It is said that most villains have somewhere a softness in them, and that a fair number of heroes will steal a stick of gum in private. Agnes' driver was neither a villain or a hero, but he was -- as Agnes rightly put it -- a disappointed man. It had come to him naturally.
His name was Ellis Ellis.
His mother had longed for a girl, his father a fine, sturdy boy -- and when he was born, neither parent got what they wanted, for Ellis (to be named Milton for an uncle in the hope of a generous response in his Will) was thin and spindly, and well or sickly, had a perpetually runny nose. A thoroughly unkissable child, he was as unattractive as a rotten plum or the last shrunken muffin on a plate, its middle doughy and its bottom burned black.
His unusual name was an uncorrected accident.
At the tender moment after birthing, when the midwife had handed the mewling, purple child (supressed gas) to his mother, his mother had looked up in weary frustration and said, "Oh Ellis ... Ellis ... " to his father (for Ellis was his last name) in a tone of "See the ugly child you got me with?" The baby's father had mocked her: "Oooooh Ellis, Ellis -- shut yer trap, y'stupid cow. If I'd married a right looker, the child might have popped out like a cork wi' a smile on 'is face."
The midwife, having clearly heard what she thought would be the baby's name -- twice -- noted "Ellis Ellis" down on the certificate, and that was what he became, a Baby Ditto, and what he would die -- leaving tombstone onlookers to wonder, centuries later, if the engraver of Ellis' gravestone had been dead drunk at the time.
But back to the boy. As he aged, Ellis Ellis displayed neither talent, nor wit, nor intelligence to redeem him. He was a middling boy -- neither good nor truly bad at anything. In school he spelled precisely half his words wrong, and at his maths, Ellis might brilliantly divide 584 by 27 (21.62962962962962962962962962963), then blurt that 8-4=3. Such inelegant and unreliable outcomes pretty much dried up the possibilities of apprenticeship with the builders, the merchants, and the tradesmen who calculated their profit vs. loss down to the last Old World Farthing.
His parents were, thus, further disappointed. His teacher, who had never looked upon him with anything like hope at all was disappointed too -- regretting Ellis Ellis would continue to fill a seat in her school until something could be done to make him useful.
When Ellis Ellis painted a grey house red (colorblind) and overcharged the customer by 22% (carried a two instead of a one), he lost his last job in Hindsight, a village known for nostalgia and grudges, and he left his home to make his fortune afield.
A farmer's widow with no heart for her livestock and even less common sense had put Ellis Ellis to driving her cart to market and back -- and she had given him a whip and urged him to unreasonable speed for these last twenty years or more. He had made the same trip more than 3,120 times. He had worn out twelve horses in the process.
Agnes' long endurance was more a tribute to her own good horse stamina than any emerging gentleness on the part of Ellis Ellis. He wasn't inherently a cruel man, but when in drink he was inclined to forget she was a living thing, with a head and a heart and the ability to feel pain. Or perhaps he knew, and by punishing the living things around him, Ellis Ellis displaced his anger -- deep, long-standing anger at himself. He thought this once, justifying his whip and his gun with a long, drunken period of navel gazing -- and a half-price book of self analysis.
While Ellis Ellis was smart enough to recognize he Wasn't Quite The Thing, he was dumb enough to overlook he was also full of crap.
***
His name was Ellis Ellis.
His mother had longed for a girl, his father a fine, sturdy boy -- and when he was born, neither parent got what they wanted, for Ellis (to be named Milton for an uncle in the hope of a generous response in his Will) was thin and spindly, and well or sickly, had a perpetually runny nose. A thoroughly unkissable child, he was as unattractive as a rotten plum or the last shrunken muffin on a plate, its middle doughy and its bottom burned black.
His unusual name was an uncorrected accident.
At the tender moment after birthing, when the midwife had handed the mewling, purple child (supressed gas) to his mother, his mother had looked up in weary frustration and said, "Oh Ellis ... Ellis ... " to his father (for Ellis was his last name) in a tone of "See the ugly child you got me with?" The baby's father had mocked her: "Oooooh Ellis, Ellis -- shut yer trap, y'stupid cow. If I'd married a right looker, the child might have popped out like a cork wi' a smile on 'is face."
The midwife, having clearly heard what she thought would be the baby's name -- twice -- noted "Ellis Ellis" down on the certificate, and that was what he became, a Baby Ditto, and what he would die -- leaving tombstone onlookers to wonder, centuries later, if the engraver of Ellis' gravestone had been dead drunk at the time.
But back to the boy. As he aged, Ellis Ellis displayed neither talent, nor wit, nor intelligence to redeem him. He was a middling boy -- neither good nor truly bad at anything. In school he spelled precisely half his words wrong, and at his maths, Ellis might brilliantly divide 584 by 27 (21.62962962962962962962962962963), then blurt that 8-4=3. Such inelegant and unreliable outcomes pretty much dried up the possibilities of apprenticeship with the builders, the merchants, and the tradesmen who calculated their profit vs. loss down to the last Old World Farthing.
His parents were, thus, further disappointed. His teacher, who had never looked upon him with anything like hope at all was disappointed too -- regretting Ellis Ellis would continue to fill a seat in her school until something could be done to make him useful.
When Ellis Ellis painted a grey house red (colorblind) and overcharged the customer by 22% (carried a two instead of a one), he lost his last job in Hindsight, a village known for nostalgia and grudges, and he left his home to make his fortune afield.
A farmer's widow with no heart for her livestock and even less common sense had put Ellis Ellis to driving her cart to market and back -- and she had given him a whip and urged him to unreasonable speed for these last twenty years or more. He had made the same trip more than 3,120 times. He had worn out twelve horses in the process.
Agnes' long endurance was more a tribute to her own good horse stamina than any emerging gentleness on the part of Ellis Ellis. He wasn't inherently a cruel man, but when in drink he was inclined to forget she was a living thing, with a head and a heart and the ability to feel pain. Or perhaps he knew, and by punishing the living things around him, Ellis Ellis displaced his anger -- deep, long-standing anger at himself. He thought this once, justifying his whip and his gun with a long, drunken period of navel gazing -- and a half-price book of self analysis.
While Ellis Ellis was smart enough to recognize he Wasn't Quite The Thing, he was dumb enough to overlook he was also full of crap.
***