The Diary of

a Nobody

BY

GEORGE GROSSMITH

AND

WEEDON GROSSMITH

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS

BY

WEEDON GROSSMITH

A NEW EDITION

BRISTOL

J. W. Arrowsmith, Printer, Quay
Street

LONDON

Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent &
Company Limited

INTRODUCTION BY MR. POOTER

Why should I not publish my diary? I have
often seen reminiscences of people I have never even heard
of, and I fail to see—because I do not happen
to be a ‘Somebody’—why my diary
should not be interesting. My only regret is that I
did not commence it when I was a youth.

Charles
Pooter.

The Laurels,

     Brickfield Terrace,


          
Holloway.

CHAPTER I

We settle down in our new home, and I resolve
to keep a diary. Tradesmen trouble us a bit, so does the
scraper. The Curate calls and pays me a great
compliment.

My dear wife Carrie and I have just been a week in our new
house, “The Laurels,” Brickfield Terrace,
Holloway—a nice six-roomed residence, not counting
basement, with a front breakfast-parlour. We have a little
front garden; and there is a flight of ten steps up to the front
door, which, by-the-by, we keep locked with the chain up.
Cummings, Gowing, and our other intimate friends always come to
the little side entrance, which saves the servant the trouble of
going up to the front door, thereby taking her from her
work. We have a nice little back garden which runs down to
the railway. We were rather afraid of the noise of the
trains at first, but the landlord said we should not notice them
after a bit, and took £2 off the rent. He was
certainly right; and beyond the cracking of the garden wall at
the bottom, we have suffered no inconvenience.

After my work in the City, I like to be at home.
What’s the good of a home, if you are never in it?
“Home, Sweet Home,” that’s my motto. I am
always in of an evening. Our old friend Gowing may drop in
without ceremony; so may Cummings, who lives opposite. My
dear wife Caroline and I are pleased to see them, if they like to
drop in on us. But Carrie and I can manage to pass our
evenings together without friends. There is always
something to be done: a tin-tack here, a Venetian blind to put
straight, a fan to nail up, or part of a carpet to nail
down—all of which I can do with my pipe in my mouth; while
Carrie is not above putting a button on a shirt, mending a
pillow-case, or practising the “Sylvia Gavotte” on
our new cottage piano (on the three years’ system),
manufactured by W. Bilkson (in small letters), from Collard and
Collard (in very large letters). It is also a great comfort
to us to know that our boy Willie is getting on so well in the
Bank at Oldham. We should like to see more of him.
Now for my diary:—

April 3.—Tradesmen called for
custom, and I promised Farmerson, the ironmonger, to give him a
turn if I wanted any nails or tools. By-the-by, that
reminds me there is no key to our bedroom door, and the bells
must be seen to. The parlour bell is broken, and the front
door rings up in the servant’s bedroom, which is
ridiculous. Dear friend Gowing dropped in, but
wouldn’t stay, saying there was an infernal smell of
paint.

April 4. Tradesmen still
calling; Carrie being out, I arranged to deal with Horwin, who
seemed a civil butcher with a nice clean shop. Ordered a
shoulder of mutton for to-morrow, to give him a trial.
Carrie arranged with Borset, the butterman, and ordered a pound
of fresh butter, and a pound and a half of salt ditto for
kitchen, and a shilling’s worth of eggs. In the
evening, Cummings unexpectedly dropped in to show me a meerschaum
pipe he had won in a raffle in the City, and told me to handle it
carefully, as it would spoil the colouring if the hand was
moist. He said he wouldn’t stay, as he didn’t
care much for the smell of the paint, and fell over the scraper
as he went out. Must get the scraper removed, or else I
shall get into a scrape. I don’t often make
jokes.

April 5.—Two shoulders of
mutton arrived, Carrie having arranged with another butcher
without consulting me. Gowing called, and fell over scraper
coming in. Must get that scraper removed.

April 6.—Eggs for breakfast
simply shocking; sent them back to Borset with my compliments,
and he needn’t call any more for orders.
Couldn’t find umbrella, and though it was pouring with
rain, had to go without it. Sarah said Mr. Gowing must have
took it by mistake last night, as there was a stick in the
‘all that didn’t belong to nobody. In the
evening, hearing someone talking in a loud voice to the servant
in the downstairs hall, I went out to see who it was, and was
surprised to find it was Borset, the butterman, who was both
drunk and offensive. Borset, on seeing me, said he would be
hanged if he would ever serve City clerks any more—the game
wasn’t worth the candle. I restrained my feelings,
and quietly remarked that I thought it was possible for a
city clerk to be a gentleman. He replied he was very
glad to hear it, and wanted to know whether I had ever come
across one, for he hadn’t. He left the house,
slamming the door after him, which nearly broke the fanlight; and
I heard him fall over the scraper, which made me feel glad I
hadn’t removed it. When he had gone, I thought of a
splendid answer I ought to have given him. However, I will
keep it for another occasion.

April 7.—Being Saturday, I
looked forward to being home early, and putting a few things
straight; but two of our principals at the office were absent
through illness, and I did not get home till seven. Found
Borset waiting. He had been three times during the day to
apologise for his conduct last night. He said he was unable
to take his Bank Holiday last Monday, and took it last night
instead. He begged me to accept his apology, and a pound of
fresh butter. He seems, after all, a decent sort of fellow;
so I gave him an order for some fresh eggs, with a request that
on this occasion they should be fresh. I am afraid
we shall have to get some new stair-carpets after all; our old
ones are not quite wide enough to meet the paint on either
side. Carrie suggests that we might ourselves broaden the
paint. I will see if we can match the colour (dark
chocolate) on Monday.

April 8, Sunday.—After
Church, the Curate came back with us. I sent Carrie in to
open front door, which we do not use except on special
occasions. She could not get it open, and after all my
display, I had to take the Curate (whose name, by-the-by, I did
not catch,) round the side entrance. He caught his foot in
the scraper, and tore the bottom of his trousers. Most
annoying, as Carrie could not well offer to repair them on a
Sunday. After dinner, went to sleep. Took a walk
round the garden, and discovered a beautiful spot for sowing
mustard-and-cress and radishes. Went to Church again in the
evening: walked back with the Curate. Carrie noticed he had
got on the same pair of trousers, only repaired. He wants
me to take round the plate, which I think a great compliment.

CHAPTER II

Tradesmen and the scraper still
troublesome. Gowing rather tiresome with his complaints of
the paint. I make one of the best jokes of my life.
Delights of Gardening. Mr. Stillbrook, Gowing, Cummings,
and I have a little misunderstanding. Sarah makes me look a
fool before Cummings.

April 9.—Commenced the
morning badly. The butcher, whom we decided not to
arrange with, called and blackguarded me in the most uncalled-for
manner. He began by abusing me, and saying he did not want
my custom. I simply said: “Then what are you making
all this fuss about it for?” And he shouted out at
the top of his voice, so that all the neighbours could hear:
“Pah! go along. Ugh! I could buy up
‘things’ like you by the dozen!”

I shut the door, and was giving Carrie to understand that this
disgraceful scene was entirely her fault, when there was a
violent kicking at the door, enough to break the panels. It
was the blackguard butcher again, who said he had cut his foot
over the scraper, and would immediately bring an action against
me. Called at Farmerson’s, the ironmonger, on my way
to town, and gave him the job of moving the scraper and repairing
the bells, thinking it scarcely worth while to trouble the
landlord with such a trifling matter.

Arrived home tired and worried. Mr. Putley, a painter
and decorator, who had sent in a card, said he could not match
the colour on the stairs, as it contained Indian carmine.
He said he spent half-a-day calling at warehouses to see if he
could get it. He suggested he should entirely repaint the
stairs. It would cost very little more; if he tried to
match it, he could only make a bad job of it. It would be
more satisfactory to him and to us to have the work done
properly. I consented, but felt I had been talked
over. Planted some mustard-and-cress and radishes, and went
to bed at nine.

April 10.—Farmerson came
round to attend to the scraper himself. He seems a very
civil fellow. He says he does not usually conduct such
small jobs personally, but for me he would do so. I thanked
him, and went to town. It is disgraceful how late some of
the young clerks are at arriving. I told three of them that
if Mr. Perkupp, the principal, heard of it, they might be
discharged.

Pitt, a monkey of seventeen, who has only been with us six
weeks, told me “to keep my hair on!” I informed
him I had had the honour of being in the firm twenty years, to
which he insolently replied that I “looked it.”
I gave him an indignant look, and said: “I demand from you
some respect, sir.” He replied: “All right, go
on demanding.” I would not argue with him any
further. You cannot argue with people like that. In
the evening Gowing called, and repeated his complaint about the
smell of paint. Gowing is sometimes very tedious with his
remarks, and not always cautious; and Carrie once very properly
reminded him that she was present.

April 11.—Mustard-and-cress
and radishes not come up yet. To-day was a day of
annoyances. I missed the quarter-to-nine ’bus to the
City, through having words with the grocer’s boy, who for
the second time had the impertinence to bring his basket to the
hall-door, and had left the marks of his dirty boots on the
fresh-cleaned door-steps. He said he had knocked at the
side door with his knuckles for a quarter of an hour. I
knew Sarah, our servant, could not hear this, as she was upstairs
doing the bedrooms, so asked the boy why he did not ring the
bell? He replied that he did pull the bell, but the handle
came off in his hand.

I was half-an-hour late at the office, a thing that has never
happened to me before. There has recently been much
irregularity in the attendance of the clerks, and Mr. Perkupp,
our principal, unfortunately chose this very morning to pounce
down upon us early. Someone had given the tip to the
others. The result was that I was the only one late of the
lot. Buckling, one of the senior clerks, was a brick, and I
was saved by his intervention. As I passed by Pitt’s
desk, I heard him remark to his neighbour: “How
disgracefully late some of the head clerks arrive!”
This was, of course, meant for me. I treated the
observation with silence, simply giving him a look, which
unfortunately had the effect of making both of the clerks
laugh. Thought afterwards it would have been more dignified
if I had pretended not to have heard him at all. Cummings
called in the evening, and we played dominoes.

April 12.—Mustard-and-cress
and radishes not come up yet. Left Farmerson repairing the
scraper, but when I came home found three men working. I
asked the meaning of it, and Farmerson said that in making a
fresh hole he had penetrated the gas-pipe. He said it was a
most ridiculous place to put the gas-pipe, and the man who did it
evidently knew nothing about his business. I felt his
excuse was no consolation for the expense I shall be put to.

In the evening, after tea, Gowing dropped in, and we had a
smoke together in the breakfast-parlour. Carrie joined us
later, but did not stay long, saying the smoke was too much for
her. It was also rather too much for me, for Gowing had
given me what he called a green cigar, one that his friend
Shoemach had just brought over from America. The cigar
didn’t look green, but I fancy I must have done so; for
when I had smoked a little more than half I was obliged to retire
on the pretext of telling Sarah to bring in the glasses.

I took a walk round the garden three or four times, feeling
the need of fresh air. On returning Gowing noticed I was
not smoking: offered me another cigar, which I politely
declined. Gowing began his usual sniffing, so, anticipating
him, I said: “You’re not going to complain of the
smell of paint again?” He said: “No, not this
time; but I’ll tell you what, I distinctly smell dry
rot.” I don’t often make jokes, but I replied:
“You’re talking a lot of dry rot
yourself.” I could not help roaring at this, and
Carrie said her sides quite ached with laughter. I never
was so immensely tickled by anything I have ever said
before. I actually woke up twice during the night, and
laughed till the bed shook.

April 13.—An extraordinary
coincidence: Carrie had called in a woman to make some chintz
covers for our drawing-room chairs and sofa to prevent the sun
fading the green rep of the furniture. I saw the woman, and
recognised her as a woman who used to work years ago for my old
aunt at Clapham. It only shows how small the world is.

April 14.—Spent the whole of
the afternoon in the garden, having this morning picked up at a
bookstall for fivepence a capital little book, in good condition,
on Gardening. I procured and sowed some half-hardy
annuals in what I fancy will be a warm, sunny border. I
thought of a joke, and called out Carrie. Carrie came out
rather testy, I thought. I said: “I have just
discovered we have got a lodging-house.” She replied:
“How do you mean?” I said: “Look at the
boarders.” Carrie said: “Is that all you
wanted me for?” I said: “Any other time you
would have laughed at my little pleasantry.” Carrie
said: “Certainly—at any other time, but not
when I am busy in the house.” The stairs looked very
nice. Gowing called, and said the stairs looked all
right, but it made the banisters look all wrong, and
suggested a coat of paint on them also, which Carrie quite agreed
with. I walked round to Putley, and fortunately he was out,
so I had a good excuse to let the banisters slide.
By-the-by, that is rather funny.

April 15, Sunday.—At three
o’clock Cummings and Gowing called for a good long walk
over Hampstead and Finchley, and brought with them a friend named
Stillbrook. We walked and chatted together, except
Stillbrook, who was always a few yards behind us staring at the
ground and cutting at the grass with his stick.

As it was getting on for five, we four held a consultation,
and Gowing suggested that we should make for “The Cow and
Hedge” and get some tea. Stillbrook said: “A
brandy-and-soda was good enough for him.” I reminded
them that all public-houses were closed till six
o’clock. Stillbrook said, “That’s all
right—bona-fide travellers.”

We arrived; and as I was trying to pass, the man in charge of
the gate said: “Where from?” I replied:
“Holloway.” He immediately put up his arm, and
declined to let me pass. I turned back for a moment, when I
saw Stillbrook, closely followed by Cummings and Gowing, make for
the entrance. I watched them, and thought I would have a
good laugh at their expense, I heard the porter say: “Where
from?” When, to my surprise, in fact disgust,
Stillbrook replied: “Blackheath,” and the three were
immediately admitted.

Gowing called to me across the gate, and said: “We
shan’t be a minute.” I waited for them the best
part of an hour. When they appeared they were all in most
excellent spirits, and the only one who made an effort to
apologise was Mr. Stillbrook, who said to me: “It was very
rough on you to be kept waiting, but we had another spin for S.
and B.’s.” I walked home in silence; I
couldn’t speak to them. I felt very dull all the
evening, but deemed it advisable not to say anything to
Carrie about the matter.

April 16.—After business, set
to work in the garden. When it got dark I wrote to Cummings
and Gowing (who neither called, for a wonder; perhaps they were
ashamed of themselves) about yesterday’s adventure at
“The Cow and Hedge.” Afterwards made up my mind
not to write yet.

April 17.—Thought I would
write a kind little note to Gowing and Cummings about last
Sunday, and warning them against Mr. Stillbrook.
Afterwards, thinking the matter over, tore up the letters and
determined not to write at all, but to speak
quietly to them. Dumfounded at receiving a sharp letter
from Cummings, saying that both he and Gowing had been waiting
for an explanation of my (mind you, my) extraordinary conduct coming home on
Sunday. At last I wrote: “I thought I was the
aggrieved party; but as I freely forgive you, you—feeling
yourself aggrieved—should bestow forgiveness on
me.” I have copied this verbatim in the diary,
because I think it is one of the most perfect and thoughtful
sentences I have ever written. I posted the letter, but in
my own heart I felt I was actually apologising for having been
insulted.

April 18.—Am in for a
cold. Spent the whole day at the office sneezing. In
the evening, the cold being intolerable, sent Sarah out for a
bottle of Kinahan. Fell asleep in the arm-chair, and woke
with the shivers. Was startled by a loud knock at the front
door. Carrie awfully flurried. Sarah still out, so
went up, opened the door, and found it was only Cummings.
Remembered the grocer’s boy had again broken the
side-bell. Cummings squeezed my hand, and said:
“I’ve just seen Gowing. All right. Say no
more about it.” There is no doubt they are both under
the impression I have apologised.

While playing dominoes with Cummings in the parlour, he said:
“By-the-by, do you want any wine or spirits? My
cousin Merton has just set up in the trade, and has a splendid
whisky, four years in bottle, at thirty-eight shillings. It
is worth your while laying down a few dozen of it.” I
told him my cellars, which were very small, were full up.
To my horror, at that very moment, Sarah entered the room, and
putting a bottle of whisky, wrapped in a dirty piece of
newspaper, on the table in front of us, said: “Please, sir,
the grocer says he ain’t got no more Kinahan, but
you’ll find this very good at two-and-six, with twopence
returned on the bottle; and, please, did you want any more
sherry? as he has some at one-and-three, as dry as a
nut!”

CHAPTER III

A conversation with Mr. Merton on
Society. Mr. and Mrs. James, of Sutton, come up. A
miserable evening at the Tank Theatre. Experiments with
enamel paint. I make another good joke; but Gowing and
Cummings are unnecessarily offended. I paint the bath red,
with unexpected result.

April 19.—Cummings called,
bringing with him his friend Merton, who is in the wine
trade. Gowing also called. Mr. Merton made himself at
home at once, and Carrie and I were both struck with him
immediately, and thoroughly approved of his sentiments.

He leaned back in his chair and said: “You must take me
as I am;” and I replied: “Yes—and you must take
us as we are. We’re homely people, we are not
swells.”

He answered: “No, I can see that,” and Gowing
roared with laughter; but Merton in a most gentlemanly manner
said to Gowing: “I don’t think you quite understand
me. I intended to convey that our charming host and hostess
were superior to the follies of fashion, and preferred leading a
simple and wholesome life to gadding about to twopenny-halfpenny
tea-drinking afternoons, and living above their
incomes.”

I was immensely pleased with these sensible remarks of
Merton’s, and concluded that subject by saying: “No,
candidly, Mr. Merton, we don’t go into Society, because we
do not care for it; and what with the expense of cabs here and
cabs there, and white gloves and white ties, etc., it
doesn’t seem worth the money.”

Merton said in reference to friends: “My motto is
‘Few and True;’ and, by the way, I also apply that to
wine, ‘Little and Good.’” Gowing said:
“Yes, and sometimes ‘cheap and tasty,’ eh, old
man?” Merton, still continuing, said he should treat
me as a friend, and put me down for a dozen of his
“Lockanbar” whisky, and as I was an old friend of
Gowing, I should have it for 36s., which was considerably under
what he paid for it.

He booked his own order, and further said that at any time I
wanted any passes for the theatre I was to let him know, as his
name stood good for any theatre in London.

April 20.—Carrie reminded me
that as her old school friend, Annie Fullers (now Mrs. James),
and her husband had come up from Sutton for a few days, it would
look kind to take them to the theatre, and would I drop a line to
Mr. Merton asking him for passes for four, either for the Italian
Opera, Haymarket, Savoy, or Lyceum. I wrote Merton to that
effect.

April 21.—Got a reply from
Merton, saying he was very busy, and just at present
couldn’t manage passes for the Italian Opera, Haymarket,
Savoy, or Lyceum, but the best thing going on in London was the
Brown Bushes, at the Tank Theatre, Islington, and enclosed
seats for four; also bill for whisky.

April 23.—Mr. and Mrs. James
(Miss Fullers that was) came to meat tea, and we left directly
after for the Tank Theatre. We got a ’bus that took
us to King’s Cross, and then changed into one that took us
to the “Angel.” Mr. James each time insisted on
paying for all, saying that I had paid for the tickets and that
was quite enough.

We arrived at theatre, where, curiously enough, all our
’bus-load except an old woman with a basket seemed to be
going in. I walked ahead and presented the tickets.
The man looked at them, and called out: “Mr. Willowly! do
you know anything about these?” holding up my
tickets. The gentleman called to, came up and examined my
tickets, and said: “Who gave you these?” I
said, rather indignantly: “Mr. Merton, of
course.” He said: “Merton? Who’s
he?” I answered, rather sharply: “You ought to
know, his name’s good at any theatre in
London.” He replied: “Oh! is it? Well, it
ain’t no good here. These tickets, which are not
dated, were issued under Mr. Swinstead’s management, which
has since changed hands.” While I was having some
very unpleasant words with the man, James, who had gone upstairs
with the ladies, called out: “Come on!” I went
up after them, and a very civil attendant said: “This way,
please, box H.” I said to James: “Why, how on
earth did you manage it?” and to my horror he replied:
“Why, paid for it of course.”

This was humiliating enough, and I could scarcely follow the
play, but I was doomed to still further humiliation. I was
leaning out of the box, when my tie—a little black bow
which fastened on to the stud by means of a new patent—fell
into the pit below. A clumsy man not noticing it, had his
foot on it for ever so long before he discovered it. He
then picked it up and eventually flung it under the next seat in
disgust. What with the box incident and the tie, I felt
quite miserable. Mr. James, of Sutton, was very good.
He said: “Don’t worry—no one will notice it
with your beard. That is the only advantage of growing one
that I can see.” There was no occasion for that
remark, for Carrie is very proud of my beard.

To hide the absence of the tie I had to keep my chin down the
rest of the evening, which caused a pain at the back of my
neck.

April 24.—Could scarcely
sleep a wink through thinking of having brought up Mr. and Mrs.
James from the country to go to the theatre last night, and his
having paid for a private box because our order was not honoured,
and such a poor play too. I wrote a very satirical letter
to Merton, the wine merchant, who gave us the pass, and said,
“Considering we had to pay for our seats, we did our best
to appreciate the performance.” I thought this line
rather cutting, and I asked Carrie how many p’s there were
in appreciate, and she said, “One.” After I
sent off the letter I looked at the dictionary and found there
were two. Awfully vexed at this.

Decided not to worry myself any more about the James’s;
for, as Carrie wisely said, “We’ll make it all right
with them by asking them up from Sutton one evening next week to
play at Bézique.”

April 25.—In consequence of
Brickwell telling me his wife was working wonders with the new
Pinkford’s enamel paint, I determined to try it. I
bought two tins of red on my way home. I hastened through
tea, went into the garden and painted some flower-pots. I
called out Carrie, who said: “You’ve always got some
newfangled craze;” but she was obliged to admit that the
flower-pots looked remarkably well. Went upstairs into the
servant’s bedroom and painted her washstand, towel-horse,
and chest of drawers. To my mind it was an extraordinary
improvement, but as an example of the ignorance of the lower
classes in the matter of taste, our servant, Sarah, on seeing
them, evinced no sign of pleasure, but merely said “she
thought they looked very well as they was before.”

April 26.—Got some more red
enamel paint (red, to my mind, being the best colour), and
painted the coal-scuttle, and the backs of our Shakspeare,
the binding of which had almost worn out.

April 27.—Painted the bath
red, and was delighted with the result. Sorry to say Carrie
was not, in fact we had a few words about it. She said I
ought to have consulted her, and she had never heard of such a
thing as a bath being painted red. I replied:
“It’s merely a matter of taste.”

Fortunately, further argument on the subject was stopped by a
voice saying, “May I come in?” It was only
Cummings, who said, “Your maid opened the door, and asked
me to excuse her showing me in, as she was wringing out some
socks.” I was delighted to see him, and suggested we
should have a game of whist with a dummy, and by way of merriment
said: “You can be the dummy.” Cummings (I
thought rather ill-naturedly) replied: “Funny as
usual.” He said he couldn’t stop, he only
called to leave me the Bicycle News, as he had done with
it.

Another ring at the bell; it was Gowing, who said he
“must apologise for coming so often, and that one of these
days we must come round to him.” I said:
“A very extraordinary thing has struck me.”
“Something funny, as usual,” said Cummings.
“Yes,” I replied; “I think even you will say so
this time. It’s concerning you both; for
doesn’t it seem odd that Gowing’s always coming and
Cummings’ always going?” Carrie, who had
evidently quite forgotten about the bath, went into fits of
laughter, and as for myself, I fairly doubled up in my chair,
till it cracked beneath me. I think this was one of the
best jokes I have ever made.

Then imagine my astonishment on perceiving both Cummings and
Gowing perfectly silent, and without a smile on their
faces. After rather an unpleasant pause, Cummings, who had
opened a cigar-case, closed it up again and said:
“Yes—I think, after that, I shall be going,
and I am sorry I fail to see the fun of your jokes.”
Gowing said he didn’t mind a joke when it wasn’t
rude, but a pun on a name, to his thinking, was certainly a
little wanting in good taste. Cummings followed it up by
saying, if it had been said by anyone else but myself, he
shouldn’t have entered the house again. This rather
unpleasantly terminated what might have been a cheerful
evening. However, it was as well they went, for the
charwoman had finished up the remains of the cold pork.

April 28.—At the office, the
new and very young clerk Pitt, who was very impudent to me a week
or so ago, was late again. I told him it would be my duty
to inform Mr. Perkupp, the principal. To my surprise, Pitt
apologised most humbly and in a most gentlemanly fashion. I
was unfeignedly pleased to notice this improvement in his manner
towards me, and told him I would look over his
unpunctuality. Passing down the room an hour later. I
received a smart smack in the face from a rolled-up ball of hard
foolscap. I turned round sharply, but all the clerks were
apparently riveted to their work. I am not a rich man, but
I would give half-a-sovereign to know whether that was thrown by
accident or design. Went home early and bought some more
enamel paint—black this time—and spent the evening
touching up the fender, picture-frames, and an old pair of boots,
making them look as good as new. Also painted
Gowing’s walking-stick, which he left behind, and made it
look like ebony.

April 29, Sunday.—Woke up
with a fearful headache and strong symptoms of a cold.
Carrie, with a perversity which is just like her, said it was
“painter’s colic,” and was the result of my
having spent the last few days with my nose over a
paint-pot. I told her firmly that I knew a great deal
better what was the matter with me than she did. I had got
a chill, and decided to have a bath as hot as I could bear
it. Bath ready—could scarcely bear it so hot. I
persevered, and got in; very hot, but very acceptable. I
lay still for some time.

On moving my hand above the surface of the water, I
experienced the greatest fright I ever received in the whole
course of my life; for imagine my horror on discovering my hand,
as I thought, full of blood. My first thought was that I
had ruptured an artery, and was bleeding to death, and should be
discovered, later on, looking like a second Marat, as I remember
seeing him in Madame Tussaud’s. My second thought was
to ring the bell, but remembered there was no bell to ring.
My third was, that there was nothing but the enamel paint, which
had dissolved with boiling water. I stepped out of the
bath, perfectly red all over, resembling the Red Indians I have
seen depicted at an East-End theatre. I determined not to
say a word to Carrie, but to tell Farmerson to come on Monday and
paint the bath white.

CHAPTER IV

The ball at the Mansion House.

April 30.—Perfectly astounded
at receiving an invitation for Carrie and myself from the Lord
and Lady Mayoress to the Mansion House, to “meet the
Representatives of Trades and Commerce.” My heart
beat like that of a schoolboy’s. Carrie and I read
the invitation over two or three times. I could scarcely
eat my breakfast. I said—and I felt it from the
bottom of my heart,—“Carrie darling, I was a proud
man when I led you down the aisle of the church on our
wedding-day; that pride will be equalled, if not surpassed, when
I lead my dear, pretty wife up to the Lord and Lady Mayoress at
the Mansion House.” I saw the tears in Carrie’s
eyes, and she said: “Charlie dear, it is I who have
to be proud of you. And I am very, very proud of you.
You have called me pretty; and as long as I am pretty in your
eyes, I am happy. You, dear old Charlie, are not handsome,
but you are good, which is far more noble.” I
gave her a kiss, and she said: “I wonder if there will be
any dancing? I have not danced with you for
years.”

I cannot tell what induced me to do it, but I seized her round
the waist, and we were silly enough to be executing a wild kind
of polka when Sarah entered, grinning, and said: “There is
a man, mum, at the door who wants to know if you want any good
coals.” Most annoyed at this. Spent the evening
in answering, and tearing up again, the reply to the Mansion
House, having left word with Sarah if Gowing or Cummings called
we were not at home. Must consult Mr. Perkupp how to answer
the Lord Mayor’s invitation.

May 1.—Carrie said: “I
should like to send mother the invitation to look
at.” I consented, as soon as I had answered it.
I told Mr. Perkupp, at the office, with a feeling of pride, that
we had received an invitation to the Mansion House; and he said,
to my astonishment, that he himself gave in my name to the Lord
Mayor’s secretary. I felt this rather discounted the
value of the invitation, but I thanked him; and in reply to me,
he described how I was to answer it. I felt the reply was
too simple; but of course Mr. Perkupp knows best.

May 2.—Sent my dress-coat and
trousers to the little tailor’s round the corner, to have
the creases taken out. Told Gowing not to call next Monday,
as we were going to the Mansion House. Sent similar note to
Cummings.

May 3.—Carrie went to Mrs.
James, at Sutton, to consult about her dress for next
Monday. While speaking incidentally to Spotch, one of our
head clerks, about the Mansion House, he said: “Oh,
I’m asked, but don’t think I shall go.”
When a vulgar man like Spotch is asked, I feel my invitation is
considerably discounted. In the evening, while I was out,
the little tailor brought round my coat and trousers, and because
Sarah had not a shilling to pay for the pressing, he took them
away again.

May 4.—Carrie’s mother
returned the Lord Mayor’s invitation, which was sent to her
to look at, with apologies for having upset a glass of port over
it. I was too angry to say anything.

May 5.—Bought a pair of
lavender kid-gloves for next Monday, and two white ties, in case
one got spoiled in the tying.

May 6, Sunday.—A very dull
sermon, during which, I regret to say, I twice thought of the
Mansion House reception to-morrow.

May 7.—A big red-letter day;
viz., the Lord Mayor’s reception. The whole house
upset. I had to get dressed at half-past six, as Carrie
wanted the room to herself. Mrs. James had come up from
Sutton to help Carrie; so I could not help thinking it
unreasonable that she should require the entire attention of
Sarah, the servant, as well. Sarah kept running out of the
house to fetch “something for missis,” and several
times I had, in my full evening-dress, to answer the
back-door.

The last time it was the greengrocer’s boy, who, not
seeing it was me, for Sarah had not lighted the gas, pushed into
my hands two cabbages and half-a-dozen coal-blocks. I
indignantly threw them on the ground, and felt so annoyed that I
so far forgot myself as to box the boy’s ears. He
went away crying, and said he should summons me, a thing I would
not have happen for the world. In the dark, I stepped on a
piece of the cabbage, which brought me down on the flags all of a
heap. For a moment I was stunned, but when I recovered I
crawled upstairs into the drawing-room and on looking into the
chimney-glass discovered that my chin was bleeding, my shirt
smeared with the coal-blocks, and my left trouser torn at the
knee.

However, Mrs. James brought me down another shirt, which I
changed in the drawing-room. I put a piece of court-plaster
on my chin, and Sarah very neatly sewed up the tear at the
knee. At nine o’clock Carrie swept into the room,
looking like a queen. Never have I seen her look so lovely,
or so distinguished. She was wearing a satin dress of
sky-blue—my favourite colour—and a piece of lace,
which Mrs. James lent her, round the shoulders, to give a
finish. I thought perhaps the dress was a little too long
behind, and decidedly too short in front, but Mrs. James said it
was à la mode. Mrs. James was most kind, and
lent Carrie a fan of ivory with red feathers, the value of which,
she said, was priceless, as the feathers belonged to the Kachu
eagle—a bird now extinct. I preferred the little
white fan which Carrie bought for three-and-six at
Shoolbred’s, but both ladies sat on me at once.

We arrived at the Mansion House too early, which was rather
fortunate, for I had an opportunity of speaking to his lordship,
who graciously condescended to talk with me some minutes; but I
must say I was disappointed to find he did not even know Mr.
Perkupp, our principal.

I felt as if we had been invited to the Mansion House by one
who did not know the Lord Mayor himself. Crowds arrived,
and I shall never forget the grand sight. My humble pen can
never describe it. I was a little annoyed with Carrie, who
kept saying: “Isn’t it a pity we don’t know
anybody?”

Once she quite lost her head. I saw someone who looked
like Franching, from Peckham, and was moving towards him when she
seized me by the coat-tails, and said quite loudly:
“Don’t leave me,” which caused an elderly
gentleman, in a court-suit, and a chain round him, and two
ladies, to burst out laughing. There was an immense crowd
in the supper-room, and, my stars! it was a splendid
supper—any amount of champagne.

Carrie made a most hearty supper, for which I was pleased; for
I sometimes think she is not strong. There was scarcely a
dish she did not taste. I was so thirsty, I could not eat
much. Receiving a sharp slap on the shoulder, I turned,
and, to my amazement, saw Farmerson, our ironmonger. He
said, in the most familiar way: “This is better than
Brickfield Terrace, eh?” I simply looked at him, and
said coolly: “I never expected to see you
here.” He said, with a loud, coarse laugh: “I
like that—if you, why not me?” I
replied: “Certainly,” I wish I could have thought of
something better to say. He said: “Can I get your
good lady anything?” Carrie said: “No, I thank
you,” for which I was pleased. I said, by way of
reproof to him: “You never sent to-day to paint the bath,
as I requested.” Farmerson said: “Pardon me,
Mr. Pooter, no shop when we’re in company,
please.”

Before I could think of a reply, one of the sheriffs, in full
Court costume, slapped Farmerson on the back and hailed him as an
old friend, and asked him to dine with him at his lodge. I
was astonished. For full five minutes they stood roaring
with laughter, and stood digging each other in the ribs.
They kept telling each other they didn’t look a day
older. They began embracing each other and drinking
champagne.

To think that a man who mends our scraper should know any
member of our aristocracy! I was just moving with Carrie,
when Farmerson seized me rather roughly by the collar, and
addressing the sheriff, said: “Let me introduce my
neighbour, Pooter.” He did not even say
“Mister.” The sheriff handed me a glass of
champagne. I felt, after all, it was a great honour to
drink a glass of wine with him, and I told him so. We stood
chatting for some time, and at last I said: “You must
excuse me now if I join Mrs. Pooter.” When I
approached her, she said: “Don’t let me take you away
from friends. I am quite happy standing here alone in a
crowd, knowing nobody!”

As it takes two to make a quarrel, and as it was neither the
time nor the place for it, I gave my arm to Carrie, and said:
“I hope my darling little wife will dance with me, if only
for the sake of saying we had danced at the Mansion House as
guests of the Lord Mayor.” Finding the dancing after
supper was less formal, and knowing how much Carrie used to
admire my dancing in the days gone by, I put my arm round her
waist and we commenced a waltz.

A most unfortunate accident occurred. I had got on a new
pair of boots. Foolishly, I had omitted to take
Carrie’s advice; namely, to scratch the soles of them with
the points of the scissors or to put a little wet on them.
I had scarcely started when, like lightning, my left foot slipped
away and I came down, the side of my head striking the floor with
such violence that for a second or two I did not know what had
happened. I needly hardly say that Carrie fell with me with
equal violence, breaking the comb in her hair and grazing her
elbow.

There was a roar of laughter, which was immediately checked
when people found that we had really hurt ourselves. A
gentleman assisted Carrie to a seat, and I expressed myself
pretty strongly on the danger of having a plain polished floor
with no carpet or drugget to prevent people slipping. The
gentleman, who said his name was Darwitts, insisted on escorting
Carrie to have a glass of wine, an invitation which I was pleased
to allow Carrie to accept.

I followed, and met Farmerson, who immediately said, in his
loud voice “Oh, are you the one who went down?”

I answered with an indignant look.

With execrable taste, he said: “Look here, old man, we
are too old for this game. We must leave these capers to
the youngsters. Come and have another glass, that is more
in our line.”

Although I felt I was buying his silence by accepting, we
followed the others into the supper-room.

Neither Carrie nor I, after our unfortunate mishap, felt
inclined to stay longer. As we were departing, Farmerson
said: “Are you going? if so, you might give me a
lift.”

I thought it better to consent, but wish I had first consulted
Carrie.

CHAPTER V

After the Mansion House Ball. Carrie
offended. Gowing also offended. A pleasant party at
the Cummings’. Mr. Franching, of Peckham, visits
us.

May 8.—I woke up with a most
terrible headache. I could scarcely see, and the back of my
neck was as if I had given it a crick. I thought first of
sending for a doctor; but I did not think it necessary.
When up, I felt faint, and went to Brownish’s, the chemist,
who gave me a draught. So bad at the office, had to get
leave to come home. Went to another chemist in the City,
and I got a draught. Brownish’s dose seems to have
made me worse; have eaten nothing all day. To make matters
worse, Carrie, every time I spoke to her, answered me
sharply—that is, when she answered at all.

In the evening I felt very much worse again and said to her:
“I do believe I’ve been poisoned by the lobster
mayonnaise at the Mansion House last night;” she simply
replied, without taking her eyes from her sewing:
“Champagne never did agree with you.” I felt
irritated, and said: “What nonsense you talk; I only had a
glass and a half, and you know as well as I
do—” Before I could complete the sentence she
bounced out of the room. I sat over an hour waiting for her
to return; but as she did not, I determined I would go to
bed. I discovered Carrie had gone to bed without even
saying “good-night”; leaving me to bar the scullery
door and feed the cat. I shall certainly speak to her about
this in the morning.

May 9.—Still a little shaky,
with black specks. The Blackfriars Bi-weekly News
contains a long list of the guests at the Mansion House
Ball. Disappointed to find our names omitted, though
Farmerson’s is in plainly enough with M.L.L. after it,
whatever that may mean. More than vexed, because we had
ordered a dozen copies to send to our friends. Wrote to the
Blackfriars Bi-weekly News, pointing out their
omission.

Carrie had commenced her breakfast when I entered the
parlour. I helped myself to a cup of tea, and I said,
perfectly calmly and quietly: “Carrie, I wish a little
explanation of your conduct last night.”

She replied, “Indeed! and I desire something more than a
little explanation of your conduct the night before.”

I said, coolly: “Really, I don’t understand
you.”

Carrie said sneeringly: “Probably not; you were scarcely
in a condition to understand anything.”

I was astounded at this insinuation and simply ejaculated:
“Caroline!”

She said: “Don’t be theatrical, it has no effect
on me. Reserve that tone for your new friend, Mister
Farmerson, the ironmonger.”

I was about to speak, when Carrie, in a temper such as I have
never seen her in before, told me to hold my tongue. She
said: “Now I’m going to say something!
After professing to snub Mr. Farmerson, you permit him to snub
you, in my presence, and then accept his invitation to
take a glass of champagne with you, and you don’t limit
yourself to one glass. You then offer this vulgar man, who
made a bungle of repairing our scraper, a seat in our cab on the
way home. I say nothing about his tearing my dress in
getting in the cab, nor of treading on Mrs. James’s
expensive fan, which you knocked out of my hand, and for which he
never even apologised; but you smoked all the way home without
having the decency to ask my permission. That is not
all! At the end of the journey, although he did not offer
you a farthing towards his share of the cab, you asked him
in. Fortunately, he was sober enough to detect, from my
manner, that his company was not desirable.”

Goodness knows I felt humiliated enough at this; but, to make
matters worse, Gowing entered the room, without knocking, with
two hats on his head and holding the garden-rake in his hand,
with Carrie’s fur tippet (which he had taken off the
downstairs hall-peg) round his neck, and announced himself in a
loud, coarse voice: “His Royal Highness, the Lord
Mayor!” He marched twice round the room like a
buffoon, and finding we took no notice, said: “Hulloh!
what’s up? Lovers’ quarrel, eh?”

There was a silence for a moment, so I said quietly: “My
dear Gowing, I’m not very well, and not quite in the humour
for joking; especially when you enter the room without knocking,
an act which I fail to see the fun of.”

Gowing said: “I’m very sorry, but I called for my
stick, which I thought you would have sent round.” I
handed him his stick, which I remembered I had painted black with
the enamel paint, thinking to improve it. He looked at it
for a minute with a dazed expression and said: “Who did
this?”

I said: “Eh, did what?”

He said: “Did what? Why, destroyed my stick!
It belonged to my poor uncle, and I value it more than anything I
have in the world! I’ll know who did it.”

I said: “I’m very sorry. I dare say it will
come off. I did it for the best.”

Gowing said: “Then all I can say is, it’s a
confounded liberty; and I would add, you’re a bigger
fool than you look, only that’s absolutely
impossible.”

May 12.—Got a single copy of
the Blackfriars Bi-weekly News. There was a short
list of several names they had omitted; but the stupid people had
mentioned our names as “Mr. and Mrs. C.
Porter.” Most annoying! Wrote again and I took
particular care to write our name in capital letters,
POOTER, so that there should be no possible mistake this
time.

May 16.—Absolutely disgusted
on opening the Blackfriars Bi-weekly News of to-day, to
find the following paragraph: “We have received two letters
from Mr. and Mrs. Charles Pewter, requesting us to announce the
important fact that they were at the Mansion House
Ball.” I tore up the paper and threw it in the
waste-paper basket. My time is far too valuable to bother
about such trifles.

May 21.—The last week or ten
days terribly dull, Carrie being away at Mrs. James’s, at
Sutton. Cummings also away. Gowing, I presume, is
still offended with me for black enamelling his stick without
asking him.

May 22.—Purchased a new stick
mounted with silver, which cost seven-and-sixpence (shall tell
Carrie five shillings), and sent it round with nice note to
Gowing.

May 23.—Received strange note
from Gowing; he said: “Offended? not a bit, my boy—I
thought you were offended with me for losing my temper.
Besides, I found after all, it was not my poor old uncle’s
stick you painted. It was only a shilling thing I bought at
a tobacconist’s. However, I am much obliged to you
for your handsome present all same.”

May 24.—Carrie back.
Hoorah! She looks wonderfully well, except that the sun has
caught her nose.

May 25.—Carrie brought down
some of my shirts and advised me to take them to Trillip’s
round the corner. She said: “The fronts and cuffs are
much frayed.” I said without a moment’s
hesitation: “I’m ’frayed they
are.” Lor! how we roared. I thought we should
never stop laughing. As I happened to be sitting next the
driver going to town on the ’bus, I told him my joke about
the “frayed” shirts. I thought he would have
rolled off his seat. They laughed at the office a good bit
too over it.

May 26.—Left the shirts to be
repaired at Trillip’s. I said to him:
“I’m ’fraid they are
frayed.” He said, without a smile:
“They’re bound to do that, sir.” Some
people seem to be quite destitute of a sense of humour.

June 1.—The last week has
been like old times, Carrie being back, and Gowing and Cummings
calling every evening nearly. Twice we sat out in the
garden quite late. This evening we were like a pack of
children, and played “consequences.” It is a
good game.

June
2.—“Consequences” again this evening. Not
quite so successful as last night; Gowing having several times
overstepped the limits of good taste.

June 4.—In the evening Carrie
and I went round to Mr. and Mrs. Cummings’ to spend a quiet
evening with them. Gowing was there, also Mr.
Stillbrook. It was quiet but pleasant. Mrs. Cummings
sang five or six songs, “No, Sir,” and “The
Garden of Sleep,” being best in my humble judgment; but
what pleased me most was the duet she sang with
Carrie—classical duet, too. I think it is called,
“I would that my love!” It was beautiful.
If Carrie had been in better voice, I don’t think
professionals could have sung it better. After supper we
made them sing it again. I never liked Mr. Stillbrook since
the walk that Sunday to the “Cow and Hedge,” but I
must say he sings comic-songs well. His song: “We
don’t Want the old men now,” made us shriek with
laughter, especially the verse referring to Mr. Gladstone; but
there was one verse I think he might have omitted, and I said so,
but Gowing thought it was the best of the lot.

June 6.—Trillip brought round
the shirts and, to my disgust, his charge for repairing was more
than I gave for them when new. I told him so, and he
impertinently replied: “Well, they are better now than when
they were new.” I paid him, and said it was a
robbery. He said: “If you wanted your shirt-fronts
made out of pauper-linen, such as is used for packing and
bookbinding, why didn’t you say so?”

June 7.—A dreadful
annoyance. Met Mr. Franching, who lives at Peckham, and who
is a great swell in his way. I ventured to ask him to come
home to meat-tea, and take pot-luck. I did not think he
would accept such a humble invitation; but he did, saying, in a
most friendly way, he would rather “peck” with us
than by himself. I said: “We had better get into this
blue ’bus.” He replied: “No blue-bussing
for me. I have had enough of the blues lately. I lost
a cool ‘thou’ over the Copper Scare. Step in
here.”

We drove up home in style, in a hansom-cab, and I knocked
three times at the front door without getting an answer. I
saw Carrie, through the panels of ground-glass (with stars),
rushing upstairs. I told Mr. Franching to wait at the door
while I went round to the side. There I saw the
grocer’s boy actually picking off the paint on the door,
which had formed into blisters. No time to reprove him; so
went round and effected an entrance through the kitchen
window. I let in Mr. Franching, and showed him into the
drawing-room. I went upstairs to Carrie, who was changing
her dress, and told her I had persuaded Mr. Franching to come
home. She replied: “How can you do such a
thing? You know it’s Sarah’s holiday, and
there’s not a thing in the house, the cold mutton having
turned with the hot weather.”

Eventually Carrie, like a good creature as she is, slipped
down, washed up the teacups, and laid the cloth, and I gave
Franching our views of Japan to look at while I ran round to the
butcher’s to get three chops.

July 30.—The miserable cold
weather is either upsetting me or Carrie, or both. We seem
to break out into an argument about absolutely nothing, and this
unpleasant state of things usually occurs at meal-times.

This morning, for some unaccountable reason, we were talking
about balloons, and we were as merry as possible; but the
conversation drifted into family matters, during which Carrie,
without the slightest reason, referred in the most
uncomplimentary manner to my poor father’s pecuniary
trouble. I retorted by saying that “Pa, at all
events, was a gentleman,” whereupon Carrie burst out
crying. I positively could not eat any breakfast.

At the office I was sent for by Mr. Perkupp, who said he was
very sorry, but I should have to take my annual holidays from
next Saturday. Franching called at office and asked me to
dine at his club, “The Constitutional.” Fearing
disagreeables at home after the “tiff” this morning,
I sent a telegram to Carrie, telling her I was going out to dine
and she was not to sit up. Bought a little silver bangle
for Carrie.

July 31.—Carrie was very
pleased with the bangle, which I left with an affectionate note
on her dressing-table last night before going to bed. I
told Carrie we should have to start for our holiday next
Saturday. She replied quite happily that she did not mind,
except that the weather was so bad, and she feared that Miss
Jibbons would not be able to get her a seaside dress in
time. I told Carrie that I thought the drab one with pink
bows looked quite good enough; and Carrie said she should not
think of wearing it. I was about to discuss the matter,
when, remembering the argument yesterday, resolved to hold my
tongue.

I said to Carrie: “I don’t think we can do better
than ‘Good old Broadstairs.’” Carrie not
only, to my astonishment, raised an objection to Broadstairs, for
the first time; but begged me not to use the expression,
“Good old,” but to leave it to Mr. Stillbrook and
other gentlemen of his type. Hearing my ’bus
pass the window, I was obliged to rush out of the house without
kissing Carrie as usual; and I shouted to her: “I leave it
to you to decide.” On returning in the evening,
Carrie said she thought as the time was so short she had decided
on Broadstairs, and had written to Mrs. Beck, Harbour View
Terrace, for apartments.

August 1.—Ordered a new pair
of trousers at Edwards’s, and told them not to cut them so
loose over the boot; the last pair being so loose and also tight
at the knee, looked like a sailor’s, and I heard Pitt, that
objectionable youth at the office, call out
“Hornpipe” as I passed his desk. Carrie has
ordered of Miss Jibbons a pink Garibaldi and blue-serge skirt,
which I always think looks so pretty at the seaside. In the
evening she trimmed herself a little sailor-hat, while I read to
her the Exchange and Mart. We had a good laugh over
my trying on the hat when she had finished it; Carrie saying it
looked so funny with my beard, and how the people would have
roared if I went on the stage like it.

August 2.—Mrs. Beck wrote to
say we could have our usual rooms at Broadstairs.
That’s off our mind. Bought a coloured shirt and a
pair of tan-coloured boots, which I see many of the swell clerks
wearing in the City, and hear are all the “go.”

August 3.—A beautiful
day. Looking forward to to-morrow. Carrie bought a
parasol about five feet long. I told her it was
ridiculous. She said: “Mrs. James, of Sutton, has one
twice as long so;” the matter dropped. I bought a
capital hat for hot weather at the seaside. I don’t
know what it is called, but it is the shape of the helmet worn in
India, only made of straw. Got three new ties, two coloured
handkerchiefs, and a pair of navy-blue socks at Pope
Brothers. Spent the evening packing. Carrie told me
not to forget to borrow Mr. Higgsworth’s telescope, which
he always lends me, knowing I know how to take care of it.
Sent Sarah out for it. While everything was seeming so
bright, the last post brought us a letter from Mrs. Beck, saying:
“I have just let all my house to one party, and am sorry I
must take back my words, and am sorry you must find other
apartments; but Mrs. Womming, next door, will be pleased to
accommodate you, but she cannot take you before Monday, as her
rooms are engaged Bank Holiday week.”

CHAPTER VI

The Unexpected Arrival Home of our Son, Willie
Lupin Pooter.

August 4.—The first post
brought a nice letter from our dear son Willie, acknowledging a
trifling present which Carrie sent him, the day before yesterday
being his twentieth birthday. To our utter amazement he
turned up himself in the afternoon, having journeyed all the way
from Oldham. He said he had got leave from the bank, and as
Monday was a holiday he thought he would give us a little
surprise.

August 5, Sunday.—We have not
seen Willie since last Christmas, and are pleased to notice what
a fine young man he has grown. One would scarcely believe
he was Carrie’s son. He looks more like a younger
brother. I rather disapprove of his wearing a check suit on
a Sunday, and I think he ought to have gone to church this
morning; but he said he was tired after yesterday’s
journey, so I refrained from any remark on the subject. We
had a bottle of port for dinner, and drank dear Willie’s
health.

He said: “Oh, by-the-by, did I tell you I’ve cut
my first name, ‘William,’ and taken the second name
‘Lupin’? In fact, I’m only known at
Oldham as ‘Lupin Pooter.’ If you were to
‘Willie’ me there, they wouldn’t know what you
meant.”

Of course, Lupin being a purely family name, Carrie was
delighted, and began by giving a long history of the
Lupins. I ventured to say that I thought William a nice
simple name, and reminded him he was christened after his Uncle
William, who was much respected in the City. Willie, in a
manner which I did not much care for, said sneeringly: “Oh,
I know all about that—Good old Bill!” and helped
himself to a third glass of port.

Carrie objected strongly to my saying “Good old,”
but she made no remark when Willie used the double
adjective. I said nothing, but looked at her, which meant
more. I said: “My dear Willie, I hope you are happy
with your colleagues at the Bank.” He replied:
“Lupin, if you please; and with respect to the Bank,
there’s not a clerk who is a gentleman, and the
‘boss’ is a cad.” I felt so shocked, I
could say nothing, and my instinct told me there was something
wrong.

August 6, Bank Holiday.—As
there was no sign of Lupin moving at nine o’clock, I
knocked at his door, and said we usually breakfasted at half-past
eight, and asked how long would he be? Lupin replied that
he had had a lively time of it, first with the train shaking the
house all night, and then with the sun streaming in through the
window in his eyes, and giving him a cracking headache.
Carrie came up and asked if he would like some breakfast sent up,
and he said he could do with a cup of tea, and didn’t want
anything to eat.

Lupin not having come down, I went up again at half-past one,
and said we dined at two; he said he “would be
there.” He never came down till a quarter to
three. I said: “We have not seen much of you, and you
will have to return by the 5.30 train; therefore you will have to
leave in an hour, unless you go by the midnight
mail.” He said: “Look here, Guv’nor,
it’s no use beating about the bush. I’ve
tendered my resignation at the Bank.”

For a moment I could not speak. When my speech came
again, I said: “How dare you, sir? How dare you take
such a serious step without consulting me? Don’t
answer me, sir!—you will sit down immediately, and write a
note at my dictation, withdrawing your resignation and amply
apologising for your thoughtlessness.”

Imagine my dismay when he replied with a loud guffaw:
“It’s no use. If you want the good old truth,
I’ve got the chuck!”

August 7.—Mr. Perkupp has
given me leave to postpone my holiday a week, as we could not get
the room. This will give us an opportunity of trying to
find an appointment for Willie before we go. The ambition
of my life would be to get him into Mr. Perkupp’s firm.

August 11.—Although it is a
serious matter having our boy Lupin on our hands, still it is
satisfactory to know he was asked to resign from the Bank simply
because “he took no interest in his work, and always
arrived an hour (sometimes two hours) late.” We can
all start off on Monday to Broadstairs with a light heart.
This will take my mind off the worry of the last few days, which
have been wasted over a useless correspondence with the manager
of the Bank at Oldham.

August 13.—Hurrah! at
Broadstairs. Very nice apartments near the station.
On the cliffs they would have been double the price. The
landlady had a nice five o’clock dinner and tea ready,
which we all enjoyed, though Lupin seemed fastidious because
there happened to be a fly in the butter. It was very wet
in the evening, for which I was thankful, as it was a good excuse
for going to bed early. Lupin said he would sit up and read
a bit.

August 14.—I was a little
annoyed to find Lupin, instead of reading last night, had gone to
a common sort of entertainment, given at the Assembly
Rooms. I expressed my opinion that such performances were
unworthy of respectable patronage; but he replied: “Oh, it
was only ‘for one night only.’ I had a fit of
the blues come on, and thought I would go to see Polly Presswell,
England’s Particular Spark.” I told him I was
proud to say I had never heard of her. Carrie said:
“Do let the boy alone. He’s quite old enough to
take care of himself, and won’t forget he’s a
gentleman. Remember, you were young once
yourself.” Rained all day hard, but Lupin would go
out.

August 15.—Cleared up a bit,
so we all took the train to Margate, and the first person we met
on the jetty was Gowing. I said: “Hulloh! I
thought you had gone to Barmouth with your Birmingham
friends?” He said: “Yes, but young Peter
Lawrence was so ill, they postponed their visit, so I came down
here. You know the Cummings’ are here
too?” Carrie said: “Oh, that will be
delightful! We must have some evenings together and have
games.”

I introduced Lupin, saying: “You will be pleased to find
we have our dear boy at home!” Gowing said:
“How’s that? You don’t mean to say
he’s left the Bank?”

I changed the subject quickly, and thereby avoided any of
those awkward questions which Gowing always has a knack of
asking.

August 16.—Lupin positively
refused to walk down the Parade with me because I was wearing my
new straw helmet with my frock-coat. I don’t know
what the boy is coming to.

August 17.—Lupin not falling
in with our views, Carrie and I went for a sail. It was a
relief to be with her alone; for when Lupin irritates me, she
always sides with him. On our return, he said: “Oh,
you’ve been on the ‘Shilling Emetic,’ have
you? You’ll come to six-pennorth on the ‘Liver
Jerker’ next.” I presume he meant a tricycle,
but I affected not to understand him.

August 18.—Gowing and
Cummings walked over to arrange an evening at Margate. It
being wet, Gowing asked Cummings to accompany him to the hotel
and have a game of billiards, knowing I never play, and in fact
disapprove of the game. Cummings said he must hasten back
to Margate; whereupon Lupin, to my horror, said:
“I’ll give you a game, Gowing—a hundred
up. A walk round the cloth will give me an appetite for
dinner.” I said: “Perhaps Mister Gowing does
not care to play with boys.” Gowing surprised me by
saying: “Oh yes, I do, if they play well,” and they
walked off together.

August 19, Sunday.—I was
about to read Lupin a sermon on smoking (which he indulges in
violently) and billiards, but he put on his hat and walked
out. Carrie then read me a long sermon on the
palpable inadvisability of treating Lupin as if he were a mere
child. I felt she was somewhat right, so in the evening I
offered him a cigar. He seemed pleased, but, after a few
whiffs, said: “This is a good old tup’ny—try
one of mine,” and he handed me a cigar as long as it was
strong, which is saying a good deal.

August 20.—I am glad our last
day at the seaside was fine, though clouded overhead. We
went over to Cummings’ (at Margate) in the evening, and as
it was cold, we stayed in and played games; Gowing, as usual,
overstepping the mark. He suggested we should play
“Cutlets,” a game we never heard of. He sat on
a chair, and asked Carrie to sit on his lap, an invitation which
dear Carrie rightly declined.

After some species of wrangling, I sat on Gowing’s knees
and Carrie sat on the edge of mine. Lupin sat on the edge
of Carrie’s lap, then Cummings on Lupin’s, and Mrs.
Cummings on her husband’s. We looked very ridiculous,
and laughed a good deal.

Gowing then said: “Are you a believer in the Great
Mogul?” We had to answer all together:
“Yes—oh, yes!” (three times). Gowing
said: “So am I,” and suddenly got up. The
result of this stupid joke was that we all fell on the ground,
and poor Carrie banged her head against the corner of the
fender. Mrs. Cummings put some vinegar on; but through this
we missed the last train, and had to drive back to Broadstairs,
which cost me seven-and-sixpence.

CHAPTER VII

Home again. Mrs. James’ influence
on Carrie. Can get nothing for Lupin. Next-door
neighbours are a little troublesome. Some one tampers with
my diary. Got a place for Lupin. Lupin startles us
with an announcement.

August 22.—Home sweet Home
again! Carrie bought some pretty blue-wool mats to stand
vases on. Fripps, Janus and Co. write to say they are sorry
they have no vacancy among their staff of clerks for Lupin.

August 23.—I bought a pair of
stags’ heads made of plaster-of-Paris and coloured
brown. They will look just the thing for our little hall,
and give it style; the heads are excellent imitations.
Poolers and Smith are sorry they have nothing to offer Lupin.

August 24.—Simply to please
Lupin, and make things cheerful for him, as he is a little down,
Carrie invited Mrs. James to come up from Sutton and spend two or
three days with us. We have not said a word to Lupin, but
mean to keep it as a surprise.

August 25.—Mrs. James, of
Sutton, arrived in the afternoon, bringing with her an enormous
bunch of wild flowers. The more I see of Mrs. James the
nicer I think she is, and she is devoted to Carrie. She
went into Carrie’s room to take off her bonnet, and
remained there nearly an hour talking about dress. Lupin
said he was not a bit surprised at Mrs. James’
visit, but was surprised at her.

August 26, Sunday.—Nearly
late for church, Mrs. James having talked considerably about what
to wear all the morning. Lupin does not seem to get on very
well with Mrs. James. I am afraid we shall have some
trouble with our next-door neighbours who came in last
Wednesday. Several of their friends, who drive up in
dog-carts, have already made themselves objectionable.

An evening or two ago I had put on a white waistcoat for
coolness, and while walking past with my thumbs in my waistcoat
pockets (a habit I have), one man, seated in the cart, and
looking like an American, commenced singing some vulgar nonsense
about “I had thirteen dollars in my waistcoat
pocket.” I fancied it was meant for me, and my
suspicions were confirmed; for while walking round the garden in
my tall hat this afternoon, a “throw-down” cracker
was deliberately aimed at my hat, and exploded on it like a
percussion cap. I turned sharply, and am positive I saw the
man who was in the cart retreating from one of the bedroom
windows.

August 27.—Carrie and Mrs.
James went off shopping, and had not returned when I came back
from the office. Judging from the subsequent conversation,
I am afraid Mrs. James is filling Carrie’s head with a lot
of nonsense about dress. I walked over to Gowing’s
and asked him to drop in to supper, and make things pleasant.

Carrie prepared a little extemporised supper, consisting of
the remainder of the cold joint, a small piece of salmon (which I
was to refuse, in case there was not enough to go round), and a
blanc-mange and custards. There was also a decanter of port
and some jam puffs on the sideboard. Mrs. James made us
play rather a good game of cards, called
“Muggings.” To my surprise, in fact disgust,
Lupin got up in the middle, and, in a most sarcastic tone, said:
“Pardon me, this sort of thing is too fast for me, I shall
go and enjoy a quiet game of marbles in the
back-garden.”

Things might have become rather disagreeable but for Gowing
(who seems to have taken to Lupin) suggesting they should invent
games. Lupin said: “Let’s play
‘monkeys.’” He then led Gowing all round
the room, and brought him in front of the looking-glass. I
must confess I laughed heartily at this. I was a little
vexed at everybody subsequently laughing at some joke which they
did not explain, and it was only on going to bed I discovered I
must have been walking about all the evening with an antimacassar
on one button of my coat-tails.

August 28.—Found a large
brick in the middle bed of geraniums, evidently come from next
door. Pattles and Pattles can’t find a place for
Lupin.

August 29.—Mrs. James is
making a positive fool of Carrie. Carrie appeared in a new
dress like a smock-frock. She said “smocking”
was all the rage. I replied it put me in a rage. She
also had on a hat as big as a kitchen coal-scuttle, and the same
shape. Mrs. James went home, and both Lupin and I were
somewhat pleased—the first time we have agreed on a single
subject since his return. Merkins and Son write they have
no vacancy for Lupin.

October 30.—I should very
much like to know who has wilfully torn the last five or six
weeks out of my diary. It is perfectly monstrous!
Mine is a large scribbling diary, with plenty of space for the
record of my everyday events, and in keeping up that record I
take (with much pride) a great deal of pains.

I asked Carrie if she knew anything about it. She
replied it was my own fault for leaving the diary about with a
charwoman cleaning and the sweeps in the house. I said that
was not an answer to my question. This retort of mine,
which I thought extremely smart, would have been more effective
had I not jogged my elbow against a vase on a table temporarily
placed in the passage, knocked it over, and smashed it.

Carrie was dreadfully upset at this disaster, for it was one
of a pair of vases which cannot be matched, given to us on our
wedding-day by Mrs. Burtsett, an old friend of Carrie’s
cousins, the Pommertons, late of Dalston. I called to
Sarah, and asked her about the diary. She said she had not
been in the sitting-room at all; after the sweep had left, Mrs.
Birrell (the charwoman) had cleaned the room and lighted the fire
herself. Finding a burnt piece of paper in the grate, I
examined it, and found it was a piece of my diary. So it
was evident some one had torn my diary to light the fire. I
requested Mrs. Birrell to be sent to me to-morrow.

October 31.—Received a letter
from our principal, Mr. Perkupp, saying that he thinks he knows
of a place at last for our dear boy Lupin. This, in a
measure, consoles me for the loss of a portion of my diary; for I
am bound to confess the last few weeks have been devoted to the
record of disappointing answers received from people to whom I
have applied for appointments for Lupin. Mrs. Birrell
called, and, in reply to me, said: “She never see no
book, much less take such a liberty as touch
it.”

I said I was determined to find out who did it, whereupon she
said she would do her best to help me; but she remembered the
sweep lighting the fire with a bit of the Echo. I
requested the sweep to be sent to me to-morrow. I wish
Carrie had not given Lupin a latch-key; we never seem to see
anything of him. I sat up till past one for him, and then
retired tired.

November 1.—My entry
yesterday about “retired tired,” which I did not
notice at the time, is rather funny. If I were not so
worried just now, I might have had a little joke about it.
The sweep called, but had the audacity to come up to the
hall-door and lean his dirty bag of soot on the door-step.
He, however, was so polite, I could not rebuke him. He said
Sarah lighted the fire. Unfortunately, Sarah heard this,
for she was dusting the banisters, and she ran down, and flew
into a temper with the sweep, causing a row on the front
door-steps, which I would not have had happen for anything.
I ordered her about her business, and told the sweep I was sorry
to have troubled him; and so I was, for the door-steps were
covered with soot in consequence of his visit. I would
willingly give ten shillings to find out who tore my diary.

November 2.—I spent the
evening quietly with Carrie, of whose company I never tire.
We had a most pleasant chat about the letters on “Is
Marriage a Failure?” It has been no failure in our
case. In talking over our own happy experiences, we never
noticed that it was past midnight. We were startled by
hearing the door slam violently. Lupin had come in.
He made no attempt to turn down the gas in the passage, or even
to look into the room where we were, but went straight up to bed,
making a terrible noise. I asked him to come down for a
moment, and he begged to be excused, as he was “dead
beat,” an observation that was scarcely consistent with the
fact that, for a quarter of an hour afterwards, he was positively
dancing in his room, and shouting out, “See me dance the
polka!” or some such nonsense.

November 3.—Good news at
last. Mr. Perkupp has got an appointment for Lupin, and he
is to go and see about it on Monday. Oh, how my mind is
relieved! I went to Lupin’s room to take the good
news to him, but he was in bed, very seedy, so I resolved to keep
it over till the evening.

He said he had last night been elected a member of an Amateur
Dramatic Club, called the “Holloway Comedians”; and,
though it was a pleasant evening, he had sat in a draught, and
got neuralgia in the head. He declined to have any
breakfast, so I left him. In the evening I had up a
special bottle of port, and, Lupin being in for a wonder, we
filled our glasses, and I said: “Lupin my boy, I have some
good and unexpected news for you. Mr. Perkupp has procured
you an appointment!” Lupin said: “Good
biz!” and we drained our glasses.

Lupin then said: “Fill up the glasses again, for I have
some good and unexpected news for you.”

I had some slight misgivings, and so evidently had Carrie, for
she said: “I hope we shall think it good news.”

Lupin said: “Oh, it’s all right!
I’m engaged to be married!”

CHAPTER VIII

Daisy Mutlar sole topic of conversation.
Lupin’s new berth. Fireworks at the
Cummings’. The “Holloway
Comedians.” Sarah quarrels with the charwoman.
Lupin’s uncalled-for interference. Am introduced to
Daisy Mutlar. We decide to give a party in her honour.

November 5, Sunday.—Carrie
and I troubled about that mere boy Lupin getting engaged to be
married without consulting us or anything. After dinner he
told us all about it. He said the lady’s name was
Daisy Mutlar, and she was the nicest, prettiest, and most
accomplished girl he ever met. He loved her the moment he
saw her, and if he had to wait fifty years he would wait, and he
knew she would wait for him.

Lupin further said, with much warmth, that the world was a
different world to him now,—it was a world worth living
in. He lived with an object now, and that was to make Daisy
Mutlar—Daisy Pooter, and he would guarantee she would not
disgrace the family of the Pooters. Carrie here burst out
crying, and threw her arms round his neck, and in doing so, upset
the glass of port he held in his hand all over his new light
trousers.

I said I had no doubt we should like Miss Mutlar when we saw
her, but Carrie said she loved her already. I thought this
rather premature, but held my tongue. Daisy Mutlar was the
sole topic of conversation for the remainder of the day. I
asked Lupin who her people were, and he replied: “Oh, you
know Mutlar, Williams and Watts.” I did not know, but
refrained from asking any further questions at present, for fear
of irritating Lupin.

November 6.—Lupin went with
me to the office, and had a long conversation with Mr. Perkupp,
our principal, the result of which was that he accepted a
clerkship in the firm of Job Cleanands and Co., Stock and Share
Brokers. Lupin told me, privately, it was an advertising
firm, and he did not think much of it. I replied:
“Beggars should not be choosers;” and I will do Lupin
the justice to say, he looked rather ashamed of himself.

In the evening we went round to the Cummings’, to have a
few fireworks. It began to rain, and I thought it rather
dull. One of my squibs would not go off, and Gowing said:
“Hit it on your boot, boy; it will go off
then.” I gave it a few knocks on the end of my boot,
and it went off with one loud explosion, and burnt my fingers
rather badly. I gave the rest of the squibs to the little
Cummings’ boy to let off.

Another unfortunate thing happened, which brought a heap of
abuse on my head. Cummings fastened a large wheel set-piece
on a stake in the ground by way of a grand finale. He made
a great fuss about it; said it cost seven shillings. There
was a little difficulty in getting it alight. At last it
went off; but after a couple of slow revolutions it
stopped. I had my stick with me, so I gave it a tap to send
it round, and, unfortunately, it fell off the stake on to the
grass. Anybody would have thought I had set the house on
fire from the way in which they stormed at me. I will never
join in any more firework parties. It is a ridiculous waste
of time and money.

November 7.—Lupin asked
Carrie to call on Mrs. Mutlar, but Carrie said she thought Mrs.
Mutlar ought to call on her first. I agreed with Carrie,
and this led to an argument. However, the matter was
settled by Carrie saying she could not find any visiting cards,
and we must get some more printed, and when they were finished
would be quite time enough to discuss the etiquette of
calling.

November 8.—I ordered some of
our cards at Black’s, the stationers. I ordered
twenty-five of each, which will last us for a good long
time. In the evening, Lupin brought in Harry Mutlar, Miss
Mutlar’s brother. He was rather a gawky youth, and
Lupin said he was the most popular and best amateur in the club,
referring to the “Holloway Comedians.” Lupin
whispered to us that if we could only “draw out”
Harry a bit, he would make us roar with laughter.

At supper, young Mutlar did several amusing things. He
took up a knife, and with the flat part of it played a tune on
his cheek in a wonderful manner. He also gave an imitation
of an old man with no teeth, smoking a big cigar. The way
he kept dropping the cigar sent Carrie into fits.

In the course of conversation, Daisy’s name cropped up,
and young Mutlar said he would bring his sister round to us one
evening—his parents being rather old-fashioned, and not
going out much. Carrie said we would get up a little
special party. As young Mutlar showed no inclination to go,
and it was approaching eleven o’clock, as a hint I reminded
Lupin that he had to be up early to-morrow. Instead of
taking the hint, Mutlar began a series of comic imitations.
He went on for an hour without cessation. Poor Carrie could
scarcely keep her eyes open. At last she made an excuse,
and said “Good-night.”

Mutlar then left, and I heard him and Lupin whispering in the
hall something about the “Holloway Comedians,” and to
my disgust, although it was past midnight, Lupin put on his hat
and coat, and went out with his new companion.

November 9.—My endeavours to
discover who tore the sheets out of my diary still
fruitless. Lupin has Daisy Mutlar on the brain, so we see
little of him, except that he invariably turns up at meal
times. Cummings dropped in.

November 10.—Lupin seems to
like his new berth—that’s a comfort. Daisy
Mutlar the sole topic of conversation during tea. Carrie
almost as full of it as Lupin. Lupin informs me, to my
disgust, that he has been persuaded to take part in the
forthcoming performance of the “Holloway
Comedians.” He says he is to play Bob Britches in the
farce, Gone to my Uncle’s; Frank Mutlar is going to
play old Musty. I told Lupin pretty plainly I was not in
the least degree interested in the matter, and totally
disapproved of amateur theatricals. Gowing came in the
evening.

November 11.—Returned home to
find the house in a most disgraceful uproar, Carrie, who appeared
very frightened, was standing outside her bedroom, while Sarah
was excited and crying. Mrs. Birrell (the charwoman), who
had evidently been drinking, was shouting at the top of her voice
that she was “no thief, that she was a respectable woman,
who had to work hard for her living, and she would smack
anyone’s face who put lies into her mouth.”
Lupin, whose back was towards me, did not hear me come in.
He was standing between the two women, and, I regret to say, in
his endeavour to act as peacemaker, he made use of rather strong
language in the presence of his mother; and I was just in time to
hear him say: “And all this fuss about the loss of a few
pages from a rotten diary that wouldn’t fetch
three-halfpence a pound!” I said, quietly:
“Pardon me, Lupin, that is a matter of opinion; and as I am
master of this house, perhaps you will allow me to take the
reins.”

I ascertained that the cause of the row was, that Sarah had
accused Mrs. Birrell of tearing the pages out of my diary to wrap
up some kitchen fat and leavings which she had taken out of the
house last week. Mrs. Birrell had slapped Sarah’s
face, and said she had taken nothing out of the place, as there
was “never no leavings to take.” I ordered
Sarah back to her work, and requested Mrs. Birrell to go
home. When I entered the parlour Lupin was kicking his legs
in the air, and roaring with laughter.

November 12, Sunday.—Coming
home from church Carrie and I met Lupin, Daisy Mutlar, and her
brother. Daisy was introduced to us, and we walked home
together, Carrie walking on with Miss Mutlar. We asked them
in for a few minutes, and I had a good look at my future
daughter-in-law. My heart quite sank. She is a big
young woman, and I should think at least eight years older than
Lupin. I did not even think her good-looking. Carrie
asked her if she could come in on Wednesday next with her brother
to meet a few friends. She replied that she would only be
too pleased.

November 13.—Carrie sent out
invitations to Gowing, the Cummings, to Mr. and Mrs. James (of
Sutton), and Mr. Stillbrook. I wrote a note to Mr.
Franching, of Peckham. Carrie said we may as well make it a
nice affair, and why not ask our principal, Mr. Perkupp? I
said I feared we were not quite grand enough for him.
Carrie said there was “no offence in asking
him.” I said: “Certainly not,” and I
wrote him a letter. Carrie confessed she was a little
disappointed with Daisy Mutlar’s appearance, but thought
she seemed a nice girl.

November 14.—Everybody so far
has accepted for our quite grand little party for
to-morrow. Mr. Perkupp, in a nice letter which I shall
keep, wrote that he was dining in Kensington, but if he could get
away, he would come up to Holloway for an hour. Carrie was
busy all day, making little cakes and open jam puffs and
jellies. She said she felt quite nervous about her
responsibilities to-morrow evening. We decided to have some
light things on the table, such as sandwiches, cold chicken and
ham, and some sweets, and on the sideboard a nice piece of cold
beef and a Paysandu tongue—for the more hungry ones to peg
into if they liked.

Gowing called to know if he was to put on
“swallow-tails” to-morrow. Carrie said he had
better dress, especially as Mr. Franching was coming, and there
was a possibility of Mr. Perkupp also putting in an
appearance.

Gowing said: “Oh, I only wanted to know, for I have not
worn my dress-coat for some time, and I must send it to have the
creases pressed out.”

After Gowing left, Lupin came in, and in his anxiety to please
Daisy Mutlar, carped at and criticised the arrangements, and, in
fact, disapproved of everything, including our having asked our
old friend Cummings, who, he said, would look in evening-dress
like a green-grocer engaged to wait, and who must not be
surprised if Daisy took him for one.

I fairly lost my temper, and said: “Lupin, allow me to
tell you Miss Daisy Mutlar is not the Queen of England. I
gave you credit for more wisdom than to allow yourself to be
inveigled into an engagement with a woman considerably older than
yourself. I advise you to think of earning your living
before entangling yourself with a wife whom you will have to
support, and, in all probability, her brother also, who appeared
to be nothing but a loafer.”

Instead of receiving this advice in a sensible manner, Lupin
jumped up and said: “If you insult the lady I am engaged
to, you insult me. I will leave the house and never darken
your doors again.”

He went out of the house, slamming the hall-door. But it
was all right. He came back to supper, and we played
Bézique till nearly twelve o’clock.

CHAPTER IX

Our first important Party. Old Friends
and New Friends. Gowing is a little annoying; but his
friend, Mr. Stillbrook, turns out to be quite amusing.
Inopportune arrival of Mr. Perkupp, but he is most kind and
complimentary. Party a great success.

November 15.—A red-letter
day. Our first important party since we have been in this
house. I got home early from the City. Lupin insisted
on having a hired waiter, and stood a half-dozen of
champagne. I think this an unnecessary expense, but Lupin
said he had had a piece of luck, having made three pounds out a
private deal in the City. I hope he won’t gamble in
his new situation. The supper-room looked so nice, and
Carrie truly said: “We need not be ashamed of its being
seen by Mr. Perkupp, should he honour us by coming.”

I dressed early in case people should arrive punctually at
eight o’clock, and was much vexed to find my new
dress-trousers much too short.

Lupin, who is getting beyond his position, found fault with my
wearing ordinary boots instead of dress-boots.

I replied satirically: “My dear son, I have lived to be
above that sort of thing.”

Lupin burst out laughing, and said: “A man generally was
above his boots.”

This may be funny, or it may not; but I was gratified
to find he had not discovered the coral had come off one of my
studs. Carrie looked a picture, wearing the dress she wore
at the Mansion House. The arrangement of the drawing-room
was excellent. Carrie had hung muslin curtains over the
folding-doors, and also over one of the entrances, for we had
removed the door from its hinges.

Mr. Peters, the waiter, arrived in good time, and I gave him
strict orders not to open another bottle of champagne until the
previous one was empty. Carrie arranged for some sherry and
port wine to be placed on the drawing-room sideboard, with some
glasses. By-the-by, our new enlarged and tinted photographs
look very nice on the walls, especially as Carrie has arranged
some Liberty silk bows on the four corners of them.

The first arrival was Gowing, who, with his usual taste,
greeted me with: “Hulloh, Pooter, why your trousers are too
short!”

I simply said: “Very likely, and you will find my temper
‘short’ also.”

He said: “That won’t make your trousers longer,
Juggins. You should get your missus to put a flounce on
them.”

I wonder I waste my time entering his insulting observations
in my diary.

The next arrivals were Mr. and Mrs. Cummings. The former
said: “As you didn’t say anything about dress, I have
come ‘half dress.’” He had on a black
frock-coat and white tie. The James’, Mr. Merton, and
Mr. Stillbrook arrived, but Lupin was restless and unbearable
till his Daisy Mutlar and Frank arrived.

Carrie and I were rather startled at Daisy’s
appearance. She had a bright-crimson dress on, cut very low
in the neck. I do not think such a style modest. She
ought to have taken a lesson from Carrie, and covered her
shoulders with a little lace. Mr. Nackles, Mr. Sprice-Hogg
and his four daughters came; so did Franching, and one or two of
Lupin’s new friends, members of the “Holloway
Comedians.” Some of these seemed rather theatrical in
their manner, especially one, who was posing all the evening, and
leant on our little round table and cracked it. Lupin
called him “our Henry,” and said he was “our
lead at the H.C.’s,” and was quite as good in that
department as Harry Mutlar was as the low-comedy merchant.
All this is Greek to me.

We had some music, and Lupin, who never left Daisy’s
side for a moment, raved over her singing of a song, called
“Some Day.” It seemed a pretty song, but she
made such grimaces, and sang, to my mind, so out of tune, I would
not have asked her to sing again; but Lupin made her sing four
songs right off, one after the other.

At ten o’clock we went down to supper, and from the way
Gowing and Cummings ate you would have thought they had not had a
meal for a month. I told Carrie to keep something back in
case Mr. Perkupp should come by mere chance. Gowing annoyed
me very much by filling a large tumbler of champagne, and
drinking it straight off. He repeated this action, and made
me fear our half-dozen of champagne would not last out. I
tried to keep a bottle back, but Lupin got hold of it, and took
it to the side-table with Daisy and Frank Mutlar.

We went upstairs, and the young fellows began
skylarking. Carrie put a stop to that at once.
Stillbrook amused us with a song, “What have you done with
your Cousin John?” I did not notice that Lupin and
Frank had disappeared. I asked Mr. Watson, one of the
Holloways, where they were, and he said: “It’s a case
of ‘Oh, what a surprise!’”

We were directed to form a circle—which we did.
Watson then said: “I have much pleasure in introducing the
celebrated Blondin Donkey.” Frank and Lupin then
bounded into the room. Lupin had whitened his face like a
clown, and Frank had tied round his waist a large
hearthrug. He was supposed to be the donkey, and he looked
it. They indulged in a very noisy pantomime, and we were
all shrieking with laughter.

I turned round suddenly, and then I saw Mr. Perkupp standing
half-way in the door, he having arrived without our knowing
it. I beckoned to Carrie, and we went up to him at
once. He would not come right into the room. I
apologised for the foolery, but Mr. Perkupp said: “Oh, it
seems amusing.” I could see he was not a bit
amused.

Carrie and I took him downstairs, but the table was a
wreck. There was not a glass of champagne left—not
even a sandwich. Mr. Perkupp said he required nothing, but
would like a glass of seltzer or soda water. The last
syphon was empty. Carrie said: “We have plenty of
port wine left.” Mr. Perkupp said, with a smile:
“No, thank you. I really require nothing, but I am
most pleased to see you and your husband in your own home.
Good-night, Mrs. Pooter—you will excuse my very short stay,
I know.” I went with him to his carriage, and he
said: “Don’t trouble to come to the office till
twelve to-morrow.”

I felt despondent as I went back to the house, and I told
Carrie I thought the party was a failure. Carrie said it
was a great success, and I was only tired, and insisted on my
having some port myself. I drank two glasses, and felt much
better, and we went into the drawing-room, where they had
commenced dancing. Carrie and I had a little dance, which I
said reminded me of old days. She said I was a spooney old
thing.

CHAPTER X

Reflections. I make another Good
Joke. Am annoyed at the constant serving-up of the
“Blanc-Mange.” Lupin expresses his opinion of
Weddings. Lupin falls out with Daisy Mutlar.

November 16.—Woke about
twenty times during the night, with terrible thirst.
Finished off all the water in the bottle, as well as half that in
the jug. Kept dreaming also, that last night’s party
was a failure, and that a lot of low people came without
invitation, and kept chaffing and throwing things at Mr. Perkupp,
till at last I was obliged to hide him in the box-room (which we
had just discovered), with a bath-towel over him. It seems
absurd now, but it was painfully real in the dream. I had
the same dream about a dozen times.

Carrie annoyed me by saying: “You know champagne never
agrees with you.” I told her I had only a couple of
glasses of it, having kept myself entirely to port. I added
that good champagne hurt nobody, and Lupin told me he had only
got it from a traveller as a favour, as that particular brand had
been entirely bought up by a West-End club.

I think I ate too heartily of the “side dishes,”
as the waiter called them. I said to Carrie: “I wish
I had put those ‘side dishes’
aside.” I repeated this, but Carrie was busy,
packing up the teaspoons we had borrowed of Mrs. Cummings for the
party. It was just half-past eleven, and I was starting for
the office, when Lupin appeared, with a yellow complexion, and
said: “Hulloh! Guv., what priced head have you this
morning?” I told him he might just as well speak to
me in Dutch. He added: “When I woke this morning, my
head was as big as Baldwin’s balloon.” On the
spur of the moment I said the cleverest thing I think I have ever
said; viz.: “Perhaps that accounts for the
parashooting pains.” We roared.

November 17.—Still feel tired
and headachy! In the evening Gowing called, and was full of
praise about our party last Wednesday. He said everything
was done beautifully, and he enjoyed himself enormously.
Gowing can be a very nice fellow when he likes, but you never
know how long it will last. For instance, he stopped to
supper, and seeing some blanc-mange on the table, shouted
out, while the servant was in the room: “Hulloh! The
remains of Wednesday?”

November 18.—Woke up quite
fresh after a good night’s rest, and feel quite myself
again. I am satisfied a life of going-out and Society is
not a life for me; we therefore declined the invitation which we
received this morning to Miss Bird’s wedding. We only
met her twice at Mrs. James’, and it means a present.
Lupin said: “I am with you for once. To my mind a
wedding’s a very poor play. There are only two parts
in it—the bride and bridegroom. The best man is only
a walking gentleman. With the exception of a crying father
and a snivelling mother, the rest are supers who have to
dress well and have to pay for their insignificant parts
in the shape of costly presents.” I did not care for
the theatrical slang, but thought it clever, though
disrespectful.

I told Sarah not to bring up the blanc-mange again for
breakfast. It seems to have been placed on our table at
every meal since Wednesday. Cummings came round in the
evening, and congratulated us on the success of our party.
He said it was the best party he had been to for many a year; but
he wished we had let him know it was full dress, as he would have
turned up in his swallow-tails. We sat down to a quiet game
of dominoes, and were interrupted by the noisy entrance of Lupin
and Frank Mutlar. Cummings and I asked them to join
us. Lupin said he did not care for dominoes, and suggested
a game of “Spoof.” On my asking if it required
counters, Frank and Lupin in measured time said: “One, two,
three; go! Have you an estate in Greenland?” It
was simply Greek to me, but it appears it is one of the customs
of the “Holloway Comedians” to do this when a member
displays ignorance.

In spite of my instructions, that blanc-mange was
brought up again for supper. To make matters worse, there
had been an attempt to disguise it, by placing it in a glass dish
with jam round it. Carrie asked Lupin if he would have
some, and he replied: “No second-hand goods for me, thank
you.” I told Carrie, when we were alone, if that
blanc-mange were placed on the table again I should walk
out of the house.

November 19, Sunday.—A
delightfully quiet day. In the afternoon Lupin was off to
spend the rest of the day with the Mutlars. He departed in
the best of spirits, and Carrie said: “Well, one advantage
of Lupin’s engagement with Daisy is that the boy seems
happy all day long. That quite reconciles me to what I must
confess seems an imprudent engagement.”

Carrie and I talked the matter over during the evening, and
agreed that it did not always follow that an early engagement
meant an unhappy marriage. Dear Carrie reminded me that we
married early, and, with the exception of a few trivial
misunderstandings, we had never had a really serious word.
I could not help thinking (as I told her) that half the pleasures
of life were derived from the little struggles and small
privations that one had to endure at the beginning of one’s
married life. Such struggles were generally occasioned by
want of means, and often helped to make loving couples stand
together all the firmer.

Carrie said I had expressed myself wonderfully well, and that
I was quite a philosopher.

We are all vain at times, and I must confess I felt flattered
by Carrie’s little compliment. I don’t pretend
to be able to express myself in fine language, but I feel I have
the power of expressing my thoughts with simplicity and
lucidness. About nine o’clock, to our surprise, Lupin
entered, with a wild, reckless look, and in a hollow voice, which
I must say seemed rather theatrical, said: “Have you any
brandy?” I said: “No; but here is some
whisky.” Lupin drank off nearly a wineglassful
without water, to my horror.

We all three sat reading in silence till ten, when Carrie and
I rose to go to bed. Carrie said to Lupin: “I hope
Daisy is well?”

Lupin, with a forced careless air that he must have picked up
from the “Holloway Comedians,” replied: “Oh,
Daisy? You mean Miss Mutlar. I don’t know
whether she is well or not, but please never to mention her
name again in my presence.”

CHAPTER XI

We have a dose of Irving imitations.
Make the acquaintance of a Mr. Padge. Don’t care for
him. Mr. Burwin-Fosselton becomes a nuisance.

November 20.—Have seen
nothing of Lupin the whole day. Bought a cheap
address-book. I spent the evening copying in the names and
addresses of my friends and acquaintances. Left out the
Mutlars of course.

November 21.—Lupin turned up
for a few minutes in the evening. He asked for a drop of
brandy with a sort of careless look, which to my mind was
theatrical and quite ineffective. I said: “My boy, I
have none, and I don’t think I should give it you if I
had.” Lupin said: “I’ll go where I can
get some,” and walked out of the house. Carrie took
the boy’s part, and the rest of the evening was spent in a
disagreeable discussion, in which the words “Daisy”
and “Mutlar” must have occurred a thousand times.

November 22.—Gowing and
Cummings dropped in during the evening. Lupin also came in,
bringing his friend, Mr. Burwin-Fosselton—one of the
“Holloway Comedians”—who was at our party the
other night, and who cracked our little round table. Happy
to say Daisy Mutlar was never referred to. The conversation
was almost entirely monopolised by the young fellow Fosselton,
who not only looked rather like Mr. Irving, but seemed to imagine
that he was the celebrated actor. I must say he gave
some capital imitations of him. As he showed no signs of
moving at supper time, I said: “If you like to stay, Mr.
Fosselton, for our usual crust—pray do.” He
replied: “Oh! thanks; but please call me
Burwin-Fosselton. It is a double name. There are lots
of Fosseltons, but please call me Burwin-Fosselton.”

He began doing the Irving business all through supper.
He sank so low down in his chair that his chin was almost on a
level with the table, and twice he kicked Carrie under the table,
upset his wine, and flashed a knife uncomfortably near
Gowing’s face. After supper he kept stretching out
his legs on the fender, indulging in scraps of quotations from
plays which were Greek to me, and more than once knocked over the
fire-irons, making a hideous row—poor Carrie already having
a bad headache.

When he went, he said, to our surprise: “I will come
to-morrow and bring my Irving make-up.” Gowing and
Cummings said they would like to see it and would come too.
I could not help thinking they might as well give a party at my
house while they are about it. However, as Carrie sensibly
said: “Do anything, dear, to make Lupin forget the Daisy
Mutlar business.”

November 23.—In the evening,
Cummings came early. Gowing came a little later and
brought, without asking permission, a fat and, I think, very
vulgar-looking man named Padge, who appeared to be all
moustache. Gowing never attempted any apology to either of
us, but said Padge wanted to see the Irving business, to which
Padge said: “That’s right,” and that is about
all he did say during the entire evening. Lupin came
in and seemed in much better spirits. He had prepared a bit
of a surprise. Mr. Burwin-Fosselton had come in with him,
but had gone upstairs to get ready. In half-an-hour Lupin
retired from the parlour, and returning in a few minutes,
announced “Mr. Henry Irving.”

I must say we were all astounded. I never saw such a
resemblance. It was astonishing. The only person who
did not appear interested was the man Padge, who had got the best
arm-chair, and was puffing away at a foul pipe into the
fireplace. After some little time I said; “Why do
actors always wear their hair so long?” Carrie in a
moment said, “Mr. Hare doesn’t wear long
hair.” How we laughed except Mr. Fosselton,
who said, in a rather patronising kind of way, “The joke,
Mrs. Pooter, is extremely appropriate, if not altogether
new.” Thinking this rather a snub, I said: “Mr.
Fosselton, I fancy—” He interrupted me by
saying: “Mr. Burwin-Fosselton, if you please,”
which made me quite forget what I was going to say to him.
During the supper Mr. Burwin-Fosselton again monopolised the
conversation with his Irving talk, and both Carrie and I came to
the conclusion one can have even too much imitation of
Irving. After supper, Mr. Burwin-Fosselton got a little too
boisterous over his Irving imitation, and suddenly seizing Gowing
by the collar of his coat, dug his thumb-nail, accidentally of
course, into Gowing’s neck and took a piece of flesh
out. Gowing was rightly annoyed, but that man Padge, who
having declined our modest supper in order that he should not
lose his comfortable chair, burst into an uncontrollable fit of
laughter at the little misadventure. I was so annoyed at
the conduct of Padge, I said: “I suppose you would have
laughed if he had poked Mr. Gowing’s eye out?” to
which Padge replied: “That’s right,” and
laughed more than ever. I think perhaps the greatest
surprise was when we broke up, for Mr. Burwin-Fosselton said:
“Good-night, Mr. Pooter. I’m glad you like the
imitation, I’ll bring the other make-up to-morrow
night.”

November 24.—I went to town
without a pocket-handkerchief. This is the second time I
have done this during the last week. I must be losing my
memory. Had it not been for this Daisy Mutlar business, I
would have written to Mr. Burwin-Fosselton and told him I should
be out this evening, but I fancy he is the sort of young man who
would come all the same.

Dear old Cummings came in the evening; but Gowing sent round a
little note saying he hoped I would excuse his not turning up,
which rather amused me. He added that his neck was still
painful. Of course, Burwin-Fosselton came, but Lupin never
turned up, and imagine my utter disgust when that man Padge
actually came again, and not even accompanied by Gowing. I
was exasperated, and said: “Mr. Padge, this is a
surprise.” Dear Carrie, fearing
unpleasantness, said: “Oh! I suppose Mr. Padge has only
come to see the other Irving make-up.” Mr. Padge
said: “That’s right,” and took the best chair
again, from which he never moved the whole evening.

My only consolation is, he takes no supper, so he is not an
expensive guest, but I shall speak to Gowing about the
matter. The Irving imitations and conversations occupied
the whole evening, till I was sick of it. Once we had a
rather heated discussion, which was commenced by Cummings saying
that it appeared to him that Mr. Burwin-Fosselton was not only
like Mr. Irving, but was in his judgment every way as
good or even better. I ventured to remark
that after all it was but an imitation of an original.

Cummings said surely some imitations were better than the
originals. I made what I considered a very clever remark:
“Without an original there can be no
imitation.” Mr. Burwin-Fosselton said quite
impertinently: “Don’t discuss me in my presence, if
you please; and, Mr. Pooter, I should advise you to talk about
what you understand;” to which that cad Padge replied:
“That’s right.” Dear Carrie saved the
whole thing by suddenly saying: “I’ll be Ellen
Terry.” Dear Carrie’s imitation wasn’t a
bit liked, but she was so spontaneous and so funny that the
disagreeable discussion passed off. When they left, I very
pointedly said to Mr. Burwin-Fosselton and Mr. Padge that we
should be engaged to-morrow evening.

November 25.—Had a long
letter from Mr. Fosselton respecting last night’s Irving
discussion. I was very angry, and I wrote and said I knew
little or nothing about stage matters, was not in the least
interested in them and positively declined to be drawn into a
discussion on the subject, even at the risk of its leading to a
breach of friendship. I never wrote a more determined
letter.

On returning home at the usual hour on Saturday afternoon I
met near the Archway Daisy Mutlar. My heart gave a
leap. I bowed rather stiffly, but she affected not to have
seen me. Very much annoyed in the evening by the laundress
sending home an odd sock. Sarah said she sent two pairs,
and the laundress declared only a pair and a half were
sent. I spoke to Carrie about it, but she rather testily
replied: “I am tired of speaking to her; you had better go
and speak to her yourself. She is outside.” I
did so, but the laundress declared that only an odd sock was
sent.

Gowing passed into the passage at this time and was rude
enough to listen to the conversation, and interrupting, said:
“Don’t waste the odd sock, old man; do an act of
charity and give it to some poor man with only one
leg.” The laundress giggled like an idiot. I
was disgusted and walked upstairs for the purpose of pinning down
my collar, as the button had come off the back of my shirt.

When I returned to the parlour, Gowing was retailing his
idiotic joke about the odd sock, and Carrie was roaring with
laughter. I suppose I am losing my sense of humour. I
spoke my mind pretty freely about Padge. Gowing said he had
met him only once before that evening. He had been
introduced by a friend, and as he (Padge) had “stood”
a good dinner, Gowing wished to show him some little
return. Upon my word, Gowing’s coolness surpasses all
belief. Lupin came in before I could reply, and Gowing
unfortunately inquired after Daisy Mutlar. Lupin shouted:
“Mind your own business, sir!” and bounced out of the
room, slamming the door. The remainder of the night was
Daisy Mutlar—Daisy Mutlar—Daisy Mutlar. Oh
dear!

November 26, Sunday.—The
curate preached a very good sermon to-day—very good
indeed. His appearance is never so impressive as our dear
old vicar’s, but I am bound to say his sermons are much
more impressive. A rather annoying incident occurred, of
which I must make mention. Mrs. Fernlosse, who is quite a
grand lady, living in one of those large houses in the Camden
Road, stopped to speak to me after church, when we were all
coming out. I must say I felt flattered, for she is thought
a good deal of. I suppose she knew me through seeing me so
often take round the plate, especially as she always occupies the
corner seat of the pew. She is a very influential lady, and
may have had something of the utmost importance to say, but
unfortunately, as she commenced to speak a strong gust of wind
came and blew my hat off into the middle of the road.

I had to run after it, and had the greatest difficulty in
recovering it. When I had succeeded in doing so, I found
Mrs. Fernlosse had walked on with some swell friends, and I felt
I could not well approach her now, especially as my hat was
smothered with mud. I cannot say how disappointed I
felt.

In the evening (Sunday evening of all others) I found
an impertinent note from Mr. Burwin-Fosselton, which ran as
follows:

“Dear Mr.
Pooter,—Although your junior by perhaps some twenty
or thirty years—which is sufficient reason that you ought
to have a longer record of the things and ways in this miniature
of a planet—I feel it is just within the bounds of
possibility that the wheels of your life don’t travel so
quickly round as those of the humble writer of these lines.
The dandy horse of past days has been known to overtake the
slow coach.

“Do I make myself understood?

“Very well, then! Permit me, Mr. Pooter, to advise
you to accept the verb. sap. Acknowledge your
defeat, and take your whipping gracefully; for remember you threw
down the glove, and I cannot claim to be either mentally or
physically a coward!

“Revenons à nos moutons.

“Our lives run in different grooves. I live for MY
ART—THE STAGE. Your life is devoted to commercial
pursuits—‘A life among Ledgers.’ My books
are of different metal. Your life in the City is
honourable, I admit. But how different! Cannot
even you see the ocean between us? A channel that prevents
the meeting of our brains in harmonious accord. Ah!
But chaçun à son goût.

“I have registered a vow to mount the steps of
fame. I may crawl, I may slip, I may even falter (we are
all weak), but reach the top rung of the ladder I
will!!! When there, my voice shall be heard, for I will
shout to the multitudes below: ‘Vici!’
For the present I am only an amateur, and my work is unknown,
forsooth, save to a party of friends, with here and there an
enemy.

“But, Mr. Pooter, let me ask you, ‘What is the
difference between the amateur and the professional?’

“None!!!

“Stay! Yes, there is a difference. One is
paid for doing what the other does as skilfully for
nothing!

“But I will be paid, too! For I,
contrary to the wishes of my family and friends, have at last
elected to adopt the stage as my profession. And
when the farce craze is over—and, mark you,
that will be soon—I will make my power known; for I
feel—pardon my apparent conceit—that there is no
living man who can play the hump-backed Richard as I feel
and know I can.

“And you will be the first to come round and bend
your head in submission. There are many matters you may
understand, but knowledge of the fine art of acting is to you an
unknown quantity.

“Pray let this discussion cease with this letter.
Vale!

Yours truly,

“Burwin-Fosselton.”

I was disgusted. When Lupin came in, I handed him this
impertinent letter, and said: “My boy, in that letter you
can see the true character of your friend.”

Lupin, to my surprise, said: “Oh yes. He showed me
the letter before he sent it. I think he is right, and you
ought to apologise.”

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.”

CHAPTER XVI

We lose money over Lupin’s advice as to
investment, so does Cummings. Murray Posh engaged to Daisy
Mutlar.

February 18.—Carrie has
several times recently called attention to the thinness of my
hair at the top of my head, and recommended me to get it seen
to. I was this morning trying to look at it by the aid of a
small hand-glass, when somehow my elbow caught against the edge
of the chest of drawers and knocked the glass out of my hand and
smashed it. Carrie was in an awful way about it, as she is
rather absurdly superstitious. To make matters worse, my
large photograph in the drawing-room fell during the night, and
the glass cracked.

Carrie said: “Mark my words, Charles, some misfortune is
about to happen.”

I said: “Nonsense, dear.”

In the evening Lupin arrived home early, and seemed a little
agitated. I said: “What’s up, my
boy?” He hesitated a good deal, and then said:
“You know those Parachikka Chlorates I advised you to
invest £20 in?” I replied: “Yes, they are
all right, I trust?” He replied: “Well,
no! To the surprise of everybody, they have utterly
collapsed.”

My breath was so completely taken away, I could say
nothing. Carrie looked at me, and said: “What did I
tell you?” Lupin, after a while, said:
“However, you are specially fortunate. I received an
early tip, and sold out yours immediately, and was fortunate to
get £2 for them. So you get something after
all.”

I gave a sigh of relief. I said: “I was not so
sanguine as to suppose, as you predicted, that I should get six
or eight times the amount of my investment; still a profit of
£2 is a good percentage for such a short time.”
Lupin said, quite irritably: “You don’t
understand. I sold your £20 shares for £2; you
therefore lose £18 on the transaction, whereby Cummings and
Gowing will lose the whole of theirs.”

February 19.—Lupin, before
going to town, said: “I am very sorry about those
Parachikka Chlorates; it would not have happened if the boss, Job
Cleanands, had been in town. Between ourselves, you must
not be surprised if something goes wrong at our office. Job
Cleanands has not been seen the last few days, and it strikes me
several people do want to see him very
particularly.”

In the evening Lupin was just on the point of going out to
avoid a collision with Gowing and Cummings, when the former
entered the room, without knocking, but with his usual trick of
saying, “May I come in?”

He entered, and to the surprise of Lupin and myself, seemed to
be in the very best of spirits. Neither Lupin nor I
broached the subject to him, but he did so of his own
accord. He said: “I say, those Parachikka Chlorates
have gone an awful smash! You’re a nice one, Master
Lupin. How much do you lose?” Lupin, to my
utter astonishment, said: “Oh! I had nothing in
them. There was some informality in my application—I
forgot to enclose the cheque or something, and I didn’t get
any. The Guv. loses £18.” I said:
“I quite understood you were in it, or nothing would have
induced me to speculate.” Lupin replied: “Well,
it can’t be helped; you must go double on the next
tip.” Before I could reply, Gowing said: “Well,
I lose nothing, fortunately. From what I heard, I did not
quite believe in them, so I persuaded Cummings to take my
£15 worth, as he had more faith in them than I
had.”

Lupin burst out laughing, and, in the most unseemly manner,
said: “Alas, poor Cummings. He’ll lose
£35.” At that moment there was a ring at the
bell. Lupin said: “I don’t want to meet
Cummings.” If he had gone out of the door he would
have met him in the passage, so as quickly as possible Lupin
opened the parlour window and got out. Gowing jumped up
suddenly, exclaiming: “I don’t want to see him
either!” and, before I could say a word, he followed Lupin
out of the window.

For my own part, I was horrified to think my own son and one
of my most intimate friends should depart from the house like a
couple of interrupted burglars. Poor Cummings was very
upset, and of course was naturally very angry both with Lupin and
Gowing. I pressed him to have a little whisky, and he
replied that he had given up whisky; but would like a little
“Unsweetened,” as he was advised it was the most
healthy spirit. I had none in the house, but sent Sarah
round to Lockwood’s for some.

February 20.—The first thing
that caught my eye on opening the Standard
was—“Great Failure of Stock and Share Dealers!
Mr. Job Cleanands absconded!” I handed it to Carrie,
and she replied: “Oh! perhaps it’s for Lupin’s
good. I never did think it a suitable situation for
him.” I thought the whole affair very shocking.

Lupin came down to breakfast, and seeing he looked painfully
distressed, I said: “We know the news, my dear boy, and
feel very sorry for you.” Lupin said: “How did
you know? who told you?” I handed him the
Standard. He threw the paper down, and said:
“Oh I don’t care a button for that! I expected
that, but I did not expect this.” He then read a
letter from Frank Mutlar, announcing, in a cool manner, that
Daisy Mutlar is to be married next month to Murray Posh. I
exclaimed, “Murray Posh! Is not that the very man
Frank had the impudence to bring here last Tuesday
week?” Lupin said: “Yes; the
‘Posh’s-three-shilling-hats’
chap.”

We all then ate our breakfast in dead silence.

In fact, I could eat nothing. I was not only too
worried, but I cannot and will not eat cushion of bacon. If
I cannot get streaky bacon, I will do without anything.

When Lupin rose to go I noticed a malicious smile creep over
his face. I asked him what it meant. He replied:
“Oh! only a little consolation—still it is a
consolation. I have just remembered that, by my
advice, Mr. Murray Posh has invested £600 in Parachikka
Chlorates!”

CHAPTER XVII

Marriage of Daisy Mutlar and Murray
Posh. The dream of my life realised. Mr. Perkupp
takes Lupin into the office.

March 20.—To-day being the
day on which Daisy Mutlar and Mr. Murray Posh are to be married,
Lupin has gone with a friend to spend the day at Gravesend.
Lupin has been much cut-up over the affair, although he declares
that he is glad it is off. I wish he would not go to so
many music-halls, but one dare not say anything to him about
it. At the present moment he irritates me by singing all
over the house some nonsense about “What’s the matter
with Gladstone? He’s all right! What’s
the matter with Lupin? He’s all right!”
I don’t think either of them is. In the
evening Gowing called, and the chief topic of conversation was
Daisy’s marriage to Murray Posh. I said: “I was
glad the matter was at an end, as Daisy would only have made a
fool of Lupin.” Gowing, with his usual good taste,
said: “Oh, Master Lupin can make a fool of himself without
any assistance.” Carrie very properly resented this,
and Gowing had sufficient sense to say he was sorry.

March 21.—To-day I shall
conclude my diary, for it is one of the happiest days of my
life. My great dream of the last few weeks—in fact,
of many years—has been realised. This morning came a
letter from Mr. Perkupp, asking me to take Lupin down to the
office with me. I went to Lupin’s room; poor fellow,
he seemed very pale, and said he had a bad headache. He had
come back yesterday from Gravesend, where he spent part of the
day in a small boat on the water, having been mad enough to
neglect to take his overcoat with him. I showed him Mr.
Perkupp’s letter, and he got up as quickly as
possible. I begged of him not to put on his fast-coloured
clothes and ties, but to dress in something black or
quiet-looking.

Carrie was all of a tremble when she read the letter, and all
she could keep on saying was: “Oh, I do hope it will
be all right.” For myself, I could scarcely eat any
breakfast. Lupin came down dressed quietly, and looking a
perfect gentleman, except that his face was rather yellow.
Carrie, by way of encouragement said: “You do look nice,
Lupin.” Lupin replied: “Yes, it’s a good
make-up, isn’t it? A
regular-downright-respectable-funereal-first-class-City-firm-junior-clerk.”
He laughed rather ironically.

In the hall I heard a great noise, and also Lupin shouting to
Sarah to fetch down his old hat. I went into the passage,
and found Lupin in a fury, kicking and smashing a new tall
hat. I said: “Lupin, my boy, what are you
doing? How wicked of you! Some poor fellow would be
glad to have it.” Lupin replied: “I would not
insult any poor fellow by giving it to him.”

When he had gone outside, I picked up the battered hat, and
saw inside “Posh’s Patent.” Poor
Lupin! I can forgive him. It seemed hours before we
reached the office. Mr. Perkupp sent for Lupin, who was
with him nearly an hour. He returned, as I thought,
crestfallen in appearance. I said: “Well, Lupin, how
about Mr. Perkupp?” Lupin commenced his song:
“What’s the matter with Perkupp? He’s all
right!” I felt instinctively my boy was
engaged. I went to Mr. Perkupp, but I could not
speak. He said: “Well, Mr. Pooter, what is
it?” I must have looked a fool, for all I could say
was: “Mr. Perkupp, you are a good man.” He
looked at me for a moment, and said: “No, Mr. Pooter,
you are the good man; and we’ll see if we cannot get
your son to follow such an excellent example.” I
said: “Mr. Perkupp, may I go home? I cannot work any
more to-day.”

My good master shook my hand warmly as he nodded his
head. It was as much as I could do to prevent myself from
crying in the ’bus; in fact, I should have done so, had my
thoughts not been interrupted by Lupin, who was having a quarrel
with a fat man in the ’bus, whom he accused of taking up
too much room.

In the evening Carrie sent round for dear old friend Cummings
and his wife, and also to Gowing. We all sat round the
fire, and in a bottle of “Jackson Frères,”
which Sarah fetched from the grocer’s, drank Lupin’s
health. I lay awake for hours, thinking of the
future. My boy in the same office as myself—we can go
down together by the ’bus, come home together, and who
knows but in the course of time he may take great interest in our
little home. That he may help me to put a nail in here or a
nail in there, or help his dear mother to hang a picture.
In the summer he may help us in our little garden with the
flowers, and assist us to paint the stands and pots.
(By-the-by, I must get in some more enamel paint.) All this
I thought over and over again, and a thousand happy thoughts
beside. I heard the clock strike four, and soon after fell
asleep, only to dream of three happy people—Lupin, dear
Carrie, and myself.

CHAPTER XVIII

Trouble with a stylographic pen. We go
to a Volunteer Ball, where I am let in for an expensive
supper. Grossly insulted by a cabman. An odd
invitation to Southend.

April 8.—No events of any
importance, except that Gowing strongly recommended a new patent
stylographic pen, which cost me nine-and-sixpence, and which was
simply nine-and-sixpence thrown in the mud. It has caused
me constant annoyance and irritability of temper. The ink
oozes out of the top, making a mess on my hands, and once at the
office when I was knocking the palm of my hand on the desk to
jerk the ink down, Mr. Perkupp, who had just entered, called out:
“Stop that knocking! I suppose that is you, Mr.
Pitt?” That young monkey, Pitt, took a malicious glee
in responding quite loudly: “No, sir; I beg pardon, it is
Mr. Pooter with his pen; it has been going on all the
morning.” To make matters worse, I saw Lupin laughing
behind his desk. I thought it wiser to say nothing. I
took the pen back to the shop and asked them if they would take
it back, as it did not act. I did not expect the full price
returned, but was willing to take half. The man said he
could not do that—buying and selling were two different
things. Lupin’s conduct during the period he has been
in Mr. Perkupp’s office has been most exemplary. My
only fear is, it is too good to last.

April 9.—Gowing called,
bringing with him an invitation for Carrie and myself to a ball
given by the East Acton Rifle Brigade, which he thought would be
a swell affair, as the member for East Acton (Sir William Grime)
had promised his patronage. We accepted of his kindness,
and he stayed to supper, an occasion I thought suitable for
trying a bottle of the sparkling Algéra that Mr. James (of
Sutton) had sent as a present. Gowing sipped the wine,
observing that he had never tasted it before, and further
remarked that his policy was to stick to more recognised
brands. I told him it was a present from a dear friend, and
one mustn’t look a gift-horse in the mouth. Gowing
facetiously replied: “And he didn’t like putting it
in the mouth either.”

I thought the remarks were rude without being funny, but on
tasting it myself, came to the conclusion there was some
justification for them. The sparkling Algéra is very
like cider, only more sour. I suggested that perhaps the
thunder had turned it a bit acid. He merely replied:
“Oh! I don’t think so.” We had a very
pleasant game of cards, though I lost four shillings and Carrie
lost one, and Gowing said he had lost about sixpence: how he
could have lost, considering that Carrie and I were the only
other players, remains a mystery.

April 14, Sunday.—Owing, I
presume, to the unsettled weather, I awoke with a feeling that my
skin was drawn over my face as tight as a drum. Walking
round the garden with Mr. and Mrs. Treane, members of our
congregation who had walked back with us, I was much annoyed to
find a large newspaper full of bones on the gravel-path,
evidently thrown over by those young Griffin boys next door; who,
whenever we have friends, climb up the empty steps inside their
conservatory, tap at the windows, making faces, whistling, and
imitating birds.

April 15.—Burnt my tongue
most awfully with the Worcester sauce, through that stupid girl
Sarah shaking the bottle violently before putting it on the
table.

April 16.—The night of the
East Acton Volunteer Ball. On my advice, Carrie put on the
same dress that she looked so beautiful in at the Mansion House,
for it had occurred to me, being a military ball, that Mr.
Perkupp, who, I believe, is an officer in the Honorary Artillery
Company, would in all probability be present. Lupin, in his
usual incomprehensible language, remarked that he had heard it
was a “bounders’ ball.” I didn’t
ask him what he meant though I didn’t understand.
Where he gets these expressions from I don’t know; he
certainly doesn’t learn them at home.

The invitation was for half-past eight, so I concluded if we
arrived an hour later we should be in good time, without being
“unfashionable,” as Mrs. James says. It was
very difficult to find—the cabman having to get down
several times to inquire at different public-houses where the
Drill Hall was. I wonder at people living in such
out-of-the-way places. No one seemed to know it.
However, after going up and down a good many badly-lighted
streets we arrived at our destination. I had no idea it was
so far from Holloway. I gave the cabman five shillings, who
only grumbled, saying it was dirt cheap at half-a-sovereign, and
was impertinent enough to advise me the next time I went to a
ball to take a ’bus.

Captain Welcut received us, saying we were rather late, but
that it was better late than never. He seemed a very
good-looking gentleman though, as Carrie remarked, “rather
short for an officer.” He begged to be excused for
leaving us, as he was engaged for a dance, and hoped we should
make ourselves at home. Carrie took my arm and we walked
round the rooms two or three times and watched the people
dancing. I couldn’t find a single person I knew, but
attributed it to most of them being in uniform. As we were
entering the supper-room I received a slap on the shoulder,
followed by a welcome shake of the hand. I said: “Mr.
Padge, I believe;” he replied, “That’s
right.”

I gave Carrie a chair, and seated by her was a lady who made
herself at home with Carrie at once.

There was a very liberal repast on the tables, plenty of
champagne, claret, etc., and, in fact, everything seemed to be
done regardless of expense. Mr. Padge is a man that, I
admit, I have no particular liking for, but I felt so glad to
come across someone I knew, that I asked him to sit at our table,
and I must say that for a short fat man he looked well in
uniform, although I think his tunic was rather baggy in the
back. It was the only supper-room that I have been in that
was not over-crowded; in fact we were the only people there,
everybody being so busy dancing.

I assisted Carrie and her newly-formed acquaintance, who said
her name was Lupkin, to some champagne; also myself, and handed
the bottle to Mr. Padge to do likewise, saying: “You must
look after yourself.” He replied: “That’s
right,” and poured out half a tumbler and drank
Carrie’s health, coupled, as he said, “with her
worthy lord and master.” We all had some splendid
pigeon pie, and ices to follow.

The waiters were very attentive, and asked if we would like
some more wine. I assisted Carrie and her friend and Mr.
Padge, also some people who had just come from the dancing-room,
who were very civil. It occurred to me at the time that
perhaps some of the gentlemen knew me in the City, as they were
so polite. I made myself useful, and assisted several
ladies to ices, remembering an old saying that “There is
nothing lost by civility.”

The band struck up for the dance, and they all went into the
ball-room. The ladies (Carrie and Mrs. Lupkin) were anxious
to see the dancing, and as I had not quite finished my supper,
Mr. Padge offered his arms to them and escorted them to the
ball-room, telling me to follow. I said to Mr. Padge:
“It is quite a West End affair,” to which remark Mr.
Padge replied: “That’s right.”

When I had quite finished my supper, and was leaving, the
waiter who had been attending on us arrested my attention by
tapping me on the shoulder. I thought it unusual for a
waiter at a private ball to expect a tip, but nevertheless gave a
shilling, as he had been very attentive. He smilingly
replied: “I beg your pardon, sir, this is no good,”
alluding to the shilling. “Your party’s had
four suppers at 5s. a head, five ices at 1s., three bottles of
champagne at 11s. 6d., a glass of claret, and a sixpenny cigar
for the stout gentleman—in all £3 0s. 6d.!”

I don’t think I was ever so surprised in my life, and
had only sufficient breath to inform him that I had received a
private invitation, to which he answered that he was perfectly
well aware of that; but that the invitation didn’t include
eatables and drinkables. A gentleman who was standing at
the bar corroborated the waiter’s statement, and assured me
it was quite correct.

The waiter said he was extremely sorry if I had been under any
misapprehension; but it was not his fault. Of course there
was nothing to be done but to pay. So, after turning out my
pockets, I just managed to scrape up sufficient, all but nine
shillings; but the manager, on my giving my card to him, said:
“That’s all right.”

I don’t think I ever felt more humiliated in my life,
and I determined to keep this misfortune from Carrie, for it
would entirely destroy the pleasant evening she was
enjoying. I felt there was no more enjoyment for me that
evening, and it being late, I sought Carrie and Mrs.
Lupkin. Carrie said she was quite ready to go, and Mrs.
Lupkin, as we were wishing her “Good-night,” asked
Carrie and myself if we ever paid a visit to Southend? On
my replying that I hadn’t been there for many years, she
very kindly said: “Well, why don’t you come down and
stay at our place?” As her invitation was so
pressing, and observing that Carrie wished to go, we promised we
would visit her the next Saturday week, and stay till
Monday. Mrs. Lupkin said she would write to us to-morrow,
giving us the address and particulars of trains, etc.

When we got outside the Drill Hall it was raining so hard that
the roads resembled canals, and I need hardly say we had great
difficulty in getting a cabman to take us to Holloway.
After waiting a bit, a man said he would drive us, anyhow, as far
as “The Angel,” at Islington, and we could easily get
another cab from there. It was a tedious journey; the rain
was beating against the windows and trickling down the inside of
the cab.

When we arrived at “The Angel” the horse seemed
tired out. Carrie got out and ran into a doorway, and when
I came to pay, to my absolute horror I remembered I had no money,
nor had Carrie. I explained to the cabman how we were
situated. Never in my life have I ever been so insulted;
the cabman, who was a rough bully and to my thinking not sober,
called me every name he could lay his tongue to, and positively
seized me by the beard, which he pulled till the tears came into
my eyes. I took the number of a policeman (who witnessed
the assault) for not taking the man in charge. The
policeman said he couldn’t interfere, that he had seen no
assault, and that people should not ride in cabs without
money.

We had to walk home in the pouring rain, nearly two miles, and
when I got in I put down the conversation I had with the cabman,
word for word, as I intend writing to the Telegraph for
the purpose of proposing that cabs should be driven only by men
under Government control, to prevent civilians being subjected to
the disgraceful insult and outrage that I had had to endure.

April 17.—No water in our
cistern again. Sent for Putley, who said he would soon
remedy that, the cistern being zinc.

April 18.—Water all right
again in the cistern. Mrs. James, of Sutton, called in the
afternoon. She and Carrie draped the mantelpiece in the
drawing-room, and put little toy spiders, frogs and beetles all
over it, as Mrs. James says it’s quite the fashion.
It was Mrs. James’ suggestion, and of course Carrie always
does what Mrs. James suggests. For my part, I preferred the
mantelpiece as it was; but there, I’m a plain man, and
don’t pretend to be in the fashion.

April 19.—Our next-door
neighbour, Mr. Griffin, called, and in a rather offensive tone
accused me, or “someone,” of boring a hole in his
cistern and letting out his water to supply our cistern, which
adjoined his. He said he should have his repaired, and send
us in the bill.

April 20.—Cummings called,
hobbling in with a stick, saying he had been on his back for a
week. It appears he was trying to shut his bedroom door,
which is situated just at the top of the staircase, and unknown
to him a piece of cork the dog had been playing with had got
between the door, and prevented it shutting; and in pulling the
door hard, to give it an extra slam, the handle came off in his
hands, and he fell backwards downstairs.

On hearing this, Lupin suddenly jumped up from the couch and
rushed out of the room sideways. Cummings looked very
indignant, and remarked it was very poor fun a man nearly
breaking his back; and though I had my suspicions that Lupin was
laughing, I assured Cummings that he had only run out to open the
door to a friend he expected. Cummings said this was the
second time he had been laid up, and we had never sent to
inquire. I said I knew nothing about it. Cummings
said: “It was mentioned in the Bicycle
News.”

April 22.—I have of late
frequently noticed Carrie rubbing her nails a good deal with an
instrument, and on asking her what she was doing, she replied:
“Oh, I’m going in for manicuring. It’s
all the fashion now.” I said: “I suppose Mrs.
James introduced that into your head.” Carrie
laughingly replied: “Yes; but everyone does it
now.”

I wish Mrs. James wouldn’t come to the house.
Whenever she does she always introduces some new-fandangled
rubbish into Carrie’s head. One of these days I feel
sure I shall tell her she’s not welcome. I am sure it
was Mrs. James who put Carrie up to writing on dark
slate-coloured paper with white ink. Nonsense!

April 23.—Received a letter
from Mrs. Lupkin, of Southend, telling us the train to come by on
Saturday, and hoping we will keep our promise to stay with
her. The letter concluded: “You must come and stay at
our house; we shall charge you half what you will have to pay at
the Royal, and the view is every bit as good.”
Looking at the address at the top of the note-paper, I found it
was “Lupkin’s Family and Commercial Hotel.”

I wrote a note, saying we were compelled to “decline her
kind invitation.” Carrie thought this very satirical,
and to the point.

By-the-by, I will never choose another cloth pattern at
night. I ordered a new suit of dittos for the garden at
Edwards’, and chose the pattern by gaslight, and they
seemed to be a quiet pepper-and-salt mixture with white stripes
down. They came home this morning, and, to my horror, I
found it was quite a flash-looking suit. There was a lot of
green with bright yellow-coloured stripes.

I tried on the coat, and was annoyed to find Carrie
giggling. She said: “What mixture did you say you
asked for?”

I said: “A quiet pepper and salt.”

Carrie said: “Well, it looks more like mustard, if you
want to know the truth.”

CHAPTER XIX

Meet Teddy Finsworth, an old
schoolfellow. We have a pleasant and quiet dinner at his
uncle’s, marred only by a few awkward mistakes on my part
respecting Mr. Finsworth’s pictures. A discussion on
dreams.

April 27.—Kept a little later
than usual at the office, and as I was hurrying along a man
stopped me, saying: “Hulloh! That’s a face I
know.” I replied politely: “Very likely; lots
of people know me, although I may not know them.” He
replied: “But you know me—Teddy
Finsworth.” So it was. He was at the same
school with me. I had not seen him for years and
years. No wonder I did not know him! At school he was
at least a head taller than I was; now I am at least a head
taller than he is, and he has a thick beard, almost grey.
He insisted on my having a glass of wine (a thing I never do),
and told me he lived at Middlesboro’, where he was Deputy
Town Clerk, a position which was as high as the Town Clerk of
London—in fact, higher. He added that he was staying
for a few days in London, with his uncle, Mr. Edgar Paul
Finsworth (of Finsworth and Pultwell). He said he was sure
his uncle would be only too pleased to see me, and he had a nice
house, Watney Lodge, only a few minutes’ walk from Muswell
Hill Station. I gave him our address, and we parted.

In the evening, to my surprise, he called with a very nice
letter from Mr. Finsworth, saying if we (including Carrie) would
dine with them to-morrow (Sunday), at two o’clock, he would
be delighted. Carrie did not like to go; but Teddy
Finsworth pressed us so much we consented. Carrie sent
Sarah round to the butcher’s and countermanded our half-leg
of mutton, which we had ordered for to-morrow.

April 28, Sunday.—We found
Watney Lodge farther off than we anticipated, and only arrived as
the clock struck two, both feeling hot and uncomfortable.
To make matters worse, a large collie dog pounced forward to
receive us. He barked loudly and jumped up at Carrie,
covering her light skirt, which she was wearing for the first
time, with mud. Teddy Finsworth came out and drove the dog
off and apologised. We were shown into the drawing-room,
which was beautifully decorated. It was full of
knick-knacks, and some plates hung up on the wall. There
were several little wooden milk-stools with paintings on them;
also a white wooden banjo, painted by one of Mr. Paul
Finsworth’s nieces—a cousin of Teddy’s.

Mr. Paul Finsworth seemed quite a distinguished-looking
elderly gentleman, and was most gallant to Carrie. There
were a great many water-colours hanging on the walls, mostly
different views of India, which were very bright. Mr.
Finsworth said they were painted by “Simpz,” and
added that he was no judge of pictures himself but had been
informed on good authority that they were worth some hundreds of
pounds, although he had only paid a few shillings apiece for
them, frames included, at a sale in the neighbourhood.

There was also a large picture in a very handsome frame, done
in coloured crayons. It looked like a religious
subject. I was very much struck with the lace collar, it
looked so real, but I unfortunately made the remark that there
was something about the expression of the face that was not quite
pleasing. It looked pinched. Mr. Finsworth
sorrowfully replied: “Yes, the face was done after
death—my wife’s sister.”

I felt terribly awkward and bowed apologetically, and in a
whisper said I hoped I had not hurt his feelings. We both
stood looking at the picture for a few minutes in silence, when
Mr. Finsworth took out a handkerchief and said: “She was
sitting in our garden last summer,” and blew his nose
violently. He seemed quite affected, so I turned to look at
something else and stood in front of a portrait of a
jolly-looking middle-aged gentleman, with a red face and straw
hat. I said to Mr. Finsworth: “Who is this
jovial-looking gentleman? Life doesn’t seem to
trouble him much.” Mr. Finsworth said: “No, it
doesn’t. He is dead too—my
brother.”

I was absolutely horrified at my own awkwardness.
Fortunately at this moment Carrie entered with Mrs. Finsworth,
who had taken her upstairs to take off her bonnet and brush her
skirt. Teddy said: “Short is late,” but at that
moment the gentleman referred to arrived, and I was introduced to
him by Teddy, who said: “Do you know Mr.
Short?” I replied, smiling, that I had not that
pleasure, but I hoped it would not be long before I knew Mr.
Short. He evidently did not see my little joke,
although I repeated it twice with a little laugh. I
suddenly remembered it was Sunday, and Mr. Short was perhaps
very particular. In this I was mistaken, for he was
not at all particular in several of his remarks after
dinner. In fact I was so ashamed of one of his observations
that I took the opportunity to say to Mrs. Finsworth that I
feared she found Mr. Short occasionally a little
embarrassing. To my surprise she said: “Oh! he is
privileged you know.” I did not know as a matter of
fact, and so I bowed apologetically. I fail to see why Mr.
Short should be privileged.

Another thing that annoyed me at dinner was that the collie
dog, which jumped up at Carrie, was allowed to remain under the
dining-room table. It kept growling and snapping at my
boots every time I moved my foot. Feeling nervous rather, I
spoke to Mrs. Finsworth about the animal, and she remarked:
“It is only his play.” She jumped up and let in
a frightfully ugly-looking spaniel called Bibbs, which had been
scratching at the door. This dog also seemed to take a
fancy to my boots, and I discovered afterwards that it had licked
off every bit of blacking from them. I was positively
ashamed of being seen in them. Mrs. Finsworth, who, I must
say, is not much of a Job’s comforter, said: “Oh! we
are used to Bibbs doing that to our visitors.”

Mr. Finsworth had up some fine port, although I question
whether it is a good thing to take on the top of beer. It
made me feel a little sleepy, while it had the effect of inducing
Mr. Short to become “privileged” to rather an
alarming extent. It being cold even for April, there was a
fire in the drawing-room; we sat round in easy-chairs, and Teddy
and I waxed rather eloquent over the old school days, which had
the effect of sending all the others to sleep. I was
delighted, as far as Mr. Short was concerned, that it did have
that effect on him.

We stayed till four, and the walk home was remarkable only for
the fact that several fools giggled at the unpolished state of my
boots. Polished them myself when I got home. Went to
church in the evening, and could scarcely keep awake. I
will not take port on the top of beer again.

April 29.—I am getting quite
accustomed to being snubbed by Lupin, and I do not mind being sat
upon by Carrie, because I think she has a certain amount of right
to do so; but I do think it hard to be at once snubbed by wife,
son, and both my guests.

Gowing and Cummings had dropped in during the evening, and I
suddenly remembered an extraordinary dream I had a few nights
ago, and I thought I would tell them about it. I dreamt I
saw some huge blocks of ice in a shop with a bright glare behind
them. I walked into the shop and the heat was
overpowering. I found that the blocks of ice were on
fire. The whole thing was so real and yet so supernatural I
woke up in a cold perspiration. Lupin in a most
contemptuous manner, said: “What utter rot.”

Before I could reply, Gowing said there was nothing so
completely uninteresting as other people’s dreams.

I appealed to Cummings, but he said he was bound to agree with
the others and my dream was especially nonsensical. I said:
“It seemed so real to me.” Gowing replied:
“Yes, to you perhaps, but not to
us.” Whereupon they all roared.

Carrie, who had hitherto been quiet, said: “He tells me
his stupid dreams every morning nearly.” I replied:
“Very well, dear, I promise you I will never tell you or
anybody else another dream of mine the longest day I
live.” Lupin said: “Hear! hear!” and
helped himself to another glass of beer. The subject was
fortunately changed, and Cummings read a most interesting article
on the superiority of the bicycle to the horse.

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.”

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 buying them at a
sale at the Holloway Bon Marché. In that
case, I insisted that threepence 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.”