The Diary of a Nobody, George Grossmith [buy e reader .txt] 📗

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