THE PRODIGY
Horace Bullworker was a be-speckled, 30-year-old, bald individual,
short to the height of just 4 foot 11 and weighing just over six stone.
He worked out every day in Jim’s Gym, before and after work.
He lived alone in his little house and worked in a small jewellers shop
in Plymouth mending watches, working with metal: inscribing names on
plates and trophy’s and wotnot. He occasionally worked behind the
counter when the boss was out on business, but mostly he remained in
his little workshop. Sometimes, when he had little to do, he used to
imagine, or daydream, that he was 6 foot 2, with a body of oak. There
was a full-length mirror in the tiny workshop, installed to make the
workroom look bigger, and he’d pose on an imaginary dais, his body
honed to perfection, his six-pack standing up and rippling across his
taut, oiled stomach, his biceps and triceps like balloons, women
flocking to his side.
No matter how hard he tried he could not even get rid of
his slight paunch, his body remained puny no matter how many weights he
exercised with. His instructor could not understand it. Horace had
been going to Jim’s Jim for three years but for all his hard
work and sweat he might just as well have stayed at home. Mind you, he
did FEEL a lot fitter.
One day, whilst flicking through the pages of a yellowing local
newspaper that had fallen down behind his workbench - which he had
pulled out to clean behind, as he had nothing on that day - he was
struck by an advertisement that seemed to leap out of the page at him:
Stuck in a rut? Lonely and need new friends? Come to a BRAND
NEW method of THINKING. “You are what you THINK you are!” Professor
Michael Hartwell welcomes all new comers. ABSOLUTELY FREE. Come to the
room above the Horse and Hounds public house in Plymouth, Thursdays at
7pm!
The Horse and Hounds had been made into a trendy wine bar
and there was no way that this professor Hartwell was still holding his
clinic. But something told him to go, and whilst he had nothing to lose and perhaps all to gain, he made his way down to the wine bar, now called WILLY’S, on Thursday at 7pm.
He entered Willy’s at about 6.50 and asked the
barman if a professor Hartwell still held meetings over the then wine
bar? The barman looked at him as though he were mad. He paused. Then he
answered: “That professor Hartwell was the bloke that died of smoke
inhalation when the old Horse and Hounds still existed. Well
at least that’s the way I heard it. Don’t you read the papers?” “I’m so
sorry but I just read his ad’ for a new method of thinking and…” started Horace.
“Look, mate, that was 20 years ago. They reopened the Horse and Hounds but it never took off and it’s been closed for the last 15 years, till my boss got it and turned it into Willy’s. Now if you don’t mind I’m very busy!”
Horace turned round and walked out. For no apparent reason
he walked around the back of the wine bar that had been made into a car
park for the patrons. There was an old door with a faded undercoat of
paint, under the paint Horace could just make out: Professor Michael Hartwell. A new method of thinking… the rest was so faded (or scorched?) that he had trouble making it out.
Something, maybe it was old-fashioned curiosity, but something made him try the old door…and it opened!
It was mid June so the evenings were pretty light at that
time of the day and as he opened the door the light seemed to cascade
in, knowing that it had not been here for many years. It lit up a
small, narrow stairway, which was thick with dust and cobwebs.
He didn’t hesitate but walked carefully up the stairs,
brushing cobwebs away as he went. At the top was a tiny landing and on
that small landing was a single, solitary door. This door was locked!
Horace put his shoulder to the door and it gave slightly.
The door had obviously not been opened for years for it resisted him
and he had to push it open, the creaking hinges arguing at the strain.
He felt for a light switch and found it, clicked it, and to his
amazement the light came on!
The room was large and contained a huge desk with a reading
lamp; also there was a metal filing cabinet. The top of the desk and
cabinet was thick with dust and there were beams that were scorched
and blackened. Horace tried the filing cabinet and found that it was
empty!
He then tried the drawers of the large writing desk. They
were locked. On the top of the desk was a very rusty letter knife. He
applied the knife to the drawer and it came open easily, much to his
amazement. In the drawer were a stack of papers and a book titled: The Amazing Matter of the Mind by
Professor Michael Hartwell, there were no letters after his name. He
flicked through the volume and found that it was an instruction book on
the powers of the mind. He felt that he had got what he was looking for… at that precise moment the single light bulb flickered and went out!
The room was plunged into darkness; the only source of light was from the open door. He swore he heard a singular sigh of satisfaction, a joyous sigh of satisfaction, as if this was what he was meant to find!
He hurried out of the room pulling the door behind him and
descended the stairs a little quicker than when he had gone up.
When he finally got outside it was dusk! This surprised him
as he had only been in that room for a few minutes. Putting this from
his mind he hurried home clutching the book.
He read the book from cover to cover; he couldn’t put it
down. The professor set out very clearly how he was to go about
changing his attitude and finding the secret that would release his
personality and unblock what he, Horace Bullworker, had hidden from
view all these years and gave him simple mind-exercises and a kind-of
meditation in which, using these mind-exercises, he would enter in to
and see and experience ALL that blocked his mentality and outlook on life.
Slowly but surely he developed a hidden personality that
enabled him to ‘not care a fig’ (as the professor repeatedly wrote)
what he looked like, his height, weight etc. Yet he gained some muscle
AND a few inches in height. When he walked into a room he walked in
with a newfound confidence, a newfound persona. He found a freedom that
he had never known before. Women took notice of him, women that
towered above him, and yet he could engage them with wit and charm. He
was no longer lonely but had men friends as well as women.
His boss couldn’t make head nor tail of it. When it was
his turn to serve customers – when his boss had to leave the shop on
business – he returned to find the takings had gone up, and over a
period of time not only had they gone up, they had TRIPLED! No longer
was Horace stuck at the back of the shop but the shop was doing so well
that Horace was promoted to Shop Manager and they had to get in
another person to do the engraving and repairs! Soon his aging boss had
to retire and Horace put in a bid for the business and got it. Now he
was his OWN boss!
Horace often thought about that little upper room
and how he had retrieved the book. The book had obviously been
privately printed as there was no ISBN (International Standard Book
Number) number and there was no cover; that is there WAS a cover but it
was just a plain brown hardcover with the title and author printed in
white. No authors’ biography, no picture of the author and no
dedication. It was a first book too: it contained no information about other books by the same author.
Horace Bullworker was getting bored with the Jewellers so
he sold it at a huge profit. He had for quite a while harboured the
thought that he just might take up teaching, teaching the
method that had changed his life! He took it upon himself to publish
100 copies of the professor’s book and to teach the method himself. That
is to give preliminary classes by placing an advertisement in the
local paper! Of course there was an obvious venue: the room at the back
of the once Horse and Hounds, now Willy’s Wine Bar!
He approached the owner of Willy’s: and providing he did his
own painting and decorating he could rent it out for 30 pounds a week,
he avoided telling the owner of Willy’s that he was carrying on the
professor’s work - not that the owners young memory went back that far -
just in case he changed his mind, but with a contract of rental drawn
up (which Horace insisted on) the owner really couldn’t do much about it
anyway.
The advertisement went in, Horace put: Stuck in a rut? Lonely and need new friends? Come to a BRAND NEW method of THINKING…
Horace put in the exact advert, word for word, that the
professor had put in all those years ago finishing it off with…ABSOLUTELY FREE. Come to the room above WILLY’S WINE BAR, Thursdays at 7pm!
The room had been repainted a brilliant white, including
the door and stairs. There was enough room for a dozen chairs facing
toward that very large desk on which were piled the freshly
re-published books by professor Hartwell. The front door was also
white,but in black letters were the words: A BRAND NEW METHOD OF THINKING by Professor Hartwell. Every Thursday at 7 pm. EVERYBODY WELCOME!
Horace knew that book backwards so he was the perfect candidate for the post of teacher and with his newfound personality,
a personality that could fill a room; he knew he could do it. Besides,
he really believed in the professor’s method and if he could carry on
professor Hartwell’s work and make so many other people happy just by the sharing of this knowledge, then he would. He made the price of the books so reasonable that nobody could say, or blame him, for ripping them off.
Thursday at 7pm soon came round. About ten people climbed
the stairs at 6-50, then another two at about two minutes past. Three
stragglers came up at about five minutes past and had to sit on the
floor.
They were of all ages and persuasion, from sixteen and still at
school, from schoolteachers, plumbers, housewives, factory workers and a
doctor: two-thirds men to one-third women.
When they had all arrived they found Horace sitting behind
the desk in what seemed a state of meditation, hands out flat on the
enormous writing desk, back ramrod straight, eyes closed.
The audience at once became quiet, eyes on the figure behind the desk, waiting.
Horace slowly opened his eyes. But they were not the eyes
of Horace Bullworker! His face seemed changed somehow as if some other
muscles had come into play, as if somebody else sat in his body!
The audience, or class, didn’t know any different, they
wouldn’t have known Horace Bullworker if he had bitten them on the bum!
No, they wouldn’t have known him at all!
The figure behind the desk smiled a genuinely warm smile
that filled the whole room, his presence was kindly and his eyes were
fiercely intelligent. He looked around at them. His eyes rested on the
people sitting on the floor. He pointed to a pile of cushions. “You may
use those,” he said, “if you want to?” His voice was as kindly as his
eyes and countenance. Those on the floor fetched the pillows and nodded
their heads in thanks. “I think we’ll have to fetch some more chairs
next time,” he said, chuckling. The class seemed to respond and they
laughed politely.
Even Horace’s voice took on a different tone in fact it was hard to see what of Horace there was left!
He paused before he spoke again looking at each and every
one of those present. His gaze left them feeling relaxed. They trusted
this man.
As well they may, for all of them, in time, would be transformed. This was no gimmick, no scam. This was REAL!
“My name,” he said, “is professor Michael Hartwell and I am about to teach you a new method of thinking!
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