The Diary 0f a Nobody 8

THE DIARY OF A NOBODY PART 8

CHAPTER XXII

Master Percy Edgar Smith James.  Mrs. James (of Sutton visits us again and introduces “Spiritual Séances.”

May 26, Sunday.—We went to Sutton after dinner to have meat-tea with Mr. and Mrs. James.  I had no appetite, having dined well at two, and the entire evening was spoiled by little Percy—their only son—who seems to me to be an utterly spoiled child.

Two or three times he came up to me and deliberately kicked my shins.  He hurt me once so much that the tears came into my eyes.  I gently remonstrated with him, and Mrs. James said: “Please don’t scold him; I do not believe in being too severe with young children.  You spoil their character.”

Little Percy set up a deafening yell here, and when Carrie tried to pacify him, he slapped her face.

I was so annoyed, I said: “That is not my idea of bringing up children, Mrs. James.”

Mrs. James said.  “People have different ideas of bringing up children—even your son Lupin is not the standard of perfection.”

A Mr. Mezzini (an Italian, I fancy) here took Percy in his lap.  The child wriggled and kicked and broke away from Mr. Mezzini, saying: “I don’t like you—you’ve got a dirty face.”

A very nice gentleman, Mr. Birks Spooner, took the child by the wrist and said: “Come here, dear, and listen to this.”

He detached his chronometer from the chain and made his watch strike six.

To our horror, the child snatched it from his hand and bounced it down upon the ground like one would a ball.

Mr. Birks Spooner was most amiable, and said he could easily get a new glass put in, and did not suppose the works were damaged.

To show you how people’s opinions differ, Carrie said the child was bad-tempered, but it made up for that defect by its looks, for it was—in her mind—an unquestionably beautiful child.

I may be wrong, but I do not think I have seen a much uglier child myself.  That is my opinion.

May 30.—I don’t know why it is, but I never anticipate with any pleasure the visits to our house of Mrs. James, of Sutton.  She is coming again to stay for a few days.  I said to Carrie this morning, as I was leaving: “I wish, dear Carrie, I could like Mrs. James better than I do.”

Carrie said: “So do I, dear; but as for years I have had to put up with Mr. Gowing, who is vulgar, and Mr. Cummings, who is kind but most uninteresting, I am sure, dear, you won’t mind the occasional visits of Mrs. James, who has more intellect in her little finger than both your friends have in their entire bodies.”

I was so entirely taken back by this onslaught on my two dear old friends, I could say nothing, and as I heard the ’bus coming, I left with a hurried kiss—a little too hurried, perhaps, for my upper lip came in contact with Carrie’s teeth and slightly cut it.  It was quite painful for an hour afterwards.  When I came home in the evening I found Carrie buried in a book on Spiritualism, called There is no Birth, by Florence Singleyet.  I need scarcely say the book was sent her to read by Mrs. James, of Sutton.  As she had not a word to say outside her book, I spent the rest of the evening altering the stair-carpets, which are beginning to show signs of wear at the edges.

Mrs. James arrived and, as usual, in the evening took the entire management of everything.  Finding that she and Carrie were making some preparations for table-turning, I thought it time really to put my foot down.  I have always had the greatest contempt for such nonsense, and put an end to it years ago when Carrie, at our old house, used to have séances every night with poor Mrs. Fussters (who is now dead).  If I could see any use in it, I would not care.  As I stopped it in the days gone by, I determined to do so now.

I said: “I am very sorry Mrs. James, but I totally disapprove of it, apart from the fact that I receive my old friends on this evening.”

Mrs. James said: “Do you mean to say you haven’t read There is no Birth?”  I said: “No, and I have no intention of doing so.”  Mrs. James seemed surprised and said: “All the world is going mad over the book.”  I responded rather cleverly: “Let it.  There will be one sane man in it, at all events.”

Mrs. James said she thought it was very unkind, and if people were all as prejudiced as I was, there would never have been the electric telegraph or the telephone.

I said that was quite a different thing.

Mrs. James said sharply: “In what way, pray—in what way?”

I said: “In many ways.”

Mrs. James said: “Well, mention one way.”

I replied quietly: “Pardon me, Mrs. James; I decline to discuss the matter.  I am not interested in it.”

Sarah at this moment opened the door and showed in Cummings, for which I was thankful, for I felt it would put a stop to this foolish table-turning.  But I was entirely mistaken; for, on the subject being opened again, Cummings said he was most interested in Spiritualism, although he was bound to confess he did not believe much in it; still, he was willing to be convinced.

I firmly declined to take any part in it, with the result that my presence was ignored.  I left the three sitting in the parlour at a small round table which they had taken out of the drawing-room.  I walked into the hall with the ultimate intention of taking a little stroll.  As I opened the door, who should come in but Gowing!

On hearing what was going on, he proposed that we should join the circle and he would go into a trance.  He added that he knew a few things about old Cummings, and would invent a few about Mrs. James.  Knowing how dangerous Gowing is, I declined to let him take part in any such foolish performance.  Sarah asked me if she could go out for half an hour, and I gave her permission, thinking it would be more comfortable to sit with Gowing in the kitchen than in the cold drawing-room.  We talked a good deal about Lupin and Mr. and Mrs. Murray Posh, with whom he is as usual spending the evening.  Gowing said: “I say, it wouldn’t be a bad thing for Lupin if old Posh kicked the bucket.”

My heart gave a leap of horror, and I rebuked Gowing very sternly for joking on such a subject.  I lay awake half the night thinking of it—the other half was spent in nightmares on the same subject.

May 31.—I wrote a stern letter to the laundress.  I was rather pleased with the letter, for I thought it very satirical.  I said: “You have returned the handkerchiefs without the colour.  Perhaps you will return either the colour or the value of the handkerchiefs.”  I shall be rather curious to know what she will have to say.

More table-turning in the evening.  Carrie said last night was in a measure successful, and they ought to sit again.  Cummings came in, and seemed interested.  I had the gas lighted in the drawing-room, got the steps, and repaired the cornice, which has been a bit of an eyesore to me.  In a fit of unthinkingness—if I may use such an expression,—I gave the floor over the parlour, where the séance was taking place, two loud raps with the hammer.  I felt sorry afterwards, for it was the sort of ridiculous, foolhardy thing that Gowing or Lupin would have done.

However, they never even referred to it, but Carrie declared that a message came through the table to her of a wonderful description, concerning someone whom she and I knew years ago, and who was quite unknown to the others.

When we went to bed, Carrie asked me as a favour to sit to-morrow night, to oblige her.  She said it seemed rather unkind and unsociable on my part.  I promised I would sit once.

June 1.—I sat reluctantly at the table in the evening, and I am bound to admit some curious things happened.  I contend they were coincidences, but they were curious.  For instance, the table kept tilting towards me, which Carrie construed as a desire that I should ask the spirit a question.  I obeyed the rules, and I asked the spirit (who said her name was Lina) if she could tell me the name of an old aunt of whom I was thinking, and whom we used to call Aunt Maggie.  The table spelled out C A T.  We could make nothing out of it, till I suddenly remembered that her second name was Catherine, which it was evidently trying to spell.  I don’t think even Carrie knew this.  But if she did, she would never cheat.  I must admit it was curious.  Several other things happened, and I consented to sit at another séance on Monday.

June 3.—The laundress called, and said she was very sorry about the handkerchiefs, and returned ninepence.  I said, as the colour was completely washed out and the handkerchiefs quite spoiled, ninepence was not enough.  Carrie replied that the two handkerchiefs originally only cost sixpence, for she remembered bring them at a sale at the Holloway Bon Marché.  In that case, I insisted that threepence buying should be returned to the laundress.  Lupin has gone to stay with the Poshs for a few days.  I must say I feel very uncomfortable about it.  Carrie said I was ridiculous to worry about it.  Mr. Posh was very fond of Lupin, who, after all, was only a mere boy.

In the evening we had another séance, which, in some respects, was very remarkable, although the first part of it was a little doubtful.  Gowing called, as well as Cummings, and begged to be allowed to join the circle.  I wanted to object, but Mrs. James, who appears a good Medium (that is, if there is anything in it at all), thought there might be a little more spirit power if Gowing joined; so the five of us sat down.

The moment I turned out the gas, and almost before I could get my hands on the table, it rocked violently and tilted, and began moving quickly across the room.  Gowing shouted out: “Way oh! steady, lad, steady!”  I told Gowing if he could not behave himself I should light the gas, and put an end to the séance.

To tell the truth, I thought Gowing was playing tricks, and I hinted as much; but Mrs. James said she had often seen the table go right off the ground.  The spirit Lina came again, and said, “WARN” three or four times, and declined to explain.  Mrs. James said “Lina” was stubborn sometimes.  She often behaved like that, and the best thing to do was to send her away.

She then hit the table sharply, and said: “Go away, Lina; you are disagreeable.  Go away!”  I should think we sat nearly three-quarters of an hour with nothing happening.  My hands felt quite cold, and I suggested we should stop the séance.  Carrie and Mrs. James, as well as Cummings, would not agree to it.  In about ten minutes’ time there was some tilting towards me.  I gave the alphabet, and it spelled out S P O O F.  As I have heard both Gowing and Lupin use the word, and as I could hear Gowing silently laughing, I directly accused him of pushing the table.  He denied it; but, I regret to say, I did not believe him.

Gowing said: “Perhaps it means ‘Spook,’ a ghost.”

I said: “You know it doesn’t mean anything of the sort.”

Gowing said: “Oh! very well—I’m sorry I ‘spook,’” and he rose from the table.

No one took any notice of the stupid joke, and Mrs. James suggested he should sit out for a while.  Gowing consented and sat in the arm-chair.

The table began to move again, and we might have had a wonderful séance but for Gowing’s stupid interruptions.  In answer to the alphabet from Carrie the table spelt “NIPUL,” then the “WARN” three times.  We could not think what it meant till Cummings pointed out that “NIPUL” was Lupin spelled backwards.  This was quite exciting.  Carrie was particularly excited, and said she hoped nothing horrible was going to happen.

Mrs. James asked if “Lina” was the spirit.  The table replied firmly, “No,” and the spirit would not give his or her name.  We then had the message, “NIPUL will be very rich.”

Carrie said she felt quite relieved, but the word “WARN” was again spelt out.  The table then began to oscillate violently, and in reply to Mrs. James, who spoke very softly to the table, the spirit began to spell its name.  It first spelled “DRINK.”

Gowing here said: “Ah! that’s more in my line.”

I asked him to be quiet as the name might not be completed.

The table then spelt “WATER.”

Gowing here interrupted again, and said: “Ah! that’s not in my line.  Outside if you like, but not inside.”

Carrie appealed to him to be quiet.

The table then spelt “CAPTAIN,” and Mrs. James startled us by crying out, “Captain Drinkwater, a very old friend of my father’s, who has been dead some years.”

This was more interesting, and I could not help thinking that after all there must be something in Spiritualism.

Mrs. James asked the spirit to interpret the meaning of the word “Warn” as applied to “NIPUL.”  The alphabet was given again, and we got the word “BOSH.”

Gowing here muttered: “So it is.”

Mrs. James said she did not think the spirit meant that, as Captain Drinkwater was a perfect gentleman, and would never have used the word in answer to a lady’s question.  Accordingly the alphabet was given again.

This time the table spelled distinctly “POSH.”  We all thought of Mrs. Murray Posh and Lupin.  Carrie was getting a little distressed, and as it was getting late we broke up the circle.

We arranged to have one more to-morrow, as it will be Mrs. James’ last night in town.  We also determined not to have Gowing present.

Cummings, before leaving, said it was certainly interesting, but he wished the spirits would say something about him.

June 4.—Quite looking forward to the séance this evening.  Was thinking of it all the day at the office.

Just as we sat down at the table we were annoyed by Gowing entering without knocking.

He said: “I am not going to stop, but I have brought with me a sealed envelope, which I know I can trust with Mrs. Pooter.  In that sealed envelope is a strip of paper on which I have asked a simple question.  If the spirits can answer that question, I will believe in Spiritualism.”

I ventured the expression that it might be impossible.

Mrs. James said: “Oh no! it is of common occurrence for the spirits to answer questions under such conditions—and even for them to write on locked slates.  It is quite worth trying.  If ‘Lina’ is in a good temper, she is certain to do it.”

Gowing said: “All right; then I shall be a firm believer.  I shall perhaps drop in about half-past nine or ten, and hear the result.”

He then left and we sat a long time.  Cummings wanted to know something about some undertaking in which he was concerned, but he could get no answer of any description whatever—at which he said he was very disappointed and was afraid there was not much in table-turning after all.  I thought this rather selfish of him.  The séance was very similar to the one last night, almost the same in fact.  So we turned to the letter.  “Lina” took a long time answering the question, but eventually spelt out “ROSES, LILIES, AND COWS.”  There was great rocking of the table at this time, and Mrs. James said: “If that is Captain Drinkwater, let us ask him the answer as well?”

It was the spirit of the Captain, and, most singular, he gave the same identical answer: “ROSES, LILIES, AND COWS.”

I cannot describe the agitation with which Carrie broke the seal, or the disappointment we felt on reading the question, to which the answer was so inappropriate.  The question was, “What’s old Pooter’s age?”

This quite decided me.

As I had put my foot down on Spiritualism years ago, so I would again.

I am pretty easy-going as a rule, but I can be extremely firm when driven to it.

I said slowly, as I turned up the gas: “This is the last of this nonsense that shall ever take place under my roof.  I regret I permitted myself to be a party to such tomfoolery.  If there is anything in it—which I doubt—it is nothing of any good, and I won’t have it again.  That is enough.”

Mrs. James said: “I think, Mr. Pooter, you are rather over-stepping—”

I said: “Hush, madam.  I am master of this house—please understand that.”

Mrs. James made an observation which I sincerely hope I was mistaken in.  I was in such a rage I could not quite catch what she said.  But if I thought she said what it sounded like, she should never enter the house again.

CHAPTER XXIII

Lupin leaves us.  We dine at his new apartments, and hear some extraordinary information respecting the wealth of Mr. Murray Posh.  Meet Miss Lilian Posh.  Am sent for by Mr. Hardfur Huttle.  Important.

July 1.—I find, on looking over my diary, nothing of any consequence has taken place during the last month.  To-day we lose Lupin, who has taken furnished apartments at Bayswater, near his friends, Mr. and Mrs. Murray Posh, at two guineas a week.  I think this is most extravagant of him, as it is half his salary.  Lupin says one never loses by a good address, and, to use his own expression, Brickfield Terrace is a bit “off.”  Whether he means it is “far off” I do not know.  I have long since given up trying to understand his curious expressions.  I said the neighbourhood had always been good enough for his parents.  His reply was: “It is no question of being good or bad.  There is no money in it, and I am not going to rot away my life in the suburbs.”

We are sorry to lose him, but perhaps he will get on better by himself, and there may be some truth in his remark that an old and a young horse can’t pull together in the same cart.

Gowing called, and said that the house seemed quite peaceful, and like old times.  He liked Master Lupin very well, but he occasionally suffered from what he could not help—youth.

July 2.—Cummings called, looked very pale, and said he had been very ill again, and of course not a single friend had been near him.  Carrie said she had never heard of it, whereupon he threw down a copy of the Bicycle News on the table, with the following paragraph: “We regret to hear that that favourite old roadster, Mr. Cummings (‘Long’ Cummings), has met with what might have been a serious accident in Rye Lane.  A mischievous boy threw a stick between the spokes of one of the back wheels, and the machine overturned, bringing our brother tricyclist heavily to the ground.  Fortunately he was more frightened than hurt, but we missed his merry face at the dinner at Chingford, where they turned up in good numbers.  ‘Long’ Cummings’ health was proposed by our popular Vice, Mr. Westropp, the prince of bicyclists, who in his happiest vein said it was a case of ‘Cumming(s) thro’ the Rye, but fortunately there was more wheel than woe,’ a joke which created roars of laughter.”

We all said we were very sorry, and pressed Cummings to stay to supper.  Cummings said it was like old times being without Lupin, and he was much better away.

July 3, Sunday.—In the afternoon, as I was looking out of the parlour window, which was open, a grand trap, driven by a lady, with a gentleman seated by the side of her, stopped at our door.  Not wishing to be seen, I withdrew my head very quickly, knocking the back of it violently against the sharp edge of the window-sash.  I was nearly stunned.  There was a loud double-knock at the front door; Carrie rushed out of the parlour, upstairs to her room, and I followed, as Carrie thought it was Mr. Perkupp.  I thought it was Mr. Franching.—I whispered to Sarah over the banisters: “Show them into the drawing-room.”  Sarah said, as the shutters were not opened, the room would smell musty.  There was another loud rat-tat.  I whispered: “Then show them into the parlour, and say Mr. Pooter will be down directly.”  I changed my coat, but could not see to do my hair, as Carrie was occupying the glass.

Sarah came up, and said it was Mrs. Murray Posh and Mr. Lupin.

This was quite a relief.  I went down with Carrie, and Lupin met me with the remark: “I say, what did you run away from the window for?  Did we frighten you?”

I foolishly said: “What window?”

Lupin said: “Oh, you know.  Shut it.  You looked as if you were playing at Punch and Judy.”

On Carrie asking if she could offer them anything, Lupin said: “Oh, I think Daisy will take on a cup of tea.  I can do with a B. and S.”

I said: “I am afraid we have no soda.”

Lupin said: “Don’t bother about that.  You just trip out and hold the horse; I don’t think Sarah understands it.”

They stayed a very short time, and as they were leaving, Lupin said: “I want you both to come and dine with me next Wednesday, and see my new place.  Mr. and Mrs. Murray Posh, Miss Posh (Murray’s sister) are coming.  Eight o’clock sharp.  No one else.”

I said we did not pretend to be fashionable people, and would like the dinner earlier, as it made it so late before we got home.

Lupin said: “Rats!  You must get used to it.  If it comes to that, Daisy and I can drive you home.”

We promised to go; but I must say in my simple mind the familiar way in which Mrs. Posh and Lupin addressed each other is reprehensible.  Anybody would think they had been children together.  I certainly should object to a six months’ acquaintance calling my wife “Carrie,” and driving out with her.

July 4.—Lupin’s rooms looked very nice; but the dinner was, I thought, a little too grand, especially as he commenced with champagne straight off.  I also think Lupin might have told us that he and Mr. and Mrs. Murray Posh and Miss Posh were going to put on full evening dress.  Knowing that the dinner was only for us six, we never dreamed it would be a full dress affair.  I had no appetite.  It was quite twenty minutes past eight before we sat down to dinner.  At six I could have eaten a hearty meal.  I had a bit of bread-and-butter at that hour, feeling famished, and I expect that partly spoiled my appetite.

We were introduced to Miss Posh, whom Lupin called “Lillie Girl,” as if he had known her all his life.  She was very tall, rather plain, and I thought she was a little painted round the eyes.  I hope I am wrong; but she had such fair hair, and yet her eyebrows were black.  She looked about thirty.  I did not like the way she kept giggling and giving Lupin smacks and pinching him.  Then her laugh was a sort of a scream that went right through my ears, all the more irritating because there was nothing to laugh at.  In fact, Carrie and I were not at all prepossessed with her.  They all smoked cigarettes after dinner, including Miss Posh, who startled Carrie by saying: “Don’t you smoke, dear?”  I answered for Carrie, and said: “Mrs. Charles Pooter has not arrived at it yet,” whereupon Miss Posh gave one of her piercing laughs again.

Mrs. Posh sang a dozen songs at least, and I can only repeat what I have said before—she does not sing in tune; but Lupin sat by the side of the piano, gazing into her eyes the whole time.  If I had been Mr. Posh, I think I should have had something to say about it.  Mr. Posh made himself very agreeable to us, and eventually sent us home in his carriage, which I thought most kind.  He is evidently very rich, for Mrs. Posh had on some beautiful jewellery.  She told Carrie her necklace, which her husband gave her as a birthday present, alone cost £300.

Mr. Posh said he had a great belief in Lupin, and thought he would make rapid way in the world.

I could not help thinking of the £600 Mr. Posh lost over the Parachikka Chlorates through Lupin’s advice.

During the evening I had an opportunity to speak to Lupin, and expressed a hope that Mr. Posh was not living beyond his means.

Lupin sneered, and said Mr. Posh was worth thousands.  “Posh’s one-price hat” was a household word in Birmingham, Manchester, Liverpool, and all the big towns throughout England.  Lupin further informed me that Mr. Posh was opening branch establishments at New York, Sydney, and Melbourne, and was negotiating for Kimberley and Johannesburg.

I said I was pleased to hear it.

Lupin said: “Why, he has settled over £10,000 on Daisy, and the same amount on ‘Lillie Girl.’  If at any time I wanted a little capital, he would put up a couple of ‘thou’ at a day’s notice, and could buy up Perkupp’s firm over his head at any moment with ready cash.”

On the way home in the carriage, for the first time in my life, I was inclined to indulge in the radical thought that money was not properly divided.

On arriving home at a quarter-past eleven, we found a hansom cab, which had been waiting for me for two hours with a letter.  Sarah said she did not know what to do, as we had not left the address where we had gone.  I trembled as I opened the letter, fearing it was some bad news about Mr. Perkupp.  The note was: “Dear Mr. Pooter,—Come down to the Victoria Hotel without delay.  Important.  Yours truly, Hardfur Huttle.”

I asked the cabman if it was too late.  The cabman replied that it was not; for his instructions were, if I happened to be out, he was to wait till I came home.  I felt very tired, and really wanted to go to bed.  I reached the hotel at a quarter before midnight.  I apologised for being so late, but Mr. Huttle said: “Not at all; come and have a few oysters.”  I feel my heart beating as I write these words.  To be brief, Mr. Huttle said he had a rich American friend who wanted to do something large in our line of business, and that Mr. Franching had mentioned my name to him.  We talked over the matter.  If, by any happy chance, the result be successful, I can more than compensate my dear master for the loss of Mr. Crowbillon’s custom.  Mr. Huttle had previously said: “The glorious ‘Fourth’ is a lucky day for America, and, as it has not yet struck twelve, we will celebrate it with a glass of the best wine to be had in the place, and drink good luck to our bit of business.”

I fervently hope it will bring good luck to us all.

It was two o’clock when I got home.  Although I was so tired, I could not sleep except for short intervals—then only to dream.

I kept dreaming of Mr. Perkupp and Mr. Huttle.  The latter was in a lovely palace with a crown on.  Mr. Perkupp was waiting in the room.  Mr. Huttle kept taking off this crown and handing it to me, and calling me “President.”

He appeared to take no notice of Mr. Perkupp, and I kept asking Mr. Huttle to give the crown to my worthy master.  Mr. Huttle kept saying: “No, this is the White House of Washington, and you must keep your crown, Mr. President.”

We all laughed long and very loudly, till I got parched, and then I woke up.  I fell asleep, only to dream the same thing over and over again.

CHAPTER THE LAST

One of the happiest days of my life.

July 10.—The excitement and anxiety through which I have gone the last few days have been almost enough to turn my hair grey.  It is all but settled.  To-morrow the die will be cast.  I have written a long letter to Lupin—feeling it my duty to do so,—regarding his attention to Mrs. Posh, for they drove up to our house again last night.

July 11.—I find my eyes filling with tears as I pen the note of my interview this morning with Mr. Perkupp.  Addressing me, he said: “My faithful servant, I will not dwell on the important service you have done our firm.  You can never be sufficiently thanked.  Let us change the subject.  Do you like your house, and are you happy where you are?”

I replied: “Yes, sir; I love my house and I love the neighbourhood, and could not bear to leave it.”

Mr. Perkupp, to my surprise, said: “Mr. Pooter, I will purchase the freehold of that house, and present it to the most honest and most worthy man it has ever been my lot to meet.”

He shook my hand, and said he hoped my wife and I would be spared many years to enjoy it.  My heart was too full to thank him; and, seeing my embarrassment, the good fellow said: “You need say nothing, Mr. Pooter,” and left the office.

I sent telegrams to Carrie, Gowing, and Cummings (a thing I have never done before), and asked the two latter to come round to supper.

On arriving home I found Carrie crying with joy, and I sent Sarah round to the grocer’s to get two bottles of “Jackson Frères.”

My two dear friends came in the evening, and the last post brought a letter from Lupin in reply to mine.  I read it aloud to them all.  It ran: “My dear old Guv.,—Keep your hair on.  You are on the wrong tack again.  I am engaged to be married to ‘Lillie Girl.’  I did not mention it last Thursday, as it was not definitely settled.  We shall be married in August, and amongst our guests we hope to see your old friends Gowing and Cummings.  With much love to all, from The same old Lupin.”

 

 

Return to Good in Parts No 8 Contents page

The Diary of a Nobody 7

THE DIARY OF A NOBODY

PART 7

CHAPTER XX

Dinner at Franching’s to meet Mr. Hardfur Huttle.

May 10.—Received a letter from Mr. Franching, of Peckham, asking us to dine with him to-night, at seven o’clock, to meet Mr. Hardfur Huttle, a very clever writer for the American papers.  Franching apologised for the short notice; but said he had at the last moment been disappointed of two of his guests and regarded us as old friends who would not mind filling up the gap.  Carrie rather demurred at the invitation; but I explained to her that Franching was very well off and influential, and we could not afford to offend him.  “And we are sure to get a good dinner and a good glass of champagne.”  “Which never agrees with you!” Carrie replied, sharply.  I regarded Carrie’s observation as unsaid.  Mr. Franching asked us to wire a reply.  As he had said nothing about dress in the letter, I wired back: “With pleasure.  Is it full dress?” and by leaving out our name, just got the message within the sixpence.

Got back early to give time to dress, which we received a telegram instructing us to do.  I wanted Carrie to meet me at Franching’s house; but she would not do so, so I had to go home to fetch her.  What a long journey it is from Holloway to Peckham!  Why do people live such a long way off?  Having to change ’buses, I allowed plenty of time—in fact, too much; for we arrived at twenty minutes to seven, and Franching, so the servant said, had only just gone up to dress.  However, he was down as the clock struck seven; he must have dressed very quickly.

I must say it was quite a distinguished party, and although we did not know anybody personally, they all seemed to be quite swells.  Franching had got a professional waiter, and evidently spared no expense.  There were flowers on the table round some fairy-lamps and the effect, I must say, was exquisite.  The wine was good and there was plenty of champagne, concerning which Franching said he himself, never wished to taste better.  We were ten in number, and a menû card to each.  One lady said she always preserved the menû and got the guests to write their names on the back.

We all of us followed her example, except Mr. Huttle, who was of course the important guest.

The dinner-party consisted of Mr. Franching, Mr. Hardfur Huttle, Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Hillbutter, Mrs. Field, Mr. and Mrs. Purdick, Mr. Pratt, Mr. R. Kent, and, last but not least, Mr. and Mrs. Charles Pooter.  Franching said he was sorry he had no lady for me to take in to dinner.  I replied that I preferred it, which I afterwards thought was a very uncomplimentary observation to make.

I sat next to Mrs. Field at dinner.  She seemed a well-informed lady, but was very deaf.  It did not much matter, for Mr. Hardfur Huttle did all the talking.  He is a marvellously intellectual man and says things which from other people would seem quite alarming.  How I wish I could remember even a quarter of his brilliant conversation.  I made a few little reminding notes on the menû card.

One observation struck me as being absolutely powerful—though not to my way of thinking of course.  Mrs. Purdick happened to say “You are certainly unorthodox, Mr. Huttle.”  Mr. Huttle, with a peculiar expression (I can see it now) said in a slow rich voice: “Mrs. Purdick, ‘orthodox’ is a grandiloquent word implying sticking-in-the-mud.  If Columbus and Stephenson had been orthodox, there would neither have been the discovery of America nor the steam-engine.”  There was quite a silence.  It appeared to me that such teaching was absolutely dangerous, and yet I felt—in fact we must all have felt—there was no answer to the argument.  A little later on, Mrs. Purdick, who is Franching’s sister and also acted as hostess, rose from the table, and Mr. Huttle said: “Why, ladies, do you deprive us of your company so soon?  Why not wait while we have our cigars?”

The effect was electrical.  The ladies (including Carrie) were in no way inclined to be deprived of Mr. Huttle’s fascinating society, and immediately resumed their seats, amid much laughter and a little chaff.  Mr. Huttle said: “Well, that’s a real good sign; you shall not be insulted by being called orthodox any longer.”  Mrs. Purdick, who seemed to be a bright and rather sharp woman, said: “Mr. Huttle, we will meet you half-way—that is, till you get half-way through your cigar.  That, at all events, will be the happy medium.”

I shall never forget the effect the words, “happy medium,” had upon him.  He was brilliant and most daring in his interpretation of the words.  He positively alarmed me.  He said something like the following: “Happy medium, indeed.  Do you know ‘happy medium’ are two words which mean ‘miserable mediocrity’?  I say, go first class or third; marry a duchess or her kitchenmaid.  The happy medium means respectability, and respectability means insipidness.  Does it not, Mr. Pooter?”

I was so taken aback by being personally appealed to, that I could only bow apologetically, and say I feared I was not competent to offer an opinion.  Carrie was about to say something; but she was interrupted, for which I was rather pleased, for she is not clever at argument, and one has to be extra clever to discuss a subject with a man like Mr. Huttle.

He continued, with an amazing eloquence that made his unwelcome opinions positively convincing: “The happy medium is nothing more or less than a vulgar half-measure.  A man who loves champagne and, finding a pint too little, fears to face a whole bottle and has recourse to an imperial pint, will never build a Brooklyn Bridge or an Eiffel Tower.  No, he is half-hearted, he is a half-measure—respectable—in fact, a happy medium, and will spend the rest of his days in a suburban villa with a stucco-column portico, resembling a four-post bedstead.”

We all laughed.

“That sort of thing,” continued Mr. Huttle, “belongs to a soft man, with a soft beard with a soft head, with a made tie that hooks on.”

This seemed rather personal and twice I caught myself looking in the glass of the cheffonière; for I had on a tie that hooked on—and why not?  If these remarks were not personal they were rather careless, and so were some of his subsequent observations, which must have made both Mr. Franching and his guests rather uncomfortable.  I don’t think Mr. Huttle meant to be personal, for he added; “We don’t know that class here in this country: but we do in America, and I’ve no use for them.”

Franching several times suggested that the wine should be passed round the table, which Mr. Huttle did not heed; but continued as if he were giving a lecture:

“What we want in America is your homes.  We live on wheels.  Your simple, quiet life and home, Mr. Franching, are charming.  No display, no pretension!  You make no difference in your dinner, I dare say, when you sit down by yourself and when you invite us.  You have your own personal attendant—no hired waiter to breathe on the back of your head.”

I saw Franching palpably wince at this.

Mr. Huttle continued: “Just a small dinner with a few good things, such as you have this evening.   You don’t insult your guests by sending to the grocer for champagne at six shillings a bottle.”

I could not help thinking of “Jackson Frères” at three-and-six!

“In fact,” said Mr. Huttle, “a man is little less than a murderer who does.  That is the province of the milksop, who wastes his evening at home playing dominoes with his wife.  I’ve heard of these people.  We don’t want them at this table.  Our party is well selected.  We’ve no use for deaf old women, who cannot follow intellectual conversation.”

All our eyes were turned to Mrs. Field, who fortunately, being deaf, did not hear his remarks; but continued smiling approval.

“We have no representative at Mr. Franching’s table,” said Mr. Huttle, “of the unenlightened frivolous matron, who goes to a second class dance at Bayswater and fancies she is in Society.  Society does not know her; it has no use for her.”

Mr. Huttle paused for a moment and the opportunity was afforded for the ladies to rise.  I asked Mr. Franching quietly to excuse me, as I did not wish to miss the last train, which we very nearly did, by-the-by, through Carrie having mislaid the little cloth cricket-cap which she wears when we go out.

It was very late when Carrie and I got home; but on entering the sitting-room I said: “Carrie, what do you think of Mr. Hardfur Huttle?”  She simply answered: “How like Lupin!”  The same idea occurred to me in the train.  The comparison kept me awake half the night.  Mr. Huttle was, of course, an older and more influential man; but he was like Lupin, and it made me think how dangerous Lupin would be if he were older and more influential.  I feel proud to think Lupin does resemble Mr. Huttle in some ways.  Lupin, like Mr. Huttle, has original and sometimes wonderful ideas; but it is those ideas that are so dangerous.  They make men extremely rich or extremely poor.  They make or break men.  I always feel people are happier who live a simple unsophisticated life.  I believe I am happy because I am not ambitious.  Somehow I feel that Lupin, since he has been with Mr. Perkupp, has become content to settle down and follow the footsteps of his father.  This is a comfort.

CHAPTER XXI

Lupin is discharged.  We are in great trouble.  Lupin gets engaged elsewhere at a handsome salary.

May 13.—A terrible misfortune has happened: Lupin is discharged from Mr. Perkupp’s office; and I scarcely know how I am writing my diary.  I was away from office last Sat., the first time I have been absent through illness for twenty years.  I believe I was poisoned by some lobster.  Mr. Perkupp was also absent, as Fate would have it; and our most valued customer, Mr. Crowbillon, went to the office in a rage, and withdrew his custom.  My boy Lupin not only had the assurance to receive him, but recommended him the firm of Gylterson, Sons and Co. Limited.  In my own humble judgment, and though I have to say it against my own son, this seems an act of treachery.

This morning I receive a letter from Perkupp, informing me that Lupin’s services are no longer required, and an interview with me is desired at eleven o’clock.  I went down to the office with an aching heart, dreading an interview with Mr. Perkupp, with whom I have never had a word.  I saw nothing of Lupin in the morning.  He had not got up when it was time for me to leave, and Carrie said I should do no good by disturbing him.  My mind wandered so at the office that I could not do my work properly.

As I expected, I was sent for by Mr. Perkupp, and the following conversation ensued as nearly as I can remember it.

Mr. Perkupp said: “Good-morning, Mr. Pooter!  This is a very serious business.  I am not referring so much to the dismissal of your son, for I knew we should have to part sooner or later.  I am the head of this old, influential, and much-respected firm; and when I consider the time has come to revolutionise the business, I will do it myself.”

I could see my good master was somewhat affected, and I said: “I hope, sir, you do not imagine that I have in any way countenanced my son’s unwarrantable interference?”  Mr. Perkupp rose from his seat and took my hand, and said: “Mr. Pooter, I would as soon suspect myself as suspect you.”  I was so agitated that in the confusion, to show my gratitude I very nearly called him a “grand old man.”

Fortunately I checked myself in time, and said he was a “grand old master.”  I was so unaccountable for my actions that I sat down, leaving him standing.  Of course, I at once rose, but Mr. Perkupp bade me sit down, which I was very pleased to do.  Mr. Perkupp, resuming, said: “You will understand, Mr. Pooter, that the high-standing nature of our firm will not admit of our bending to anybody.  If Mr. Crowbillon chooses to put his work into other hands—I may add, less experienced hands—it is not for us to bend and beg back his custom.”  “You shall not do it, sir,” I said with indignation.  “Exactly,” replied Mr. Perkupp; “I shall not do it.  But I was thinking this, Mr. Pooter.  Mr. Crowbillon is our most valued client, and I will even confess—for I know this will not go beyond ourselves—that we cannot afford very well to lose him, especially in these times, which are not of the brightest.  Now, I fancy you can be of service.”

I replied: “Mr. Perkupp, I will work day and night to serve you!”

Mr. Perkupp said: “I know you will.  Now, what I should like you to do is this.  You yourself might write to Mr. Crowbillon—you must not, of course, lead him to suppose I know anything about your doing so—and explain to him that your son was only taken on as a clerk—quite an inexperienced one in fact—out of the respect the firm had for you, Mr. Pooter.  This is, of course, a fact.  I don’t suggest that you should speak in too strong terms of your own son’s conduct; but I may add, that had he been a son of mine, I should have condemned his interference with no measured terms.  That I leave to you.  I think the result will be that Mr. Crowbillon will see the force of the foolish step he has taken, and our firm will neither suffer in dignity nor in pocket.”

I could not help thinking what a noble gentleman Mr. Perkupp is.  His manners and his way of speaking seem to almost thrill one with respect.

I said: “Would you like to see the letter before I send it?”

Mr. Perkupp said: “Oh no!  I had better not.  I am supposed to know nothing about it, and I have every confidence in you.  You must write the letter carefully.  We are not very busy; you had better take the morning to-morrow, or the whole day if you like.  I shall be here myself all day to-morrow, in fact all the week, in case Mr. Crowbillon should call.”

I went home a little more cheerful, but I left word with Sarah that I could not see either Gowing or Cummings, nor in fact anybody, if they called in the evening.  Lupin came into the parlour for a moment with a new hat on, and asked my opinion of it.  I said I was not in the mood to judge of hats, and I did not think he was in a position to buy a new one.  Lupin replied carelessly: “I didn’t buy it; it was a present.”

I have such terrible suspicions of Lupin now that I scarcely like to ask him questions, as I dread the answers so.  He, however, saved me the trouble.

He said: “I met a friend, an old friend, that I did not quite think a friend at the time; but it’s all right.  As he wisely said, ‘all is fair in love and war,’ and there was no reason why we should not be friends still.  He’s a jolly, good, all-round sort of fellow, and a very different stamp from that inflated fool of a Perkupp.”

I said: “Hush, Lupin!  Do not pray add insult to injury.”

Lupin said: “What do you mean by injury?  I repeat, I have done no injury.  Crowbillon is simply tired of a stagnant stick-in-the-mud firm, and made the change on his own account.  I simply recommended the new firm as a matter of biz—good old biz!”

I said quietly: “I don’t understand your slang, and at my time of life have no desire to learn it; so, Lupin, my boy, let us change the subject.  I will, if it please you, try and be interested in your new hat adventure.”

Lupin said: “Oh! there’s nothing much about it, except I have not once seen him since his marriage, and he said he was very pleased to see me, and hoped we should be friends.  I stood a drink to cement the friendship, and he stood me a new hat—one of his own.”

I said rather wearily: “But you have not told me your old friend’s name?”

Lupin said, with affected carelessness: “Oh didn’t I?  Well, I will.  It was Murray Posh.”

May 14.—Lupin came down late, and seeing me at home all the morning, asked the reason of it.  Carrie and I both agreed it was better to say nothing to him about the letter I was writing, so I evaded the question.

Lupin went out, saying he was going to lunch with Murray Posh in the City.  I said I hoped Mr. Posh would provide him with a berth.  Lupin went out laughing, saying: “I don’t mind wearing Posh’s one-priced hats, but I am not going to sell them.”  Poor boy, I fear he is perfectly hopeless.

It took me nearly the whole day to write to Mr. Crowbillon.  Once or twice I asked Carrie for suggestions; and although it seems ungrateful, her suggestions were none of them to the point, while one or two were absolutely idiotic.  Of course I did not tell her so.  I got the letter off, and took it down to the office for Mr. Perkupp to see, but he again repeated that he could trust me.

Gowing called in the evening, and I was obliged to tell him about Lupin and Mr. Perkupp; and, to my surprise, he was quite inclined to side with Lupin.  Carrie joined in, and said she thought I was taking much too melancholy a view of it.  Gowing produced a pint sample-bottle of Madeira, which had been given him, which he said would get rid of the blues.  I dare say it would have done so if there had been more of it; but as Gowing helped himself to three glasses, it did not leave much for Carrie and me to get rid of the blues with.

May 15.—A day of great anxiety, for I expected every moment a letter from Mr. Crowbillon.  Two letters came in the evening—one for me, with “Crowbillon Hall” printed in large gold-and-red letters on the back of the envelope; the other for Lupin, which I felt inclined to open and read, as it had “Gylterson, Sons, and Co. Limited,” which was the recommended firm.  I trembled as I opened Mr. Crowbillon’s letter.  I wrote him sixteen pages, closely written; he wrote me less than sixteen lines.

His letter was: “Sir,—I totally disagree with you.  Your son, in the course of five minutes’ conversation, displayed more intelligence than your firm has done during the last five years.—Yours faithfully, Gilbert E. Gillam O. Crowbillon.”

What am I to do?  Here is a letter that I dare not show to Mr. Perkupp, and would not show to Lupin for anything.  The crisis had yet to come; for Lupin arrived, and, opening his letter, showed a cheque for £25 as a commission for the recommendation of Mr. Crowbillon, whose custom to Mr. Perkupp is evidently lost for ever.  Cummings and Gowing both called, and both took Lupin’s part.  Cummings went so far as to say that Lupin would make a name yet.  I suppose I was melancholy, for I could only ask: “Yes, but what sort of a name?”

May 16.—I told Mr. Perkupp the contents of the letter in a modified form, but Mr. Perkupp said: “Pray don’t discuss the matter; it is at an end.  Your son will bring his punishment upon himself.”  I went home in the evening, thinking of the hopeless future of Lupin.  I found him in most extravagant spirits and in evening dress.  He threw a letter on the table for me to read.

To my amazement, I read that Gylterson and Sons had absolutely engaged Lupin at a salary of £200 a year, with other advantages.  I read the letter through three times and thought it must have been for me.  But there it was—Lupin Pooter—plain enough.  I was silent.  Lupin said: “What price Perkupp now?  You take my tip, Guv.—‘off’ with Perkupp and freeze on to Gylterson, the firm of the future!  Perkupp’s firm?  The stagnant dummies have been standing still for years, and now are moving back.  I want to go on.  In fact I must go off, as I am dining with the Murray Poshs to-night.”

In the exuberance of his spirits he hit his hat with his stick, gave a loud war “Whoo-oop,” jumped over a chair, and took the liberty of rumpling my hair all over my forehead, and bounced out of the room, giving me no chance of reminding him of his age and the respect which was due to his parent.  Gowing and Cummings came in the evening, and positively cheered me up with congratulations respecting Lupin.

Gowing said: “I always said he would get on, and, take my word, he has more in his head than we three put together.”

Carrie said: “He is a second Hardfur Huttle.”

To be concluded

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