some short stories-第4部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！


his　previous　one。　　There　was　plenty　of　beef　and　beer；　but　there　was
no　reciprocity。　　The　question　for　him　to　have　asked　before
accepting　the　position　wouldn't　have　been　〃How　many　footmen　are
kept？〃　but　〃How　much　imagination？〃

The　next　time　I　went　to　the　houseI　confess　it　wasn't　very　soonI
encountered　his　successor；　a　personage　who　evidently　enjoyed　the
good　fortune　of　never　having　quitted　his　natural　level。　　Could　any
be　higher？　he　seemed　to　askover　the　heads　of　three　footmen　and
even　of　some　visitors。　　He　made　me　feel　as　if　Brooksmith　were　dead；
but　I　didn't　dare　to　inquireI　couldn't　have　borne　his　〃I　haven't
the　least　idea；　sir。〃　　I　despatched　a　note　to　the　address　that
worthy　had　given　me　after　Mr。　Offord's　death；　but　I　received　no
answer。　　Six　months　later　however　I　was　favoured　with　a　visit　from
an　elderly　dreary　dingy　person　who　introduced　herself　to　me　as　Mr。
Brooksmith's　aunt　and　from　whom　I　learned　that　he　was　out　of　place
and　out　of　health　and　had　allowed　her　to　come　and　say　to　me　that　if
I　could　spare　half　an　hour　to　look　in　at　him　he　would　take　it　as　a
rare　honour。

I　went　the　next　dayhis　messenger　had　given　me　a　new　addressand
found　my　friend　lodged　in　a　short　sordid　street　in　Marylebone；　one
of　those　corners　of　London　that　wear　the　last　expression　of　sickly
meanness。　　The　room　into　which　I　was　shown　was　above　the　small
establishment　of　a　dyer　and　cleaner　who　had　inflated　kid　gloves　and
discoloured　shawls　in　his　shop…front。　　There　was　a　great　deal　of
grimy　infant　life　up　and　down　the　place；　and　there　was　a　hot　moist
smell　within；　as　of　the　〃boiling〃　of　dirty　linen。　　Brooksmith　sat
with　a　blanket　over　his　legs　at　a　clean　little　window　where；　from
behind　stiff　bluish…white　curtains；　he　could　look　across　at　a
huckster's　and　a　tinsmith's　and　a　small　greasy　public…house。　　He
had　passed　through　an　illness　and　was　convalescent；　and　his　mother；
as　well　as　his　aunt；　was　in　attendance　on　him。　　I　liked　the　nearer
relative；　who　was　bland　and　intensely　humble；　but　I　had　my　doubts
of　the　remoter；　whom　I　connected　perhaps　unjustly　with　the　opposite
public…houseshe　seemed　somehow　greasy　with　the　same　greaseand
whose　furtive　eye　followed　every　movement　of　my　hand　as　to　see　if
it　weren't　going　into　my　pocket。　　It　didn't　take　this　directionI
couldn't；　unsolicited；　put　myself　at　that　sort　of　ease　with
Brooksmith。　　Several　times　the　door　of　the　room　opened　and
mysterious　old　women　peeped　in　and　shuffled　back　again。　　I　don't
know　who　they　were；　poor　Brooksmith　seemed　encompassed　with　vague
prying　beery　females。

He　was　vague　himself；　and　evidently　weak；　and　much　embarrassed；　and
not　an　allusion　was　made　between　us　to　Mansfield　Street。　　The
vision　of　the　salon　of　which　he　had　been　an　ornament　hovered　before
me　however；　by　contrast；　sufficiently。　　He　assured　me　he　was　really
getting　better；　and　his　mother　remarked　that　he　would　come　round　if
he　could　only　get　his　spirits　up。　　The　aunt　echoed　this　opinion；
and　I　became　more　sure　that　in　her　own　case　she　knew　where　to　go
for　such　a　purpose。　　I'm　afraid　I　was　rather　weak　with　my　old
friend；　for　I　neglected　the　opportunity；　so　exceptionally　good；　to
rebuke　the　levity　which　had　led　him　to　throw　up　honourable
positionsfine　stiff　steady　berths　in　Bayswater　and　Belgravia；
with　morning　prayers；　as　I　knew；　attached　to　one　of　them。　　Very
likely　his　reasons　had　been　profane　and　sentimental；　he　didn't　want
morning　prayers；　he　wanted　to　be　somebody's　dear　fellow；　but　I
couldn't　be　the　person　to　rebuke　him。　　He　shuffled　these　episodes
out　of　sightI　saw　he　had　no　wish　to　discuss　them。　　I　noted
further；　strangely　enough；　that　it　would　probably　be　a　questionable
pleasure　for　him　to　see　me　again：　　he　doubted　now　even　of　my　power
to　condone　his　aberrations。　　He　didn't　wish　to　have　to　explain；　and
his　behaviour　was　likely　in　future　to　need　explanation。　　When　I
bade　him　farewell　he　looked　at　me　a　moment　with　eyes　that　said
everything：　　〃How　can　I　talk　about　those　exquisite　years　in　this
place；　before　these　people；　with　the　old　women　poking　their　heads
in？　　It　was　very　good　of　you　to　come　to　see　me；　it　wasn't　my　idea
SHE　brought　you。　　We've　said　everything；　it's　over；　you'll　lose　all
patience　with　me；　and　I'd　rather　you　shouldn't　see　the　rest。〃　　I
sent　him　some　money　in　a　letter　the　next　day；　but　I　saw　the　rest
only　in　the　light　of　a　barren　sequel。

A　whole　year　after　my　visit　to　him　I　became　aware　once；　in　dining
out；　that　Brooksmith　was　one　of　the　several　servants　who　hovered
behind　our　chairs。　　He　hadn't　opened　the　door　of　the　house　to　me；
nor　had　I　recognised　him　in　the　array　of　retainers　in　the　hall。
This　time　I　tried　to　catch　his　eye；　but　he　never　gave　me　a　chance；
and　when　he　handed　me　a　dish　I　could　only　be　careful　to　thank　him
audibly。　　Indeed　I　partook　of　two　entrees　of　which　I　had　my　doubts；
subsequently　converted　into　certainties；　in　order　not　to　snub　him。
He　looked　well　enough　in　health；　but　much　older；　and　wore　in　an
exceptionally　marked　degree　the　glazed　and　expressionless　mask　of
the　British　domestic　de　race。　　I　saw　with　dismay　that　if　I　hadn't
known　him　I　should　have　taken　him；　on　the　showing　of　his
countenance；　for　an　extravagant　illustration　of　irresponsive
servile　gloom。　　I　said　to　myself　that　he　had　become　a　reactionary；
gone　over　to　the　Philistines；　thrown　himself　into　religion；　the
religion　of　his　〃place；〃　like　a　foreign　lady　sur　le　retour。　　I
divined　moreover　that　he　was　only　engaged　for　the　eveninghe　had
become　a　mere　waiter；　had　joined　the　band　of　the　white…waistcoated
who　〃go　out。〃　　There　was　something　pathetic　in　this　factit　was　a
terrible　vulgarisation　of　Brooksmith。　　It　was　the　mercenary　prose
of　butlerhood；　he　had　given　up　the　struggle　for　the　poetry。　　If
reciprocity　was　what　he　had　missed　where　was　the　reciprocity　now？
Only　in　the　bottoms　of　the　wine…glasses　and　the　five　shillingsor
whatever　they　getclapped　into　his　hand　by　the　permanent　man。
However；　I　supposed　he　had　taken　up　a　precarious　branch　of　his
profession　because　it　after　all　sent　him　less　downstairs。　　His
relations　with　London　society　were　more　superficial；　but　they　were
of　course　more　various。　　As　I　went　away　on　this　occasion　I　looked
out　for　him　eagerly　among　the　four　or　five　attendants　whose
perpendicular　persons；　fluting　the　walls　of　London　passages；　are
supposed　to　lubricate　the　process　of　departure；　but　he　was　not　on
duty。　　I　asked　one　of　the　others　if　he　were　not　in　the　house；　and
received　the　prompt　answer：　　〃Just　left；　sir。　　Anything　I　can　do
for　you；　sir？〃　　I　wanted　to　say　〃Please　give　him　my　kind　regards〃；
but　I　abstainedI　didn't　want　to　compromise　him；　and　I　never　came
across　him　again。

Often　and　often；　in　dining　out；　I　looked　for　him；　sometimes
accepting　invitations　on　purpose　to　multiply　the　chances　of　my
meeting　him。　　But　always　in　vain；　so　that　as　I　met　many　other
members　of　the　casual　class　over　and　over　again　I　at　last　adopted
the　theory　that　he　always　procured　a　list　of　expected　guests
beforehand　and　kept　away　from　the　banquets　which　he　thus　learned　I
was　to　grace。　　At　last　I　gave　up　hope；　and　one　day　at　the　end　of
three　years　I　received　another　visit　from　his　aunt。　　She　was
drearier　and　dingier；　almost　squalid；　and　she　was　in　great
tribulation　and　want。　　Her　sister；　Mrs。　Brooksmith；　had　been　dead　a
year；　and　three　months　later　her　nephew　had　disappeared。　　He　had
always　looked　after　her　a　bit　since　her　troubles；　I　never　knew　what
her　troubles　had　beenand　now　she　hadn't　so　much　as　a　petticoat　to
pawn。　　She　had　also　a　niece；　to　whom　she　had　been　everything　before
her　troubles；　but　the　niece　had　treated　her　most　shameful。　　These
were　details；　the　great　and　romantic　fact　was　Brooksmith's　final
evasion　of　his　fate。　　He　had　gone　out　to　wait　one　evening　as　usual；
in　a　white　waistcoat　she　had　done　up　for　him　with　her　own　hands
being　due　at　a　large　party　up　Kensington　way。　　But　he　had　never
come　home　again　and　had　never　arrived　at　the　large　party；　nor　at
any　party　that　any　one　could　make　out。　　No　trace　of　him　had　come　to
lightno　gleam　of　the　white　waistcoat　had　pierced　the　obscurity　of
his　doom。　　This　news　was　a　sharp　shock　to　me；　for　I　had　my　ideas
about　his　real　destination。　　His　aged　relative　had　promptly；　as　she
said；　guessed　the　worst。　　Somehow；　and　somewhere　he　had　got　out　of
the　way　altogether；　and　now　I　trust　that；　with　characteristic
deliberation；　he　is　changing　the　plates　of　the　immortal　gods。　　As
my　depressing　visitant　also　said；　he　never　HAD　got　his　spirits　up。
I　was　fortunately　able　to　dismiss　her　with　her　own　somewhat
improved。　　But　the　dim　ghost　of　poor　Brooksmith　is　one　of　those
that　I　see。　　He　had　indeed　been　spoiled。




THE　REAL　THING




CHAPTER　I



When　the　porter's　wife；　who　used　to　answer　the　house…bell；
announced　〃A　gentleman　and　a　lady；　sir；〃　I　had；　as　I　often　had　in
those　daysthe　wish　being　father　to　the　thoughtan　immediate
vision　of　sitters。　　Sitters　my　visitors　in　this　case　proved　to　be；
but　not　in　the　sense　I　should　have　preferred。　　There　was　nothing　at
first　however　to　indicate　that　they　mightn't　have　come　for　a
portrait。　　The　gentleman；　a　man　of　fifty；　very　high　and　very
straight；　with　a　moustache　slightly　grizzled　and　a　dark　grey
walking…coat　admirably　fitted；　both　of　which　I　noted
professionallyI　don't　mean　as　a　barber　or　yet　as　a　tailorwould
have　struck　me　as　a　celebrity　if　celebrities　often　were　striking。
It　was　a　truth　of　which　I　had　for　some　time　been　conscious　that　a
figure　with　a　good　deal　of　frontage　was；　as　one　might　say；　almost
never　a　public　institution。　　A　glance　at　the　lady　helped　to　remind
me　of　this　paradoxical　law：　　she　also　looked　too　distinguished　to
be　a　〃personality。〃　　Moreover　one　would　scarcely　come　across　two
variations　together。

Neither　of　the　pair　immediately　spokethey　only　prolonged　the
preliminary　gaze　suggesting　that　each　wished　to　give　the　other　a
chance。　　They　were　visibly　shy；　they　stood　there　letting　me　take
them　inwhich；　as　I　afterwards　perceived；　was　the　most　practical
thing　they　could　have　done。　　In　this　way　their　embarrassment　served
their　cause。　　I　had　seen　people　painfully　reluctant　to　mention　that
they　desired　anything　so　gross　as　to　be　represented　on　canvas；　but
the　scruple