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Title: The Diary of a Nobody

Author: George Grossmith
Weedon Grossmith

Release date: August 1, 1997 [eBook #1026]
Most recently updated: October 29, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1026

Credits: David Price

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DIARY OF
A NOBODY ***

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.”

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