Pawn to King’s Four

Stephen Butler Leacock

(THERE IS NO readier escape from the ills of life than in a game of chess. — Francis Bacon, and Eggs.)

“Pawn to King’s Four,” I said as I sat down to the chess table.

“Pawn to King’s Four, eh?” said Letherby, squaring himself comfortably to the old oak table, his elbows on its wide margin, his attitude that of the veteran player. “Pawn to King’s Four,” he repeated. “Aha, let’s see!”

It’s the first and oldest move in chess, but from the way Letherby said it you’d think it was as new as yesterday . . . Chess players are like that . . . “Pawn to King’s Four,” he repeated. “You don’t mind if I take a bit of a think over it?”

“No, no,” I said, “not at all. Play as slowly as you like. I want to get a good look round this wonderful room.”

It was the first time I had ever been in the Long Room of the Chess Club — and I sat, entranced with the charm and silence of the long wainscotted room — its soft light, the blue tobacco smoke rising to the ceiling — the open grate fires burning — the spaced-out tables, the players with bent heads, unheeding our entry and our presence ... all silent except here and there a little murmur of conversation, that rose only to hush again.

“Pawn to King’s Four” — repeated Letherby — “let me see!”

It was, I say, my first visit to the Chess Club; indeed I had never known where it was except that it was somewhere down town, right in the heart of the city, among the big buildings. Nor did I know Letherby himself very well, though I had always understood he was a chcss player. He looked like one. He had the long, still face, the unmoving eyes, the leathery, indoor complexion that marks the habitual chess player anywhere.

So, quite naturally, when Letherby heard that I played chess he invited me to come round some night to the Chess Club ... “I didn’t know you played,” he said. “You don’t look like a chess player — I beg your pardon, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

So there we were at the table. The Chess Club, as I found, was right down town, right beside the New Commercial Hotel; in fact, we met by agreement in the rotunda of the hotel ... a strange contrast — the noise, the lights, the racket of the big rotunda, the crowding people, the call of the bellboys — and this unknown haven of peace and silence, somewhere just close above and beside it.

I have little sense of location and direction so I can’t say just how you get to the Club — up a few floors in the elevator and along a corridor (I think you must pass out of the building here) and then up a queer little flight of stairs, up another little stairway and with that all at once you come through a little door, a sort of end-corner door in the room and there you are in the Long Room ...

“Pawn to King’s Four,” said Letherby, decided at last, moving the piece forward ... “I thought for a minute of opening on the Queen’s side, but I guess not.”

All chess players think of opening on the Queen’s side but never do. Life ends too soon.

“Knight to Bishop’s Three,” I said.

“Knight to Bishop’s Three, aha!” exclaimed Letherby, “oho!” and went into a profound study . . . it’s the second oldest move in chess; it was old three thousand years ago in Persepolis ... but to the real chess player it still has all the wings of the morning.

So I could look round again, still fascinated with the room.

“It’s a beautiful room, Letherby,” I said.

“It is,” he answered, his eyes on the board, “yes ... yes ... It’s really part of the old Roslyn House that they knocked down to make the New Commercial... It was made of a corridor and a string of bedrooms turned into one big room. That’s where it got the old wainscotting and those old- fashioned grate fires.”

I had noticed them, of course, at once — the old-fashioned grates, built flat into the wall, the coal bulging and glowing behind bars, with black marble at the side and black marble for the mantel above . . . There were three of them, one at the side, just near us, one down the room and one across the end . . . But from none of them came noise or crackle — just a steady warm glow. Beside the old-fashioned grate stood the long tongs, and the old-fashioned poker with the heavy square head that went with it.

“Pawn to Queen’s Third,” said Letherby.

Nor in all the room was there a single touch of equipment that was less than of fifty years ago, a memory of a half century . . . Even the swinging doors, panelled with Russian leather, the main entrance on the right hand at the furthest end, swung soundlessly, on their hinges as each noiseless member entered with a murmured greeting.

“Your move,” said Letherby. “Bishop to Bishop’s Four? Right.” . .. Most attractive of all, perhaps, was a little railed-in place at the side near the fire place, all done in old oak . . . something between a bar and a confessional, with coffee over low blue flames, and immaculate glasses on shelves . . . lemons in a bag... Round it moved a waiter, in a dinner jacket, the quietest, most unobstrusive waiter one ever saw ... coffee to this table ... cigars to that... silent work with lemons behind the rails ... a waiter who seemed to know what the members wanted without their asking . . . This must have been so, for he came over to our table presently and set down long glasses of Madeira — so old, so brown, so aromatic that there seemed to go up from it with the smoke clouds, a vision of the sunny vineyards beside Funchal... Such at least were the fancies that my mind began to weave around this enchanted place . . . And the waiter, too, I felt there must be some strange romance about him; no one could have a face so mild, yet with the stamp of tragedy upon it...

I must say — in fact, I said to Letherby — I felt I’d like to join the club, if I could. He said, oh, yes, they took in new members. One came in only three years ago.

“Queen’s Knight to Bishop’s Third,” said Letherby with a deep sigh. I knew he had been thinking of something that he daren’t risk. All chess is one long regret.

We played on like that for — it must have been half an hour — anyway we played four moves each. To me, of course, the peace and quiet of the room was treat enough . . . but to Letherby, as I could see, the thing was not a sensation of peace but a growing excitement, nothing still or quiet about it; a rush, struggle — he knew that I meant to strike in on the King’s side. Fool! he was thinking, that he hadn’t advanced the Queen’s Pawn another square ... he had blocked his Bishop and couldn’t Castle ... You know, if you are a chess player, the desperate feeling that comes with a blocked Bishop . . . Look down any chess room for a man who’s hands are clenched and you’ll know that he can’t Castle.

So it was not still life for Letherby, and for me, perhaps after awhile I began to feel that it was perhaps just a little too still... The players moved so little .. . they spoke so seldom, and so low ... their heads so gray under the light . . . especially, I noticed, a little group at tables in the left-hand corner.

“They don’t seem to talk much there,” I said.

“No,” Letherby answered without even turning his head, “they’re blind. Pawn to Queen’s Four.”

Blind! Why, of course. Why not? Blind people, I realized, play chess as easily as any other people when they use little pegged boards for it... Now that I looked I could see — the aged fingers lingering and rambling on the little pegs.

“You take the Pawn?” said Letherby.

“Yes,” I said and went on thinking about the blind people . . . and how quiet they all were ... I began to recollect a play that was once in New York — people on a steamer wasn’t it? People standing at a bar . . . and you realized presently they were all dead ... It was a silly idea, but somehow the Long Room began to seem like that ... at intervals I could even hear the ticking of the clock on the mantel.

I was glad when the waiter came with a second glass of Madeira. It warmed one up ...

“That man seems a wonderful waiter,” I said.

“Fred?” said Letherby. “Oh, yes, he certainly is ... He looks after everything — he’s devoted to the club.”

“Been here long?”

“Bishop to Bishop’s Four,” said Letherby ... He didn’t speak for a little while. Then he said, “Why practically all his life — except, poor fellow, he had a kind of tragic experience. He put in ten years in jail.”

“For what?” I asked, horrified.

“For murder,” said Letherby.

“For murder?”

“Yes,” repeated Letherby, shaking his head, “poor fellow, murder . . . Some sudden, strange impulse that seized him ... I shouldn’t say jail. He was in the Criminal Lunatic Asylum. Your move.”

“Criminal Asylum!” I said. “What did he do?”

“Killed a man; in a sudden rage . . . Struck him over the head with a poker.”

“Good Lord!” 1 exclaimed. “When was that? In this city?”

“Here in the club,” said Letherby, “in this room.”

“What?” I gasped. “He killed one of the members?”

“Oh, no!” Letherby said reassuringly. “Not a member. The man was a guest. Fred didn’t know him .. .just an insane impulse ... As soon as they let him out, the faithful fellow came right back here. That was last year. Your move.”

We played on. I didn’t feel so easy ... It must have been several moves after that that I saw Fred take the poker and stick its head into the coals and leave it there. I watched it gradually turning red. I must say I didn’t like it.

“Did you see that?” I said. “Did you see Fred stick the poker in the coals?”

“He does it every night,” said Letherby, “at ten; that means it must be ten o’clock ... You can’t move that; you’re in check.”

“What’s it for?” I asked.

“I take your Knight,” Letherby said. Then there was a long pause — Letherby kept his head bent over the board. Presently he murmured, “Mulled beer,” and then looked up and explained. “This is an old-fashioned place — some of the members like mulled beer — you dip the hot poker in the tankard. Fred gets it ready at ten — your move.”

I must say it was a relief ... I was able to turn to the game again and enjoy the place ... or I would have done so except for a sort of commotion that there was presently at the end of the room. Somebody seemed to have fallen down . .. others were trying to pick him up . .. Fred had hurried to them...

Letherby turned half round in his seat.

“It’s all right,” he said. “It’s only poor old Colonel McGann. He gets these fits . . . but Fred will look after him; he has a room in the building. Fred’s devoted to him; he got Fred out of the Criminal Asylum. But for him Fred wouldn’t be here tonight. Queen’s Rook to Bishop’s Square.”

I was not sure just how grateful I felt to Colonel McGann ...

A few moves after that another little incident bothered me, or perhaps it was just that my nerves were getting a little affected ... one fancied things . . . and the infernal room, at once after the little disturbance, settled down to the same terrible quiet... it felt like eternity ...

Anyway — there came in through the swinging doors a different kind of man, brisk alert, and with steel blue eyes and a firm mouth ... He stood looking up and down the room, as if looking for some one.

“Who is he?” I asked.

“Why that’s Dr. Allard.”

“What?” I said. “The alienist?”

“Yes, he’s the head of the Criminal Lunatic Asylum . . . He’s a member here; comes in every night; in fact, he goes back and forward between this and the Asylum. He says he’s making comparative studies. Check.”

The alienist caught sight of Letherby and came to our table. Letherby introduced me. Dr. Allard looked me hard and straight in the eyes; he paused before he spoke. “Your first visit here?” he said.

“Yes ...” I murmured, “that is, yes.”

“I hope it won’t be the last,” he said. Now what did he mean by that?

Then he turned to Letherby.

“Fred came over to see me today,” he said. “Came of his own volition ... I’m not quite sure ... We may not have been quite wise.” The doctor seemed thinking ... “However, no doubt he’s all right for awhile apart from sudden shock . . . just keep an eye . . . But what I really came to ask is, has Joel Linton been in tonight?”

“No ... ”

“I hope he doesn’t come. He’d better not ... If he does, get someone to telephone to me.” And with that the doctor was gone.

“Joel Linton.” I said, “Why he’s arrested.”

“Not yet... they’re looking for him. You’re in check.”

“I beg your pardon,” I said. Of course I’d read — everybody had — about the embezzlement. But I’d no idea that a man like Joel Linton could be a member of the Chess Club — I always thought, I mean people said, that he wfas the sort of desperado type.

“He’s a member?” I said, my hand on the pieces.

“You can’t move that, you’re still in check. Yes, he’s a member though he likes mostly to stand and watch. Comes every night. Somebody said he was coming here tonight just the same. He says he’s not going to be taken alive.

He comes round half past ten. It’s about his time ... that looks like mate in two moves.”

My hands shook on the pieces. I felt that I was done with the Chess Club . .. Anyway I like to get home early ... so I was just starting to say ... that I’d abandon the game, when what happened happened so quickly that I’d no more choice about it.

“That’s Joel Linton now,” said Letherby, and in he came through the swing doors, a hard-looking man, but mighty determined ... He hung his overcoat on a peg, and as he did so, I was sure I saw something bulging in his coat pocket — eh? He nodded casually about the room. And then started moving among the tables, edging his way toward ours.

“I guess, if you don’t mind,” I began . .. But that is as far as I got. That was when the police came in, two constables and an inspector.

I saw Linton dive his hand towards his pocket.

“Stand where you are, Linton,” the inspector called ... Then right at that moment I saw the waiter, Fred, seize the hand-grip of the poker ...

“Don’t move, Linton,” called the inspector; he never saw Fred moving toward him ...

Linton didn’t move. But I did. I made a quick back bolt for the little door behind me . . . down the little stairway . . . and down the other little staircase, and along the corridor and back into the brightly lighted hotel rotunda, just the same as when I left it — noise and light and bellboys, and girls at the newsstand selling tobacco and evening papers .. .just the same, but oh, how different! For peace of mind, for the joy of life — give me a rotunda, and make it as noisy as ever you like.

I read all about it next morning in the newspapers. Things always sound so different in the newspaper, beside a coffee pot and a boiled egg. Tumults, murders, floods — all smoothed out. So was this. Arrest Made Quietly at Chess Club, it said. Linton Offers No Resistance ... Members Continue Game Undisturbed. Yes, they would, the damned old gravestones ... Of Fred it said nothing...

A few days later I happened to meet Letherby. “Your application is all right,” he said. “They’re going to hurry it through. You’ll get in next year ..

But I’ve sent a resignation in advance; I’m joining the Badminton Club and I want to see if I can’t get into the Boy Scouts or be a Girl Guide.

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Pawn to King’s Four