THE DIARY OF A NOBODY
PART 5
CHAPTER XII
A serious discussion concerning
the use and value of my diary. Lupin’s opinion of ’Xmas. Lupin’s
unfortunate engagement is on again.
December
17.—As I open my scribbling diary I find the words “Oxford Michaelmas Term
ends.” Why this should induce me to indulge in retrospective I don’t
know, but it does. The last few weeks of my diary are of minimum
interest. The breaking off of the engagement between Lupin and Daisy
Mutlar has made him a different being, and Carrie a rather depressing
companion. She was a little dull last Saturday, and I thought to cheer
her up by reading some extracts from my diary; but she walked out of the room
in the middle of the reading, without a word. On her return, I said: “Did
my diary bore you, darling?”
She
replied, to my surprise: “I really wasn’t listening, dear. I was obliged
to leave to give instructions to the laundress. In consequence of some
stuff she puts in the water, two more of Lupin’s coloured shirts have run and
he says he won’t wear them.”
I said:
“Everything is Lupin. It’s all Lupin, Lupin, Lupin. There was not a
single button on my shirt yesterday, but I made no complaint.”
Carrie
simply replied: “You should do as all other men do, and wear studs. In
fact, I never saw anyone but you wear buttons on the shirt-fronts.”
I said:
“I certainly wore none yesterday, for there were none on.”
Another
thought that strikes me is that Gowing seldom calls in the evening, and
Cummings never does. I fear they don’t get on well with Lupin.
December
18.—Yesterday I was in a retrospective vein—to-day it is prospective.
I see nothing but clouds, clouds, clouds. Lupin is perfectly intolerable
over the Daisy Mutlar business. He won’t say what is the cause of the
breach. He is evidently condemning her conduct, and yet, if we venture to
agree with him, says he won’t hear a word against her. So what is one to
do? Another thing which is disappointing to me is, that Carrie and Lupin
take no interest whatever in my diary.
I
broached the subject at the breakfast-table to-day. I said: “I was in
hopes that, if anything ever happened to me, the diary would be an endless
source of pleasure to you both; to say nothing of the chance of the
remuneration which may accrue from its being published.”
Both
Carrie and Lupin burst out laughing. Carrie was sorry for this, I could
see, for she said: “I did not mean to be rude, dear Charlie; but truly I do not
think your diary would sufficiently interest the public to be taken up by a
publisher.”
I
replied: “I am sure it would prove quite as interesting as some of the
ridiculous reminiscences that have been published lately. Besides, it’s
the diary that makes the man. Where would Evelyn and Pepys have been if
it had not been for their diaries?”
Carrie
said I was quite a philosopher; but Lupin, in a jeering tone, said: “If it had
been written on larger paper, Guv., we might get a fair price from a butterman
for it.”
As I am
in the prospective vein, I vow the end of this year will see the end of my
diary.
December
19.—The annual invitation came to spend Christmas with Carrie’s mother—the
usual family festive gathering to which we always look forward. Lupin
declined to go. I was astounded, and expressed my surprise and
disgust. Lupin then obliged us with the following Radical speech: “I hate
a family gathering at Christmas. What does it mean? Why someone
says: ‘Ah! we miss poor Uncle James, who was here last year,’ and we all begin
to snivel. Someone else says: ‘It’s two years since poor Aunt Liz used to
sit in that corner.’ Then we all begin to snivel again. Then
another gloomy relation says ‘Ah! I wonder whose turn it will be
next?’ Then we all snivel again, and proceed to eat and drink too much;
and they don’t discover until I get up that we have been seated thirteen
at dinner.”
December
20.—Went to Smirksons’, the drapers, in the Strand, who this year have turned
out everything in the shop and devoted the whole place to the sale of Christmas
cards. Shop crowded with people, who seemed to take up the cards rather
roughly, and, after a hurried glance at them, throw them down again. I
remarked to one of the young persons serving, that carelessness appeared to be
a disease with some purchasers. The observation was scarcely out of my
mouth, when my thick coat-sleeve caught against a large pile of expensive cards
in boxes one on top of the other, and threw them down. The manager came
forward, looking very much annoyed, and picking up several cards from the
ground, said to one of the assistants, with a palpable side-glance at me: “Put
these amongst the sixpenny goods; they can’t be sold for a shilling now.”
The result was, I felt it my duty to buy some of these damaged cards.
I had to
buy more and pay more than intended. Unfortunately I did not examine them
all, and when I got home I discovered a vulgar card with a picture of a fat
nurse with two babies, one black and the other white, and the words: “We wish
Pa a Merry Christmas.” I tore up the card and threw it away. Carrie
said the great disadvantage of going out in Society and increasing the number
of our friends was, that we should have to send out nearly two dozen cards this
year.
December
21.—To save the postman a miserable Christmas, we follow the example of all
unselfish people, and send out our cards early. Most of the cards had
finger-marks, which I did not notice at night. I shall buy all future
cards in the daytime. Lupin (who, ever since he has had the appointment
with a stock and share broker, does not seem over-scrupulous in his dealings)
told me never to rub out the pencilled price on the backs of the cards. I
asked him why. Lupin said: “Suppose your card is marked 9d. Well,
all you have to do is to pencil a 3—and a long down-stroke after it—in front
of the ninepence, and people will think you have given five times the price for
it.”
In the
evening Lupin was very low-spirited, and I reminded him that behind the clouds
the sun was shining. He said: “Ugh! it never shines on me.” I said:
“Stop, Lupin, my boy; you are worried about Daisy Mutlar. Don’t think of
her any more. You ought to congratulate yourself on having got off a very
bad bargain. Her notions are far too grand for our simple tastes.”
He jumped up and said: “I won’t allow one word to be uttered against her.
She’s worth the whole bunch of your friends put together, that inflated,
sloping-head of a Perkupp included.” I left the room with silent dignity,
but caught my foot in the mat.
December
23.—I exchanged no words with Lupin in the morning; but as he seemed to be in
exuberant spirits in the evening, I ventured to ask him where he intended to
spend his Christmas. He replied: “Oh, most likely at the Mutlars’.”
In
wonderment, I said: “What! after your engagement has been broken off?”
Lupin
said: “Who said it is off?”
I said:
“You have given us both to understand—”
He
interrupted me by saying: “Well, never mind what I said. It is on
again—there!”
CHAPTER XIII
I receive an insulting Christmas
card. We spend a pleasant Christmas at Carrie’s mother’s. A Mr.
Moss is rather too free. A boisterous evening, during which I am struck
in the dark. I receive an extraordinary letter from Mr. Mutlar, senior,
respecting Lupin. We miss drinking out the Old Year.
December
24.—I am a poor man, but I would gladly give ten shillings to find out who sent
me the insulting Christmas card I received this morning. I never insult
people; why should they insult me? The worst part of the transaction is,
that I find myself suspecting all my friends. The handwriting on the
envelope is evidently disguised, being written sloping the wrong way. I
cannot think either Gowing or Cummings would do such a mean thing. Lupin
denied all knowledge of it, and I believe him; although I disapprove of his
laughing and sympathising with the offender. Mr. Franching would be above
such an act; and I don’t think any of the Mutlars would descend to such a
course. I wonder if Pitt, that impudent clerk at the office, did
it? Or Mrs. Birrell, the charwoman, or Burwin-Fosselton? The
writing is too good for the former.
Christmas
Day.—We caught the 10.20 train at Paddington, and spent a pleasant day at
Carrie’s mother’s. The country was quite nice and pleasant, although the
roads were sloppy. We dined in the middle of the day, just ten of us, and
talked over old times. If everybody had a nice, uninterfering
mother-in-law, such as I have, what a deal of happiness there would be in the
world. Being all in good spirits, I proposed her health, and I made, I
think, a very good speech.
I
concluded, rather neatly, by saying: “On an occasion like this—whether
relatives, friends, or acquaintances,—we are all inspired with good feelings
towards each other. We are of one mind, and think only of love and friendship.
Those who have quarrelled with absent friends should kiss and make it up.
Those who happily have not fallen out, can kiss all the same.”
I saw the
tears in the eyes of both Carrie and her mother, and must say I felt very
flattered by the compliment. That dear old Reverend John Panzy Smith, who
married us, made a most cheerful and amusing speech, and said he should act on
my suggestion respecting the kissing. He then walked round the table and
kissed all the ladies, including Carrie. Of course one did not object to
this; but I was more than staggered when a young fellow named Moss, who was a
stranger to me, and who had scarcely spoken a word through dinner, jumped up
suddenly with a sprig of misletoe, and exclaimed: “Hulloh! I don’t see
why I shouldn’t be on in this scene.” Before one could realise what he
was about to do, he kissed Carrie and the rest of the ladies.
Fortunately
the matter was treated as a joke, and we all laughed; but it was a dangerous
experiment, and I felt very uneasy for a moment as to the result. I
subsequently referred to the matter to Carrie, but she said: “Oh, he’s not much
more than a boy.” I said that he had a very large moustache for a
boy. Carrie replied: “I didn’t say he was not a nice boy.”
December
26.—I did not sleep very well last night; I never do in a strange bed. I
feel a little indigestion, which one must expect at this time of the
year. Carrie and I returned to Town in the evening. Lupin came in
late. He said he enjoyed his Christmas, and added: “I feel as fit as a
Lowther Arcade fiddle, and only require a little more ‘oof’ to feel as fit as a
£500 Stradivarius.” I have long since given up trying to understand
Lupin’s slang, or asking him to explain it.
December
27.—I told Lupin I was expecting Gowing and Cummings to drop in to-morrow
evening for a quiet game. I was in hope the boy would volunteer to stay
in, and help to amuse them. Instead of which, he said: “Oh, you had
better put them off, as I have asked Daisy and Frank Mutlar to come.” I
said I could not think of doing such a thing. Lupin said: “Then I will
send a wire, and put off Daisy.” I suggested that a post-card or letter
would reach her quite soon enough, and would not be so extravagant.
Carrie,
who had listened to the above conversation with apparent annoyance, directed a
well-aimed shaft at Lupin. She said: “Lupin, why do you object to Daisy
meeting your father’s friends? Is it because they are not good enough for
her, or (which is equally possible) she is not good enough for them?”
Lupin was dumbfounded, and could make no reply. When he left the room, I
gave Carrie a kiss of approval.
December
28—Lupin, on coming down to breakfast, said to his mother: “I have not put off
Daisy and Frank, and should like them to join Gowing and Cummings this
evening.” I felt very pleased with the boy for this. Carrie said,
in reply: “I am glad you let me know in time, as I can turn over the cold leg
of mutton, dress it with a little parsley, and no one will know it has been
cut.” She further said she would make a few custards, and stew some
pippins, so that they would be cold by the evening.
Finding
Lupin in good spirits, I asked him quietly if he really had any personal
objection to either Gowing or Cummings. He replied: “Not in the
least. I think Cummings looks rather an ass, but that is partly due to
his patronising ‘the three-and-six-one-price hat company,’ and wearing a
reach-me-down frock-coat. As for that perpetual brown velveteen jacket of
Gowing’s—why, he resembles an itinerant photographer.”
I said it
was not the coat that made the gentleman; whereupon Lupin, with a laugh,
replied: “No, and it wasn’t much of a gentleman who made their coats.”
We were
rather jolly at supper, and Daisy made herself very agreeable, especially in
the earlier part of the evening, when she sang. At supper, however, she
said: “Can you make tee-to-tums with bread?” and she commenced rolling up
pieces of bread, and twisting them round on the table. I felt this to be
bad manners, but of course said nothing. Presently Daisy and Lupin, to my
disgust, began throwing bread-pills at each other. Frank followed suit,
and so did Cummings and Gowing, to my astonishment. They then commenced
throwing hard pieces of crust, one piece catching me on the forehead, and making
me blink. I said: “Steady, please; steady!” Frank jumped up and
said: “Tum, tum; then the band played.”
I did not
know what this meant, but they all roared, and continued the
bread-battle. Gowing suddenly seized all the parsley off the cold mutton,
and threw it full in my face. I looked daggers at Gowing, who replied: “I
say, it’s no good trying to look indignant, with your hair full of
parsley.” I rose from the table, and insisted that a stop should be put
to this foolery at once. Frank Mutlar shouted: “Time, gentlemen, please!
time!” and turned out the gas, leaving us in absolute darkness.
I was
feeling my way out of the room, when I suddenly received a hard intentional
punch at the back of my head. I said loudly: “Who did that?” There
was no answer; so I repeated the question, with the same result. I struck
a match, and lighted the gas. They were all talking and laughing, so I
kept my own counsel; but, after they had gone, I said to Carrie; “The person
who sent me that insulting post-card at Christmas was here to-night.”
December
29.—I had a most vivid dream last night. I woke up, and on falling
asleep, dreamed the same dream over again precisely. I dreamt I heard
Frank Mutlar telling his sister that he had not only sent me the insulting
Christmas card, but admitted that he was the one who punched my head last night
in the dark. As fate would have it, Lupin, at breakfast, was reading
extracts from a letter he had just received from Frank.
I asked
him to pass the envelope, that I might compare the writing. He did so,
and I examined it by the side of the envelope containing the Christmas
card. I detected a similarity in the writing, in spite of the attempted
disguise. I passed them on to Carrie, who began to laugh. I asked
her what she was laughing at, and she said the card was never directed to me at
all. It was “L. Pooter,” not “C. Pooter.” Lupin asked to look at
the direction and the card, and exclaimed, with a laugh: “Oh yes, Guv., it’s
meant for me.”
I said:
“Are you in the habit of receiving insulting Christmas cards?” He
replied: “Oh yes, and of sending them, too.”
In the
evening Gowing called, and said he enjoyed himself very much last night.
I took the opportunity to confide in him, as an old friend, about the vicious
punch last night. He burst out laughing, and said: “Oh, it was your
head, was it? I know I accidentally hit something, but I thought it
was a brick wall.” I told him I felt hurt, in both senses of the
expression.
December
30, Sunday.—Lupin spent the whole day with the Mutlars. He seemed rather
cheerful in the evening, so I said: “I’m glad to see you so happy,
Lupin.” He answered: “Well, Daisy is a splendid girl, but I was obliged
to take her old fool of a father down a peg. What with his meanness over
his cigars, his stinginess over his drinks, his farthing economy in turning
down the gas if you only quit the room for a second, writing to one on
half-sheets of note-paper, sticking the remnant of the last cake of soap on to
the new cake, putting two bricks on each side of the fireplace, and his general
‘outside-halfpenny-‘bus-ness,’ I was compelled to let him have a bit of my
mind.” I said: “Lupin, you are not much more than a boy; I hope you won’t
repent it.”
December
31.—The last day of the Old Year. I received an extraordinary letter from
Mr. Mutlar, senior. He writes: “Dear Sir,—For a long time past I have had
considerable difficulty deciding the important question, ‘Who is the master of
my own house? Myself, or your son Lupin?’ Believe me, I have
no prejudice one way or the other; but I have been most reluctantly compelled
to give judgment to the effect that I am the master of it. Under the
circumstances, it has become my duty to forbid your son to enter my house
again. I am sorry, because it deprives me of the society of one of the
most modest, unassuming, and gentlemanly persons I have ever had the honour of
being acquainted with.”
I did not
desire the last day to wind up disagreeably, so I said nothing to either Carrie
or Lupin about the letter.
A most terrible
fog came on, and Lupin would go out in it, but promised to be back to drink out
the Old Year—a custom we have always observed. At a quarter to twelve
Lupin had not returned, and the fog was fearful. As time was drawing
close, I got out the spirits. Carrie and I deciding on whisky, I opened a
fresh bottle; but Carrie said it smelt like brandy. As I knew it to be
whisky, I said there was nothing to discuss. Carrie, evidently vexed that
Lupin had not come in, did discuss it all the same, and wanted me to have a
small wager with her to decide by the smell. I said I could decide it by
the taste in a moment. A silly and unnecessary argument followed, the
result of which was we suddenly saw it was a quarter-past twelve, and, for the
first time in our married life, we missed welcoming in the New Year.
Lupin got home at a quarter-past two, having got lost in the fog—so he said.
CHAPTER XIV
Begin the year with an unexpected
promotion at the office. I make two good jokes. I get an enormous
rise in my salary. Lupin speculates successfully and starts a
pony-trap. Have to speak to Sarah. Extraordinary conduct of Gowing’s.
January
1.—I had intended concluding my diary last week; but a most important event has
happened, so I shall continue for a little while longer on the fly-leaves
attached to the end of my last year’s diary. It had just struck half-past
one, and I was on the point of leaving the office to have my dinner, when I
received a message that Mr. Perkupp desired to see me at once. I must
confess that my heart commenced to beat and I had most serious misgivings.
Mr.
Perkupp was in his room writing, and he said: “Take a seat, Mr. Pooter, I shall
not be a moment.”
I
replied: “No, thank you, sir; I’ll stand.”
I watched
the clock on the mantelpiece, and I was waiting quite twenty minutes; but it
seemed hours. Mr. Perkupp at last got up himself.
I said:
“I hope there is nothing wrong, sir?”
He
replied: “Oh dear, no! quite the reverse, I hope.” What a weight off my
mind! My breath seemed to come back again in an instant.
Mr.
Perkupp said: “Mr. Buckling is going to retire, and there will be some slight
changes in the office. You have been with us nearly twenty-one years,
and, in consequence of your conduct during that period, we intend making a
special promotion in your favour. We have not quite decided how you will
be placed; but in any case there will be a considerable increase in your
salary, which, it is quite unnecessary for me to say, you fully deserve.
I have an appointment at two; but you shall hear more to-morrow.”
He then
left the room quickly, and I was not even allowed time or thought to express a
single word of grateful thanks to him. I need not say how dear Carrie
received this joyful news. With perfect simplicity she said: “At last we
shall be able to have a chimney-glass for the back drawing-room, which we
always wanted.” I added: “Yes, and at last you shall have that little
costume which you saw at Peter Robinson’s so cheap.”
January
2.—I was in a great state of suspense all day at the office. I did not
like to worry Mr. Perkupp; but as he did not send for me, and mentioned
yesterday that he would see me again to-day, I thought it better, perhaps, to
go to him. I knocked at his door, and on entering, Mr. Perkupp said: “Oh!
it’s you, Mr. Pooter; do you want to see me?” I said: “No, sir, I thought
you wanted to see me!” “Oh!” he replied, “I remember. Well, I am
very busy to-day; I will see you to-morrow.”
January
3.—Still in a state of anxiety and excitement, which was not alleviated by
ascertaining that Mr. Perkupp sent word he should not be at the office
to-day. In the evening, Lupin, who was busily engaged with a paper, said
suddenly to me: “Do you know anything about chalk pits, Guv.?” I
said: “No, my boy, not that I’m aware of.” Lupin said: “Well, I give you
the tip; chalk pits are as safe as Consols, and pay six per cent. at
par.” I said a rather neat thing, viz.: “They may be six per cent. at par,
but your pa has no money to invest.” Carrie and I both roared with
laughter. Lupin did not take the slightest notice of the joke, although I
purposely repeated it for him; but continued: “I give you the tip, that’s all—chalk
pits!” I said another funny thing: “Mind you don’t fall into
them!” Lupin put on a supercilious smile, and said: “Bravo! Joe
Miller.”
January
4.—Mr. Perkupp sent for me and told me that my position would be that of one of
the senior clerks. I was more than overjoyed. Mr. Perkupp added, he
would let me know to-morrow what the salary would be. This means another
day’s anxiety; I don’t mind, for it is anxiety of the right sort. That
reminded me that I had forgotten to speak to Lupin about the letter I received
from Mr. Mutlar, senr. I broached the subject to Lupin in the evening,
having first consulted Carrie. Lupin was riveted to the Financial News,
as if he had been a born capitalist, and I said: “Pardon me a moment, Lupin,
how is it you have not been to the Mutlars’ any day this week?”
Lupin
answered: “I told you! I cannot stand old Mutlar.”
I said:
“Mr. Mutlar writes to me to say pretty plainly that he cannot stand you!”
Lupin
said: “Well, I like his cheek in writing to you. I’ll find out if
his father is still alive, and I will write him a note complaining of his
son, and I’ll state pretty clearly that his son is a blithering idiot!”
I said:
“Lupin, please moderate your expressions in the presence of your mother.”
Lupin
said: “I’m very sorry, but there is no other expression one can apply to
him. However, I’m determined not to enter his place again.”
I said:
“You know, Lupin, he has forbidden you the house.”
Lupin
replied: “Well, we won’t split straws—it’s all the same. Daisy is a trump,
and will wait for me ten years, if necessary.”
January
5.—I can scarcely write the news. Mr. Perkupp told me my salary would be
raised £100! I stood gaping for a moment unable to realise it. I
annually get £10 rise, and I thought it might be £15 or even £20; but £100
surpasses all belief. Carrie and I both rejoiced over our good
fortune. Lupin came home in the evening in the utmost good spirits.
I sent Sarah quietly round to the grocer’s for a bottle of champagne, the same
as we had before, “Jackson Frères.” It was opened at supper, and I said
to Lupin: “This is to celebrate some good news I have received to-day.”
Lupin replied: “Hooray, Guv.! And I have some good news, also; a double
event, eh?” I said: “My boy, as a result of twenty-one years’ industry
and strict attention to the interests of my superiors in office, I have been
rewarded with promotion and a rise in salary of £100.”
Lupin
gave three cheers, and we rapped the table furiously, which brought in Sarah to
see what the matter was. Lupin ordered us to “fill up” again, and
addressing us upstanding, said: “Having been in the firm of Job Cleanands,
stock and share-brokers, a few weeks, and not having paid particular attention
to the interests of my superiors in office, my Guv’nor, as a reward to me,
allotted me £5 worth of shares in a really good thing. The result is,
to-day I have made £200.” I said: “Lupin, you are joking.” “No,
Guv., it’s the good old truth; Job Cleanands put me on to Chlorates.”
January
21.—I am very much concerned at Lupin having started a pony-trap. I said:
“Lupin, are you justified in this outrageous extravagance?” Lupin
replied: “Well, one must get to the City somehow. I’ve only hired it, and
can give it up any time I like.” I repeated my question: “Are you
justified in this extravagance?” He replied: “Look here, Guv., excuse me
saying so, but you’re a bit out of date. It does not pay nowadays,
fiddling about over small things. I don’t mean anything personal,
Guv’nor. My boss says if I take his tip, and stick to big things, I can
make big money!” I said I thought the very idea of speculation most
horrifying. Lupin said “It is not speculation, it’s a dead cert.” I
advised him, at all events, not to continue the pony and cart; but he replied:
“I made £200 in one day; now suppose I only make £200 in a month, or put it at
£100 a month, which is ridiculously low—why, that is £1,250 a year.
What’s a few pounds a week for a trap?”
I did not
pursue the subject further, beyond saying that I should feel glad when the
autumn came, and Lupin would be of age and responsible for his own debts.
He answered: “My dear Guv., I promise you faithfully that I will never
speculate with what I have not got. I shall only go on Job Cleanands’
tips, and as he is in the ‘know’ it is pretty safe sailing.” I felt
somewhat relieved. Gowing called in the evening and, to my surprise,
informed me that, as he had made £10 by one of Lupin’s tips, he intended asking
us and the Cummings round next Saturday. Carrie and I said we should be
delighted.
January
22.—I don’t generally lose my temper with servants; but I had to speak to Sarah
rather sharply about a careless habit she has recently contracted of shaking
the table-cloth, after removing the breakfast things, in a manner which causes
all the crumbs to fall on the carpet, eventually to be trodden in. Sarah
answered very rudely: “Oh, you are always complaining.” I replied:
“Indeed, I am not. I spoke to you last week about walking all over the
drawing-room carpet with a piece of yellow soap on the heel of your
boot.” She said: “And you’re always grumbling about your
breakfast.” I said: “No, I am not; but I feel perfectly justified in
complaining that I never can get a hard-boiled egg. The moment I crack
the shell it spurts all over the plate, and I have spoken to you at least fifty
times about it.” She began to cry and make a scene; but fortunately my
’bus came by, so I had a good excuse for leaving her. Gowing left a
message in the evening, that we were not to forget next Saturday. Carrie
amusingly said: “As he has never asked any friends before, we are not likely to
forget it.”
January
23.—I asked Lupin to try and change the hard brushes, he recently made me a
present of, for some softer ones, as my hair-dresser tells me I ought not to
brush my hair too much just now.
January
24.—The new chimney-glass came home for the back drawing-room. Carrie
arranged some fans very prettily on the top and on each side. It is an
immense improvement to the room.
January
25.—We had just finished our tea, when who should come in but Cummings, who has
not been here for over three weeks. I noticed that he looked anything but
well, so I said: “Well, Cummings, how are you? You look a little
blue.” He replied: “Yes! and I feel blue too.” I said: “Why, what’s
the matter?” He said: “Oh, nothing, except that I have been on my back
for a couple of weeks, that’s all. At one time my doctor nearly gave me
up, yet not a soul has come near me. No one has even taken the trouble to
inquire whether I was alive or dead.”
I said:
“This is the first I have heard of it. I have passed your house several
nights, and presumed you had company, as the rooms were so brilliantly
lighted.”
Cummings
replied: “No! The only company I have had was my wife, the doctor, and
the landlady—the last-named having turned out a perfect trump. I wonder
you did not see it in the paper. I know it was mentioned in the Bicycle
News.”
I thought
to cheer him up, and said: “Well, you are all right now?”
He
replied: “That’s not the question. The question is whether an illness
does not enable you to discover who are your true friends.”
I said
such an observation was unworthy of him. To make matters worse, in came
Gowing, who gave Cummings a violent slap on the back, and said: “Hulloh!
Have you seen a ghost? You look scared to death, like Irving in Macbeth.”
I said: “Gently, Gowing, the poor fellow has been very ill.” Gowing
roared with laughter and said: “Yes, and you look it, too.” Cummings
quietly said: “Yes, and I feel it too—not that I suppose you care.”
An
awkward silence followed. Gowing said: “Never mind, Cummings, you and the
missis come round to my place to-morrow, and it will cheer you up a bit; for
we’ll open a bottle of wine.”
January
26.—An extraordinary thing happened. Carrie and I went round to Gowing’s,
as arranged, at half-past seven. We knocked and rang several times
without getting an answer. At last the latch was drawn and the door opened
a little way, the chain still being up. A man in shirt-sleeves put his
head through and said: “Who is it? What do you want?” I said: “Mr.
Gowing, he is expecting us.” The man said (as well as I could hear, owing
to the yapping of a little dog): “I don’t think he is. Mr. Gowing is not
at home.” I said: “He will be in directly.”
With that
observation he slammed the door, leaving Carrie and me standing on the steps
with a cutting wind blowing round the corner.
Carrie
advised me to knock again. I did so, and then discovered for the first
time that the knocker had been newly painted, and the paint had come off on my
gloves—which were, in consequence, completely spoiled.
I knocked
at the door with my stick two or three times.
The man
opened the door, taking the chain off this time, and began abusing me. He
said: “What do you mean by scratching the paint with your stick like that,
spoiling the varnish? You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
I said:
“Pardon me, Mr. Gowing invited—”
He
interrupted and said: “I don’t care for Mr. Gowing, or any of his
friends. This is my door, not Mr. Gowing’s. There are people
here besides Mr. Gowing.”
The
impertinence of this man was nothing. I scarcely noticed it, it was so
trivial in comparison with the scandalous conduct of Gowing.
At this
moment Cummings and his wife arrived. Cummings was very lame and leaning
on a stick; but got up the steps and asked what the matter was.
The man
said: “Mr. Gowing said nothing about expecting anyone. All he said was he
had just received an invitation to Croydon, and he should not be back till
Monday evening. He took his bag with him.”
With that
he slammed the door again. I was too indignant with Gowing’s conduct to
say anything. Cummings looked white with rage, and as he descended the
steps struck his stick violently on the ground and said: “Scoundrel!”
CHAPTER XV
Gowing explains his
conduct. Lupin takes us for a drive, which we don’t enjoy. Lupin
introduces us to Mr. Murray Posh.
February
8.—It does seem hard I cannot get good sausages for breakfast. They are
either full of bread or spice, or are as red as beef. Still anxious about
the £20 I invested last week by Lupin’s advice. However, Cummings has
done the same.
February
9.—Exactly a fortnight has passed, and I have neither seen nor heard from
Gowing respecting his extraordinary conduct in asking us round to his house,
and then being out. In the evening Carrie was engaged marking a
half-dozen new collars I had purchased. I’ll back Carrie’s marking
against anybody’s. While I was drying them at the fire, and Carrie was
rebuking me for scorching them, Cummings came in.
He seemed
quite well again, and chaffed us about marking the collars. I asked him
if he had heard from Gowing, and he replied that he had not. I said I
should not have believed that Gowing could have acted in such an ungentlemanly
manner. Cummings said: “You are mild in your description of him; I think
he has acted like a cad.”
The words
were scarcely out of his mouth when the door opened, and Gowing, putting in his
head, said: “May I come in?” I said: “Certainly.” Carrie said very
pointedly: “Well, you are a stranger.” Gowing said: “Yes, I’ve
been on and off to Croydon during the last fortnight.” I could see
Cummings was boiling over, and eventually he tackled Gowing very strongly
respecting his conduct last Saturday week. Gowing appeared surprised, and
said: “Why, I posted a letter to you in the morning announcing that the party
was ‘off, very much off.’” I said: “I never got it.” Gowing,
turning to Carrie, said: “I suppose letters sometimes miscarry, don’t
they, Mrs. Carrie?” Cummings sharply said: “This is not a time for
joking. I had no notice of the party being put off.” Gowing
replied: “I told Pooter in my note to tell you, as I was in a hurry. However,
I’ll inquire at the post-office, and we must meet again at my place.” I
added that I hoped he would be present at the next meeting. Carrie roared
at this, and even Cummings could not help laughing.
February
10, Sunday.—Contrary to my wishes, Carrie allowed Lupin to persuade her to take
her for a drive in the afternoon in his trap. I quite disapprove of
driving on a Sunday, but I did not like to trust Carrie alone with Lupin, so I
offered to go too. Lupin said: “Now, that is nice of you, Guv., but you
won’t mind sitting on the back-seat of the cart?”
Lupin
proceeded to put on a bright-blue coat that seemed miles too large for
him. Carrie said it wanted taking in considerably at the back.
Lupin said: “Haven’t you seen a box-coat before? You can’t drive in
anything else.”
He may
wear what he likes in the future, for I shall never drive with him again.
His conduct was shocking. When we passed Highgate Archway, he tried to
pass everything and everybody. He shouted to respectable people who were walking
quietly in the road to get out of the way; he flicked at the horse of an old
man who was riding, causing it to rear; and, as I had to ride backwards, I was
compelled to face a gang of roughs in a donkey-cart, whom Lupin had chaffed,
and who turned and followed us for nearly a mile, bellowing, indulging in
coarse jokes and laughter, to say nothing of occasionally pelting us with
orange-peel.
Lupin’s
excuse—that the Prince of Wales would have to put up with the same sort of
thing if he drove to the Derby—was of little consolation to either Carrie or
myself. Frank Mutlar called in the evening, and Lupin went out with him.
February
11.—Feeling a little concerned about Lupin, I mustered up courage to speak to
Mr. Perkupp about him. Mr. Perkupp has always been most kind to me, so I
told him everything, including yesterday’s adventure. Mr. Perkupp kindly
replied: “There is no necessity for you to be anxious, Mr. Pooter. It
would be impossible for a son of such good parents to turn out erroneously.
Remember he is young, and will soon get older. I wish we could find room
for him in this firm.” The advice of this good man takes loads off my
mind. In the evening Lupin came in.
After our
little supper, he said: “My dear parents, I have some news, which I fear will
affect you considerably.” I felt a qualm come over me, and said
nothing. Lupin then said: “It may distress you—in fact, I’m sure it
will—but this afternoon I have given up my pony and trap for ever.” It
may seem absurd, but I was so pleased, I immediately opened a bottle of
port. Gowing dropped in just in time, bringing with him a large sheet,
with a print of a tailless donkey, which he fastened against the wall. He
then produced several separate tails, and we spent the remainder of the evening
trying blindfolded to pin a tail on in the proper place. My sides
positively ached with laughter when I went to bed.
February
12.—In the evening I spoke to Lupin about his engagement with Daisy
Mutlar. I asked if he had heard from her. He replied: “No; she
promised that old windbag of a father of hers that she would not communicate
with me. I see Frank Mutlar, of course; in fact, he said he might call
again this evening.” Frank called, but said he could not stop, as he had
a friend waiting outside for him, named Murray Posh, adding he was quite a
swell. Carrie asked Frank to bring him in.
He was
brought in, Gowing entering at the same time. Mr. Murray Posh was a tall,
fat young man, and was evidently of a very nervous disposition, as he
subsequently confessed he would never go in a hansom cab, nor would he enter a
four-wheeler until the driver had first got on the box with his reins in his
hands.
On being
introduced, Gowing, with his usual want of tact, said: “Any relation to ‘Posh’s
three-shilling hats’?” Mr. Posh replied: “Yes; but please understand I
don’t try on hats myself. I take no active part in the
business.” I replied: “I wish I had a business like it.” Mr. Posh
seemed pleased, and gave a long but most interesting history of the extraordinary
difficulties in the manufacture of cheap hats.
Murray
Posh evidently knew Daisy Mutlar very intimately from the way he was talking of
her; and Frank said to Lupin once, laughingly: “If you don’t look out, Posh
will cut you out!” When they had all gone, I referred to this flippant
conversation; and Lupin said, sarcastically: “A man who is jealous has no
respect for himself. A man who would be jealous of an elephant like
Murray Posh could only have a contempt for himself. I know Daisy.
She would wait ten years for me, as I said before; in fact, if
necessary, she would wait twenty years for me.”
To be continued
