And as I stood there in the darkness I could almost
fancy that I heard it crack.
A Somewhat Improbable Story
I cannot remember whether this tale is true or not.
If I read it through very carefully I have a suspicion
that I should come to the conclusion that it is not.
But, unfortunately, I cannot read it through very
carefully, because, you see, it is not written yet.
The image and the idea of it clung to me through a
great part of my boyhood; I may have dreamt it before
I could talk; or told it to myself before I could
read; or read it before I could remember. On
the whole, however, I am certain that I did not read
it, for children have very clear memories about things
like that; and of the books which I was really fond
I can still remember, not only the shape and bulk
and binding, but even the position of the printed
words on many of the pages. On the whole, I incline
to the opinion that it happened to me before I was
born.
. . . . .
At any rate, let us tell the story now with all the
advantages of the atmosphere that has clung to it.
You may suppose me, for the sake of argument, sitting
at lunch in one of those quick-lunch restaurants in
the City where men take their food so fast that it
has none of the quality of food, and take their half-hour’s
vacation so fast that it has none of the qualities
of leisure; to hurry through one’s leisure is
the most unbusiness-like of actions. They all
wore tall shiny hats as if they could not lose an instant
even to hang them on a peg, and they all had one eye
a little off, hypnotised by the huge eye of the clock.
In short, they were the slaves of the modern bondage,
you could hear their fetters clanking. Each was,
in fact, bound by a chain; the heaviest chain ever
tied to a man—it is called a watch-chain.
Now, among these there entered and sat down opposite
to me a man who almost immediately opened an uninterrupted
monologue. He was like all the other men in dress,
yet he was startlingly opposite to them in all manner.
He wore a high shiny hat and a long frock coat, but
he wore them as such solemn things were meant to be
worn; he wore the silk hat as if it were a mitre,
and the frock coat as if it were the ephod of a high
priest. He not only hung his hat up on the peg,
but he seemed (such was his stateliness) almost to
ask permission of the hat for doing so, and to apologise
to the peg for making use of it. When he had
sat down on a wooden chair with the air of one considering
its feelings and given a sort of slight stoop or bow
to the wooden table itself, as if it were an altar,
I could not help some comment springing to my lips.
For the man was a big, sanguine-faced, prosperous-looking
man, and yet he treated everything with a care that
almost amounted to nervousness.
For the sake of saying something to express my interest
I said, “This furniture is fairly solid; but,
of course, people do treat it much too carelessly.”
