kept much longer.
"Oh, with pleasure, dear boy," I replied, "with pleasure."
I called for the
cheeses, and took them away in a cab. It was a
ramshackle affair, dragged along by a knock-kneed, broken-winded
somnambulist, which his owner, in a moment of
enthusiasm, during
conversation, referred to as a horse. I put the
cheeses on the top, and
we started off at a shamble that would have done credit to the swiftest
steam-roller ever built, and all went merry as a
funeral bell, until we
turned the corner. There, the wind carried a whiff from the
cheeses full
on to our steed. It woke him up, and, with a snort of
terror, he dashed
off at three miles an hour. The wind still blew in his direction, and
before we reached the end of the street he was laying himself out at the
rate of nearly four miles an hour, leaving the cripples and stout old
ladies simply nowhere.
It took two porters as well as the driver to hold him in at the station;
and I do not think they would have done it, even then, had not one of the
men had the presence of mind to put a
handkerchief over his nose, and to
light a bit of brown paper.
I took my ticket, and marched
proudly up the
platform, with my
cheeses,
the people falling back
respectfully on either side. The train was
crowded, and I had to get into a
carriage where there were already seven
other people. One crusty old gentleman objected, but I got in,
notwithstanding; and, putting my
cheeses upon the rack,
squeezed down
with a pleasant smile, and said it was a warm day.
A few moments passed, and then the old gentleman began to fidget.
"Very close in here," he said.
"Quite oppressive," said the man next him.
And then they both began sniffing, and, at the third sniff, they caught
it right on the chest, and rose up without another word and went out.
And then a stout lady got up, and said it was
disgraceful that a
respectable married woman should be harried about in this way, and
gathered up a bag and eight parcels and went. The remaining four
passengers sat on for a while, until a solemn-looking man in the corner,
who, from his dress and general appearance, seemed to belong to the
undertaker class, said it put him in mind of dead baby; and the other
three passengers tried to get out of the door at the same time, and hurt
themselves.
I smiled at the black gentleman, and said I thought we were going to have
the
carriage to ourselves; and he laughed
pleasantly, and said that some
people made such a fuss over a little thing. But even he grew strangely
depressed after we had started, and so, when we reached Crewe, I asked
him to come and have a drink. He accepted, and we forced our way into
the
buffet, where we yelled, and stamped, and waved our umbrellas for a
quarter of an hour; and then a young lady came, and asked us if we wanted
anything.
"What's yours?" I said, turning to my friend.
"I'll have half-a-crown's worth of
brandy, neat, if you please, miss," he
responded.
And he went off quietly after he had drunk it and got into another
carriage, which I thought mean.
From Crewe I had the
compartment to myself, though the train was crowded.
As we drew up at the different stations, the people,
seeing my empty
carriage, would rush for it. "Here y' are, Maria; come along, plenty of
room." "All right, Tom; we'll get in here," they would shout. And they
would run along, carrying heavy bags, and fight round the door to get in
first. And one would open the door and mount the steps, and
stagger back
into the arms of the man behind him; and they would all come and have a
sniff, and then droop off and
squeeze into other
carriages, or pay the
difference and go first.
From Euston, I took the
cheeses down to my friend's house. When his wife
came into the room she smelt round for an
instant. Then she said:
"What is it? Tell me the worst."
I said:
"It's
cheeses. Tom bought them in Liverpool, and asked me to bring them
up with me."
And I added that I hoped she understood that it had nothing to do with
me; and she said that she was sure of that, but that she would speak to
Tom about it when he came back.
My friend was detained in Liverpool longer than he expected; and, three
days later, as he hadn't returned home, his wife called on me. She said:
"What did Tom say about those
cheeses?"
I replied that he had directed they were to be kept in a moist place, and
that nobody was to touch them.
She said:
"Nobody's likely to touch them. Had he smelt them?"
I thought he had, and added that he seemed greatly attached to them.
"You think he would be upset," she queried, "if I gave a man a sovereign
to take them away and bury them?"
I answered that I thought he would never smile again.
An idea struck her. She said:
"Do you mind keeping them for him? Let me send them round to you."
"Madam," I replied, "for myself I like the smell of
cheese, and the
journey the other day with them from Liverpool I shall ever look back
upon as a happy
ending to a pleasant
holiday. But, in this world, we
must consider others. The lady under whose roof I have the honour of
residing is a widow, and, for all I know, possibly an
orphan too. She
has a strong, I may say an
eloquent,
objection to being what she terms
`put upon.' The presence of your husband's
cheeses in her house she
would, I
instinctively feel, regard as a `put upon'; and it shall never
be said that I put upon the widow and the
orphan."
"Very well, then," said my friend's wife, rising, "all I have to say is,
that I shall take the children and go to an hotel until those
cheeses are
eaten. I decline to live any longer in the same house with them."
She kept her word, leaving the place in
charge of the charwoman, who,
when asked if she could stand the smell, replied, "What smell?" and who,
when taken close to the
cheeses and told to sniff hard, said she could
detect a faint odour of melons. It was argued from this that little
injury could result to the woman from the
atmosphere, and she was left.
The hotel bill came to fifteen guineas; and my friend, after reckoning
everything up, found that the
cheeses had cost him eight-and-sixpence a
pound. He said he
dearly loved a bit of
cheese, but it was beyond his
means; so he determined to get rid of them. He threw them into the
canal; but had to fish them out again, as the bargemen complained. They
said it made them feel quite faint. And, after that, he took them one
dark night and left them in the
parish mortuary. But the coroner
discovered them, and made a
fearful fuss.
He said it was a plot to
deprive him of his living by waking up the
corpses.
My friend got rid of them, at last, by
taking them down to a sea-side
town, and burying them on the beach. It gained the place quite a
reputation. Visitors said they had never noticed before how strong the
air was, and weak-chested and consumptive people used to
throng there for
years afterwards.
Fond as I am of
cheese,
therefore, I hold that George was right in
declining to take any.
"We shan't want any tea," said George (Harris's face fell at this); "but
we'll have a good round, square, slap-up meal at seven - dinner, tea, and
supper combined."
Harris grew more
cheerful. George suggested meat and fruit pies, cold
meat, tomatoes, fruit, and green stuff. For drink, we took some
wonderful
sticky concoction of Harris's, which you mixed with water and
called
lemonade, plenty of tea, and a bottle of whisky, in case, as
George said, we got upset.
It seemed to me that George harped too much on the getting-upset idea.
It seemed to me the wrong spirit to go about the trip in.
But I'm glad we took the whisky.
We didn't take beer or wine. They are a mistake up the river. They make
you feel
sleepy and heavy. A glass in the evening when you are doing a
mouch round the town and looking at the girls is all right enough; but
don't drink when the sun is blazing down on your head, and you've got
hard work to do.
We made a list of the things to be taken, and a pretty lengthy one it
was, before we parted that evening. The next day, which was Friday, we
got them all together, and met in the evening to pack. We got a big
Gladstone for the clothes, and a couple of hampers for the victuals and
the cooking utensils. We moved the table up against the window, piled
everything in a heap in the middle of the floor, and sat round and looked
at it.
I said I'd pack.
I rather pride myself on my packing. Packing is one of those many things
that I feel I know more about than any other person living. (It
surprises me myself, sometimes, how many of these subjects there are.) I
impressed the fact upon George and Harris, and told them that they had
better leave the whole matter entirely to me. They fell into the
suggestion with a
readiness that had something
uncanny about it. George
put on a pipe and spread himself over the easy-chair, and Harris cocked
his legs on the table and lit a cigar.
This was hardly what I intended. What I had meant, of course, was, that
I should boss the job, and that Harris and George should potter about
under my directions, I pushing them aside every now and then with, "Oh,
you - !" "Here, let me do it." "There you are, simple enough!" - really
teaching them, as you might say. Their
taking it in the way they did
irritated me. There is nothing does
irritate me more than
seeing other
people sitting about doing nothing when I'm
working.
I lived with a man once who used to make me mad that way. He would loll
on the sofa and watch me doing things by the hour together, following me
round the room with his eyes,
wherever I went. He said it did him real
good to look on at me, messing about. He said it made him feel that life
was not an idle dream to be gaped and yawned through, but a noble task,
full of duty and stern work. He said he often wondered now how he could
have gone on before he met me, never having anybody to look at while they
worked.
Now, I'm not like that. I can't sit still and see another man slaving
and
working. I want to get up and
superintend, and walk round with my
hands in my pockets, and tell him what to do. It is my
energetic nature.
I can't help it.
However, I did not say anything, but started the packing. It seemed a
longer job than I had thought it was going to be; but I got the bag
finished at last, and I sat on it and strapped it.
"Ain't you going to put the boots in?" said Harris.
And I looked round, and found I had forgotten them. That's just like
Harris. He couldn't have said a word until I'd got the bag shut and
strapped, of course. And George laughed - one of those irritating,
senseless, chuckle-headed, crack-jawed laughs of his. They do make me so
wild.
I opened the bag and packed the boots in; and then, just as I was going
to close it, a
horrible idea occurred to me. Had I packed my tooth-
brush? I don't know how it is, but I never do know whether I've packed
my tooth-brush.
My tooth-brush is a thing that haunts me when I'm travelling, and makes
my life a
misery. I dream that I haven't packed it, and wake up in a
cold perspiration, and get out of bed and hunt for it. And, in the
morning, I pack it before I have used it, and have to unpack again to get
it, and it is always the last thing I turn out of the bag; and then I
repack and forget it, and have to rush
upstairs for it at the last moment
and carry it to the railway station, wrapped up in my pocket-
handkerchief.
Of course I had to turn every
mortal thing out now, and, of course, I
could not find it. I rummaged the things up into much the same state
that they must have been before the world was created, and when chaos
reigned. Of course, I found George's and Harris's eighteen times over,
but I couldn't find my own. I put the things back one by one, and held
everything up and shook it. Then I found it inside a boot. I repacked
once more.
When I had finished, George asked if the soap was in. I said I didn't
care a hang whether the soap was in or whether it wasn't; and I slammed
the bag to and strapped it, and found that I had packed my tobacco-pouch
in it, and had to re-open it. It got shut up finally at 10.5 p.m., and
then there remained the hampers to do. Harris said that we should be
wanting to start in less than twelve hours' time, and thought that he and
George had better do the rest; and I agreed and sat down, and they had a