prayers came at the same hour, where the Sabbath

literature was unimpeachably selected, where the guest who
should have leaned to any false opinion was instantly set

down, and over which there reigned all week, and grew denser
on Sundays, a silence that was agreeable to his ear, and a

gloom that he found comfortable.
Mrs. Nicholson had died about thirty, and left him with three

children: a daughter two years, and a son about eight years
younger than John; and John himself, the unluckybearer of a

name infamous in English history. The daughter, Maria, was a
good girl - dutiful, pious, dull, but so easily startled that

to speak to her was quite a perilousenterprise. 'I don't
think I care to talk about that, if you please,' she would

say, and strike the boldest speechless by her unmistakable
pain; this upon all topics - dress, pleasure, morality,

politics, in which the formula was changed to 'my papa thinks
otherwise,' and even religion, unless it was approached with

a particular whining tone of voice. Alexander, the younger
brother, was sickly, clever, fond of books and drawing, and

full of satirical remarks. In the midst of these, imagine
that natural, clumsy, unintelligent, and mirthful animal,

John; mighty well-behaved in comparison with other lads,
although not up to the mark of the house in Randolph

Crescent; full of a sort of blundering affection, full of
caresses, which were never very warmly received; full of

sudden and loud laughter which rang out in that still house
like curses. Mr. Nicholson himself had a great fund of

humour, of the Scots order - intellectual, turning on the
observation of men; his own character, for instance - if he

could have seen it in another - would have been a rare feast
to him; but his son's empty guffaws over a broken plate, and

empty, almost light-hearted remarks, struck him with pain as
the indices of a weak mind.

Outside the family John had early attached himself (much as a
dog may follow a marquis) to the steps of Alan Houston, a lad

about a year older than himself, idle, a trifle wild, the
heir to a good estate which was still in the hands of a

rigorous trustee, and so royally content with himself that he
took John's devotion as a thing of course. The intimacy was

gall to Mr. Nicholson; it took his son from the house, and he
was a jealous parent; it kept him from the office, and he was

a martinet; lastly, Mr. Nicholson was ambitious for his
family (in which, and the Disruption Principles, he entirely

lived), and he hated to see a son of his play second fiddle
to an idler. After some hesitation, he ordered that the

friendship should cease - an unfair command, though seemingly
inspired by the spirit of prophecy; and John, saying nothing,

continued to disobey the order under the rose.
John was nearly nineteen when he was one day dismissed rather

earlier than usual from his father's office, where he was
studying the practice of the law. It was Saturday; and

except that he had a matter of four hundred pounds in his
pocket which it was his duty to hand over to the British

Linen Company's Bank, he had the whole afternoon at his
disposal. He went by Princes Street enjoying the mild

sunshine, and the little thrill of easterly wind that tossed
the flags along that terrace of palaces, and tumbled the

green trees in the garden. The band was playing down in the
valley under the castle; and when it came to the turn of the

pipers, he heard their wild sounds with a stirring of the
blood. Something distantly martial woke in him; and he

thought of Miss Mackenzie, whom he was to meet that day at
dinner.

Now, it is undeniable that he should have gone directly to
the bank, but right in the way stood the billiard-room of the

hotel where Alan was almost certain to be found; and the
temptation proved too strong. He entered the billiard-room,

and was instantly greeted by his friend, cue in hand.
'Nicholson,' said he, 'I want you to lend me a pound or two

till Monday.'
'You've come to the right shop, haven't you?' returned John.

'I have twopence.'
'Nonsense,' said Alan. 'You can get some. Go and borrow at

your tailor's; they all do it. Or I'll tell you what: pop
your watch.'

'Oh, yes, I dare say,' said John. 'And how about my father?'
'How is he to know? He doesn't wind it up for you at night,

does he?' inquired Alan, at which John guffawed. 'No,
seriously; I am in a fix,' continued the tempter. 'I have

lost some money to a man here. I'll give it you to-night,
and you can get the heir-loom out again on Monday. Come;

it's a small service, after all. I would do a good deal more
for you.'

Whereupon John went forth, and pawned his gold watch under
the assumed name of John Froggs, 85 Pleasance. But the

nervousness that assailed him at the door of that inglorious