The Diary of a Nobody by George Grossmith (bill gates best books txt) 📕

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.

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.”

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