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

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