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Wells. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + + p.bold {text-align: center; font-weight: bold;} + p.bold2 {text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: 150%;} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + h1 span, h2 span { display: block; text-align: center; } + #id1 { font-size: smaller } + + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + hr.smler { width: 10%; } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 5px; border-collapse:collapse; border: none; text-align: right;} + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + text-indent: 0px; + } /* page numbers */ + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smaller {font-size: smaller;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .s3 {display: inline; margin-left: 3em;} + .right {text-align: right;} + .left {text-align: left;} + .tbrk {margin-bottom: 2em;} + .block {margin-left:20%; margin-right:20%; text-align: left;} + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem div {display: block; margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem div.i1 {display: block; margin-left: 1em;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Kipps, by H. G. Wells + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license + + +Title: Kipps + The Story of a Simple Soul + +Author: H. G. Wells + +Release Date: March 16, 2012 [EBook #39162] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KIPPS *** + + + + +Produced by Charlene Taylor, Martin Pettit and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<p class="bold2">KIPPS</p> + +<p class="bold">THE STORY OF A SIMPLE SOUL</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="center"><img src="images/coverpage.jpg" width='474' height='700' alt="" /></div> + +<hr /> + +<h2><span>Books by H. G. Wells</span></h2> + +<hr class="smler" /> + +<div class="block"><p class="center">SHORT STORIES</p> + +<p>Twelve Stories and a Dream<br />The Plattner Story and Others<br /> +Tales of Space and Time<br />The Stolen Bacillus and Other Stories</p> + +<p class="center">ROMANCES</p> + +<p>The Food of the Gods<br />The Wonderful Visit<br />The War of the Worlds<br /> +The Invisible Man<br />The Time Machine<br />The First Men in the Moon<br /> +The Sea Lady<br />The Island of Dr. Moreau</p> + +<p class="center">NOVELS</p> + +<p>Kipps<br />Love and Mr. Lewisham<br />The Wheels of Chance</p> + +<p class="center">SOCIOLOGICAL ESSAYS</p> + +<p>A Modern Utopia<br />Anticipations<br />Mankind in the Making.</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h1><span>KIPPS<br /><br /><span class="smaller">THE STORY OF A SIMPLE SOUL</span></span><br /> <span id="id1">BY</span> <span>H. G. WELLS</span></h1> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center">NEW YORK<br />CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS<br />1906</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright 1906, by<br /> +CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS<br />Published, 1906</span></p> + +<hr /> + +<blockquote><p>"Those individuals who have led secluded or isolated lives, or have +hitherto moved in other spheres than those wherein well-bred people +move, will gather all the information necessary from these pages to +render them thoroughly conversant with the manners and amenities of +society."</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Manners and Rules of Good Society</i></p> + +<p class="right"><i>By a Member of the Aristocracy</i></p></blockquote> + +<hr /> + +<h2><span>CONTENTS:</span></h2> + +<table summary="CONTENTS"> + <tr> + <td colspan="3" class="center"><a href="#Page_1"><span class="smcap">Book I.</span></a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td colspan="3" class="center"><span class="smcap">The Making of Kipps</span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td colspan="2"></td> + <td><span class="smaller">PAGE</span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>I.</td> + <td class="left"> The Little Shop at New Romney</td> + <td><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>II.</td> + <td class="left"> The Emporium</td> + <td><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>III.</td> + <td class="left"> The Wood-Carving Class</td> + <td><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>IV.</td> + <td class="left"> Chitterlow</td> + <td><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>V.</td> + <td class="left"> "Swapped"</td> + <td><a href="#Page_117">117</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>VI.</td> + <td class="left"> The Unexpected</td> + <td><a href="#Page_128">128</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td colspan="3"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td colspan="3" class="center"><a href="#Page_167"><span class="smcap">Book II.</span></a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td colspan="3" class="center"><span class="smcap">Mr. Coote, the Chaperon</span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>I.</td> + <td class="left"> The New Conditions</td> + <td><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>II.</td> + <td class="left"> The Walshinghams</td> + <td><a href="#Page_201">201</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>III.</td> + <td class="left"> Engaged</td> + <td><a href="#Page_218">218</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>IV.</td> + <td class="left"> The Bicycle Manufacturer</td> + <td><a href="#Page_245">245</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>V.</td> + <td class="left"> The Pupil Lover</td> + <td><a href="#Page_259">259</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>VI.</td> + <td class="left"> Discords</td> + <td><a href="#Page_282">282</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>VII.</td> + <td class="left"> London</td> + <td><a href="#Page_309">309</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>VIII.</td> + <td class="left"> Kipps Enters Society</td> + <td><a href="#Page_354">354</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>IX.</td> + <td class="left"> The Labyrinthodon</td> + <td><a href="#Page_380">380</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td colspan="3"> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td colspan="3" class="center"><a href="#Page_393"><span class="smcap">Book III.</span></a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td colspan="3" class="center"><span class="smcap">Kippses</span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>I.</td> + <td class="left"> The Housing Problem</td> + <td><a href="#Page_395">395</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>II.</td> + <td class="left"> The Callers</td> + <td><a href="#Page_424">424</a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>III.</td> + <td class="left"> Terminations</td> + <td><a href="#Page_443">443</a></td> + </tr> +</table> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>BOOK I</span> <span class="smaller">THE MAKING OF KIPPS</span></h2> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER I</span> <span class="smaller">THE LITTLE SHOP AT NEW ROMNEY</span></h2> + +<p class="center">§1</p> + +<p>Until he was nearly arrived at adolescence it did not become clear to +Kipps how it was that he was under the care of an aunt and uncle instead +of having a father and mother like other boys. Yet he had vague memories +of a somewhere else that was not New Romney—of a dim room, a window +looking down on white buildings—and of a some one else who talked to +forgotten people, and who was his mother. He could not recall her +features very distinctly, but he remembered with extreme definition a +white dress she wore, with a pattern of little sprigs of flowers and +little bows of ribbon upon it, and a girdle of straight-ribbed white +ribbon about the waist. Linked with this, he knew not how, were clouded +half-obliterated recollections of scenes in which there was weeping, +weeping in which he was inscrutably moved to join. Some terrible tall +man with a loud voice played a part in these scenes, and either before +or after them there were impressions of looking for interminable periods +out of the windows of railway trains in the company of these two people....</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p><p>He knew, though he could not remember that he had ever been told, that +a certain faded, wistful face, that looked at him from a plush and gilt +framed daguerreotype above the mantel of the "sitting-room," was the +face of his mother. But that knowledge did not touch his dim memories +with any elucidation. In that photograph she was a girlish figure, +leaning against a photographer's stile, and with all the self-conscious +shrinking natural to that position. She had curly hair and a face far +younger and prettier than any other mother in his experience. She swung +a Dolly Varden hat by the string, and looked with obedient respectful +eyes on the photographer-gentleman who had commanded the pose. She was +very slight and pretty. But the phantom mother that haunted his memory +so elusively was not like that, though he could not remember how she +differed. Perhaps she was older, or a little less shrinking, or, it may +be, only dressed in a different way....</p> + +<p>It is clear she handed him over to his aunt and uncle at New Romney with +explicit directions and a certain endowment. One gathers she had +something of that fine sense of social distinctions that subsequently +played so large a part in Kipps' career. He was not to go to a "common" +school, she provided, but to a certain seminary in Hastings that was not +only a "middle-class academy," with mortar boards and every evidence of +a higher social tone, but also remarkably cheap. She seems to have been +animated by the desire to do her best for Kipps, even at a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>certain +sacrifice of herself, as though Kipps were in some way a superior sort +of person. She sent pocket-money to him from time to time for a year or +more after Hastings had begun for him, but her face he never saw in the +days of his lucid memory.</p> + +<p>His aunt and uncle were already high on the hill of life when first he +came to them. They had married for comfort in the evening or at any rate +in the late afternoon of their days. They were at first no more than +vague figures in the background of proximate realities, such realities +as familiar chairs and tables, quiet to ride and drive, the newel of the +staircase, kitchen furniture, pieces of firewood, the boiler tap, old +newspapers, the cat, the High Street, the back yard and the flat fields +that are always so near in that little town. He knew all the stones in +the yard individually, the creeper in the corner, the dustbin and the +mossy wall, better than many men know the faces of their wives. There +was a corner under the ironing-board which by means of a shawl could, +under propitious gods, be made a very decent cubby-house, a corner that +served him for several years as the indisputable hub of the world; and +the stringy places in the carpet, the knots upon the dresser, and the +several corners of the rag hearthrug his uncle had made, became +essential parts of his mental foundations. The shop he did not know so +thoroughly—it was a forbidden region to him; yet somehow he managed to +know it very well.</p> + +<p>His aunt and uncle were, as it were, the immediate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> gods of this world; +and, like the gods of the world of old, occasionally descended right +into it, with arbitrary injunctions and disproportionate punishments. +And, unhappily, one rose to their Olympian level at meals. Then one had +to say one's "grace," hold one's spoon and fork in mad, unnatural ways +called "properly," and refrain from eating even nice sweet things "too +fast." If he "gobbled" there was trouble, and at the slightest <i>abandon</i> +with knife, fork, and spoon, his aunt rapped his knuckles, albeit his +uncle always finished up his gravy with his knife. Sometimes, moreover, +his uncle would come, pipe in hand, out of a sedentary remoteness in the +most disconcerting way, when a little boy was doing the most natural and +attractive things, with "Drat and drabbit that young rascal! What's he +a-doing of now?" And his aunt would appear at door or window to +interrupt interesting conversation with children who were upon unknown +grounds considered "low" and undesirable, and call him in. The +pleasantest little noises, however softly you did them,—drumming on +tea-trays, trumpeting your fists, whistling on keys, ringing chimes with +a couple of pails, or playing tunes on the window-panes,—brought down +the gods in anger. Yet what noise is fainter than your finger on the +window—gently done? Sometimes, however, these gods gave him broken toys +out of the shop, and then one loved them better—for the shop they kept +was, among other things, a toy shop. (The other things included books to +read and books to give away and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> local photographs; it had some +pretensions also to be a china shop, and the fascia spoke of glass; it +was also a stationer's shop with a touch of haberdashery about it, and +in the windows and odd corners were mats and terra-cotta dishes, and +milking-stools for painting; and there was a hint of picture-frames, and +fire-screens, and fishing tackle, and air-guns, and bathing suits, and +tents: various things, indeed, but all cruelly attractive to a small +boy's fingers.) Once his aunt gave him a trumpet if he would <i>promise</i> +faithfully not to blow it, and afterwards took it away again. And his +aunt made him say his Catechism and something she certainly called the +"Colic for the Day" every Sunday in the year.</p> + +<p>As the two grew old while he grew up, and as his impression of them +modified insensibly from year to year, it seemed to him at last that +they had always been as they were when, in his adolescent days, his +impression of things grew fixed. His aunt he thought of as always lean, +rather worried-looking, and prone to a certain obliquity of cap, and his +uncle massive, many-chinned, and careless about his buttons. They +neither visited nor received visitors. They were always very suspicious +about their neighbours and other people generally; they feared the "low" +and they hated and despised the "stuck-up," and so they "kept themselves +<i>to</i> themselves," according to the English ideal. Consequently little +Kipps had no playmates, except through the sin of disobedience. By +inherent nature he had a sociable disposition. When he was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> in the High +Street he made a point of saying "Hello!" to passing cyclists, and he +would put his tongue out at the Quodling children whenever their +nursemaid was not looking. And he began a friendship with Sid Pornick, +the son of the haberdasher next door, that, with wide intermissions, was +destined to last his lifetime through.</p> + +<p>Pornick, the haberdasher, I may say at once, was, according to old +Kipps, a "blaring jackass"; he was a teetotaller, a "nyar, nyar, +'im-singing Methodis'," and altogether distasteful and detrimental, he +and his together, to true Kipps ideals, so far as little Kipps could +gather them. This Pornick certainly possessed an enormous voice, and he +annoyed old Kipps greatly by calling, "You—Arn" and "Siddee," up and +down his house. He annoyed old Kipps by private choral services on +Sunday, all his family "nyar, nyar-ing"; and by mushroom culture; by +behaving as though the pilaster between the two shops was common +property; by making a noise of hammering in the afternoon, when old +Kipps wanted to be quiet after his midday meal; by going up and down +uncarpeted stairs in his boots; by having a black beard; by attempting +to be friendly; and by—all that sort of thing. In fact, he annoyed old +Kipps. He annoyed him especially with his shop doormat. Old Kipps never +beat his mat, preferring to let sleeping dust lie; and, seeking a motive +for a foolish proceeding, he held that Pornick waited until there was a +suitable wind in order that the dust disengaged in that operation might +defile his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> neighbour's shop. These issues would frequently develop into +loud and vehement quarrels, and on one occasion came so near to violence +as to be subsequently described by Pornick (who read his newspaper) as a +"Disgraceful Frackass." On that occasion he certainly went into his own +shop with extreme celerity.</p> + +<p>But it was through one of these quarrels that the friendship of little +Kipps and Sid Pornick came about. The two small boys found themselves +one day looking through the gate at the doctor's goats together; they +exchanged a few contradictions about which goat could fight which, and +then young Kipps was moved to remark that Sid's father was a "blaring +jackass." Sid said he wasn't, and Kipps repeated that he was, and quoted +his authority. Then Sid, flying off at a tangent rather alarmingly, said +he could fight young Kipps with one hand, an assertion young Kipps with +a secret want of confidence denied. There were some vain repetitions, +and the incident might have ended there, but happily a sporting butcher +boy chanced on the controversy at this stage, and insisted upon seeing fair play.</p> + +<p>The two small boys under his pressing encouragement did at last button +up their jackets, square and fight an edifying drawn battle, until it +seemed good to the butcher boy to go on with Mrs. Holyer's mutton. Then, +according to his directions and under his experienced stage management, +they shook hands and made it up. Subsequently, a little tear-stained +perhaps, but flushed with the butcher boy's approval<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> ("tough little +kids"), and with cold stones down their necks as he advised, they sat +side by side on the doctor's gate, projecting very much behind, +staunching an honourable bloodshed, and expressing respect for one +another. Each had a bloody nose and a black eye—three days later they +matched to a shade—neither had given in, and, though this was tacit, +neither wanted any more.</p> + +<p>It was an excellent beginning. After this first encounter the attributes +of their parents and their own relative value in battle never rose +between them, and if anything was wanted to complete the warmth of their +regard it was found in a joint dislike of the eldest Quodling. The +eldest Quodling lisped, had a silly sort of straw hat and a large pink +face (all covered over with self-satisfaction), and he went to the +National School with a green baize bag—a contemptible thing to do. They +called him names and threw stones at him, and when he replied by +threatenings ("Look 'ere, young Art Kipth, you better <i>thtoppit</i>!") they +were moved to attack and put him to flight.</p> + +<p>And after that they broke the head of Ann Pornick's doll, so that she +went home weeping loudly—a wicked and endearing proceeding. Sid was +whacked, but, as he explained, he wore a newspaper tactically adjusted +during the transaction, and really it didn't hurt him at all.... And +Mrs. Pornick put her head out of the shop door suddenly, and threatened +Kipps as he passed.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center">§2</p> + +<p>"Cavendish Academy," the school that had won the limited choice of +Kipps' vanished mother, was established in a battered private house in +the part of Hastings remotest from the sea; it was called an Academy for +Young Gentlemen, and many of the young gentlemen had parents in "India," +and other unverifiable places. Others were the sons of credulous widows, +anxious, as Kipps' mother had been, to get something a little "superior" +to a board school education as cheaply as possible; and others again +were sent to demonstrate the dignity of their parents and guardians. And +of course there were boys from France.</p> + +<p>Its "principal" was a lean, long creature of indifferent digestion and +temper, who proclaimed himself on a gilt-lettered board in his front +garden George Garden Woodrow, F.S.Sc., letters indicating that he had +paid certain guineas for a bogus diploma. A bleak white-washed outhouse +constituted his schoolroom, and the scholastic quality of its carved and +worn desks and forms was enhanced by a slippery blackboard and two large +yellow out-of-date maps, one of Africa and the other of Wiltshire, that +he had picked up cheap at a sale. There were other maps and globes in +his study, where he interviewed inquiring parents, but these his pupils +never saw. And in a glass cupboard in the passage was several +shillingsworth of test tubes and chemicals, a tripod, a glass retort, +and a damaged<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> Bunsen burner, manifesting that the "Scientific +laboratory" mentioned in the prospectus was no idle boast.</p> + +<p>This prospectus, which was in dignified but incorrect English, laid +particular stress on the sound preparation for a commercial career given +in the Academy, but the army, navy and civil service were glanced at in +an ambiguous sentence. There was something vague in the prospectus about +"examinational successes"—though Woodrow, of course, disapproved of +"cram"—and a declaration that the curriculum included "art," "modern +foreign languages" and "a sound technical and scientific training." Then +came insistence upon the "moral well-being" of the pupils, and an +emphatic boast of the excellence of the religious instruction, "so often +neglected nowadays even in schools of wide repute." "That's bound to +fetch 'em," Mr. Woodrow had remarked when he drew up the prospectus. And +in conjunction with the mortarboards it certainly did. Attention was +directed to the "motherly" care of Mrs. Woodrow—in reality a small +partially effaced woman with a plaintive face and a mind above cookery; +and the prospectus concluded with a phrase intentionally vague, "Fare +unrestricted, and our own milk and produce."</p> + +<p>The memories Kipps carried from that school into after life were set in +an atmosphere of stuffiness and mental muddle; and included countless +pictures of sitting on creaking forms bored and idle, of blot licking +and the taste of ink, of torn books with covers that set one's teeth on +edge, of the slimy surface of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> laboured slates, of furtive +marble-playing, whispered story-telling, and of pinches, blows, and a +thousand such petty annoyances being perpetually "passed on" according +to the custom of the place, of standing up in class and being hit +suddenly and unreasonably for imaginary misbehaviour, of Mr. Woodrow's +raving days, when a scarcely sane injustice prevailed, of the cold +vacuity of the hour of preparation before the bread-and-butter +breakfast, and of horrible headaches and queer, unprecedented, internal +feelings resulting from Mrs. Woodrow's motherly rather than intelligent +cookery. There were dreary walks, when the boys marched two by two, all +dressed in the mortarboard caps that so impressed the widowed mothers; +there were dismal half-holidays when the weather was wet and the spirit +of evil temper and evil imagination had the pent boys to work its will +on; there were unfair, dishonourable fights and miserable defeats and +victories, there was bullying and being bullied. A coward boy Kipps +particularly afflicted, until at last he was goaded to revolt by +incessant persecution, and smote Kipps to tolerance with whirling fists. +There were memories of sleeping three in a bed, of the dense leathery +smell of the schoolroom when one returned thither after ten minutes' +play, of a playground of mud and incidental sharp flints. And there was +much furtive foul language.</p> + +<p>"Our Sundays are our happiest days," was one of Woodrow's formulæ with +the inquiring parent, but Kipps was not called in evidence. They were to +him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> terrible gaps of inanity—no work, no play, a drear expanse of time +with the mystery of church twice and plum duff once in the middle. The +afternoon was given up to furtive relaxations, among which "Torture +Chamber" games with the less agreeable, weaker boys figured. It was from +the difference between this day and common days that Kipps derived his +first definite conceptions of the nature of God and heaven. His instinct +was to evade any closer acquaintance as long as he could.</p> + +<p>The school work varied, according to the prevailing mood of Mr. Woodrow. +Sometimes that was a despondent lethargy; copy-books were distributed or +sums were "set," or the great mystery of bookkeeping was declared in +being, and beneath these superficial activities lengthy conversations +and interminable guessing games with marbles went on while Mr. Woodrow +sat inanimate at his desk heedless of school affairs, staring in front +of him at unseen things. At times his face was utterly inane, at times +it had an expression of stagnant amazement, as if he saw before his eyes +with pitiless clearness the dishonour and mischief of his being....</p> + +<p>At other times the F.S.Sc. roused himself to action, and would stand up +a wavering class and teach it, goading it with bitter mockery and blows +through a chapter of Ann's "First French Course," or "France and the +French," or a Dialogue about a traveller's washing, or the parts of an +opera-house. His own knowledge of French had been obtained years ago in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +another English private school, and he had refreshed it by occasional +weeks of loafing and mean adventure in Dieppe. He would sometimes in +their lessons hit upon some reminiscence of these brighter days, and +then he would laugh inexplicably and repeat French phrases of an +unfamiliar type.</p> + +<p>Among the commoner exercises he prescribed the learning of long passages +of poetry from a "Poetry Book," which he would delegate an elder boy to +"hear," and there was reading aloud from the Holy Bible, verse by +verse—it was none of your "godless" schools!—so that you counted the +verses up to your turn and then gave yourself to conversation—and +sometimes one read from a cheap History of this land. They did, as Kipps +reported, "loads of catechism." Also there was much learning of +geographical names and lists, and sometimes Woodrow in an outbreak of +energy would see these names were actually found on a map. And once, +just once, there was a chemistry lesson—a lesson of indescribable +excitement—glass things of the strangest shape, a smell like bad eggs, +something bubbling in something, a smash and stench, and Mr. Woodrow +saying quite distinctly—they thrashed it out in the dormitory +afterwards—"Damn!" followed by the whole school being kept in, with +extraordinary severities, for an hour....</p> + +<p>But interspersed with the memories of this grey routine were certain +patches of brilliant colour—the holidays, his holidays, which in spite +of the feud between their seniors, he spent as much as possible with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +Sid Pornick, the son of the irascible black-bearded haberdasher next +door. They seemed to be memories of a different world. There were +glorious days of "mucking about" along the beach, the siege of +unresisting Martello towers, the incessant interest of the mystery and +motion of windmills, the windy excursions with boarded feet over the +yielding shingle to Dungeness lighthouse—Sid Pornick and he far adrift +from reality, smugglers and armed men from the moment they left Great +Stone behind them—wanderings in the hedgeless reedy marsh, long +excursions reaching even to Hythe, where the machine guns of the Empire +are forever whirling and tapping, and to Rye and Winchelsea, perched +like dream-cities on their little hills. The sky in these memories was +the blazing hemisphere of the marsh heavens in summer, or its wintry +tumult of sky and sea; and there were wrecks, real wrecks, in it (near +Dymchurch pitched high and blackened and rotting were the ribs of a +fishing smack flung aside like an empty basket when the sea had devoured +its crew); and there was bathing all naked in the sea, bathing to one's +armpits and even trying to swim in the warm sea-water (spite of his +aunt's prohibition), and (with her indulgence) the rare eating of dinner +from a paper parcel miles away from home. Toke and cold ground rice +pudding with plums it used to be—there is no better food at all. And +for the background, in the place of Woodrow's mean, fretting rule, were +his aunt's spare but frequently quite amiable figure—for though she +insisted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> on his repeating the English Church Catechism every Sunday, +she had an easy way over dinners that one wanted to take abroad—and his +uncle, corpulent and irascible, but sedentary and easily escaped. And freedom!</p> + +<p>The holidays were indeed very different from school. They were free, +they were spacious, and though he never knew it in these words—they had +an element of beauty. In his memory of his boyhood they shone like +strips of stained glass window in a dreary waste of scholastic wall, +they grew brighter and brighter as they grew remoter. There came a time +at last and moods when he could look back to them with a feeling akin to tears.</p> + +<p>The last of these windows was the brightest, and instead of the +kaleidoscopic effects of its predecessors its glory was a single figure. +For in the last of his holidays, before the Moloch of Retail Trade got +hold of him, Kipps made his first tentative essays at the mysterious +shrine of Love. Very tentative they were, for he had become a boy of +subdued passions, and potential rather than actual affectionateness.</p> + +<p>And the objects of these first stirrings of the great desire was no +other than Ann Pornick, the head of whose doll he and Sid had broken +long ago, and rejoiced over long ago, in the days when he had yet to +learn the meaning of a heart.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center">§3</p> + +<p>Negotiations were already on foot to make Kipps into a draper before he +discovered the lights that lurked in Ann Pornick's eyes. School was +over, absolutely over, and it was chiefly present to him that he was +never to go to school again. It was high summer. The "breaking up" of +school had been hilarious; and the excellent maxim, "Last Day's Pay +Day," had been observed by him with a scrupulous attention to his +honour. He had punched the heads of all his enemies, wrung wrists and +kicked shins; he had distributed all his unfinished copybooks, all his +school books, his collection of marbles and his mortarboard cap among +such as loved him; and he had secretly written in obscure pages of their +books, "remember Art Kipps." He had also split the anæmic Woodrow's +cane, carved his own name deeply in several places about the premises, +and broken the scullery window. He had told everybody so often that he +was to learn to be a sea captain that he had come almost to believe the +thing himself. And now he was home, and school was at an end for him for evermore.</p> + +<p>He was up before six on the day of his return, and out in the hot +sunlight of the yard. He set himself to whistle a peculiarly penetrating +arrangement of three notes supposed by the boys of the Hastings Academy +and himself and Sid Pornick, for no earthly reason whatever, to be the +original Huron war-cry. As he did this he feigned not to be doing it, +because<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> of the hatred between his uncle and the Pornicks, but to be +examining with respect and admiration a new wing of the dustbin recently +erected by his uncle—a pretence that would not have deceived a nestling tomtit.</p> + +<p>Presently there came a familiar echo from the Pornick hunting-ground. +Then Kipps began to sing, "Ar pars eight tra-la, in the lane be'ind the +church." To which an unseen person answered, "Ar pars eight it is, in +the lane be'ind the church." The "tra-la" was considered to render this +sentence incomprehensible to the uninitiated. In order to conceal their +operations still more securely, both parties to this duet then gave vent +to a vocalisation of the Huron war-cry again, and after a lingering +repetition of the last and shrillest note, dispersed severally, as +became boys in the enjoyment of holidays, to light the house fires for the day.</p> + +<p>Half-past eight found Kipps sitting on the sunlit gate at the top of the +long lane that runs towards the sea, clashing his boots in a slow +rhythm, and whistling with great violence all that he knew of an +excruciatingly pathetic air. There appeared along by the churchyard wall +a girl in a short frock, brown-haired, quick-coloured, and with dark +blue eyes. She had grown so that she was a little taller than Kipps, and +her colour had improved. He scarcely remembered her, so changed was she +since last holidays—if indeed he had seen her last holidays, a thing he +could not clearly remember. Some vague emotion arose at the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> sight of +her. He stopped whistling and regarded her, oddly tongue-tied.</p> + +<p>"He can't come," said Ann, advancing boldly. "Not yet."</p> + +<p>"What—not Sid?"</p> + +<p>"No. Father's made him dust all his boxes again."</p> + +<p>"What for?"</p> + +<p>"I dunno. Father's in a stew 'smorning."</p> + +<p>"Oh!"</p> + +<p>Pause. Kipps looked at her, and then was unable to look at her again. +She regarded him with interest. "You left school?" she remarked after a pause.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"So's Sid."</p> + +<p>The conversation languished. Ann put her hands on the top of the gate, +and began a stationary hopping, a sort of ineffectual gymnastic experiment.</p> + +<p>"Can you run?" she said presently.</p> + +<p>"Run you any day," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"Gimme a start?"</p> + +<p>"Where for?" said Kipps.</p> + +<p>Ann considered, and indicated a tree. She walked towards it, and turned. +"Gimme to here?" she called.</p> + +<p>Kipps, standing now and touching the gate, smiled to express conscious +superiority. "Further!" he said.</p> + +<p>"Here?"</p> + +<p>"Bit more!" said Kipps, and then, repenting of his magnanimity, said +"Orf!" suddenly, and so recovered his lost concession.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p><p>They arrived abreast at the tree, flushed and out of breath.</p> + +<p>"Tie!" said Ann, throwing her hair back from her face with her hand.</p> + +<p>"I won," panted Kipps.</p> + +<p>They disputed firmly but quite politely.</p> + +<p>"Run it again, then," said Kipps. "<i>I</i> don't mind."</p> + +<p>They returned towards the gate.</p> + +<p>"You don't run bad," said Kipps, temperately expressing sincere +admiration. "I'm pretty good, you know."</p> + +<p>Ann sent her hair back by an expert toss of the head. "You give me a +start," she allowed.</p> + +<p>They became aware of Sid approaching them.</p> + +<p>"You better look out, young Ann," said Sid, with that irreverent want of +sympathy usual in brothers. "You been out nearly 'arf-hour. Nothing +ain't been done upstairs. Father said he didn't know where you was, but +when he did he'd warm y'r young ear."</p> + +<p>Ann prepared to go.</p> + +<p>"How about that race?" asked Kipps.</p> + +<p>"Lor!" cried Sid, quite shocked. "You ain't been racing <i>her!</i>"</p> + +<p>Ann swung herself round the end of the gate with her eyes on Kipps, and +then turned away suddenly and ran off down the lane.</p> + +<p>Kipps' eyes tried to go after her, and came back to Sid's.</p> + +<p>"I give her a lot of start," said Kipps apologetically. "It wasn't a +proper race." And so the subject<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> was dismissed. But Kipps was +<i>distrait</i> for some seconds, perhaps, and the mischief had begun in him.</p> + +<p class="center">§4</p> + +<p>They proceeded to the question of how two accomplished Hurons might most +satisfactorily spend the morning. Manifestly their line lay straight +along the lane to the sea.</p> + +<p>"There's a new wreck," said Sid, "and my!—don't it smell just!"</p> + +<p>"Smell?"</p> + +<p>"Fair make you sick. It's rotten wheat."</p> + +<p>They fell to talking of wrecks, and so came to ironclads and wars and +suchlike manly matters.</p> + +<p>Half-way to the wreck Kipps made a casual irrelevant remark. "Your +sister ain't a bad sort," he said off-handedly.</p> + +<p>"I clout her a lot," said Sidney modestly, and after a pause the talk +reverted to more suitable topics.</p> + +<p>The new wreck was full of rotting grain, and smelt abominably, even as +Sid had said. This was excellent. They had it all to themselves. They +took possession of it in force, at Sid's suggestion, and had speedily to +defend it against enormous numbers of imaginary "natives," who were at +last driven off by loud shouts of <i>bang</i>, <i>bang</i>, and vigorous thrusting +and shoving of sticks. Then, also at Sid's direction, they sailed with +it into the midst of a combined French, German and Russian fleet, +demolishing the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>combination unassisted, and having descended to the +beach, clambered up the side and cut out their own vessel in brilliant +style, they underwent a magnificent shipwreck (with vocalised thunder) +and floated "waterlogged"—so Sid insisted—upon an exhausted sea.</p> + +<p>These things drove Ann out of mind for a time. But at last, as they +drifted without food or water upon a stagnant ocean, haggard-eyed, chins +between their hands, looking in vain for a sail, she came to mind again abruptly.</p> + +<p>"It's rather nice 'aving sisters," remarked one perishing mariner.</p> + +<p>Sid turned round and regarded him thoughtfully. "Not it!" he said.</p> + +<p>"No?"</p> + +<p>"Not a bit of it." He grinned confidentially. "Know too much," he said; +and afterwards, "Get out of things."</p> + +<p>He resumed his gloomy scrutiny of the hopeless horizon. Presently he +fell to spitting jerkily between his teeth, as he had read was the way +with such ripe manhood as chews its quid.</p> + +<p>"Sisters," he said, "is rot. That's what sisters are. Girls if you like, +but sisters—no!"</p> + +<p>"But ain't sisters girls?"</p> + +<p>"<i>N-eaow!</i>" said Sid, with unspeakable scorn.</p> + +<p>And Kipps answered, "Of course. I didn't mean—— I wasn't thinking of +that."</p> + +<p>"You got a girl?" asked Sid, spitting very cleverly again.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p><p>Kipps admitted his deficiency. He felt compunction.</p> + +<p>"You don't know who <i>my</i> girl is, Art Kipps—I bet."</p> + +<p>"Who is, then?" asked Kipps, still chiefly occupied by his own poverty.</p> + +<p>"Ah!"</p> + +<p>Kipps let a moment elapse before he did his duty. "Tell us!"</p> + +<p>Sid eyed him and hesitated. "Secret?" he said.</p> + +<p>"Secret."</p> + +<p>"Dying solemn?"</p> + +<p>"Dying solemn!" Kipps' self-concentration passed into curiosity.</p> + +<p>Sid administered a terrible oath. Even after that precaution he adhered +lovingly to his facts. "It begins with a Nem," he said, doling them out +parsimoniously. "M A U D," he spelt, with a stern eye on Kipps, "C H A R +T E R I S."</p> + +<p>Now, Maud Charteris was a young person of eighteen and the daughter of +the vicar of St. Bavon's,—besides which she had a bicycle,—so that as +her name unfolded the face of Kipps lengthened with respect. "Get out!" +he gasped incredulously. "She ain't your girl, Sid Pornick."</p> + +<p>"She is!" answered Sid, stoutly.</p> + +<p>"What—truth?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Truth.</i>"</p> + +<p>Kipps scrutinised his face. "Reely?"</p> + +<p>Sid touched wood, whistled, and repeated a binding doggerel with great +solemnity.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p><p>Kipps still struggled with the amazing new light on the world about +him. "D'you mean—she knows?"</p> + +<p>Sid flushed deeply, and his aspect became stern and gloomy. He resumed +his wistful scrutiny of the sunlit sea. "I'd die for that girl, Art +Kipps," he said presently, and Kipps did not press a question he felt to +be ill timed. "I'd do anything she asked me to do," said Sid—"just +anything. If she was to ask me to chuck myself into the sea." He met +Kipps' eye. "I <i>would</i>," he said.</p> + +<p>They were pensive for a space, and then Sid began to discourse in +fragments of Love, a theme upon which Kipps had already in a furtive way +meditated a little, but which, apart from badinage, he had never yet +heard talked about in the light of day. Of course many and various +aspects of life had come to light in the muffled exchange of knowledge +that went on under the shadow of Woodrow, but this of Sentimental Love +was not among them. Sid, who was a boy with an imagination, having once +broached this topic, opened his heart, or at any rate a new wing of his +heart, to Kipps, and found no fault with Kipps for a lack of return. He +produced a thumbed novelette that had played a part in his sentimental +awakening; he proffered it to Kipps, and confessed there was a character +in it, a baronet, singularly like himself. This baronet was a person of +volcanic passions which he concealed beneath a demeanour of "icy +cynicism." The utmost expression he permitted himself was to grit his +teeth; and now his attention was called to it,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> Kipps remarked that Sid +also had a habit of gritting his teeth—and indeed had had all the +morning. They read for a time, and presently Sid talked again. The +conception of love Sid made evident was compact of devotion and much +spirited fighting and a touch of mystery; but through all that cloud of +talk there floated before Kipps a face that was flushed and hair that +was tossed aside.</p> + +<p>So they budded, sitting on the blackening old wreck in which men had +lived and died, looking out to sea, talking of that other sea upon which +they must presently embark....</p> + +<p>They ceased to talk, and Sid read; but Kipps falling behind with the +reading and not wishing to admit that he read slowlier than Sid, whose +education was of the inferior elementary school brand, lapsed into +meditation.</p> + +<p>"I <i>would</i> like to 'ave a girl," said Kipps. "I mean just to talk to and +all that...."</p> + +<p>A floating object distracted them at last from this obscure topic. They +abandoned the wreck and followed the new interest a mile along the +beach, bombarding it with stones until it came to land. They had +inclined to a view that it would contain romantic mysteries, but it was +simply an ill-preserved kitten—too much even for them. And at last they +were drawn dinnerward and went home hungry and pensive side by side.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center">§5</p> + +<p>But Kipps' imagination had been warmed by that talk of love, and in the +afternoon, when he saw Ann Pornick in the High Street and said "Hello!" +it was a different "hello" from that of their previous intercourse. And +when they had passed they both looked back and caught each other doing +so. Yes, he <i>did</i> want a girl badly....</p> + +<p>Afterwards he was distracted by a traction engine going through the +town, and his aunt had got some sprats for supper. When he was in bed, +however, sentiment came upon him again in a torrent quite abruptly and +abundantly, and he put his head under the pillow and whispered very +softly, "I love Ann Pornick," as a sort of supplementary devotion.</p> + +<p>In his subsequent dreams he ran races with Ann, and they lived in a +wreck together, and always her face was flushed and her hair about her +face. They just lived in a wreck and ran races, and were very, very fond +of one another. And their favourite food was rock-chocolate, dates, such +as one buys off barrows, and sprats—fried sprats....</p> + +<p>In the morning he could hear Ann singing in the scullery next door. He +listened to her for some time, and it was clear to him that he must put +things before her.</p> + +<p>Towards dusk that evening they chanced on one another at the gate by the +church; but though there was much in his mind, it stopped there with a +resolute<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> shyness until he and Ann were out of breath catching +cockchafers, and were sitting on that gate of theirs again. Ann sat up +upon the gate, dark against vast masses of flaming crimson and darkling +purple, and her eyes looked at Kipps from a shadowed face. There came a +stillness between them, and quite abruptly he was moved to tell his love.</p> + +<p>"Ann," he said, "I <i>do</i> like you. I wish you was my girl.... I say, Ann: +will you <i>be</i> my girl?"</p> + +<p>Ann made no pretence of astonishment. She weighed the proposal for a +moment with her eyes on Kipps. "If you like, Artie," she said lightly. +"<i>I</i> don't mind if I am."</p> + +<p>"All right," said Kipps, breathless with excitement, "then you are."</p> + +<p>"All right," said Ann.</p> + +<p>Something seemed to fall between them, and they no longer looked openly +at one another. "Lor'!" cried Ann suddenly, "see that one!" and jumped +down and darted after a cockchafer that had boomed within a yard of her +face. And with that they were girl and boy again....</p> + +<p>They avoided their new relationship painfully.</p> + +<p>They did not recur to it for several days, though they met twice. Both +felt that there remained something before this great experience was +complete, but there was an infinite diffidence about the next step. +Kipps talked in fragments of all sorts of matters, telling particularly +of the great things that were being done to make a man and a draper of +him, how he had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> two new pairs of trousers and a black coat and four new +shirts. And all the while his imagination was urging him to that unknown +next step, and when he was alone and in the dark he became even an +enterprising wooer. It became evident to him that it would be nice to +take Ann by the hand; even the decorous novelettes Sid affected egged +him on to that greater nearness of intimacy.</p> + +<p>Then a great idea came to him, in a paragraph called "Lovers' Tokens" +that he read in a torn fragment of <i>Tit Bits</i>. It fell in to the measure +of his courage—a divided sixpence! He secured his aunt's best scissors, +fished a sixpence out of his jejune tin money-box, and jabbed his finger +in a varied series of attempts to get it in half. When they met again +the sixpence was still undivided. He had not intended to mention the +matter to her at that stage, but it came up spontaneously. He +endeavoured to explain the theory of broken sixpences and his unexpected +failure to break one.</p> + +<p>"But what you break it for?" said Ann. "It's no good if it's broke."</p> + +<p>"It's a Token," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"Like...?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you keep half and I keep half, and when we're sep'rated you look at +your half and I look at mine—see! Then we think of each other."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Ann, and appeared to assimilate this information.</p> + +<p>"Only <i>I</i> can't get it in 'arf nohow," said Kipps.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p><p>They discussed this difficulty for some time without illumination. Then +Ann had a happy thought. "Tell you what," she said, starting away from +him abruptly and laying a hand on his arm, "you let <i>me</i> 'ave it, Artie. +I know where father keeps his file."</p> + +<p>Kipps handed her the sixpence, and they came upon a pause.</p> + +<p>"I'll easy do it," said Ann.</p> + +<p>In considering the sixpence side by side, his head had come near her +cheek. Quite abruptly he was moved to take his next step into the +unknown mysteries of love.</p> + +<p>"Ann," he said, and gulped at his temerity, "I <i>do</i> love you. Straight. +I'd do anything for you, Ann. Reely—I would."</p> + +<p>He paused for breath. She answered nothing, but she was no doubt +enjoying herself. He came yet closer to her—his shoulder touched hers. +"Ann, I wish you'd——"</p> + +<p>He stopped.</p> + +<p>"What?" said Ann.</p> + +<p>"Ann—lemme kiss you."</p> + +<p>Things seemed to hang for a space; his tone, the drop of his courage, +made the thing incredible as he spoke. Kipps was not of that bold order +of wooers who impose conditions.</p> + +<p>Ann perceived that she was not prepared for kissing after all. Kissing, +she said, was silly, and when Kipps would have displayed a belated +enterprise, she flung away from him. He essayed argument. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> stood afar +off, as it were—the better part of a yard—and said she <i>might</i> let him +kiss her, and then that he didn't see what good it was for her to be his +girl if he couldn't kiss her.</p> + +<p>She repeated that kissing was silly. A certain estrangement took them +homeward. They arrived in the dusky High Street not exactly together, +and not exactly apart, but struggling. They had not kissed, but all the +guilt of kissing was between them. When Kipps saw the portly contours of +his uncle standing dimly in the shop doorway, his footsteps faltered, +and the space between our young couple increased. Above, the window over +Pornick's shop was open, and Mrs. Pornick was visible, taking the air. +Kipps assumed an expression of extreme innocence. He found himself face +to face with his uncle's advanced outposts of waistcoat buttons.</p> + +<p>"Where ye bin, my boy?"</p> + +<p>"Bin for a walk, uncle."</p> + +<p>"Not along of that brat of Pornick's?"</p> + +<p>"Along of who?"</p> + +<p>"That gell"—indicating Ann with his pipe.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, uncle!"—very faintly.</p> + +<p>"Run in, my boy."</p> + +<p>Old Kipps stood aside, with an oblique glance upward, and his nephew +brushed clumsily by him and vanished out of sight of the street, into +the vague obscurity of the little shop. The door closed behind old Kipps +with a nervous jangle of its bell, and he set himself to light the +single oil lamp that illuminated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> his shop at nights. It was an +operation requiring care and watching, or else it flared and "smelt." +Often it smelt after all. Kipps for some reason found the dusky +living-room with his aunt in it too populous for his feelings, and went upstairs.</p> + +<p>"That brat of Pornick's!" It seemed to him that a horrible catastrophe +had occurred. He felt he had identified himself inextricably with his +uncle, and cut himself off from her for ever by saying "Oh, no!" At +supper he was so visibly depressed that his aunt asked him if he wasn't +feeling well. Under this imminent threat of medicine he assumed an +unnatural cheerfulness.</p> + +<p>He lay awake for nearly half an hour that night, groaning because things +had all gone wrong—because Ann wouldn't let him kiss her, and because +his uncle had called her a brat. It seemed to Kipps almost as though he +himself had called her a brat....</p> + +<p>There came an interval during which Ann was altogether inaccessible. +One, two, three days passed, and he did not see her. Sid he met several +times; they went fishing, and twice they bathed; but though Sid lent and +received back two further love stories, they talked no more of love. +They kept themselves in accord, however, agreeing that the most +flagrantly sentimental story was "proper." Kipps was always wanting to +speak of Ann, but never daring to do so. He saw her on Sunday evening +going off to chapel. She was more beautiful than ever in her Sunday +clothes, but she pretended not to see him because her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> mother was with +her. But he thought she pretended not to see him because she had given +him up for ever. Brat!—who could be expected ever to forgive that? He +abandoned himself to despair, he ceased even to haunt the places where +she might be found.</p> + +<p class="center">§6</p> + +<p>With paralysing unexpectedness came the end.</p> + +<p>Mr. Shalford, the draper at Folkestone to whom he was to be bound +apprentice, had expressed a wish to "shape the lad a bit" before the +autumn sale. Kipps became aware that his box was being packed, and +gathered the full truth of things on the evening before his departure. +He became feverishly eager to see Ann just once more. He made silly and +needless excuses to go out into the yard, he walked three times across +the street without any excuse at all, to look up at the Pornick windows. +Still she was hidden. He grew desperate. It was within half an hour of +his departure that he came on Sid.</p> + +<p>"Hello!" he said; "I'm orf!"</p> + +<p>"Business?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>Pause.</p> + +<p>"I say, Sid. You going 'ome?"</p> + +<p>"Straight now."</p> + +<p>"D'you mind? Ask Ann about that."</p> + +<p>"About what?"</p> + +<p>"She'll know."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p><p>And Sid said he would. But even that, it seemed, failed to evoke Ann.</p> + +<p>At last the Folkestone bus rumbled up, and he ascended. His aunt stood +in the doorway to see him off. His uncle assisted with the box and +portmanteau. Only furtively could he glance up at the Pornick windows, +and still it seemed Ann hardened her heart against him. "Get up!" said +the driver, and the hoofs began to clatter. No—she would not come out +even to see him off. The bus was in motion, and old Kipps was going back +into his shop. Kipps stared in front of him, assuring himself that he +did not care.</p> + +<p>He heard a door slam, and instantly craned out his neck to look back. He +knew that slam so well. Behold! out of the haberdasher's door a small, +untidy figure in homely pink print had shot resolutely into the road, +and was sprinting in pursuit. In a dozen seconds she was abreast of the +bus. At the sight of her Kipps' heart began to beat very quickly, but he +made no immediate motion of recognition.</p> + +<p>"Artie!" she cried breathlessly, "Artie! Artie! You know! I got <i>that</i>!"</p> + +<p>The bus was already quickening its pace, and leaving her behind again, +when Kipps realized what "that" meant. He became animated, he gasped, +and gathered his courage together, and mumbled an incoherent request to +the driver to "stop jest a jiff for sunthin'." The driver grunted, as +the disparity of their years demanded, and then the bus had pulled up, +and Ann was below.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p><p>She leapt up upon the wheel. Kipps looked down into Ann's face, and it +was foreshortened and resolute. He met her eyes just for one second as +their hands touched. He was not a reader of eyes. Something passed +quickly from hand to hand, something that the driver, alert at the +corner of his eye, was not allowed to see. Kipps hadn't a word to say, +and all she said was, "I done it, 'smorning." It was like a blank space +in which something pregnant should have been written and wasn't. Then +she dropped down, and the bus moved forward.</p> + +<p>After the lapse of about ten seconds it occurred to him to stand and +wave his new bowler hat at her over the corner of the bus top, and to +shout hoarsely, "Goo-bye, Ann! Don' forget me—while I'm away!"</p> + +<p>She stood in the road looking after him, and presently she waved her hand.</p> + +<p>He remained standing unstably, his bright, flushed face looking back at +her, and his hair fluffing in the wind, and he waved his hat until at +last the bend of the road hid her from his eyes. Then he turned about +and sat down, and presently he began to put the half sixpence he held +clenched in his hand into his trouser pocket. He looked sideways at the +driver, to judge how much he had seen.</p> + +<p>Then he fell a-thinking. He resolved that, come what might, when he came +back to New Romney at Christmas, he would by hook or by crook kiss Ann.</p> + +<p>Then everything would be perfect and right, and he would be perfectly happy.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER II</span> <span class="smaller">THE EMPORIUM</span></h2> + +<p class="center">§1</p> + +<p>When Kipps left New Romney, with a small yellow tin box, a still smaller +portmanteau, a new umbrella, and a keepsake half-sixpence, to become a +draper, he was a youngster of fourteen, thin, with whimsical drakes' +tails at the poll of his head, smallish features, and eyes that were +sometimes very light and sometimes very dark, gifts those of his birth; +and by the nature of his training he was indistinct in his speech, +confused in his mind, and retreating in his manners. Inexorable fate had +appointed him to serve his country in commerce, and the same national +bias towards private enterprise and leaving bad alone, which entrusted +his general education to Mr. Woodrow, now indentured him firmly into the +hands of Mr. Shalford, of the Folkestone Drapery Bazaar. Apprenticeship +is still the recognised English way to the distributing branch of the +social service. If Mr. Kipps had been so unfortunate as to have been +born a German he might have been educated in an elaborate and costly +special school ("over-educated—crammed up"—Old Kipps) to fit him for +his end<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>—such being their pedagogic way. He might.... But why make +unpatriotic reflections in a novel? There was nothing pedagogic about +Mr. Shalford.</p> + +<p>He was an irascible, energetic little man, with hairy hands, for the +most part under his coat tails, a long, shiny, bald head, a pointed, +aquiline nose a little askew, and a neatly trimmed beard. He walked +lightly and with a confident jerk, and he was given to humming. He had +added to exceptional business "push," bankruptcy under the old +dispensation, and judicious matrimony. His establishment was now one of +the most considerable in Folkestone, and he insisted on every inch of +frontage by alternate stripes of green and yellow down the houses over +the shops. His shops were numbered 3, 5 and 7 on the street, and on his +billheads 3 to 7. He encountered the abashed and awestricken Kipps with +the praises of his system and himself. He spread himself out behind his +desk with a grip on the lapel of his coat and made Kipps a sort of +speech. "We expect y'r to work, y'r know, and we expect y'r to study our +interests," explained Mr. Shalford in the regal and commercial plural. +"Our system here is the best system y'r could have. I made it, and I +ought to know. I began at the very bottom of the ladder when I was +fourteen, and there isn't a step in it I don't know. Not a step. Mr. +Booch in the desk will give y'r the card of rules and fines. Jest wait a +minute." He pretended to be busy with some dusty memoranda under a +paper-weight, while Kipps stood in a sort of paralysis of awe regarding +his new<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> master's oval baldness. "Two thous'n three forty-seven pounds," +whispered Mr. Shalford audibly, feigning forgetfulness of Kipps. Clearly +a place of great transactions!</p> + +<p>Mr. Shalford rose, and handing Kipps a blotting-pad and an inkpot to +carry—mere symbols of servitude, for he made no use of them—emerged +into a counting-house where three clerks had been feverishly busy ever +since his door handle had turned. "Booch," said Mr. Shalford, "'ave y'r +copy of the rules?" and a down-trodden, shabby little old man with a +ruler in one hand and a quill pen in his mouth, silently held out a +small book with green and yellow covers, mainly devoted, as Kipps +presently discovered, to a voracious system of fines. He became acutely +aware that his hands were full, and that everybody was staring at him. +He hesitated a moment before putting the inkpot down to free a hand.</p> + +<p>"Mustn't fumble like <i>that</i>," said Mr. Shalford as Kipps pocketed the +rules. "Won't do here. Come along, come along," and he cocked his coat +tails high, as a lady might hold up her dress, and led the way into the +shop.</p> + +<p>A vast interminable place it seemed to Kipps, with unending shining +counters and innumerable faultlessly dressed young men and presently +Houri-like young women staring at him. Here there was a long vista of +gloves dangling from overhead rods, there ribbons and baby-linen. A +short young lady in black mittens was making out the account of a +customer,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> and was clearly confused in her addition by Shalford's eagle +eye.</p> + +<p>A thickset young man with a bald head and a round, very wise face, who +was profoundly absorbed in adjusting all the empty chairs down the +counter to absolutely equal distances, awoke out of his preoccupation +and answered respectfully to a few Napoleonic and quite unnecessary +remarks from his employer. Kipps was told that this young man's name was +Mr. Buggins, and that he was to do whatever Mr. Buggins told him to do.</p> + +<p>They came round a corner into a new smell, which was destined to be the +smell of Kipps' life for many years, the vague, distinctive smell of +Manchester goods. A fat man with a large nose jumped—actually +jumped—at their appearance, and began to fold a pattern of damask in +front of him exactly like an automaton that is suddenly set going.</p> + +<p>"Carshot, see to this boy to-morrow," said the master. "See he don't +fumble. Smart'n 'im up."</p> + +<p>"Yussir," said Carshot fatly, glanced at Kipps, and resumed his +pattern-folding with extreme zeal.</p> + +<p>"Whatever Mr. Carshot says y'r to do, ye <i>do</i>," said Mr. Shalford, +trotting onward; and Carshot blew out his face with an appearance of relief.</p> + +<p>They crossed a large room full of the strangest things Kipps had ever +seen. Ladylike figures, surmounted by black wooden knobs in the place of +the refined heads one might have reasonably expected, stood about with a +lifelike air of conscious fashion.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Costume room," said Shalford.</p> + +<p>Two voices engaged in some sort of argument—"I can assure you, Miss +Mergle, you are entirely mistaken—entirely, in supposing I should do +anything so unwomanly,"—sank abruptly, and they discovered two young +ladies, taller and fairer than any of the other young ladies, and with +black trains to their dresses, who were engaged in writing at a little +table. Whatever they told him to do, Kipps gathered he was to do. He was +also, he understood, to do whatever Carshot and Booch told him to do. +And there were also Buggins and Mr. Shalford. And not to forget or fumble!</p> + +<p>They descended into a cellar called "The Warehouse," and Kipps had an +optical illusion of errand boys fighting. Some aerial voice said, +"Teddy!" and the illusion passed. He looked again, and saw quite clearly +that they were packing parcels and always would be, and that the last +thing in the world that they would or could possibly do was to fight. +Yet he gathered from the remarks Mr. Shalford addressed to their busy +backs that they had been fighting—no doubt at some past period of their +lives.</p> + +<p>Emerging in the shop again among a litter of toys and what are called +"fancy articles," Shalford withdrew a hand from beneath his coat tails +to indicate an overhead change-carrier. He entered into elaborate +calculations to show how many minutes in one year were saved thereby, +and lost himself among the figures. "Seven tums eight seven nine—was +it? Or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> seven eight nine? Now, <i>now</i>! Why, when I was a boy your age I +c'd do a sum like that as soon as hear it. We'll soon get y'r into +better shape than that. Make you Fishent. Well, y'r must take my word, +it comes to pounds and pounds saved in the year—pounds and pounds. +System! System everywhere. Fishency." He went on murmuring "Fishency" +and "System" at intervals for some time.</p> + +<p>They passed into a yard, and Mr. Shalford waved his hand to his three +delivery vans all striped green and yellow—"uniform—green, +yell'r—System." All over the premises were pinned absurd little cards. +"This door locked after 7:30.—By order, Edwin Shalford," and the like.</p> + +<p>Mr. Shalford always wrote "By order," though it conveyed no earthly +meaning to him. He was one of those people who collect technicalities +upon them as the Reduvius bug collects dirt. He was the sort of man who +is not only ignorant, but absolutely incapable of English. When he +wanted to say he had a sixpenny-ha'penny longcloth to sell, he put it +thus to startled customers: "Can DO you one, six half if y' like." He +always omitted pronouns and articles and so forth; it seemed to him the +very essence of the efficiently businesslike. His only preposition was +"as" or the compound "as per." He abbreviated every word he could; he +would have considered himself the laughing-stock of Wood Street if he +had chanced to spell <i>socks</i> in any way but "sox." But, on the other +hand, if he saved words here, he wasted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> them there: he never +acknowledged an order that was not an esteemed favour, nor sent a +pattern without begging to submit it. He never stipulated for so many +months' credit, but bought in November "as Jan." It was not only words +he abbreviated in his London communications. In paying his wholesalers +his "System" admitted of a constant error in the discount of a penny or +twopence, and it "facilitated business," he alleged, to ignore odd pence +in the cheques he wrote. His ledger clerk was so struck with the beauty +of this part of the System, that he started a private one on his own +account with the stamp box, that never came to Shalford's knowledge.</p> + +<p>This admirable British merchant would glow with a particular pride of +intellect when writing his London orders.</p> + +<p>"Ah! do y'r think <i>you</i>'ll ever be able to write London orders?" he +would say with honest pride to Kipps, waiting impatiently long after +closing time to take these triumphs of commercial efficiency to post, +and so end the interminable day.</p> + +<p>Kipps shook his head, anxious for Mr. Shalford to get on.</p> + +<p>"Now, here, f' example, I've written—see?—'1 piece 1 in. cott. blk, +elas. 1/ or.' What do I mean by that <i>or</i>, eh?—d'ye know?"</p> + +<p>Kipps promptly hadn't the faintest idea.</p> + +<p>"And then, '2 ea. silk net as per patts herewith': <i>ea.</i>, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Dunno, sir."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p><p>It was not Mr. Shalford's way to explain things. "Dear, dear! Pity you +couldn't get some c'mercial education at your school. 'Stid of all this +lit'ry stuff. Well, my boy, if y' don't 'ussel a bit y'll never write +London orders, <i>that's</i> pretty plain. Jest stick stamps on all those +letters, and mind y'r stick 'em right way up, and try and profit a +little more by the opportunities your aunt and uncle have provided ye. +Can't say <i>what</i>'ll happen t'ye if ye don't."</p> + +<p>And Kipps, tired, hungry, and belated, set about stamping with vigour +and despatch.</p> + +<p>"Lick the <i>envelope</i>," said Mr. Shalford, "lick the <i>envelope</i>," as +though he grudged the youngster the postage-stamp gum. "It's the little +things mount up," he would say; and, indeed, that was his philosophy of +life—to bustle and save, always to bustle and save. His political creed +linked Reform, which meant nothing, with Efficiency which meant a +sweated service, and Economy which meant a sweated expenditure, and his +conception of a satisfactory municipal life was to "keep down the +rates." Even his religion was to save his soul, and to preach a similar +cheese-paring to the world.</p> + +<p class="center">§2</p> + +<p>The indentures that bound Kipps to Mr. Shalford were antique and +complex: they insisted on the latter gentleman's parental privileges; +they forbade Kipps to dice and game; they made him over body and soul +to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> Mr. Shalford for seven long years, the crucial years of his life. In +return there were vague stipulations about teaching the whole art and +mystery of the trade to him; but as there was no penalty attached to +negligence, Mr. Shalford, being a sound, practical business man, +considered this a mere rhetorical flourish, and set himself assiduously +to get as much out of Kipps and to put as little into him as he could in +the seven years of their intercourse.</p> + +<p>What he put into Kipps was chiefly bread and margarine, infusions of +chicory and tea-dust, colonial meat by contract at threepence a pound, +potatoes by the sack, and watered beer. If, however, Kipps chose to buy +any supplementary material for growth, Mr. Shalford had the generosity +to place his kitchen resources at his disposal free—if the fire chanced +to be going. He was also allowed to share a bedroom with eight other +young Englishmen, and to sleep in a bed which, except in very severe +weather, could be made with the help of his overcoat and private +underlinen, not to mention newspapers, quite sufficiently warm for any +reasonable soul. In addition Kipps was taught the list of fines; and how +to tie up parcels; to know where goods were kept in Mr. Shalford's +systematised shop; to hold his hands extended upon the counter and to +repeat such phrases as "What can I have the pleasure...?" "No trouble, I +'ssure you," and the like; to block, fold, and measure materials of all +sorts; to lift his hat from his head when he passed Mr. Shalford abroad, +and to practise a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> servile obedience to a large number of people. But he +was not, of course, taught the "cost" mark of the goods he sold, nor +anything of the method of buying such goods. Nor was his attention +directed to the unfamiliar social habits and fashions to which his trade +ministered. The use of half the goods he saw sold and was presently to +assist in selling he did not understand; materials for hangings, +cretonnes, chintzes, and the like, serviettes and all the bright, hard +white wear of a well-ordered house, pleasant dress materials, linings, +stiffenings—they were to him from first to last no more than things +heavy and difficult to handle in bulk, that one folded up, unfolded, cut +in lengths, and saw dwindle and pass away out into that mysterious happy +world in which the customer dwells. Kipps hurried from piling linen +table-cloths, that were collectively as heavy as lead, to eat off +oil-cloth in a gas-lit dining-room underground; and he dreamt of combing +endless blankets beneath his overcoat, spare undershirt, and three +newspapers. So he had at least the chance of learning the beginnings of +philosophy.</p> + +<p>In return for these benefits he worked so that he commonly went to bed +exhausted and footsore. His round began at half-past six in the morning, +when he would descend unwashed and shirtless, in old clothes and a +scarf, and dust boxes and yawn, and take down wrappers and clean the +windows until eight. Then in half an hour he would complete his toilet +and take an austere breakfast of bread and margarine and what only an +Imperial Englishman would admit to be <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>coffee, after which refreshment +he ascended to the shop for the labours of the day. Commonly these began +with a mighty running to and fro with planks and boxes and goods for +Carshot, the window-dresser, who, whether he worked well or ill, nagged +persistently by reason of a chronic indigestion, until the window was +done. Sometimes the costume window had to be dressed, and then Kipps +staggered down the whole length of the shop from the costume room with +one after another of those ladylike shapes grasped firmly, but +shamefully, each about her single ankle of wood. Such days as there was +no window-dressing, there was a mighty carrying and lifting of blocks +and bales of goods into piles and stacks. After this there were terrible +exercises, at first almost despairfully difficult: certain sorts of +goods that came in folded had to be rolled upon rollers, and for the +most part refused absolutely to be rolled, at any rate by Kipps; and +certain other sorts of goods that came from the wholesalers rolled had +to be measured and folded, which folding makes young apprentices wish +they were dead. All of it, too, quite avoidable trouble, you know, that +is not avoided because of the cheapness of the genteeler sorts of labour +and the dearness of forethought in the world. And then consignments of +new goods had to be marked off and packed into proper parcels; and +Carshot packed like conjuring tricks, and Kipps packed like a boy with +tastes in some other direction—not ascertained. And always Carshot nagged.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p><p>He had a curious formula of appeal to his visceral œconomy, had +Carshot, that the refinement of the times and the earnest entreaties of +my friends induce me to render by an anæmic paraphrase.</p> + +<p>"My heart and lungs! I never see such a boy," so I present Carshot's +refrain; and even when he was within a foot or so of the customer's face +the disciplined ear of Kipps would still at times develop a featureless, +intercalary murmur into—well, "my heart and lungs!"</p> + +<p>There came a blessed interval when Kipps was sent abroad "matching." +This consisted chiefly in supplying unexpected defects in buttons, +ribbon, lining, and so forth in the dressmaking department. He was given +a written paper of orders with patterns pinned thereto, and discharged +into the sunshine and interest of the street. Then, until he thought it +wise to return and stand the racket of his delay, he was a free man, +clear of all reproach.</p> + +<p>He made remarkable discoveries in topography, as for example that the +most convenient way from the establishment of Mr. Adolphus Davis to the +establishment of Messrs. Plummer, Roddis & Tyrrel, two of his principal +places of call, is not as is generally supposed down the Sandgate Road, +but up the Sandgate Road, round by West Terrace, and along the Leas to +the lift, watch the lift up and down <i>twice</i>, but not longer, because +that wouldn't do, back along the Leas, watch the Harbour for a short +time, and then round by the churchyard, and so (hurrying) into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> Church +Street and Rendezvous Street. But on some exceptionally fine days the +route lay through Radnor Park to the pond where the little boys sail +ships and there are interesting swans.</p> + +<p>He would return to find the shop settling down to the business of +serving customers. And now he had to stand by to furnish any help that +was necessary to the seniors who served, to carry parcels and bills +about the shop, to clear away "stuff" after each engagement, to hold up +curtains until his arms ached, and what was more difficult than all, to +do nothing, and not stare disconcertingly at customers when there was +nothing for him to do. He plumbed an abyss of boredom, or stood a mere +carcass, with his mind far away, fighting the enemies of the Empire, or +steering a dream ship perilously into unknown seas. To be recalled +sharply to our higher civilisation by some bustling senior's "Nar then, +Kipps. <i>Look</i> alive! Ketch 'old. (My heart and lungs!)"</p> + +<p>At half-past seven o'clock—except on late nights—a feverish activity +of "straightening up" began, and when the last shutter was up outside, +Kipps with the speed of an arrow leaving a bow would start hanging +wrappers over the fixtures and over the piles of wares upon the +counters, preparatory to a vigorous scattering of wet sawdust and the +sweeping out of the shop.</p> + +<p>Sometimes people would stay long after the shop was closed—"They don't +mind a bit at Shalford's," these ladies used to say—it is always ladies +do this sort of thing—and while they loitered it was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>forbidden to +touch a wrapper, or take any measures to conclude the day until the +doors closed behind them.</p> + +<p>Mr. Kipps would watch these later customers from the shadow of a stack +of goods, and death and disfigurement was the least he wished for them. +Rarely much later than nine, a supper of bread and cheese and watered +beer awaited him upstairs, and, that consumed, the rest of the day was +entirely at his disposal for reading, recreation, and the improvement of +his mind....</p> + +<p>The front door was locked at half-past ten, and the gas in the dormitory +extinguished at eleven.</p> + +<p class="center">§3</p> + +<p>On Sundays he was obliged to go to church once, and commonly he went +twice, for there was nothing else to do. He sat in the free seats at the +back; he was too shy to sing, and not always clever enough to keep his +place in the prayer-book, and he rarely listened to the sermon. But he +had developed a sort of idea that going to church had a tendency to +alleviate life. His aunt wanted to have him confirmed, but he evaded +this ceremony for some years.</p> + +<p>In the intervals between services he walked about Folkestone with an air +of looking for something. Folkestone was not so interesting on Sundays +as on week-days, because the shops were shut; but on the other hand +there was a sort of confusing brilliance along the front of the Leas in +the afternoon. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>Sometimes the apprentice next above him would condescend +to go with him; but when the apprentice next but one above him +condescended to go with the apprentice next above him, then Kipps, being +habited as yet in ready-made clothes without tails, and unsuitable +therefore to appear in such company, went alone.</p> + +<p>Sometimes he would strike out into the country—still as if looking for +something he missed—but the rope of meal-times haled him home again; +and sometimes he would invest the major portion of the weekly allowance +of a shilling that old Booch handed out to him, in a sacred concert on +the pier. He would sometimes walk up and down the Leas between twenty +and thirty times after supper, desiring much the courage to speak to +some other person in the multitude similarly employed. Almost invariably +he ended his Sunday footsore.</p> + +<p>He never read a book; there were none for him to read, and besides, in +spite of Mr. Woodrow's guidance through a cheap and cheaply annotated +edition of the <i>Tempest</i> (English Literature) he had no taste that way; +he never read any newspapers, except occasionally <i>Tit-Bits</i> or a +ha'penny "comic." His chief intellectual stimulus was an occasional +argey-bargey that sprang up between Carshot and Buggins at dinner. Kipps +listened as if to unparalleled wisdom and wit, and treasured all the +gems of repartee in his heart against the time when he, too, should be a +Buggins and have the chance and courage for speech.</p> + +<p>At times there came breaks in this routine—sale<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> times, darkened by +extra toil and work past midnight, but brightened by a sprat supper and +some shillings in the way of 'premiums.' And every year—not now and +then, but every year—Mr. Shalford, with parenthetic admiration of his +own generosity and glancing comparisons with the austerer days when <i>he</i> +was apprenticed, conceded Kipps no less than ten days' holiday—ten +whole days every year! Many a poor soul at Portland might well envy the +fortunate Kipps. Insatiable heart of man! but how those days were +grudged and counted as they snatched themselves away from him one after another!</p> + +<p>Once a year came stock-taking, and at intervals gusts of "marking off" +goods newly arrived. Then the splendours of Mr. Shalford's being shone +with oppressive brilliancy. "System!" he would say, "system. Come! +'ussel!" and issue sharp, confusing, contradictory orders very quickly. +Carshot trotted about, confused, perspiring, his big nose up in the air, +his little eye on Mr. Shalford, his forehead crinkled, his lips always +going to the formula "Oh, my heart and lungs!" The smart junior and the +second apprentice vied with one another in obsequious alacrity. The +smart junior aspired to Carshot's position, and that made him almost +violently subservient to Shalford. They all snapped at Kipps. Kipps held +the blotting-pad and the safety inkpot and a box of tickets, and ran and +fetched things. If he put the ink down before he went to fetch things +Mr. Shalford usually knocked it over, and if he took it away Mr. +Shalford<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> wanted it before he returned. "You make my tooth ache, Kipps," +Mr. Shalford would say. "You gimme n'ralgia. You got no more System in +you than a bad potato." And at the times when Kipps carried off the +inkpot Mr. Shalford would become purple in the face and jab round with +his dry pen at imaginary inkpots and swear, and Carshot would stand and +vociferate, and the smart junior would run to the corner of the +department and vociferate, and the second apprentice would pursue Kipps, +vociferating, "Look Alive, Kipps! Look Alive! Ink, Man! Ink!"</p> + +<p>A vague self-disgust, that shaped itself as an intense hate of Shalford +and all his fellow-creatures, filled the soul of Kipps during these +periods of storm and stress. He felt that the whole business was unjust +and idiotic, but the why and the wherefore was too much for his +unfortunate brain. His mind was a welter. One desire, the desire to +dodge some at least of a pelting storm of disagreeable comment, guided +him through a fumbling performance of his duties. His disgust was +infinite! It was not decreased by the inflamed ankles and sore feet that +form a normal incident in the business of making an English draper; and +the senior apprentice, Minton, a gaunt, sullen-faced youngster with +close-cropped, wiry, black hair, a loose, ugly mouth, and a moustache +like a smudge of ink, directed his attention to deeper aspects of the +question and sealed his misery.</p> + +<p>"When you get too old to work they chuck you away," said Minton. "Lor! +you find old drapers<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> everywhere—tramps, beggars, dock labourers, 'bus +conductors—Quod. Anywhere but in a crib."</p> + +<p>"Don't they get shops of their own?"</p> + +<p>"Lord! '<i>Ow</i> are they to get shops of their own? They 'aven't any +capital! How's a draper's shopman to save up five hundred pounds even? I +tell you it can't be done. You got to stick to cribs until it's over. I +tell you we're in a blessed drainpipe, and we've got to crawl along it +till we die."</p> + +<p>The idea that fermented perpetually in the mind of Minton was to "hit +the little beggar slap in the eye"—the little beggar being Mr. +Shalford—"and see how his blessed System met that."</p> + +<p>The threat filled Kipps with splendid anticipations whenever Shalford +went marking off in Minton's department. He would look at Minton and +look at Shalford, and decide where he would best like Shalford hit.... +But for reasons known to himself Shalford never pished and tushed with +Minton, as he did at the harmless Carshot, and this interesting +experiment upon the System was never attempted.</p> + +<p class="center">§4</p> + +<p>There were times when Kipps would lie awake, all others in the dormitory +asleep and snoring, and think dismally of the outlook Minton pictured. +Dimly he perceived the thing that had happened to him—how the great, +stupid machine of retail trade had caught his life into its wheels, a +vast, irresistible force<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> which he had neither strength of will nor +knowledge to escape. This was to be his life until his days should end. +No adventures, no glory, no change, no freedom. Neither—though the +force of that came home to him later—might he dream of effectual love +and marriage. And there was a terrible something called the "swap," or +"the key of the street," and "crib hunting," of which the talk was +scanty but sufficient. Night after night he would resolve to enlist, to +run away to sea, to set fire to the warehouse, or drown himself; and +morning after morning he rose up and hurried downstairs in fear of a +sixpenny fine. He would compare his dismal round of servile drudgery +with those windy, sunlit days at Littlestone, those windows of happiness +shining ever brighter as they receded. The little figure of Ann seemed +in all these windows now.</p> + +<p>She, too, had happened on evil things. When Kipps went home for the +first Christmas after he was bound, that great suspended resolve of his +to kiss her flared up to hot determination, and he hurried out and +whistled in the yard. There was a still silence, and then old Kipps +appeared behind him.</p> + +<p>"It's no good your whistling there, my boy," said Old Kipps in a loud, +clear tone, designed to be audible over the wall. "They've cleared out +all you 'ad any truck with. <i>She's</i> gone as help to Ashford, my boy. +<i>Help!</i> Slavey is what we used to call 'em, but times are changed. +Wonder they didn't say lady-'elp while they was about it. It 'ud be like 'em."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p><p>And Sid? Sid had gone, too. "Arrand boy or somethink," said Old Kipps. +"To one of these here brasted cicycle shops."</p> + +<p>"<i>Has</i> 'e!" said Kipps, with a feeling that he had been gripped about +the chest, and he turned quickly and went indoors.</p> + +<p>Old Kipps, still supposing him present, went on to further observations +of an anti-Pornick hue....</p> + +<p>When Kipps got upstairs safe in his own bedroom, he sat down on the bed +and stared at nothing. They were caught—they were all caught. All life +took on the hue of one perpetual, dismal Monday morning. The Hurons were +scattered, the wrecks and the beach had passed away from him, the sun of +those warm evenings at Littlestone had set for evermore....</p> + +<p>The only pleasure left for the brief remainder of his holiday after that +was to think he was not in the shop. Even that was transient. Two more +days—one more day—half a day. When he went back there were one or two +very dismal nights indeed. He went so far as to write home some vague +intimation of his feelings about business and his prospects, quoting +Minton. But Mrs. Kipps answered him, "Did he want the Pornicks to say he +wasn't good enough to be a draper?" This dreadful possibility was of +course conclusive in the matter. "No," he resolved they should not say +he failed at that.</p> + +<p>He derived much help from a "manly" sermon delivered in an enormous +voice by a large, fat, sun-red clergyman, just home from a colonial +bishopric he had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> resigned on the plea of ill-health, exhorting him that +whatever his hand found to do, he was to do with all his might; and the +revision of his Catechism preparatory to his confirmation reminded him +that it behooved him "to do his duty in that state of life unto which it +shall please God to call him...."</p> + +<p>After a time the sorrows of Kipps grew less acute, and save for a +miracle the brief tragedy of his life was over. He subdued himself to +his position even as his Church required of him, seeing moreover no way +out of it.</p> + +<p>The earliest mitigation of his lot was that his soles and ankles became +indurated to the perpetual standing. The next was an unexpected weekly +whiff of freedom that came every Thursday. Mr. Shalford, after a brave +stand for what he called "Innyvishal lib'ty" and the "Idea of my +System," a stand which he explained he made chiefly on patriotic +grounds, was at last, under pressure of certain of his customers, +compelled to fall in line with the rest of the local Early Closing +Association, and Mr. Kipps could emerge in daylight and go where he +listed for long, long hours. Moreover Minton, the pessimist, reached the +end of his appointed time and left—to enlist in a cavalry regiment and +go about this planet leading an insubordinate but interesting life, that +ended at last in an intimate, vivid and really you know by no means +painful or tragic night grapple in the Terah Valley. In a little while +Kipps cleaned windows no longer; he was serving customers (of the less +important sort)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> and taking goods out on approval; and presently he was +third apprentice, and his moustache was visible, and there were three +apprentices whom he might legally snub and cuff. But one was (most +dishonestly) too big to cuff in spite of his greener years.</p> + +<p class="center">§5</p> + +<p>There came still other distractions, the natural distractions of +adolescence, to take his mind off the inevitable. His costume, for +example, began to interest him more; he began to realise himself as a +visible object, to find an interest in the costume-room mirrors and the +eyes of the girl apprentices.</p> + +<p>In this he was helped by counsel and example. Pierce, his immediate +senior, was by way of being what was called a Masher, and preached his +cult. During slack times grave discussions about collars, ties, the cut +of trouser legs, and the proper shape of a boot-toe, were held in the +Manchester department. In due course Kipps went to a tailor, and his +short jacket was replaced by a morning coat with tails. Stirred by this, +he purchased at his own expense three stand-up collars to replace his +former turn-down ones. They were nearly three inches high, higher than +those Pierce wore, and they made his neck quite sore and left a red mark +under his ears.... So equipped, he found himself fit company even for +this fashionable apprentice, who had now succeeded Minton in his seniority.</p> + +<p>Most potent help of all in the business of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>forgetting his cosmic +disaster was this, that so soon as he was in tail coats the young ladies +of the establishment began to discover that he was no longer a "horrid +little boy." Hitherto they had tossed heads at him and kept him in his +place. Now they discovered that he was a "nice boy," which is next door +at least to being a "feller," and in some ways even preferable. It is +painful to record that his fidelity to Ann failed at their first onset. +I am fully sensible how entirely better this story would be from a +sentimental point of view if he had remained true to that early love. +Only then it would have been a different story altogether. And at least +Kipps was thus far true, that with none of these later loves was there +any of that particular quality that linked Ann's flushed face and warmth +and the inner things of life so inseparably together. Though they were +not without emotions of various sorts.</p> + +<p>It was one of the young ladies in the costume-room who first showed by +her manner that he was a visible object and capable of exciting +interest. She talked to him, she encouraged him to talk to her, she lent +him a book she possessed, and darned a sock for him, and said she would +be his elder sister. She allowed him to escort her to church with a +great air of having induced him to go. Then she investigated his eternal +welfare, overcame a certain affectation of virile indifference to +religion, and extorted a promise that he would undergo "confirmation." +This excited the other young lady in the costumes, her natural rival, +and she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> set herself with great charm and subtlety to the capture of the +ripening heart of Kipps. She took a more worldly line. She went for a +walk with him to the pier on Sunday afternoon, and explained to him how +a gentleman must always walk "outside" a lady on a pavement, and how all +gentlemen wore, or at least carried gloves, and generally the broad +beginnings of the British social ideal. Afterwards the ladies exchanged +"words," upon Sabbatical grounds. In this way was the <i>toga virilis</i> +bestowed on Kipps, and he became recognised as a suitable object for +that Platonic Eros whose blunted darts devastate even the very +highest-class establishments. In this way, too, did that pervading +ambition of the British young man to be, if not a "gentleman," at least +mistakably like one, take root in his heart.</p> + +<p>He took to these new interests with quite natural and personal zest. He +became initiated into the mysteries of "flirting," and—at a slightly +later stage, and with some leading hints from Pierce, who was of a +communicative disposition in these matters—of the milder forms of +"spooning." Very soon he was engaged. Before two years were out he had +been engaged six times, and was beginning to be rather a desperate +fellow, so far as he could make out. Desperate, but quite gentlemanly, +be it understood, and without let or hindrance to the fact that he was, +in four brief lessons, "prepared" by a distant-mannered and gloomy young +curate, and "confirmed" a member of the Established Church.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p><p>The engagements in drapery establishments do not necessarily involve a +subsequent marriage. They are essentially more refined, less coarsely +practical, and altogether less binding than the engagements of the +vulgar rich. These young ladies do not like not to be engaged—it is so +unnatural; and Mr. Kipps was as easy to get engaged to as one could +wish. There are, from the young lady's point of view, many conveniences +in being engaged. You get an escort for church and walks and so forth. +It is not quite the thing to walk abroad with a "feller," much more to +"spoon" with him, when he is neither one's <i>fiancé</i> nor an adopted +brother; it is considered either a little <i>fast</i>, or else as savouring +of the "walking-out" habits of the servant girls. Now, such is the +sweetness of human charity, that the shop young lady in England has just +the same horror of doing anything that savours of the servant girl as +the lady journalist, let us say, has of anything savouring of the shop +girl, or the really quite nice young lady has of anything savouring of +any sort of girl who has gone down into the economic battlefield to earn +herself a living.... But the very deepest of these affairs was still +among the shallow places of love; at best it was paddling where it is +decreed that men must sink or swim. Of the deep and dangerous places, +and of the huge buoyant lift of its waves, he tasted nothing. Affairs of +clothes and vanities they were, jealousies about a thing said, +flatteries and mutual boastings, climaxes in the answering grasp of +hands, the temerarious use of Christian<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> names, culminations in a walk, +or a near confidence, or a little pressure more or less. Close-sitting +on a seat after twilight, with some little fondling, was indeed the +boldest of a lover's adventures, the utmost limit of his enterprises in +the service of that stark Great Lady, who is daughter of Uranus and the +sea. The "young ladies" who reigned in his heart came and went like +people in an omnibus: there was the vehicle, so to speak, upon the road, +and they entered and left it without any cataclysm of emotion. For all +that, this development of the sex interest was continuously very +interesting to Kipps, and kept him going as much as anything through all +these servile years.</p> + +<p class="center">§6</p> + +<p>For a tailpiece to this chapter one may vignette one of those little affairs.</p> + +<p>It is a bright Sunday afternoon; the scene is a secluded little seat +half-way down the front of the Leas, and Kipps is four years older than +when he parted from Ann. There is a quite perceptible down upon his +upper lip, and his costume is just as tremendous a "mash" as lies within +his means. His collar is so high that it scars his inaggressive jawbone, +and his hat has a curly brim, his tie shows taste, his trousers are +modestly brilliant, and his boots have light cloth uppers and button at +the side. He jabs at the gravel before him with a cheap cane, and +glances sideways at Flo Bates, the young lady from the cash desk.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> She +is wearing a brilliant blouse and a gaily trimmed hat. There is an air +of fashion about her that might disappear under the analysis of a woman +of the world, but which is quite sufficient to make Kipps very proud to +be distinguished as her particular "feller," and to be allowed at +temperate intervals to use her Christian name.</p> + +<p>The conversation is light and gay in the modern style, and Flo keeps on +smiling, good temper being her special charm.</p> + +<p>"Ye see, you don' mean what <i>I</i> mean," he is saying.</p> + +<p>"Well, what do <i>you</i> mean?"</p> + +<p>"Not what you mean!"</p> + +<p>"Well, tell me."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ah!</i> That's another story."</p> + +<p>Pause. They look meaningly at one another.</p> + +<p>"You <i>are</i> a one for being roundabout," says the lady.</p> + +<p>"Well, you're not so plain, you know."</p> + +<p>"Not plain?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean to say I'm roundabout?"</p> + +<p>"No. I mean to say ... though——"</p> + +<p>Pause.</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"You're not a bit plain—you're" (his voice jumps up to a squeak) +"pretty. See?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, get <i>out</i>!" her voice lifts also—with pleasure.</p> + +<p>She strikes at him with her glove, then glances suddenly at a ring upon +her finger. Her smile <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>disappears momentarily. Another pause. Eyes meet +and the smile returns.</p> + +<p>"I wish I knew——" says Kipps.</p> + +<p>"Knew——?"</p> + +<p>"Where you got that ring."</p> + +<p>She lifts the hand with the ring until her eyes just show (very +prettily) over it. "You'd just <i>like</i> to know," she says slowly, and +smiles still more brightly with the sense of successful effect.</p> + +<p>"I dessay I could guess."</p> + +<p>"I dessay you couldn't."</p> + +<p>"Couldn't I?"</p> + +<p>"No!"</p> + +<p>"Guess it in three."</p> + +<p>"Not the name."</p> + +<p>"Ah!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Ah!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Well, anyhow lemme look at it."</p> + +<p>He looks at it. Pause. Giggles, slight struggle, and a slap on Kipps' +coatsleeve. A passerby appears down the path, and she hastily withdraws +her hand.</p> + +<p>She glances at the face of the approaching man. They maintain a bashful +silence until he has passed.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER III</span> <span class="smaller">THE WOOD-CARVING CLASS</span></h2> + +<p class="center">§1</p> + +<p>Though these services to Venus Epipontia, the seaside Venus, and these +studies in the art of dress, did much to distract his thoughts and +mitigate his earlier miseries, it would be mere optimism to present +Kipps as altogether happy. A vague dissatisfaction with life drifted +about him and every now and again enveloped him like a sea fog. During +these periods it was greyly evident that there was something, something +vital in life, lacking. For no earthly reason that Kipps could discover, +he was haunted by a suspicion that life was going wrong or had already +gone wrong in some irrevocable way. The ripening self-consciousness of +adolescence developed this into a clearly felt insufficiency. It was all +very well to carry gloves, open doors, never say "Miss" to a girl, and +walk "outside," but were there not other things, conceivably even deeper +things, before the complete thing was attained? For example, certain +matters of knowledge. He perceived great bogs of ignorance about him, +fumbling traps, where other people, it was alleged, <i>real</i> gentlemen and +ladies, for example, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> the clergy, had knowledge and assurance, bogs +which it was sometimes difficult to elude. A girl arrived in the +millinery department who could, she said, <i>speak</i> French and German. She +snubbed certain advances, and a realisation of inferiority blistered +Kipps. But he tried to pass the thing off as a joke by saying, +"Parlez-vous Francey," whenever he met her, and inducing the junior +apprentice to say the same.</p> + +<p>He even made some dim half-secret experiments towards remedying the +deficiencies he suspected. He spent five shillings on five serial +numbers of a Home Educator, and bought (and even thought of reading) a +Shakespeare and a Bacon's "Advancement of Learning" and the poems of +Herrick from a chap who was hard up. He battled with Shakespeare all one +Sunday afternoon, and found the "English Literature" with which Mr. +Woodrow had equipped him had vanished down some crack in his mind. He +had no doubt it was very splendid stuff, but he couldn't quite make out +what it was all about. There was an occult meaning, he knew, in +literature, and he had forgotten it. Moreover, he discovered one day, +while taunting the junior apprentice with ignorance, that his "rivers of +England" had also slipped his memory, and he laboriously restored that +fabric of rote learning: "Ty Wear Tees 'Umber...."</p> + +<p>I suppose some such phase of discontent is a normal thing in every +adolescence. The ripening mind seeks something upon which its will may +crystallise, upon which its discursive emotions, growing more <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>abundant +with each year of life, may concentrate. For many, though not for all, +it takes a religious direction, but in those particular years the mental +atmosphere of Folkestone was exceptionally free from any revivalistic +disturbance that might have reached Kipps' mental being. Sometimes they +fall in love. I have known this uneasiness end in different cases in a +vow to read one book (not a novel) every week, to read the Bible through +in a year, to pass in the Honours division of the London Matriculation +examination, to become an accomplished chemist, and never more to tell a +lie. It led Kipps finally into Technical Education as we understand it +in the south of England.</p> + +<p>It was in the last year of his apprenticeship that he had pursued his +researches after that missing qualification into the Folkestone Young +Men's Association, where Mr. Chester Coote prevailed. Mr. Chester Coote +was a young man of semi-independent means who inherited a share in a +house agency, read Mrs. Humphry Ward, and took an interest in social +work. He was a whitish-faced young man with a prominent nose, pale blue +eyes, and a quivering quality in his voice. He was very active upon +committees; he was very prominent and useful on all social occasions, in +evidence upon platforms and upon all those semi-public occasions when +the Great descend. He lived with an only sister. To Kipps and his kind +in the Young Men's Association he read a stimulating paper on +"Self-Help." He said it was the noblest of all our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> distinctive English +characteristics, and he was very much down upon the "over-educated" +Germans. At the close a young German hairdresser made a few commendatory +remarks which developed somehow into an oration on Hanoverian politics. +As he became excited he became guttural and obscure; the meeting +sniggered cheerfully at such ridiculous English, and Kipps was so much +amused that he forgot a private project to ask this Chester Coote how he +might set about a little self-help on his own private account in such +narrow margins of time as the System of Mr. Shalford spared him. But +afterwards in the night-time it came to him again.</p> + +<p>It was a few months later, and after his apprenticeship was over and Mr. +Shalford had with depreciatory observations taken him on as an improver +at twenty pounds a year, that this question was revived by a casual +article on Technical Education in a morning paper that a commercial +traveller had left behind him. It played the <i>rôle</i> of the word in +season. Something in the nature of conversion, a faint sort of +concentration of purpose, really occurred in him then. The article was +written with penetrating vehemence, and it stimulated him to the pitch +of inquiring about the local Science and Art Classes, and after he had +told everybody in the shop about it and taken the advice of all who +supported his desperate resolution, he joined. At first he attended the +class in Freehand, that being the subject taught on early closing night; +and he had already made some progress in that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>extraordinary routine of +reproducing freehand "copies" which for two generations had passed with +English people for instruction in art, when the dates of the classes +were changed. Thereby just as the March winds were blowing he was +precipitated into the wood-carving class, and his mind diverted first to +this useful and broadening pursuit, and then to its teacher.</p> + +<p class="center">§2</p> + +<p>The class in wood-carving was an extremely select class, conducted at +that time by a young lady named Walshingham, and as this young lady was +destined by fortune to teach Kipps a great deal more than wood carving, +it will be well if the reader gets the picture of her correctly in mind. +She was only a year or so older than he was; she had a pale, +intellectual face, dark grey eyes, and black hair, which she wore over +her forehead in an original and striking way that she had adopted from a +picture by Rossetti in the South Kensington Museum. She was slender, so +that without ungainliness she had an effect of being tall, and her hands +were shapely and white when they came into contrast with hands much +exercised in rolling and blocking. She dressed in those loose and +pleasant forms and those soft and tempered shades that arose in England +in the socialistic-æsthetic epoch and remain to this day among us as the +badge of those who read Turgenev's novels, scorn current fiction, and +think on higher planes. I think she was as beautiful<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> as most beautiful +people, and to Kipps she was altogether beautiful. She had, Kipps +learnt, matriculated at London University, an astounding feat to his +imagination; and the masterly way in which she demonstrated how to prod +and worry honest pieces of wood into useless and unedifying patterns in +relief extorted his utmost admiration.</p> + +<p>At first, when Kipps had learnt he was to be taught by a "girl," he was +inclined to resent it, the more so as Buggins had recently been very +strong on the gross injustice of feminine employment.</p> + +<p>"We have to keep wives," said Buggins (though as a matter of fact he did +not keep even one), "and how are we to do it with a lot of girls coming +in to take the work out of our mouths?"</p> + +<p>Afterwards Kipps, in conjunction with Pierce, looked at it from another +point of view, and thought it would be rather a "lark." Finally, when he +saw her, and saw her teaching, and coming nearer to him with an +impressive deliberation, he was breathless with awe and the quality of +her dark, slender femininity.</p> + +<p>The class consisted of two girls and a maiden lady of riper years, +friends of Miss Walshingham's, and anxious rather to support her in an +interesting experiment than to become really expert wood-carvers; an +oldish young man with spectacles and a black beard, who never spoke to +any one, and who was evidently too short-sighted to see his work as a +whole; a small boy who was understood to have a "gift" for wood-carving; +and a lodging-house keeper who "took<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> classes" every winter, she told +Mr. Kipps, as though they were a tonic, and "found they did her good." +And occasionally Mr. Chester Coote—refined and gentlemanly—would come +into the class, with or without papers, ostensibly on committee +business, but in reality to talk to the less attractive one of the two +girl students; and sometimes a brother of Miss Walshingham's, a slender, +dark young man with a pale face, and fluctuating resemblances to the +young Napoleon, would arrive just at the end of the class-time to see +his sister home.</p> + +<p>All these personages impressed Kipps with a sense of inferiority that in +the case of Miss Walshingham became positively abysmal. The ideas and +knowledge they appeared to have, their personal capacity and freedom, +opened a new world to his imagination. These people came and went, with +a sense of absolute assurance, against an overwhelming background of +plaster casts, diagrams and tables, benches and a blackboard—a +background that seemed to him to be saturated with recondite knowledge +and the occult and jealously guarded tips and secrets that constitute +Art and the Higher Life. They went home, he imagined, to homes where the +piano was played with distinction and freedom, and books littered the +tables, and foreign languages were habitually used. They had complicated +meals, no doubt—with serviettes. They "knew etiquette," and how to +avoid all the errors for which Kipps bought penny manuals, "What to +Avoid," "Common Errors in Speaking,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> and the like. He knew nothing +about it all—nothing whatever; he was a creature of the outer darkness +blinking in an unsuspected light.</p> + +<p>He heard them speak easily and freely to one another of examinations, of +books and paintings, of "last year's Academy"—a little contemptuously; +and once, just at the end of the class-time, Mr. Chester Coote and young +Walshingham and the two girls argued about something or other called, he +fancied, "Vagner" or "Vargner"—they seemed to say it both ways—and +which presently shaped itself more definitely as the name of a man who +made up music. (Carshot and Buggins weren't in it with them.) Young +Walshingham, it appeared, said something or other that was an "epigram," +and they all applauded him. Kipps, I say, felt himself a creature of +outer darkness, an inexcusable intruder in an altitudinous world. When +the epigram happened, he first of all smiled, to pretend he understood, +and instantly suppressed the smile to show he did not listen. Then he +became extremely hot and uncomfortable, though nobody had noticed either phase.</p> + +<p>It was clear his only chance of concealing his bottomless baseness was +to hold his tongue, and meanwhile he chipped with earnest care, and +abased his soul before the very shadow of Miss Walshingham. She used to +come and direct and advise him, with, he felt, an effort to conceal the +scorn she had for him; and, indeed, it is true that at first she thought +of him chiefly as the clumsy young man with the red ears.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p><p>And as soon as he emerged from the first effect of pure and awestricken +humility—he was greatly helped to emerge from that condition to a +perception of human equality by the need the lodging-house keeper was +under to talk while she worked, and as she didn't like Miss Walshingham +and her friends very much, and the young man with spectacles was deaf, +she naturally talked to Kipps—he perceived that he was in a state of +adoration for Miss Walshingham that it seemed almost a blasphemous +familiarity to speak of us being in love.</p> + +<p>This state, you must understand, had nothing to do with "flirting" or +"spooning" and that superficial passion that flashes from eye to eye +upon the leas and pier—absolutely nothing. That he knew from the first. +Her rather pallid, intelligent young face, beneath those sombre clouds +of hair, put her in a class apart; towards her the thought of +"attentions" paled and vanished. To approach such a being, to perform +sacrifices and to perish obviously for her, seemed the limit he might +aspire to, he or any man. For if his love was abasement, at any rate it +had this much of manliness, that it covered all his sex. It had not yet +come to Kipps to acknowledge any man as his better in his heart of +hearts. When one does that the game is played and one grows old indeed.</p> + +<p>The rest of his sentimental interests vanished altogether in this great +illumination. He meditated about her when he was blocking cretonne; her +image was before his eyes at tea-time, and blotted out the more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +immediate faces, and made him silent and preoccupied, and so careless in +his bearing that the junior apprentice, sitting beside him, mocked at +and parodied his enormous bites of bread and butter unreproved. He +became conspicuously less popular on the "fancy" side, the "costumes" +was chilly with him and the "millinery" cutting. But he did not care. An +intermittent correspondent with Flo Bates, that had gone on since she +left Mr. Shalford's desk for a position at Tunbridge "nearer home," and +which had roused Kipps in its earlier stages to unparalleled heights of +epistolatory effort, died out altogether by reason of his neglect. He +heard with scarcely a pang that, as a consequence perhaps of his +neglect, Flo was "carrying on with a chap who managed a farm."</p> + +<p>Every Thursday he jabbed and gouged at his wood, jabbing and gouging +intersecting circles and diamond traceries, and that laboured inane +which our mad world calls ornament, and he watched Miss Walshingham +furtively whenever she turned away. The circles in consequence were +jabbed crooked; and his panels, losing their symmetry, became +comparatively pleasing to the untrained eye—and once he jabbed his +finger. He would cheerfully have jabbed all his fingers if he could have +found some means of using the opening to express himself of the vague +emotions that possessed him. But he shirked conversation just as +earnestly as he desired it; he feared that profound general ignorance of +his might appear.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center">§3</p> + +<p>There came a time when she could not open one of the class-room windows. +The man with the black beard pored over his chipping heedlessly....</p> + +<p>It did not take Kipps a moment to grasp his opportunity. He dropped his +gouge and stepped forward. "Lem <i>me</i>," he said....</p> + +<p>He could not open the window either!</p> + +<p>"Oh, please don't trouble," she said.</p> + +<p>"'Sno trouble," he gasped.</p> + +<p>Still the sash stuck. He felt his manhood was at stake. He gathered +himself together for a tremendous effort, and the pane broke with a +snap, and he thrust his hand into the void beyond.</p> + +<p>"<i>There!</i>" said Miss Walshingham, and the glass fell ringing into the +courtyard below.</p> + +<p>Then Kipps made to bring his hand back, and felt the keen touch of the +edge of the broken glass at his wrist. He turned dolefully. "I'm +tremendously sorry," he said in answer to the accusation in Miss +Walshingham's eyes. "I didn't think it would break like that,"—as if he +had expected it to break in some quite different and entirely more +satisfactory manner. The boy with the gift of wood-carving having stared +at Kipps' face for a moment, became involved in a Laocoon struggle with +a giggle.</p> + +<p>"You've cut your wrist," said one of the girl friends, standing up and +pointing. She was a pleasant-faced, greatly freckled girl, with a +helpful <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>disposition, and she said "You've cut your wrist," as brightly +as if she had been a trained nurse.</p> + +<p>Kipps looked down, and saw a swift line of scarlet rush down his hand. +He perceived the other man student regarding this with magnified eyes. +"You <i>have</i> cut your wrist," said Miss Walshingham, and Kipps regarded +his damage with greater interest.</p> + +<p>"He's cut his wrist," said the maiden lady to the lodging-house keeper, +and seemed in doubt what a lady should do. "It's——" she hesitated at +the word "bleeding," and nodded to the lodging-house keeper instead.</p> + +<p>"Dreadfully," said the maiden lady, and tried to look and tried not to +look at the same time.</p> + +<p>"Of <i>course</i> he's cut his wrist," said the lodging-house keeper, +momentarily quite annoyed at Kipps; and the other young lady, who +thought Kipps rather common, went on quietly with her wood-cutting with +an air of its being the proper thing to do—though nobody else seemed to +know it.</p> + +<p>"You must tie it up," said Miss Walshingham.</p> + +<p>"We must tie it up," said the freckled girl.</p> + +<p>"I 'adn't the slightest idea that window was going to break like that," +said Kipps, with candour. "Nort the slightest."</p> + +<p>He glanced again at the blood on his wrist, and it seemed to him that it +was on the very point of dropping on the floor of that cultured +class-room. So he very neatly licked it off, feeling at the same time +for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> his handkerchief. "Oh, <i>don't!</i>" said Miss Walshingham as he did +so, and the girl with the freckles made a movement of horror. The giggle +got the better of the boy with the gift, and celebrated its triumph by +unseemly noises; in spite of which it seemed to Kipps at the moment that +the act that had made Miss Walshingham say "Oh, <i>don't!</i>" was rather a +desperate and manly treatment of what was after all a creditable injury.</p> + +<p>"It ought to be tied up," said the lodging-house keeper, holding her +chisel upright in her hand. "It's a bad cut to bleed like that."</p> + +<p>"We must tie it up," said the freckled girl, and hesitated in front of +Kipps. "Have you got a handkerchief?" she said.</p> + +<p>"I dunno 'ow I managed <i>not</i> to bring one," said Kipps. "I—— Not +'aving a cold I suppose some'ow I didn't think——"</p> + +<p>He checked a further flow of blood.</p> + +<p>The girl with the freckles caught Miss Walshingham's eye, and held it +for a moment. Both glanced at Kipps' injury. The boy with the gift, who +had reappeared with a chastened expression from some noisy pursuit +beneath his desk, made the neglected motions of one who proffers shyly. +Miss Walshingham under the spell of the freckled girl's eye produced a +handkerchief. The voice of the maiden lady could be heard in the +background. "I've been through all the technical education ambulance +classes twice, and I know you go <i>so</i> if it's a vein, and <i>so</i> if it's +an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> artery—at least you go <i>so</i> for one and <i>so</i> for the other, +whichever it may be; but...."</p> + +<p>"If you will give me your hand," said the freckled girl, and proceeded +with Miss Walshingham's assistance to bandage Kipps in a most +businesslike way. Yes, they actually bandaged Kipps. They pulled up his +cuffs—happily they were not a very frayed pair—and held his wrist, and +wrapped the soft handkerchief round it, and tightened the knot together. +And Miss Walshingham's face, the face of that almost divine Over-human, +came close to the face of Kipps.</p> + +<p>"We're not hurting you, are we?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Not a bit," said Kipps, as he would have said if they had been sawing +his arm off.</p> + +<p>"We're not experts, you know," said the freckled girl.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure it's a dreadful cut," said Miss Walshingham.</p> + +<p>"It ain't much reely," said Kipps; "and you're taking a lot of trouble. +I'm sorry I broke that window. I can't think what I could have been +doing."</p> + +<p>"It isn't so much the cut at the time, it's the poisoning afterwards," +came the voice of the maiden lady.</p> + +<p>"Of course I'm quite willing to pay for the window," panted Kipps +opulently.</p> + +<p>"We must make it just as tight as possible, to stop the bleeding," said +the freckled girl.</p> + +<p>"I don't think it's much reely," said Kipps. "I'm awful sorry I broke +that window, though."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p><p>"Put your finger on the knot, dear," said the freckled girl.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" said Kipps; "I mean——"</p> + +<p>Both the young ladies became very intent on the knot, and Mr. Kipps was +very red and very intent upon the two young ladies.</p> + +<p>"Mortified, and had to be sawn off," said the maiden lady.</p> + +<p>"Sawn off?" said the lodging-house keeper.</p> + +<p>"Sawn <i>right</i> off," said the maiden lady, and jabbed at her mangled +design.</p> + +<p>"<i>There</i>," said the freckled girl, "I think that ought to do. You're +sure it's not too tight?"</p> + +<p>"Not a bit," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>He met Miss Walshingham's eye, and smiled to show how little he cared +for wounds and pain. "It's only a little cut," he added.</p> + +<p>The maiden lady appeared as an addition to their group. "You should have +washed the wound, dear," she said. "I was just telling Miss Collis." She +peered through her glasses at the bandage. "That doesn't look <i>quite</i> +right," she remarked critically. "You should have taken the ambulance +classes. But I suppose it will have to do. Are you hurting?"</p> + +<p>"Not a bit," said Kipps, and he smiled at them all with the air of a +brave soldier in hospital.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure it <i>must</i> hurt," said Miss Walshingham.</p> + +<p>"Anyhow, you're a very good patient," said the girl with the freckles.</p> + +<p>Mr. Kipps became quite pink. "I'm only sorry I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> broke the window—that's +all," he said. "But who would have thought it was going to break like +that?"</p> + +<p>Pause.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid you won't be able to go on carving to-night," said Miss +Walshingham.</p> + +<p>"I'll try," said Kipps. "It reelly doesn't hurt—not anything to +matter."</p> + +<p>Presently Miss Walshingham came to him as he carved heroically with his +hand bandaged in her handkerchief. There was a touch of a novel interest +in her eyes. "I'm afraid you're not getting on very fast," she said.</p> + +<p>The freckled girl looked up and regarded Miss Walshingham.</p> + +<p>"I'm doing a little, anyhow," said Kipps. "I don't want to waste any +time. A feller like me hasn't much time to spare."</p> + +<p>It struck the girls that there was a quality of modest disavowal about +that "feller like me." It gave them a light into this obscure person, +and Miss Walshingham ventured to commend his work as "promising" and to +ask whether he meant to follow it up. Kipps didn't "altogether +know"—"things depended on so much," but if he was in Folkestone next +winter he certainly should. It did not occur to Miss Walshingham at the +time to ask why his progress in art depended upon his presence in +Folkestone. There was some more questions and answers—they continued to +talk to him for a little time, even when Mr. Chester Coote had come into +the room—and when at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> last the conversation had died out it dawned upon +Kipps just how much his cut wrist had done for him....</p> + +<p>He went to sleep that night revising that conversation for the twentieth +time, treasuring this and expanding that, and inserting things he might +have said to Miss Walshingham, things he might still say about +himself—in relation more or less explicit to her. He wasn't quite sure +if he wouldn't like his arm to mortify a bit, which would make him +interesting, or to heal up absolutely, which would show the exceptional +purity of his blood.</p> + +<p class="center">§4</p> + +<p>The affair of the broken window happened late in April, and the class +came to an end in May. In that interval there were several small +incidents and great developments of emotion. I have done Kipps no +justice if I have made it seem that his face was unsightly. It was, as +the freckled girl pointed out to Helen Walshingham, an "interesting" +face, and that aspect of him which presented chiefly erratic hair and +glowing ears ceased to prevail.</p> + +<p>They talked him over, and the freckled girl discovered there was +something "wistful" in his manner. They detected a "natural delicacy," +and the freckled girl set herself to draw him out from that time forth. +The freckled girl was nineteen, and very wise and motherly and +benevolent, and really she greatly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>preferred drawing out Kipps to +wood-carving. It was quite evident to her that Kipps was in love with +Helen Walshingham, and it struck her as a queer and romantic and +pathetic and extremely interesting phenomenon. And as at that time she +regarded Helen as "simply lovely," it seemed only right and proper that +she should assist Kipps in his modest efforts to place himself in a +state of absolute <i>abandon</i> upon her altar.</p> + +<p>Under her sympathetic management the position of Kipps was presently +defined quite clearly. He was unhappy in his position—misunderstood. He +told her he "didn't seem to get on like" with customers, and she +translated this for him as "too sensitive." The discontent with his fate +in life, the dreadful feeling that education was slipping by him, +troubles that time and usage were glazing over a little, revived to +their old acuteness but not to their old hopelessness. As a basis for +sympathy indeed they were even a source of pleasure.</p> + +<p>And one day at dinner it happened that Carshot and Buggins fell talking +of "these here writers," and how Dickens had been a labeller of blacking +and Thackeray "an artist who couldn't sell a drawing," and how Samuel +Johnson had walked to London without any boots, having thrown away his +only pair "out of pride." "It's luck," said Buggins, "to a very large +extent. They just happen to hit on something that catches on, and there you are!"</p> + +<p>"Nice easy life they have of it, too," said Miss<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> Mergle. "Write just an +hour or so, and done for the day! Almost like gentlefolks."</p> + +<p>"There's more work in it than you'd think," said Carshot, stooping to a mouthful.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't mind changing, for all that," said Buggins. "I'd like to see +one of these here authors marking off with Jimmy."</p> + +<p>"I think they copy from each other a good deal," said Miss Mergle.</p> + +<p>"Even then (chup, chup, chup)," said Carshot, "there's writing it out in +their own hands."</p> + +<p>They proceeded to enlarge upon the literary life, on its ease and +dignity, on the social recognition accorded to those who led it, and on +the ample gratifications their vanity achieved. "Pictures +everywhere—never get a new suit without being photographed—almost like +Royalty," said Miss Mergle.</p> + +<p>And all this talk impressed the imagination of Kipps very greatly. Here +was a class that seemed to bridge the gulf. On the one hand essentially +Low, but by factitious circumstances capable of entering upon those +levels of social superiority to which all true Englishmen aspire, those +levels from which one may tip a butler, scorn a tailor, and even commune +with those who lead "men" into battle. "Almost like gentlefolks"—that +was it! He brooded over these things in the afternoon, until they +blossomed into daydreams. Suppose, for example, he had chanced to write +a book, a well-known book, under an assumed name, and yet kept on being +a draper all the time....<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> Impossible, of course, but <i>suppose</i>—it made +quite a long dream.</p> + +<p>And at the next wood-carving class he let it be drawn from him that his +real choice in life was to be a Nawther—"only one doesn't get a chance."</p> + +<p>After that there were times when Kipps had that pleasant sense that +comes of attracting interest. He was a mute, inglorious Dickens, or at +any rate something of that sort, and they were all taking him at that. +The discovery of this indefinable "something in" him, the development of +which was now painfully restricted and impossible, did much to bridge +the gulf between himself and Miss Walshingham. He was unfortunate, he +was futile, but he was not "common." Even now with help...? The two +girls, and the freckled girl in particular, tried to "stir him up" to +some effort to do his imputed potentialities justice. They were still +young enough to believe that to nice and niceish members of the male +sex—more especially when under the stimulus of feminine +encouragement—nothing is finally impossible.</p> + +<p>The freckled girl was, I say, the stage manager of this affair, but Miss +Walshingham was the presiding divinity. A touch of proprietorship came +in her eyes at times when she looked at him. He was +hers—unconditionally—and she knew it.</p> + +<p>To her directly Kipps scarcely ever made a speech. The enterprising +things that he was continually devising to say to her, he usually did +not say, or he said them in a suitably modified form to the girl with +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> freckles. And one day the girl with the freckles smote him to the +heart. She said to him, with the faintest indication of her head across +the class-room to where her friend reached a cast from the shelf, "I do +think Helen Walshingham is sometimes the most lovely person in the +world. Look at her now!"</p> + +<p>Kipps gasped for a moment. The moment lengthened, and she regarded him +as an intelligent young surgeon might regard an operation without +anæsthetics.</p> + +<p>"You're right," he said, and then looked at her with an entire +abandonment of visage.</p> + +<p>She coloured under his glare of silent avowal, and he blushed brightly.</p> + +<p>"I think so, too," he said hoarsely, cleared his throat, and after a +meditative moment proceeded sacramentally with his wood-carving.</p> + +<p>"You <i>are</i> wonderful," said the freckled girl to Miss Walshingham, +apropos of nothing, as they went on their way home together. "He simply +adores you."</p> + +<p>"But, my dear, what have I done?" said Helen.</p> + +<p>"That's just it," said the freckled girl. "What <i>have</i> you done?"</p> + +<p>And then with a terrible swiftness came the last class of the course, to +terminate this relationship altogether. Kipps was careless of dates, and +the thing came upon him with an effect of abrupt surprise. Just as his +petals were expanding so hopefully, "Finis," and the thing was at an +end. But Kipps did not fully<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> appreciate that the end was indeed and +really and truly the end, until he was back in the Emporium after the +end was over.</p> + +<p>The end began practically in the middle of the last class, when the +freckled girl broached the topic of terminations. She developed the +question of just how he was going on after the class ended. She hoped he +would stick to certain resolutions of self-improvement he had breathed. +She said quite honestly that he owed it to himself to develop his +possibilities. He expressed firm resolve, but dwelt on difficulties. He +had no books. She instructed him how to get books from the public +library. He was to get a form of application for a ticket signed by a +ratepayer; and he said "of course," when she said Mr. Shalford would do +that, though all the time he knew perfectly well it would "never do" to +ask Mr. Shalford for anything of the sort. She explained that she was +going to North Wales for the summer, information he received without +immediate regret. At intervals he expressed his intention of going on +with wood-carving when the summer was over, and once he added "If——"</p> + +<p>She considered herself extremely delicate not to press for the +completion of that "if——"</p> + +<p>After that talk there was an interval of languid wood-carving and +watching Miss Walshingham.</p> + +<p>Then presently there came a bustle of packing, a great ceremony of +hand-shaking all round by Miss Collis and the maiden lady of ripe years, +and then<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> Kipps found himself outside the class-room, on the landing +with his two friends. It seemed to him he had only just learnt that this +was the last class of all. There came a little pause, and the freckled +girl suddenly went back into the class-room, and left Kipps and Miss +Walshingham alone together for the first time. Kipps was instantly +breathless. She looked at his face with a glance that mingled sympathy +and curiosity, and held out her white hand.</p> + +<p>"Well, good-bye, Mr. Kipps," she said.</p> + +<p>He took her hand and held it. "I'd do anything," said Kipps, and had not +the temerity to add, "for you." He stopped awkwardly. He shook her hand +and said, "Good-bye."</p> + +<p>There was a little pause.</p> + +<p>"I hope you will have a pleasant holiday," she said.</p> + +<p>"I shall come back to the class next year, anyhow," said Kipps +valiantly, and turned abruptly to the stairs.</p> + +<p>"I hope you will," said Miss Walshingham.</p> + +<p>He turned back towards her. "Reelly?" he said.</p> + +<p>"I hope everybody will come back."</p> + +<p>"I will—anyhow," said Kipps. "You may count on that," and he tried to +make his tones significant.</p> + +<p>They looked at one another through a little pause.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," she said.</p> + +<p>Kipps lifted his hat. She turned towards the class-room.</p> + +<p>"Well?" said the freckled girl, coming back towards her.</p> + +<p>"Nothing," said Helen. "At least—presently."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> And she became very +energetic about some scattered tools on a desk.</p> + +<p>The freckled girl went out and stood for a moment at the head of the +stairs. When she came back she looked very hard at her friend. The +incident struck her as important—wonderfully important. It was +unassimilable, of course, and absurd, but there it was, the thing that +is so cardinal to a girl, the emotion, the subservience, the crowning +triumph of her sex. She could not help feeling that Helen took it, on +the whole, a little too hardly.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER IV</span> <span class="smaller">CHITTERLOW</span></h2> + +<p class="center">§1</p> + +<p>The hour of the class on the following Thursday found Kipps in a state +of nearly incredible despondency. He was sitting with his eyes on the +reading room clock, his chin resting on his fists and his elbows on the +accumulated comic papers that were comic alas! in vain! He paid no heed +to the little man in spectacles glaring opposite to him, famishing for +<i>Fun</i>. In this place it was he had sat night after night, each night +more blissful than the last, waiting until it should be time to go to +Her! And then—bliss! And now the hour had come and there was no class! +There would be no class now until next October; it might be there would +never be a class so far as he was concerned again.</p> + +<p>It might be there would never be a class again, for Shalford, taking +exception at a certain absent-mindedness that led to mistakes and more +particularly to the ticketing of several articles in Kipps' Manchester +window upside down, had been "on to" him for the past few days in an +exceedingly onerous manner....</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p><p>He sighed profoundly, pushed the comic papers back—they were rent away +from him instantly by the little man in spectacles—and tried the old +engravings of Folkestone in the past, that hang about the room. But +these, too, failed to minister to his bruised heart. He wandered about +the corridors for a time and watched the library indicator for awhile. +Wonderful thing that! But it did not hold him for long. People came and +laughed near him and that jarred with him dreadfully. He went out of the +building and a beastly cheerful barrel organ mocked him in the street. +He was moved to a desperate resolve to go down to the beach. There it +might be he would be alone. The sea might be rough—and attuned to him. +It would certainly be dark.</p> + +<p>"If I 'ad a penny I'm blest if I wouldn't go and chuck myself off the +end of the pier.... <i>She'd</i> never miss me...." He followed a deepening +vein of thought.</p> + +<p>"Penny though! It's tuppence," he said after a space.</p> + +<p>He went down Dover Street in a state of profound melancholia—at the +pace and mood as it were of his own funeral procession—and he crossed +at the corner of Tontine Street heedless of all mundane things. And +there it was that Fortune came upon him, in disguise and with a loud +shout, the shout of a person endowed with an unusually rich, full voice, +followed immediately by a violent blow in the back.</p> + +<p>His hat was over his eyes and an enormous weight<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> rested on his +shoulders and something kicked him in the back of his calf.</p> + +<p>Then he was on all fours in some mud that Fortune, in conjunction with +the Folkestone corporation and in the pursuit of equally mysterious +ends, had heaped together even lavishly for his reception.</p> + +<p>He remained in that position for some seconds awaiting further +developments and believing almost anything broken before his heart. +Gathering at last that this temporary violence of things in general was +over, and being perhaps assisted by a clutching hand, he arose, and +found himself confronting a figure holding a bicycle and thrusting +forward a dark face in anxious scrutiny.</p> + +<p>"You aren't hurt, Matey?" gasped the figure.</p> + +<p>"Was that <i>you</i> 'it me?" said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"It's these handles, you know," said the figure with an air of being a +fellow sufferer. "They're too <i>low</i>. And when I go to turn, if I don't +remember, Bif!—and I'm <i>in</i> to something."</p> + +<p>"Well—you give me a oner in the back—anyhow," said Kipps, taking stock +of his damages.</p> + +<p>"I was coming down hill, you know," explained the bicyclist. "These +little Folkestone hills are a Fair Treat. It isn't as though I'd been on +the level. I came rather a whop."</p> + +<p>"You did <i>that</i>," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"I was back pedalling for all I was worth anyhow," said the bicyclist. +"Not that I <i>am</i> worth much back pedalling."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p><p>He glanced round and made a sudden movement almost as if to mount his +machine. Then he turned as rapidly to Kipps again, who was now stooping +down, pursuing the tale of his injuries.</p> + +<p>"Here's the back of my trouser leg all tore down," said Kipps, "and I +believe I'm bleeding. You reely ought to be more careful——"</p> + +<p>The stranger investigated the damage with a rapid movement. "Holy Smoke, +so you are!" He laid a friendly hand on Kipps' arm. "I say—look here! +Come up to my diggings and sew it up. I'm——. Of course I'm to blame, +and I say——" his voice sank to a confidential friendliness. "Here's a +slop. Don't let on I ran you down. Haven't a lamp, you know. Might be a +bit awkward, for <i>me</i>."</p> + +<p>Kipps looked up towards the advancing policeman. The appeal to his +generosity was not misplaced. He immediately took sides with his +assailant. He stood up as the representative of the law drew nearer. He +assumed an air which he considered highly suggestive of an accident not +having happened.</p> + +<p>"All right," he said, "go on!"</p> + +<p>"Right you are," said the cyclist promptly, and led the way, and then, +apparently with some idea of deception, called over his shoulder, "I'm +tremendous glad to have met you, old chap.</p> + +<p>"It really isn't a hundred yards," he said after they had passed the +policeman, "it's just round the corner."</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Kipps, limping slightly. "I don't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> want to get a chap +into trouble. Accidents <i>will</i> happen. Still——"</p> + +<p>"Oh! <i>rather!</i> I believe you. Accidents <i>will</i> happen. Especially when +you get <i>me</i> on a bicycle." He laughed. "You aren't the first I've run +down not by any manner of means! I don't think you can be hurt much +either. It isn't as though I was scorching. You didn't see me coming. I +was back pedalling like anything. Only naturally it seems to you I must +have been coming fast. And I did all I could to ease off the bump as I +hit you. It was just the treadle I think came against your calf. But it +was All Right of you about that policeman, you know. That was a Fair Bit +of All Right. Under the Circs, if you'd told him I was riding it might +have been forty bob! Forty bob! I'd have had to tell 'em Time is Money. +Just now for Mr. H. C.</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't have blamed you either, you know. Most men after a bump +like that might have been spiteful. The least I can do is to stand you a +needle and thread. And a clothes brush. It isn't everyone who'd have +taken it like you.</p> + +<p>"Scorching! Why if I'd been scorching you'd have—coming as we +did—you'd have been knocked silly.</p> + +<p>"But I tell you, the way you caught on about that slop was something +worth seeing. When I asked you, I didn't half expect it. Bif! Right off. +Cool as a cucumber. Had your line at once. I tell you that there isn't +many men would have acted as you have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> done, I <i>will</i> say that. You +acted like a gentleman over that slop."</p> + +<p>Kipps' first sense of injury disappeared. He limped along a pace or so +behind, making depreciatory noises in response to these flattering +remarks and taking stock of the very appreciative person who uttered +them.</p> + +<p>As they passed the lamps he was visible as a figure with a slight +anterior plumpness, progressing buoyantly on knickerbockered legs, with +quite enormous calves, legs that, contrasting with Kipps' own narrow +practice, were even exuberantly turned out at the knees and toes. A +cycling cap was worn very much on one side, and from beneath it +protruded carelessly straight wisps of dark red hair, and ever and again +an ample nose came into momentary view round the corner. The muscular +cheeks of this person and a certain generosity of chin he possessed were +blue shaven and he had no moustache. His carriage was spacious and +confident, his gestures up and down the narrow deserted back street they +traversed, were irresistibly suggestive of ownership; a suggestion of +broadly gesticulating shadows were born squatting on his feet and grew +and took possession of the road and reunited at last with the shadows of +the infinite, as lamp after lamp was passed. Kipps saw by the flickering +light of one of them that they were in Little Fenchurch Street, and then +they came round a corner sharply into a dark court and stopped at the +door of a particularly ramshackle looking little house, held up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> between +two larger ones, like a drunken man between policemen.</p> + +<p>The cyclist propped his machine carefully against the window, produced a +key and blew down it sharply. "The lock's a bit tricky," he said, and +devoted himself for some moments to the task of opening the door. Some +mechanical catastrophe ensued and the door was open.</p> + +<p>"You'd better wait here a bit while I get the lamp," he remarked to +Kipps; "very likely it isn't filled," and vanished into the blackness of +the passage. "Thank God for matches!" he said, and Kipps had an +impression of a passage in the transitory pink flare and the bicyclist +disappearing into a further room. Kipps was so much interested by these +things that for the time he forgot his injuries altogether.</p> + +<p>An interval and Kipps was dazzled by a pink shaded kerosene lamp. "You +go in," said the red-haired man, "and I'll bring in the bike," and for a +moment Kipps was alone in the lamp-lit room. He took in rather vaguely +the shabby ensemble of the little apartment, the round table covered +with a torn, red, glass-stained cover on which the lamp stood, a mottled +looking-glass over the fireplace reflecting this, a disused gas bracket, +an extinct fire, a number of dusty postcards and memoranda stuck round +the glass, a dusty, crowded paper rack on the mantel with a number of +cabinet photographs, a table littered with papers and cigarette ash and +a syphon of soda water. Then the cyclist reappeared and Kipps saw his +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>blue-shaved, rather animated face and bright-reddish, brown eyes for +the first time. He was a man perhaps ten years older than Kipps, but his +beardless face made them in a way contemporary.</p> + +<p>"You behaved all right about that policeman—anyhow," he repeated as he +came forward.</p> + +<p>"I don't see 'ow else I could 'ave done," said Kipps quite modestly. The +cyclist scanned his guest for the first time and decided upon hospitable +details.</p> + +<p>"We'd better let that mud dry a bit before we brush it. Whiskey there +is, good old Methusaleh, Canadian Rye, and there's some brandy that's +all right. Which'll you have?"</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> dunno," said Kipps, taken by surprise, and then seeing no other +course but acceptance, "well—whiskey, then."</p> + +<p>"Right you are, old boy, and if you'll take my advice you'll take it +neat. I may not be a particular judge of this sort of thing, but I do +know old Methusaleh pretty well. Old Methusaleh—four stars. That's me! +Good old Harry Chitterlow and good old Methusaleh. Leave 'em together. +Bif! He's gone!"</p> + +<p>He laughed loudly, looked about him, hesitated and retired, leaving +Kipps in possession of the room and free to make a more precise +examination of its contents.</p> + +<p class="center">§2</p> + +<p>He particularly remarked the photographs that adorned the apartment. +They were chiefly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>photographs of ladies, in one case in tights, which +Kipps thought a "bit 'ot," but one represented the bicyclist in the +costume of some remote epoch. It did not take Kipps long to infer that +the others were probably actresses and that his host was an actor, and +the presence of the half of a large, coloured playbill seemed to confirm +this. A note framed in an Oxford frame that was a little too large for +it, he presently demeaned himself to read. "Dear Mr. Chitterlow," it ran +its brief course, "if after all you will send the play you spoke of I +will endeavour to read it," followed by a stylish but absolutely +illegible signature, and across this was written in pencil, "What price, +Harry, now?" And in the shadow by the window was a rough and rather able +sketch of the bicyclist in chalk on brown paper, calling particular +attention to the curvature of the forward lines of his hull and calves +and the jaunty carriage of his nose, and labelled unmistakably +"Chitterlow." Kipps thought it "rather a take-off." The papers on the +table by the syphon were in manuscript. Kipps observed manuscript of a +particularly convulsive and blottesque sort and running obliquely across +the page.</p> + +<p>Presently he heard the metallic clamour as if of a series of irreparable +breakages with which the lock of the front door discharged its function, +and then Chitterlow reappeared, a little out of breath as if from +running and with a starry labelled bottle in his large, freckled hand.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, old chap," he said, "sit down. I had to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> go out for it after +all. Wasn't a solitary bottle left. However, it's all right now we're +here. No, don't sit on that chair, there's sheets of my play on that. +That's the one—with the broken arm. I think this glass is clean, but +anyhow wash it out with a squizz of syphon and shy it in the fireplace. +Here! I'll do it! Lend it here!"</p> + +<p>As he spoke Mr. Chitterlow produced a corkscrew from a table drawer, +attached and overcame good old Methusaleh's cork in a style a bartender +might envy, washed out two tumblers in his simple, effectual manner, and +poured a couple of inches of the ancient fluid into each. Kipps took his +tumbler, said "Thenks" in an off-hand way, and after a momentary +hesitation whether he should say "here's to you!" or not, put it to his +lips without that ceremony. For a space fire in his throat occupied his +attention to the exclusion of other matters, and then he discovered Mr. +Chitterlow with an intensely bulldog pipe alight, seated on the opposite +side of the empty fireplace and pouring himself out a second dose of +whiskey.</p> + +<p>"After all," said Mr. Chitterlow, with his eye on the bottle and a +little smile wandering to hide amidst his larger features, "this +accident might have been worse. I wanted someone to talk to a bit, and I +didn't want to go to a pub, leastways not a Folkestone pub, because as a +matter of fact I'd promised Mrs. Chitterlow, who's away, not to, for +various reasons, though of course if I'd wanted to I'm just that sort<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> I +should have all the same, and here we are! It's curious how one runs up +against people out bicycling!"</p> + +<p>"Isn't it!" said Kipps, feeling that the time had come for him to say +something.</p> + +<p>"Here we are, sitting and talking like old friends, and half an hour ago +we didn't know we existed. Leastways we didn't know each other existed. +I might have passed you in the street perhaps and you might have passed +me, and how was I to tell that, put to the test, you would have behaved +as decently as you have behaved. Only it happened otherwise, that's all. +You're not smoking!" he said. "Have a cigarette?"</p> + +<p>Kipps made a confused reply that took the form of not minding if he did, +and drank another sip of old Methusaleh in his confusion. He was able to +follow the subsequent course of that sip for quite a long way. It was as +though the old gentleman was brandishing a burning torch through his +vitals, lighting him here and lighting him there until at last his whole +being was in a glow. Chitterlow produced a tobacco pouch and cigarette +papers and with an interesting parenthesis that was a little difficult +to follow about some lady named Kitty something or other who had taught +him the art when he was as yet only what you might call a nice boy, made +Kipps a cigarette, and with a consideration that won Kipps' gratitude +suggested that after all he might find a little soda water an +improvement with the whiskey. "Some people like it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> that way," said +Chitterlow, and then with voluminous emphasis, "<i>I don't</i>."</p> + +<p>Emboldened by the weakened state of his enemy Kipps promptly swallowed +the rest of him and had his glass at once hospitably replenished. He +began to feel he was of a firmer consistency than he commonly believed, +and turned his mind to what Chitterlow was saying with the resolve to +play a larger part in the conversation than he had hitherto done. Also +he smoked through his nose quite successfully, an art he had only very +recently acquired.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Chitterlow explained that he was a playwright, and the tongue +of Kipps was unloosened to respond that he knew a chap, or rather one of +their fellows knew a chap, or at least to be perfectly correct this +fellow's brother did, who had written a play. In response to +Chitterlow's enquiries he could not recall the title of the play, nor +where it had appeared nor the name of the manager who produced it, +though he thought the title was something about "Love's Ransom" or +something like that.</p> + +<p>"He made five 'undred pounds by it, though," said Kipps. "I know that."</p> + +<p>"That's nothing," said Chitterlow, with an air of experience that was +extremely convincing. "Nothing. May seem a big sum to <i>you</i>, but <i>I</i> can +assure you it's just what one gets any day. There's any amount of money, +an-ny amount, in a good play."</p> + +<p>"I dessay," said Kipps, drinking.</p> + +<p>"Any amount of money!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p><p>Chitterlow began a series of illustrative instances. He was clearly a +person of quite unequalled gift for monologue. It was as though some +conversational dam had burst upon Kipps, and in a little while he was +drifting along upon a copious rapid of talk about all sorts of +theatrical things by one who knows all about them, and quite incapable +of anticipating whither that rapid meant to carry him. Presently somehow +they had got to anecdotes about well-known theatrical managers, little +Teddy Bletherskite, artful old Chumps, and the magnificent Behemoth, +"petted to death, you know, fair sickened, by all these society women." +Chitterlow described various personal encounters with these personages, +always with modest self-depreciation, and gave Kipps a very amusing +imitation of old Chumps in a state of intoxication. Then he took two +more stiff doses of old Methusaleh in rapid succession.</p> + +<p>Kipps reduced the hither end of his cigarette to a pulp as he sat +"dessaying" and "quite believing" Chitterlow in the sagest manner and +admiring the easy way in which he was getting on with this very novel +and entertaining personage. He had another cigarette made for him, and +then Chitterlow, assuming by insensible degrees more and more of the +manner of a rich and successful playwright being interviewed by a young +admirer, set himself to answer questions which sometimes Kipps asked and +sometimes Chitterlow, about the particulars and methods of his career. +He undertook this self-imposed task with great <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>earnestness and vigour, +treating the matter indeed with such fulness that at times it seemed +lost altogether under a thicket of parentheses, footnotes and episodes +that branched and budded from its stem. But it always emerged again, +usually by way of illustration to its own degressions. Practically it +was a mass of material for the biography of a man who had been +everywhere and done everything (including the Hon. Thomas Norgate, which +was a Record), and in particular had acted with great distinction and +profit (he dated various anecdotes, "when I was getting thirty, or forty +or fifty, dollars a week") throughout America and the entire civilised +world.</p> + +<p>And as he talked on and on in that full, rich, satisfying voice he had, +and as old Methusaleh, indisputably a most drunken old reprobate of a +whiskey, busied himself throughout Kipps, lighting lamp after lamp until +the entire framework of the little draper was illuminated and glowing +like some public building on a festival, behold Chitterlow and Kipps +with him and the room in which they sat, were transfigured! Chitterlow +became in very truth that ripe, full man of infinite experience and +humour and genius, fellow of Shakespeare and Ibsen and Maeterlinck +(three names he placed together quite modestly far above his own) and no +longer ambiguously dressed in a sort of yachting costume with cycling +knickerbockers, but elegantly if unconventionally attired, and the room +ceased to be a small and shabby room in a Folkestone slum, and grew +larger and more richly furnished, and the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>fly-blown photographs were +curious old pictures, and the rubbish on the walls the most rare and +costly bric-à-brac, and the indisputable paraffin lamp, a soft and +splendid light. A certain youthful heat that to many minds might have +weakened old Methusaleh's starry claim to a ripe antiquity, vanished in +that glamour, two burnt holes and a claimant darn in the table cloth, +moreover, became no more than the pleasing contradictions natural in the +house of genius, and as for Kipps!—Kipps was a bright young man of +promise, distinguished by recent quick, courageous proceedings not too +definitely insisted upon, and he had been rewarded by admission to a +sanctum and confidences, for which the common prosperous, for which +"society women" even, were notoriously sighing in vain. "Don't <i>want</i> +them, my boy; they'd simply play old Harry with the work, you know! +Chaps outside, bank clerks and university fellows, think the life's all +<i>that</i> sort of thing. Don't you believe 'em. Don't you believe 'em."</p> + +<p>And then——!</p> + +<p>"Boom.... Boom.... Boom.... Boom.... right in the middle of a most +entertaining digression on flats who join touring companies under the +impression that they are actors, Kipps much amused at their flatness as +exposed by Chitterlow.</p> + +<p>"Lor'!" said Kipps like one who awakens, "that's not eleven!"</p> + +<p>"Must be," said Chitterlow. "It was nearly ten when I got that whiskey. +It's early yet——"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p><p>"All the same I must be going," said Kipps, and stood up. "Even +now—maybe. Fact is—I 'ad <i>no</i> idea. The 'ouse door shuts at 'arf past +ten, you know. I ought to 'ave thought before."</p> + +<p>"Well, if you <i>must</i> go! I tell you what. I'll come, too.... Why! +There's your leg, old man! Clean forgot it! You can't go through the +streets like that. I'll sew up the tear. And meanwhile have another +whiskey."</p> + +<p>"I ought to be getting on <i>now</i>," protested Kipps feebly, and then +Chitterlow was showing him how to kneel on a chair in order that the +rent trouser leg should be attainable and old Methusaleh on his third +round was busy repairing the temporary eclipse of Kipps' arterial glow. +Then suddenly Chitterlow was seized with laughter and had to leave off +sewing to tell Kipps that the scene wouldn't make a bad bit of business +in a farcical comedy, and then he began to sketch out the farcical +comedy and that led him to a digression about another farcical comedy of +which he had written a ripping opening scene which wouldn't take ten +minutes to read. It had something in it that had never been done on the +stage before, and was yet perfectly legitimate, namely, a man with a +live beetle down the back of his neck trying to seem at his ease in a +roomful of people....</p> + +<p>"<i>They</i> won't lock you out," he said, in a singularly reassuring tone, +and began to read and act what he explained to be (not because he had +written it, but simply because he knew it was so on account of his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +exceptional experience of the stage) and what Kipps also quite clearly +saw to be, one of the best opening scenes that had ever been written.</p> + +<p>When it was over Kipps, who rarely swore, was inspired to say the scene +was "damned fine" about six times over, whereupon as if by way of +recognition, Chitterlow took a simply enormous portion of the inspiring +antediluvian, declaring at the same time that he had rarely met a +"finer" intelligence than Kipps' (stronger there might be, <i>that</i> he +couldn't say with certainty as yet, seeing how little after all they had +seen of each other, but a finer <i>never</i>); that it was a shame such a +gallant and discriminating intelligence should be nightly either locked +up or locked out at ten—well, ten thirty then—and that he had half a +mind to recommend old somebody or other (apparently the editor of a +London daily paper) to put on Kipps forthwith as a dramatic critic in +the place of the current incapable.</p> + +<p>"I don't think I've ever made up anything for print," said Kipps; +"——ever. I'd have a thundering good try, though, if ever I got a +chance. I would that! I've written window tickets often enough. Made 'em +up and everything. But that's different."</p> + +<p>"You'd come to it all the fresher for not having done it before. And the +way you picked up every point in that scene, my boy, was a Fair Treat! I +tell you, you'd knock William Archer into fits. Not so literary, of +course, you'd be, but I don't believe in literary critics any more than +in literary playwrights.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> Plays <i>aren't</i> literature—that's just the +point they miss. Plays are plays. No! That won't hamper you anyhow. +You're wasted down here, I tell you. Just as I was, before I took to +acting. I'm hanged if I wouldn't like your opinion on these first two +acts of that tragedy I'm on to. I haven't told you about that. It +wouldn't take me more than an hour to read...."</p> + +<p class="center">§3</p> + +<p>Then so far as he could subsequently remember, Kipps had "another," and +then it would seem that suddenly, regardless of the tragedy, he insisted +that he "reelly <i>must</i> be getting on," and from that point his memory +became irregular. Certain things have remained quite clearly, and as it +is a matter of common knowledge that intoxicated people forget what +happens to them, it follows that he was not intoxicated. Chitterlow came +with him partly to see him home and partly for a freshener before +turning in. Kipps recalled afterwards very distinctly how in Little +Fenchurch Street he discovered that he could not walk straight and also +that Chitterlow's needle and thread in his still unmended trouser leg +was making an annoying little noise on the pavement behind him. He tried +to pick up the needle suddenly by surprise and somehow tripped and fell +and then Chitterlow, laughing uproariously, helped him up. "It wasn't a +bicycle this time, old boy," said Chitterlow, and that appeared to them +both at the time as being a quite <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>extraordinarily good joke indeed. +They punched each other about on the strength of it.</p> + +<p>For a time after that Kipps certainly pretended to be quite desperately +drunk and unable to walk and Chitterlow entered into the pretence and +supported him. After that Kipps remembered being struck with the +extremely laughable absurdity of going down hill to Tontine Street in +order to go up hill again to the Emporium, and trying to get that idea +into Chitterlow's head and being unable to do so on account of his own +merriment or Chitterlow's evident intoxication, and his next memory +after that was of the exterior of the Emporium, shut and darkened, and, +as it were, frowning at him with all its stripes of yellow and green. +The chilly way in which "Shalford" glittered in the moonlight printed +itself with particular vividness on his mind. It appeared to Kipps that +that establishment was closed to him for evermore. Those gilded letters, +in spite of appearances, spelt <span class="smcap">Finis</span> for him and exile from Folkestone. +He would never do wood-carving, never see Miss Walshingham again. Not +that he had ever hoped to see her again. But this was the knife, this +was final. He had stayed out, he had got drunk, there had been that row +about the Manchester window dressing only three days ago.... In the +retrospect he was quite sure that he was perfectly sober then and at +bottom extremely unhappy, but he kept a brave face on the matter +nevertheless, and declared stoutly he didn't care if he <i>was</i> locked out.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p><p>Whereupon Chitterlow slapped him on the back very hard and told him +that was a "Bit of All Right," and assured him that when he himself had +been a clerk in Sheffield before he took to acting he had been locked +out sometimes for six nights running.</p> + +<p>"What's the result?" said Chitterlow. "I could go back to that place +now, and they'd be glad to have me.... Glad to have me," he repeated, +and then added, "that is to say, if they remember me—which isn't very likely."</p> + +<p>Kipps asked a little weakly, "What am I to do?"</p> + +<p>"Keep out," said Chitterlow. "You can't knock 'em up now—that would +give you Right away. You'd better try and sneak in in the morning with +the Cat. That'll do you. You'll probably get in all right in the morning +if nobody gives you away."</p> + +<p>Then for a time—perhaps as the result of that slap in the back—Kipps +felt decidedly queer, and acting on Chitterlow's advice went for a bit +of a freshener upon the Leas. After a time he threw off the temporary +queerness and found Chitterlow patting him on the shoulder and telling +him that he'd be all right now in a minute and all the better for +it—which he was. And the wind having dropped and the night being now a +really very beautiful moonlight night indeed, and all before Kipps to +spend as he liked and with only a very little tendency to spin round now +and again to mar its splendour, they set out to walk the whole length of +the Leas to the Sandgate lift and back, and as they walked Chitterlow +spoke first of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> moonlight transfiguring the sea and then of moonlight +transfiguring faces, and so at last he came to the topic of Love, and +upon that he dwelt a great while, and with a wealth of experience and +illustrative anecdote that seemed remarkably pungent and material to +Kipps. He forgot his lost Miss Walshingham and his outraged employer +again. He became as it were a desperado by reflection.</p> + +<p>Chitterlow had had adventures, a quite astonishing variety of adventures +in this direction; he was a man with a past, a really opulent past, and +he certainly seemed to like to look back and see himself amidst its opulence.</p> + +<p>He made no consecutive history, but he gave Kipps vivid, momentary +pictures of relations and entanglements. One moment he was in +flight—only too worthily in flight—before the husband of a Malay woman +in Cape Town. At the next he was having passionate complications with +the daughter of a clergyman in York. Then he passed to a remarkable +grouping at Seaford.</p> + +<p>"They say you can't love two women at once," said Chitterlow. "But I +tell you——" He gesticulated and raised his ample voice. "It's <i>Rot! +Rot!</i>"</p> + +<p>"I know that," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"Why, when I was in the smalls with Bessie Hopper's company there were +three." He laughed and decided to add, "Not counting Bessie, that is."</p> + +<p>He set out to reveal Life as it is lived in touring companies, a quite +amazing jungle of interwoven<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> "affairs" it appeared to be, a mere +amorous winepress for the crushing of hearts.</p> + +<p>"People say this sort of thing's a nuisance and interferes with Work. I +tell you it isn't. The Work couldn't go on without it. They <i>must</i> do +it. They haven't the Temperament if they don't. If they hadn't the +Temperament they wouldn't want to act, if they have—Bif!"</p> + +<p>"You're right," said Kipps. "I see that."</p> + +<p>Chitterlow proceeded to a close criticism of certain historical +indiscretions of Mr. Clement Scott respecting the morals of the stage. +Speaking in confidence and not as one who addresses the public, he +admitted regretfully the general truth of these comments. He proceeded +to examine various typical instances that had almost forced themselves +upon him personally, and with especial regard to the contrast between +his own character towards women and that of the Hon. Thomas Norgate, +with whom it appeared he had once been on terms of great intimacy....</p> + +<p>Kipps listened with emotion to these extraordinary recollections. They +were wonderful to him, they were incredibly credible. Of course the +tumultuous, passionate course was the way life ran—except in high-class +establishments! Such things happened in novels, in plays—only he had +been fool enough not to understand they happened. His share in the +conversation was now indeed no more than faint writing in the margin; +Chitterlow was talking quite continuously. He expanded his magnificent +voice into huge<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> guffaws, he drew it together into a confidential +intensity, it became drawlingly reminiscent, he was frank, frank with +the effect of a revelation, reticent also with the effect of a +revelation, a stupendously gesticulating, moonlit black figure, +wallowing in itself, preaching Adventure and the Flesh to Kipps. Yet +withal shot with something of sentiment, with a sort of sentimental +refinement very coarsely and egotistically done. The Times he had +had!—even before he was as old as Kipps he had had innumerable times.</p> + +<p>Well, he said with a sudden transition, he had sown his wild oats—one +had to somewhen—and now he fancied he had mentioned it earlier in the +evening, he was happily married. She was, he indicated, a "born lady." +Her father was a prominent lawyer, a solicitor in Kentish Town, "done a +lot of public house business"; her mother was second cousin to the wife +of Abel Jones, the fashionable portrait painter—"almost Society people +in a way." That didn't count with Chitterlow. He was no snob. What <i>did</i> +count was that she possessed, what he ventured to assert without much +fear of contradiction, was the very finest, completely untrained +contralto voice in all the world. ("But to hear it properly," said +Chitterlow, "you want a Big Hall.") He became rather vague and jerked +his head about to indicate when and how he had entered matrimony. She +was, it seemed, "away with her people." It was clear that Chitterlow did +not get on with these people very well. It would seem they failed to +appreciate his playwright, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>regarding it as an unremunerative pursuit, +whereas as he and Kipps knew, wealth beyond the dreams of avarice would +presently accrue. Only patience and persistence were needful.</p> + +<p>He went off at a tangent to hospitality. Kipps must come down home with +him. They couldn't wander about all night, with a bottle of the right +sort pining at home for them. "You can sleep on the sofa. You won't be +worried by broken springs anyhow, for I took 'em all out myself two or +three weeks ago. I don't see what they even put 'em in for. It's a point +I know about. I took particular notice of it when I was with Bessie +Hopper. Three months we were and all over England, North Wales and the +Isle of Man, and I never struck a sofa in diggings anywhere that hadn't +a broken spring. Not once—all the time."</p> + +<p>He added almost absently: "It happens like that at times."</p> + +<p>They descended the slant road towards Harbour Street and went on past +the Pavilion Hotel.</p> + +<p class="center">§4</p> + +<p>They came into the presence of old Methusaleh again, and that worthy +under Chitterlow's direction at once resumed the illumination of Kipps' +interior with the conscientious thoroughness that distinguished him. +Chitterlow took a tall portion to himself with an air of asbestos, lit +the bulldog pipe again, and lapsed for a space into meditation, from +which Kipps<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> roused him by remarking that he expected "an acter 'as a +lot of ups and downs like, now and then."</p> + +<p>At which Chitterlow seemed to bestir himself. "Ra-ther," he said. "And +sometimes it's his own fault and sometimes it isn't. Usually it is. If +it isn't one thing it's another. If it isn't the manager's wife it's +bar-bragging. I tell you things happen at times. I'm a fatalist. The +fact is Character has you. You can't get away from it. You may think you +do, but you don't."</p> + +<p>He reflected for a moment. "It's that what makes tragedy Psychology +really. It's the Greek irony—Ibsen and—all that. Up to date."</p> + +<p>He emitted this exhaustive summary of high-toned modern criticism as if +he was repeating a lesson while thinking of something else, but it +seemed to rouse him as it passed his lips, by including the name of Ibsen.</p> + +<p>He became interested in telling Kipps, who was indeed open to any +information whatever about this quite novel name, exactly where he +thought Ibsen fell short, points where it happened that Ibsen was +defective just where it chanced that he, Chitterlow, was strong. Of +course he had no desire to place himself in any way on an equality with +Ibsen; still the fact remained that his own experience in England and +America and the colonies was altogether more extensive than Ibsen could +have had. Ibsen had probably never seen "one decent bar scrap" in his +life. That, of course, was not Ibsen's fault or his own merit, but there +the thing was. Genius, he knew, was supposed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> to be able to do anything +or to do without anything; still he was now inclined to doubt that. He +had a play in hand that might perhaps not please William Archer—whose +opinion, after all, he did not value as he valued Kipps' opinion—but +which he thought was at any rate as well constructed as anything Ibsen ever did.</p> + +<p>So with infinite deviousness Chitterlow came at last to his play. He +decided he would not read it to Kipps, but tell him about it. This was +the simpler because much of it was still unwritten. He began to explain +his plot. It was a complicated plot and all about a nobleman who had +seen everything and done everything and knew practically all that +Chitterlow knew about women; that is to say, "all about women" and +suchlike matters. It warmed and excited Chitterlow. Presently he stood +up to act a situation—which could not be explained. It was an extremely +vivid situation.</p> + +<p>Kipps applauded the situation vehemently. "Tha's dam' fine," said the +new dramatic critic, quite familiar with his part now, striking the +table with his fist and almost upsetting his third portion (in the +second series) of old Methusaleh. "Tha's dam' fine, Chit'low!"</p> + +<p>"You see it?" said Chitterlow, with the last vestiges of that incidental +gloom disappearing. "Good, old boy! I thought you'd see it. But it's +just the sort of thing the literary critic can't see. However, it's only +a beginning——"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p><p>He replenished Kipps and proceeded with his exposition.</p> + +<p>In a little while it was no longer necessary to give that +over-advertised Ibsen the purely conventional precedence he had hitherto +had. Kipps and Chitterlow were friends and they could speak frankly and +openly of things not usually admitted. "Any 'ow," said Kipps, a little +irrelevantly and speaking over the brim of the replenishment, "what you +read jus' now was dam' fine. Nothing can't alter that."</p> + +<p>He perceived a sort of faint, buzzing vibration about things that was +very nice and pleasant and with a little care he had no difficulty +whatever in putting his glass back on the table. Then he perceived +Chitterlow was going on with the scenario, and then that old Methusaleh +had almost entirely left his bottle. He was glad there was so little +more Methusaleh to drink because that would prevent his getting drunk. +He knew that he was not now drunk, but he knew that he had had enough. +He was one of those who always know when they have had enough. He tried +to interrupt Chitterlow to tell him this, but he could not get a +suitable opening. He doubted whether Chitterlow might not be one of +those people who did not know when they had had enough. He discovered +that he disapproved of Chitterlow. Highly. It seemed to him that +Chitterlow went on and on like a river. For a time he was inexplicably +and quite unjustly cross with Chitterlow and wanted to say to him, "you +got the gift of the gab," but he only got so far<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> as to say "the gift," +and then Chitterlow thanked him and said he was better than Archer any +day. So he eyed Chitterlow with a baleful eye until it dawned upon him +that a most extraordinary thing was taking place. Chitterlow kept +mentioning someone named Kipps. This presently began to perplex Kipps +very greatly. Dimly but decidedly he perceived this was wrong.</p> + +<p>"Look 'ere," he said suddenly, "<i>what</i> Kipps?"</p> + +<p>"This chap Kipps I'm telling you about."</p> + +<p>"What chap Kipps you're telling which about?"</p> + +<p>"I told you."</p> + +<p>Kipps struggled with a difficulty in silence for a space. Then he +reiterated firmly, "<i>What</i> chap Kipps?"</p> + +<p>"This chap in my play—man who kisses the girl."</p> + +<p>"Never kissed a girl," said Kipps; "leastwise——" and subsided for a +space. He could not remember whether he had kissed Ann or not—he knew +he had meant to. Then suddenly in a tone of great sadness and addressing +the hearth he said, "<i>My</i> name's Kipps."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" said Chitterlow.</p> + +<p>"Kipps," said Kipps, smiling a little cynically.</p> + +<p>"What about him?"</p> + +<p>"He's me." He tapped his breastbone with his middle finger to indicate +his essential self.</p> + +<p>He leant forward very gravely towards Chitterlow. "Look 'ere, Chit'low," +he said, "you haven't no business putting my name into play. You +mustn't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> do things like that. You'd lose me my crib, right away." And +they had a little argument—so far as Kipps could remember. Chitterlow +entered upon a general explanation of how he got his names. These, he +had for the most part got out of a newspaper that was still, he +believed, "lying about." He even made to look for it, and while he was +doing so Kipps went on with the argument, addressing himself more +particularly to the photograph of the girl in tights. He said that at +first her costume had not commended her to him, but now he perceived she +had an extremely sensible face. He told her she would like Buggins if +she met him; he could see she was just that sort. She would admit, all +sensible people would admit, that using names in plays was wrong. You +could, for example, have the law of him.</p> + +<p>He became confidential. He explained that he was already in sufficient +trouble for stopping out all night without having his name put in plays. +He was certain to be in the deuce of a row, the deuce of a row. Why had +he done it? Why hadn't he gone at ten? Because one thing leads to +another. One thing, he generalized, always does lead to another....</p> + +<p>He was trying to tell her that he was utterly unworthy of Miss +Walshingham, when Chitterlow gave up the search and suddenly accused him +of being drunk and talking "Rot——."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER V</span> <span class="smaller">"SWAPPED"</span></h2> + +<p class="center">§1</p> + +<p>He awoke on the thoroughly comfortable sofa that had had all its springs +removed, and although he had certainly not been intoxicated, he awoke +with what Chitterlow pronounced to be, quite indisputably, a Head and a +Mouth. He had slept in his clothes and he felt stiff and uncomfortable +all over, but the head and mouth insisted that he must not bother over +little things like that. In the head was one large, angular idea that it +was physically painful to have there. If he moved his head the angular +idea shifted about in the most agonising way. This idea was that he had +lost his situation and was utterly ruined and that it really mattered +very little. Shalford was certain to hear of his escapade, and that +coupled with that row about the Manchester window——!</p> + +<p>He raised himself into a sitting position under Chitterlow's urgent +encouragement.</p> + +<p>He submitted apathetically to his host's attentions. Chitterlow, who +admitted being a "bit off it" himself and in need of an egg-cupful of +brandy, just an egg-cupful neat, dealt with that Head and Mouth as a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +mother might deal with the fall of an only child. He compared it with +other Heads and Mouths that he had met, and in particular to certain +experienced by the Hon. Thomas Norgate. "Right up to the last," said +Chitterlow, "he couldn't stand his liquor. It happens like that at +times." And after Chitterlow had pumped on the young beginner's head and +given him some anchovy paste piping hot on buttered toast, which he +preferred to all the other remedies he had encountered, Kipps resumed +his crumpled collar, brushed his clothes, tacked up his knee, and +prepared to face Mr. Shalford and the reckoning for this wild, +unprecedented night, the first "night out" that ever he had taken.</p> + +<p>Acting on Chitterlow's advice to have a bit of a freshener before +returning to the Emporium, Kipps walked some way along the Leas and back +and then went down to a shop near the Harbour to get a cup of coffee. He +found that extremely reinvigorating, and he went on up the High Street +to face the inevitable terrors of the office, a faint touch of pride in +his depravity tempering his extreme self-abasement. After all, it was +not an unmanly headache; he had been out all night, and he had been +drinking and his physical disorder was there to witness the fact. If it +wasn't for the thought of Shalford he would have been even a proud man +to discover himself at last in such a condition. But the thought of +Shalford was very dreadful. He met two of the apprentices snatching a +walk before shop began. At the sight of them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> he pulled his spirits +together, put his hat back from his pallid brow, thrust his hands into +his trouser pockets and adopted an altogether more dissipated carriage; +he met their innocent faces with a wan smile. Just for a moment he was +glad that his patch at the knee was, after all, visible and that some at +least of the mud on his clothes had refused to move at Chitterlow's +brushing. What wouldn't they think he had been up to? He passed them +without speaking. He could imagine how they regarded his back. Then he +recollected Mr. Shalford....</p> + +<p>The deuce of a row certainly and perhaps——! He tried to think of +plausible versions of the affair. He could explain he had been run down +by rather a wild sort of fellow who was riding a bicycle, almost stunned +for the moment (even now he felt the effects of the concussion in his +head) and had been given whiskey to restore him, and "the fact is, +sir"—with an upward inflection of the voice, an upward inflection of +the eyebrows and an air of its being the last thing one would have +expected whiskey to do, the manifestation indeed of a practically unique +physiological weakness—"it got into my <i>'ed</i>!"</p> + +<p>Put like that it didn't look so bad.</p> + +<p>He got to the Emporium a little before eight and the housekeeper with +whom he was something of a favourite ("There's no harm in Mr. Kipps," +she used to say) seemed to like him if anything better for having broken +the rules and gave him a piece of dry toast and a good hot cup of tea.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p><p>"I suppose the G. V.——" began Kipps.</p> + +<p>"He knows," said the housekeeper.</p> + +<p>He went down to shop a little before time, and presently Booch summoned +him to the presence.</p> + +<p>He emerged from the private office after an interval of ten minutes.</p> + +<p>The junior clerk scrutinised his visage. Buggins put the frank question.</p> + +<p>Kipps answered with one word.</p> + +<p>"Swapped!" said Kipps.</p> + +<p class="center">§2</p> + +<p>Kipps leant against the fixtures with his hands in his pockets and +talked to the two apprentices under him.</p> + +<p>"I don't care if I <i>am</i> swapped," said Kipps. "I been sick of Teddy and +his System some time. I was a good mind to chuck it when my time was up. +Wish I 'ad now."</p> + +<p>Afterwards Pierce came round and Kipps repeated this.</p> + +<p>"What's it for?" said Pierce. "That row about the window tickets?"</p> + +<p>"No fear!" said Kipps and sought to convey a perspective of splendid +depravity. "I wasn't in las' night," he said and made even Pierce, "man +about town" Pierce, open his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Why! where did you get to?" asked Pierce.</p> + +<p>He conveyed that he had been "fair round the town." "With a Nactor chap, +I know."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p><p>"One can't <i>always</i> be living like a curit," he said.</p> + +<p>"No fear," said Pierce, trying to play up to him.</p> + +<p>But Kipps had the top place in that conversation.</p> + +<p>"My Lor'!" said Kipps, when Pierce had gone, "but wasn't my mouth and +'ed bad this morning before I 'ad a pick-me-up!"</p> + +<p>"Whad jer 'ave?"</p> + +<p>"Anchovy on 'ot buttered toast. It's the very best pick-me-up there is. +You trust me, Rodgers. I never take no other and I don't advise you to. +See?"</p> + +<p>And when pressed for further particulars, he said again he had been +"fair all <i>round</i> the town, with a Nactor chap" he knew. They asked +curiously all he had done and he said, "Well, what do <i>you</i> think?" And +when they pressed for still further details he said there were things +little boys ought not to know and laughed darkly and found them some +huckaback to roll.</p> + +<p>And in this manner for a space did Kipps fend off the contemplation of +the "key of the street" that Shalford had presented him.</p> + +<p class="center">§3</p> + +<p>This sort of thing was all very well when junior apprentices were about, +but when Kipps was alone with himself it served him not at all. He was +uncomfortable inside and his skin was uncomfortable, and Head and Mouth +palliated perhaps, but certainly not cured, were still with him. He +felt, to tell the truth, nasty and dirty and extremely disgusted with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> +himself. To work was dreadful and to stand still and think still more +dreadful. His patched knee reproached him. These were the second best of +his three pairs of trousers, and they had cost him thirteen and +sixpence. Practically ruined they were. His dusting pair was unfit for +shop and he would have to degrade his best. When he was under inspection +he affected the slouch of a desperado, but directly he found himself +alone, this passed insensibly into the droop.</p> + +<p>The financial aspect of things grew large before him. His whole capital +in the world was the sum of five pounds in the Post Office Savings Bank +and four and sixpence cash. Besides there would be two months' screw. +His little tin box upstairs was no longer big enough for his belongings; +he would have to buy another, let alone that it was not calculated to +make a good impression in a new "crib." Then there would be paper and +stamps needed in some abundance for answering advertisements and railway +fares when he went "crib hunting." He would have to write letters, and +he never wrote letters. There was spelling for example to consider. +Probably if nothing turned up before his month was up he would have to +go home to his Uncle and Aunt.</p> + +<p>How would they take it?...</p> + +<p>For the present at any rate he resolved not to write to them.</p> + +<p>Such disagreeable things as this it was that lurked below the fair +surface of Kipps' assertion, "I've been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> wanting a chance. If 'e 'adn't +swapped me, I should very likely 'ave swapped <i>'im</i>."</p> + +<p>In the perplexed privacies of his own mind he could not understand how +everything had happened. He had been the Victim of Fate, or at least of +one as inexorable—Chitterlow. He tried to recall the successive steps +that had culminated so disastrously. They were difficult to recall....</p> + +<p>Buggins that night abounded in counsel and reminiscence.</p> + +<p>"Curious thing," said Buggins, "but every time I've had the swap I've +never believed I should get another Crib—never. But I have," said +Buggins. "Always. So don't lose heart, whatever you do....</p> + +<p>"Whatever you do," said Buggins, "keep hold of your collars and +cuffs—shirts if you can, but collars anyhow. Spout them last. And +anyhow, it's summer!—you won't want your coat.... You got a good +umbrella....</p> + +<p>"You'll no more get a shop from New Romney, than—anything. Go straight +up to London, get the cheapest room you can find—and hang out. Don't +eat too much. Many a chap's put his prospects in his stomach. Get a cup +o' coffee and a slice—egg if you like—but remember you got to turn up +at the Warehouse tidy. The best places <i>now</i>, I believe, are the old +cabmen's eating houses. Keep your watch and chain as long as you can....</p> + +<p>"There's lots of shops going," said Buggins. "Lots!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p><p>And added reflectively, "But not this time of year perhaps."</p> + +<p>He began to recall his own researches. "'Stonishing lot of chaps you +see," he said. "All sorts. Look like Dukes some of 'em. High hat. Patent +boots. Frock coat. All there. All right for a West End crib. +Others—Lord! It's a caution, Kipps. Boots been inked in some reading +rooms—<i>I</i> used to write in a Reading Room in Fleet Street, regular +penny club—hat been wetted, collar frayed, tail coat buttoned up, black +chest-plaster tie—spread out. Shirt, you know, gone——" Buggins +pointed upward with a pious expression.</p> + +<p>"No shirt, I expect?"</p> + +<p>"Eat it," said Buggins.</p> + +<p>Kipps meditated. "I wonder where old Merton is," he said at last. "I +often wondered about 'im."</p> + +<p class="center">§4</p> + +<p>It was the morning following Kipps' notice of dismissal that Miss +Walshingham came into the shop. She came in with a dark, slender lady, +rather faded, rather tightly dressed, whom Kipps was to know some day as +her mother. He discovered them in the main shop at the counter of the +ribbon department. He had come to the opposite glove counter with some +goods enclosed in a parcel that he had unpacked in his own department. +The two ladies were both bent over a box of black ribbon.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p><p>He had a moment of tumultuous hesitations. The etiquette of the +situation was incomprehensible. He put down his goods very quietly and +stood hands on counter, staring at these two ladies. Then, as Miss +Walshingham sat back, the instinct of flight seized him....</p> + +<p>He returned to his Manchester shop wildly agitated. Directly he was out +of sight of her he wanted to see her. He fretted up and down the +counter, and addressed some snappish remarks to the apprentice in the +window. He fumbled for a moment with a parcel, untied it needlessly, +began to tie it up again and then bolted back again into the main shop. +He could hear his own heart beating.</p> + +<p>The two ladies were standing in the manner of those who have completed +their purchases and are waiting for their change. Mrs. Walshingham +regarded some remnants with impersonal interest; Helen's eyes searched +the shop. They distinctly lit up when they discovered Kipps.</p> + +<p>He dropped his hands to the counter by habit and stood for a moment +regarding her awkwardly. What would she do? Would she cut him? She came +across the shop to him.</p> + +<p>"How are <i>you</i>, Mr. Kipps?" she said, in her clear, distinct tones, and +she held out her hand.</p> + +<p>"Very well, thank you," said Kipps; "how are you?"</p> + +<p>She said she had been buying some ribbon.</p> + +<p>He became aware of Mrs. Walshingham very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> much surprised. This checked +something allusive about the class and he said instead that he supposed +she was glad to be having her holidays now. She said she was, it gave +her more time for reading and that sort of thing. He supposed that she +would be going abroad and she thought that perhaps they <i>would</i> go to +Knocke or Bruges for a time.</p> + +<p>Then came a pause and Kipps' soul surged within him. He wanted to tell +her he was leaving and would never see her again. He could find neither +words nor voice to say it. The swift seconds passed. The girl in the +ribbons was handing Mrs. Walshingham her change. "Well," said Miss +Walshingham, "Good-bye," and gave him her hand again.</p> + +<p>Kipps bowed over her hand. His manners, his counter manners, were the +easiest she had ever seen upon him. She turned to her mother. It was no +good now, no good. Her mother! You couldn't say a thing like that before +her mother! All was lost but politeness. Kipps rushed for the door. He +stood at the door bowing with infinite gravity, and she smiled and +nodded as she went out. She saw nothing of the struggle within him, +nothing but a satisfactory emotion. She smiled like a satisfied goddess +as the incense ascends.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Walshingham bowed stiffly and a little awkwardly.</p> + +<p>He remained holding the door open for some seconds after they had passed +out, then rushed suddenly to the back of the "costume" window to watch +them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> go down the street. His hands tightened on the window rack as he +stared. Her mother appeared to be asking discreet questions. Helen's +bearing suggested the off-hand replies of a person who found the world a +satisfactory place to live in. "Really, Mumsie, you cannot expect me to +cut my own students dead," she was in fact saying....</p> + +<p>They vanished round Henderson's corner.</p> + +<p>Gone! And he would never see her again—never!</p> + +<p>It was as though someone had struck his heart with a whip. Never! Never! +Never! And she didn't know! He turned back from the window and the +department with its two apprentices was impossible. The whole glaring +world was insupportable.</p> + +<p>He hesitated and made a rush head down for the cellar that was his +Manchester warehouse. Rodgers asked him a question that he pretended not +to hear.</p> + +<p>The Manchester warehouse was a small cellar apart from the general +basement of the building and dimly lit by a small gas flare. He did not +turn that up, but rushed for the darkest corner, where on the lowest +shelf the sale window tickets were stored. He drew out the box of these +with trembling hands and upset them on the floor, and so having made +himself a justifiable excuse for being on the ground, with his head well +in the dark, he could let his poor bursting little heart have its way +with him for a space.</p> + +<p>And there he remained until the cry of "Kipps! Forward!" summoned him +once more to face the world.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER VI</span> <span class="smaller">THE UNEXPECTED</span></h2> + +<p class="center">§1</p> + +<p>Now in the slack of that same day, after the midday dinner and before +the coming of the afternoon customers, this disastrous Chitterlow +descended upon Kipps with the most amazing coincidence in the world. He +did not call formally, entering and demanding Kipps, but privately, in a +confidential and mysterious manner.</p> + +<p>Kipps was first aware of him as a dark object bobbing about excitedly +outside the hosiery window. He was stooping and craning and peering in +the endeavour to see into the interior between and over the socks and +stockings. Then he transferred his attention to the door, and after a +hovering scrutiny, tried the baby-linen display. His movements and +gestures suggested a suppressed excitement.</p> + +<p>Seen by daylight, Chitterlow was not nearly such a magnificent figure as +he had been by the subdued nocturnal lightings and beneath the glamour +of his own interpretation. The lines were the same indeed, but the +texture was different. There was a quality about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> the yachting cap, an +indefinable finality of dustiness, a shiny finish on all the salient +surfaces of the reefer coat. The red hair and the profile, though still +forcible and fine, were less in the quality of Michael Angelo and more +in that of the merely picturesque. But it was a bright brown eye still +that sought amidst the interstices of the baby-linen.</p> + +<p>Kipps was by no means anxious to interview Chitterlow again. If he had +felt sure that Chitterlow would not enter the shop he would have hid in +the warehouse until the danger was past, but he had no idea of +Chitterlow's limitations. He decided to keep up the shop in the shadows +until Chitterlow reached the side window of the Manchester department +and then to go outside as if to inspect the condition of the window and +explain to him that things were unfavourable to immediate intercourse. +He might tell him he had already lost his situation....</p> + +<p>"Ullo, Chit'low," he said, emerging.</p> + +<p>"Very man I want to see," said Chitterlow, shaking with vigour. "Very +man I want to see." He laid a hand on Kipps' arm. "How <i>old</i> are you, Kipps?"</p> + +<p>"One and twenty," said Kipps. "Why?"</p> + +<p>"Talk about coincidences! And your name now? Wait a minute." He held out +a finger. "<i>Is</i> it Arthur?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"You're the man," said Chitterlow.</p> + +<p>"What man?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p><p>"It's about the thickest coincidence I ever struck," said Chitterlow, +plunging his extensive hand into his breast coat pocket. "Half a jiff +and I'll tell you your mother's Christian name." He laughed and +struggled with his coat for a space, produced a washing book and two +pencils, which he deposited in his side pocket; then in one capacious +handful, a bent but by no means finally disabled cigar, the rubber +proboscis of a bicycle pump, some twine and a lady's purse, and finally +a small pocket book, and from this, after dropping and recovering +several visiting cards, he extracted a carelessly torn piece of +newspaper. "Euphemia," he read and brought his face close to Kipps'. +"Eh?" He laughed noisily. "It's about as fair a Bit of All Right as +anyone <i>could</i> have—outside a coincidence play. Don't say her name +wasn't Euphemia, Kipps, and spoil the whole blessed show."</p> + +<p>"Whose name—Euphemia?" asked Kipps.</p> + +<p>"Your mother's."</p> + +<p>"Lemme see what it says on the paper."</p> + +<p>Chitterlow handed him the fragment and turned away. "You may say what +you like," he said, addressing a vast, deep laugh to the street +generally.</p> + +<p>Kipps attempted to read. "'WADDY or KIPPS. If Arthur Waddy or Arthur +Kipps, the son of Margaret Euphemia Kipps, who——'"</p> + +<p>Chitterlow's finger swept over the print. "I went down the column and +every blessed name that seemed to fit my play I took. I don't believe in +made-up names. As I told you. I'm all with Zola in that.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> Documents +whenever you can. I like 'em hot and real. See? Who was Waddy?"</p> + +<p>"Never heard his name."</p> + +<p>"Not Waddy?"</p> + +<p>"No!"</p> + +<p>Kipps tried to read again and abandoned the attempt. "What does it +mean?" he said. "I don't understand."</p> + +<p>"It means," said Chitterlow, with a momentary note of lucid exposition, +"so far as I can make out that you're going to strike it Rich. Never +mind about the Waddy—that's a detail. What does it usually mean? You'll +hear of something to your advantage—very well. I took that newspaper up +to get my names by the merest chance. Directly I saw it again and read +that—I knew it was you. I believe in coincidences. People say they +don't happen. <i>I</i> say they do. Everything's a coincidence. Seen +properly. Here you are. Here's one! Incredible? Not a bit of it! See? +It's you! Kipps! Waddy be damned! It's a Mascot. There's luck in my +play. Bif! You're there. <i>I'm</i> there. Fair <i>in</i> it! Snap!" And he +discharged his fingers like a pistol. "Never you mind about the +'Waddy.'"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" said Kipps, with a nervous eye on Chitterlow's fingers.</p> + +<p>"You're all right," said Chitterlow; "you may bet the seat of your only +breeches on that! Don't you worry about the Waddy—that's as clear as +day. You're about as right side up as a billiard ball<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>—whatever you do. +Don't stand there gaping, man! Read the paper if you don't believe me. Read it!"</p> + +<p>He shook it under Kipps' nose.</p> + +<p>Kipps became aware of the second apprentice watching them from the shop. +His air of perplexity gave place to a more confident bearing.</p> + +<p>"'—— who was born at East Grinstead.' I certainly was born there. I've +'eard my Aunt say——"</p> + +<p>"I knew it," said Chitterlow, taking hold of one edge of the paper and +bringing his face close alongside Kipps'.</p> + +<p>"'——on September the first, eighteen hundred and seventy-eight——'"</p> + +<p>"<i>That's</i> all right," said Chitterlow. "It's all, all right, and all you +have to do is write to Watson and Bean and get it——"</p> + +<p>"Get what?"</p> + +<p>"Whatever it is."</p> + +<p>Kipps sought his moustache. "You'd write?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Ra-ther."</p> + +<p>"But what d'you think it is?"</p> + +<p>"That's the fun of it!" said Chitterlow, taking three steps in some as +yet uninvented dance. "That's where the joke comes in. It may be +anything—it may be a million. If so! Where does little Harry come in? +Eh?"</p> + +<p>Kipps was trembling slightly. "But——" he said, and thought. "If you +was me——" he began. "About that Waddy——?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p><p>He glanced up and saw the second apprentice disappear with amazing +swiftness from behind the goods in the window.</p> + +<p>"<i>What?</i>" asked Chitterlow, but he never had an answer.</p> + +<p>"Lor'! There's the guv'nor!" said Kipps, and made a prompt dive for the +door.</p> + +<p>He dashed in only to discover that Shalford, with the junior apprentice +in attendance, had come to mark off remnants of Kipps' cotton dresses +and was demanding him. "Hullo, Kipps," he said, "outside——?"</p> + +<p>"Seein' if the window was straight, Sir," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"Umph!" said Shalford.</p> + +<p>For a space Kipps was too busily employed to think at all of Chitterlow +or the crumpled bit of paper in his trouser pocket. He was, however, +painfully aware of a suddenly disconcerted excitement at large in the +street. There came one awful moment when Chitterlow's nose loomed +interrogatively over the ground glass of the department door, and his +bright, little, red-brown eye sought for the reason of Kipps' +disappearance, and then it became evident that he saw the high light of +Shalford's baldness and grasped the situation and went away. And then +Kipps (with that advertisement in his pocket) was able to come back to +the business in hand.</p> + +<p>He became aware that Shalford had asked a question. "Yessir, nosir, +rightsir. I'm sorting up zephyrs to-morrow, Sir," said Kipps.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p><p>Presently he had a moment to himself again, and, taking up a safe +position behind a newly unpacked pile of summer lace curtains, he +straightened out the piece of paper and reperused it. It was a little +perplexing. That "Arthur Waddy or Arthur Kipps"—did that imply two +persons or one? He would ask Pierce or Buggins. Only——</p> + +<p>It had always been impressed upon him that there was something demanding +secrecy about his mother.</p> + +<p>"Don't you answer no questions about your mother," his aunt had been +wont to say. "Tell them you don't know, whatever it is they ask you."</p> + +<p>"Now this——?"</p> + +<p>Kipps' face became portentously careful and he tugged at his moustache, +such as it was, hard.</p> + +<p>He had always represented his father as being a "gentleman farmer." "It +didn't pay," he used to say with a picture in his own mind of a penny +magazine aristocrat prematurely worn out by worry. "I'm a Norfan, both +sides," he would explain, with the air of one who had seen trouble. He +said he lived with his uncle and aunt, but he did not say that they kept +a toy shop, and to tell anyone that his uncle had been a butler—<i>a +servant!</i>—would have seemed the maddest of indiscretions. Almost all +the assistants in the Emporium were equally reticent and vague, so great +is their horror of "Lowness" of any sort. To ask about this "Waddy or +Kipps" would upset all these little fictions. He was not, as a matter of +fact, perfectly clear about his real status in the world (he was not,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> +as a matter of fact, perfectly clear about anything), but he knew that +there was a quality about his status that was—detrimental.</p> + +<p>Under the circumstances——?</p> + +<p>It occurred to him that it would save a lot of trouble to destroy the +advertisement there and then.</p> + +<p>In which case he would have to explain to Chitterlow!</p> + +<p>"Eng!" said Mr. Kipps.</p> + +<p>"Kipps," cried Carshot, who was shopwalking; "Kipps, Forward!"</p> + +<p>He thrust back the crumpled paper into his pocket and sallied forth to +the customers.</p> + +<p>"I want," said the customer, looking vaguely about her through glasses, +"a little bit of something to cover a little stool I have. Anything +would do—a remnant or anything——"</p> + +<p>The matter of the advertisement remained in abeyance for half an hour, +and at the end the little stool was still a candidate for covering and +Kipps had a thoroughly representative collection of the textile fabrics +in his department to clear away. He was so angry about the little stool +that the crumpled advertisement lay for a space in his pocket, +absolutely forgotten.</p> + +<p class="center">§2</p> + +<p>Kipps sat on his tin box under the gas bracket that evening, and looked +up the name Euphemia and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> learnt what it meant in the "Enquire Within +About Everything" that constituted Buggins' reference library. He hoped +Buggins, according to his habit, would ask him what he was looking for, +but Buggins was busy turning out his week's washing. "Two collars," said +Buggins, "half pair socks, two dickeys. Shirt?... M'm. There ought to be +another collar somewhere."</p> + +<p>"Euphemia," said Kipps at last, unable altogether to keep to himself +this suspicion of a high origin that floated so delightfully about him, +"Eu—phemia; it isn't a name <i>common</i> people would give to a girl, is +it?"</p> + +<p>"It isn't the name any decent people would give to a girl," said +Buggins, "——common or not."</p> + +<p>"Lor'!" said Kipps. "Why?"</p> + +<p>"It's giving girls names like that," said Buggins, "that nine times out +of ten makes 'em go wrong. It unsettles 'em. If ever I was to have a +girl, if ever I was to have a dozen girls, I'd call 'em all Jane. Every +one of 'em. You couldn't have a better name than that. Euphemia indeed! +What next?... Good Lord!... That isn't one of my collars there, is it? +under your bed?"...</p> + +<p>Kipps got him the collar.</p> + +<p>"I don't see no great 'arm in Euphemia," he said as he did so.</p> + +<p>After that he became restless. "I'm a good mind to write that letter," +he said, and then, finding Buggins preoccupied wrapping his washing up +in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> "half sox," added to himself, "a thundering good mind."</p> + +<p>So he got his penny bottle of ink, borrowed the pen from Buggins and +with no very serious difficulty in spelling or composition, did as he +had resolved.</p> + +<p>He came back into the bedroom about an hour afterwards a little out of +breath and pale. "Where you been?" said Buggins, who was now reading the +<i>Daily World Manager</i>, which came to him in rotation from Carshot.</p> + +<p>"Out to post some letters," said Kipps, hanging up his hat.</p> + +<p>"Crib hunting?"</p> + +<p>"Mostly," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"Rather," he added, with a nervous laugh; "what else?"</p> + +<p>Buggins went on reading. Kipps sat on his bed and regarded the back of +the <i>Daily World Manager</i> thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"Buggins," he said at last.</p> + +<p>Buggins lowered his paper and looked.</p> + +<p>"I say, Buggins, what do these here advertisements mean that say +so-and-so will hear of something greatly to his advantage?"</p> + +<p>"Missin' people," said Buggins, making to resume reading.</p> + +<p>"How d'yer mean?" asked Kipps. "Money left and that sort of thing?"</p> + +<p>Buggins shook his head. "Debts," he said, "more often than not."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p><p>"But that ain't to his advantage."</p> + +<p>"They put that to get 'old of 'em," said Buggins. "Often it's wives."</p> + +<p>"What you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Deserted wives, try and get their husbands back that way."</p> + +<p>"I suppose it <i>is</i> legacies sometimes, eh? Perhaps if someone was left a +hundred pounds by someone——"</p> + +<p>"Hardly ever," said Buggins.</p> + +<p>"Well, 'ow——?" began Kipps and hesitated.</p> + +<p>Buggins resumed reading. He was very much excited by a leader on Indian +affairs. "By Jove!" he said, "it won't do to give these here Blacks +votes."</p> + +<p>"No fear," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"They're different altogether," said Buggins. "They 'aven't the sound +sense of Englishmen, and they 'aven't the character. There's a sort of +tricky dishonesty about 'em—false witness and all that—of which an +Englishman has no idea. Outside their courts of law—it's a pos'tive +fact, Kipps—there's witnesses waitin' to be 'ired. Reg'lar trade. Touch +their 'ats as you go in. Englishmen 'ave no idea, I tell you—not +ord'nary Englishmen. It's in their blood. They're too timid to be +honest. Too slavish. They aren't used to being free like we are, and if +you gave 'em freedom they wouldn't make a proper use of it. Now +<i>we</i>——. Oh, <i>Damn</i>!"</p> + +<p>For the gas had suddenly gone out and Buggins<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> had the whole column of +Society Club Chat still to read.</p> + +<p>Buggins could talk of nothing after that but Shalford's meanness in +turning off the gas, and after being extremely satirical indeed about +their employer, undressed in the dark, hit his bare toe against a box +and subsided after unseemly ejaculations into silent ill-temper.</p> + +<p>Though Kipps tried to get to sleep before the affair of the letter he +had just posted resumed possession of his mind he could not do so. He +went over the whole thing again, quite exhaustively. Now that his first +terror was abating he couldn't quite determine whether he was glad or +sorry that he had posted that letter. If it <i>should</i> happen to be a +hundred pounds!</p> + +<p>It <i>must</i> be a hundred pounds!</p> + +<p>If it was he could hold out for a year, for a couple of years even, +before he got a Crib.</p> + +<p>Even if it was fifty pounds——!</p> + +<p>Buggins was already breathing regularly when Kipps spoke again. +"<i>Bug</i>-gins," he said.</p> + +<p>Buggins pretended to be asleep, and thickened his regular breathing (a +little too hastily) to a snore.</p> + +<p>"I say Buggins," said Kipps after an interval.</p> + +<p>"<i>What's</i> up now?" said Buggins unamiably.</p> + +<p>"'Spose <i>you</i> saw an advertisement in a paper, with your name in it, +see, asking you to come and see someone, like, so as to hear of +something very much to your——"</p> + +<p>"Hide," said Buggins shortly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p><p>"But——"</p> + +<p>"I'd hide."</p> + +<p>"Er?"</p> + +<p>"Goonight, o' man," said Buggins, with convincing earnestness. Kipps lay +still for a long time, then blew profoundly, turned over and stared at +the other side of the dark.</p> + +<p>He had been a fool to post that letter!</p> + +<p>Lord! <i>Hadn't</i> he been a fool!</p> + +<p class="center">§3</p> + +<p>It was just five days and a half after the light had been turned out +while Buggins was reading, that a young man with a white face and eyes +bright and wide-open, emerged from a side road upon the Leas front. He +was dressed in his best clothes, and, although the weather was fine, he +carried his umbrella, just as if he had been to church. He hesitated and +turned to the right. He scanned each house narrowly as he passed it, and +presently came to an abrupt stop. "Hughenden," said the gateposts in +firm, black letters, and the fanlight in gold repeated "Hughenden." It +was a stucco house fit to take your breath away, and its balcony was +painted a beautiful sea-green, enlivened with gilding. He stood looking +up at it.</p> + +<p>"Gollys!" he said at last in an awestricken whisper.</p> + +<p>It had rich-looking crimson curtains to all the lower windows and brass +railed blinds above. There was a splendid tropical plant in a large, +artistic pot in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> the drawing-room window. There was a splendid bronzed +knocker (ring also) and two bells—one marked "servants." Gollys! +<i>Servants</i>, eh?</p> + +<p>He walked past away from it, with his eyes regarding it, and then turned +and came back. He passed through a further indecision, and finally +drifted away to the sea front and sat down on a seat a little way along +the Leas and put his arm over the back and regarded "Hughenden." He +whistled an air very softly to himself, put his head first on one side +and then on the other. Then for a space he scowled fixedly at it.</p> + +<p>A very stout old gentleman, with a very red face and very protuberant +eyes, sat down beside Kipps, removed a Panama hat of the most abandoned +desperado cut, and mopped his brow and blew. Then he began mopping the +inside of his hat. Kipps watched him for a space, wondering how much he +might have a year, and where he bought his hat. Then "Hughenden" +reasserted itself.</p> + +<p>An impulse overwhelmed him. "I say," he said, leaning forward, to the +old gentleman.</p> + +<p>The old gentleman started and stared.</p> + +<p>"<i>Whad</i> do you say?" he asked fiercely.</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't think," said Kipps, indicating with his forefinger, "that +that 'ouse there belongs to me."</p> + +<p>The old gentleman twisted his neck round to look at "Hughenden." Then he +came back to Kipps, looked at his mean, little garments with apoplectic +intensity and blew at him by way of reply.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p><p>"It does," said Kipps, a little less confidently.</p> + +<p>"Don't be a Fool," said the old gentleman, and put his hat on and wiped +out the corners of his eyes. "It's hot enough," panted the old gentleman +indignantly, "without Fools." Kipps looked from the old gentleman to the +house and back to the old gentleman. The old gentleman looked at Kipps +and snorted and looked out to sea, and again, snorting very +contemptuously, at Kipps.</p> + +<p>"Mean to say it doesn't belong to me?" said Kipps.</p> + +<p>The old gentleman just glanced over his shoulder at the house in dispute +and then fell to pretending Kipps didn't exist. "It's been lef' me this +very morning," said Kipps. "It ain't the only one that's been lef' me, +neither."</p> + +<p>"Aw!" said the old gentleman, like one who is sorely tried. He seemed to +expect the passers-by presently to remove Kipps.</p> + +<p>"It <i>'as</i>," said Kipps. He made no further remark to the old gentleman +for a space, but looked with a little less certitude at the house....</p> + +<p>"I got——" he said and stopped.</p> + +<p>"It's no good telling you if you don't believe," he said.</p> + +<p>The old gentleman, after a struggle with himself, decided not to have a +fit. "Try that game on with me," he panted. "Give you in charge."</p> + +<p>"What game?"</p> + +<p>"Wasn't born yesterday," said the old gentleman, and blew. "Besides," he +added, "<i>look</i> at you! I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> know you," and the old gentleman coughed +shortly and nodded to the horizon and coughed again.</p> + +<p>Kipps looked dubiously from the house to the old gentleman and back to +the house. Their conversation, he gathered, was over. Presently he got +up and went slowly across the grass to its stucco portal again. He stood +and his mouth shaped the precious word, "Hughenden." It was all <i>right</i>! +He looked over his shoulder as if in appeal to the old gentleman, then +turned and went his way. The old gentleman was so evidently past all +reason!</p> + +<p>He hung for a moment some distance along the parade, as though some +invisible string was pulling him back. When he could no longer see the +house from the pavement he went out into the road. Then with an effort +he snapped the string.</p> + +<p>He went on down a quiet side street, unbuttoned his coat furtively, took +out three bank notes in an envelope, looked at them and replaced them. +Then he fished up five new sovereigns from his trouser pocket and +examined them. To such a confidence had his exact resemblance to his +dead mother's portrait carried Messrs. Watson and Bean.</p> + +<p>It was right enough.</p> + +<p>It really was <i>all</i> right.</p> + +<p>He replaced the coins with grave precaution and went his way with a +sudden briskness. It was all right—he had it now—he was a rich man at +large. He went up a street and round a corner and along another street, +and started towards the Pavilion and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> changed his mind and came round +back, resolved to go straight to the Emporium and tell them all.</p> + +<p>He was aware of someone crossing a road far off ahead of him, someone +curiously relevant to his present extraordinary state of mind. It was +Chitterlow. Of course it was Chitterlow who had told him first of the +whole thing! The playwright was marching buoyantly along a cross street. +His nose was in the air, the yachting cap was on the back of his head +and the large freckled hand grasped two novels from the library, a +morning newspaper, a new hat done up in paper and a lady's net bag full +of onions and tomatoes....</p> + +<p>He passed out of sight behind the wine merchant's at the corner, as +Kipps decided to hurry forward and tell him of the amazing change in the +Order of the Universe that had just occurred.</p> + +<p>Kipps uttered a feeble shout, arrested as it began, and waved his +umbrella. Then he set off at a smart pace in pursuit. He came round the +corner and Chitterlow had gone; he hurried to the next and there was no +Chitterlow, he turned back unavailingly and his eyes sought some other +possible corner. His hand fluttered to his mouth and he stood for a +space at the pavement edge, staring about him. No good!</p> + +<p>But the sight of Chitterlow was a wholesome thing, it connected events +together, joined him on again to the past at a new point, and that was +what he so badly needed....</p> + +<p>It was all right—all right.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p><p>He became suddenly very anxious to tell everybody at the Emporium, +absolutely everybody, all about it. That was what wanted doing. He felt +that telling was the thing to make this business real. He gripped his +umbrella about the middle and walked very eagerly.</p> + +<p>He entered the Emporium through the Manchester department. He flung open +the door (over whose ground glass he had so recently, in infinite +apprehension, watched the nose of Chitterlow) and discovered the second +apprentice and Pierce in conversation. Pierce was prodding his hollow +tooth with a pin and talking in fragments about the distinctive +characteristics of Good Style.</p> + +<p>Kipps came up in front of the counter.</p> + +<p>"I say," he said; "what d'yer think?"</p> + +<p>"What?" said Pierce over the pin.</p> + +<p>"Guess."</p> + +<p>"You've slipped out because Teddy's in London."</p> + +<p>"Something more."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Been left a fortune."</p> + +<p>"Garn!"</p> + +<p>"I 'ave."</p> + +<p>"Get out!"</p> + +<p>"Straight. I been lef' twelve 'undred pounds—twelve 'undred pounds a +year!"</p> + +<p>He moved towards the little door out of the department into the house, +moving, as heralds say, <i>regardant passant</i>. Pierce stood with mouth<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +wide open and pin poised in air. "No!" he said at last.</p> + +<p>"It's right," said Kipps, "and I'm going."</p> + +<p>And he fell over the doormat into the house.</p> + +<p class="center">§4</p> + +<p>It happened that Mr. Shalford was in London buying summer sale +goods—and no doubt also interviewing aspirants to succeed Kipps.</p> + +<p>So that there was positively nothing to hinder a wild rush of rumour +from end to end of the Emporium. All the masculine members began their +report with the same formula. "Heard about Kipps?"</p> + +<p>The new girl in the cash desk had had it from Pierce and had dashed out +into the fancy shop to be the first with the news on the fancy side. +Kipps had been left a thousand pounds a year, twelve thousand pounds a +year. Kipps had been left twelve hundred thousand pounds. The figures +were uncertain, but the essential facts they had correct. Kipps had gone +upstairs. Kipps was packing his box. He said he wouldn't stop another +day in the old Emporium, not for a thousand pounds! It was said that he +was singing ribaldry about old Shalford.</p> + +<p>He had come down! He was in the counting house. There was a general +movement thither. Poor old Buggins had a customer and couldn't make out +what the deuce it was all about! Completely out of it was Buggins.</p> + +<p>There was a sound of running to and fro and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> voices saying this, that +and the other thing about Kipps. Ring-a-dinger, ring-a-dinger went the +dinner bell all unheeded. The whole of the Emporium was suddenly +bright-eyed, excited, hungry to tell somebody, to find at any cost +somebody who didn't know and be first to tell them, "Kipps has been left +thirty—forty—fifty thousand pounds!"</p> + +<p>"<i>What!</i>" cried the senior porter, "Him!" and ran up to the counting +house as eagerly as though Kipps had broken his neck.</p> + +<p>"One of our chaps just been left sixty thousand pounds," said the first +apprentice, returning after a great absence, to his customer.</p> + +<p>"Unexpectedly?" said the customer.</p> + +<p>"Quite," said the first apprentice....</p> + +<p>"I'm sure if Anyone deserves it, it's Mr. Kipps," said Miss Mergle, and +her train rustled as she hurried to the counting house.</p> + +<p>There stood Kipps amidst a pelting shower of congratulations. His face +was flushed and his hair disordered. He still clutched his hat and best +umbrella in his left hand. His right hand was anyone's to shake rather +than his own. (Ring-a-dinger, ring-a-dinger ding, ding, ding, dang you! +went the neglected dinner bell.)</p> + +<p>"Good old Kipps," said Pierce, shaking; "Good old Kipps."</p> + +<p>Booch rubbed one anæmic hand upon the other. "You're sure it's all +right, Mr. Kipps," he said in the background.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p><p>"I'm sure we all congratulate him," said Miss Mergle.</p> + +<p>"Great Scott!" said the new young lady in the glove department. "Twelve +hundred a year! Great Scott! You aren't thinking of marrying anyone, are +you, Mr. Kipps?"</p> + +<p>"Three pounds, five and ninepence a day," said Mr. Booch, working in his +head almost miraculously....</p> + +<p>Everyone, it seemed, was saying how glad they were it was Kipps, except +the junior apprentice, upon whom—he being the only son of a widow and +used to having the best of everything as a right—an intolerable envy, a +sense of unbearable wrong, had cast its gloomy shade. All the rest were +quite honestly and simply glad—gladder perhaps at that time than Kipps +because they were not so overpowered....</p> + +<p>Kipps went downstairs to dinner, emitting fragmentary, disconnected +statements. "Never expected anything of the sort.... When this here old +Bean told me, you could have knocked me down with a feather.... He says, +'You b'en lef' money.' Even then I didn't expect it'd be mor'n a hundred +pounds perhaps. Something like that."</p> + +<p>With the sitting down to dinner and the handing of plates the excitement +assumed a more orderly quality. The housekeeper emitted congratulations +as she carved and the maidservant became dangerous to clothes with the +plates—she held them anyhow, one expected to see one upside down +even—she found<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> Kipps so fascinating to look at. Everyone was the +brisker and hungrier for the news (except the junior apprentice) and the +housekeeper carved with unusual liberality. It was High Old Times there +under the gaslight, High Old Times. "I'm sure if Anyone deserves it," +said Miss Mergle—"pass the salt, please—it's Kipps."</p> + +<p>The babble died away a little as Carshot began barking across the table +at Kipps. "You'll be a bit of a Swell, Kipps," he said. "You won't +hardly know yourself."</p> + +<p>"Quite the gentleman," said Miss Mergle.</p> + +<p>"Many real gentlemen's families," said the housekeeper, "have to do with +less."</p> + +<p>"See you on the Leas," said Carshot. "My gu—!" He met the housekeeper's +eye. She had spoken about that before. "My eye!" he said tamely, lest +words should mar the day.</p> + +<p>"You'll go to London, I reckon," said Pierce. "You'll be a man about +town. We shall see you mashing 'em, with violets in your button'ole down +the Burlington Arcade."</p> + +<p>"One of these West End Flats. That'd be my style," said Pierce. "And a +first-class club."</p> + +<p>"Aren't these clubs a bit 'ard to get into?" asked Kipps, open-eyed, +over a mouthful of potato.</p> + +<p>"No fear. Not for Money," said Pierce. And the girl in the laces who had +acquired a cynical view of Modern Society from the fearless exposures +of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> Miss Marie Corelli, said, "Money goes everywhere nowadays, Mr. +Kipps."</p> + +<p>But Carshot showed the true British strain.</p> + +<p>"If I was Kipps," he said, pausing momentarily for a knifeful of gravy, +"I should go to the Rockies and shoot bears."</p> + +<p>"I'd certainly 'ave a run over to Boulogne," said Pierce, "and look +about a bit. I'm going to do that next Easter myself, anyhow—see if I +don't."</p> + +<p>"Go to Oireland, Mr. Kipps," came the soft insistence of Biddy Murphy, +who managed the big workroom, flushed and shining in the Irish way, as +she spoke. "Go to Oireland. Ut's the loveliest country in the world. +Outside Car-rs. Fishin', shootin', huntin'. An' pretty gals! Eh! You +should see the Lakes of Killarney, Mr. Kipps!" And she expressed ecstasy +by a facial pantomime and smacked her lips.</p> + +<p>And presently they crowned the event.</p> + +<p>It was Pierce who said, "Kipps, you ought to stand Sham!"</p> + +<p>And it was Carshot who found the more poetical word, "Champagne."</p> + +<p>"Rather!" said Kipps hilariously, and the rest was a question of detail +and willing emissaries. "Here it comes!" they said as the apprentice +came down the staircase. "How about the shop?" said someone. "Oh! <i>hang</i> +the shop!" said Carshot and made gruntulous demands for a corkscrew with +a thing to cut the wire. Pierce, the dog! had a wire cutter in his +pocket knife. How Shalford would have stared at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> the gold tipped bottles +if he had chanced to take an early train! Bang with the corks, and bang! +Gluck, gluck, gluck, and sizzle!</p> + +<p>When Kipps found them all standing about him under the gas flare, saying +almost solemnly "Kipps!" with tumblers upheld—"Have it in tumblers," +Carshot had said; "have it in tumblers. It isn't a wine like you have in +glasses. Not like port and sherry. It cheers you up, but you don't get +drunk. It isn't hardly stronger than lemonade. They drink it at dinner, +some of 'em, every day."</p> + +<p>"What! At three and six a bottle!" said the housekeeper incredulously.</p> + +<p>"<i>They</i> don't stick at <i>that</i>," said Carshot; "not the champagne sort."</p> + +<p>The housekeeper pursed her lips and shook her head....</p> + +<p>When Kipps, I say, found them all standing up to toast him in that +manner, there came such a feeling in his throat and face that for the +life of him he scarcely knew for a moment whether he was not going to +cry. "Kipps!" they all said, with kindly eyes. It was very good of them, +it was very good of them, and hard there wasn't a stroke of luck for +them all!</p> + +<p>But the sight of upturned chins and glasses pulled him together +again....</p> + +<p>They did him honour. Unenviously and freely they did him honour.</p> + +<p>For example, Carshot being subsequently engaged in serving cretonne and +desiring to push a number of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> rejected blocks up the counter in order to +have space for measuring, swept them by a powerful and ill-calculated +movement of the arm, with a noise like thunder partly on to the floor +and partly on to the foot of the still gloomily preoccupied junior +apprentice. And Buggins, whose place it was to shopwalk while Carshot +served, shopwalked with quite unparalleled dignity, dangling a new +season's sunshade with a crooked handle on one finger. He arrested each +customer who came down the shop with a grave and penetrating look. +"Showing very 'tractive line new sheason's shun-shade," he would remark, +and, after a suitable pause, "'Markable thing, one our 'sistant leg'sy +twelve 'undred a year. V'ry 'tractive. Nothing more to-day, mum? No!" +And he would then go and hold the door open for them with perfect +decorum and with the sunshade dangling elegantly from his left hand....</p> + +<p>And the second apprentice, serving a customer with cheap ticking, and +being asked suddenly if it was strong, answered remarkably,</p> + +<p>"Oo! <i>no</i>, mum! Strong! Why it ain't 'ardly stronger than lemonade...."</p> + +<p>The head porter, moreover, was filled with a virtuous resolve to break +the record as a lightning packer and make up for lost time. Mr. +Swaffenham, of the Sandgate Riviera, for example, who was going out to +dinner that night at seven, received at half-past six, instead of the +urgently needed dress shirt he expected, a corset specially adapted to +the needs of persons <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>inclined to embonpoint. A parcel of summer +underclothing selected by the elder Miss Waldershawe, was somehow +distributed in the form of gratis additions throughout a number of +parcels of a less intimate nature, and a box of millinery on approval to +Lady Pamshort (at Wampachs) was enriched by the addition of the junior +porter's cap....</p> + +<p>These little things, slight in themselves, witness perhaps none the less +eloquently to the unselfish exhilaration felt throughout the Emporium at +the extraordinary and unexpected enrichment of Mr. Kipps.</p> + +<p class="center">§5</p> + +<p>The 'bus that plies between New Romney and Folkestone is painted a +British red and inscribed on either side with the word "Tip-top" in gold +amidst voluptuous scrolls. It is a slow and portly 'bus. Below it swings +a sort of hold, hung by chains between the wheels, and in the summer +time the top has garden seats. The front over the two dauntless +unhurrying horses rises in tiers like a theatre; there is first a seat +for the driver and his company, and above that a seat and above that, +unless my memory plays me false, a seat. There are days when this 'bus +goes and days when it doesn't go—you have to find out. And so you get +to New Romney.</p> + +<p>This 'bus it was, this ruddy, venerable and immortal 'bus, that came +down the Folkestone hill with unflinching deliberation, and trundled +through Sandgate and Hythe, and out into the windy spaces of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> Marsh, +with Kipps and all his fortunes on its brow. You figure him there. He +sat on the highest seat diametrically above the driver and his head was +spinning and spinning with champagne and this stupendous Tomfoolery of +Luck and his heart was swelling, swelling indeed at times as though it +would burst him, and his face towards the sunlight was transfigured. He +said never a word, but ever and again as he thought of this or that, he +laughed. He seemed full of chuckles for a time, detached and independent +chuckles, chuckles that rose and burst in him like bubbles in a wine.... +He held a banjo sceptre-fashion and restless on his knee. He had always +wanted a banjo, and now he had got one at Malchior's while he was +waiting for the 'bus.</p> + +<p>There sat beside him a young servant who was sucking peppermint and a +little boy with a sniff, whose flitting eyes showed him curious to know +why ever and again Kipps laughed, and beside the driver were two young +men in gaiters talking about "tegs." And there sat Kipps, all +unsuspected, twelve hundred a year, as it were, disguised as a common +young man. And the young man in gaiters to the left of the driver eyed +Kipps and his banjo, and especially his banjo, ever and again as if he +found it and him, with his rapt face, an insoluble enigma. And many a +King has ridden into a conquered city with a lesser sense of splendour +than Kipps.</p> + +<p>Their shadows grew long behind them and their faces were transfigured in +gold as they rumbled on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> towards the splendid West. The sun set before +they had passed Dymchurch, and as they came lumbering into New Romney +past the windmill the dusk had come.</p> + +<p>The driver handed down the banjo and the portmanteau, and Kipps having +paid him—"That's aw right," he said to the change, as a gentleman +should—turned about and ran the portmanteau smartly into Old Kipps, +whom the sound of the stopping of the 'bus had brought to the door of +the shop in an aggressive mood and with his mouth full of supper.</p> + +<p>"Ullo, Uncle, didn't see you," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"Blunderin' ninny," said Old Kipps. "What's brought <i>you</i> here? Ain't +early closing, is it? Not Toosday?"</p> + +<p>"Got some news for you, Uncle," said Kipps, dropping the portmanteau.</p> + +<p>"Ain't lost your situation, 'ave you? What's that you got there? I'm +blowed if it ain't a banjo. Goo-lord! Spendin' your money on banjoes! +Don't put down your portmanty there—anyhow. Right in the way of +everybody. I'm blowed if ever I saw such a boy as you've got lately. +Here! Molly! And, look here! What you got a portmanty for? Why! +Goo-lord! You ain't <i>really</i> lost your place, 'ave you?"</p> + +<p>"Somethin's happened," said Kipps slightly dashed. "It's all right, +Uncle. I'll tell you in a minute."</p> + +<p>Old Kipps took the banjo as his nephew picked up the portmanteau again.</p> + +<p>The living room door opened quickly, showing a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> table equipped with +elaborate simplicity for supper, and Mrs. Kipps appeared.</p> + +<p>"If it ain't young Artie," she said. "Why! Whatever's brought <i>you</i> +'ome?"</p> + +<p>"Ullo, Aunt," said Artie. "I'm coming in. I got somethin' to tell you. +I've 'ad a bit of Luck."</p> + +<p>He wouldn't tell them all at once. He staggered with the portmanteau +round the corner of the counter, set a bundle of children's tin pails +into clattering oscillation, and entered the little room. He deposited +his luggage in the corner beside the tall clock, and turned to his Aunt +and Uncle again. His Aunt regarded him doubtfully, the yellow light from +the little lamp on the table escaped above the shade and lit her +forehead and the tip of her nose. It would be all right in a minute. He +wouldn't tell them all at once. Old Kipps stood in the shop door with +the banjo in his hand, breathing noisily. "The fact is, Aunt, I've 'ad a +bit of Luck."</p> + +<p>"You ain't been backin' gordless 'orses, Artie?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No fear."</p> + +<p>"It's a draw he's been in," said Old Kipps, still panting from the +impact of the portmanteau; "it's a dratted draw. Jest look here, Molly. +He's won this 'ere trashy banjer and thrown up his situation on the +strength of it—that's what he's done. Goin' about singing. Dash and +plunge! Jest the very fault poor Pheamy always 'ad. Blunder right in and +no one mustn't stop 'er!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p><p>"You ain't thrown up your place, Artie, 'ave you?" said Mrs. Kipps.</p> + +<p>Kipps perceived his opportunity. "I 'ave," he said; "I've throwed it +up."</p> + +<p>"What for?" said Old Kipps.</p> + +<p>"So's to learn the banjo!"</p> + +<p>"Goo <i>Lord</i>!" said Old Kipps, in horror to find himself verified.</p> + +<p>"I'm going about playing!" said Kipps with a giggle. "Goin' to black my +face, Aunt, and sing on the beach. I'm going to 'ave a most tremenjous +lark and earn any amount of money—you see. Twenty-six fousand pounds +I'm going to earn just as easy as nothing!"</p> + +<p>"Kipps," said Mrs. Kipps, "he's been drinking!"</p> + +<p>They regarded their nephew across the supper table with long faces. +Kipps exploded with laughter and broke out again when his Aunt shook her +head very sadly at him. Then suddenly he fell grave. He felt he could +keep it up no longer. "It's all right, Aunt. Reely. I ain't mad and I +ain't been drinking. I been lef' money. I been left twenty-six fousand +pounds."</p> + +<p>Pause.</p> + +<p>"And you thrown up your place?" said Old Kipps.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Kipps. "Rather!"</p> + +<p>"And bort this banjer, put on your best noo trousers and come right on +'ere?"</p> + +<p>"Well," said Mrs. Kipps, "<i>I</i> never did."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p><p>"These ain't my noo trousers, Aunt," said Kipps regretfully. "My noo +trousers wasn't done."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't ha' thought that <i>even you</i> could ha' been such a fool as +that," said Old Kipps.</p> + +<p>Pause.</p> + +<p>"It's <i>all</i> right," said Kipps a little disconcerted by their +distrustful solemnity. "It's all right—reely! Twenny-six fousan' +pounds. And a 'ouse——"</p> + +<p>Old Kipps pursed his lips and shook his head.</p> + +<p>"A 'ouse on the Leas. I could have gone there. Only I didn't. I didn't +care to. I didn't know what to say. I wanted to come and tell you."</p> + +<p>"How d'yer know the 'ouse——?"</p> + +<p>"They told me."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Old Kipps, and nodded his head portentously towards his +nephew, with the corners of his mouth pulled down in a portentous, +discouraging way. "Well, you <i>are</i> a young Gaby."</p> + +<p>"I didn't <i>think</i> it of you, Artie!" said Mrs. Kipps.</p> + +<p>"Wadjer mean?" asked Kipps faintly, looking from one to the other with a +withered face.</p> + +<p>Old Kipps closed the shop door. "They been 'avin' a lark with you," said +Old Kipps in a mournful undertone. "That's what I mean, my boy. They +jest been seein' what a Gaby like you 'ud do."</p> + +<p>"I dessay that young Quodling was in it," said Mrs. Kipps. "'E's jest +that sort."</p> + +<p>(For Quodling of the green baize bag had grown up to be a fearful dog, +the terror of New Romney.)</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p><p>"It's somebody after your place very likely," said Old Kipps.</p> + +<p>Kipps looked from one sceptical, reproving face to the other, and round +him at the familiar shabby, little room, with his familiar cheap +portmanteau on the mended chair, and that banjo amidst the supper things +like some irrevocable deed. Could he be rich indeed? Could it be that +these things had really happened? Or had some insane fancy whirled him +hither?</p> + +<p>Still—perhaps a hundred pounds——</p> + +<p>"But," he said. "It's all right, reely, Uncle. You don't think——? I +'ad a letter."</p> + +<p>"Got up," said Old Kipps.</p> + +<p>"But I answered it and went to a norfis."</p> + +<p>Old Kipps felt staggered for a moment, but he shook his head and chins +sagely from side to side. As the memory of old Bean and Shalford +revived, the confidence of Kipps came back to him.</p> + +<p>"I saw a nold gent, Uncle—perfect gentleman. And 'e told me all about +it. Mos' respectable 'e was. Said 'is name was Watson and +Bean—leastways 'e was Bean. Said it was lef' me——" Kipps suddenly +dived into his breast pocket. "By my Grandfather——"</p> + +<p>The old people started.</p> + +<p>Old Kipps uttered an exclamation and wheeled round towards the mantel +shelf above which the daguerreotype of his lost younger sister smiled +its fading smile upon the world.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p><p>"Waddy 'is name was," said Kipps, with his hand still deep in his +pocket. "It was <i>'is</i> son was my father——"</p> + +<p>"Waddy!" said Old Kipps.</p> + +<p>"Waddy!" said Mrs. Kipps.</p> + +<p>"She'd never say," said Old Kipps.</p> + +<p>There was a long silence.</p> + +<p>Kipps fumbled with a letter, a crumpled advertisement and three bank +notes. He hesitated between these items.</p> + +<p>"Why! That young chap what was arsting questions——" said Old Kipps, +and regarded his wife with an eye of amazement.</p> + +<p>"Must 'ave been," said Mrs. Kipps.</p> + +<p>"Must 'ave been," said Old Kipps.</p> + +<p>"James," said Mrs. Kipps, in an awestricken voice, "after +all—perhaps—it's true!"</p> + +<p>"<i>'Ow</i> much did you say?" asked Old Kipps. "'Ow much did you say 'ed +lef' you, me b'y?"</p> + +<p>It was thrilling, though not quite in the way Kipps had expected. He +answered almost meekly across the meagre supper things, with his +documentary evidence in his hand:</p> + +<p>"Twelve 'undred pounds. 'Proximately, he said. Twelve 'undred pounds a +year. 'E made 'is will, jest before 'e died—not more'n a month ago. +When 'e was dying, 'e seemed to change like, Mr. Bean said. 'E'd never +forgiven 'is son, never—not till then. 'Is son 'ad died in Australia, +years and years ago, and <i>then</i> 'e 'adn't forgiven 'im. You know—'is +son what<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> was my father. But jest when 'e was ill and dying 'e seemed to +get worried like and longing for someone of 'is own. And 'e told Mr. +Bean it was 'im that had prevented them marrying. So 'e thought. That's +'ow it all come about...."</p> + +<p class="center">§6</p> + +<p>At last Kipps' flaring candle went up the narrow uncarpeted staircase to +the little attic that had been his shelter and refuge during all the +days of his childhood and youth. His head was whirling. He had been +advised, he had been warned, he had been flattered and congratulated, he +had been given whiskey and hot water and lemon and sugar, and his health +had been drunk in the same. He had also eaten two Welsh Rabbits—an +unusual supper. His Uncle was chiefly for his going into Parliament, his +Aunt was consumed with a great anxiety. "I'm afraid he'll go and marry +beneath 'im."</p> + +<p>"Y'ought to 'ave a bit o' shootin' somewheer," said Old Kipps.</p> + +<p>"It's your <i>duty</i> to marry into a county family, Artie. Remember that."</p> + +<p>"There's lots of young noblemen'll be glad to 'ang on to you," said Old +Kipps. "You mark my words. And borry your money. And then, good day to ye."</p> + +<p>"I got to be precious Careful," said Kipps. "Mr. Bean said that."</p> + +<p>"And you got to be precious careful of this old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> Bean," said Old Kipps. +"We may be out of the world in Noo Romney, but I've 'eard a bit about +s'licitors, for all that. You keep your eye on old Bean, me b'y.</p> + +<p>"'Ow do we know what 'e's up to, with your money, even now?" said Old +Kipps, pursuing this uncomfortable topic.</p> + +<p>"'E <i>looked</i> very respectable," said Kipps....</p> + +<p>Kipps undressed with great deliberation, and with vast gaps of pensive +margin. Twenty-six thousand pounds!</p> + +<p>His Aunt's solicitude had brought back certain matters into the +foreground that his "Twelve 'Undred a year!" had for a time driven away +altogether. His thoughts went back to the wood-carving class. Twelve +Hundred a Year. He sat on the edge of the bed in profound meditation and +his boots fell "whop" and "whop" upon the floor, with a long interval +between each "whop." Twenty-five thousand pounds. "By Gum!" He dropped +the remainder of his costume about him on the floor, got into bed, +pulled the patchwork quilt over him and put his head on the pillow that +had been first to hear of Ann Pornick's accession to his heart. But he +did not think of Ann Pornick now.</p> + +<p>It was about everything in the world except Ann Pornick that he seemed +to be trying to think of—simultaneously. All the vivid happenings of +the day came and went in his overtaxed brain; "that old Bean" explaining +and explaining, the fat man who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> wouldn't believe, an overpowering smell +of peppermint, the banjo, Miss Mergle saying he deserved it, +Chitterlow's vanishing round a corner, the wisdom and advice and +warnings of his Aunt and Uncle. She was afraid he would marry beneath +him, <i>was</i> she? She didn't know....</p> + +<p>His brain made an excursion into the wood-carving class and presented +Kipps with the picture of himself amazing that class by a modest yet +clearly audible remark, "I been left twenty-six thousand pounds."</p> + +<p>Then he told them all quietly but firmly that he had always loved Miss +Walshingham, always, and so he had brought all his twenty-six thousand +pounds with him to give to her there and then. He wanted nothing in +return.... Yes, he wanted nothing in return. He would give it to her all +in an envelope and go. Of course he would keep the banjo—and a little +present for his Aunt and Uncle—and a new suit perhaps—and one or two +other things she would not miss. He went off at a tangent. He might buy +a motor car, he might buy one of these here things that will play you a +piano—that would make old Buggins sit up! He could pretend he had +learnt to play—he might buy a bicycle and a cyclist suit....</p> + +<p>A terrific multitude of plans of what he might do and in particular of +what he might buy, came crowding into his brain, and he did not so much +fall asleep as pass into a disorder of dreams in which he was driving a +four-horse Tip-Top coach down Sandgate Hill ("I shall have to be +precious careful"), wearing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> innumerable suits of clothes, and through +some terrible accident wearing them all wrong. Consequently he was being +laughed at. The coach vanished in the interest of the costume. He was +wearing golfing suits and a silk hat. This passed into a nightmare that +he was promenading on the Leas in a Highland costume, with a kilt that +kept shrinking, and Shalford was following him with three policemen. +"He's my assistant," Shalford kept repeating; "he's escaped. He's an +escaped Improver. Keep by him and in a minute you'll have to run him in. +I know 'em. We say they wash, but they won't."... He could feel the kilt +creeping up his legs. He would have tugged at it to pull it down only +his arms were paralysed. He had an impression of giddy crisis. He +uttered a shriek of despair. "<i>Now!</i>" said Shalford. He woke in horror, +his quilt had slipped off the bed.</p> + +<p>He had a fancy he had just been called, that he had somehow overslept +himself and missed going down for dusting. Then he perceived it was +still night and light by reason of the moonlight, and that he was no +longer in the Emporium. He wondered where he could be. He had a curious +fancy that the world had been swept and rolled up like a carpet and that +he was nowhere. It occurred to him that perhaps he was mad. "Buggins!" +he said. There was no answer, not even the defensive snore. No room, no +Buggins, nothing!</p> + +<p>Then he remembered better. He sat on the edge of his bed for some time. +Could anyone have seen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> his face they would have seen it white and drawn +with staring eyes. Then he groaned weakly. "Twenty-six thousand pounds?" +he whispered.</p> + +<p>Just then it presented itself in an almost horribly overwhelming mass.</p> + +<p>He remade his bed and returned to it. He was still dreadfully wakeful. +It was suddenly clear to him that he need never trouble to get up +punctually at seven again. That fact shone out upon him like a star +through clouds. He was free to lie in bed as long as he liked, get up +when he liked, go where he liked, have eggs every morning for breakfast +or rashers or bloater paste or.... Also he was going to astonish Miss +Walshingham....</p> + +<p>Astonish her and astonish her....</p> + +<p class="center">* * * * * *</p> + +<p>He was awakened by a thrush singing in the fresh dawn. The whole room +was flooded with warm, golden sunshine. "I say!" said the thrush. "I +say! I say! Twelve 'undred a year! Twelve 'Undred a Year. Twelve 'UNDRED +a Year! I say! I say! I say!"</p> + +<p>He sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes with his knuckles. +Then he jumped out of bed and began dressing very eagerly. He did not +want to lose any time in beginning the new life.</p> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center">END OF BOOK I</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>BOOK II</span> <span class="smaller">MR. COOTE, THE CHAPERON</span></h2> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER I</span> <span class="smaller">THE NEW CONDITIONS</span></h2> + +<p class="center">§1</p> + +<p>There comes a gentlemanly figure into these events and for a space takes +a leading part therein, a Good Influence, a refined and amiable figure, +Mr. Chester Coote. You must figure him as about to enter our story, +walking with a curious rectitude of bearing through the evening dusk +towards the Public Library, erect, large-headed—he had a great, big +head full of the suggestion of a powerful mind, well under control—with +a large, official-looking envelope in his white and knuckly hand. In the +other he carries a gold-handled cane. He wears a silken grey jacket +suit, buttoned up, and anon he coughs behind the official envelope. He +has a prominent nose, slatey grey eyes and a certain heaviness about the +mouth. His mouth hangs breathing open, with a slight protrusion of the +lower jaw. His straw hat is pulled down a little in front, and he looks +each person he passes in the eye, and directly his look is answered looks away.</p> + +<p>Thus Mr. Chester Coote, as he was on the evening when he came upon +Kipps. He was a local house<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> agent and a most active and gentlemanly +person, a conscious gentleman, equally aware of society and the serious +side of life. From amateur theatricals of a nice, refined sort to +science classes, few things were able to get along without him. He +supplied a fine, full bass, a little flat and quavery perhaps, but very +abundant, to the St. Stylites' choir....</p> + +<p>He passes on towards the Public Library, lifts the envelope in +salutation to a passing curate, smiles and enters....</p> + +<p>It was in the Public Library that he came upon Kipps.</p> + +<p>By that time Kipps had been rich a week or more, and the change in his +circumstances was visible upon his person. He was wearing a new suit of +drab flannels, a Panama hat and a red tie for the first time, and he +carried a silver-mounted stick with a tortoise shell handle. He felt +extraordinarily different, perhaps more different than he really was, +from the meek Improver of a week ago. He felt as he felt Dukes must +feel, yet at bottom he was still modest. He was leaning on his stick and +regarding the indicator with a respect that never palled. He faced round +to meet Mr. Coote's overflowing smile.</p> + +<p>"What are you doang hea?" said Mr. Chester Coote.</p> + +<p>Kipps was momentarily abashed. "Oh," he said slowly, and then, "Mooching +round a bit."</p> + +<p>That Coote should address him with this easy familiarity was a fresh +reminder of his enhanced <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>social position. "Jes' mooching round," he +said. "I been back in Folkestone free days now. At my 'ouse, you know."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Mr. Coote. "I haven't yet had an opportunity of +congratulating you on your good fortune."</p> + +<p>Kipps held out his hand. "It was the cleanest surprise that ever was," +he said. "When Mr. Bean told me of it—you could have knocked me down +with a feather."</p> + +<p>"It must mean a tremendous change for you."</p> + +<p>"Oo. Rather. Change. Why, I'm like the chap in the song they sing, I +don't 'ardly know where I are. <i>You</i> know."</p> + +<p>"An extraordinary change," said Mr. Coote. "I can quite believe it. Are +you stopping in Folkestone?"</p> + +<p>"For a bit. I got a 'ouse, you know. What my gran'father 'ad. I'm +stopping there. His housekeeper was kep' on. Fancy—being in the same +town and everything!"</p> + +<p>"Precisely," said Mr. Coote. "That's it!" and coughed like a sheep +behind four straight fingers.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Bean got me to come back to see to things. Else I was out in New +Romney, where my Uncle and Aunt live. But it's a Lark coming back. In a way...."</p> + +<p>The conversation hung for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Are you getting a book?" asked Coote.</p> + +<p>"Well, I 'aven't got a ticket yet. But I shall get<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> one all right, and +have a go in at reading. I've often wanted to. Rather. I was just 'aving +a look at this Indicator. First-class idea. Tells you all you want to know."</p> + +<p>"It's simple," said Coote, and coughed again, keeping his eyes fixed on +Kipps. For a moment they hung, evidently disinclined to part. Then Kipps +jumped at an idea he had cherished for a day or more,—not particularly +in relation to Coote, but in relation to anyone.</p> + +<p>"You doing anything?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Just called with a papah about the classes."</p> + +<p>"Because——. Would you care to come up and look at my 'ouse and 'ave a +smoke and a chat. Eh?" He made indicative back jerks of the head, and +was smitten with a horrible doubt whether possibly this invitation might +not be some hideous breach of etiquette. Was it, for example, the +correct hour? "I'd be awfully glad if you would," he added.</p> + +<p>Mr. Coote begged for a moment while he handed the official-looking +envelope to the librarian and then declared himself quite at Kipps' +service. They muddled a moment over precedence at each door they went +through and so emerged to the street.</p> + +<p>"It feels awful rum to me at first, all this," said Kipps "'Aving a +'ouse of my own and all that. It's strange, you know. 'Aving all day. +Reely I don't 'ardly know what to do with my time.</p> + +<p>"D'ju smoke?" he said suddenly, proffering a magnificent gold decorated +pigskin cigarette case,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> which he produced from nothing, almost as +though it was some sort of trick. Coote hesitated and declined, and +then, with great liberality, "Don't let me hinder you...."</p> + +<p>They walked a little way in silence, Kipps being chiefly concerned to +affect ease in his new clothes and keeping a wary eye on Coote. "It's +rather a big windfall," said Coote presently. "It yields you an +income——?"</p> + +<p>"Twelve 'undred a year," said Kipps. "Bit over—if anything."</p> + +<p>"Do you think of living in Folkestone?"</p> + +<p>"Don't know 'ardly yet. I <i>may</i>. Then again, I may not. I got a +furnished 'ouse, but I may let it."</p> + +<p>"Your plans are undecided?"</p> + +<p>"That's jest it," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"Very beautiful sunset it was to-night," said Coote, and Kipps said, +"Wasn't it?" and they began to talk of the merits of sunsets. Did Kipps +paint? Not since he was a boy. He didn't believe he could now. Coote +said his sister was a painter and Kipps received this intimation with +respect. Coote sometimes wished he could find time to paint +himself,—but one couldn't do everything and Kipps said that was "jest it."</p> + +<p>They came out presently upon the end of the Leas and looked down to +where the squat dark masses of the Harbour and Harbour Station, gemmed +with pinpoint lights, crouched against the twilit grey of the sea. "If +one could do <i>that</i>," said Coote, and Kipps was inspired to throw his +head back, cock it on one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> side, regard the Harbour with one eye shut +and say that it would take some doing. Then Coote said something about +"Abend," which Kipps judged to be in a foreign language and got over by +lighting another cigarette from his by no means completed first one. +"You're right, <i>puff</i>, <i>puff</i>."</p> + +<p>He felt that so far he had held up his end of the conversation in a very +creditable manner, but that extreme discretion was advisable.</p> + +<p>They turned away and Coote remarked that the sea was good for crossing, +and asked Kipps if he had been over the water very much. Kipps said he +hadn't been—"much," but he thought very likely he'd have a run over to +Boulogne soon, and Coote proceeded to talk of the charms of foreign +travel, mentioning quite a number of unheard-of places by name. He had +been to them! Kipps remained on the defensive, but behind his defences +his heart sank. It was all very well to pretend, but presently it was +bound to come out. <i>He</i> didn't know anything of all this....</p> + +<p>So they drew near the house. At his own gate Kipps became extremely +nervous. It was a fine, impressive door. He knocked neither a single +knock nor a double, but about one and a half—an apologetic half. They +were admitted by an irreproachable housemaid, with a steady eye, before +which Kipps cringed dreadfully. He hung up his hat and fell about over +hall chairs and things. "There's a fire in the study, Mary?" he had the +audacity to ask, though evidently he knew, and led the way upstairs +panting.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> He tried to shut the door and discovered the housemaid behind +him coming to light his lamp. This enfeebled him further. He said +nothing until the door closed behind her. Meanwhile to show his <i>sang +froid</i> he hummed and flitted towards the window, and here and there.</p> + +<p>Coote went to the big hearthrug and turned and surveyed his host. His +hand went to the back of his head and patted his occiput—a gesture +frequent with him.</p> + +<p>"'Ere we are," said Kipps, hands in his pockets and glancing round him.</p> + +<p>It was a gaunt Victorian room, with a heavy, dirty cornice, and the +ceiling enriched by the radiant plaster ornament of an obliterated gas +chandelier. It held two large glass fronted bookcases, one of which was +surmounted by a stuffed terrier encased in glass. There was a mirror +over the mantel and hangings and curtains of magnificent crimson +patternings. On the mantel were a huge black clock of classical design, +vases in the Burslem Etruscan style, spills and toothpicks in large +receptacles of carved rock, large lava ash trays and an exceptionally +big box of matches. The fender was very great and brassy. In a +favourable position, under the window, was a spacious rosewood writing +desk, and all the chairs and other furniture were of rosewood and well +stuffed.</p> + +<p>"This," said Kipps, in something near an undertone, "was the o' +gentleman's study—my grandfather that was. 'E used to sit at that desk +and write."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p><p>"Books?"</p> + +<p>"No. Letters to the <i>Times</i>, and things like that. 'E's got 'em all cut +out—stuck in a book.... Leastways, he <i>'ad</i>. It's in that bookcase.... +Won't you sit down?"</p> + +<p>Coote did, bowing very slightly, and Kipps secured his vacated position +on the extensive black skin rug. He spread out his legs compass-fashion +and tried to appear at his ease. The rug, the fender, the mantel and +mirror conspired with great success to make him look a trivial and +intrusive little creature amidst their commonplace hauteur, and his own +shadow on the opposite wall seemed to think everything a great lark and +mocked and made tremendous fun of him....</p> + +<p class="center">§2</p> + +<p>For a space Kipps played a defensive game and Coote drew the lines of +the conversation. They kept away from the theme of Kipps' change of +fortune, and Coote made remarks upon local and social affairs. "You must +take an interest in these things now," was as much as he said in the way +of personalities. But it speedily became evident that he was a person of +wide and commanding social relationships. He spoke of "society" being +mixed in the neighbourhood and of the difficulty of getting people to +work together, and "do" things; they were cliquish. Incidentally he +alluded quite familiarly to men with military titles, and once even to +someone with a title, a Lady <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>Punnet. Not snobbishly, you understand, +nor deliberately, but quite in passing. He had, it appeared, talked to +Lady Punnet about private theatricals! In connection with the Hospitals. +She had been unreasonable and he had put her right, gently of course, +but firmly. "If you stand up to these people," said Coote, "they like +you all the better." It was also very evident he was at his ease with +the clergy; "My friend, Mr. Densemore—a curate, you know, and rather +curious, the Reverend <i>and</i> Honourable." Coote grew visibly in Kipps' +eyes as he said these things; he became, not only the exponent of +"Vagner or Vargner," the man whose sister had painted a picture to be +exhibited at the Royal Academy, the type of the hidden thing called +culture, but a delegate, as it were, or at least an intermediary from +that great world "up there," where there were men servants, where there +were titles, where people dressed for dinner, drank wine at meals, wine +costing very often as much as three and sixpence the bottle, and +followed through a maze of etiquette, the most stupendous practices....</p> + +<p>Coote sat back in the armchair smoking luxuriously and expanding +pleasantly, with the delightful sense of Savoir Faire; Kipps sat +forward, his elbows on his chair arm alert, and his head a little on one +side. You figure him as looking little and cheap and feeling smaller and +cheaper amidst his new surroundings. But it was a most stimulating and +interesting conversation. And soon it became less general and more +serious and intimate. Coote spoke of people who had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> got on, and of +people who hadn't, of people who seemed to be <i>in</i> everything and people +who seemed to be <i>out</i> of everything, and then he came round to Kipps.</p> + +<p>"You'll have a good time," he said abruptly, with a smile that would +have interested a dentist.</p> + +<p>"I dunno," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"There's mistakes, of course."</p> + +<p>"That's jest it."</p> + +<p>Coote lit a new cigarette. "One can't help being interested in what you +will do," he remarked. "Of course—for a young man of spirit, come +suddenly into wealth—there's temptations."</p> + +<p>"I got to go careful," said Kipps. "O' Bean told me that at the very first."</p> + +<p>Coote went on to speak of pitfalls, of Betting, of Bad Companions. "I +know," said Kipps, "I know." "There's Doubt again," said Coote. "I know +a young fellow—a solicitor—handsome, gifted. And yet, you +know—utterly sceptical. Practically altogether a Sceptic."</p> + +<p>"Lor'!" said Kipps, "not a Natheist?"</p> + +<p>"I fear so," said Coote. "Really, you know, an awfully fine young +fellow—Gifted! But full of this dreadful Modern Spirit—Cynical! All +this Overman stuff. Nietzsche and all that.... I wish I could do +something for him."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Kipps and knocked the ash off his cigarette. "I know a +chap—one of our apprentices he was—once. Always scoffing.... He lef'!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p><p>He paused. "Never wrote for his refs," he said, in the deep tone proper +to a moral tragedy, and then, after a pause—"Enlisted!"</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Coote.</p> + +<p>"And often," he said, after a pause, "it's just the most spirited chaps, +just the chaps one likes best, who Go Wrong."</p> + +<p>"It's temptation," Kipps remarked.</p> + +<p>He glanced at Coote, leant forward, knocked the ash from his cigarette +into the mighty fender. "That's jest it," he said; "you get tempted. +Before you know where you are."</p> + +<p>"Modern life," said Coote, "is so—complex. It isn't everyone is Strong. +Half the young fellows who go wrong, aren't really bad."</p> + +<p>"That's jest it," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"One gets a tone from one's surroundings——"</p> + +<p>"That's exactly it," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>He meditated. "<i>I</i> picked up with a chap," he said. "A Nacter. Leastways +he writes plays. Clever fellow. But——"</p> + +<p>He implied extensive moral obloquy by a movement of his head. "Of course +it's seeing life," he added.</p> + +<p>Coote pretended to understand the full implications of Kipps' remark. +"Is it <i>worth</i> it?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"That's jest it," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>He decided to give some more. "One gets talking," he said. "Then it's +''ave a drink!' Old Methusaleh four stars—and where <i>are</i> you? <i>I</i> +been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> drunk," he said in a tone of profound humility, and added, "lots +of times."</p> + +<p>"Tt. Tt.," said Coote.</p> + +<p>"Dozens of times," said Kipps, smiling sadly, and added, "lately."</p> + +<p>His imagination became active and seductive. "One thing leads to +another. Cards, p'raps. Girls——"</p> + +<p>"I know," said Coote; "I know."</p> + +<p>Kipps regarded the fire and flushed slightly. He borrowed a sentence +that Chitterlow had recently used. "One can't tell tales out of school," +he said.</p> + +<p>"I can imagine it," said Coote.</p> + +<p>Kipps looked with a confidential expression into Coote's face. "It was +bad enough when money was limited," he remarked. "But now——" He spoke +with raised eyebrows, "I got to steady down."</p> + +<p>"You <i>must</i>," said Coote, protruding his lips into a sort of whistling +concern for a moment.</p> + +<p>"I must," said Kipps, nodding his head slowly with raised eyebrows. He +looked at his cigarette end and threw it into the fender. He was +beginning to think he was holding his own in this conversation rather +well, after all.</p> + +<p>Kipps was never a good liar. He was the first to break silence. "I don't +mean to say I been reely bad or reely bad drunk. A 'eadache +perhaps—three or four times, say. But there it is!"</p> + +<p>"I have never tasted alcohol in my life," said Coote, with an immense +frankness, "never!"</p> + +<p>"No?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p><p>"Never. I don't feel <i>I</i> should be likely to get drunk at all—it isn't +that. And I don't go so far as to say even that in small quantities—at +meals—it does one harm. But if I take it, someone else who doesn't know +where to stop—you see?"</p> + +<p>"That's jest it," said Kipps, with admiring eyes.</p> + +<p>"I smoke," admitted Coote. "One doesn't want to be a Pharisee."</p> + +<p>It struck Kipps what a tremendously Good chap this Coote was, not only +tremendously clever and educated and a gentleman and one knowing Lady +Punnet, but Good. He seemed to be giving all his time and thought to +doing good things to other people. A great desire to confide certain +things to him arose. At first Kipps hesitated whether he should confide +an equal desire for Benevolent activities or for further +Depravity—either was in his mind. He rather affected the pose of the +Good Intentioned Dog. Then suddenly his impulses took quite a different +turn, fell indeed into what was a far more serious rut in his mind. It +seemed to him Coote might be able to do for him something he very much +wanted done.</p> + +<p>"Companionship accounts for so much," said Coote.</p> + +<p>"That's jest it," said Kipps. "Of course, you know, in my new +position——. That's just the difficulty."</p> + +<p>He plunged boldly at his most secret trouble. He knew that he wanted +refinement—culture. It was all very well—but he knew. But how was one +to get it?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> He knew no one, knew no people——. He rested on the broken +sentence. The shop chaps were all very well, very good chaps and all +that, but not what one wanted. "I feel be'ind," said Kipps. "I feel out +of it. And consequently I feel it's no good. And then if temptation +comes along——"</p> + +<p>"Exactly," said Coote.</p> + +<p>Kipps spoke of his respect for Miss Walshingham and her freckled friend. +He contrived not to look too self-conscious. "You know, I'd like to talk +to people like that, but I can't. A chap's afraid of giving himself away."</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Coote, "of course."</p> + +<p>"I went to a middle-class school, you know. You mustn't fancy I'm one of +these here board-school chaps, but you know it reely wasn't a +first-class affair. Leastways he didn't take pains with us. If you +didn't want to learn you needn't—I don't believe it was <i>much</i> better +than one of these here national schools. We wore mortarboards, o' +course. But what's <i>that</i>?</p> + +<p>"I'm a regular fish out of water with this money. When I got it—it's a +week ago—reely I thought I'd got everything I wanted. But I dunno what +to <i>do</i>."</p> + +<p>His voice went up into a squeak. "Practically," he said, "it's no good +shuttin' my eyes to things—I'm a gentleman."</p> + +<p>Coote indicated a serious assent.</p> + +<p>"And there's the responsibilities of a gentleman," he remarked.</p> + +<p>"That's jest it," said Kipps.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p><p>"There's calling on people," said Kipps. "If you want to go on knowing +Someone you knew before like. People that's refined." He laughed +nervously. "I'm a regular fish out of water," he said, with expectant +eyes on Coote.</p> + +<p>But Coote only nodded for him to go on.</p> + +<p>"This actor chap," he meditated, "is a good sort of chap. But 'e isn't +what <i>I</i> call a gentleman. I got to 'old myself in with 'im. 'E'd make +me go it wild in no time. 'E's pretty near the on'y chap I know. Except +the shop chaps. They've come round to 'ave supper once already and a bit +of a sing song afterwards. I sang. I got a banjo, you know, and I vamp a +bit. Vamping—you know. Haven't got far in the book—'Ow to Vamp—but +still I'm getting on. Jolly, of course, in a way, but what does it lead +to?... Besides that, there's my Aunt and Uncle. <i>They're</i> very good old +people—very—jest a bit interfering p'r'aps and thinking one isn't +grown up, but Right enough. Only——. It isn't what I <i>want</i>. I feel +I've got be'ind with everything. I want to make it up again. I want to +get with educated people who know 'ow to do things—in the regular, +proper way."</p> + +<p>His beautiful modesty awakened nothing but benevolence in the mind of +Chester Coote.</p> + +<p>"If I had someone like you," said Kipps, "that I knew regular like——"</p> + +<p>From that point their course ran swift and easy. "If I <i>could</i> be of any +use to you," said Coote....</p> + +<p>"But you're so busy and all that."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p><p>"Not <i>too</i> busy. You know, your case is a very interesting one. It was +partly that made me speak to you and draw you out. Here you are with all +this money and no experience, a spirited young chap——"</p> + +<p>"That's jest it," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"I thought I'd see what you were made of, and I must confess I've rarely +talked to anyone that I've found quite so interesting as you have +been——"</p> + +<p>"I seem able to say things to you like somehow," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad. I'm tremendously glad."</p> + +<p>"I want a Friend. That's it—straight."</p> + +<p>"My dear chap, if I——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but——"</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> want a Friend, too."</p> + +<p>"Reely?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. You know, my dear Kipps—if I may call you that."</p> + +<p>"Go on," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"I'm rather a lonely dog myself. <i>This</i> to-night——. I've not had +anyone I've spoken to so freely of my Work for months."</p> + +<p>"No?"</p> + +<p>"You. And, my dear chap, if I can do anything to guide or help you——"</p> + +<p>Coote displayed all his teeth in a kindly tremulous smile and his eyes +were shiny. "Shake 'ands," said Kipps, deeply moved, and he and Coote +rose and clasped with mutual emotion.</p> + +<p>"It's reely too good of you," said Kipps.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p><p>"Whatever I can do I will," said Coote.</p> + +<p>And so their compact was made. From that moment they were Friends, +intimate, confidential, high-thinking, <i>sotto voce</i> friends. All the +rest of their talk (and it inclined to be interminable) was an expansion +of that. For that night Kipps wallowed in self-abandonment and Coote +behaved as one who had received a great trust. That sinister passion for +pedagoguery to which the Good Intentioned are so fatally liable, that +passion of infinite presumption that permits one weak human being to +arrogate the direction of another weak human being's affairs, had Coote +in its grip. He was to be a sort of lay confessor and director of Kipps, +he was to help Kipps in a thousand ways, he was in fact to chaperon +Kipps into the higher and better sort of English life. He was to tell +him his faults, advise him about the right thing to do——</p> + +<p>"It's all these things I don't know," said Kipps. "I don't know, for +instance, what's the right sort of dress to wear—I don't even know if +I'm dressed right now——"</p> + +<p>"All these things"—Coote stuck out his lips and nodded rapidly to show +he understood—"Trust me for that," he said, "trust me."</p> + +<p>As the evening wore on Coote's manner changed, became more and more the +manner of a proprietor. He began to take up his rôle, to survey Kipps +with a new, with a critical affection. It was evident the thing fell in +with his ideas. "It will be awfully <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>interesting," he said. "You know, +Kipps, you're really good stuff." (Every sentence now he said "Kipps" or +"my dear Kipps" with a curiously authoritative intonation.)</p> + +<p>"I know," said Kipps, "only there's such a lot of things I don't seem to +be up to some'ow. That's where the trouble comes in."</p> + +<p>They talked and talked, and now Kipps was talking freely. They rambled +over all sorts of things. Among others Kipps' character was dealt with +at length. Kipps gave valuable lights on it. "When I'm reely excited," +he said, "I don't seem to care <i>what</i> I do. I'm like that." And again, +"I don't like to do anything under'and. I <i>must</i> speak out...."</p> + +<p>He picked a piece of cotton from his knee, the fire grimaced behind his +back, and his shadow on the wall and ceiling was disrespectfully +convulsed.</p> + +<p class="center">§3</p> + +<p>Kipps went to bed at last with an impression of important things +settled, and he lay awake for quite a long time. He felt he was lucky. +He had known—in fact Buggins and Carshot and Pierce had made it very +clear indeed—that his status in life had changed and that stupendous +adaptations had to be achieved, but how they were to be effected had +driven that adaptation into the incredible. Here in the simplest, +easiest way was the adapter. The thing had become possible. Not of +course easy, but possible.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p><p>There was much to learn, sheer intellectual toil, methods of address, +bowing, an enormous complexity of laws. One broken, you are an outcast. +How, for example, would one encounter Lady Punnet? It was quite possible +some day he might really have to do that. Coote might introduce him. +"Lord!" he said aloud to the darkness between grinning and dismay. He +figured himself going into the Emporium to buy a tie, for example, and +there in the face of Buggins, Carshot, Pierce and the rest of them, +meeting "my friend, Lady Punnet!" It might not end with Lady Punnet! His +imagination plunged and bolted with him, galloped, took wings and soared +to romantic, to poetical altitudes....</p> + +<p>Suppose some day one met Royalty. By accident, say! He soared to that! +After all,—twelve hundred a year is a lift, a tremendous lift. How did +one address Royalty? "Your Majesty's Goodness," it will be, no +doubt—something like that—and on the knees. He became impersonal. Over +a thousand a year made him an Esquire, didn't it? He thought that was +it. In which case, wouldn't he have to be presented at Court? Velvet +cycling breeches like you wear cycling, and a sword! What a curious +place a court must be! Kneeling and bowing, and what was it Miss Mergle +used to talk about? Of course!—ladies with long trains walking about +backward. Everybody walked about backward at court, he knew, when not +actually on their knees. Perhaps, though, some people regular stood up +to the King! Talked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> to him, just as one might talk to Buggins, say. +Cheek of course! Dukes, it might be, did that—by permission? +Millionnaires?...</p> + +<p>From such thoughts this free citizen of our Crowned Republic passed +insensibly into dreams, turgid dreams of that vast ascent which +constitutes the true-born Briton's social scheme, which terminates with +retrogressive progression and a bending back.</p> + +<p class="center">§4</p> + +<p>The next morning he came down to breakfast looking grave—a man with +much before him in the world....</p> + +<p>Kipps made a very special thing of his breakfast. Daily once hopeless +dreams came true then. It had been customary in the Emporium to +supplement Shalford's generous, indeed unlimited, supply of bread and +butter-substitute, by private purchases, and this had given Kipps very +broad, artistic conceptions of what the meal might be. Now there would +be a cutlet or so or a mutton chop—this splendour Buggins had reported +from the great London clubs—haddock, kipper, whiting or fish-balls, +eggs, boiled or scrambled, or eggs and bacon, kidney also frequently and +sometimes liver. Amidst a garland of such themes, sausages, black and +white puddings, bubble-and-squeak, fried cabbage and scallops came and +went. Always as camp followers came potted meat in all varieties, cold +bacon, German sausage, brawn,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> marmalade and two sorts of jam, and when +he had finished these he would sit among his plates and smoke a +cigarette and look at all these dishes crowded round him with a beatific +approval. It was his principal meal. He was sitting with his cigarette +regarding his apartment with that complacency begotten of a generous +plan of feeding successfully realized, when newspapers and post arrived.</p> + +<p>There were several things by the post, tradesmen's circulars and cards +and two pathetic begging letters—his luck had got into the papers—and +there was a letter from a literary man and a book to enforce his request +for 10/—to put down Socialism. The book made it very clear that prompt +action on the part of property owners was becoming urgent, if property +was to last out the year. Kipps dipped in it and was seriously +perturbed. And there was a letter from old Kipps saying it was difficult +to leave the shop and come over and see him again just yet, but that he +had been to a sale at Lydd the previous day and bought a few good old +books and things it would be difficult to find the equal of in +Folkestone. "They don't know the value of these things out here," wrote +old Kipps, "but you may depend upon it they are valuable," and a brief +financial statement followed. "There is an engraving someone might come +along and offer you a lot of money for one of these days. Depend upon +it, these old things are about the best investment you could make...."</p> + +<p>Old Kipps had long been addicted to sales, and his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> nephew's good +fortune had converted what had once been but a looking and a craving—he +had rarely even bid for anything in the old days except the garden tools +or the kitchen gallipots or things like that, things one gets for +sixpence and finds a use for—into a very active pleasure. Sage and +penetrating inspection, a certain mystery of bearing, tactical bids and +Purchase!—Purchase!—the old man had had a good time.</p> + +<p>While Kipps was rereading the begging letters and wishing he had the +sound, clear common sense of Buggins to help him a little, the Parcels +Post brought along the box from his uncle. It was a large, insecure +looking case held together by a few still loyal nails, and by what the +British War Office would have recognised at once as an Army Corps of +string, rags and odds and ends tied together. Kipps unpacked it with a +table knife, assisted at a critical point by the poker, and found a +number of books and other objects of an antique type.</p> + +<p>There were three bound volumes of early issues of Chambers' Journal, a +copy of Punch's Pocket Book for 1875, Sturm's Reflections, an early +version of Gill's Geography (slightly torn), an illustrated work on +Spinal Curvature, an early edition of Kirke's Human Physiology, The +Scottish Chiefs and a little volume on the Language of Flowers. There +was a fine steel engraving, oak-framed and with some rusty spots, done +in the Colossal style and representing the Handwriting on the Wall. +There were also a copper<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> kettle, a pair of candle snuffers, a brass +shoehorn, a tea caddy to lock, two decanters (one stoppered) and what +was probably a portion of an eighteenth century child's rattle.</p> + +<p>Kipps examined these objects one by one and wished he knew more about +them. Turning over the pages of the Physiology again he came upon a +striking plate in which a youth of agreeable profile displayed his +interior in an unstinted manner to the startled eye. It was a new view +of humanity altogether for Kipps, and it arrested his mind.</p> + +<p>This anatomised figure made him forget for a space that he was +"practically a gentleman" altogether, and he was still surveying its +extraordinary complications when another reminder of a world quite +outside those spheres of ordered gentility into which his dreams had +carried him overnight, arrived (following the servant) in the person of Chitterlow.</p> + +<p class="center">§5</p> + +<p>"Ul-<i>lo</i>!" said Kipps, rising.</p> + +<p>"Not busy?" said Chitterlow, enveloping Kipps' hand for a moment in one +of his own and tossing the yachting cap upon the monumental carved oak +sideboard.</p> + +<p>"Only a bit of reading," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"Reading, eh?" Chitterlow cocked the red eye at the books and other +properties for a moment and then, "I've been expecting you 'round again +one night."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p><p>"I been coming 'round," said Kipps. "On'y there's a chap 'ere——. I +was coming 'round last night on'y I met 'im."</p> + +<p>He walked to the hearthrug. Chitterlow drifted around the room for a +time, glancing at things as he talked. "I've altered that play +tremendously since I saw you," he said. "Pulled it all to pieces."</p> + +<p>"What play's that, Chit'low?"</p> + +<p>"The one we were talking about. You know. You said something—I don't +know if you meant it—about buying half of it. Not the tragedy. I +wouldn't sell my twin brother a share in that. That's my investment. +That's my Serious Work. No! I mean that new farce I've been on to. Thing +with the business about a beetle."</p> + +<p>"Oo yes," said Kipps. "<i>I</i> remember."</p> + +<p>"I thought you would. Said you'd take a fourth share for a hundred +pounds. <i>You</i> know."</p> + +<p>"I seem to remember something——"</p> + +<p>"Well, it's all different. Every bit of it. I'll tell you. You remember +what you said about a butterfly? You got confused, you know—Old Meth. +Kept calling the beetle a butterfly and that set me off. I've made it +quite different. Quite different. Instead of Popplewaddle—thundering +good farce name that, you know; for all that it came from a Visitors' +List—instead of Popplewaddle getting a beetle down his neck and rushing +about, I've made him a collector—collects butterflies, and this one you +know's a rare one. Comes in at window, centre." Chitterlow began to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> +illustrate with appropriate gestures. "Pop rushes about after it. +Forgets he mustn't let on he's in the house. After that——. Tells 'em. +Rare butterfly, worth lots of money. Some are, you know. Everyone's on +to it after that. Butterfly can't get out of room, every time it comes +out to have a try, rush and scurry. Well, I've worked on that. Only——"</p> + +<p>He came very close to Kipps. He held up one hand horizontally and tapped +it in a striking and confidential manner with the fingers of the other. +"Something else," he said. "That's given me a Real Ibsenish Touch—like +the Wild Duck. You know that woman—I've made her lighter—and she sees +it. When they're chasing the butterfly the third time, she's on! She +looks. 'That's me!' she says. Bif! Pestered Butterfly. <i>She's</i> the +Pestered Butterfly. It's legitimate. Much more legitimate than the Wild +Duck—where there isn't a duck!</p> + +<p>"Knock 'em! The very title ought to knock 'em. I've been working like a +horse at it.... You'll have a gold mine in that quarter share, Kipps.... +<i>I</i> don't mind. It's suited me to sell it, and suited you to buy. Bif!"</p> + +<p>Chitterlow interrupted his discourse to ask, "You haven't any brandy in +the house, have you? Not to drink, you know. But I want just an +eggcupful to pull me steady. My liver's a bit queer.... It doesn't +matter, if you haven't. Not a bit. I'm like that. Yes, whiskey'll do. +Better!"</p> + +<p>Kipps hesitated for a moment, then turned and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> fumbled in the cupboard +of his sideboard. Presently he disinterred a bottle of whiskey and +placed it on the table. Then he put out first one bottle of soda water +and after the hesitation of a moment another. Chitterlow picked up the +bottle and read the label. "Good old Methusaleh," he said. Kipps handed +him the corkscrew and then his hand fluttered up to his mouth. "I'll +have to ring now," he said, "to get glasses." He hesitated for a moment +before doing so, leaning doubtfully as it were towards the bell.</p> + +<p>When the housemaid appeared he was standing on the hearthrug with his +legs wide apart, with the bearing of a desperate fellow. And after they +had both had whiskeys—"You know a decent whiskey," Chitterlow remarked +and took another "just to drink."—Kipps produced cigarettes and the +conversation flowed again.</p> + +<p>Chitterlow paced the room. He was, he explained, taking a day off; that +was why he had come around to see Kipps. Whenever he thought of any +extensive change in a play he was writing he always took a day off. In +the end it saved time to do so. It prevented his starting rashly upon +work that might have to be rewritten. There was no good in doing work +when you might have to do it over again, none whatever.</p> + +<p>Presently they were descending the steps by the Parade <i>en route</i> for +the Warren, with Chitterlow doing the talking and going with a dancing +drop from step to step....</p> + +<p>They had a great walk, not a long one, but a great<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> one. They went up by +the Sanatorium, and over the East Cliff and into that queer little +wilderness of slippery and tumbling clay and rock under the chalk +cliffs, a wilderness of thorn and bramble, wild rose and wayfaring tree, +that adds so greatly to Folkestone's charm. They traversed its +intricacies and clambered up to the crest of the cliffs at last by a +precipitous path that Chitterlow endowed in some mysterious way with +suggestions of Alpine adventure. Every now and then he would glance +aside at sea and cliffs with a fresh boyishness of imagination that +brought back New Romney and the stranded wrecks to Kipps' memory; but +mostly he bored on with his great obsession of plays and playwriting, +and that empty absurdity that is so serious to his kind, his Art. That +was a thing that needed a monstrous lot of explaining. Along they went, +sometimes abreast, sometimes in single file, up the little paths, and +down the little paths, and in among the bushes and out along the edge +above the beach, and Kipps went along trying ever and again to get an +insignificant word in edgeways, and the gestures of Chitterlow flew wide +and far and his great voice rose and fell, and he said this and he said +that and he biffed and banged into the circumambient Inane.</p> + +<p>It was assumed that they were embarked upon no more trivial enterprise +than the Reform of the British Stage, and Kipps found himself classed +with many opulent and even royal and noble amateurs—the Honourable +Thomas Norgate came in here—who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> had interested themselves in the +practical realisation of high ideals about the Drama. Only he had a +finer understanding of these things, and instead of being preyed upon by +the common professional—"and they <i>are</i> a lot," said Chitterlow; "I +haven't toured for nothing"—he would have Chitterlow. Kipps gathered +few details. It was clear he had bought the quarter of a farcical +comedy—practically a gold mine—and it would appear it would be a good +thing to buy the half. A suggestion, or the suggestion of a suggestion, +floated out that he should buy the whole play and produce it forthwith. +It seemed he was to produce the play upon a royalty system of a new +sort, whatever a royalty system of any sort might be. Then there was +some doubt, after all, whether that farcical comedy was in itself +sufficient to revolutionise the present lamentable state of the British +Drama. Better perhaps for such a purpose was that tragedy—as yet +unfinished—which was to display all that Chitterlow knew about women, +and which was to centre about a Russian nobleman embodying the +fundamental Chitterlow personality. Then it became clearer that Kipps +was to produce several plays. Kipps was to produce a great number of +plays. Kipps was to found a National Theatre.</p> + +<p>It is probable that Kipps would have expressed some sort of disavowal, +if he had known how to express it. Occasionally his face assumed an +expression of whistling meditation, but that was as far as he got +towards protest.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p><p>In the clutch of Chitterlow and the Incalculable, Kipps came round to +the house in Fenchurch Street and was there made to participate in the +midday meal. He came to the house, forgetting certain confidences, and +was reminded of the existence of a Mrs. Chitterlow (with the finest +completely untrained Contralto voice in England) by her appearance. She +had an air of being older than Chitterlow, although probably she wasn't, +and her hair was a reddish brown, streaked with gold. She was dressed in +one of those complaisant garments that are dressing gowns or tea gowns +or bathing wraps or rather original evening robes according to the +exigencies of the moment—from the first Kipps was aware that she +possessed a warm and rounded neck, and her well-moulded arms came and +vanished from the sleeves—and she had large, expressive brown eyes that +he discovered ever and again fixed in an enigmatical manner upon his +own.</p> + +<p>A simple but sufficient meal had been distributed with careless +spontaneity over the little round table in the room with the photographs +and looking glass, and when a plate had by Chitterlow's direction been +taken from under the marmalade in the cupboard and the kitchen fork and +a knife that was not loose in its handle had been found for Kipps they +began and she had evidently heard of Kipps before, and he made a +tumultuous repast. Chitterlow ate with quiet enormity, but it did not +interfere with the flow of his talk. He introduced Kipps to his wife +very briefly;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> made it vaguely evident that the production of the comedy +was the thing chiefly settled. His reach extended over the table, and he +troubled nobody. When Mrs. Chitterlow, who for a little while seemed +socially self-conscious, reproved him for taking a potato with a jab of +his fork, he answered, "Well, you shouldn't have married a man of +Genius," and from a subsequent remark it was perfectly clear that +Chitterlow's standing in this respect was made no secret of in his +household.</p> + +<p>They drank old Methusaleh and syphon soda, and there was no clearing +away, they just sat among the plates and things, and Mrs. Chitterlow +took her husband's tobacco pouch and made a cigarette and smoked and +blew smoke and looked at Kipps with her large, brown eyes. Kipps had +seen cigarettes smoked by ladies before, "for fun," but this was real +smoking. It frightened him rather. He felt he must not encourage this +lady—at any rate in Chitterlow's presence.</p> + +<p>They became very cheerful after the repast, and as there was now no +waste to deplore, such as one experiences in the windy, open air, +Chitterlow gave his voice full vent. He fell to praising Kipps very +highly and loudly. He said he had known Kipps was the right sort, he had +seen it from the first, almost before he got up out of the mud on that +memorable night. "You can," he said, "sometimes. That was why——" he +stopped, but he seemed on the verge of explaining that it was his +certainty of Kipps being the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> right sort had led him to confer this +great Fortune upon him. He left that impression. He threw out a number +of long sentences and material for sentences of a highly philosophical +and incoherent character about Coincidences. It became evident he +considered dramatic criticism in a perilously low condition....</p> + +<p>About four Kipps found himself stranded, as it were, by a receding +Chitterlow on a seat upon the Leas.</p> + +<p>He was chiefly aware that Chitterlow was an overwhelming personality. He +puffed his cheeks and blew.</p> + +<p>No doubt this was seeing life, but had he particularly wanted to see +life that day? In a way Chitterlow had interrupted him. The day he had +designed for himself was altogether different from this. He had been +going to read through a precious little volume called "Don't" that Coote +had sent round for him, a book of invaluable hints, a summary of British +deportment that had only the one defect of being at points a little out +of date.</p> + +<p>That reminded him he had intended to perform a difficult exercise called +an Afternoon Call upon the Cootes, as a preliminary to doing it in +deadly earnest upon the Walshinghams. It was no good to-day, anyhow, +now.</p> + +<p>He came back to Chitterlow. He would have to explain to Chitterlow he +was taking too much for granted, he would have to do that. It was so +difficult<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> to do in Chitterlow's presence though; in his absence it was +easy enough. This half share, and taking a theatre and all of it, was +going too far.</p> + +<p>The quarter share was right enough, he supposed, but even that——! A +hundred pounds! What wealth is there left in the world after one has +paid out a hundred pounds from it?</p> + +<p>He had to recall that in a sense Chitterlow had indeed brought him his +fortune before he could face even that.</p> + +<p>You must not think too hardly of him. To Kipps you see there was as yet +no such thing as proportion in these matters. A hundred pounds went to +his horizon. A hundred pounds seemed to him just exactly as big as any +other large sum of money.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER II</span> <span class="smaller">THE WALSHINGHAMS</span></h2> + +<p class="center">§1</p> + +<p>The Cootes live in a little house in Bouverie Square with a tangle of +Virginia creeper up the verandah.</p> + +<p>Kipps had been troubled in his mind about knocking double or single—it +is these things show what a man is made of—but happily there was a bell.</p> + +<p>A queer little maid, with a big cap, admitted Kipps and took him through +a bead curtain and a door into a little drawing-room, with a black and +gold piano, a glazed bookcase, a Moorish cosy corner and a draped +looking glass over-mantel bright with Regent Street ornaments and +photographs of various intellectual lights. A number of cards of +invitation to meetings and the match list of a Band of Hope cricket club +were stuck into the looking glass frame with Coote's name as a +Vice-President. There was a bust of Beethoven over the bookcase and the +walls were thick with conscientiously executed but carelessly selected +"views" in oil and water colours and gilt frames. At the end of the room +facing the light was a portrait<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> that struck Kipps at first as being +Coote in spectacles and feminine costume and that he afterwards decided +must be Coote's mother. Then the original appeared and he discovered +that it was Coote's elder and only sister who kept house for him. She +wore her hair in a knob behind, and the sight of the knob suggested to +Kipps an explanation for a frequent gesture of Coote's, a patting +exploratory movement to the back of his head. And then it occurred to +him that this was quite an absurd idea altogether.</p> + +<p>She said "Mr. Kipps, I believe," and Kipps laughed pleasantly and said, +"That's it!" and then she told him that "Chester" had gone down to the +art school to see about sending off some drawings or other and that he +would be back soon. Then she asked Kipps if he painted, and showed him +the pictures on the wall. Kipps asked her where each one was "of," and +when she showed him some of the Leas slopes he said he never would have +recognised them. He said it was funny how things looked in a picture +very often. "But they're awfully <i>good</i>," he said. "Did you do them?" He +would look at them with his neck arched like a swan's, his head back and +on one side and then suddenly peer closely into them. "They <i>are</i> good. +I wish I could paint." "That's what Chester says," she answered. "I tell +him he has better things to do." Kipps seemed to get on very well with her.</p> + +<p>Then Coote came in and they left her and went upstairs together and had +a good talk about reading and the Rules of Life. Or rather Coote talked, +and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> the praises of thought and reading were in his mouth....</p> + +<p>You must figure Coote's study, a little bedroom put to studious uses, +and over the mantel an array of things he had been led to believe +indicative of culture and refinement, an autotype of Rossetti's +"Annunciation," an autotype of Watt's "Minotaur," a Swiss carved pipe +with many joints and a photograph of Amiens Cathedral (these two the +spoils of travel), a phrenological bust and some broken fossils from the +Warren. A rotating bookshelf carried the Encyclopædia Britannica (tenth +edition), and on the top of it a large official looking, age grubby, +envelope bearing the mystic words, "On His Majesty's Service," a number +or so of the "Bookman," and a box of cigarettes were lying. A table +under the window bore a little microscope, some dust in a saucer, some +grimy glass slips and broken cover glasses, for Coote had "gone in for" +biology a little. The longer side of the room was given over to +bookshelves, neatly edged with pinked American cloth, and with an array +of books—no worse an array of books than you find in any public +library; an almost haphazard accumulation of obsolete classics, +contemporary successes, the Hundred Best Books (including Samuel +Warren's "Ten Thousand a Year") old school books, directories, the Times +Atlas, Ruskin in bulk, Tennyson complete in one volume, Longfellow, +Charles Kingsley, Smiles and Mrs. Humphry Ward, a guide book or so, +several medical pamphlets, odd magazine <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>numbers, and much indescribable +rubbish—in fact a compendium of the contemporary British mind. And in +front of this array stood Kipps, ill-taught and untrained, respectful, +awestricken and, for a moment at any rate, willing to learn, while +Coote, the exemplary Coote, talked to him like a bishop of reading and +the virtue in books.</p> + +<p>"Nothing enlarges the mind," said Coote, "like Travel and Books.... And +they're both so easy nowadays, and so cheap!"</p> + +<p>"I've often wanted to 'ave a good go in at reading," Kipps replied.</p> + +<p>"You'd hardly believe," Coote said, "how much you can get out of books. +Provided you avoid trashy reading, that is. You ought to make a rule, +Kipps, and read one Serious Book a week. Of course, we can Learn even +from Novels, Nace Novels that is, but it isn't the same thing as serious +reading. I made a rule, One Serious Book and One Novel—no more. There's +some of the serious books I've been reading lately—on that table; +Sartor Resartus—Mrs. Twaddletome's Pond Life, the Scottish Chiefs, Life +and Letters of Dean Farrar...."</p> + +<p class="center">§2</p> + +<p>There came at last the sound of a gong and Kipps descended to tea in +that state of nervous apprehension at the difficulties of eating and +drinking that his Aunt's knuckle rappings had implanted in him <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>forever. +Over Coote's shoulder he became aware of a fourth person in the Moorish +cosy corner, and he turned, leaving incomplete something incoherent he +was saying to Miss Coote about his modest respect and desire for +literature to discover this fourth person was Miss Helen Walshingham, +hatless and looking very much at home.</p> + +<p>She rose at once with an extended hand to meet his hesitation.</p> + +<p>"You're stopping in Folkestone, Mr. Kipps?"</p> + +<p>"'Ere on a bit of business," said Kipps. "I thought you was away in Bruges."</p> + +<p>"That's later," said Miss Walshingham. "We're stopping until my +brother's holiday begins and we're trying to let our house. Where are +you staying in Folkestone?"</p> + +<p>"I got a 'ouse of mine—on the Leas."</p> + +<p>"I've heard all about your good fortune—this afternoon."</p> + +<p>"Isn't it a Go!" said Kips. "I 'aven't nearly got to believe its reely +'appened yet. When that Mr. Bean told me of it you could 'ave knocked me +down with a feather.... It's a tremenjous change for me."</p> + +<p>He discovered Miss Coote was asking him whether he took milk and sugar. +"<i>I</i> don't mind," said Kipps. "Just as you like."</p> + +<p>Coote became active handing tea and bread and butter. It was thinly cut, +and the bread was rather new, and the half of the slice that Kipps took +fell<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> upon the floor. He had been holding it by the edge, for he was not +used to this migratory method of taking tea without plates or table. +This little incident ruled him out of the conversation for a time, and +when he came to attend to it again they were talking about something or +other prodigious—a performer of some sort—that was coming, called, it +seemed, "Padrooski." So Kipps, who had quietly dropped into a chair, ate +his bread and butter, said "No, thenk you" to any more, and by this +discreet restraint got more freedom with his cup and saucer.</p> + +<p>Apart from the confusion natural to tea, he was in a state of tremulous +excitement on account of the presence of Miss Walshingham. He glanced +from Miss Coote to her brother and then at Helen. He regarded her over +the top of his cup as he drank. Here she was, solid and real. It was +wonderful. He remarked, as he had done at times before, the easy flow of +the dark hair back from her brow over her ears, the shapeliness of the +white hands that came out from her simple white cuffs, the delicate +pencilling of her brow.</p> + +<p>Presently she turned her face to him almost suddenly, and smiled with +the easiest assurance of friendship.</p> + +<p>"You will go, I suppose," she said, and added, "to the Recital."</p> + +<p>"If I'm in Folkestone I shall," said Kipps, clearing away a little +hoarseness. "I don't <i>know</i> much about music, but what I do know I like."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p><p>"I'm sure you'll like Paderewski," she said.</p> + +<p>"If you do," he said, "I dessay I shall."</p> + +<p>He found Coote very kindly taking his cup.</p> + +<p>"Do you think of living in Folkestone?" asked Miss Coote, in a tone of +proprietorship, from the hearthrug.</p> + +<p>"No," said Kipps, "that's jest it—I hardly know." He also said that he +wanted to look around a bit before doing anything. "There's so much to +consider," said Coote, smoothing the back of his head.</p> + +<p>"I may go back to New Romney for a bit," said Kipps. "I got an Uncle and +Aunt there. I reely don't know."</p> + +<p>Helen regarded him thoughtfully for a moment.</p> + +<p>"You must come and see us," she said, "before we go to Bruges."</p> + +<p>"Oo, rather!" said Kipps. "If I may."</p> + +<p>"Yes, do," she said, and suddenly stood up before Kipps could formulate +an enquiry when he should call.</p> + +<p>"You're sure you can spare that drawing board?" she said to Miss Coote, +and the conversation passed out of range.</p> + +<p>And when he had said "Good-bye" to Miss Walshingham and she had repeated +her invitation to call, he went upstairs again with Coote to look out +certain initiatory books they had had under discussion. And then Kipps, +blowing very resolutely, went back to his own place, bearing in his arm +(1) Sesame and Lilies, (2) Sir George Tressady, (3) an <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>anonymous book +on "Vitality" that Coote particularly esteemed. And, having got to his +own sitting-room, he opened Sesame and Lilies and read it with ruthless +determination for some time.</p> + +<p class="center">§3</p> + +<p>Presently he leant back and gave himself up to the business of trying to +imagine just exactly what Miss Walshingham could have thought of him +when she saw him. Doubts about the precise effect of the grey flannel +suit began to trouble him. He turned to the mirror over the mantel, and +then got into a chair to study the hang of the trousers. It looked all +right. Luckily, she had not seen the Panama hat. He knew that he had the +brim turned up wrong, but he could not find out which way the brim was +right. However, that she had not seen. He might perhaps ask at the shop +where he bought it.</p> + +<p>He meditated for awhile on his reflected face—doubtful whether he liked +it or not—and then got down again and flitted across to the sideboard +where there lay two little books, one in a cheap, magnificent cover of +red and gold, and the other in green canvas. The former was called, as +its cover witnessed, "Manners and Rules of Good Society, by a Member of +the Aristocracy," and after the cover had indulged in a band of gilded +decoration, light-hearted but natural under the circumstances, it added +"TWENTY-FIRST EDITION." The second was that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>admirable classic, "The Art +of Conversing." Kipps returned with these to his seat, placed the two +before him, opened the latter with a sigh and flattened it under his hand.</p> + +<p>Then with knitted brows he began to read onward from a mark, his lips moving.</p> + +<p>"Having thus acquired possession of an idea, the little ship should not +be abruptly launched into deep waters, but should be first permitted to +glide gently and smoothly into the shallows, that is to say, the +conversation should not be commenced by broadly and roundly stating a +fact, or didactically expressing an opinion, as the subject would be +thus virtually or summarily disposed of, or perhaps be met with a +'Really' or 'Indeed,' or some equally brief monosyllabic reply. If an +opposite opinion were held by the person to whom the remark were +addressed, he might not, if a stranger, care to express it in the form +of a direct contradiction, or actual dissent. To glide imperceptibly +into conversation is the object to be attained."</p> + +<p>At this point Mr. Kipps rubbed his fingers through his hair with an +expression of some perplexity and went back to the beginning.</p> + +<p class="center">§4</p> + +<p>When Kipps made his call on the Walshinghams, it all happened so +differently from the "Manners and Rules" prescription ("Paying Calls") +that he was quite lost from the very outset. Instead of the footman or +maidservant proper in these cases, Miss<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> Walshingham opened the door to +him herself. "I'm so glad you've come," she said, with one of her rare smiles.</p> + +<p>She stood aside for him to enter the rather narrow passage.</p> + +<p>"I thought I'd call," he said, retaining his hat and stick.</p> + +<p>She closed the door and led the way to a little drawing-room, which +impressed Kipps as being smaller and less emphatically coloured than +that of the Cootes, and in which at first only a copper bowl of white +poppies upon the brown tablecloth caught his particular attention.</p> + +<p>"You won't think it unconventional to come in, Mr. Kipps, will you?" she +remarked. "Mother is out."</p> + +<p>"I don't mind," he said, smiling amiably, "if you don't."</p> + +<p>She walked around the table and stood regarding him across it, with that +same look between speculative curiosity and appreciation that he +remembered from the last of the art class meetings.</p> + +<p>"I wondered whether you would call or whether you wouldn't before you +left Folkestone."</p> + +<p>"I'm not leaving Folkestone for a bit, and any'ow, I should have called +on you."</p> + +<p>"Mother will be sorry she was out. I've told her about you, and she +wants, I know, to meet you."</p> + +<p>"I saw 'er—if that was 'er—in the shop," said Kipps.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p><p>"Yes—you did, didn't you!... She has gone out to make some duty calls, +and I didn't go. I had something to write. I write a little, you know."</p> + +<p>"Reely!" said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"It's nothing much," she said, "and it comes to nothing." She glanced at +a little desk near the window, on which there lay some paper. "One must +do something." She broke off abruptly. "Have you seen our outlook?" she +asked and walked to the window, and Kipps came and stood beside her. "We +look on the Square. It might be worse, you know. That outporter's truck +there is horrid—and the railings, but it's better than staring one's +social replica in the face, isn't it? It's pleasant in early +spring—bright green, laid on with a dry brush—and it's pleasant in +autumn."</p> + +<p>"I like it," said Kipps. "That laylock there is pretty, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Children come and pick it at times," she remarked.</p> + +<p>"I dessay they do," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>He rested on his hat and stick and looked appreciatively out of the +window, and she glanced at him for one swift moment. A suggestion that +might have come from the Art of Conversing came into his head. "Have you +a garden?" he said.</p> + +<p>She shrugged her shoulders. "Only a little one," she said, and then, +"perhaps you would like to see it."</p> + +<p>"I like gardenin'," said Kipps, with memories of a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> pennyworth of +nasturtiums he had once trained over his uncle's dustbin.</p> + +<p>She led the way with a certain relief.</p> + +<p>They emerged through a four seasons coloured glass door to a little iron +verandah that led by iron steps to a minute walled garden. There was +just room for a patch of turf and a flower-bed; one sturdy variegated +Euonymus grew in the corner. But the early June flowers, the big +narcissus, snow upon the mountains, and a fine show of yellow +wallflowers shone gay.</p> + +<p>"That's our garden," said Helen. "It's not a very big one, is it?"</p> + +<p>"I like it," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"It's small," she said, "but this is the day of small things."</p> + +<p>Kipps didn't follow that.</p> + +<p>"If you were writing when I came," he remarked, "I'm interrupting you."</p> + +<p>She turned round with her back to the railing and rested, leaning on her +hands. "I had finished," she said. "I couldn't get on."</p> + +<p>"Were you making up something?" asked Kipps.</p> + +<p>There was a little interval before she smiled. "I try—quite vainly—to +write stories," she said. "One must do something. I don't know whether I +shall ever do any good—at that—anyhow. It seems so hopeless. And, of +course, one must study the popular taste. But, now my brother has gone +to London, I get a lot of leisure."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p><p>"I seen your brother, 'aven't I?"</p> + +<p>"He came to the class once or twice. Very probably you have. He's gone +to London to pass his examinations and become a solicitor. And then, I +suppose, he'll have a chance. Not much, perhaps, even then. But he's +luckier than I am."</p> + +<p>"You got your classes and things."</p> + +<p>"They ought to satisfy me. But they don't. I suppose I'm ambitious. We +both are. And we hadn't much of a springboard." She glanced over his +shoulder at the cramped little garden with an air of reference in her +gesture.</p> + +<p>"I should think you could do anything if you wanted to," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"As a matter of fact I can't do anything I want to."</p> + +<p>"You done a good deal."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Well, didn't you pass one of these here University things?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! I matriculated!"</p> + +<p>"I should think I was no end of a swell if <i>I</i> did, I know that."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Kipps, do you know how many people matriculate into London +University every year?"</p> + +<p>"How many then?"</p> + +<p>"Between two and three thousand."</p> + +<p>"Well, just think how many don't!"</p> + +<p>Her smile came again, and broke into a laugh. "Oh, <i>they</i> don't count," +she said, and then, realising<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> that might penetrate Kipps if he was left +with it, she hurried on to, "The fact is, I'm a discontented person, Mr. +Kipps. Folkestone, you know, is a Sea Front, and it values people by +sheer vulgar prosperity. We're not prosperous, and we live in a back +street. We have to live here because this is our house. It's a mercy we +haven't to 'let.' One feels one hasn't opportunities. If one had, I +suppose one wouldn't use them. Still——"</p> + +<p>Kipps felt he was being taken tremendously into her confidence. "That's +jest it," he said, very sagely.</p> + +<p>He leant forward on his stick and said, very earnestly, "I believe you +could do anything you wanted to, if you tried."</p> + +<p>She threw out her hands in disavowal.</p> + +<p>"I know," said he, very sagely and nodding his head. "I watched you once +or twice when you were teaching that wood-carving class."</p> + +<p>For some reason this made her laugh—a rather pleasant laugh, and that +made Kipps feel a very witty and successful person. "It's very evident," +she said, "that you're one of those rare people who believe in me, Mr. +Kipps," to which he answered, "Oo, I <i>do</i>!" and then suddenly they +became aware of Mrs. Walshingham coming along the passage. In another +moment she appeared through the four seasons door, bonneted and +ladylike, and a little faded, exactly as Kipps had seen her in the shop. +Kipps felt a certain apprehension at her appearance, in spite of the +reassurances he had had from Coote.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p><p>"Mr. Kipps has called on us," said Helen, and Mrs. Walshingham said it +was very kind of him, and added that new people didn't call on them very +much nowadays. There was nothing of the scandalised surprise Kipps had +seen in the shop; she had heard, perhaps, he was a gentleman now. In the +shop he had thought her rather jaded and haughty, but he had scarcely +taken her hand, which responded to his touch with a friendly pressure, +before he knew how mistaken he had been. She then told her daughter that +someone called Mrs. Wace had been out, and turned to Kipps again to ask +him if he had had tea. Kipps said he had not, and Helen moved towards +some mysterious interior. "But <i>I</i> say," said Kipps; "don't you on my +account——!"</p> + +<p>Helen vanished, and he found himself alone with Mrs. Walshingham, which, +of course, made him breathless and Boreas-looking for a moment.</p> + +<p>"You were one of Helen's pupils in the wood-carving class?" asked Mrs. +Walshingham, regarding him with the quiet watchfulness proper to her +position.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Kipps, "that's 'ow I 'ad the pleasure——"</p> + +<p>"She took a great interest in her wood-carving class. She is so +energetic, you know, and it gives her an Outlet."</p> + +<p>"I thought she taught something splendid."</p> + +<p>"Everyone says she did very well. Helen, I think, would do anything well +that she undertook to do.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> She's so very clever. And she throws herself +into things so."</p> + +<p>She untied her bonnet strings with a pleasant informality.</p> + +<p>"She has told me all about her class. She used to be full of it. And +about your cut hand."</p> + +<p>"Lor'!" said Kipps; "fancy, telling that!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes! And how brave you were."</p> + +<p>(Though, indeed, Helen's chief detail had been his remarkable expedient +for checking bloodshed.)</p> + +<p>Kipps became bright pink. "She said you didn't seem to feel it a bit."</p> + +<p>Kipps felt he would have to spend weeks over "The Art of Conversing."</p> + +<p>While he still hung fire Helen returned with the apparatus for afternoon +tea upon a tray.</p> + +<p>"Do you mind pulling out the table?" asked Mrs. Walshingham.</p> + +<p>That, again, was very homelike. Kipps put down his hat and stick in the +corner and, amidst an iron thunder, pulled out a little, rusty, +green-painted table, and then in the easiest manner followed Helen in to +get chairs.</p> + +<p>So soon as he had got rid of his teacup—he refused all food, of course, +and they were merciful—he became wonderfully at his ease. Presently he +was talking. He talked quite modestly and simply about his changed +condition and his difficulties and plans. He spread what indeed had an +air of being all his simple little soul before his eyes. In a little +while his clipped,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> defective accent had become less perceptible to +their ears, and they began to realise, as the girl with the freckles had +long since realised, that there were passable aspects of Kipps. He +confided, he submitted, and for both of them he had the realest, the +most seductively flattering undertone of awe and reverence.</p> + +<p>He stopped about two hours, having forgotten how terribly incorrect it +is to stay at such a length. They did not mind at all.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER III</span> <span class="smaller">ENGAGED</span></h2> + +<p class="center">§1</p> + +<p>Within two months, within a matter of three and fifty days, Kipps had +clambered to the battlements of Heart's Desire.</p> + +<p>It all became possible by the Walshinghams—it would seem at Coote's +instigation—deciding, after all, not to spend the holidays at Bruges. +Instead, they remained in Folkestone, and this happy chance gave Kipps +just all these opportunities of which he stood in need.</p> + +<p>His crowning day was at Lympne, and long before the summer warmth began +to break, while indeed August still flamed on high. They had +organized—no one seemed to know who suggested it first—a water party +on the still reaches of the old military canal at Hythe, the canal that +was to have stopped Napoleon if the sea failed us, and they were to +picnic by the brick bridge, and afterwards to clamber to Lympne Castle. +The host of the gathering, it was understood very clearly, was Kipps.</p> + +<p>They went, a merry party. The canal was weedy, with only a few inches of +water at the shallows, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> so they went in three Canadian canoes. Kipps +had learned to paddle—it had been his first athletic accomplishment, +and his second—with the last three or four of ten private lessons still +to come—was to be cycling. But Kipps did not paddle at all badly; +muscles hardened by lifting pieces of cretonne could cut a respectable +figure by the side of Coote's executions, and the girl with the +freckles, the girl who understood him, came in his canoe. They raced the +Walshinghams, brother and sister; and Coote, in a liquefying state and +blowing mightily, but still persistent and always quite polite and +considerate, toiled behind with Mrs. Walshingham. She could not be +expected to paddle (though, of course, she "offered") and she reclined +upon specially adjusted cushions under a black and white sunshade and +watched Kipps and her daughter, and feared at intervals that Coote was +getting hot.</p> + +<p>They were all more or less in holiday costume, the eyes of the girls +looked out under the shade of wide-brimmed hats; even the freckled girl +was unexpectedly pretty, and Helen, swinging sunlit to her paddle, gave +Kipps, almost for the first time, the suggestion of a graceful body. +Kipps was arrayed in the completest boating costume, and when his +fashionable Panama was discarded and his hair blown into disorder he +became, in his white flannels, as sightly as most young men. His +complexion was a notable asset.</p> + +<p>Things favoured him, the day favoured him, everyone favoured him. Young +Walshingham, the girl<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> with the freckles, Coote and Mrs. Walshingham, +were playing up to him in the most benevolent way, and between the +landing place and Lympne, Fortune, to crown their efforts, had placed a +small, convenient field entirely at the disposal of an adolescent bull. +Not a big, real, resolute bull, but, on the other hand, no calf; a young +bull, in the same stage of emotional development as Kipps, "standing +where the two rivers meet." Detachedly our party drifted towards him.</p> + +<p>When they landed young Walshingham, with the simple directness of a +brother, abandoned his sister to Kipps and secured the freckled girl, +leaving Coote to carry Mrs. Walshingham's light wool wrap. He started at +once, in order to put an effectual distance between himself and his +companion, on the one hand, and a certain persuasive chaperonage that +went with Coote, on the other. Young Walshingham, I think I have said, +was dark, with a Napoleonic profile, and it was natural for him, +therefore, to be a bold thinker and an epigrammatic speaker, and he had +long ago discovered great possibilities of appreciation in the freckled +girl. He was in a very happy frame that day because he had just been +entrusted with the management of Kipps' affairs (old Bean inexplicably +dismissed), and that was not a bad beginning for a solicitor of only a +few months' standing, and, moreover, he had been reading Nietzsche, and +he thought that in all probability he was the Non-Moral Overman referred +to by that writer. He wore fairly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span>large-sized hats. He wanted to expand +the theme of the Non-Moral Overman in the ear of the freckled girl, to +say it over, so to speak, and in order to seclude his exposition they +went aside from the direct path and trespassed through a coppice, +avoiding the youthful bull. They escaped to these higher themes but +narrowly, for Coote and Mrs. Walshingham, subtle chaperones both, and +each indisposed for excellent reasons to encumber Kipps and Helen, were +hot upon their heels. These two kept direct route to the stile of the +bull's field, and the sight of the animal at once awakened Coote's +innate aversion to brutality in any shape or form. He said the stiles +were too high, and that they could do better by going around by the +hedge, and Mrs. Walshingham, nothing loath, agreed.</p> + +<p>This left the way clear for Kipps and Helen, and they encountered the +bull. Helen did not observe the bull, but Kipps did; but, that afternoon +at any rate, he was equal to facing a lion. And the bull really came at +them. It was not an affair of the bull-ring exactly, no desperate rushes +and gorings; but he came; he regarded them with a large, wicked, bluish +eye, opened a mouth below his moistly glistening nose and booed, at any +rate, if he did not exactly bellow, and he shook his head wickedly and +showed that tossing was in his mind. Helen was frightened, without any +loss of dignity, and Kipps went extremely white. But he was perfectly +calm, and he seemed to her to have lost the last vestiges of his accent +and his social shakiness. He directed her to walk quietly towards<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> the +stile, and made an oblique advance towards the bull.</p> + +<p>"You be orf!" he said....</p> + +<p>When Helen was well over the stile Kipps withdrew in good order. He got +over the stile under cover of a feint, and the thing was done—a small +thing, no doubt, but just enough to remove from Helen's mind an +incorrect deduction that a man who was so terribly afraid of a teacup as +Kipps must necessarily be abjectly afraid of everything else in the +world. In her moment of reaction she went perhaps too far in the +opposite direction. Hitherto Kipps had always had a certain flimsiness +of effect for her. Now suddenly he was discovered solid. He was +discovered possible in many new ways. Here, after all, was the sort of +back a woman can get behind!...</p> + +<p>As so these heirs of the immemorial ages went past the turf-crowned mass +of Portus Lemanus up the steep slopes towards the mediæval castle on the +crest the thing was also manifest in her eyes.</p> + +<p class="center">§2</p> + +<p>Everyone who stays in Folkestone gets, sooner or later, to Lympne. The +castle became a farmhouse long ago, and the farmhouse, itself now ripe +and venerable, wears the walls of the castle as a little man wears a big +man's coat. The kindliest of farm ladies entertains a perpetual stream +of visitors and shows her vast mangle, and her big kitchen, and takes +you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> out upon the sunniest little terrace garden in all the world, and +you look down the sheep-dotted slopes to where, beside the canal and +under the trees, the crumpled memories of Rome sleep forever. For hither +to this lonely spot the galleys once came, the legions, the emperors, +masters of the world. The castle is but a thing of yesterday, King +Stephen's time or thereabout, in that retrospect. One climbs the pitch +of perforation, and there one is lifted to the centre of far more than a +hemisphere of view. Away below one's feet, almost at the bottom of the +hill, the Marsh begins, and spreads and spreads in a mighty crescent +that sweeps about the sea, the Marsh dotted with the church towers of +forgotten mediæval towns and breaking at last into the low, blue hills +of Winchelsea and Hastings; east hangs France, between the sea and the +sky, and round the north, bounding the wide prospectives of farms and +houses and woods, the Downs, with their hangers and chalk pits, sustain +the passing shadows of the sailing clouds.</p> + +<p>And here it was, high out of the world of everyday, and in the presence +of spacious beauty, that Kipps and Helen found themselves agreeably +alone. All six, it had seemed, had been coming for the Keep, but Mrs. +Walshingham had hesitated at the horrid little stairs, and then suddenly +felt faint, and so she and the freckled girl had remained below, walking +up and down in the shadow of the house, and Coote had remembered they +were all out of cigarettes, and had taken off young Walshingham into the +village.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> There had been shouting to explain between ground and parapet, +and then Helen and Kipps turned again to the view, and commended it and +fell silent.</p> + +<p>Helen sat fearlessly in an embrasure, and Kipps stood beside her.</p> + +<p>"I've always been fond of scenery," Kipps repeated, after an interval.</p> + +<p>Then he went off at a tangent. "D'you reely think that was right what +Coote was saying?"</p> + +<p>She looked interrogation.</p> + +<p>"About my name?"</p> + +<p>"Being really C-U-Y-P-S? I have my doubts. I thought at first——. What +makes Mr. Coote add an S to Cuyp?"</p> + +<p>"I dunno," said Kipps, foiled. "I was jest thinking——"</p> + +<p>She shot one wary glance at him and then turned her eyes to the sea.</p> + +<p>Kipps was out for a space. He had intended to lead from this question to +the general question of surnames and change of names; it had seemed a +light and witty way of saying something he had in mind, and suddenly he +perceived that this was an unutterably vulgar and silly project. The +hitch about that "s" had saved him. He regarded her profile for a +moment, framed in weather-beaten stone, and backed by the blue elements.</p> + +<p>He dropped the question of his name out of existence and spoke again of +the view. "When I see<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> scenery, and things that are beautiful, it makes +me feel——"</p> + +<p>She looked at him suddenly, and saw him fumbling for his words.</p> + +<p>"Silly like," he said.</p> + +<p>She took him in with her glance, the old look of proprietorship it was, +touched with a certain warmth. She spoke in a voice as unambiguous as +her eyes. "You needn't," she said. "You know, Mr. Kipps, you hold +yourself too cheap."</p> + +<p>Her eyes and words smote him with amazement. He stared at her like a man +who awakens. She looked down.</p> + +<p>"You mean——" he said; and then, "don't you hold me cheap?"</p> + +<p>She glanced up again and shook her head.</p> + +<p>"But—for instance—you don't think of me—as an equal like."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Oo! But reely——"</p> + +<p>His heart beat very fast.</p> + +<p>"If I thought," he said, and then, "you know so much."</p> + +<p>"That's nothing," she said.</p> + +<p>Then, for a long time, as it seemed to them, both kept silence, a +silence that said and accomplished many things.</p> + +<p>"I know what I am," he said, at length.... "If I thought it was +possible.... If I thought <i>you</i>.... I believe I could do anything——"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p><p>He stopped, and she sat downcast and strikingly still.</p> + +<p>"Miss Walshingham," he said, "is it possible that you ... could care for +me enough to—to 'elp me? Miss Walshingham, do you care for me at all?"</p> + +<p>It seemed she was never going to answer. She looked up at him. "I +think," she said, "you are the most generous—look at what you have done +for my brother—the most generous and the most modest of men. And this +afternoon—I thought you were the bravest."</p> + +<p>She turned her head, glanced down, waved her hand to someone on the +terrace below, and stood up.</p> + +<p>"Mother is signalling," she said. "We must go down."</p> + +<p>Kipps became polite and deferential by habit, but his mind was a tumult +that had nothing to do with that.</p> + +<p>He moved before her towards the little door that opened on the winding +stairs—"always precede a lady down or up stairs"—and then on the +second step he turned resolutely. "But," he said, looking up out of the +shadow, flannel-clad and singularly like a man.</p> + +<p>She looked down on him, with her hand upon the stone lintel.</p> + +<p>He held out his hand as if to help her. "Can you tell me?" he said. "You +must know——"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"If you care for me?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p><p>She did not answer for a long time. It was as if everything in the +world had drawn to the breaking point, and in a minute must certainly +break.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, at last, "I know."</p> + +<p>Abruptly, by some impalpable sign, he knew what the answer would be, and +he remained still.</p> + +<p>She bent down over him and softened to her wonderful smile.</p> + +<p>"Promise me," she insisted.</p> + +<p>He promised with his still face.</p> + +<p>"If <i>I</i> do not hold you cheap, you will never hold yourself cheap——"</p> + +<p>"If you do not hold me cheap, you mean?"</p> + +<p>She bent down quite close beside him. "I hold you," she said, and then +whispered, "<i>dear</i>."</p> + +<p>"Me?"</p> + +<p>She laughed aloud.</p> + +<p>He was astonished beyond measure. He stipulated, lest there might be +some misconception, "You will marry me?"</p> + +<p>She was laughing, inundated by the sense of bountiful power, of +possession and success. He looked quite a nice little man to have. +"Yes," she laughed. "What else could I mean?" and, "Yes."</p> + +<p>He felt as a praying hermit might have felt, snatched from the midst of +his quiet devotions, his modest sackcloth and ashes, and hurled neck and +crop over the glittering gates of Paradise, smack among the iridescent +wings, the bright-eyed Cherubim. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> felt like some lowly and righteous +man dynamited into Bliss....</p> + +<p>His hand tightened upon the rope that steadies one upon the stairs of +stone. He was for kissing her hand and did not.</p> + +<p>He said not a word more. He turned about, and with something very like a +scared expression on his face led the way into the obscurity of their +descent.</p> + +<p class="center">§3</p> + +<p>Everyone seemed to understand. Nothing was said, nothing was explained, +the merest touch of the eyes sufficed. As they clustered in the castle +gateway Coote, Kipps remembered afterwards, laid hold of his arm as if +by chance and pressed it. It was quite evident he knew. His eyes, his +nose, shone with benevolent congratulations, shone, too, with the sense +of a good thing conducted to its climax. Mrs. Walshingham, who had +seemed a little fatigued by the hill, recovered, and was even obviously +stirred by affection for her daughter. There was, in passing, a motherly +caress. She asked Kipps to give her his arm in walking down the steep. +Kipps in a sort of dream obeyed. He found himself trying to attend to +her, and soon he was attending.</p> + +<p>She and Kipps talked like sober, responsible people and went slowly, +while the others drifted down the hill together, a loose little group of +four. He wondered momentarily what they would talk about and then sank +into his conversation with Mrs. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>Walshingham. He conversed, as it were, +out of his superficial personality, and his inner self lay stunned in +unsuspected depths within. It had an air of being an interesting and +friendly talk, almost their first long talk together. Hitherto he had +had a sort of fear of Mrs. Walshingham, as of a person possibly +satirical, but she proved a soul of sense and sentiment, and Kipps, for +all of his abstraction, got on with her unexpectedly well. They talked a +little upon scenery and the inevitable melancholy attaching to the old +ruins and the thought of vanished generations.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps they jousted here," said Mrs. Walshingham.</p> + +<p>"They was up to all sorts of things," said Kipps, and then the two came +round to Helen. She spoke of her daughter's literary ambitions. "She +will do something, I feel sure. You know, Mr. Kipps, it's a great +responsibility to a mother to feel her daughter is—exceptionally +clever."</p> + +<p>"I dessay it is," said Kipps. "There's no mistake about that."</p> + +<p>She spoke, too, of her son—almost like Helen's twin—alike, yet +different. She made Kipps feel quite fatherly. "They are so quick, so +artistic," she said, "so full of ideas. Almost they frighten me. One +feels they need opportunities—as other people need air."</p> + +<p>She spoke of Helen's writing. "Even when she was quite a little dot she +wrote verse."</p> + +<p>(Kipps, sensation.)</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span></p><p>"Her father had just the same tastes——" Mrs. Walshingham turned a +little beam of half-pathetic reminiscence on the past. "He was more +artist than business man. That was the trouble.... He was misled by his +partner, and when the crash came everyone blamed him.... Well, it +doesn't do to dwell on horrid things—especially to-day. There are +bright days, Mr. Kipps, and dark days. And mine have not always been +bright."</p> + +<p>Kipps presented a face of Coote-like sympathy.</p> + +<p>She diverged to talk of flowers, and Kipps' mind was filled with the +picture of Helen bending down towards him in the Keep....</p> + +<p>They spread the tea under the trees before the little inn, and at a +certain moment Kipps became aware that everyone in the party was +simultaneously and furtively glancing at him. There might have been a +certain tension had it not been first of all for Coote and his tact, and +afterwards for a number of wasps. Coote was resolved to make this +memorable day pass off well, and displayed an almost boisterous sense of +fun. Then young Walshingham began talking of the Roman remains below +Lympne, intending to lead up to the Overman. "These old Roman chaps," he +said, and then the wasps arrived. They killed three in the jam alone.</p> + +<p>Kipps killed wasps, as if it were in a dream, and handed things to the +wrong people, and maintained a thin surface of ordinary intelligence +with the utmost difficulty. At times he became aware, aware with an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> +extraordinary vividness, of Helen. Helen was carefully not looking at +him and behaving with amazing coolness and ease. But just for that one +time there was the faintest suggestion of pink beneath the ivory of her +cheeks....</p> + +<p>Tacitly the others conceded to Kipps the right to paddle back with +Helen; he helped her into the canoe and took his paddle, and, paddling +slowly, dropped behind the others. And now his inner self stirred again. +He said nothing to her. How could he ever say anything to her again? She +spoke to him at rare intervals about reflections and the flowers and the +trees, and he nodded in reply. But his mind moved very slowly forward +now from the point at which it had fallen stunned in the Lympne Keep, +moving forward to the beginnings of realisation. As yet he did not say +even in the recesses of his heart that she was his. But he perceived +that the goddess had come from her altar amazingly, and had taken him by +the hand!</p> + +<p>The sky was a vast splendour, and then close to them were the dark, +protecting trees and the shining, smooth, still water. He was an erect, +black outline to her; he plied his paddle with no unskilful gesture, the +water broke to snaky silver and glittered far behind his strokes. +Indeed, he did not seem bad to her. Youth calls to youth the wide world +through, and her soul rose in triumph over his subjection. And behind +him was money and opportunity, freedom and London, a great background of +seductively indistinct<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> hopes. To him her face was a warm dimness. In +truth, he could not see her eyes, but it seemed to his love-witched +brain he did and that they shone out at him like dusky stars.</p> + +<p>All the world that evening was no more than a shadowy frame of darkling +sky and water and dripping bows about Helen. He seemed to see through +things with an extraordinary clearness; she was revealed to him +certainly, as the cause and essence of it all.</p> + +<p>He was indeed at his Heart's Desire. It was one of those times when +there seems to be no future, when Time has stopped and we are at an end. +Kipps, that evening, could not have imagined a to-morrow, all that his +imagination had pointed towards was attained. His mind stood still and +took the moments as they came.</p> + +<p class="center">§4</p> + +<p>About nine that night Coote came around to Kipps' new apartment in the +Upper Sandgate Road—the house on the Leas had been let furnished—and +Kipps made an effort toward realisation. He was discovered sitting at +the open window and without a lamp, quite still. Coote was deeply moved, +and he pressed Kipps' palm and laid a knobby, white hand on his shoulder +and displayed the sort of tenderness becoming in a crisis. Kipps was too +moved that night, and treated Coote like a very dear brother.</p> + +<p>"She's splendid," said Coote, coming to it abruptly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p><p>"Isn't she?" said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"I couldn't help noticing her face," said Coote.... "You know, my dear +Kipps, that this is better than a legacy."</p> + +<p>"I don't deserve it," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"You can't say that."</p> + +<p>"I don't. I can't 'ardly believe it. I can't believe it at all. No!"</p> + +<p>There followed an expressive stillness.</p> + +<p>"It's wonderful," said Kipps. "It takes me like that."</p> + +<p>Coote made a faint blowing noise, and so again they came for a time of +silence.</p> + +<p>"And it began—before your money?"</p> + +<p>"When I was in 'er class," said Kipps, solemnly.</p> + +<p>Coote, speaking out of a darkness which he was illuminating strangely +with efforts to strike a match, said that it was beautiful. He could not +have <i>wished</i> Kipps a better fortune....</p> + +<p>He lit a cigarette, and Kipps was moved to do the same, with a +sacramental expression. Presently speech flowed more freely.</p> + +<p>Coote began to praise Helen and her mother and brother. He talked of +when "it" might be, he presented the thing as concrete and credible. +"It's a county family, you know," he said. "She is connected, you know, +with the Beaupres family—you know Lord Beaupres."</p> + +<p>"No!" said Kipps, "reely!"</p> + +<p>"Distantly, of course," said Coote. "Still——"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p><p>He smiled a smile that glimmered in the twilight.</p> + +<p>"It's too much," said Kipps, overcome. "It's so all like that."</p> + +<p>Coote exhaled. For a time Kipps listened to Helen's praises and matured +a point of view.</p> + +<p>"I say, Coote," he said. "What ought I to do now?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" said Coote.</p> + +<p>"I mean about calling on 'er and all that."</p> + +<p>He reflected. "Naturally, I want to do it all right."</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Coote.</p> + +<p>"It would be awful to go and do something—now—all wrong."</p> + +<p>Coote's cigarette glowed as he meditated. "You must call, of course," he +decided. "You'll have to speak to Mrs. Walshingham."</p> + +<p>"'Ow?" said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"Tell her you mean to marry her daughter."</p> + +<p>"I dessay she knows," said Kipps, with defensive penetration.</p> + +<p>Coote's head was visible, shaking itself judiciously.</p> + +<p>"Then there's the ring," said Kipps. "What 'ave I to do about that?"</p> + +<p>"What ring do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"'Ngagement Ring. There isn't anything at all about that in 'Manners and +Rules of Good Society'—not a word."</p> + +<p>"Of course you must get something—tasteful. Yes."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p><p>"What sort of a ring?"</p> + +<p>"Something nace. They'll show you in the shop."</p> + +<p>"Of course. I 'spose I got to take it to 'er, eh? Put it on her finger."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! Send it. Much better."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Kipps, for the first time, with a note of relief.</p> + +<p>"Then, 'ow about this call—on Mrs. Walshingham, I mean. 'Ow ought one +to go?"</p> + +<p>"Rather a ceremonial occasion," reflected Coote.</p> + +<p>"Wadyer mean? Frock coat?"</p> + +<p>"I <i>think</i> so," said Coote, with discrimination.</p> + +<p>"Light trousers and all that?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Rose?"</p> + +<p>"I think it might run to a buttonhole."</p> + +<p>The curtain that hung over the future became less opaque to the eyes of +Kipps. To-morrow, and then other days, became perceptible at least as +existing. Frock coat, silk hat and a rose! With a certain solemnity he +contemplated himself in the process of slow transformation into an +English gentleman, Arthur Cuyps, frock-coated on occasions of ceremony, +the familiar acquaintance of Lady Punnet, the recognised wooer of a +distant connection of the Earl of Beaupres.</p> + +<p>Something like awe at the magnitude of his own fortune came upon him. He +felt the world was opening out like a magic flower in a transformation +scene at the touch of this wand of gold. And Helen,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> nestling beautiful +in the red heart of the flower. Only ten weeks ago he had been no more +than the shabbiest of improvers and shamefully dismissed for +dissipation, the mere soil-burned seed, as it were, of these glories. He +resolved the engagement ring should be of expressively excessive quality +and appearance, in fact, the very best they had.</p> + +<p>"Ought I to send 'er flowers?" he speculated.</p> + +<p>"Not necessarily," said Coote. "Though, of course, it's an +attention."...</p> + +<p>Kipps meditated on flowers.</p> + +<p>"When you see her," said Coote, "you'll have to ask her to name the +day."</p> + +<p>Kipps started. "That won't be just yet a bit, will it?"</p> + +<p>"Don't know any reason for delay."</p> + +<p>"Oo, but—a year, say."</p> + +<p>"Rather a long time," said Coote.</p> + +<p>"Is it?" said Kipps, turning his head sharply. "But——"</p> + +<p>There was quite a long pause.</p> + +<p>"I say," he said, at last, and in an unaltered voice, "you'll 'ave to +'elp me about the wedding."</p> + +<p>"Only too happy," said Coote.</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Kipps, "I didn't think——" He changed his line of +thought. "Coote," he asked, "wot's a 'state-eh-tate'?"</p> + +<p>"A 'tate-ah-tay'!" said Coote, improvingly, "is a conversation alone +together."</p> + +<p>"Lor'!" said Kipps, "but I thought——. It says<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> <i>strictly</i> we oughtn't +to enjoy a tater-tay, not sit together, walk together, ride together or +meet during any part of the day. That don't leave much time for meeting, +does it?"</p> + +<p>"The books says that?" asked Coote.</p> + +<p>"I jest learnt it by 'eart before you came. I thought that was a bit +rum, but I s'pose it's all right."</p> + +<p>"You won't find Miss Walshingham so strict as all that," said Coote. "I +think that's a bit extreme. They'd only do that now in very strict old +aristocratic families. Besides, the Walshinghams are so +modern—advanced, you might say. I expect you'll get plenty of chances +of talking together."</p> + +<p>"There's a tremendous lot to think about," said Kipps, blowing a +profound sigh. "D'you mean—p'raps we might be married in a few months +or so."</p> + +<p>"You'll <i>have</i> to be," said Coote. "Why not?"...</p> + +<p>Midnight found Kipps alone, looking a little tired and turning over the +leaves of the red-covered textbook with a studious expression. He paused +for a moment on page 233, his eye caught by the words:</p> + +<p>"FOR AN UNCLE OR AUNT BY MARRIAGE the period is six weeks black, with +jet trimmings."</p> + +<p>"No," said Kipps, after a vigorous mental effort. "That's not it." The +pages rustled again. He stopped and flattened out the little book +decisively at the beginning of the chapter on "Weddings."</p> + +<p>He became pensive. He stared at the lamp wick.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> "I suppose I ought to go +over and tell them," he said, at last.</p> + +<p class="center">§5</p> + +<p>Kipps called on Mrs. Walshingham, attired in the proper costume for +ceremonial Occasions in the Day. He carried a silk hat, and he wore a +deep-skirted frock coat, his boots were patent leather and his trousers +dark grey. He had generous white cuffs with gold links, and his grey +gloves, one thumb in which had burst when he put them on, he held +loosely in his hand. He carried a small umbrella rolled to an exquisite +tightness. A sense of singular correctness pervaded his being and warred +with the enormity of the occasion for possession of his soul. Anon he +touched his silk cravat. The world smelt of his rosebud.</p> + +<p>He seated himself on a new re-covered chintz armchair and stuck out the +elbow of the arm that held his hat.</p> + +<p>"I know," said Mrs. Walshingham, "I know everything," and helped him out +most amazingly. She deepened the impression he had already received of +her sense and refinement. She displayed an amount of tenderness that +touched him.</p> + +<p>"This is a great thing," she said, "to a mother," and her hand rested +for a moment on his impeccable coat sleeve.</p> + +<p>"A daughter, Arthur," she explained, "is so much more than a son."</p> + +<p>Marriage, she said, was a lottery, and without love<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> and toleration +there was much unhappiness. Her life had not always been bright—there +had been dark days and bright days. She smiled rather sweetly. "This is +a bright one," she said.</p> + +<p>She said very kind and flattering things to Kipps, and she thanked him +for his goodness to her son. ("That wasn't anything," said Kipps.) And +then she expanded upon the theme of her two children. "Both so +accomplished," she said, "so clever. I call them my Twin Jewels."</p> + +<p>She was repeating a remark that she had made at Lympne, that she always +said her children needed opportunities, as other people needed air, when +she was abruptly arrested by the entry of Helen. They hung on a pause, +Helen perhaps surprised by Kipps' weekday magnificence. Then she +advanced with outstretched hand.</p> + +<p>Both the young people were shy. "I jest called 'round," began Kipps, and +became uncertain how to end.</p> + +<p>"Won't you have some tea?" asked Helen.</p> + +<p>She walked to the window, looked out at the familiar outporter's barrow, +turned, surveyed Kipps for a moment ambiguously, said "I will get some +tea," and so departed again.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Walshingham and Kipps looked at one another and the lady smiled +indulgently. "You two young people mustn't be shy of each other," said +Mrs. Walshingham, which damaged Kipps considerably.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p><p>She was explaining how sensitive Helen always had been, even about +quite little things, when the servant appeared with the tea things, and +then Helen followed, and taking up a secure position behind the little +banboo tea table, broke the ice with officious teacup clattering. Then +she introduced the topic of a forthcoming open-air performance of "As +You Like It," and steered past the worst of the awkwardness. They +discussed stage illusion. "I mus' say," said Kipps, "I don't quite like +a play in a theayter. It seems sort of unreal, some'ow."</p> + +<p>"But most plays are written for the stage," said Helen, looking at the +sugar.</p> + +<p>"I know," admitted Kipps.</p> + +<p>They finished tea. "Well," said Kipps, and rose.</p> + +<p>"You mustn't go yet," said Mrs. Walshingham, rising and taking his hand. +"I'm sure you two must have heaps to say to each other," and so she +escaped towards the door.</p> + + +<p class="center">§6</p> + +<p>Among other projects that seemed almost equally correct to Kipps at that +exalted moment was one of embracing Helen with ardour as soon as the +door closed behind her mother and one of headlong flight through the +open window. Then he remembered he ought to hold the door open for Mrs. +Walshingham, and turned from that duty to find Helen still standing, +beautifully inaccessible, behind the tea things. He closed the door and +advanced toward her with his arms akimbo and his hands upon his coat +skirts.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> Then, feeling angular, he moved his right hand to his +moustache. Anyhow, he was dressed all right. Somewhere at the back of +his mind, dim and mingled with doubt and surprise, appeared the +perception that he felt now quite differently towards her, that +something between them had been blown from Lympne Keep to the four winds +of heaven....</p> + +<p>She regarded him with an eye of critical proprietorship.</p> + +<p>"Mother has been making up to you," she said, smiling slightly.</p> + +<p>She added, "It was nice of you to come around to see her."</p> + +<p>They stood through a brief pause, as though each had expected something +different in the other and was a little perplexed at its not being +there. Kipps found he was at the corner of the brown covered table, and +he picked up a little flexible book that lay upon it to occupy his mind.</p> + +<p>"I bought you a ring to-day," he said, bending the book and speaking for +the sake of saying something, and then he was moved to genuine speech. +"You know," he said, "I can't 'ardly believe it."</p> + +<p>Her face relaxed slightly again. "No?" she said, and may have breathed, +"Nor I."</p> + +<p>"No," he went on. "It's as though everything 'ad changed. More even than +when I got my money. 'Ere we are going to marry. It's like being someone +else. What I feel is——"</p> + +<p>He turned a flushed and earnest face to her. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> seemed to come alive to +her with one natural gesture. "I don't <i>know</i> things. I'm not good +enough. I'm not refined. The more you'll see of me the more you'll find +me out."</p> + +<p>"But I'm going to help you."</p> + +<p>"You'll 'ave to 'elp me a fearful lot."</p> + +<p>She walked to the window, glanced out of it, made up her mind, turned +and came towards him, with her hands clasped behind her back.</p> + +<p>"All these things that trouble you are very little things. If you don't +mind—if you will let me tell you things——"</p> + +<p>"I wish you would."</p> + +<p>"Then I will."</p> + +<p>"They're little things to you, but they aren't to me."</p> + +<p>"It all depends, if you don't mind being told."</p> + +<p>"By you?"</p> + +<p>"I don't expect you to be told by strangers."</p> + +<p>"Oo!" said Kipps, expressing much.</p> + +<p>"You know, there are just a few little things. For instance, you know, +you are careless with your pronunciation.... You don't mind my telling +you?"</p> + +<p>"I like it," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"There's aitches."</p> + +<p>"I know," said Kipps, and then, endorsingly, "I been told. Fact is, I +know a chap, a Nacter, <i>he's</i> told me. He's told me, and he's going to +give me a lesso nor so."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p><p>"I'm glad of that. It only requires a little care."</p> + +<p>"Of course. On the stage they got to look out. They take regular +lessons."</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Helen, a little absently.</p> + +<p>"I dessay I shall soon get into it," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"And then there's dress," said Helen, taking up her thread again.</p> + +<p>Kipps became pink, but he remained respectfully attentive.</p> + +<p>"You don't mind?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Oo, no."</p> + +<p>"You mustn't be too—too dressy. It's possible to be over-conventional, +over-elaborate. It makes you look like a shop—like a common, well-off +person. There's a sort of easiness that is better. A real gentleman +looks right, without looking as though he had tried to be right."</p> + +<p>"Jest as though 'e'd put on what came first?" said the pupil, in a faded +voice.</p> + +<p>"Not exactly that, but a sort of ease."</p> + +<p>Kipps nodded his head intelligently. In his heart he was kicking his +silk hat about the room in an ecstasy of disappointment.</p> + +<p>"And you must accustom yourself to be more at your ease when you are +with people," said Helen. "You've only got to forget yourself a little +and not be anxious——"</p> + +<p>"I'll try," said Kipps, looking rather hard at the teapot. "I'll do my +best to try."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span></p><p>"I know you will," she said, and laid a hand for an instant upon his +shoulder and withdrew it.</p> + +<p>He did not perceive her caress. "One has to learn," he said. His +attention was distracted by the strenuous efforts that were going on in +the back of his head to translate, "I say, didn't you ought to name the +day?" into easy as well as elegant English, a struggle that was still +undecided when the time came for them to part....</p> + +<p>He sat for a long time at the open window of his sitting-room with an +intent face, recapitulating that interview. His eyes rested at last +almost reproachfully on the silk hat beside him. "'Ow is one to know?" +he asked. His attention was caught by a rubbed place in the nap, and, +still thoughtful, he rolled up his handkerchief skilfully into a soft +ball and began to smooth this down.</p> + +<p>His expression changed slowly.</p> + +<p>"'Ow the Juice is one to know?" he said, putting down the hat with some +emphasis.</p> + +<p>He rose up, went across the room to the sideboard, and, standing there, +opened and began to read "Manners and Rules."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER IV</span> <span class="smaller">THE BICYCLE MANUFACTURER</span></h2> + +<p class="center">§1</p> + +<p>So Kipps embarked upon his engagement, steeled himself to the high +enterprise of marrying above his breeding. The next morning found him +dressing with a certain quiet severity of movement, and it seemed to his +landlady's housemaid that he was unusually dignified at breakfast. He +meditated profoundly over his kipper and his kidney and bacon. He was +going to New Romney to tell the old people what had happened and where +he stood. And the love of Helen had also given him courage to do what +Buggins had once suggested to him as a thing he would do were he in +Kipps' place, and that was to hire a motor car for the afternoon. He had +an early cold lunch, and then, with an air of quiet resolution, assumed +a cap and coat he had purchased to this end, and thus equipped strolled +around, blowing slightly, to the motor shop. The transaction was +unexpectedly easy, and within the hour Kipps, spectacled and wrapped +about, was tootling through Dymchurch.</p> + +<p>They came to a stop smartly and neatly outside the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> little toy shop. +"Make that thing 'oot a bit, will you," said Kipps. "Yes, that's it." +"Whup," said the motor car. "Whurrup!"</p> + +<p>Both his Aunt and Uncle came out on the pavement. "Why, it's Artie," +cried his Aunt, and Kipps had a moment of triumph.</p> + +<p>He descended to hand claspings, removed wraps and spectacles, and the +motor driver retired to take "an hour off." Old Kipps surveyed the +machinery and disconcerted Kipps for a moment by asking him in a knowing +tone what they asked him for a thing like that. The two men stood +inspecting the machine and impressing the neighbours for a time, and +then they strolled through the shop into the little parlour for a drink.</p> + +<p>"They ain't settled," old Kipps had said to the neighbours. "They ain't +got no further than experiments. There's a bit of take-in about each. +You take my advice and wait, me boy, even if it's a year or two, before +you buy one for your own use."</p> + +<p>(Though Kipps had said nothing of doing anything of the sort.)</p> + +<p>"'Ow d'you like that whiskey I sent?" asked Kipps, dodging the old +familiar bunch of children's pails.</p> + +<p>Old Kipps became tactful. "It's a very good whiskey, my boy," said old +Kipps. "I 'aven't the slightest doubt it's a very good whiskey and cost +you a tidy price. But—dashed if it soots me! They put this here Foozle +Ile in it, my boy, and it ketches me jest 'ere." He indicated his centre +of figure. "Gives<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> me the heartburn," he said, and shook his head rather +sadly.</p> + +<p>"It's a very good whiskey," said Kipps. "It's what the actor manager +chaps drink in London, I 'appen to know."</p> + +<p>"I dessay they do, my boy," said old Kipps, "but then they've 'ad their +livers burnt out, and I 'aven't. They ain't dellicat like me. My stummik +always <i>'as</i> been extrey dellicat. Sometimes it's almost been as though +nothing would lay on it. But that's in passing. I liked those segars. +You can send me some of them segars...."</p> + +<p>You cannot lead a conversation straight from the gastric consequences of +Foozle Ile to Love, and so Kipps, after a friendly inspection of a rare +old engraving after Morland (perfect except for a hole kicked through +the centre) that his Uncle had recently purchased by private haggle, +came to the topic of the old people's removal.</p> + +<p>At the outset of Kipps' great fortunes there had been much talk of some +permanent provision for them. It had been conceded they were to be +provided for comfortably, and the phrase "retire from business" had been +very much in the air. Kipps had pictured an ideal cottage, with a +creeper always in exuberant flower about the door, where the sun shone +forever and the wind never blew and a perpetual welcome hovered in the +doorway. It was an agreeable dream, but when it came to the point of +deciding upon this particular cottage or that, and on this particular<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> +house or that, Kipps was surprised by an unexpected clinging to the +little home, which he had always understood to be the worst of all +possible houses.</p> + +<p>"We don't want to move in a 'urry," said Mrs. Kipps.</p> + +<p>"When we want to move, we want to move for life. I've had enough moving +about in my time," said old Kipps.</p> + +<p>"We can do here a bit more, now we done here so long," said Mrs. Kipps.</p> + +<p>"You lemme look about a bit <i>fust</i>," said old Kipps.</p> + +<p>And in looking about old Kipps found perhaps a finer joy than any mere +possession could have given. He would shut his shop more or less +effectually against the intrusion of customers, and toddle abroad +seeking new matter for his dream; no house was too small and none too +large for his knowing enquiries. Occupied houses took his fancy more +than vacancies, and he would remark, "You won't be a livin' 'ere +forever, even if you think you will," when irate householders protested +against the unsolicited examination of their more intimate premises....</p> + +<p>Remarkable difficulties arose of a totally unexpected sort.</p> + +<p>"If we 'ave a larger 'ouse," said Mrs. Kipps with sudden bitterness, "we +shall want a servant, and I don't want no gells in the place larfin' at +me, sniggerin' and larfin' and prancin' and trapesin', lardy da! If we +'ave a smaller 'ouse, there won't be room to swing a cat."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span></p><p>Room to swing a cat it seemed was absolutely essential. It was an +infrequent but indispensable operation.</p> + +<p>"When we <i>do</i> move," said old Kipps, "if we could get a bit of +shootin'——. I don't want to sell off all this here stock for nothin'. +It's took years to 'cumulate. I put a ticket in the winder sayin' +'sellin' orf,' but it 'asn't brought nothing like a roosh. One of these +'ere dratted visitors pretendin' to want an air gun, was all we 'ad in +yesterday. Jest an excuse for spyin' round and then go away and larf at +you. No-thanky to everything, it didn't matter what.... That's 'ow <i>I</i> +look at it, Artie."</p> + +<p>They pursued meandering fancies about the topic of their future +settlement for a space and Kipps became more and more hopeless of any +proper conversational opening that would lead to his great announcement, +and more and more uncertain how such an opening should be taken. Once +indeed old Kipps, anxious to get away from this dangerous subject of +removals, began: "And what are you a-doin' of in Folkestone? I shall +have to come over and see you one of these days," but before Kipps could +get in upon that, his Uncle had passed into a general exposition of the +proper treatment of landladies and their humbugging, cheating ways, and +so the opportunity vanished. It seemed to Kipps the only thing to do was +to go out into the town for a stroll, compose an effectual opening at +leisure, and then come back and discharge it at them in its consecutive +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>completeness. And even out of doors and alone, he found his mind +distracted by irrelevant thoughts.</p> + +<p class="center">§2</p> + +<p>His steps led him out of the High Street towards the church, and he +leant for a time over the gate that had once been the winning post of +his race with Ann Pornick, and presently found himself in a sitting +position on the top rail. He had to get things smooth again, he knew; +his mind was like a mirror of water after a breeze. The image of Helen +and his great future was broken and mingled into fragmentary reflections +of remoter things, of the good name of Old Methusaleh Three Stars, of +long dormant memories the High Street saw fit, by some trick of light +and atmosphere, to arouse that afternoon....</p> + +<p>Abruptly a fine, full voice from under his elbow shouted, "What—O Art!" +and, behold, Sid Pornick was back in his world, leaning over the gate +beside him, and holding out a friendly hand.</p> + +<p>He was oddly changed and yet oddly like the Sid that Kipps had known. He +had the old broad face and mouth, abundantly freckled, the same short +nose, and the same blunt chin, the same odd suggestion of his sister Ann +without a touch of her beauty; but he had quite a new voice, loud and a +little hard, and his upper lip carried a stiff and very fair moustache.</p> + +<p>Kipps shook hands. "I was jest thinking of <i>you</i>, Sid," he said, "jest +this very moment and wondering<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> if ever I should see you again, ever. +And 'ere you are!"</p> + +<p>"One likes a look 'round at times," said Sid. "How are <i>you</i>, old chap?"</p> + +<p>"All right," said Kipps. "I just been lef'——"</p> + +<p>"You aren't changed much," interrupted Sid.</p> + +<p>"Ent I?" said Kipps, foiled.</p> + +<p>"I knew your back directly I came 'round the corner. Spite of that 'at +you got on. Hang it, I said, that's Art Kipps or the devil. And so it +was."</p> + +<p>Kipps made a movement of his neck as if he would look at his back and +judge. Then he looked Sid in the face. "You got a moustache, Sid," he +said.</p> + +<p>"I s'pose you're having your holidays?" said Sid.</p> + +<p>"Well, partly. But I just been lef'——"</p> + +<p>"<i>I'm</i> taking a bit of a holiday," Sid went on. "But the fact is, I have +to give <i>myself</i> holidays nowadays. I've set up for myself."</p> + +<p>"Not down here?"</p> + +<p>"No fear! I'm not a turnip. I've started in Hammersmith, manufacturing." +Sid spoke offhand as though there was no such thing as pride.</p> + +<p>"Not drapery?"</p> + +<p>"No fear! Engineer. Manufacture bicycles." He clapped his hand to his +breast pocket and produced a number of pink handbills. He handed one to +Kipps and prevented him reading it by explanations and explanatory dabs +of a pointing finger. "That's our make, my make to be exact, The Red +Flag, see?—I got a transfer with my name—Pantocrat tyres, eight<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> +pounds—yes, <i>there</i>—Clinchers ten, Dunlop's eleven, Ladies' one pound +more—that's the lady's. Best machine at a democratic price in London. +No guineas and no discounts—honest trade. I build 'em—to order. I've +built," he reflected, looking away seaward—"seventeen. Counting orders +in 'and.... Come down to look at the old place a bit. Mother likes it at +times."</p> + +<p>"Thought you'd all gone away——"</p> + +<p>"What! after my father's death? No! My mother's come back, and she's +living at Muggett's cottages. The sea air suits 'er. She likes the old +place better than Hammersmith ... and I can afford it. Got an old crony +or so here.... Gossip ... have tea.... S'pose <i>you</i> ain't married, +Kipps?"</p> + +<p>Kipps shook his head, "I——" he began.</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> am," said Sid. "Married these two years and got a nipper. Proper +little chap."</p> + +<p>Kipps got his word in at last. "I got engaged day before yesterday," he +said.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Sid airily. "That's all right. Who's the fortunate lady?"</p> + +<p>Kipps tried to speak in an offhand way. He stuck his hands in his +pockets as he spoke. "She's a solicitor's daughter," he said, "in +Folkestone. Rather'r nice set. County family. Related to the Earl of +Beaupres——"</p> + +<p>"Steady on!" cried Sid.</p> + +<p>"You see, I've 'ad a bit of luck, Sid. Been lef' money."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p><p>Sid's eye travelled instinctively to mark Kipps' garments. "How much?" +he asked.</p> + +<p>"'Bout twelve 'undred a year," said Kipps, more offhandedly than ever.</p> + +<p>"Lord!" said Sid, with a note of positive dismay, and stepped back a +pace or two.</p> + +<p>"My granfaver it was," said Kipps, trying hard to be calm and simple. +"'Ardly knew I <i>'ad</i> a granfaver. And then—bang! When o' Bean, the +solicitor, told me of it, you could 'ave knocked me down——"</p> + +<p>"<i>'Ow</i> much?" demanded Sid, with a sharp note in his voice.</p> + +<p>"Twelve 'undred pound a year—'proximately, that is...."</p> + +<p>Sid's attempt at genial unenvious congratulation did not last a minute. +He shook hands with an unreal heartiness and said he was jolly glad. +"It's a blooming stroke of Luck," he said.</p> + +<p>"It's a bloomin' stroke of Luck," he repeated; "that's what it is," with +the smile fading from his face. "Of course, better you 'ave it than me, +o' chap. So I don't envy you, anyhow. <i>I</i> couldn't keep it, if I did +'ave it."</p> + +<p>"'Ow's that?" said Kipps, a little hipped by Sid's patent chagrin.</p> + +<p>"I'm a Socialist, you see," said Sid. "I don't 'old with Wealth. What +<i>is</i> Wealth? Labour robbed out of the poor. At most it's only yours in +Trust. Leastways, that 'ow <i>I</i> should take it." He reflected. "The +Present distribution of Wealth," he said and stopped.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p><p>Then he let himself go, with unmasked bitterness. "It's no sense at +all. It's jest damn foolishness. Who's going to work and care in a +muddle like this? Here first you do—something anyhow—of the world's +work, and it pays you hardly anything, and then it invites you to do +nothing, nothing whatever, and pays you twelve hundred pounds a year. +Who's going to respect laws and customs when they come to damn silliness +like that?" He repeated, "Twelve hundred pounds a year!"</p> + +<p>At the sight of Kipps' face he relented slightly.</p> + +<p>"It's not you I'm thinking of, o' man; it's the system. Better you than +most people. Still——"</p> + +<p>He laid both hands on the gate and repeated to himself, "Twelve 'undred +a year.... Gee-Whizz, Kipps! You'll be a swell!"</p> + +<p>"I shan't," said Kipps with imperfect conviction. "No fear."</p> + +<p>"You can't 'ave money like that and not swell out. You'll soon be too +big to speak to—'ow do they put it?—a mere mechanic like me."</p> + +<p>"No fear, Siddee," said Kipps with conviction. "I ain't that sort."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Sid, with a sort of unwilling scepticism, "money'll be too +much for you. Besides—you're caught by a swell already."</p> + +<p>"'Ow d'you mean?"</p> + +<p>"That girl you're going to marry. Masterman says——"</p> + +<p>"Oo's Masterman?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p><p>"Rare good chap I know—takes my first floor front room. Masterson says +it's always the wife pitches the key. Always. There's no social +differences—till women come in."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Kipps profoundly. "You don't know."</p> + +<p>Sid shook his head. "Fancy!" he reflected, "Art Kipps!... Twelve 'Undred +a Year!"</p> + +<p>Kipps tried to bridge that opening gulf. "Remember the Hurons, Sid?"</p> + +<p>"Rather," said Sid.</p> + +<p>"Remember that wreck?"</p> + +<p>"I can smell it now—sort of sour smell."</p> + +<p>Kipps was silent for a moment with reminiscent eyes on Sid's still +troubled face.</p> + +<p>"I say, Sid, 'ow's Ann?"</p> + +<p>"<i>She's</i> all right," said Sid.</p> + +<p>"Where is she now?"</p> + +<p>"In a place ... Ashford."</p> + +<p>"Oh!"</p> + +<p>Sid's face had become a shade sulkier than before.</p> + +<p>"The fact is," he said, "we don't get on very well together. <i>I</i> don't +hold with service. We're common people, I suppose, but I don't like it. +I don't see why a sister of mine should wait at other people's tables. +No. Not even if they got Twelve 'Undred a Year."</p> + +<p>Kipps tried to change the point of application. "Remember 'ow you came +out once when we were racing here?... She didn't run bad for a girl."</p> + +<p>And his own words raised an image brighter than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> he could have supposed, +so bright it seemed to breathe before him and did not fade altogether, +even when he was back in Folkestone an hour or so later.</p> + +<p>But Sid was not to be deflected from that other rankling theme by any +reminiscences of Ann.</p> + +<p>"I wonder what you will do with all that money," he speculated. "I +wonder if you will do any good at all. I wonder what you <i>could</i> do. You +should hear Masterman. He'd tell you things. Suppose it came to me, what +should I do? It's no good giving it back to the state as things are. +Start an Owenite profit-sharing factory perhaps. Or a new Socialist +paper. We want a new Socialist paper."</p> + +<p>He tried to drown his personal chagrin in elaborate exemplary +suggestions....</p> + +<p class="center">§3</p> + +<p>"I must be gettin' on to my motor," said Kipps at last, having to a +large extent heard him out.</p> + +<p>"What! Got a motor?"</p> + +<p>"No!" said Kipps apologetically. "Only jobbed for the day."</p> + +<p>"'Ow much?"</p> + +<p>"Five pounds."</p> + +<p>"Keep five families for a week! Good Lord!" That seemed to crown Sid's +disgust.</p> + +<p>Yet drawn by a sort of fascination he came with Kipps and assisted at +the mounting of the motor. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> was pleased to note it was not the most +modern of motors, but that was the only grain of comfort. Kipps mounted +at once, after one violent agitation of the little shop-door to set the +bell a-jingle and warn his Uncle and Aunt. Sid assisted with the great +furlined overcoat and examined the spectacles.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, o' chap!" said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, o' chap!" said Sid.</p> + +<p>The old people came out to say good-bye.</p> + +<p>Old Kipps was radiant with triumph. "'Pon my Sammy, Artie! I'm a goo' +mind to come with you," he shouted, and then, "I got something you might +take with you!"</p> + +<p>He dodged back into the shop and returned with the perforated engraving +after Morland.</p> + +<p>"You stick to this, my boy," he said. "You get it repaired by someone +who knows. It's the most vallyble thing I got you so far, you take my +word."</p> + +<p>"Warrup!" said the motor, and tuff, tuff, tuff, and backed and snorted +while old Kipps danced about on the pavement as if foreseeing complex +catastrophes, and told the driver, "That's all right."</p> + +<p>He waved his stout stick to his receding nephew. Then he turned to Sid. +"Now, if you could make something like that, young Pornick, you <i>might</i> +blow a bit!"</p> + +<p>"I'll make a doocid sight better than <i>that</i> before I done," said Sid, +hands deep in his pockets.</p> + +<p>"Not <i>you</i>," said old Kipps.</p> + +<p>The motor set up a prolonged sobbing moan and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> vanished around the +corner. Sid stood motionless for a space, unheeding some further remark +from old Kipps. The young mechanic had just discovered that to have +manufactured seventeen bicycles, including orders in hand, is not so big +a thing as he had supposed, and such discoveries try one's manhood....</p> + +<p>"Oh well!" said Sid at last, and turned his face towards his mother's +cottage.</p> + +<p>She had got a hot teacake for him, and she was a little hurt that he was +dark and preoccupied as he consumed it. He had always been such a boy +for teacake, and then when one went out specially and got him one——!</p> + +<p>He did not tell her—he did not tell anyone—he had seen young Kipps. He +did not want to talk about Kipps for a bit to anyone at all.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER V</span> <span class="smaller">THE PUPIL LOVER</span></h2> + +<p class="center">§1</p> + +<p>When Kipps came to reflect upon his afternoon's work he had his first +inkling of certain comprehensive incompatibilities lying about the +course of true love in his particular case. He had felt without +understanding the incongruity between the announcement he had failed to +make and the circle of ideas of his Aunt and Uncle. It was this rather +than the want of a specific intention that had silenced him, the +perception that when he travelled from Folkestone to New Romney he +travelled from an atmosphere where his engagement to Helen was sane and +excellent to an atmosphere where it was only to be regarded with +incredulous suspicion. Coupled and associated with this jar was his +sense of the altered behaviour of Sid Pornick, the evident shock to that +ancient alliance caused by the fact of his enrichment, the touch of +hostility in his "You'll soon be swelled too big to speak to a poor +mechanic like me." Kipps was unprepared for the unpleasant truth; that +the path of social advancement is and must be strewn with broken +friendships.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> This first protrusion of that fact caused a painful +confusion in his mind. It was speedily to protrude in a far more serious +fashion in relation to the "hands" from the Emporium, and Chitterlow.</p> + +<p>From the day at Lympne Castle his relations with Helen had entered upon +a new footing. He had prayed for Helen as good souls pray for Heaven, +with as little understanding of what it was he prayed for. And now that +period of standing humbly in the shadows before the shrine was over, and +the Goddess, her veil of mystery flung aside, had come down to him and +taken hold of him, a good, strong, firm hold, and walked by his side.... +She liked him. What was singular was that very soon she had kissed him +thrice, whimsically upon the brow, and he had never kissed her at all. +He could not analyse his feelings, only he knew the world was +wonderfully changed about them, but the truth was that, though he still +worshipped and feared her, though his pride in his engagement was +ridiculously vast, he loved her now no more. That subtle something woven +of the most delicate strands of self-love and tenderness and desire, had +vanished imperceptibly; and was gone now for ever. But that she did not +suspect in him, nor as a matter of fact did he.</p> + +<p>She took him in hand in perfect good faith. She told him things about +his accent, she told him things about his bearing, about his costume and +his way of looking at things. She thrust the blade of her intelligence +into the tenderest corners of Kipps' secret <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span>vanity, she slashed his +most intimate pride to bleeding tatters. He sought very diligently to +anticipate some at least of these informing thrusts by making great use +of Coote. But the unanticipated made a brave number....</p> + +<p>She found his simple willingness a very lovable thing.</p> + +<p>Indeed she liked him more and more. There was a touch of motherliness in +her feelings towards him. But his upbringing and his associations had +been, she diagnosed, "awful." At New Romney she glanced but little; that +was remote. But in her inventory—she went over him as one might go over +a newly taken house, with impartial thoroughness—she discovered more +proximate influences, surprising intimations of nocturnal +"sing-songs"—she pictured it as almost shocking that Kipps should sing +to the banjo—much low-grade wisdom treasured from a person called +Buggins—"Who <i>is</i> Buggins?" said Helen—vague figures of indisputable +vulgarity, Pierce and Carshot, and more particularly, a very terrible +social phenomenon, Chitterlow.</p> + +<p>Chitterlow blazed upon them with unheralded oppressive brilliance the +first time they were abroad together.</p> + +<p>They were going along the front of the Leas to see a school play in +Sandgate—at the last moment Mrs. Walshingham had been unable to come +with them—when Chitterlow loomed up into the new world. He was wearing +the suit of striped flannel and the straw<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> hat that had followed Kipps' +payment in advance for his course in elocution, his hands were deep in +his side pockets and animated the corners of his jacket, and his +attentive gaze at the passing loungers, the faint smile under his boldly +drawn nose, showed him engaged in studying character—no doubt for some +forthcoming play.</p> + +<p>"What HO!" said he, at the sight of Kipps, and swept off the straw hat +with so ample a clutch of his great, flat hand that it suggested to +Helen's startled mind a conjurer about to palm a half-penny.</p> + +<p>"'Ello, Chitt'low," said Kipps a little awkwardly and not saluting.</p> + +<p>Chitterlow hesitated. "Half a mo', my boy," he said, and arrested Kipps +by extending a large hand over his chest. "Excuse me, my dear," he said, +bowing like his Russian count by way of apology to Helen and with a +smile that would have killed at a hundred yards. He affected a +semi-confidential grouping of himself and Kipps while Helen stood in +white amazement.</p> + +<p>"About that play," he said.</p> + +<p>"'Ow about it?" asked Kipps, acutely aware of Helen.</p> + +<p>"It's all right," said Chitterlow. "There's a strong smell of syndicate +in the air, I may tell you—Strong."</p> + +<p>"That's aw right," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"You needn't tell everybody," said Chitterlow with a transitory, +confidential hand to his mouth, which pointed the application of the +"everybody" just a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> trifle too strongly. "But I think it's coming off. +However——. I mustn't detain you now. So long. You'll come 'round, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Right you are," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"To-night?"</p> + +<p>"At eight."</p> + +<p>And then, and more in the manner of a Russian prince than any common +count, Chitterlow bowed and withdrew. Just for a moment he allowed a +conquering eye to challenge Helen's and noted her for a girl of +quality....</p> + +<p>There was a silence between our lovers for a space.</p> + +<p>"That," said Kipps with an allusive movement of the head, "was +Chitterlow."</p> + +<p>"Is he—a friend of yours?"</p> + +<p>"In a way.... You see—I met 'im. Leastways 'e met me. Run into me with +a bicycle, 'e did, and so we got talking together."</p> + +<p>He tried to appear at his ease. The young lady scrutinised his profile.</p> + +<p>"What is he?"</p> + +<p>"'E's a Nacter chap," said Kipps. "Leastways 'e writes plays."</p> + +<p>"And sells them?"</p> + +<p>"Partly."</p> + +<p>"Whom to?"</p> + +<p>"Different people. Shares he sells.... It's all right, reely—I meant to +tell you about him before."</p> + +<p>Helen looked over her shoulder to catch a view of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> Chitterlow's +retreating aspect. It did not compel her complete confidence.</p> + +<p>She turned to her lover and said in a tone of quiet authority, "You must +tell me all about Chitterlow. Now."</p> + +<p>The explanation began....</p> + +<p>The School Play came almost as a relief to Kipps. In the flusterment of +going in he could almost forget for a time his Laocoon struggle to +explain, and in the intervals he did his best to keep forgetting. But +Helen, with a gentle insistence, resumed the explanation of Chitterlow +as they returned towards Folkestone.</p> + +<p>Chitterlow was confoundedly difficult to explain. You could hardly +imagine!</p> + +<p>There was an almost motherly anxiety in Helen's manner, blended with the +resolution of a schoolmistress to get to the bottom of the affair. +Kipps' ears were soon quite brightly red.</p> + +<p>"Have you seen one of his plays?"</p> + +<p>"'E's tole me about one."</p> + +<p>"But on the stage."</p> + +<p>"No. He 'asn't 'ad any on the stage yet. That's all coming...."</p> + +<p>"Promise me," she said in conclusion, "you won't do anything without +consulting me."</p> + +<p>And of course Kipps promised. "Oo—no!"</p> + +<p>They went on their way in silence.</p> + +<p>"One can't know everybody," said Helen in general.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span></p><p>"Of course," said Kipps; "in a sort of way it was him that helped me to +my money." And he indicated in a confused manner the story of the +advertisement. "I don't like to drop 'im all at once," he added.</p> + +<p>Helen was silent for a space, and when she spoke she went off at a +tangent. "We shall live in London—soon," she remarked. "It's only while +we are here."</p> + +<p>It was the first intimation she gave him of their post-nuptial +prospects.</p> + +<p>"We shall have a nice little flat somewhere, not too far west, and there +we shall build up a circle of our own."</p> + +<p class="center">§2</p> + +<p>All that declining summer Kipps was the pupil lover. He made an +extraordinarily open secret of his desire for self-improvement; indeed +Helen had to hint once or twice that his modest frankness was excessive, +and all this new circle of friends did, each after his or her manner, +everything that was possible to supplement Helen's efforts and help him +to ease and skill in the more cultivated circles to which he had come. +Coote was still the chief teacher, the tutor—there are so many little +difficulties that a man may take to another man that he would not care +to propound to the woman he loves—but they were all, so to speak, upon +the staff. Even the freckled girl said to him once in a pleasant way, +"You mustn't say<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> "contre temps," you must say "contraytom,"" when he +borrowed that expression from "Manners and Rules," and she tried at his +own suggestion to give him clear ideas upon the subject of "as" and +"has." A certain confusion between these words was becoming evident, the +first fruits of a lesson from Chitterlow on the aspirate. Hitherto he +had discarded that dangerous letter almost altogether, but now he would +pull up at words beginning with "h" and draw a sawing breath—rather +like a startled kitten—and then aspirate with vigour.</p> + +<p>Said Kipps one day, "<i>As</i> 'e?—I should say, ah—Has 'e? Ye know I got a +lot of difficulty over them two words, which is which?"</p> + +<p>"Well, 'as' is a conjunction and 'has' is a verb."</p> + +<p>"I know," said Kipps, "but when is 'has' a conjunction and when is 'as' +a verb?"</p> + +<p>"Well," said the freckled girl, preparing to be very lucid. "It's <i>has</i> +when it means one has, meaning having, but if it isn't it's <i>as</i>. As for +instance one says 'e—I mean <i>he</i>—He has. But one says 'as he has.'"</p> + +<p>"I see," said Kipps. "So I ought to say 'as 'e?'"</p> + +<p>"No, if you are asking a question you say <i>has</i> 'e—I mean he—'as he?" +She blushed quite brightly, but still clung to her air of lucidity.</p> + +<p>"I see," said Kipps. He was about to say something further, but he +desisted. "I got it much clearer now. <i>Has</i> 'e? <i>Has</i> 'e as. Yes."</p> + +<p>"If you remember about having."</p> + +<p>"Oo I will," said Kipps.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p><p>Miss Coote specialised in Kipps' artistic development. She had early +found an opinion that he had considerable artistic sensibility, his +remarks on her work had struck her as decidedly intelligent, and +whenever he called around to see them she would show him some work of +art, now an illustrated book, now perhaps a colour print of a +Botticelli, now the Hundred Best Paintings, now "Academy Pictures," now +a German art handbook and now some magazine of furniture and design. "I +know you like these things," she used to say, and Kipps said, "Oo I +<i>do</i>." He soon acquired a little armoury of appreciative sayings. When +presently the Walshinghams took him up to the Arts and Crafts, his +deportment was intelligent in the extreme. For a time he kept a wary +silence and suddenly pitched upon a colour print. "That's rather nace," +he said to Mrs. Walshingham. "That lill' thing. There." He always said +things like that by preference to the mother rather than the daughter +unless he was perfectly sure.</p> + +<p>He quite took to Mrs. Walshingham. He was impressed by her conspicuous +tact and refinement; it seemed to him that the ladylike could go no +further. She was always dressed with a delicate fussiness that was never +disarranged and even a sort of faded quality about her hair and face and +bearing and emotions contributed to her effect. Kipps was not a big man, +and commonly he did not feel a big man, but with Mrs. Walshingham he +always felt enormous and distended, as though he was a navvy who had +taken<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> some disagreeable poison which puffed him up inside his skin as a +preliminary to bursting. He felt, too, as though he had been rolled in +clay and his hair dressed with gum. And he felt that his voice was +strident and his accent like somebody swinging a crowded pig's pail in a +free and careless manner. All this increased and enforced his respect +for her. Her hand, which flitted often and again to his hand and arm, +was singularly well shaped and cool. "Arthur," she called him from the +very beginning.</p> + +<p>She did not so much positively teach and tell him as tactfully guide and +infect him. Her conversation was not so much didactic as exemplary. She +would say, "I <i>do</i> like people to do" so and so. She would tell him +anecdotes of nice things done, of gentlemanly feats of graceful +consideration; she would record her neat observations of people in +trains and omnibuses; how, for example, a man had passed her change to +the conductor, "quite a common man he looked," but he had lifted his +hat. She stamped Kipps so deeply with the hat-raising habit that he +would uncover if he found himself in the same railway ticket office with +a lady had to stand ceremoniously until the difficulties of change drove +him to an apologetic provisional oblique resumption of his headgear.... +And robbing these things of any air of personal application, she threw +about them an abundant talk about her two children—she called them her +Twin Jewels quite frequently—about their gifts, their temperaments, +their ambition, their need of opportunity.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> They needed opportunity, she +would say, as other people needed air....</p> + +<p>In his conversations with her Kipps always assumed, and she seemed to +assume, that she was to join that home in London Helen foreshadowed, but +he was surprised one day to gather that this was not to be the case. "It +wouldn't do," said Helen, with decision. "We want to make a circle of +our own."</p> + +<p>"But won't she be a bit lonely down here?" asked Kipps.</p> + +<p>"There's the Waces, and Mrs. Prebble and Mrs. Bindon Botting and—lots +of people she knows." And Helen dismissed this possibility....</p> + +<p>Young Walshingham's share in the educational syndicate was smaller. But +he shone out when they went to London on that Arts and Crafts +expedition. Then this rising man of affairs showed Kipps how to buy the +more theatrical weeklies for consumption in the train, how to buy and +what to buy in the way of cigarettes with gold tips and shilling cigars, +and how to order hock for lunch and sparkling Moselle for dinner, how to +calculate the fare of a hansom cab—penny a minute while he goes—how to +look intelligently at an hotel tape, and how to sit still in a train +like a thoughtful man instead of talking like a fool and giving yourself +away. And he, too, would glance at the good time coming when they were +to be in London for good and all.</p> + +<p>That prospect expanded and developed particulars. It presently took up a +large part of Helen's <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span>conversation. Her conversations with Kipps were +never of a grossly sentimental sort; there was a shyness of speech in +that matter with both of them, but these new adumbrations were at least +as interesting and not so directly disagreeable as the clear-cut +intimations of personal defect that for a time had so greatly chastened +Kipps' delight in her presence. The future presented itself with an +almost perfect frankness as a joint campaign of Mrs. Walshingham's Twin +Jewels upon the Great World, with Kipps in the capacity of baggage and +supply. They would still be dreadfully poor, of course—this amazed +Kipps, but he said nothing—until "Brudderkins" began to succeed, but if +they were clever and lucky they might do a great deal.</p> + +<p>When Helen spoke of London a brooding look, as of one who contemplates a +distant country, came into her eyes. Already it seemed they had the +nucleus of a set. Brudderkins was a member of the Theatrical Judges, an +excellent and influential little club of journalists and literary +people, and he knew Shimer and Stargate and Whiffle, of the "Red +Dragon," and besides these were the Revels. They knew the Revels quite +well. Sidney Revel before his rapid rise to prominence as a writer of +epigrammatic essays that were quite above the ordinary public, had been +an assistant master at one of the best Folkestone schools, Brudderkins +had brought him home to tea several times, and it was he had first +suggested Helen should try and write. "It's perfectly easy," Sidney had +said. He had been writing occasional things for the evening<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> papers, and +for the weekly reviews even at that time. Then he had gone up to London +and had almost unavoidedly become a dramatic critic. Those brilliant +essays had followed, and then "Red Hearts a-Beating," the romance that +had made him. It was a tale of spirited adventure, full of youth and +beauty and naïve passion and generous devotion, bold, as the <i>Bookman</i> +said, and frank in places, but never in the slightest degree morbid. He +had met and married an American widow with quite a lot of money, and +they had made a very distinct place for themselves, Kipps learnt, in the +literary and artistic society of London. Helen seemed to dwell on the +Revels a great deal; it was her exemplary story, and when she spoke of +Sidney—she often called him Sidney—she would become thoughtful. She +spoke most of him naturally because she had still to meet Mrs. Revel.... +Certainly they would be in the world in no time, even if the distant +connection with the Beaupres family came to nothing.</p> + +<p>Kipps gathered that with his marriage and the movement to London they +were to undergo that subtle change of name Coote had first adumbrated. +They were to become "Cuyps," Mr. and Mrs. Cuyps. Or, was it Cuyp?</p> + +<p>"It'll be rum at first," said Kipps. "I dessay I shall soon get into +it."...</p> + +<p>So in their several ways they all contributed to enlarge and refine and +exercise the intelligence of Kipps. And behind all these other +influences, and, as it were,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> presiding over and correcting these +influences, was Kipps' nearest friend, Coote, a sort of master of the +ceremonies. You figure his face, blowing slightly with solicitude, his +slate coloured, projecting but not unkindly eye intent upon our hero. +The thing he thought was going off admirably. He studied Kipps' +character immensely. He would discuss him with his sister, with Mrs. +Walshingham, with the freckled girl, with anyone who would stand it. "He +is an interesting character," he would say, "likable—a sort of +gentleman by instinct. He takes to all these things. He improves every +day. He'll soon get Sang Froid. We took him up just in time. He wants +now—well——. Next year, perhaps, if there is a good Extension +Literature course, he might go in for it. He wants to go in for +something like that."</p> + +<p>"He's going in for his bicycle now," said Mrs. Walshingham.</p> + +<p>"That's all right for summer," said Coote, "but he wants to go in for +some serious, intellectual interest, something to take him out of +himself a little more. Savoir Faire and self-forgetfulness is more than +half the secret of Sang Froid."</p> + +<p class="center">§3</p> + +<p>The world as Coote presented it was in part an endorsement, in part an +amplification and in part a rectification of the world of Kipps, the +world that derived from the old couple in New Romney and had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> been +developed in the Emporium; the world, in fact, of common British life. +There was the same subtle sense of social graduation that had moved Mrs. +Kipps to prohibit intercourse with labourers' children and the same +dread of anything "common" that had kept the personal quality of Mr. +Shalford's establishment so high. But now a certain disagreeable doubt +about Kipps' own position was removed and he stood with Coote inside the +sphere of gentlemen assured. Within the sphere of gentlemen there are +distinctions of rank indeed, but none of class; there are the Big People +and the modest, refined, gentlemanly little people like Coote, who may +even dabble in the professions and counterless trades; there are lords +and magnificences, and there are gentle folk who have to manage, but +they can all call on one another, they preserve a general equality of +deportment throughout, they constitute that great state within the +state, Society, or at any rate they make believe they do.</p> + +<p>"But reely," said the Pupil, "not what you call being in Society?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Coote. "Of course, down here one doesn't see much of it, but +there's local society. It has the same rules."</p> + +<p>"Calling and all that?"</p> + +<p>"Precisely," said Coote.</p> + +<p>Kipps thought, whistled a bar, and suddenly broached a question of +conscience. "I often wonder," he said, "whether I oughtn't to dress for +dinner—when I'm alone 'ere."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span></p><p>Coote protruded his lips and reflected. "Not full dress," he +adjudicated; "that would be a little excessive. But you should <i>change</i>, +you know. Put on a mess jacket and that sort of thing—easy dress. That +is what <i>I</i> should do, certainly, if I wasn't in harness—and poor."</p> + +<p>He coughed modestly and patted his hair behind.</p> + +<p>And after that the washing bill of Kipps quadrupled, and he was to be +seen at times by the bandstand with his light summer overcoat unbuttoned +to give a glimpse of his nice white tie. He and Coote would be smoking +the gold-tipped cigarettes young Walshingham had prescribed as <i>chic</i>, +and appreciating the music highly. "That's—puff—a very nice bit," +Kipps would say, or better, "That's nace." And at the first grunts of +the loyal anthem up they stood with religiously uplifted hats. Whatever +else you might call them, you could never call them disloyal.</p> + +<p>The boundary of Society was admittedly very close to Coote and Kipps, +and a leading solicitude of the true gentleman was to detect clearly +those "beneath" him, and to behave towards them in a proper spirit. +"It's jest there it's so 'ard for me," said Kipps. He had to cultivate a +certain "distance," to acquire altogether the art of checking the +presumption of bounders and old friends. It was difficult, Coote +admitted. "That's what, so harkward—I mean awkward."</p> + +<p>"I got mixed up with this lot 'ere," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"You could give them a hint," said Coote.</p> + +<p>"'Ow?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p><p>"Oh!—the occasion will suggest something."</p> + +<p>The occasion came one early closing night when Kipps was sitting in a +canopy chair near the bandstand, with his summer overcoat fully open and +a new Gibus pulled slightly forward over his brow, waiting for Coote. +They were to hear the band for an hour and then go down to assist Miss +Coote and the freckled girl in trying over some of Beethoven's duets, if +they remembered them, that is, sufficiently well. And as Kipps lounged +back in his chair and occupied his mind with his favourite amusement on +such evenings, which consisted chiefly in supposing that everyone about +him was wondering who he was, came a rude rap at the canvas back and the +voice of Pierce.</p> + +<p>"It's nice to be a gentleman," said Pierce, and swung a penny chair into +position while Buggins appeared smiling agreeably on the other side and +leant upon his stick. <i>He was smoking a common briar pipe!</i></p> + +<p>Two real ladies, very fashionably dressed and sitting close at hand, +glanced quickly at Pierce, and then away again, and it was evident +<i>their</i> wonder was at an end.</p> + +<p>"<i>He's</i> all right," said Buggins, removing his pipe and surveying Kipps.</p> + +<p>"'Ello, Buggins!" said Kipps, not too cordially. "'Ow goes it?"</p> + +<p>"All right. Holiday's next week. If you don't look out, Kipps, I shall +be on the Continong before you. Eh?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p><p>"You going t' Boologne?"</p> + +<p>"Ra-ther. Parley vous Francey. You bet."</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> shall 'ave a bit of a run over there one of these days," said +Kipps.</p> + +<p>There came a pause. Pierce applied the top of his stick to his mouth for +a space and regarded Kipps. Then he glanced at the people about them.</p> + +<p>"I say, Kipps," he said in a distinct, loud voice, "see 'er Ladyship +lately?"</p> + +<p>Kipps perceived the audience was to be impressed, but he responded +half-heartedly, "No, I 'aven't," he said.</p> + +<p>"She was along of Sir William the other night," said Pierce, still loud +and clear, "and she asked to be remembered to you."</p> + +<p>It seemed to Kipps that one of the two ladies smiled faintly and said +something to the other, and then certainly they glanced at Pierce. Kipps +flushed scarlet. "<i>Did</i> she?" he answered.</p> + +<p>Buggins laughed good-humouredly over his pipe.</p> + +<p>"Sir William suffers a lot from his gout," Pierce continued unabashed.</p> + +<p>(Buggins much amused with his pipe between his teeth.)</p> + +<p>Kipps became aware of Coote at hand.</p> + +<p>Coote nodded rather distantly to Pierce. "Hope I haven't kept you +waiting, Kipps," he said.</p> + +<p>"I kep' a chair for you," said Kipps and removed a guardian foot.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span></p><p>"But you've got your friends," said Coote.</p> + +<p>"Oh! <i>we</i> don't mind," said Pierce cordially, "the more the merrier," +and, "why don't you get a chair, Buggins?" Buggins shook his head in a +sort of aside to Pierce and Coote coughed behind his hand.</p> + +<p>"Been kep' late at business?" asked Pierce.</p> + +<p>Coote turned quite pale and pretended not to hear. His eyes sought in +space for a time and with a convulsive movement he recognised a distant +acquaintance and raised his hat.</p> + +<p>Pierce had also become a little pale. He addressed himself to Kipps in +an undertone.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Coote, isn't he?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Coote addressed himself to Kipps directly and exclusively. His manner +had the calm of extreme tension.</p> + +<p>"I'm rather late," he said. "I think we ought almost to be going on +<i>now</i>."</p> + +<p>Kipps stood up. "That's all right," he said.</p> + +<p>"Which way are you going?" said Pierce, standing also, and brushing some +crumbs of cigarette ash from his sleeve.</p> + +<p>For a moment Coote was breathless. "Thank you," he said, and gasped. +Then he delivered the necessary blow; "I don't think we're in need of +your society, you know," and turned away.</p> + +<p>Kipps found himself falling over chairs and things in the wake of Coote, +and then they were clear of the crowd.</p> + +<p>For a space Coote said nothing; then he remarked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> abruptly and quite +angrily for him, "I think that was <i>awful</i> Cheek!"</p> + +<p>Kipps made no reply....</p> + +<p>The whole thing was an interesting little object lesson in distance, and +it stuck in the front of Kipps' mind for a long time. He had +particularly vivid the face of Pierce, with an expression between +astonishment and anger. He felt as though he had struck Pierce in the +face under circumstances that gave Pierce no power to reply. He did not +attend very much to the duets and even forgot at the end of one of them +to say how perfectly lovely it was.</p> + +<p class="center">§4</p> + +<p>But you must not imagine that the national ideal of a gentleman, as +Coote developed it, was all a matter of deportment and selectness, a +mere isolation from debasing associations. There is a Serious Side, a +deeper aspect of the true, True Gentleman. The True Gentleman does not +wear his heart on his sleeve. He is a polished surface above deeps. For +example, he is deeply religious, as Coote was, as Mrs. Walshingham was, +but outside the walls of a church it never appears, except perhaps now +and then in a pause, in a profound look, in a sudden avoidance. In quite +a little while Kipps also had learnt the pause, the profound look, the +sudden avoidance, that final refinement of spirituality, impressionistic +piety.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span></p><p>And the True Gentleman is patriotic also. When one saw Coote lifting +his hat to the National Anthem, then perhaps one got a glimpse of what +patriotic emotions, what worship, the polish of a gentleman may hide. Or +singing out his deep notes against the Hosts of Midian, in the St. +Stylites choir; then indeed you plumbed his spiritual side.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Christian, dost thou heed them,</div> +<div class="i1">On the holy ground,</div> +<div>How the hosts of Mid-i-an,</div> +<div class="i1">Prowl and prowl around!</div> +<div>Christian, up and smai-it them....</div> +</div></div> + +<p>But these were but gleams. For the rest, Religion, Nationality, Passion, +Money, Politics; much more so those cardinal issues, Birth and Death, +the True Gentleman skirted about, and became facially rigid towards and +ceased to speak and panted and blew.</p> + +<p>"One doesn't talk of that sort of thing," Coote would say with a gesture +of the knuckly hand.</p> + +<p>"O' course," Kipps would reply, with an equal significance.</p> + +<p>Profundities. Deep as it were, blowing to deep.</p> + +<p>One does not talk, but on the other hand one is punctilious to do. +Actions speak. Kipps—in spite of the fact that the Walshinghams were +more than a little lax—Kipps, who had formerly flitted Sunday after +Sunday from one Folkestone church to another, had now a sitting of his +own, paid for duly at Saint Stylites. There he was to be seen, always at +the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span>surplice evening service, and sometimes of a morning, dressed with +a sober precision, and with an eye on Coote in the chancel. No +difficulties now about finding the place in his book. He became a +communicant again—he had lapsed soon after his confirmation when the +young lady in the costume-room, who was his adopted sister, left the +Emporium—and he would sometimes go around to the Vestry for Coote after +the service. One evening he was introduced to the Hon. and Rev. +Densemore. He was much too confused to say anything, and the noble +cleric had nothing to say, but indisputably they were introduced....</p> + +<p>No! you must not imagine our national ideal of a gentleman is without +its "serious side," without even its stern and uncompromising side. The +imagination no doubt refuses to see Coote displaying extraordinary +refinements of courage upon the stricken field, but in the walks of +peace there is sometimes sore need of sternness. Charitable as one may +be, one must admit there are people who <i>do</i> things, impossible things; +people who place themselves "out of it" in countless ways; people, +moreover, who are by a sort of predestination out of it from the +beginning, and against these Society has invented a terrible protection +for its Cootery, the Cut. The cut is no joke for anyone. It is +excommunication. You may be cut by an individual, you may be cut by a +set or you may be—and this is so tragic that beautiful romances have +been written about it—"Cut by the County." One figures Coote +discharging this last duty and cutting somebody<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span>—Coote, erect and pale, +never speaking, going past with eyes of pitiless slate, lower jaw +protruding a little, face pursed up and cold and stiff....</p> + +<p>It never dawned upon Kipps that he would one day have to face this +terrible front, to be to Coote not only as one dead, but as one gone +more than a stage or so in decay, cut and passed, banned and outcast for ever.</p> + +<p>Yet so it was to be!</p> + +<p>One cannot hide any longer that all this fine progress of Kipps is +doomed to end in collapse. So far indeed you have seen him ascend. You +have seen him becoming more refined and careful day by day, more +carefully dressed, less clumsy in the ways and methods of social life. +You have seen the gulf widening between himself and his former low +associates. I have brought you at last to the vision of him, faultlessly +dressed and posed, in an atmosphere of candlelight and chanting, in his +own sitting in one of the most fashionable churches in Folkestone.... +All the time I have refrained from the lightest touch upon the tragic +note that must now creep into my tale. Yet the net of his low +connections has been about his feet, and moreover there was something +interwoven in his being....</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER VI</span> <span class="smaller">DISCORDS</span></h2> + +<p class="center">§1</p> + +<p>One day Kipps set out upon his newly-mastered bicycle to New Romney to +break the news of his engagement to his Uncle and Aunt—this time +positively. He was now a finished cyclist, but as yet an unseasoned one; +the southwest wind, even in its summer guise, as one meets it in the +Marsh, is the equivalent of a reasonable hill, and ever and again he got +off and refreshed himself by a spell of walking. He was walking just +outside New Romney preparatory to his triumphal entry (one hand off) +when abruptly he came upon Ann Pornick.</p> + +<p>It chanced he was thinking about her at the time. He had been thinking +curious things; whether, after all, the atmosphere of New Romney and the +Marsh had not some difference, some faint impalpable quality that was +missing in the great and fashionable world of Folkestone behind there on +the hill. Here there was a homeliness, a familiarity. He had noted as he +passed that old Mr. Cliffordown's gate had been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> mended with a fresh +piece of string. In Folkestone he didn't take notice and he didn't care +if they built three hundred houses. Come to think of it, that was odd. +It was fine and grand to have twelve hundred a year; it was fine to go +about on trams and omnibuses and think not a person aboard was as rich +as oneself; it was fine to buy and order this and that and never have +any work to do and to be engaged to a girl distantly related to the Earl +of Beauprés, but yet there had been a zest in the old time out here, a +rare zest in the holidays, in sunlight, on the sea beach and in the High +Street, that failed from these new things. He thought of those bright +windows of holiday that had seemed so glorious to him in the retrospect +from his apprentice days. It was strange that now, amidst his present +splendours, they were glorious still!</p> + +<p>All those things were over now—perhaps that was it! Something had +happened to the world and the old light had been turned out. He himself +was changed, and Sid was changed, terribly changed, and Ann no doubt was changed.</p> + +<p>He thought of her with the hair blown about her flushed cheeks as they +stood together after their race....</p> + +<p>Certainly she must be changed, and all the magic she had been fraught +with to the very hem of her short petticoats gone no doubt for ever. And +as he thought that, or before and while he thought it, for he came to +all these things in his own vague and stumbling way, he looked up, and +there was Ann!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p><p>She was seven years older and greatly altered; yet for the moment it +seemed to him that she had not changed at all. "Ann!" he said, and she, +with a lifting note, "It's Art Kipps!"</p> + +<p>Then he became aware of changes—improvements. She was as pretty as she +had promised to be, her blue eyes as dark as his memory of them, and +with a quick, high colour, but now Kipps by several inches was the +taller again. She was dressed in a simple grey dress that showed her +very clearly as a straight and healthy little woman, and her hat was +Sundayfied with pink flowers. She looked soft and warm and welcoming. +Her face was alight to Kipps with her artless gladness at their encounter.</p> + +<p>"It's Art Kipps!" she said.</p> + +<p>"Rather," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"You got your holidays?"</p> + +<p>It flashed upon Kipps that Sid had not told her of his great fortune. +Much regretful meditation upon Sid's behaviour had convinced him that he +himself was to blame for exasperating boastfulness in that affair, and +this time he took care not to err in that direction. He erred in the other.</p> + +<p>"I'm taking a bit of a 'oliday," he said.</p> + +<p>"So'm I," said Ann.</p> + +<p>"You been for a walk?" asked Kipps.</p> + +<p>Ann showed him a bunch of wayside flowers.</p> + +<p>"It's a long time since I seen you, Ann. Why, 'ow long must it be? +Seven—eight years nearly."</p> + +<p>"It don't do to count," said Ann.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span></p><p>"It don't look like it," said Kipps, with the slightest emphasis.</p> + +<p>"You got a moustache," said Ann, smelling her flowers and looking at him +over them, not without admiration.</p> + +<p>Kipps blushed....</p> + +<p>Presently they came to the bifurcation of the roads.</p> + +<p>"I'm going down this way to mother's cottage," said Ann.</p> + +<p>"I'll come a bit your way if I may."</p> + +<p>In New Romney social distinctions that are primary realities in +Folkestone are absolutely non-existent, and it seemed quite permissible +for him to walk with Ann, for all that she was no more than a servant. +They talked with remarkable ease to one another, they slipped into a +vein of intimate reminiscence in the easiest manner. In a little while +Kipps was amazed to find Ann and himself at this:</p> + +<p>"You r'ember that half sixpence? What you cut for me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I got it still."</p> + +<p>She hesitated. "Funny, wasn't it?" she said, and then, "you got yours, +Artie?"</p> + +<p>"Rather," said Kipps. "What do you think?" and wondered in his heart of +hearts why he had never looked at that sixpence for so long.</p> + +<p>Ann smiled at him frankly.</p> + +<p>"I didn't expect you'd keep it," she said. "I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> thought often—it was +silly to keep mine. Besides," she reflected, "it didn't mean anything +really."</p> + +<p>She glanced at him as she spoke and met his eye.</p> + +<p>"Oh, didn't it!" said Kipps, a little late with his response, and +realising his infidelity to Helen even as he spoke.</p> + +<p>"It didn't mean much anyhow," said Ann. "You still in the drapery?"</p> + +<p>"I'm living at Folkestone," began Kipps and decided that that sufficed. +"Didn't Sid tell you he met me?"</p> + +<p>"No! Here?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. The other day. 'Bout a week or more ago."</p> + +<p>"That was before I came."</p> + +<p>"Ah! that was it," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"'E's got on," said Ann. "Got 'is own shop now, Artie."</p> + +<p>"'E tole me."</p> + +<p>They found themselves outside Muggett's cottages. "You going in?" said +Kipps.</p> + +<p>"I s'pose so," said Ann.</p> + +<p>They both hung upon the pause. Ann took a plunge.</p> + +<p>"D'you often come to New Romney?" she said.</p> + +<p>"I ride over a bit at times," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>Another pause. Ann held out her hand.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad I seen you," she said.</p> + +<p>Extraordinary impulses arose in neglected parts of Kipps' being. "Ann," +he said and stopped.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said she, and was bright to him.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span></p><p>They looked at one another.</p> + +<p>All and more than all of those first emotions of his adolescence had +come back to him. Her presence banished a multitude of countervaling +considerations. It was Ann more than ever. She stood breathing close to +him, with her soft-looking lips a little apart and gladness in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"I'm awful glad to see you again," he said; "it brings back old times."</p> + +<p>"Doesn't it?"</p> + +<p>Another pause. He would have liked to have had a long talk to her, to +have gone for a walk with her or something, to have drawn nearer to her +in any conceivable way, and, above all, to have had some more of the +appreciation that shone in her eyes, but a vestige of Folkestone still +clinging to him told him it "wouldn't do." "Well," he said, "I must be +getting on," and turned away reluctantly, with a will under +compulsion....</p> + +<p>When he looked back from the corner she was still at the gate. She was +perhaps a little disconcerted by his retreat. He felt that. He hesitated +for a moment, half turned, stood and suddenly did great things with his +hat. That hat! The wonderful hat of our civilisation!...</p> + +<p>In another minute he was engaged in a singularly absent-minded +conversation with his Uncle about the usual topics.</p> + +<p>His Uncle was very anxious to buy him a few upright clocks as an +investment for subsequent sale. And<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> there were also some very nice +globes, one terrestrial and the other celestial, in a shop at Lydd that +would look well in a drawing-room and inevitably increase in value.... +Kipps either did or did not agree to this purchase; he was unable to +recollect.</p> + +<p>The southwest wind perhaps helped him back, at any rate he found himself +through Dymchurch without having noticed the place. There came an odd +effect as he drew near Hythe. The hills on the left and the trees on the +right seemed to draw together and close in upon him until his way was +straight and narrow. He could not turn around on that treacherous, +half-tamed machine, but he knew that behind him, he knew so well, spread +the wide, vast flatness of the Marsh shining under the afternoon sky. In +some way this was material to his thoughts. And as he rode through Hythe +he came upon the idea that there was a considerable amount of +incompatibility between the existence of one who was practically a +gentleman and of Ann.</p> + +<p>In the neighbourhood of Seabrook he began to think he had, in some +subtle way, lowered himself by walking along by the side of Ann.... +After all, she was only a servant.</p> + +<p>Ann!</p> + +<p>She called out all the least gentlemanly instincts of his nature. There +had been a moment in their conversation when he had quite distinctly +thought it would really be an extremely nice thing for someone to kiss +her lips.... There was something<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> warming about Ann—at least for Kipps. +She impressed him as having somewhen during their vast interval of +separation contrived to make herself in some distinctive way his.</p> + +<p>Fancy keeping that half sixpence all this time!</p> + +<p>It was the most flattering thing that had ever happened to Kipps.</p> + +<p class="center">§2</p> + +<p>He found himself presently sitting over "The Art of Conversing," lost in +the strangest musings. He got up, walked about, became stagnant at the +window for a space, roused himself and by way of something lighter tried +"Sesame and Lilies." From that, too, his attention wandered. He sat +back. Anon he smiled, anon sighed. He arose, pulled his keys from his +pocket, looked at them, decided and went upstairs. He opened the little +yellow box that had been the nucleus of all his possessions in the +world, and took out a small "Escritoire," the very humblest sort of +present, and opened it—kneeling. And there, in the corner, was a little +packet of paper, sealed as a last defence against any prying invader, +with red sealing wax. It had gone untouched for years. He held this +little packet between finger and thumb for a moment, regarding it, and +then put down the escritoire and broke the seal....</p> + +<p>As he was getting into bed that night he remembered something for the +first time!</p> + +<p>"Dash it!" he said. "Dashed if I told 'em <i>this</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> time.... <i>Well!</i> I +shall 'ave to go over to New Romney again!"</p> + +<p>He got into bed and remained sitting pensively on the pillow for a +space.</p> + +<p>"It's a rum world," he reflected after a vast interval.</p> + +<p>Then he recalled that she had noticed his moustache and embarked upon a +sea of egotistical musings.</p> + +<p>He imagined himself telling Ann how rich he was. What a surprise that +would be for her!</p> + +<p>Finally he sighed profoundly, blew out his candle and snuggled down, and +in a little while he was asleep....</p> + +<p>But the next morning and at intervals afterwards he found himself +thinking of Ann—Ann, the bright, the desirable, the welcoming, and with +an extraordinary streakiness he wanted quite badly to go and then as +badly not to go over to New Romney again.</p> + +<p>Sitting on the Leas in the afternoon, he had an idea. "I ought to 'ave +told 'er, I suppose, about my being engaged.</p> + +<p>"Ann!"</p> + +<p>All sorts of dreams and impressions that had gone clean out of his +mental existence came back to him, changed and brought up to date to fit +her altered presence. He thought of how he had gone back to New Romney +for his Christmas holidays, determined to kiss her, and of the awful +blankness of the discovery that she had gone away.</p> + +<p>It seemed incredible now, and yet not wholly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span>incredible, that he had +cried real tears for her—how many years was it ago?</p> + +<p class="center">§3</p> + +<p>Daily I should thank my Maker that He did not appoint me Censor of the +world of men. I should temper a fierce injustice with a spasmodic +indecision that would prolong rather than mitigate the bitterness of the +Day. For human dignity, for all conscious human superiority I should +lack the beginnings of charity, for bishops, prosperous schoolmasters, +judges and all large respect-pampered souls. And more especially +bishops, towards whom I bear an atavistic, Viking grudge, dreaming not +infrequently and with invariable zest of galleys and landings and well +known living ornaments of the episcopal bench sprinting inland on +twinkling gaiters before my thirsty blade—all these people, I say, +should treat below their deserts, but, on the other hand, for such as +Kipps——. There the exasperating indecisions would come in. The +Judgment would be arrested at Kipps. Everyone and everything would wait. +<i>You</i> would wait. The balance would sway and sway, and whenever it +heeled towards an adverse decision, my finger would set it swaying +again. Kings, warriors, statesmen, brilliant women of our first +families, personalities, gallants, panting with indignation, headline +humanity in general, would stand undamned, unheeded, or be damned in the +most casual manner for their importunity, while my eye went about for +anything possible that could be said on behalf of Kipps....<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> Albeit I +fear nothing can save him from condemnation upon this present score, +that within two days he was talking to Ann again.</p> + +<p>One seeks excuses. Overnight there had been an encounter of Chitterlow +and young Walshingham in his presence, that had certainly warped his +standards. They had called within a few minutes of each other, and the +two swayed by virile attentions to Old Methuselah Four Stars, had talked +against each other, over and at the hospitable presence of Kipps. +Walshingham had seemed to win at the beginning, but finally Chitterlow +had made a magnificent display of vociferation and swept him out of +existence. At the beginning Chitterlow had opened upon the great profits +of playwrights and young Walshingham had capped him at once with a +cynical, but impressive, display of knowledge of the High Finance. If +Chitterlow boasted his thousands, young Walshingham boasted his hundreds +of thousands, and was for a space left in sole possession of the stage, +juggling with the wealth of nations. He was going on by way of Financial +Politics to the Overman, before Chitterlow recovered from his first +check, and came back to victory. "Talking of Women," said Chitterlow, +coming in abruptly upon some things not generally known, beyond +Walshingham's more immediate circle, about a recently departed +Empire-builder; "Talking of Women and the way they Get at a man——"</p> + +<p>[Though as a matter of fact they had been talking of the Corruption of +Society by Speculation.]</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span></p><p>Upon this new topic Chitterlow was soon manifestly invincible. He knew +so much, he had known so many. Young Walshingham did his best with +epigrams and reservations, but even to Kipps it was evident that this +was a book-learned depravity. One felt Walshingham had never known the +inner realities of passion. But Chitterlow convinced and amazed. He had +run away with girls, he had been run away with by girls, he had been in +love with several at a time—"not counting Bessie"—he had loved and +lost, he had loved and refrained, and he had loved and failed. He threw +remarkable lights upon the moral state of America—in which country he +had toured with great success. He set his talk to the tune of one of Mr. +Kipling's best known songs. He told an incident of simple, romantic +passion, a delirious dream of love and beauty in a Saturday to Monday +steamboat trip up the Hudson, and tagged his end with, "I learnt about +women from 'er!" After that he adopted the refrain and then lapsed into +the praises of Kipling. "Little Kipling," said Chitterlow, with the +familiarity of affection, "<i>he</i> knows," and broke into quotation:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>"I've taken my fun where I found it;</div> +<div>I've rogued and I've ranged in my time;</div> +<div>I've 'ad my picking of sweet'earts,</div> +<div>An' four of the lot was Prime."</div> +</div></div> + +<p>(These things, I say, affect the moral standards of the best of us.)</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></p><p>"<i>I'd</i> have liked to have written that," said Chitterlow. "That's Life, +that is! But go and put it on the Stage, put even a bit of the Realities +of Life on the Stage, and see what they'll do to you! Only Kipling could +venture on a job like that. That Poem <span class="smaller">KNOCKED</span> me! I don't say Kipling +hasn't knocked me before and since, but that was a Fair Knock Out. And +yet—you know—there's one thing in it ... this:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>"I've taken my fun where I've found it,</div> +<div>And now I must pay for my fun,</div> +<div>For the more you 'ave known o' the others,</div> +<div>The less will you settle to one——"</div> +</div></div> + +<p>Well. In my case anyhow—I don't know how much that proves, seeing I'm +exceptional in so many things and there's no good denying it—but so far +as I'm concerned—I tell you two, but of course you needn't let it go +any farther—I've been perfectly faithful to Muriel ever since I married +her—ever since.... Not once. Not even by accident have I ever said or +done anything in the slightest——." His little, brown eye became +pensive after this flattering intimacy and the gorgeous draperies of his +abundant voice fell into graver folds. "<i>I learnt about women from +'er</i>," he said impressively.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Walshingham, getting into the hinder spaces of that splendid +pause, "a man must know about women. And the only sound way of learning +is the experimental method."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p><p>"If you want to know about the experimental method, my boy," said +Chitterlow, resuming....</p> + +<p>So they talked. <i>Ex pede Herculem</i>, as Coote, that cultivated polyglot, +would have put it. And in the small hours Kipps went to bed, with his +brain whirling with words and whiskey, and sat for an unconscionable +time upon his bed edge, musing sadly upon the unmanly monogamy of soul +that had cast its shadow upon his career, musing with his thoughts +pointing around more and more certainly to the possibility of at least +duplicity with Ann.</p> + +<p class="center">§4</p> + +<p>For some days he had been refraining with some insistence from going off +to New Romney again....</p> + +<p>I do not know if this may count in palliation of his misconduct. Men, +real Strong-Souled, Healthy Men, should be, I suppose, impervious to +conversational atmospheres, but I have never claimed for Kipps a place +at these high levels. The unquenchable fact remains that the next day he +spent the afternoon with Ann and found no scruple in displaying himself +a budding lover.</p> + +<p>He had met her in the High Street, had stopped her, and almost on the +spur of the moment had boldly proposed a walk, "for the sake of old +times."</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> don't mind," said Ann.</p> + +<p>Her consent almost frightened Kipps. His imagination had not carried him +to that. "It would be a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> lark," said Kipps, and looked up the street and +down. "Now?" he said.</p> + +<p>"I don't mind a bit, Artie. I was just going for a walk along towards +St. Mary's."</p> + +<p>"Let's go that way be'ind the church," said Kipps, and presently they +found themselves drifting seaward in a mood of pleasant commonplace. For +a while they talked of Sid. It went clean out of Kipps' head at that +early stage even that Ann was a "girl" according to the exposition of +Chitterlow, and for a time he remembered only that she was Ann. But +afterwards, with the reek of that talk in his head, he lapsed a little +from that personal relation. They came out upon the beach and sat down +in a tumbled, pebbly place, where a meagre grass and patches of sea +poppy were growing, and Kipps reclined on his elbow and tossed pebbles +in his hand, and Ann sat up, sunlit, regarding him. They talked in +fragments. They exhausted Sid, they exhausted Ann, and Kipps was chary +of his riches.</p> + +<p>He declined to a faint love-making. "I got that 'arf sixpence still," he +said.</p> + +<p>"Reely?"</p> + +<p>That changed the key. "I always kept mine, some'ow," said Ann, and there +was a pause.</p> + +<p>They spoke of how often they had thought of each other during those +intervening years. Kipps may have been untruthful, but Ann perhaps was +not. "I met people here and there," said Ann; "but I never met anyone +quite like you, Artie."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span></p><p>"It's jolly our meeting again, anyhow," said Kipps. "Look at that ship +out there. She's pretty close in...."</p> + +<p>He had a dull period, became indeed almost pensive, and then he was +enterprising for a while. He tossed up his pebbles so that as if by +accident they fell on Ann's hand. Then, very penitently, he stroked the +place. That would have led to all sorts of coquetries on the part of Flo +Banks, for example, but it disconcerted and checked Kipps to find Ann +made no objection, smiled pleasantly down on him, with eyes half shut +because of the sun. She was taking things very much for granted.</p> + +<p>He began to talk, and Chitterlow standards resuming possession of him he +said he had never forgotten her.</p> + +<p>"I never forgotten you either, Artie," she said. "Funny, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>It impressed Kipps also as funny.</p> + +<p>He became reminiscent, and suddenly a warm summer's evening came back to +him. "Remember them cockchafers, Ann?" he said. But the reality of the +evening he recalled was not the chase of cockchafers. The great reality +that had suddenly arisen between them was that he had never kissed Ann +in his life. He looked up and there were her lips.</p> + +<p>He had wanted to very badly, and his memory leaped and annihilated an +interval. That old resolution came back to him and all sorts of new +resolutions passed out of mind. And he had learnt something<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> since those +boyish days. This time he did not ask. He went on talking, his nerves +began very faintly to quiver and his mind grew bright.</p> + +<p>Presently, having satisfied himself that there was no one to see, he sat +up beside her and remarked upon the clearness of the air, and how close +Dungeness seemed to them. Then they came upon a pause again.</p> + +<p>"Ann," he whispered, and put an arm that quivered about her.</p> + +<p>She was mute and unresisting, and, as he was to remember, solemn.</p> + +<p>He turned her face towards him, and kissed her lips, and she kissed him +back again—kisses frank and tender as a child's.</p> + +<p class="center">§5</p> + +<p>It was curious that in the retrospect he did not find nearly the +satisfaction in this infidelity he had imagined was there. It was no +doubt desperately doggish, doggish to an almost Chitterlowesque degree +to recline on the beach at Littlestone with a "girl," to make love to +her and to achieve the triumph of kissing her, when he was engaged to +another "girl" at Folkestone, but somehow these two people were not +"girls," they were Ann and Helen. Particularly Helen declined to be +considered as a "girl." And there was something in Ann's quietly +friendly eyes, in her frank smile, in the naïve pressure of her hand, +there was something undefended and welcoming that imparted a flavour to +the business upon which he had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> not counted. He had learnt about women +from her. That refrain ran through his mind and deflected his thoughts, +but as a matter of fact he had learnt about nothing but himself.</p> + +<p>He wanted very much to see Ann some more and explain. He did not clearly +know what it was he wanted to explain.</p> + +<p>He did not clearly know anything. It is the last achievement of the +intelligence to get all of one's life into one coherent scheme, and +Kipps was only in a measure more aware of himself as a whole than is a +tree. His existence was an affair of dissolving and recurring moods. +When he thought of Helen or Ann or any of his friends, he thought +sometimes of this aspect and sometimes of that—and often one aspect was +finally incongruous with another. He loved Helen, he revered Helen. He +was also beginning to hate her with some intensity. When he thought of +that expedition to Lympne, profound, vague, beautiful emotions flooded +his being; when he thought of paying calls with her perforce, or of her +latest comment on his bearing, he found himself rebelliously composing +fierce and pungent insults, couched in the vernacular. But Ann, whom he +had seen so much less of, was a simpler memory. She was pretty, she was +almost softly feminine, and she was possible to his imagination just +exactly where Helen was impossible. More than anything else, she carried +the charm of respect for him, the slightest glance of her eyes was balm +for his perpetually wounded self-conceit.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span></p><p>Chance suggestions it was set the tune of his thoughts, and his state +of health and repletion gave the colour. Yet somehow he had this at +least almost clear in his mind, that to have gone to see Ann a second +time, to have implied that she had been in possession of his thoughts +through all this interval, and, above all, to have kissed her, was +shabby and wrong. Only unhappily this much of lucidity had come now just +a few hours after it was needed.</p> + +<p class="center">§6</p> + +<p>Four days after this it was that Kipps got up so late. He got up late, +cut his chin while shaving, kicked a slipper into his sponge bath and +said, "Desh!"</p> + +<p>Perhaps you know those intolerable mornings, dear Reader, when you seem +to have neither the heart nor the strength to rise, and your nervous +adjustments are all wrong and your fingers thumbs, and you hate the very +birds for singing. You feel inadequate to any demand whatever. Often +such awakenings follow a poor night's rest, and commonly they mean +indiscriminate eating, or those subtle mental influences old Kipps +ascribed to "Foozle Ile" in the system, or worry. And with Kipps—albeit +Chitterlow had again been his guest overnight—assuredly worry had +played a leading rôle. Troubles had been gathering upon him for days, +there had been a sort of concentration of these hosts of Midian +overnight, and in the grey small hours Kipps had held his review.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span></p> + +<p>The predominating trouble marched under this banner:</p> + +<div class="center"><img src="images/i309.jpg" width='450' height='260' alt="invitation" /></div> + +<p>a banner that was the fac-simile of a card upon his looking glass in the +room below. And in relation to this terribly significant document things +had come to a pass with Helen that he could only describe in his own +expressive idiom as "words."</p> + +<p>It had long been a smouldering issue between them that Kipps was not +availing himself with any energy or freedom of the opportunities he had +of social exercises, much less was he seeking additional opportunities. +He had, it was evident, a peculiar dread of that universal afternoon +enjoyment, the Call, and Helen made it unambiguously evident that this +dread was "silly" and had to be overcome. His first display of this +unmanly weakness occurred at the Coote's on the day before he kissed +Ann. They were all there, chatting very pleasantly, when the little +servant with the big cap announced the younger Miss Wace.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span></p><p>Whereupon Kipps manifested a lively horror and rose partially from his +chair. "O Gum!" he protested. "Carn't I go upstairs?"</p> + +<p>Then he sank back, for it was too late. Very probably the younger Miss +Wace had heard him as she came in.</p> + +<p>Helen said nothing of that, though her manner may have shown her +surprise, but afterwards she told Kipps he must get used to seeing +people, and suggested that he should pay a series of calls with Mrs. +Walshingham and herself. Kipps gave a reluctant assent at the time and +afterwards displayed a talent for evasion that she had not suspected in +him. At last she did succeed in securing him for a call upon Miss +Punchafer, of Radnor Park—a particularly easy call because Miss +Punchafer being so deaf one could say practically what one liked—and +then outside the gate he shirked again. "I can't go in," he said in a +faded voice.</p> + +<p>"You <i>must</i>," said Helen, beautiful as ever, but even more than a little +hard and forbidding.</p> + +<p>"I can't."</p> + +<p>He produced his handkerchief hastily, thrust it to his face, and +regarded her over it with rounded, hostile eyes.</p> + +<p>"'Possible," he said in a hoarse, strange voice out of the handkerchief. +"Nozzez bleedin'."</p> + +<p>But that was the end of his power of resistance, and when the rally for +the Anagram Tea occurred she bore down his feeble protests altogether. +She insisted.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> She said frankly, "I am going to give you a good talking +to about this," and she did....</p> + +<p>From Coote he gathered something of the nature of Anagrams and Anagram +parties. An anagram, Coote explained, was a word spelt the same way as +another, only differently arranged, as, for instance, T. O. C. O. E. +would be an anagram for his own name, Coote.</p> + +<p>"T. O. C. O. E.," repeated Kipps very carefully.</p> + +<p>"Or T. O. E. C. O.," said Coote.</p> + +<p>"Or T. O. E. C. O.," said Kipps, assisting his poor head by nodding it +at each letter.</p> + +<p>"Toe Company like," he said in his efforts to comprehend.</p> + +<p>When Kipps was clear what an anagram meant, Coote came to the second +heading, the Tea. Kipps gathered there might be from thirty to sixty +people present, and that each one would have an anagram pinned on. "They +give you a card to put your guesses on, rather like a dance programme, +and then, you know, you go around and guess," said Coote. "It's rather +good fun."</p> + +<p>"Oo rather!" said Kipps, with simulated gusto.</p> + +<p>"It shakes everybody up together," said Coote.</p> + +<p>Kipps smiled and nodded....</p> + +<p>In the small hours all his painful meditations were threaded by the +vision of that Anagram Tea; it kept marching to and fro and in and out +of all his other troubles, from thirty to sixty people, mostly ladies +and callers, and a great number of the letters of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> alphabet, and +more particularly P. I. K. P. S. and T. O. E. C. O., and he was trying +to make one word out of the whole interminable procession....</p> + +<p>This word, as he finally gave it with some emphasis to the silence of +the night, was <i>"Demn!"</i></p> + +<p>Then, wreathed as it were in this lettered procession, was the figure of +Helen as she had appeared at the moment of "words"; her face a little +hard, a little irritated, a little disappointed. He imagined himself +going around and guessing under her eye....</p> + +<p>He tried to think of other things, without lapsing upon a still deeper +uneasiness that was wreathed with yellow sea poppies, and the figures of +Buggins, Pierce and Carshot, three murdered Friendships, rose +reproachfully in the stillness and changed horrible apprehensions into +unspeakable remorse. Last night had been their customary night for the +banjo, and Kipps, with a certain tremulous uncertainty, had put old +Methuselah amidst a retinue of glasses on the table and opened a box of +choice cigars. In vain. They were in no need, it seemed, of <i>his</i> +society. But instead Chitterlow had come, anxious to know if it was all +right about that syndicate plan. He had declined anything but a very +weak whiskey and soda, "just to drink," at least until business was +settled, and had then opened the whole affair with an effect of great +orderliness to Kipps. Soon he was taking another whiskey by sheer +inadvertency, and the complex fabric of his conversation was running +more easily from the broad loom of his mind. Into that pattern<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> had +interwoven a narrative of extensive alterations in the Pestered +Butterfly—the neck and beetle business was to be restored—the story of +a grave difference of opinion with Mrs. Chitterlow, where and how to +live after the play had succeeded, the reasons why the Hon. Thomas +Norgate had never financed a syndicate, and much matter also about the +syndicate now under discussion. But if the current of their conversation +had been vortical and crowded, the outcome was perfectly clear. Kipps +was to be the chief participator in the syndicate, and his contribution +was to be two thousand pounds. Kipps groaned and rolled over and found +Helen, as it were, on the other side. "Promise me," she had said, "you +won't do anything without consulting me."</p> + +<p>Kipps at once rolled back to his former position, and for a space lay +quite still. He felt like a very young rabbit in a trap.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly, with extraordinary distinctness, his heart cried out for +Ann, and he saw her as he had seen her at New Romney, sitting amidst the +yellow sea poppies with the sunlight on her face. His heart called out +for her in the darkness as one calls for rescue. He knew, as though he +had known it always, that he loved Helen no more. He wanted Ann, he +wanted to hold her and be held by her, to kiss her again and again, to +turn his back forever on all these other things....</p> + +<p>He rose late, but this terrible discovery was still there, undispelled +by cockcrow or the day. He rose<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> in a shattered condition, and he cut +himself while shaving, but at last he got into his dining-room and could +pull the bell for the hot constituents of his multifarious breakfast. +And then he turned to his letters. There were two real letters in +addition to the customary electric belt advertisement, continental +lottery circular and betting tout's card. One was in a slight mourning +envelope and addressed in an unfamiliar hand. This he opened first and +discovered a note:</p> + +<div class="center"><img src="images/i314.jpg" width='450' height='271' alt="another invitation" /></div> + +<p>With a hasty movement Kipps turned his mind to the second letter. It was +an unusually long one from his Uncle, and ran as follows:</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">My Dear Nephew</span>:</p> + +<p>"We are considerably startled by your letter though expecting something +of the sort and disposed to hope for the best. If the young lady is a +relation to the Earl of Beauprés well and good but take care you are not +being imposed upon for there are many who will be glad enough to snap +you up now your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> circumstances are altered—I waited on the old Earl +once while in service and he was remarkably close with his tips and +suffered from corns. A hasty old gent and hard to please—I daresay he +has forgotten me altogether—and anyhow there is no need to rake up +bygones. To-morrow is bus day and as you say the young lady is living +near by we shall shut up shop for there is really nothing doing now what +with all the visitors bringing everything with them down to their very +children's pails and say how de do to her and give her a bit of a kiss +and encouragement if we think her suitable—she will be pleased to see +your old uncle—We wish we could have had a look at her first but still +there is not much mischief done and hoping that all will turn out well +yet I am</p> + +<p class="right">"Your affectionate Uncle<span class="s3"> </span><br /> +"<span class="smcap">Edward George Kipps</span>.</p> + +<p>"My heartburn still very bad. I shall bring over a few bits of rhubub I +picked up, a sort you won't get in Folkestone and if possible a good +bunch of flowers for the young lady."</p> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p>"Comin' over to-day," said Kipps, standing helplessly with the letter in +his hand.</p> + +<p>"'Ow, the Juice——?</p> + +<p>"I carn't.</p> + +<p>"Kiss 'er!"</p> + +<p>"I carn't even face 'er——!"</p> + +<p>A terrible anticipation of that gathering framed itself in his mind—a +hideous, impossible disaster.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span></p><p>His voice went up to a note of despair, "And it's too late to telegrarf +and stop 'em!"</p> + +<p>About twenty minutes after this, an outporter in Castle Hill Avenue was +accosted by a young man, with a pale, desperate face, an exquisitely +rolled umbrella and a heavy Gladstone bag.</p> + +<p>"Carry this to the station, will you?" said the young man. "I want to +ketch the nex' train to London.... You'll 'ave to look sharp—I 'aven't +very much time."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER VII</span> <span class="smaller">LONDON</span></h2> + +<p class="center">§1</p> + +<p>London was Kipps' third world. There were no doubt other worlds, but +Kipps knew only these three; firstly, New Romney and the Emporium, +constituting his primary world, his world of origin, which also +contained Ann; secondly, the world of culture and refinement, the world +of which Coote was chaperon, and into which Kipps was presently to +marry, a world it was fast becoming evident absolutely incompatible with +the first, and, thirdly, a world still to a large extent unexplored, +London. London presented itself as a place of great, grey spaces and +incredible multitudes of people, centring about Charing Cross station +and the Royal Grand Hotel, and containing at unexpected arbitrary points +shops of the most amazing sort, statuary, Squares, Restaurants—where it +was possible for clever people like Walshingham to order a lunch item by +item, to the waiters' evident respect and sympathy—exhibitions of +incredible things—the Walshinghams had taken him to the Arts and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> +Crafts and to a picture gallery—and theatres. London, moreover, is +rendered habitable by hansom cabs. Young Walshingham was a natural cab +taker, he was an all-round large minded young man, and he had in the +course of their two days' stay taken Kipps into no less than nine, so +that Kipps was singularly not afraid of these vehicles. He knew that +whereever you were, so soon as you were thoroughly lost you said "Hi!" +to a cab, and then "Royal Grand Hotel." Day and night these trusty +conveyances are returning the strayed Londoner back to his point of +departure, and were it not for their activity in a little while the +whole population, so vast and incomprehensible is the intricate +complexity of this great city, would be hopelessly lost forever. At any +rate, that is how the thing presented itself to Kipps, and I have heard +much the same from visitors from America.</p> + +<p>His train was composed of corridor carriages, and he forgot his trouble +for a time in the wonders of this modern substitute for railway +compartments. He went from the non-smoking to the smoking carriage and +smoked a cigarette, and strayed from his second-class carriage to a +first and back. But presently Black Care got aboard the train and came +and sat beside him. The exhilaration of escape had evaporated now, and +he was presented with a terrible picture of his Aunt and Uncle arriving +at his lodgings and finding him fled. He had left a hasty message that +he was called away suddenly on business, "ver' important business," and +they were to be sumptuously <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span>entertained. His immediate motive had been +his passionate dread of an encounter between these excellent but +unrefined old people and the Walshinghams, but now that end was secured, +he could see how thwarted and exasperated they would be.</p> + +<p>How to explain to them?</p> + +<p>He ought never to have written to tell them!</p> + +<p>He ought to have got married and told them afterwards.</p> + +<p>He ought to have consulted Helen.</p> + +<p>"Promise me," she had said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>desh</i>!" said Kipps, and got up and walked back into the smoking +car and began to consume cigarettes.</p> + +<p>Suppose, after all, they found out the Walshingham's address and went +there!</p> + +<p>At Charing Cross, however, there were distractions again. He took a cab +in an entirely Walshingham manner, and was pleased to note the enhanced +respect of the cabman when he mentioned the Royal Grand. He followed +Walshingham's routine on their previous visit with perfect success. They +were very nice in the office, and gave him an excellent room at fourteen +shillings the night.</p> + +<p>He went up and spent a considerable time in examining the furniture of +his room, scrutinising himself in its various mirrors and sitting on the +edge of the bed whistling. It was a vast and splendid apartment, and +cheap at fourteen shillings. But, finding the figure of Ann inclined to +resume possession of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> his mind, he roused himself and descended by the +staircase after a momentary hesitation before the lift. He had thought +of lunch, but he drifted into the great drawing-room and read a guide to +the Hotels of Europe for a space, until a doubt whether he was entitled +to use this palatial apartment without extra charge arose in his mind. +He would have liked something to eat very much now, but his inbred +terror of the table was very strong. He did at last get by a porter in +uniform towards the dining-room, but at the sight of a number of waiters +and tables, with remarkable complications of knives and glasses, terror +seized him, and he backed out again, with a mumbled remark to the waiter +in the doorway about this not being the way.</p> + +<p>He hovered in the hall and lounge until he thought the presiding porter +regarded him with suspicion, and then went up to his room again by the +staircase, got his hat and umbrella and struck boldly across the +courtyard. He would go to a restaurant instead.</p> + +<p>He had a moment of elation in the gateway. He felt all the Strand must +notice him as he emerged through the great gate of the Hotel. "One of +these here rich swells," they would say. "Don't they do it just!" A +cabman touched his hat. "No fear," said Kipps, pleasantly.</p> + +<p>Then he remembered he was hungry again.</p> + +<p>Yet he decided he was in no great hurry for lunch, in spite of an +internal protest, and turned eastward along the Strand in a leisurely +manner. He tried to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> find a place to suit him soon enough. He tried to +remember the sort of things Walshingham had ordered. Before all things +he didn't want to go into a place and look like a fool. Some of these +places rook you dreadful, besides making fun of you. There was a place +near Essex Street where there was a window brightly full of chops, +tomatoes and lettuce. He stopped at this and reflected for a time, and +then it occurred to him that you were expected to buy these things raw +and cook them at home. Anyhow, there was sufficient doubt in the matter +to stop him. He drifted on to a neat window with champagne bottles, a +dish of asparagus and a framed menu of a two shilling lunch. He was +about to enter, when fortunately he perceived two waiters looking at him +over the back screen of the window with a most ironical expression, and +he sheered off at once. There was a wonderful smell of hot food half way +down Fleet Street and a nice looking Tavern with several doors, but he +could not decide which door. His nerve was going under the strain.</p> + +<p>He hesitated at Farringdon Street and drifted up to St. Paul's and round +the church yard, full chiefly of dead bargains in the shop windows, to +Cheapside. But now Kipps was getting demoralised, and each house of +refreshment seemed to promise still more complicated obstacles to food. +He didn't know how you went in and what was the correct thing to do with +your hat, he didn't know what you said to the waiter or what you called +the different things; he was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> convinced absolutely he would "fumble," as +Shalford would have said, and look like a fool. Somebody might laugh at +him! The hungrier he got the more unendurable was the thought that +anyone should laugh at him. For a time he considered an extraordinary +expedient to account for his ignorance. He would go in and pretend to be +a foreigner and not know English. Then they might understand.... +Presently he had drifted into a part of London where there did not seem +to be any refreshment places at all.</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>desh</i>!" said Kipps, in a sort of agony of indecisiveness. "The +very nex' place I see, in I go."</p> + +<p>The next place was a fried fish shop in a little side street, where +there were also sausages on a gas-lit grill.</p> + +<p>He would have gone in, but suddenly a new scruple came to him, that he +was too well dressed for the company he could see dimly through the +steam sitting at the counter and eating with a sort of nonchalant speed.</p> + +<p class="center">§2</p> + +<p>He was half minded to resort to a hansom and brave the terrors of the +dining-room of the Royal Grand—they wouldn't know why he had gone out +really—when the only person he knew in London appeared (as the only +person one does know will do in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> London) and slapped him on the +shoulder. Kipps was hovering at a window at a few yards from the fish +shop, pretending to examine some really strikingly cheap pink baby +linen, and trying to settle finally about those sausages.</p> + +<p>"Hullo, Kipps!" cried Sid; "spending the millions?"</p> + +<p>Kipps turned, and was glad to perceive no lingering vestige of the +chagrin that had been so painful at New Romney. Sid looked grave and +important, and he wore a quite new silk hat that gave a commercial touch +to a generally socialistic costume. For a moment the sight of Sid +uplifted Kipps wonderfully. He saw him as a friend and helper, and only +presently did it come clearly into his mind that this was the brother of +Ann.</p> + +<p>He made amiable noises.</p> + +<p>"I've just been up this way," Sid explained, "buying a second-hand +'namelling stove.... I'm going to 'namel myself."</p> + +<p>"Lor'!" said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Do me a lot of good. Let the customer choose his colour. See? What +brings <i>you</i> up?"</p> + +<p>Kipps had a momentary vision of his foiled Uncle and Aunt. "Jest a bit +of a change," he said.</p> + +<p>Sid came to a swift decision. "Come down to my little show. I got +someone I'd like to see talking to you."</p> + +<p>Even then Kipps did not think of Ann in this connection.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span></p><p>"Well," he said, trying to invent an excuse on the spur of the moment. +"Fact is," he explained, "I was jest looking 'round to get a bit of +lunch."</p> + +<p>"Dinner, we call it," said Sid. "But that's all right. You can't get +anything to eat hereabout. If you're not too haughty to do a bit of +slumming, there's some mutton spoiling for me now——"</p> + +<p>The word "mutton" affected Kipps greatly.</p> + +<p>"It won't take us 'arf an hour," said Sid, and Kipps was carried.</p> + +<p>He discovered another means of London locomotion in the Underground +Railway, and recovered his self-possession in that interest. "You don't +mind going third?" asked Sid, and Kipps said, "Nort a <i>bit</i> of it." They +were silent in the train for a time, on account of strangers in the +carriage, and then Sid began to explain who it was that he wanted Kipps +to meet. "It's a chap named Masterman—do you no end of good.</p> + +<p>"He occupies our first floor front room, you know. It isn't so much for +gain I let as company. We don't <i>want</i> the whole 'ouse, and another, I +knew the man before. Met him at our Sociological, and after a bit he +said he wasn't comfortable where he was. That's how it came about. He's +a first-class chap—first-class. Science! You should see his books!</p> + +<p>"Properly he's a sort of journalist. He's written a lot of things, but +he's been too ill lately to do very much. Poetry he's written, all +sorts. He writes for the <i>Commonweal</i> sometimes, and sometimes he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span>reviews books. 'E's got 'eaps of books—'eaps. Besides selling a lot.</p> + +<p>"He knows a regular lot of people, and all sorts of things. He's been a +dentist, and he's a qualified chemist, an' I seen him often reading +German and French. Taught 'imself. He was here——"</p> + +<p>Sid indicated South Kensington, which had come opportunely outside the +carriage windows, with a nod of his head, "—three years. Studying +science. But you'll see 'im. When he really gets to talking—he <i>pours</i> +it out."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Kipps, nodding sympathetically, with his two hands on his +umbrella knob.</p> + +<p>"He'll do big things some day," said Sid. "He's written a book on +science already. 'Physiography,' it's called. 'Elementary Physiography'! +Some day he'll write an Advanced—when he gets time."</p> + +<p>He let this soak into Kipps.</p> + +<p>"I can't introduce you to Lords and swells," he went on, "but I <i>can</i> +show you a Famous Man, that's going to be. I <i>can</i> do that. +Leastways—unless——"</p> + +<p>Sid hesitated.</p> + +<p>"He's got a frightful cough," he said.</p> + +<p>"He won't care to talk with me," weighed Kipps.</p> + +<p>"That's all right; <i>he</i> won't mind. He's fond of talking. He'd talk to +anyone," said Sid, reassuringly, and added a perplexing bit of +Londonized Latin. "He doesn't <i>pute</i> anything, <i>non alienum</i>. You know."</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> know," said Kipps, intelligently, over his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span>umbrella knob, though +of course that was altogether untrue.</p> + +<p class="center">§3</p> + +<p>Kipps found Sid's shop a practical looking establishment, stocked with +the most remarkable collection of bicycles and pieces of bicycle that he +had ever beheld. "My hiring stock," said Sid, with a wave to this +ironmongery, "and there's the best machine at a democratic price in +London, The Red-Flag, built by <i>me</i>. See?"</p> + +<p>He indicated a graceful, grey-brown framework in the window. "And +there's my stock of accessories—store prices.</p> + +<p>"Go in for motors a bit," added Sid.</p> + +<p>"Mutton?" said Kipps, not hearing him distinctly.</p> + +<p>"Motors, I <i>said</i>.... 'Owever, Mutton Department 'ere," and he opened a +door that had a curtain guarded window in its upper panel, to reveal a +little room with red walls and green furniture, with a white clothed +table and the generous promise of a meal. "Fanny!" he shouted. "Here's +Art Kipps."</p> + +<p>A bright-eyed young woman of five or six and twenty in a pink print +appeared, a little flushed from cooking, and wiped a hand on an apron +and shook hands and smiled, and said it would all be ready in a minute. +She went on to say she had heard of Kipps and his luck, and meanwhile +Sid vanished to draw the beer, and returned with two glasses for himself +and Kipps.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span></p><p>"Drink that," said Sid, and Kipps felt all the better for it.</p> + +<p>"I give Mr. Masterman <i>'is</i> upstairs a hour ago," said Mrs. Sid. "I +didn't think 'e ought to wait."</p> + +<p>A rapid succession of brisk movements on the part of everyone, and they +were all four at dinner—the fourth person being Master Walt Whitman +Pornick, a cheerful young gentleman of one and a half, who was given a +spoon to hammer on the table with to keep him quiet, and who got "Kipps" +right at the first effort and kept it all through the meal, combining it +first with this previous acquisition, and then that. "Peacock Kipps" +said Master Walt, at which there was great laughter, and also "More +Mutton, Kipps."</p> + +<p>"He's a regular oner," said Mrs. Sid, "for catching up words. You can't +say a word but what 'e's on to it."</p> + +<p>There were no serviettes and less ceremony, and Kipps thought he had +never enjoyed a meal so much. Everyone was a little excited by the +meeting and chatting, and disposed to laugh, and things went off easily +from the very beginning. If there was a pause Master Walt filled it in. +Mrs. Sid, who tempered her enormous admiration for Sid's intellect and +his socialism and his severe business methods by a motherly sense of her +sex and seniority, spoke of them both as "you boys," and dilated—when +she was not urging Kipps to have some more of this or that—on the +disparity between herself and her husband.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span></p><p>"Shouldn't ha' thought there was a year between you," said Kipps; "you +seem jest a match."</p> + +<p>"<i>I'm his</i> match, anyhow," said Mrs. Sid, and no epigram of young +Walshingham's was ever better received.</p> + +<p>"Match," said young Walt, coming in on the trail of the joke and getting +a round for himself.</p> + +<p>Any sense of superior fortune had long vanished from Kipps' mind, and he +found himself looking at host and hostess with enormous respect. Really, +old Sid was a wonderful chap, here in his own house at two and twenty, +carving his own mutton and lording it over wife and child. No legacies +needed by him! And Mrs. Sid, so kind and bright and hearty! And the +child, old Sid's child! Old Sid had jumped round a bit. It needed the +sense of his fortune at the back of his mind to keep Kipps from feeling +abject. He resolved he'd buy young Walt something tremendous in toys at +the first opportunity.</p> + +<p>"Drop more beer, Art?"</p> + +<p>"Right you are, old man."</p> + +<p>"Cut Mr. Kipps a bit more bread, Sid."</p> + +<p>"Can't I pass <i>you</i> a bit?"</p> + +<p>Sid was all right, Sid was, and there was no mistake about that.</p> + +<p>It was growing up in his mind that Sid was the brother of Ann, but he +said nothing about her for excellent reasons. After all, because he +remembered Sid's irritation at her name when they had met in New Romney +seemed to show a certain separation. They<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> didn't tell each other +much.... He didn't know how things might be between Ann and Sid, either.</p> + +<p>Still, for all that, Sid was Ann's brother.</p> + +<p>The furniture of the room did not assert itself very much above the +cheerful business at the table, but Kipps was impressed with the idea +that it was pretty. There was a dresser at the end with a number of gay +plates and a mug or so, a Labour Day poster, by Walter Crane, on the +wall, and through the glass and over the blind of the shop door one had +a glimpse of the bright coloured advertisement cards of bicycle dealers, +and a shelfful of boxes labelled, The Paragon Bell, The Scarum Bell, and +The Patent Omi! Horn....</p> + +<p>It seemed incredible that he had been in Folkestone that morning, and +even now his Aunt and Uncle——!</p> + +<p>Brrr. It didn't do to think of his Aunt and Uncle.</p> + +<p class="center">§4</p> + +<p>When Sid repeated his invitation to come and see Masterman, Kipps, now +flushed with beer and Irish stew, said he didn't mind if he did, and +after a preliminary shout from Sid that was answered by a voice and a +cough, the two went upstairs.</p> + +<p>"Masterman's a rare one," said Sid over his arm and in an undertone. +"You should hear him speak at a meeting.... If he's in form, that is."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span></p><p>He rapped and went into a large, untidy room.</p> + +<p>"This is Kipps," he said. "You know. The chap I told you of. With twelve +'undred a year."</p> + +<p>Masterman sat gnawing at an empty pipe and as close to the fire as +though it was alight and the season midwinter. Kipps concentrated upon +him for a space, and only later took in something of the frowsy +furniture, the little bed half behind, and evidently supposed to be +wholly behind, a careless screen, the spittoon by the fender, the +remains of a dinner on the chest of drawers and the scattered books and +papers. Masterman's face showed him a man of forty or more, with curious +hollows at the side of his forehead and about his eyes. His eyes were +very bright; there was a spot of red in his cheeks, and the wiry black +moustache under his short, red nose had been trimmed with scissors into +a sort of brush along his upper lip. His teeth were darkened ruins. His +jacket collar was turned up about a knitted white neck wrap, and his +sleeves betrayed no cuffs. He did not rise to greet Kipps, but held out +a thin wristed hand and pointed with the other to a bedroom arm chair.</p> + +<p>"Glad to see you," he said. "Sit down and make yourself at home. Will +you smoke?"</p> + +<p>Kipps said he would, and produced his store. He was about to take one, +and then, with a civil afterthought, handed the packet first to +Masterman and Sid. Masterman pretended surprise to find his pipe out +before he took one. There was an interlude of matches. Sid pushed the +end of the screen out of his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span> way, sat down on the bed thus frankly +admitted, and prepared, with a certain quiet satisfaction of manner, to +witness Masterman's treatment of Kipps.</p> + +<p>"And how does it feel to have twelve hundred a year?" asked Masterman, +holding his cigarette to his nose tip in a curious manner.</p> + +<p>"It's rum," confided Kipps, after a reflective interval. "It feels +juiced rum."</p> + +<p>"I never felt it," said Masterman.</p> + +<p>"It takes a bit of getting into," said Kipps. "I can tell you that."</p> + +<p>Masterman smoked and regarded Kipps with curious eyes.</p> + +<p>"I expect it does," he said presently.</p> + +<p>"And has it made you perfectly happy?" he asked, abruptly.</p> + +<p>"I couldn't 'ardly say <i>that</i>," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>Masterman smiled. "No," he said. "Has it made you much happier?"</p> + +<p>"It did at first."</p> + +<p>"Yes. But you got used to it. How long, for example, did the real +delirious excitement last?"</p> + +<p>"Oo, <i>that</i>! Perhaps a week," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>Masterman nodded his head. "That's what discourages <i>me</i> from amassing +wealth," he said to Sid. "You adjust yourself. It doesn't last. I've +always had an inkling of that, and it's interesting to get it confirmed. +I shall go on sponging for a bit longer on <i>you</i>, I think."</p> + +<p>"You don't," said Sid. "No fear."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span></p><p>"Twenty-four thousand pounds," said Masterman, and blew a cloud of +smoke. "Lord! Doesn't it worry you?"</p> + +<p>"It is a bit worrying at times.... Things 'appen."</p> + +<p>"Going to marry?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"H'm. Lady, I guess, of a superior social position?"</p> + +<p>"Rather," said Kipps. "Cousin to the Earl of Beauprés."</p> + +<p>Masterman readjusted his long body with an air of having accumulated all +the facts he needed. He snuggled his shoulder-blades down into the chair +and raised his angular knees. "I doubt," he said, flicking cigarette ash +into the atmosphere, "if any great gain or loss of money does—as things +are at present—make more than the slightest difference in one's +happiness. It ought to—if money was what it ought to be, the token for +given service; one ought to get an increase in power and happiness for +every pound one got. But the plain fact is the times are out of joint, +and money—money, like everything else, is a deception and a +disappointment."</p> + +<p>He turned his face to Kipps and enforced his next words with the index +finger of his lean, lank hand. "If I thought otherwise," he said, "I +should exert <i>myself</i> to get some. But, if one sees things clearly, one +is so discouraged. So confoundedly discouraged.... When you first got +your money, you thought<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> that it meant you might buy just anything you +fancied?"</p> + +<p>"I was a bit that way," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"And you found that you couldn't. You found that for all sorts of things +it was a question of where to buy and how to buy, and what you didn't +know how to buy with your money, straight away this world planted +something else upon you——"</p> + +<p>"I got rather done over a banjo first day," said Kipps. "Leastways, my +Uncle says."</p> + +<p>"Exactly," said Masterman.</p> + +<p>Sid began to speak from the bed. "That's all very well, Masterman," he +said, "but, after all, money is Power, you know. You can do all sorts of +things——"</p> + +<p>"I'm talking of happiness," said Masterman. "You can do all sorts of +things with a loaded gun in the Hammersmith Broadway, but +nothing—practically—that will make you or any one else very happy. +Nothing. Power's a different matter altogether. As for happiness, you +want a world in order before money or property, or any of those things +that have any real value, and this world, I tell you, is hopelessly out +of joint. Man is a social animal with a mind nowadays that goes around +the globe, and a community cannot be happy in one part and unhappy in +another. It's all or nothing, no patching any more for ever. It is the +standing mistake of the world not to understand that. Consequently +people think there is a class or order somewhere, just above them or +just<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> below them, or a country or place somewhere, that is really safe +and happy. The fact is, Society is one body, and it is either well or +ill. That's the law. This society we live in is ill. It's a fractious, +feverish invalid, gouty, greedy and ill-nourished. You can't have a +happy left leg with neuralgia, or a happy throat with a broken leg. +That's my position, and that's the knowledge you'll come to. I'm so +satisfied of it that I sit here and wait for my end quite calmly, sure +that I can't better things by bothering—in my time, and so far as I am +concerned, that is. I'm not even greedy any more—my egotism's at the +bottom of a pond, with a philosophical brick around its neck. The world +is ill, my time is short and my strength is small. I'm as happy here as +anywhere."</p> + +<p>He coughed and was silent for a moment, then brought the index finger +around to Kipps again. "You've had the opportunity of sampling two +grades of society, and you don't find the new people you're among much +better or any happier than the old?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Kipps, reflectively. "No. I 'aven't seen it quite like that +before, but——. No. They're not."</p> + +<p>"And you might go all up the scale and down the scale and find the same +thing. Man's a gregarious beast, a gregarious beast, and no money will +buy you out of your own time—any more than out of your own skill. All +the way up and all the way down the scale there's the same discontent. +No one is quite sure where they stand, and everyone's fretting. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> +herd's uneasy and feverish. All the old tradition goes or has gone, and +there's no one to make a new tradition. Where are your nobles now? Where +are your gentlemen? They vanished directly the peasant found out he +wasn't happy and ceased to be a peasant. There's big men and little men +mixed up together, that's all. None of us know where we are. Your cads +in a bank holiday train and your cads on a two thousand pound motor; +except for a difference in scale, there's not a pin to choose between +them. Your smart society is as low and vulgar and uncomfortable for a +balanced soul as a gin palace, no more and no less; there's no place or +level of honour or fine living left in the world; so what's the good of +climbing?"</p> + +<p>"'Ear, 'ear," said Sid.</p> + +<p>"It's true," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> don't climb," said Masterman, and accepted Kipps' silent offer of +another cigarette.</p> + +<p>"No," he said. "This world is out of joint. It's broken up, and I doubt +if it will heal. I doubt very much if it'll heal. We're in the beginning +of the Sickness of the World."</p> + +<p>He rolled his cigarette in his lean fingers and repeated with +satisfaction: "The Sickness of the World."</p> + +<p>"It's we've got to make it better," said Sid, and looked at Kipps.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Sid's an optimist," said Masterman.</p> + +<p>"So are you, most times," said Sid.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span></p><p>Kipps lit another cigarette with an air of intelligent participation.</p> + +<p>"Frankly," said Masterman, recrossing his legs and expelling a jet of +smoke luxuriously, "frankly, I think this civilisation of ours is on the +topple."</p> + +<p>"There's Socialism," said Sid.</p> + +<p>"There's no imagination to make use of it."</p> + +<p>"We've got to <i>make</i> one," said Sid.</p> + +<p>"In a couple of centuries perhaps," said Masterman. "But meanwhile we're +going to have a pretty acute attack of confusion. Universal confusion. +Like one of those crushes when men are killed and maimed for no reason +at all, going into a meeting or crowding for a train. Commercial and +Industrial Stresses. Political Exploitation. Tariff Wars. Revolutions. +All the bloodshed that will come of some fools calling half the white +world yellow. These things alter the attitude of everybody to everybody. +Everybody's going to feel 'em. Every fool in the world panting and +shoving. <i>We're</i> all going to be as happy and comfortable as a household +during a removal. What else can we expect?"</p> + +<p>Kipps was moved to speak, but not in answer to Masterman's enquiry. +"I've never rightly got the 'eng of this Socialism," he said. "What's it +going to do, like?"</p> + +<p>They had been imagining that he had some elementary idea in the matter, +but as soon as he had made it clear that he hadn't, Sid plunged at +exposition, and in a little while Masterman, abandoning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> his pose of the +detached man ready to die, joined in. At first he joined in only to +correct Sid's version, but afterwards he took control. His manner +changed. He sat up and rested his elbow on his knees, and his cheek +flushed a little. He expanded his case against Property and the property +class with such vigour that Kipps was completely carried away, and never +thought of asking for a clear vision of the thing that would fill the +void this abolition might create. For a time he quite forgot his own +private opulence. And it was as if something had been lit in Masterman. +His languor passed. He enforced his words by gestures of his long, thin +hands. And as he passed swiftly from point to point of his argument it +was evident he grew angry.</p> + +<p>"To-day," he said, "the world is ruled by rich men; they may do almost +anything they like with the world. And what are they doing? Laying it +waste!"</p> + +<p>"Hear, hear!" said Sid, very sternly.</p> + +<p>Masterman stood up, gaunt and long, thrust his hands in his pockets and +turned his back to the fireplace.</p> + +<p>"Collectively, the rich to-day have neither heart nor imagination. No! +They own machinery, they have knowledge and instruments and powers +beyond all previous dreaming, and what are they doing with them? Think +what they are doing with them, Kipps, and think what they might do. God +gives them a power like the motor car, and all they can do with it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> is +to go careering about the roads in goggled masks killing children and +making machinery hateful to the soul of man! ("True," said Sid, "true.") +God gives them means of communication, power unparalleled of every sort, +time and absolute liberty! They waste it all in folly! Here under their +feet (and Kipps' eyes followed the direction of a lean index finger to +the hearthrug) under their accursed wheels, the great mass of men +festers and breeds in darkness, darkness those others make by standing +in the light. The darkness breeds and breeds. It knows no better.... +Unless you can crawl or pander or rob you must stay in the stew you are +born in. And those rich beasts above claw and clutch as though they had +nothing! They grudge us our schools, they grudge us a gleam of light and +air, they cheat us and then seek to forget us.... There is no rule, no +guidance, only accidents and happy flukes.... Our multitudes of poverty +increase, and this crew of rulers makes no provision, foresees nothing, +anticipates nothing...."</p> + +<p>He paused and made a step, and stood over Kipps in a white heat of +anger. Kipps nodded in a non-commital manner and looked hard and rather +gloomily at his host's slipper as he talked.</p> + +<p>"It isn't as though they had something to show for the waste they make +of us, Kipps. They haven't. They are ugly and cowardly and mean. Look at +their women! Painted, dyed and drugged, hiding their ugly shapes under a +load of dress! There isn't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> a woman in the swim of society at the +present time, wouldn't sell herself, body and soul, who wouldn't lick +the boots of a Jew or marry a nigger, rather than live decently on a +hundred a year! On what would be wealth for you and me! They know it. +They know we know it.... No one believes in them. No one believes in +nobility any more. Nobody believes in kingship any more. Nobody believes +there is justice in the law.... But people have habits, people go on in +the old grooves, as long as there's work, as long as there's weekly +money.... It won't last, Kipps."</p> + +<p>He coughed and paused. "Wait for the lean years," he cried. "Wait for +the lean years." And suddenly he fell into a struggle with his cough and +spat a gout of blood. "It's nothing," he said to Kipps' note of startled +horror.</p> + +<p>He went on talking, and the protests of his cough interlaced with his +words, and Sid beamed in an ecstasy of painful admiration.</p> + +<p>"Look at the fraud they have let life become, the miserable mockery of +the hope of one's youth. What have <i>I</i> had? I found myself at thirteen +being forced into a factory like a rabbit into a chloroformed box. +Thirteen!—when <i>their</i> children are babies. But even a child of that +age could see what it meant, that Hell of a factory! Monotony and toil +and contempt and dishonour! And then death. So I fought—at thirteen!"</p> + +<p>Minton's "crawling up a drain pipe until you die"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> echoed in Kipps' +mind, but Masterman, instead of Minton's growl, spoke in a high, +indignant tenor.</p> + +<p>"I got out at last—somehow," he said, quietly, suddenly plumping back +in his chair. He went on after a pause. "For a bit. Some of us get out +by luck, some by cunning, and crawl on to the grass, exhausted and +crippled to die. That's a poor man's success, Kipps. Most of us don't +get out at all. I worked all day and studied half the night, and here I +am with the common consequences. Beaten! And never once have I had a +fair chance, never once!" His lean, clenched fist flew out in a gust of +tremulous anger. "These Skunks shut up all the university scholarships +at nineteen for fear of men like me. And then—do <i>nothin'</i>.... We're +wasted for nothing. By the time I'd learnt something the doors were +locked. I thought knowledge would do it—I did think that! I've fought +for knowledge as other men fight for bread. I've starved for knowledge. +I've turned my back on women; I've done even that. I've burst my +accursed lung...." His voice rose with impotent anger. "I'm a better man +than any ten princes alive! And I'm beaten and wasted. I've been +crushed, trampled and defiled by a drove of hogs. I'm no use to myself +or the world. I've thrown my life away to make myself too good for use +in this huckster's scramble. If I had gone in for business, if I had +gone in for plotting to cheat my fellow men—ah, well! It's too late. +It's too late for that, anyhow. It's too late for anything now! And I +couldn't have done it....<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span> And over in New York now there's a pet of +society making a corner in wheat!</p> + +<p>"By God!" he cried hoarsely, with a clutch of the lean hand. "By God! If +I had his throat! Even now I might do something for the world."</p> + +<p>He glared at Kipps, his face flushed deep, his sunken eyes glowing with +passion, and then suddenly he changed altogether.</p> + +<p>There was a sound of tea things rattling upon a tray outside the door, +and Sid rose to open it.</p> + +<p>"All of which amounts to this," said Masterman, suddenly quiet and again +talking against time. "The world is out of joint, and there isn't a soul +alive who isn't half waste or more. You'll find it the same with you in +the end, wherever your luck may take you.... I suppose you won't mind my +having another cigarette?"</p> + +<p>He took Kipps' cigarette with a hand that trembled so violently it +almost missed its object, and stood up, with something of guilt in his +manner as Mrs. Sid came into the room.</p> + +<p>Her eye met his and marked the flush upon his face.</p> + +<p>"Been talking Socialism?" said Mrs. Sid, a little severely.</p> + +<p class="center">§5</p> + +<p>Six o'clock that day found Kipps drifting eastward along the southward +margin of Rotten Row. You<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span> figure him a small, respectably attired +figure going slowly through a sometimes immensely difficult and always +immense world. At times he becomes pensive and whistles softly. At times +he looks about him. There are a few riders in the Row, a carriage +flashes by every now and then along the roadway, and among the great +rhododendrons and laurels and upon the greensward there are a few groups +and isolated people dressed in the style Kipps adopted to call upon the +Walshinghams when first he was engaged. Amid the complicated confusion +of Kipps' mind was a regret that he had not worn his other things....</p> + +<p>Presently he perceived that he would like to sit down; a green chair +tempted him. He hesitated at it, took possession of it, and leant back +and crossed one leg over the other.</p> + +<p>He rubbed his under lip with his umbrella handle and reflected upon +Masterman and his denunciation of the world.</p> + +<p>"Bit orf 'is 'ead, poor chap," said Kipps, and added: "I wonder."</p> + +<p>He thought intently for a space.</p> + +<p>"I wonder what he meant by the lean years?"</p> + +<p>The world seemed a very solid and prosperous concern just here, and well +out of reach of Masterman's dying clutch. And yet——</p> + +<p>It was curious he should have been reminded of Minton.</p> + +<p>His mind turned to a far more important matter. Just at the end Sid had +said to him, "Seen Ann?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span> and as he was about to answer, "You'll see a +bit more of her now. She's got a place in Folkestone."</p> + +<p>It had brought him back from any concern about the world being out of +joint or anything of that sort.</p> + +<p>Ann!</p> + +<p>One might run against her any day.</p> + +<p>He tugged at his little moustache.</p> + +<p>He would like to run against Ann very much....</p> + +<p>"And it would be juiced awkward if I did!"</p> + +<p>In Folkestone! It was a jolly sight too close....</p> + +<p>Then, at the thought that he might run against Ann in his beautiful +evening dress on the way to the band, he fluttered into a momentary +dream, that jumped abruptly into a nightmare.</p> + +<p>Suppose he met her when he was out with Helen! "Oh, Lor'!" said Kipps. +Life had developed a new complication that would go on and go on. For +some time he wished with the utmost fervour that he had not kissed Ann, +that he had not gone to New Romney the second time. He marvelled at his +amazing forgetfulness of Helen on that occasion. Helen took possession +of his mind. He would have to write to Helen, an easy, off-hand letter, +to say that he had come to London for a day or so. He tried to imagine +her reading it. He would write just such another letter to the old +people, and say he had had to come up on business. That might do for +<i>them</i> all right, but Helen was different. She would insist on +explanations.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span></p><p>He wished he could never go back to Folkestone again. That would settle +the whole affair.</p> + +<p>A passing group attracted his attention, two faultlessly dressed +gentlemen and a radiantly expensive lady. They were talking, no doubt, +very brilliantly. His eyes followed them. The lady tapped the arm of the +left hand gentleman with a daintily tinted glove. Swells! No end....</p> + +<p>His soul looked out upon life in general as a very small nestling might +peep out of its nest. What an extraordinary thing life was, to be sure, +and what a remarkable variety of people there were in it!</p> + +<p>He lit a cigarette and speculated upon that receding group of three, and +blew smoke and watched them. They seemed to do it all right. Probably +they all had incomes of very much over twelve hundred a year. Perhaps +not. Probably none of them suspected, as they went past, that he, too, +was a gentleman of independent means, dressed, as he was, without +distinction. Of course things were easier for them. They were brought up +always to dress well and do the right thing from their very earliest +years; they started clear of all his perplexities; they had never got +mixed up with all sorts of different people who didn't go together. If, +for example, that lady there got engaged to that gentleman, she would be +quite safe from any encounter from a corpulent, osculatory Uncle, or +Chitterlow, or the dangerously insignificant eye of Pierce.</p> + +<p>His thoughts came round to Helen.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span></p><p>When they were married and Cuyps, or Cuyp—Coote had failed to justify +his "s"—and in that west end flat and shaken free of all these low +class associations, would he and she parade here of an afternoon dressed +like that? It would be rather fine to do so. If one's dress was all +right.</p> + +<p>Helen!</p> + +<p>She was difficult to understand at times.</p> + +<p>He blew extensive clouds of cigarette smoke.</p> + +<p>There would be teas, there would be dinners, there would be calls. Of +course he would get into the way of it.</p> + +<p>But Anagrams were a bit stiff to begin with!</p> + +<p>It was beastly confusing at first to know when to use your fork at +dinner, and all that. Still——</p> + +<p>He felt an extraordinary doubt whether he would get into the way of it. +He was interested for a space by a girl and groom on horseback, and then +he came back to his personal preoccupations.</p> + +<p>He would have to write to Helen. What could he say to explain his +absence from the Anagram Tea? She had been pretty clear she wanted him +to come. He recalled her resolute face without any great tenderness. He +<i>knew</i> he would look like a silly ass at that confounded tea! Suppose he +shirked it and went back in time for the dinner! Dinners were beastly +difficult, too, but not as bad as Anagrams. The very first thing that +might happen when he got back to Folkestone would be to run against Ann. +Suppose, after all, he did meet Ann when he was with Helen!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span></p><p>What queer encounters were possible in the world!</p> + +<p>Thank goodness, they were going to live in London!</p> + +<p>But that brought him around to Chitterlow. The Chitterlows were coming +to London, too. If they didn't get money they'd come after it; they +weren't the sort of people to be choked off easily, and if they did +they'd come to London to produce their play. He tried to imagine some +seemly social occasion invaded by Chitterlow and his rhetoric, by his +torrential thunder of self-assertion, the whole company flattened +thereunder like wheat under a hurricane.</p> + +<p>Confound and hang Chitterlow! Yet, somehow, somewhen, one would have to +settle accounts with him! And there was Sid! Sid was Ann's brother. He +realised with sudden horror the social indiscretion of accepting Sid's +invitation to dinner.</p> + +<p>Sid wasn't the sort of chap one could snub or cut, and besides—Ann's +brother! He didn't want to cut him. It would be worse than cutting +Buggins and Pierce—a sight worse. And after that lunch!</p> + +<p>It would be the next thing to cutting Ann herself. And even as to Ann!</p> + +<p>Suppose he was with Helen or Coote!...</p> + +<p>"Oh, Blow!" he said, at last, and then, viciously, "<i>Blow!</i>" and so rose +and flung away his cigarette end, and pursued his reluctant, dubiating +way towards the really quite uncongenial splendours of the Royal +Grand....</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span></p><p>And it is vulgarly imagined that to have money is to have no troubles +at all!</p> + +<p class="center">§6</p> + +<p>Kipps endured splendour at the Royal Grand Hotel for three nights and +days, and then he retreated in disorder. The Royal Grand defeated and +overcame and routed Kipps, not of intention, but by sheer royal +grandeur, grandeur combined with an organisation for his comfort carried +to excess. On his return he came upon a difficulty; he had lost his +circular piece of cardboard with the number of his room, and he drifted +about the hall and passages in a state of perplexity for some time, +until he thought all the porters and officials in gold lace caps must be +watching him and jesting to one another about him. Finally, in a quiet +corner, down below the hairdresser's shop, he found a kindly looking +personage in bottle green, to whom he broached his difficulty. "I say," +he said, with a pleasant smile, "I can't find my room nohow." The +personage in bottle green, instead of laughing in a nasty way, as he +might well have done, became extremely helpful, showed Kipps what to do, +got his key, and conducted him by lift and passage to his chamber. Kipps +tipped him half a crown.</p> + +<p>Safe in his room, Kipps pulled himself together for dinner. He had +learnt enough from young Walshingham to bring his dress clothes, and now +he began<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span> to assume them. Unfortunately, in the excitement of his flight +from his Aunt and Uncle, he had forgotten to put in his other boots, and +he was some time deciding between his purple cloth slippers, with a +golden marigold, and the prospect of cleaning the boots he was wearing +with the towel, but finally, being a little footsore, he took the +slippers.</p> + +<p>Afterwards, when he saw the porters and waiters and the other guests +catch a sight of the slippers, he was sorry he had not chosen the boots. +However, to make up for any want of style at that end, he had his crush +hat under his arm.</p> + +<p>He found the dining-room without excessive trouble. It was a vast and +splendidly decorated place, and a number of people, evidently quite <i>au +fait</i>, were dining there at little tables lit with electric, red shaded +candles, gentlemen in evening dress, and ladies with dazzling, +astonishing necks. Kipps had never seen evening dress in full vigour +before, and he doubted his eyes. And there were also people not in +evening dress who, no doubt, wondered what noble family Kipps +represented. There was a band in a decorated recess, and the band looked +collectively at the purple slippers, and so lost any chance they may +have had of a collection, so far as Kipps was concerned. The chief +drawback to this magnificent place was the excessive space of floor that +had to be crossed before you got your purple slippers hid in under a +table.</p> + +<p>He selected a little table—not the one where a rather impudent looking +waiter held a chair, but <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span>another—sat down, and finding his gibus in +his hand, decided after a moment of thought to rise slightly and sit on +it. (It was discovered in his abandoned chair at a late hour by a supper +party, and restored to him next day.)</p> + +<p>He put the napkin carefully on one side, selected his soup without +difficulty, "Clear, please," but he was rather floored by the +presentation of a quite splendidly bound wine card. He turned it over, +discovered a section devoted to whiskey, and had a bright idea.</p> + +<p>"'Ere," he said to the waiter, with an encouraging movement of his head, +and then in a confidential manner, "you haven't any Old Methuselah Three +Stars, 'ave you?"</p> + +<p>The waiter went away to enquire, and Kipps went on with his soup with an +enhanced self-respect. Finally, Old Methuselah being unobtainable, he +ordered a claret from about the middle of the list. "Let's 'ave some of +this," he said. He knew claret was a good sort of wine.</p> + +<p>"A half bottle?" said the waiter.</p> + +<p>"Right you are," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>He felt he was getting on. He leant back after his soup, a man of the +world, and then slowly brought his eyes around to the ladies in evening +dress on his right....</p> + +<p>He couldn't have thought it!</p> + +<p>They were scorchers. Jest a bit of black velvet over the shoulders!</p> + +<p>He looked again. One of them was laughing with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> a glass of wine half +raised—wicked-looking woman she was—the other, the black velvet one, +was eating bits of bread with nervous quickness and talking fast.</p> + +<p>He wished old Buggins could see them.</p> + +<p>He found a waiter regarding him and blushed deeply. He did not look +again for some time, and became confused about his knife and fork over +the fish. Presently he remarked a lady in pink to the left of him eating +the fish with an entirely different implement.</p> + +<p>It was over the <i>vol au vent</i> that he began to go to pieces. He took a +knife to it; then saw the lady in pink was using a fork only, and +hastily put down his knife, with a considerable amount of rich +creaminess on the blade, upon the cloth. Then he found that a fork in +his inexperienced hand was an instrument of chase rather than capture. +His ears became violently red, and then he looked up, to discover the +lady in pink glancing at him and then smiling as she spoke to the man +beside her.</p> + +<p>He hated the lady in pink very much.</p> + +<p>He stabbed a large piece of the <i>vol au vent</i> at last, and was too glad +of his luck not to take a mouthful of it. But it was an extensive +fragment, and pieces escaped him. Shirt front! "Desh it!" he said, and +had resort to his spoon. His waiter went and spoke to two other waiters, +no doubt jeering at him. He became very fierce suddenly. "Ere!" he said, +gesticulating, and then, "clear this away!"</p> + +<p>The entire dinner party on his right, the party of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span> the ladies in +advanced evening dress, looked at him.... He felt that everyone was +watching him and making fun of him, and the injustice of this angered +him. After all, they had every advantage he hadn't. And then, when they +got him there doing his best, what must they do but glance and sneer and +nudge one another. He tried to catch them at it, and then took refuge in +a second glass of wine.</p> + +<p>Suddenly and extraordinarily he found himself a socialist. He did not +care how close it was to the lean years when all these things would end.</p> + +<p>Mutton came with peas. He arrested the hand of the waiter. "No peas," he +said. He knew something of the difficulty and danger of eating peas. +Then, when the peas went away again he was embittered again.... Echoes +of Masterman's burning rhetoric began to reverberate in his mind. Nice +lot of people these were to laugh at anyone! Women half undressed. It +was that made him so beastly uncomfortable. How could one eat one's +dinner with people about him like that? Nice lot they were. He was glad +he wasn't one of them, anyhow. Yes, they might look. He resolved if they +looked at him again he would ask one of the men who he was staring at. +His perturbed and angry face would have concerned anyone. The band by an +unfortunate accident was playing truculent military music. The mental +change Kipps underwent was, in its way, what psychologists call a +conversion. In a few moments all Kipps' ideals were changed. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> who had +been "practically a gentleman," the sedulous pupil of Coote, the +punctilious raiser of hats, was instantly a rebel, an outcast, the hater +of everything "stuck up," the foe of Society and the social order of +to-day. Here they were among the profits of their robbery, these people +who might do anything with the world....</p> + +<p>"No, thenks," he said to a dish.</p> + +<p>He addressed a scornful eye at the shoulders of the lady to his left.</p> + +<p>Presently he was refusing another dish. He didn't like it—fussed up +food! Probably cooked by some foreigner. He finished up his wine and his +bread.</p> + +<p>"No, thenks."</p> + +<p>"No, thenks."...</p> + +<p>He discovered the eye of a diner fixed curiously upon his flushed face. +He responded with a glare. Couldn't he go without things if he liked?</p> + +<p>"What's this?" said Kipps to a great green cone.</p> + +<p>"Ice," said the waiter.</p> + +<p>"I'll 'ave some," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>He seized a fork and spoon and assailed the bombe. It cut rather +stiffly. "Come up!" said Kipps, with concentrated bitterness, and the +truncated summit of the bombe flew off suddenly, travelling eastward +with remarkable velocity. Flop, it went upon the floor a yard away, and +for awhile time seemed empty.</p> + +<p>At the adjacent table they were laughing together.</p> + +<p>Shy the rest of the bombe at them?</p> + +<p>Flight?</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span></p><p>At any rate a dignified withdrawal.</p> + +<p>"No!" said Kipps, "no more," arresting the polite attempt of the waiter +to serve him with another piece. He had a vague idea he might carry off +the affair as though he had meant the ice to go on the floor—not liking +ice, for example, and being annoyed at the badness of his dinner. He put +both hands on the table, thrust back his chair, disengaged a purple +slipper from his napkin, and rose. He stepped carefully over the +prostrate ice, kicked the napkin under the table, thrust his hands deep +into his pockets, and marched out—shaking the dust of the place, as it +were, from his feet. He left behind him a melting fragment of ice upon +the floor, his gibus hat, warm and compressed in his chair, and in +addition every social ambition he had ever entertained in the world.</p> + +<p class="center">§7</p> + +<p>Kipps went back to Folkestone in time for the Anagram Tea. But you must +not imagine that the change of heart that came to him in the dining-room +of the Royal Grand Hotel involved any change of attitude toward this +promised social and intellectual treat. He went back because the Royal +Grand was too much for him.</p> + +<p>Outwardly calm, or at most a little flushed and ruffled, inwardly Kipps +was a horrible, tormented battleground of scruples, doubts, shames and +self-assertions during that three days of silent, desperate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span> grappling +with the big hotel. He did not intend the monstrosity should beat him +without a struggle, but at last he had sullenly to admit himself +overcome. The odds were terrific. On the one hand himself—with, among +other things, only one pair of boots; on the other a vast wilderness of +rooms, covering several acres, and with over a thousand people, staff +and visitors, all chiefly occupied in looking queerly at Kipps, in +laughing at him behind his back, in watching for difficult corners at +which to confront and perplex him, and inflict humiliations upon him. +For example, the hotel scored over its electric light. After the dinner +the chambermaid, a hard, unsympathetic young woman with a superior +manner, was summoned by a bell Kipps had rung under the impression the +button was the electric light switch. "Look 'ere," said Kipps, rubbing a +shin that had suffered during his search in the dark, "why aren't there +any candles or matches?" The hotel explained and scored heavily.</p> + +<p>"It isn't everyone is up to these things," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"No, it isn't," said the chambermaid, with ill-concealed scorn, and +slammed the door at him.</p> + +<p>"S'pose I ought to have tipped her," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>After that Kipps cleaned his boots with a pocket-handkerchief and went +for a long walk and got home in a hansom, but the hotel scored again by +his not putting out his boots and so having to clean them again in the +morning. The hotel also snubbed him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span> by bringing him hot water when he +was fully dressed and looking surprised at his collar, but he got a +breakfast, I must admit, with scarcely any difficulty.</p> + +<p>After that the hotel scored heavily by the fact that there are +twenty-four hours in the day and Kipps had nothing to do in any of them. +He was a little footsore from his previous day's pedestrianism, and he +could make up his mind for no long excursions. He flitted in and out of +the hotel several times, and it was the polite porter who touched his +hat every time that first set Kipps tipping.</p> + +<p>"What 'e wants is a tip," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>So at the next opportunity he gave the man an unexpected shilling, and +having once put his hand in his pocket, there was no reason why he +should not go on. He bought a newspaper at the book-stall and tipped the +boy the rest of the shilling, and then went up by the lift and tipped +the man a sixpence, leaving his newspaper inadvertently in the lift. He +met his chambermaid in the passage and gave her half a crown. He +resolved to demonstrate his position to the entire establishment in this +way. He didn't like the place; he disapproved of it politically, +socially, morally, but he resolved no taint of meanness should disfigure +his sojourn in its luxurious halls. He went down by the lift (tipping +again), and, being accosted by a waiter with his gibus, tipped the +finder half a crown. He had a vague sense that he was making a flank +movement upon the hotel and buying over its staff. They would regard him +as a character. They<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span> would get to like him. He found his stock of small +silver diminishing, and replenished it at a desk in the hall. He tipped +a man in bottle green who looked like the man who had shown him his room +the day before, and then he saw a visitor eyeing him, and doubted +whether he was in this instance doing right. Finally he went out and +took chance 'buses to their destinations, and wandered a little in +remote, wonderful suburbs and returned. He lunched at a chop house in +Islington, and found himself back in the Royal Grand, now unmistakably +footsore and London weary, about three. He was drawn towards the +drawing-room by a neat placard about afternoon tea.</p> + +<p>It occurred to him that the campaign of tipping upon which he had +embarked was perhaps after all a mistake. He was confirmed in this by +observing that the hotel officials were watching him, not respectfully, +but with a sort of amused wonder, as if to see whom he would tip next. +However, if he backed out now, they would think him an awful fool. +Everyone wasn't so rich as he was. It was his way to tip. Still——</p> + +<p>He grew more certain the hotel had scored again.</p> + +<p>He pretended to be lost in thought and so drifted by, and having put hat +and umbrella in the cloak-room went into the drawing-room for afternoon +tea.</p> + +<p>There he did get what for a time he held to be a point in his favour. +The room was large and quiet at first, and he sat back restfully until +it occurred to him that his attitude brought his extremely dusty boots +too prominently into the light, so instead he sat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span> up, and then people +of the upper and upper middle classes began to come and group themselves +about him and have tea likewise, and so revive the class animosities of +the previous day.</p> + +<p>Presently a fluffy, fair-haired lady came into prominent existence a few +yards away. She was talking to a respectful, low-voiced clergyman, whom +she was possibly entertaining at tea. "No," she said, "dear Lady Jane +wouldn't like that!"</p> + +<p>"Mumble, mumble, mumble," from the clergyman.</p> + +<p>"Poor dear Lady Jane was always so sensitive," the voice of the lady +sang out clear and emphatic.</p> + +<p>A fat, hairless, important-looking man joined this group, took a chair +and planted it firmly with its back in the face of Kipps, a thing that +offended Kipps mightily. "Are you telling him," gurgled the fat, +hairless man, "about dear Lady Jane's affliction?" A young couple, lady +brilliantly attired and the man in a magnificently cut frock coat, +arranged themselves to the right, also with an air of exclusion towards +Kipps. "I've told him," said the gentleman in a flat, abundant voice. +"My!" said the young lady, with an American smile. No doubt they all +thought Kipps was out of it. A great desire to assert himself in some +way surged up in his heart. He felt he would like to cut in on the +conversation in some dramatic way. A monologue something in the manner +of Masterman? At any rate, abandoning that as impossible, he would like +to appear self-centred and at ease. His eyes, wandering over the black +surfaces of a noble <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span>architectural mass close by, discovered a slot—an +enamelled plaque of directions.</p> + +<p>It was some sort of musical box! As a matter of fact, it was the very +best sort of Harmonicon and specially made to the scale of the Hotel.</p> + +<p>He scrutinised the plaque with his head at various angles and glanced +about him at his neighbours.</p> + +<p>It occurred to Kipps that he would like some music, that to inaugurate +some would show him a man of taste and at his ease at the same time. He +rose, read over a list of tunes, selected one haphazard, pressed his +sixpence—it was sixpence!—home, and prepared for a confidential, +refined little melody.</p> + +<p>Considering the high social tone of the Royal Grand, it was really a +very loud instrument indeed. It gave vent to three deafening brays and +so burst the dam of silence that had long pent it in. It seemed to be +chiefly full of the greatuncles of trumpets, megalo-trombones and +railway brakes. It made sounds like shunting trains. It did not so much +begin as blow up your counter-scarp or rush forward to storm under cover +of melodious shrapnel. It had not so much an air as a <i>ricochette</i>. The +music had, in short, the inimitable quality of Sousa. It swept down upon +the friend of Lady Jane and carried away something socially striking +into the eternal night of the unheard; the American girl to the left of +it was borne shrieking into the inaudible. "<span class="smcap">High</span> cockalorum Tootletootle +tootle loo. <span class="smcap">High</span> cockalorum tootle lootle loo. <span class="smcap">Bump</span>, bump, bump—<span class="smaller">BUMP</span>." +Joyous, exorbitant music it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span> was from the gigantic nursery of the +Future, bearing the hearer along upon its torrential succession of +sounds, as if he was in a cask on Niagara. Whiroo! Yah and have at you! +The strenuous Life! Yaha! Stop! A Reprieve! A Reprieve! No! Bang! Bump!</p> + +<p>Everybody looked around, conversation ceased and gave place to gestures.</p> + +<p>The friend of Lady Jane became terribly agitated.</p> + +<p>"Can't it be stopped?" she vociferated, pointing a gloved finger and +saying something to the waiter about "That dreadful young man."</p> + +<p>"Ought not to be working," said the clerical friend of Lady Jane.</p> + +<p>The waiter shook his head at the fat, hairless gentleman. People began +to move away. Kipps leant back luxurious, and then tipped with a half +crown to pay. He paid, tipped like a gentleman, rose with an easy +gesture, and strolled towards the door. His retreat evidently completed +the indignation of the friend of Lady Jane, and from the door he could +still discern her gestures as asking, "Can't it be stopped?" The music +followed him into the passage and pursued him to the lift and only died +away completely in the quiet of his own room, and afterwards from his +window he saw the friend of Lady Jane and her party having their tea +carried out to a little table in the court. <span class="smcap">Bump</span>, bump, bump, <span class="smaller">BUMP</span> +floated up to him, and certainly that was a point to him. But it was his +only score; all the rest of the game lay in the hands of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span> the upper +classes and the big hotel. And presently he was doubting whether even +this was really a point. It seemed a trifle vulgar, come to think it +over, to interrupt people when they were talking.</p> + +<p>He saw a clerk peering at him from the office, and suddenly it occurred +to him that the place might get back at him tremendously over the bill.</p> + +<p>They would probably take it out of him by charging pounds and pounds.</p> + +<p>Suppose they charged more than he had!</p> + +<p>The clerk had a particularly nasty face, just the face to take advantage +of a vacillating Kipps.</p> + +<p>He became aware of a man in a cap touching it, and produced his shilling +automatically, but the strain was beginning to tell. It was a deuce and +all of an expense—this tipping.</p> + +<p>If the hotel chose to stick it on to the bill something tremendous what +was Kipps to do? Refuse to pay? Make a row?</p> + +<p>If he did he couldn't fight all these men in bottle green....</p> + +<p>He went out about seven and walked for a long time and dined at last +upon a chop in the Euston Road; then he walked along to the Edgeware +Road and sat and rested in the Metropolitan Music Hall for a time until +a trapeze performance unnerved him and finally he came back to bed. He +tipped the lift man sixpence and wished him good-night. In the silent +watches of the night he reviewed the tale of the day's tipping, went +over the horrors of the previous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span> night's dinner, and heard again the +triumphant bray of the harmonicon devil released from its long +imprisonment. Everyone would be told about him to-morrow. He couldn't go +on! He admitted his defeat. Never in their whole lives had any of these +people seen such a Fool as he! Ugh!...</p> + +<p>His method of announcing his withdrawal to the clerk was touched with +bitterness.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to get out of this," said Kipps, blowing windily. "Let's see +what you got on my bill."</p> + +<p>"One breakfast?" asked the clerk.</p> + +<p>"Do I <i>look</i> as if I'd ate two?"...</p> + +<p>At his departure Kipps, with a hot face, convulsive gestures and an +embittered heart, tipped everyone who did not promptly and actively +resist, including an absent-minded South African diamond merchant, who +was waiting in the hall for his wife and succumbed to old habit. He paid +his cabman a four shilling piece at Charing Cross, having no smaller +change, and wished he could burn him alive. Then in a sudden reaction of +economy he refused the proffered help of a porter and carried his bag +quite violently to the train.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER VIII</span> <span class="smaller">KIPPS ENTERS SOCIETY</span></h2> + +<p class="center">§1</p> + +<p>Submission to Inexorable Fate took Kipps to the Anagram Tea.</p> + +<p>At any rate he would meet Helen there in the presence of other people +and be able to carry off the worst of the difficulty of explaining his +little jaunt to London. He had not seen her since his last portentous +visit to New Romney. He was engaged to her, he would have to marry her, +and the sooner he faced her again the better. Before wild plans of +turning socialist, defying the world and repudiating all calling for +ever, his heart on second thoughts sank. He felt Helen would never +permit anything of the sort. As for the Anagrams he could do no more +than his best and that he was resolved to do. What had happened at the +Royal Grand, what had happened at New Romney, he must bury in his memory +and begin again at the reconstruction of his social position. Ann, +Buggins, Chitterlow, all these, seen in the matter-of-fact light of the +Folkestone train, stood just as they stood before; people of an inferior +social position<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span> who had to be eliminated from his world. It was a +bother about Ann, a bother and a pity. His mind rested so for a space on +Ann until the memory of these Anagrams drew him away. If he could see +Coote that evening he might, he thought, be able to arrange some sort of +connivance about the Anagrams, and his mind was chiefly busy sketching +proposals for such an arrangement. It would not, of course, be +ungentlemanly cheating, but only a little mystification. Coote very +probably might drop him a hint of the solution of one or two of the +things, not enough to win a prize, but enough to cover his shame. Or +failing that he might take a humorous, quizzical line and pretend he was +pretending to be very stupid. There were plenty of ways out of it if one +kept a sharp lookout....</p> + +<p>The costume Kipps wore to the Anagram Tea was designed as a compromise +between the strict letter of high fashion and seaside laxity, a sort of +easy, semi-state for afternoon. Helen's first reproof had always +lingered in his mind. He wore a frock coat, but mitigated it by a Panama +hat of romantic shape with a black band, grey gloves, but for relaxation +brown button boots. The only other man besides the clergy present, a new +doctor with an attractive wife, was in full afternoon dress. Coote was +not there.</p> + +<p>Kipps was a little pale, but quite self-possessed, as he approached Mrs. +Bindon Botting's door. He took a turn while some people went in and then +faced it manfully. The door opened and revealed—Ann!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span></p><p>In the background through a draped doorway behind a big fern in a great +art pot the elder Miss Botting was visible talking to two guests; the +auditory background was a froth of feminine voices....</p> + +<p>Our two young people were much too amazed to give one another any +formula of greeting, though they had parted warmly enough. Each was +already in a state of extreme tension to meet the demands of this great +and unprecedented occasion of an Anagram Tea. "Lor'!" said Ann, her sole +remark, and then the sense of Miss Botting's eye ruled her straight +again. She became very pale, but she took his hat mechanically, and he +was already removing his gloves. "Ann," he said in a low tone, and then +"Fency!" The eldest Miss Botting knew Kipps was the sort of guest who +requires nursing, and she came forward vocalising charm. She said it was +"Awfully jolly of him to come, awfully jolly. It was awfully difficult +to get any good men!"</p> + +<p>She handed Kipps forward, mumbling in a dazed condition, to the +drawing-room, and there he encountered Helen looking unfamiliar in an +unfamiliar hat. It was as if he had not met her for years.</p> + +<p>She astonished him. She didn't seem to mind in the least his going to +London. She held out a shapely hand, and smiled encouragingly. "You've +faced the anagrams?" she said.</p> + +<p>The second Miss Botting accosted them, a number of oblong pieces of +paper in her hand, mysteriously inscribed. "Take an anagram," she said; +"take an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span> anagram," and boldly pinned one of these brief documents to +Kipps' lapel. The letters were "Cypshi," and Kipps from the very +beginning suspected this was an anagram for Cuyps. She also left a thing +like a long dance programme, from which dangled a little pencil in his +hand. He found himself being introduced to people, and then he was in a +corner with the short lady in a big bonnet, who was pelting him with +gritty little bits of small talk that were gone before you could take +hold of them and reply.</p> + +<p>"Very hot," said this lady. "Very hot, indeed—hot all the +summer—remarkable year—all the years remarkable now—don't know what +we're coming to—don't you think so, Mr. Kipps?"</p> + +<p>"Oo rather," said Kipps, and wondered if Ann was still in the hall. Ann!</p> + +<p>He ought not to have stared at her like a stuck fish and pretended not +to know her. That couldn't be right. But what <i>was</i> right?</p> + +<p>The lady in the big bonnet proceeded to a second discharge. "Hope you're +fond of anagrams, Mr. Kipps—difficult exercise—still one must do +something to bring people together—better than Ludo anyhow. Don't you +think so, Mr. Kipps?"</p> + +<p>Ann fluttered past the open door. Her eyes met his in amazed enquiry. +Something had got dislocated in the world for both of them....</p> + +<p>He ought to have told her he was engaged. He ought to have explained +things to her. Perhaps even now he might be able to drop her a hint.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span></p><p>"Don't you think so, Mr. Kipps?"</p> + +<p>"Oo rather," said Kipps for the third time.</p> + +<p>A lady with a tired smile, who was labelled conspicuously "Wogdelenk," +drifted towards Kipps' interlocutor and the two fell into conversation. +Kipps found himself socially aground. He looked about him. Helen was +talking to a curate and laughing. Kipps was overcome by a vague desire +to speak to Ann. He was for sidling doorward.</p> + +<p>"What are <i>you</i>, please?" said an extraordinarily bold, tall girl, and +arrested him while she took down "Cypshi."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I don't know what it means," she explained. "I'm Sir Bubh. +Don't you think anagrams are something chronic?"</p> + +<p>Kipps made stockish noises, and the young lady suddenly became the +nucleus of a party of excited friends who were forming a syndicate to +guess, and barred his escape. She took no further notice of him. He +found himself jammed against an occasional table and listening to the +conversation of Mrs. "Wogdelenk" and his lady with the big bonnet.</p> + +<p>"She packed her two beauties off together," said the lady in the big +bonnet. "Time enough, too. Don't think much of this girl; she's got as +housemaid now. Pretty, of course, but there's no occasion for a +housemaid to be pretty—none whatever. And she doesn't look particularly +up to her work either. Kind of 'mazed expression."</p> + +<p>"You never can tell," said the lady labelled <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span>"Wogdelenk;" "you never +can tell. My wretches are big enough, Heaven knows, and do they work? +Not a bit of it!"...</p> + +<p>Kipps felt dreadfully out of it with regard to all these people, and +dreadfully in it with Ann.</p> + +<p>He scanned the back of the big bonnet and concluded it was an extremely +ugly bonnet indeed. It got jerking forward as each short, dry sentence +was snapped off at the end and a plume of osprey on it jerked +excessively. "She hasn't guessed even one!" followed by a shriek of +girlish merriment, came from the group about the tall, bold girl. They'd +shriek at him presently, perhaps. Beyond thinking his own anagram might +be Cuyps, he hadn't a notion. What a chatter they were all making! It +was just like a summer sale! Just the sort of people who'd give a lot of +trouble and swap you! And suddenly the smouldering fires of rebellion +leapt to flame again. These were a rotten lot of people, and the +anagrams were rotten nonsense, and he, Kipps, had been a rotten fool to +come. There was Helen away there, still laughing, with her curate. Pity +she couldn't marry a curate and leave him (Kipps) alone! Then he'd know +what to do. He disliked the whole gathering collectively and in detail. +Why were they all trying to make him one of themselves? He perceived +unexpected ugliness everywhere about him. There were two great pins +jabbed through the tall girl's hat, and the swirls of her hair below the +brim with the minutest piece of tape tie-up showing did not repay close +examination.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span> Mrs. "Wogdelenk" wore a sort of mumps bandage of lace, and +there was another lady perfectly dazzling with beads, and jewels and +bits of trimming. They were all flaps and angles and flounces—these +women. Not one of them looked as neat and decent a shape as Ann's clean, +trim, little figure. Echoes of Masterman woke up in him again. Ladies +indeed! Here were all these chattering people, with money, with leisure, +with every chance in the world, and all they could do was to crowd like +this into a couple of rooms and jabber nonsense about anagrams.</p> + +<p>"Could Cypshi really mean Cuyps?" floated like a dissolving wreath of +mist across his mind.</p> + +<p>Abruptly resolution stood armed in his heart. He was going to get out of +this!</p> + +<p>"'Scuse me," he said, and began to wade neck deep through the bubbling +tea party.</p> + +<p>He was going to get out of it all!</p> + +<p>He found himself close by Helen. "I'm orf," he said, but she gave him +the briefest glance. She did not appear to hear him. "Still, Mr. +Spratlingdown, you <i>must</i> admit there's a limit even to conformity," she +was saying....</p> + +<p>He was in a curtained archway, and Ann was before him carrying a tray +supporting several small sugar bowls.</p> + +<p>He was moved to speech. "<i>What</i> a Lot!" he said, and then mysteriously, +"I'm engaged to <i>her</i>." He indicated Helen's new hat, and became aware +of a skirt he had stepped upon.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span></p><p>Ann stared at him helplessly, borne past in the grip of +incomprehensible imperatives.</p> + +<p>Why shouldn't they talk together?</p> + +<p>He was in a small room, and then at the foot of the staircase in the +hall. He heard the rustle of a dress, and what was conceivable his +hostess was upon him.</p> + +<p>"But you're not going, Mr. Kipps?" she said.</p> + +<p>"I must," he said; "I got to."</p> + +<p>"But, Mr. Kipps!"</p> + +<p>"I must," he said. "I'm not well."</p> + +<p>"But before the guessing! Without any tea!"</p> + +<p>Ann appeared and hovered behind him.</p> + +<p>"I got to go," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>If he parleyed with her Helen might awake to his desperate attempt.</p> + +<p>"Of course if you <i>must</i> go."</p> + +<p>"It's something I've forgotten," said Kipps, beginning to feel regrets. +"Reely I must."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Botting turned with a certain offended dignity, and Ann in a state +of flushed calm that evidently concealed much came forward to open the +door.</p> + +<p>"I'm very sorry," he said; "I'm very sorry," half to his hostess and +half to her, and was swept past her by superior social forces—like a +drowning man in a mill-race—and into the Upper Sandgate Road. He half +turned upon the step, and then slam went the door....</p> + +<p>He retreated along the Leas, a thing of shame and perplexity—Mrs. +Botting's aggrieved astonishment uppermost in his mind....</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span></p><p>Something—reinforced by the glances of the people he was +passing—pressed its way to his attention through the tumultuous +disorder of his mind.</p> + +<p>He became aware that he was still wearing his little placard with the +letters "Cypshi."</p> + +<p>"Desh it!" he said, clutching off this abomination. In another moment +its several letters, their task accomplished, were scattering gleefully +before the breeze down the front of the Leas.</p> + +<p class="center">§2</p> + +<p>Kipps was dressed for Mrs. Wace's dinner half an hour before it was time +to start, and he sat waiting until Coote should come to take him around. +"Manners and Rules of Good Society" lay before him neglected. He had +read the polished prose of the Member of the Aristocracy, on page 96, as +far as—</p> + +<blockquote><p>"the acceptance of an invitation is in the eyes of diners out, a +binding obligation which only ill-health, family bereavement, or +some all-important reason justifies its being set on one side or +otherwise evaded"—</p></blockquote> + +<p>and then he had lapsed into gloomy thoughts.</p> + +<p>That afternoon he had had a serious talk with Helen.</p> + +<p>He had tried to express something of the change of heart that had +happened to him. But to broach the real state of the matter had been +altogether too <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span>terrible for him. He had sought a minor issue. "I don't +like all this Seciety," he had said.</p> + +<p>"But you must <i>see</i> people," said Helen.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but——. It's the sort of people you see." He nerved himself. "I +didn't think much of that lot at the Enegram Tea."</p> + +<p>"You have to see all sorts of people if you want to see the world," said +Helen.</p> + +<p>Kipps was silent for a space and a little short of breath.</p> + +<p>"My dear Arthur," she began, almost kindly, "I shouldn't ask you to go +to these affairs if I didn't think it good for you, should I?"</p> + +<p>Kipps acquiesced in silence.</p> + +<p>"You will find the benefit of it all when we get to London. You learn to +swim in a tank before you go out into the sea. These people here are +good enough to learn upon. They're stiff and rather silly and dreadfully +narrow and not an idea in a dozen of them, but it really doesn't matter +at all. You'll soon get Savoir Faire."</p> + +<p>He made to speak again, and found his powers of verbal expression +lacking. Instead he blew a sigh.</p> + +<p>"You'll get used to it all very soon," said Helen helpfully....</p> + +<p>As he sat meditating over that interview and over the vistas of London +that opened before him, on the little flat, and teas and occasions and +the constant presence of Brudderkins and all the bright prospect of his +new and better life, and how he would never<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span> see Ann any more, the +housemaid entered with a little package, a small, square envelope to +"Arthur Kipps, Esquire."</p> + +<p>"A young woman left this, Sir," said the housemaid, a little severely.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" said Kipps; "what young woman?" and then suddenly began to +understand.</p> + +<p>"She looked an ordinary young woman," said the housemaid coldly.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Kipps. "<i>That's</i> orlright."</p> + +<p>He waited till the door had closed behind the girl, staring at the +envelope in his hand, and then, with a curious feeling of increasing +tension, tore it open. As he did so, some quicker sense than sight or +touch told him its contents. It was Ann's half sixpence. And, besides, +not a word!</p> + +<p>Then she must have heard him——!</p> + +<p>She had kept the half sixpence all these years!</p> + +<p>He was standing with the envelope in his hand, trying to get on from +that last inference, when Coote became audible without.</p> + +<p>Coote appeared in evening dress, a clean and radiant Coote, with large, +greenish, white gloves and a particularly large white tie, edged with +black. "For a third cousin," he presently explained. "Nace, isn't it?" +He could see Kipps was pale and disturbed and put this down to the +approaching social trial. "You keep your nerve up, Kipps, my dear chap, +and you'll be all right," said Coote, with a big, brotherly glove on +Kipps' sleeve.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span></p><p class="center">§3</p> + +<p>The dinner came to a crisis so far as Kipps' emotions were concerned, +with Mrs. Bindon Botting's talk about servants, but before that there +had been several things of greater or smaller magnitude to perturb and +disarrange his social front. One little matter that was mildly insurgent +throughout the entire meal was, if I may be permitted to mention so +intimate a matter, the behaviour of his left brace. The webbing—which +was of a cheerful scarlet silk—had slipped away from its buckle, +fastened no doubt in agitation, and had developed a strong tendency to +place itself obliquely in the manner rather of an official decoration, +athwart his spotless front. It first asserted itself before they went in +to dinner. He replaced this ornament by a dexterous thrust when no one +was looking and thereafter the suppression of his novel innovation upon +the stereotyped sombreness of evening dress became a standing +preoccupation. On the whole, he was inclined to think his first horror +excessive; at any rate no one remarked upon it. However you imagine him +constantly throughout the evening, with one eye and one hand, whatever +the rest of him might be doing, predominantly concerned with the weak +corner.</p> + +<p>But this, I say, was a little matter. What exercised him much more was +to discover Helen quite terribly in evening dress.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span></p><p>The young lady had let her imagination rove Londonward, and this +costume was perhaps an anticipation of that clever little flat not too +far west which was to become the centre of so delightful a literary and +artistic set. It was, of all the feminine costumes present, most +distinctly an evening dress. One was advised Miss Walshingham had arms +and shoulders of a type by no means despicable, one was advised Miss +Walshingham was capable not only of dignity but charm, even a certain +glow of charm. It was, you know, her first evening dress, a tribute paid +by Walshingham finance to her brightening future. Had she wanted keeping +in countenance, she would have had to have fallen back upon her hostess, +who was resplendent in black and steel. The other ladies had to a +certain extent compromised. Mrs. Walshingham had dressed with just a +refined, little V and Mrs. Bindon Botting, except for her dear mottled +arms, confided scarcely more of her plump charm to the world. The elder +Miss Botting stopped short of shoulders, and so did Miss Wace. But Helen +didn't. She was—had Kipps had eyes to see it—a quite beautiful human +figure; she knew it and she met him with a radiant smile that had +forgotten all the little difference of the afternoon. But to Kipps her +appearance was the last release. With that, she had become as remote, as +foreign, as incredible as a wife and mate, as though the Cnidian Venus +herself, in all her simple elegance, was before witnesses, declared to +be his. If, indeed, she had ever been credible as a wife and mate.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span></p><p>She ascribed his confusion to modest reverence, and having blazed +smiling upon him for a moment turned a shapely shoulder towards him and +exchanged a remark with Mrs. Bindon Botting. Ann's poor little half +sixpence came against Kipps' fingers in his pocket and he clutched at it +suddenly as though it was a talisman. Then he abandoned it to suppress +his Order of the Brace. He was affected by a cough. "Miss Wace tells me +Mr. Revel is coming," Mrs. Botting was saying.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it delightful?" said Helen. "We saw him last night. He's stopped +on his way to Paris. He's going to meet his wife there."</p> + +<p>Kipps' eyes rested for a moment on Helen's dazzling deltoid, and then +went enquiringly, accusingly almost to Coote's face. Where, in the +presence of this terrible emergency, was the gospel of suppression +now—that Furtive treatment of Religion and Politics, and Birth and +Death and Bathing and Babies, and "all those things" which constitutes +your True Gentleman? He had been too modest even to discuss this +question with his Mentor, but surely, surely this quintessence of all +that is good and nice could regard these unsolicited confidences only in +one way. With something between relief and the confirmation of his worst +fears he perceived, by a sort of twitching of the exceptionally abundant +muscles about Coote's lower jaw, in a certain deliberate avoidance of +one particular direction by these pale, but resolute, grey eyes, by the +almost convulsive grip of the ample, greenish<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span> white gloves behind him, +a grip broken at times for controlling pats at the black-bordered tie +and the back of that spacious head, and by a slight but increasing +disposition to cough, that <i>Coote did not approve</i>!</p> + +<p>To Kipps Helen had once supplied a delicately beautiful dream, a thing +of romance and unsubstantial mystery. But this was her final +materialisation, and the last thin wreath of glamour about her was +dispelled. In some way (he had forgotten how and it was perfectly +incomprehensible) he was bound to this dark, solid and determined young +person whose shadow and suggestion he had once loved. He had to go +through with the thing as a gentleman should. Still——</p> + +<p>And when he was sacrificing Ann!</p> + +<p>He wouldn't stand this sort of thing, whatever else he stood.... Should +he say something about her dress to her—to-morrow?</p> + +<p>He could put his foot down firmly. He could say, "Look 'ere. I don't +care. I ain't going to stand it. See?"</p> + +<p>She'd say something unexpected, of course. She always did say something +unexpected.</p> + +<p>Suppose for once he overrode what she said? Simply repeated his point?</p> + +<p>He found these thoughts battling with certain conversational aggressions +from Mrs. Wace, and then Revel arrived and took the centre of the stage.</p> + +<p>The author of that brilliant romance, "Red Hearts a-Beating," was a less +imposing man than Kipps had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span> anticipated, but he speedily effaced that +disappointment by his predominating manners. Although he lived +habitually in the vivid world of London, his collar and tie were in no +way remarkable, and he was neither brilliantly handsome nor curly nor +long-haired. His personal appearance suggested arm chairs, rather than +the equestrian exercises and amorous toyings and passionate intensities +of his masterpiece; he was inclined to be fat, with whitish flesh, muddy +coloured straight hair, he had a rather shapeless and truncated nose and +his chin was asymmetrical. One eye was more inclined to stare than the +other. He might have been esteemed a little undistinguished looking were +it not for his beeswaxed moustache, which came amidst his features with +a pleasing note of incongruity, and the whimsical wrinkles above and +about his greater eye. His regard sought and found Helen's as he entered +the room and they shook hands presently with an air of intimacy Kipps, +for no clear reason, found objectionable. He saw them clasp their hands, +heard Coote's characteristic cough—a sound rather more like a very, +very old sheep, a quarter of a mile away, being blown to pieces by a +small charge of gunpowder than anything else in the world—did some +confused beginnings of a thought, and then they were all going in to +dinner and Helen's shining bare arm lay along his sleeve. Kipps was in +no state for conversation. She glanced at him, and, though he did not +know it, very slightly pressed his elbow. He struggled with strange +respiratory <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span>dislocations. Before them went Coote, discoursing in +amiable reverberations to Mrs. Walshingham, and at the head of the +procession was Mrs. Bindon Botting talking fast and brightly beside the +erect military figure of little Mr. Wace. (He was not a soldier really, +but he had caught a martinet bearing by living so close to Shorncliffe.) +Revel came last, in charge of Mrs. Wace's queenly black and steel, +politely admiring in a flute-like cultivated voice the mellow wall paper +of the staircase. Kipps marvelled at everybody's self-possession.</p> + +<p>From the earliest spoonful of soup it became evident that Revel +considered himself responsible for the table talk. And before the soup +was over it was almost as manifest that Mrs. Bindon Botting inclined to +consider his sense of responsibility excessive. In her circle Mrs. +Bindon Botting was esteemed an agreeable rattle, her manner and +appearance were conspicuously vivacious for one so plump, and she had an +almost Irish facility for humorous description. She would keep people +amused all through an afternoon call, with the story of how her jobbing +gardener had got himself married and what his home was like, or how her +favourite butt, Mr. Stigson Warder, had all his unfortunate children +taught almost every conceivable instrument because they had the +phrenological bump of music abnormally large. "They got to trombones, my +dear!" she would say, with her voice coming to a climax. Usually her +friends conspired to draw her out, but on this occasion they neglected +to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span> do so, a thing that militated against her keen desire to shine in +Revel's eyes. After a time she perceived that the only thing for her to +do was to cut in on the talk, on her own account, and this she began to +do. She made several ineffectual snatches at the general attention and +then Revel drifted towards a topic she regarded as particularly her own, +the ordering of households.</p> + +<p>They came to the thing through talk about localities. "We are leaving +our house in The Boltons," said Revel, "and taking a little place at +Wimbledon, and I think of having rooms in Dane's Inn. It will be more +convenient in many ways. My wife is furiously addicted to golf and +exercise of all sorts, and I like to sit about in clubs—I haven't the +strength necessary for these hygienic proceedings—and the old +arrangement suited neither of us. And, besides, no one could imagine the +demoralisation the domestics of West London have undergone during the +last three years."</p> + +<p>"It's the same everywhere," said Mrs. Bindon Botting.</p> + +<p>"Very possibly it is. A friend of mine calls it the servile tradition in +decay and regards it all as a most hopeful phenomenon——"</p> + +<p>"He ought to have had my last two criminals," said Mrs. Bindon Botting.</p> + +<p>She turned to Mrs. Wace while Revel came again a little too late with a +"Possibly——"</p> + +<p>"And I haven't told you, my dear," she said,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span> speaking with voluble +rapidity, "I'm in trouble again."</p> + +<p>"The last girl?"</p> + +<p>"The last girl. Before I can get a cook, my hard won housemaid"—she +paused—"chucks it."</p> + +<p>"Panic?" asked young Walshingham.</p> + +<p>"Mysterious grief! Everything merry as a marriage bell until my Anagram +Tea! Then in the evening a portentous rigour of bearing, a word or so +from my Aunt, and immediately—Floods of Tears and Notice!" For a moment +her eye rested thoughtfully on Kipps, as she said: "Is there anything +heartrending about Anagrams?"</p> + +<p>"I find them so," said Revel. "I——"</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Bindon Botting got away again. "For a time it made me quite +uneasy——"</p> + +<p>Kipps jabbed his lip with his fork rather painfully, and was recalled +from a fascinated glare at Mrs. Botting to the immediate facts of +dinner.</p> + +<p>"——whether anagrams might not have offended the good domestic's Moral +Code—you never can tell. We made enquiries. No. No. No. She <i>must</i> go +and that's all!"</p> + +<p>"One perceives," said Revel, "in these disorders, dimly and distantly, +the last dying glow of the age of Romance. Let us suppose, Mrs. Botting, +let us at least try to suppose—it is Love."</p> + +<p>Kipps clattered with his knife and fork.</p> + +<p>"It's love," said Mrs. Botting; "what else can it be? Beneath the +orderly humdrum of our lives these<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span> romances are going on, until at last +they bust up and give Notice and upset our humdrum altogether. Some +fatal, wonderful soldier——"</p> + +<p>"The passions of the common or house domestic," said Revel, and +recovered possession of the table.</p> + +<p>Upon the troubled disorder of Kipps' table manners there had supervented +a quietness, an unusual calm. For once in his life he had distinctly +made up his mind on his own account. He listened no more to Revel. He +put down his knife and fork and refused anything that followed. Coote +regarded him with tactful concern and Helen flushed a little.</p> + +<p class="center">§4</p> + +<p>About half-past nine that night came a violent pull at the bell of Mrs. +Bindon Botting, and a young man in a dress suit, a gibus and other marks +of exalted social position stood without. Athwart his white expanse of +breast lay a ruddy bar of patterned silk that gave him a singular +distinction and minimised the glow of a few small stains of burgundy. +His gibus was thrust back and exposed a disorder of hair that suggested +a reckless desperation. He had, in fact, burnt his boats and refused to +join the ladies. Coote, in the subsequent conversation, had protested +quietly, "You're going on all right, you know," to which Kipps had +answered he didn't care a "Eng" about that, and so, after a brief tussle +with Walshingham's detaining arm, had got away. "I got something to do," +he said. "'Ome." And here he was—panting an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span> extraordinary resolve. The +door opened, revealing the pleasantly furnished hall of Mrs. Bindon +Botting, lit by rose-tinted lights, and in the centre of the picture, +neat and pretty in black and white, stood Ann. At the sight of Kipps her +colour vanished.</p> + +<p>"Ann," said Kipps, "I want to speak to you. I got something to say to +you right away. See? I'm——"</p> + +<p>"This ain't the door to speak to me at," said Ann.</p> + +<p>"But, Ann! It's something special."</p> + +<p>"You spoke enough," said Ann.</p> + +<p>"Ann!"</p> + +<p>"Besides. That's my door, down there. Basement. If I was caught talking +at <i>this</i> door——!"</p> + +<p>"But, Ann, <i>I'm</i>——"</p> + +<p>"Basement after nine. Them's my hours. I'm a servant and likely to keep +one. If you're calling here, what name please? But you got your friends +and I got mine and you mustn't go talking to <i>me</i>."</p> + +<p>"But, Ann, I want to ask you——"</p> + +<p>Someone appeared in the hall behind Ann. "Not here," said Ann. "Don't +know anyone of that name," and incontinently slammed the door in his +face.</p> + +<p>"What was that, Ann?" said Mrs. Bindon Botting's invalid Aunt.</p> + +<p>"Ge'm a little intoxicated, Ma'am—asking for the wrong name, Ma'am."</p> + +<p>"What name did he want?" asked the lady, doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"No name that <i>we</i> know, Ma'am," said Ann, hustling along the hall +towards the kitchen stairs.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span></p><p>"I hope you weren't too short with him, Ann."</p> + +<p>"No shorter than he deserved, considering 'ow he be'aved," said Ann, +with her bosom heaving.</p> + +<p>And Mrs. Bindon Botting's invalid Aunt, perceiving suddenly that this +call had some relation to Ann's private and sentimental trouble, turned, +after one moment of hesitating scrutiny, away.</p> + +<p>She was an extremely sympathetic lady, was Mrs. Bindon Botting's invalid +Aunt; she took an interest in the servants, imposed piety, extorted +confessions and followed human nature, blushing and lying defensively, +to its reluctantly revealed recesses, but Ann's sense of privacy was +strong and her manner under drawing out and encouragement, sometimes +even alarming....</p> + +<p>So the poor old lady went upstairs again.</p> + +<p class="center">§5</p> + +<p>The basement door opened and Kipps came into the kitchen. He was flushed +and panting.</p> + +<p>He struggled for speech.</p> + +<p>"'Ere," he said, and held out two half sixpences.</p> + +<p>Ann stood behind the kitchen table—face pale and eyes round, and +now—and it simplified Kipps very much—he could see she had indeed been +crying.</p> + +<p>"Well?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Don't you see?"</p> + +<p>Ann moved her head slightly.</p> + +<p>"I kep' it all these years."</p> + +<p>"You kep' it too long."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span></p><p>His mouth closed and his flush died away. He looked at her. The amulet, +it seemed, had failed to work.</p> + +<p>"Ann!" he said.</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Ann."</p> + +<p>The conversation still hung fire.</p> + +<p>"Ann," he said, made a movement with his hands that suggested appeal, +and advanced a step.</p> + +<p>Ann shook her head more defiantly, and became defensive.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Ann," said Kipps. "I been a fool."</p> + +<p>They stared into each other's miserable eyes.</p> + +<p>"Ann," he said. "I want to marry you."</p> + +<p>Ann clutched the table edge. "You can't," she said faintly.</p> + +<p>He made as if to approach her around the table, and she took a step that +restored their distance.</p> + +<p>"I must," he said.</p> + +<p>"You can't."</p> + +<p>"I must. You <i>got</i> to marry me, Ann."</p> + +<p>"You can't go marrying everybody. You got to marry 'er."</p> + +<p>"I shan't."</p> + +<p>Ann shook her head. "You're engaged to that girl. Lady, rather. You +can't be engaged to me."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to be engaged to you. I <i>been</i> engaged. I want to be +married to you. See? Rightaway."</p> + +<p>Ann turned a shade paler. "But what d'you mean?" she asked.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span></p><p>"Come right off to London and marry me. Now."</p> + +<p>"What d'you mean?"</p> + +<p>Kipps became extremely lucid and earnest.</p> + +<p>"I mean come right off and marry me now before anyone else can. <i>See?</i>"</p> + +<p>"In London?"</p> + +<p>"In London."</p> + +<p>They stared at one another again. They took things for granted in the +most amazing way.</p> + +<p>"I couldn't," said Ann. "For one thing my month's not up for mor'n free +weeks yet."</p> + +<p>They hung before that for a moment as though it was insurmountable.</p> + +<p>"Look 'ere, Ann! Arst to go. Arst to go!"</p> + +<p>"<i>She</i> wouldn't," said Ann.</p> + +<p>"Then come without arsting," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"She's keep my box——"</p> + +<p>"She won't."</p> + +<p>"She will."</p> + +<p>"She won't."</p> + +<p>"You don't know 'er."</p> + +<p>"Well, desh'er—let'er! <span class="smcap">Let'er!</span> Who cares? I'll buy you a 'undred boxes +if you'll come."</p> + +<p>"It wouldn't be right towards Her."</p> + +<p>"It isn't Her you got to think about, Ann. It's me."</p> + +<p>"And you 'aven't treated me properly," she said. "You 'aven't treated me +properly, Artie. You didn't ought to 'ave——"</p> + +<p>"I didn't say I <i>'ad</i>," he interrupted, "did I, Ann?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span> he appealed. "I +didn't come to arguefy. I'm all wrong. I never said I wasn't. It's yes +or no. Me or not.... I been a fool. There! See? I been a fool. Ain't +that enough? I got myself all tied up with everyone and made a fool of +myself all around...."</p> + +<p>He pleaded, "It isn't as if we didn't care for one another, Ann."</p> + +<p>She seemed impassive and he resumed his discourse.</p> + +<p>"I thought I wasn't likely ever to see you again, Ann. I reely did. It +isn't as though I was seein' you all the time. I didn't know what I +wanted, and I went and be'aved like a fool—jest as anyone might. I know +what I want and I know what I don't want now."</p> + +<p>"Ann!"</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Will you come?... Will you come?..."</p> + +<p>Silence.</p> + +<p>"If you don't answer me, Ann—I'm desprit—if you don't answer me now, +if you don't say you'll come I'll go right out now——"</p> + +<p>He turned doorward passionately as he spoke, with his threat incomplete.</p> + +<p>"I'll go," he said; "I 'aven't a friend in the world! I been and throwed +everything away. I don't know why I done things and why I 'aven't. All I +know is I can't stand nothing in the world any more." He choked. "The +pier," he said.</p> + +<p>He fumbled with the door latch, grumbling some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span> inarticulate self-pity, +as if he sought a handle, and then he had it open.</p> + +<p>Clearly he was going.</p> + +<p>"Artie!" said Ann, sharply.</p> + +<p>He turned about and the two hung, white and tense.</p> + +<p>"I'll do it," said Ann.</p> + +<p>His face began to work, he shut the door and came a step back to her, +staring; his face became pitiful and then suddenly they moved together. +"Artie!" she cried, "don't go!" and held out her arms, weeping.</p> + +<p>They clung close to one another....</p> + +<p>"Oh! I <i>been</i> so mis'bel," cried Kipps, clinging to this lifebuoy, and +suddenly his emotion, having no further serious work in hand, burst its +way to a loud <i>boohoo</i>! His fashionable and expensive gibus flopped off +and fell and rolled and lay neglected on the floor.</p> + +<p>"I been so mis'bel," said Kipps, giving himself vent. "Oh! I <i>been</i> so +mis'bel, Ann."</p> + +<p>"Be quiet," said Ann, holding his poor, blubbering head tightly to her +heaving shoulder, and herself all a-quiver; "be quiet. She's there! +Listenin'. She'll 'ear you, Artie, on the stairs...."</p> + +<p class="center">§6</p> + +<p>Ann's last words when, an hour later, they parted, Mrs. and Miss Bindon +Botting having returned very audibly upstairs, deserve a section to +themselves.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't do this for everyone, mind you," whispered Ann.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER IX</span> <span class="smaller">THE LABYRINTHODON</span></h2> + +<p class="center">§1</p> + +<p>You imagine them fleeing through our complex and difficult social +system, as it were, for life, first on foot and severally to the +Folkestone Central Station; then in a first-class carriage, with Kipps' +bag as sole chaperone to Charing Cross, and then in a four-wheeler, a +long, rumbling, palpitating, slow flight through the multitudinous +swarming London streets to Sid. Kipps kept peeping out of the window. +"It's the next corner after this, I believe," he would say. For he had a +sort of feeling that at Sid's he would be immune from the hottest +pursuits. He paid the cabman in a manner adequate to the occasion and +turned to his prospective brother-in-law. "Me and Ann," he said, "we're +going to marry."</p> + +<p>"But I thought——" began Sid.</p> + +<p>Kipps motioned him towards explanations in the shop....</p> + +<p>"It's no good, my arguing with you," said Sid, smiling delightedly as +the case unfolded. "You done it now." And Masterman being apprised of +the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span>nature of the affair descended slowly in a state of flushed +congratulation.</p> + +<p>"I thought you might find the Higher Life a bit difficult," said +Masterman, projecting a bony hand. "But I never thought you'd have the +originality to clear out.... Won't the young lady of the superior +classes swear! Never mind—it doesn't matter anyhow.</p> + +<p>"You were starting a climb," he said at dinner, "that doesn't lead +anywhere. You would have clambered from one refinement of vulgarity to +another and never got to any satisfactory top. There isn't a top. It's a +squirrel's cage. Things are out of joint, and the only top there is is a +lot of blazing card playing women and betting men—you should read +Modern Society—seasoned with archbishops and officials and all that +sort of glossy, pandering Bosh.... You'd have hung on, a disconsolate, +dismal, little figure, somewhere up the ladder, far below even the +motor-car class, while your wife larked about—or fretted because she +wasn't a bit higher than she was.... I found it all out long ago. I've +seen women of that sort. And I don't climb any more."</p> + +<p>"I often thought about what you said last time I saw you," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"I wonder what I said," said Masterman in parenthesis. "Anyhow, you're +doing the right and sane thing, and that's a rare spectacle. You're +going to marry your equal, and you're going to take your own line, quite +independently of what people up there, or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span> people down there, think you +ought or ought not to do. That's about the only course one can take +nowadays with everything getting more muddled and upside down every day. +Make your own little world and your own house first of all, keep that +right side up whatever you do, and marry your mate.... That, I suppose, +is what <i>I</i> should do—if <i>I</i> had a mate.... But people of my sort, +luckily for the world, don't get made in pairs. No!</p> + +<p>"Besides——! However——" And abruptly, taking advantage of an +interruption by Master Walt, he lapsed into thought.</p> + +<p>Presently he came out of his musings.</p> + +<p>"After all," he said, "there's hope."</p> + +<p>"What about?" said Sid.</p> + +<p>"Everything," said Masterman.</p> + +<p>"Where there's life there's hope," said Mrs. Sid. "But none of you +aren't eating anything like you ought to."</p> + +<p>Masterman lifted his glass.</p> + +<p>"Here's to Hope!" he said, "The Light of the World!"</p> + +<p>Sid beamed at Kipps as who should say, "You don't meet a character like +<i>this</i> every dinner time."</p> + +<p>"Here's to Hope," repeated Masterman. "The best thing one can have. Hope +of life—yes."</p> + +<p>He imposed his movement of magnificent self-pity on them all. Even young +Walt was impressed.</p> + +<p>They spent the days before their marriage in a number of agreeable +excursions together. One day<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span> they went to Kew by steamboat, and admired +the house full of paintings of flowers extremely; and one day they went +early to have a good, long day at the Crystal Palace, and enjoyed +themselves very much indeed. They got there so early that nothing was +open inside, all the stalls were wrappered up and all the minor +exhibitions locked and barred; they seemed the minutest creatures even +to themselves in that enormous empty aisle and their echoing footsteps +indecently loud. They contemplated realistic groups of plaster savages, +and Ann thought they'd be queer people to have about. She was glad there +were none in this country. They meditated upon replicas of classical +statuary without excessive comment. Kipps said at large, it must have +been a queer world then, but Ann very properly doubted if they really +went about like that. But the place at that early hour was really +lonely. One began to fancy things. So they went out into the October +sunshine of the mighty terraces, and wandered amidst miles of stucco +tanks and about those quiet Gargantuan grounds. A great, grey emptiness +it was, and it seemed marvellous to them, but not nearly so marvellous +as it might have seemed. "I never see a finer place, never," said Kipps, +turning to survey the entirety of the enormous glass front with Paxton's +vast image in the centre.</p> + +<p>"What it must 'ave cost to build!" said Ann, and left her sentence +eloquently incomplete.</p> + +<p>Presently they came to a region of caves and waterways, and amidst these +waterways strange reminders<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span> of the possibilities of the Creator. They +passed under an arch made of a whale's jaws, and discovered amidst +herbage, as if they were browsing or standing unoccupied and staring as +if amazed at themselves, huge effigies of iguanodons and deinotheria and +mastodons and suchlike cattle, gloriously done in green and gold.</p> + +<p>"They got everything," said Kipps. "Earl's Court isn't a patch on it."</p> + +<p>His mind was very greatly exercised by these monsters, and he hovered +about them and returned to them. "You'd wonder 'ow they ever got enough +to eat," he said several times.</p> + +<p class="center">§2</p> + +<p>It was later in the day, and upon a seat in the presence of the green +and gold Labyrinthodon that looms so splendidly above the lake, that the +Kippses fell into talk about their future. They had made a sufficient +lunch in the palace, they had seen pictures and no end of remarkable +things, and that and the amber sunlight made a mood for them, quiet and +philosophical, a heaven mood. Kipps broke a contemplative silence with +an abrupt illusion to one principal preoccupation. "I shall offer an +'pology and I shall offer 'er brother damages. If she likes to bring an +action for Breach after that, well—I done all I can....<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span> They can't get +much out of reading my letters in court, because I didn't write none. I +dessay a thousan' or two'll settle all that, anyhow. I ain't much +worried about that. That don't worry me very much, Ann—No."</p> + +<p>And then, "It's a lark, our marrying. It's curious 'ow things come +about. If I 'adn't run against you, where should I 'ave been now. Eh?... +Even after we met, I didn't seem to see it like—not marrying you I +mean—until that night I came. I didn't—reely."</p> + +<p>"I didn't neither," said Ann, with thoughtful eyes on the water.</p> + +<p>For a time Kipps' mind was occupied by the prettiness of her thinking +face. A faint, tremulous network of lights reflected from the ripples of +a passing duck, played subtly over her cheek and faded away.</p> + +<p>Ann reflected. "I s'pose things 'ad to be," she said.</p> + +<p>Kipps mused. "It's curious 'ow ever I got on to be engaged to 'er."</p> + +<p>"She wasn't suited to you," said Ann.</p> + +<p>"Suited. No fear! That's jest it. 'Ow did it come about?"</p> + +<p>"I expect she led you on," said Ann.</p> + +<p>Kipps was half-minded to assent. Then he had a twinge of conscience. "It +wasn't that, Ann," he said. "It's curious. I don't know what it was, but +it wasn't that. I don't recollect.... No.... Life's jolly rum; that's +one thing any'ow. And I suppose<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span> I'm a rum sort of feller. I get excited +sometimes, and then I don't seem to care <i>what</i> I do. That's about what +it was reely. Still——"</p> + +<p>They meditated, Kipps with his arms folded and pulling at his scanty +moustache. Presently a faint smile came over his face.</p> + +<p>"We'll get a nice <i>little</i> 'ouse out Ithe way."</p> + +<p>"It's 'omelier than Folkestone," said Ann.</p> + +<p>"Jest a nice <i>little</i> 'ouse," said Kipps. "There's Hughenden, of course. +But that's let. Besides being miles too big. And I wouldn't live in +Folkestone again some'ow—not for anything."</p> + +<p>"I'd like to 'ave a 'ouse of my own," said Ann. "I've often thought, +being in service, 'ow much I'd like to manage a 'ouse of my own."</p> + +<p>"You'd know all about what the servants was up to, anyhow," said Kipps, +amused.</p> + +<p>"Servants! We don't want no servants," said Ann, startled.</p> + +<p>"You'll 'ave to 'ave a servant," said Kipps. "If it's only to do the +'eavy work of the 'ouse."</p> + +<p>"What! and not be able 'ardly to go into my own kitchen?" said Ann.</p> + +<p>"You ought to 'ave a servant," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"One could easy 'ave a woman in for anything that's 'eavy," said Ann. +"Besides—— If I 'ad one of the girls one sees about nowadays I should +want to be taking the broom out of 'er 'and and do it all over myself. +I'd manage better without 'er."</p> + +<p>"We ought to 'ave one servant anyhow," said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</a></span> Kipps, "else 'ow should we +manage if we wanted to go out together or anything like that?"</p> + +<p>"I might get a <i>young</i> girl," said Ann, "and bring 'er up in my own +way."</p> + +<p>Kipps left the matter at that and came back to the house.</p> + +<p>"There's little 'ouses going into Hythe, just the sort we want, not too +big and not too small. We'll 'ave a kitching and a dining-room and a +little room to sit in of a night."</p> + +<p>"It mustn't be a 'ouse with a basement," said Ann.</p> + +<p>"What's a basement?"</p> + +<p>"It's a downstairs, where there's not arf enough light and everything +got to be carried—up and down, up and down, all day—coals and +everything. And it's got to 'ave a watertap and sink and things +upstairs. You'd 'ardly believe, Artie, if you 'adn't been in service, +'ow cruel and silly some 'ouses are built—you'd think they 'ad a spite +against servants the way the stairs are made."</p> + +<p>"We won't 'ave one of that sort," said Kipps....</p> + +<p>"We'll 'ave a quiet little life. Now go out a bit—now come 'ome again. +Read a book perhaps if we got nothing else to do. 'Ave old Buggins in +for an evening at times. 'Ave Sid down. There's bicycles——"</p> + +<p>"I don't fancy myself on a bicycle," said Ann.</p> + +<p>"'Ave a trailer," said Kipps, "and sit like a lady. I'd take you out to +New Romney easy as anything jest to see the old people."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't mind that," said Ann.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</a></span></p><p>"We'll jest 'ave a sensible little 'ouse, and sensible things. No art +or anything of that sort, nothing stuck-up or anything, but jest +sensible. We'll be as right as anything, Ann."</p> + +<p>"No socialism," said Ann, starting a lurking doubt.</p> + +<p>"No socialism," said Kipps; "just sensible, that's all."</p> + +<p>"I dessay it's all right for them that understand it, Artie, but I don't +agree with this socialism."</p> + +<p>"I don't neither, reely," said Kipps. "I can't argue about it, but it +don't seem real like to me. All the same Masterman's a clever fellow, +Ann."</p> + +<p>"I didn't like 'im at first, Artie, but I do now—in a way. You don't +understand 'im all at once."</p> + +<p>"'E's so clever," said Kipps. "Arf the time I can't make out what 'e's +up to. 'E's the cleverest chap I ever met. I never 'eard such talking. +'E ought to write a book.... It's a rum world, Ann, when a chap like +that isn't 'ardly able to earn a living."</p> + +<p>"It's 'is 'ealth," said Ann.</p> + +<p>"I expect it is," said Kipps, and ceased to talk for a little while.</p> + +<p>Then he spoke with deliberation, "Sea air might be the saving of 'im, +Ann."</p> + +<p>He glanced doubtfully at Ann, and she was looking at him even fondly.</p> + +<p>"You think of other people a lot," said Ann. "I been looking at you +sittin' there and thinking."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</a></span></p><p>"I suppose I do. I suppose when one's 'appy one does."</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> do," said Ann.</p> + +<p>"We shall be 'appy in that little 'ouse, Ann. Don't y' think?"</p> + +<p>She met his eyes and nodded.</p> + +<p>"I seem to see it," said Kipps, "sort of cosy like. 'Bout tea time and +muffins, kettle on the 'ob, cat on the 'earthrug. We must get a cat, +Ann, and <i>you</i> there. Eh?"</p> + +<p>They regarded each other with appreciative eyes and Kipps became +irrelevant.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe, Ann," he said, "I 'aven't kissed you not for 'arf an +hour. Leastways not since we was in those caves."</p> + +<p>For kissing had already ceased to be a matter of thrilling adventure for +them.</p> + +<p>Ann shook her head. "You be sensible and go on talking about Mr. +Masterman," she said....</p> + +<p>But Kipps had wandered to something else. "I like the way your 'air +turns back just there," he said, with an indicative finger. "It was like +that, I remember, when you was a girl. Sort of wavy. I've often thought +of it——.... 'Member when we raced that time—out be'ind the church?"</p> + +<p>Then for a time they sat idly, each following out agreeable meditations.</p> + +<p>"It's rum," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"What's rum?"</p> + +<p>"'Ow everything's 'appened," said Kipps. "Who'd<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</a></span> 'ave thought of our +being 'ere like this six weeks ago?... Who'd 'ave thought of my ever +'aving any money?"</p> + +<p>His eyes went to the big Labyrinthodon. He looked first carelessly and +then suddenly with a growing interest in its vast face.</p> + +<p>"I'm deshed," he murmured. Ann became interested. He laid a hand on her +arm and pointed. Ann scrutinised the Labyrinthodon and then came around +to Kipps' face in mute interrogation.</p> + +<p>"Don't you see it?" said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"See what?"</p> + +<p>"'E's jest <i>like</i> old Coote."</p> + +<p>"It's extinct," said Ann, not clearly apprehending.</p> + +<p>"I dessay 'e is. But 'e's jest like old Coote all the same for that."</p> + +<p>Kipps meditated on the monstrous shapes in sight. "I wonder 'ow all +these old antediluvium animals got extinct," he asked. "No one couldn't +possibly 'ave killed 'em."</p> + +<p>"Why! <i>I</i> know that," said Ann. "They was overtook by the Flood...."</p> + +<p>Kipps meditated for a while. "But I thought they had to take two of +everything there was——"</p> + +<p>"Within reason they 'ad," said Ann....</p> + +<p>The Kippses left it at that.</p> + +<p>The great green and gold Labyrinthodon took no notice of their +conversation. It gazed with its wonderful eyes over their heads into the +infinite<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</a></span>—inflexibly calm. It might indeed have been Coote himself +there, Coote, the unassuming, cutting them dead....</p> + +<p class="center">§3</p> + +<p>And in due course these two simple souls married, and Venus Urania, the +Goddess of Wedded Love, the Goddess of Tolerant Kindliness or Meeting +Half Way, to whom all young couples should pray and offer sacrifices of +self, who is indeed a very great and noble and kindly goddess, was in +some manner propitiated, and bent down and blessed them in their union.</p> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center">END OF BOOK II.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>BOOK III</span> <span class="smaller">KIPPSES</span></h2> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER I</span> <span class="smaller">THE HOUSING PROBLEM</span></h2> + +<p class="center">§1</p> + +<p>Honeymoons and all things come to an end, and you see at last Mr. and +Mrs. Arthur Kipps descending upon the Hythe platform—coming to Hythe to +find that nice <i>little</i> house—to realise that bright dream of a home +they had first talked about in the grounds of the Crystal Palace. They +are a valiant couple, you perceive, but small, and the world is a large +incongruous system of complex and difficult things. Kipps wears a grey +suit, with a wing-poke collar and a neat, smart tie. Mrs. Kipps is the +same bright and healthy little girl woman you saw in the marsh; not an +inch has been added to her stature in all my voluminous narrative. Only +now she wears a hat.</p> + +<p>It is a hat very unlike the hats she used to wear on her Sundays out, a +flourishing hat with feathers and buckle and bows and things. The price +of that hat would take many people's breath away—it cost two<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</a></span> guineas! +Kipps chose it. Kipps paid for it. They left the shop with flushed +cheeks and smarting eyes, glad to be out of range of the condescending +saleswoman.</p> + +<p>"Artie," said Ann, "you didn't ought to 'ave——"</p> + +<p>That was all. And you know, the hat didn't suit Ann a bit. Her clothes +did not suit her at all. The simple, cheap, clean brightness of her +former style had given place not only to this hat, but to several other +things in the same key. And out from among these things looked her +pretty face, the face of a wise little child—an artless wonder +struggling through a preposterous dignity.</p> + +<p>They had bought that hat one day when they had gone to see the shops in +Bond street. Kipps had looked at the passers-by and it had suddenly +occurred to him that Ann was dowdy. He had noted the hat of a very +proud-looking lady passing in an electric brougham and had resolved to +get Ann the nearest thing to that.</p> + +<p>The railway porters perceived some subtle incongruity in Ann, the knot +of cabmen in the station doorway, the two golfers and the lady with +daughters, who had also got out of the train. And Kipps, a little pale, +blowing a little, not in complete possession of himself, knew that they +noticed her and him. And Ann——. It is hard to say just what Ann +observed of these things.</p> + +<p>"'Ere!" said Kipps to a cabman, and regretted too late a vanished "H."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</a></span></p><p>"I got a trunk up there," he said to a ticket inspector, "marked A. K."</p> + +<p>"Ask a porter," said the inspector, turning his back.</p> + +<p>"Demn!" said Kipps, not altogether inaudibly.</p> + +<p class="center">§2</p> + +<p>It is all very well to sit in the sunshine and talk of the house you +will have, and another altogether to achieve it. We English—all the +world indeed to-day—live in a strange atmosphere of neglected great +issues, of insistent, triumphant petty things, we are given up to the +fine littlenesses of intercourse; table manners and small correctitudes +are the substance of our lives. You do not escape these things for long +even by so catastrophic a proceeding as flying to London with a young +lady of no wealth and inferior social position. The mists of noble +emotion swirl and pass and there you are divorced from all your deities +and grazing in the meadows under the Argus eyes of the social system, +the innumerable mean judgments you feel raining upon you, upon your +clothes and bearing, upon your pretensions and movements.</p> + +<p>Our world to-day is a meanly conceived one—it is only an added meanness +to conceal that fact. For one consequence, it has very few nice little +houses, such things do not come for the asking, they are not to be +bought with money during ignoble times. Its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</a></span> houses are built on the +ground of monstrously rich, shabbily extortionate landowners, by poor, +parsimonious, greedy people in a mood of elbowing competition. What can +you expect from such ridiculous conditions? To go househunting is to spy +out the nakedness of this pretentious world, to see what our +civilization amounts to when you take away curtains and flounces and +carpets and all the fluster and distraction of people and fittings. It +is to see mean plans meanly executed for mean ends, the conventions torn +aside, the secrets stripped, the substance underlying all such Chester +Cootery, soiled and worn and left.</p> + +<p>So you see our poor, dear Kippses going to and fro, in Hythe, in +Sandgate, in Ashford and Canterbury and Deal and Dover—at last even in +Folkestone, with "orders to view," pink and green and white and yellow +orders to view, and labelled keys in Kipps' hand and frowns and +perplexity upon their faces.... They did not clearly know what they +wanted, but whatever it was they saw, they knew they did not want that. +Always they found a confusing multitude of houses they could not take, +and none they could. Their dreams began to turn mainly on empty, +abandoned-looking rooms, with unfaded patches of paper to mark the place +of vanished pictures and doors that had lost their keys. They saw rooms +floored with boards that yawned apart and were splintered, skirtings +eloquent of the industrious mouse, kitchens with a dead black-beetle in +the empty cupboard, and a hideous variety of coal holes and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</a></span> dark +cupboards under the stairs. They stuck their little heads through roof +trap-doors and gazed at disorganised ball taps, at the bleak filthiness +of unstoppered roofs. There were occasions when it seemed to them that +they must be the victims of an elaborate conspiracy of house agents, so +bleak and cheerless is a second-hand empty house in comparison with the +humblest of inhabited dwellings.</p> + +<p>Commonly the houses were too big. They had huge windows that demanded +vast curtains in mitigation, countless bedrooms, acreage of stone steps +to be cleaned, kitchens that made Ann protest. She had come so far +towards a proper conception of Kipps' social position as to admit the +prospect of one servant—"but lor'!" she would say, "you'd want a +manservant in this 'ouse." When the houses were not too big, then they +were almost invariably the product of speculative building, of that +multitudinous hasty building for the extravagant multitude of new births +that was the essential disaster of the nineteenth century. The new +houses Ann refused as damp, and even the youngest of these that had been +in use showed remarkable signs of a sickly constitution, the plaster +flaked away, the floors gaped, the paper mouldered and peeled, the doors +dropped, the bricks scaled and the railings rusted, Nature in the form +of spiders, earwigs, cockroaches, mice, rats, fungi and remarkable +smells, was already fighting her way back....</p> + +<p>And the plan was invariably inconvenient, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</a></span>invariably. All the houses +they saw had a common quality for which she could find no word, but for +which the proper word is incivility. "They build these 'ouses," she +said, "as though girls wasn't 'uman beings." Sid's social democracy had +got into her blood perhaps, and anyhow they went about discovering the +most remarkable inconsiderateness in the contemporary house. "There's +kitching stairs to go up, Artie!" Ann would say. "Some poor girl's got +to go up and down, up and down, and be tired out, jest because they +haven't the sense to leave enough space to give their steps a proper +rise—and no water upstairs anywhere—every drop got to be carried! It's +'ouses like this wear girls out.</p> + +<p>"It's 'aving 'ouses built by men, I believe, makes all the work and +trouble," said Ann....</p> + +<p>The Kippses, you see, thought they were looking for a reasonably simple +little contemporary house, but indeed they were looking either for +dreamland or 1975 A.D. or thereabouts, and it hadn't come.</p> + +<p class="center">§3</p> + +<p>But it was a foolish thing of Kipps to begin building a house.</p> + +<p>He did that out of an extraordinary animosity for house agents he had +conceived.</p> + +<p>Everybody hates house agents just as everybody loves sailors. It is no +doubt a very wicked and unjust hatred, but the business of a novelist is +not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[Pg 401]</a></span> ethical principle but facts. Everybody hates house agents because +they have everybody at a disadvantage. All other callings have a certain +amount of give and take; the house agent simply takes. All other +callings want you; your solicitor is afraid you may change him, your +doctor cannot go too far, your novelist—if only you knew it—is mutely +abject towards your unspoken wishes—and as for your tradespeople, +milkmen will fight outside your front door for you, and green-grocers +call in tears if you discard them suddenly; but who ever heard of a +house agent struggling to serve anyone? You want to get a house; you go +to him, you dishevelled and angry from travel, anxious, enquiring; he +calm, clean, inactive, reticent, quietly doing nothing. You beg him to +reduce rents, whitewash ceilings, produce other houses, combine the +summer house of No. 6 with the conservatory of No. 4—much he cares! You +want to dispose of a house; then he is just the same, serene, +indifferent—on one occasion I remember he was picking his teeth all the +time he answered me. Competition is a mockery among house agents, they +are all alike, you cannot wound them by going to the opposite office, +you cannot dismiss them, you can at most dismiss yourself. They are +invulnerably placed behind mahogany and brass, too far usually even for +a sudden swift lunge with an umbrella, and to throw away the keys they +lend you instead of returning them is larceny and punishable as such.</p> + +<p>It was a house agent in Dover who finally decided<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[Pg 402]</a></span> Kipps to build. +Kipps, with a certain faltering in his voice, had delivered his +ultimatum, no basement, not more than eight rooms, hot and cold water +upstairs, coal cellar in the house but with intervening doors to keep +dust from the scullery and so forth. He stood blowing. "You'll have to +build a house," said the house agent, sighing wearily, "if you want all +that." It was rather for the sake of effective answer than with any +intention at the time that Kipps mumbled, "That's about what I shall +do—this goes on."</p> + +<p>Whereupon the house agent smiled. He smiled!</p> + +<p>When Kipps came to turn the thing over in his mind he was surprised to +find quite a considerable intention had germinated and was growing up in +him. After all, lots of people <i>have</i> built houses. How could there be +so many if they hadn't? Suppose he "reely" did! Then he would go to the +house agent and say, "'Ere, while you been getting me a sootable 'ouse, +blowed if I 'aven't built one!" Go round to all of them; all the house +agents in Folkestone, in Dover, Ashford, Canterbury, Margate, Ramsgate, +saying that! Perhaps then they might be sorry. It was in the small hours +that he awoke to a realisation that he had made up his mind in the +matter.</p> + +<p>"Ann," he said, "Ann," and also used the sharp of his elbow.</p> + +<p>Ann was at last awakened to the pitch of an indistinct enquiry what was +the matter.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to build a house, Ann."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[Pg 403]</a></span></p><p>"Eh?" said Ann, suddenly, as if awake.</p> + +<p>"Build a house."</p> + +<p>Ann said something incoherent about he'd better wait until the morning +before he did anything of the sort, and immediately with a fine +trustfulness went fast asleep again.</p> + +<p>But Kipps lay awake for a long while building his house, and in the +morning at breakfast he made his meaning clear. He had smarted under the +indignities of house agents long enough, and this seemed to promise +revenge—a fine revenge. "And, you know, we might reely make rather a +nice little 'ouse out of it—like we want."</p> + +<p>So resolved, it became possible for them to take a house for a year, +with a basement, no service lift, blackleading to do everywhere, no +water upstairs, no bathroom, vast sash windows to be cleaned from the +sill, stone steps with a twist and open to the rain into the coal +cellar, insufficient cupboards, unpaved path to the dustbin, no +fireplace to the servant's bedroom, no end of splintery wood to +scrub—in fact, a very typical English middle-class house. And having +added to this house some furniture, and a languid young person with +unauthentic golden hair named Gwendolen, who was engaged to a +sergeant-major and had formerly been in an hotel, having "moved in" and +spent some sleepless nights varied by nocturnal explorations in search +of burglars, because of the strangeness of being in a house for which +they were personally responsible, Kipps settled down for a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[Pg 404]</a></span> time and +turned himself with considerable resolution to the project of building a +home.</p> + +<p class="center">§4</p> + +<p>At first Kipps had gathered advice, finding an initial difficulty in how +to begin. He went into a builder's shop at Seabrook one day, and told +the lady in charge that he wanted a house built; he was breathless but +quite determined, and he was prepared to give his order there and then, +but she temporised with him and said her husband was out, and he left +without giving his name. Also he went and talked to a man in a cart who +was pointed out to him by a workman as the builder of a new house near +Saltwood, but he found him first sceptical and then overpoweringly +sarcastic. "I suppose you build a 'ouse every 'oliday," he said, and +turned from Kipps with every symptom of contempt.</p> + +<p>Afterwards Carshot told alarming stories about builders, and shook +Kipps' expressed resolution a good deal, and then Pierce raised the +question whether one ought to go in the first instance to a builder at +all and not rather to an architect. Pierce knew a man at Ashford whose +brother was an architect, and as it is always better in these matters to +get someone you know, the Kippses decided, before Pierce had gone, and +Carshot's warning had resumed their sway, to apply to him. They did +so—rather dubiously.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[Pg 405]</a></span></p><p>The architect who was brother of Pierce's friend appeared as a small, +alert individual with a black bag and a cylindrical silk hat, and he sat +at the dining-room table, with his hat and his bag exactly equidistant +right and left of him, and maintained a demeanour of impressive +woodenness, while Kipps on the hearthrug, with a quaking sense of +gigantic enterprise, vacillated answers to his enquiries. Ann held a +watching brief for herself, in a position she had chosen as suitable to +the occasion beside the corner of the carved oak sideboard. They felt, +in a sense, at bay.</p> + +<p>The architect began by asking for the site, and seemed a little +discomposed to discover this had still to be found. "I thought of +building just anywhere," said Kipps. "I 'aven't made up my mind about +that yet." The architect remarked that he would have preferred to see +the site in order to know where to put what he called his "ugly side," +but it was quite possible of course to plan a house "in the air," on the +level, "simply with back and front assumed"—if they would like to do +that. Kipps flushed slightly, and secretly hoping it would make no great +difference in the fees, said a little doubtfully that he thought that +would be all right.</p> + +<p>The architect then marked off as it were the first section of his +subject, with a single dry cough, opened his bag, took out a spring tape +measure, some hard biscuits, a metal flask, a new pair of dogskin +gloves, a clockwork motor-car partially wrapped in paper, a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[Pg 406]</a></span> bunch of +violets, a paper of small brass screws, and finally a large, distended +notebook; he replaced the other objects carefully, opened his notebook, +put a pencil to his lips and said: "And what accommodation will you +require?" To which Ann, who had followed his every movement with the +closest attention and a deepening dread, replied with the violent +suddenness of one who has long lain in wait, "Cubbuds!"</p> + +<p>"Anyhow," she added, catching her husband's eye.</p> + +<p>The architect wrote it down.</p> + +<p>"And how many rooms?" he said, coming to secondary matters.</p> + +<p>The young people regarded one another. It was dreadfully like giving an +order.</p> + +<p>"How many bedrooms, for example?" asked the architect.</p> + +<p>"One?" suggested Kipps, inclined now to minimise at any cost.</p> + +<p>"There's Gwendolen," said Ann.</p> + +<p>"Visitors perhaps," said the architect, and temperately, "You never +know."</p> + +<p>"Two, p'raps?" said Kipps. "We don't want no more than a <i>little</i> 'ouse, +you know."</p> + +<p>"But the merest shooting-box——," said the architect.</p> + +<p>They got to six; he beat them steadily from bedroom to bedroom, the word +"nursery" played across their imaginative skies—he mentioned it as the +remotest possibility—and then six being reluctantly conceded, Ann came +forward to the table, sat down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[Pg 407]</a></span> and delivered herself of one of her +prepared conditions: "'Ot and cold water," she said, "laid on to each +room—any'ow."</p> + +<p>It was an idea long since acquired from Sid.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Kipps, on the hearthrug, "'Ot and cold water laid on to each +bedroom—we've settled on that."</p> + +<p>It was the first intimation to the architect that he had to deal with a +couple of exceptional originality, and as he had spent the previous +afternoon in finding three large houses in <i>The Builder</i>, which he +intended to combine into an original and copyright design of his own, he +naturally struggled against these novel requirements. He enlarged on the +extreme expensiveness of plumbing, on the extreme expensiveness of +everything not already arranged for in his scheme, and only when Ann +declared she'd as soon not have the house as not have her requirements, +and Kipps, blenching the while, had said he didn't mind what a thing +cost him so long as he got what he wanted, did he allow a kindred +originality of his own to appear beneath the acquired professionalism of +his methods. He dismissed their previous talk with his paragraphic +cough. "Of course," he said, "if you don't mind being +unconventional——"</p> + +<p>He explained that he had been thinking of a Queen Anne style of +architecture (Ann directly she heard her name shook her head at Kipps in +an aside) so far as the exterior went. For his own part, he said, he +liked to have the exterior of a house in a style, not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[Pg 408]</a></span> priggishly in a +style, but mixed, with one style uppermost, and the gables and dormers +and casements of the Queen Anne style, with a little rough cast and sham +timbering here and there and perhaps a bit of an overhang diversified a +house and made it interesting. The advantages of what he called a Queen +Anne style was that it had such a variety of features.... Still, if they +were prepared to be unconventional it could be done. A number of houses +were now built in the unconventional style and were often very pretty. +In the unconventional style one frequently had what perhaps he might +call Internal Features, for example, an Old English oak staircase and +gallery. White rough-cast and green paint were a good deal favoured in +houses of this type.</p> + +<p>He indicated that this excursus on style was finished by a momentary use +of his cough, and reopened his notebook, which he had closed to wave +about in a moment of descriptive enthusiasm while expatiating on the +unbridled wealth of External Features associated with Queen Anne. "Six +bedrooms," he said, moistening his pencil. "One with barred windows +suitable for a nursery if required."</p> + +<p>Kipps endorsed this huskily and reluctantly.</p> + +<p>There followed a most interesting discussion upon house building, in +which Kipps played a minor part. They passed from bedrooms to the +kitchen and scullery, and there Ann displayed an intelligent +exactingness that won the expressed admiration of the architect. They +were particularly novel upon the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[Pg 409]</a></span> position of the coal cellar, which Ann +held to be altogether too low in the ordinary house, necessitating much +heavy carrying. They dismissed as impracticable the idea of having coal +cellar and kitchen at the top of the house, because that would involve +carrying all the coal through the house, and therewith much subsequent +cleaning, and for a time they dealt with a conception of a coal cellar +on the ground floor with a light staircase running up outside to an +exterior shoot. "It might be made a Feature," said the architect, a +little doubtfully, jotting down a note of it. "It would be apt to get +black, you know."</p> + +<p>Thence they passed to the alternative of service lifts, and then by an +inspiration of the architect to the possibilities of gas heating. Kipps +did a complicated verbal fugue on the theme, "gas heating heats the +air," with variable aspirates; he became very red and was lost to the +discussion altogether for a time, though his lips kept silently on.</p> + +<p>Subsequently the architect wrote to say that he found in his notebook +very full and explicit directions for bow windows to all rooms, for +bedrooms, for water supply, lift, height of stairs and absence of twists +therein, for a well-ventilated kitchen twenty feet square, with two +dressers and a large box-window seat, for scullery and outhouses and +offices, but nothing whatever about drawing-room, dining-room, library +or study, or approximate cost, and he awaited further instructions. He +presumed there would be a breakfast-room, dining-room, drawing-room, +and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[Pg 410]</a></span> study for Mr. Kipps, at least that was his conception, and the +young couple discussed this matter long and ardently.</p> + +<p>Ann was distinctly restrictive in this direction. "I don't see what you +want a drawin'-room and a dinin' <i>and</i> a kitchen for. If we was going to +let in summer—well and good. But we're not going to let. Consequently +we don't want so many rooms. Then there's a 'all. What use is a 'all? It +only makes work. And a study!"</p> + +<p>Kipps had been humming and stroking his moustache since he had read the +architect's letter. "I think I'd like a little bit of a study—not a big +one, of course, but one with a desk and book-shelves, like there was in +Hughenden. I'd like that."</p> + +<p>It was only after they had talked to the architect again and seen how +scandalised he was at the idea of not having a drawing-room that they +consented to that Internal Feature. They consented to please him. "But +we shan't never use it," said Ann.</p> + +<p>Kipps had his way about a study. "When I get that study," said Kipps, "I +shall do a bit of reading I've long wanted to do. I shall make a habit +of going in there and reading something an hour every day. There's +Shakespeare and a lot of things a man like me ought to read. Besides, we +got to 'ave <i>somewhere</i> to put the Encyclopædia. I've always thought a +study was about what I've wanted all along. You can't 'elp reading if +you got a study. If you 'aven't,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[Pg 411]</a></span> there's nothing for it, so far's <i>I</i> +can see, but treshy novels."</p> + +<p>He looked down at Ann and was surprised to see a joyless thoughtfulness +upon her face.</p> + +<p>"Fency, Ann!" he said, not too buoyantly, "'aving a little 'ouse of our +own!"</p> + +<p>"It won't be a little 'ouse," said Ann, "not with all them rooms."</p> + +<p class="center">§5</p> + +<p>Any lingering doubt in that matter was dispelled when it came to plans.</p> + +<p>The architect drew three sets of plans on a transparent bluish sort of +paper that smelt abominably. He painted them very nicely; brick red and +ginger, and arsenic green and a leaden sort of blue, and brought them +over to show our young people. The first set were very simple, with +practically no External Features—"a plain style," he said it was—but +it looked a big sort of house nevertheless; the second had such extras +as a conservatory, bow windows of various sorts, one rough-cast gable +and one half-timbered ditto in plaster, and a sort of overhung verandah, +and was much more imposing; and the third was quite fungoid with +External Features, and honeycombed with Internal ones; it was, he said, +"practically a mansion," and altogether a very noble fruit of the +creative mind of man. It was, he admitted, perhaps almost too good for +Hythe; his art had run away with him and produced a modern mansion in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[Pg 412]</a></span> +the "best Folkestone style"; it had a central hall with a staircase, a +Moorish gallery, and Tudor stained glass window, crenelated battlements +to the leading over the portico, an octagonal bulge with octagonal bay +windows, surmounted by an oriental dome of metal, lines of yellow bricks +to break up the red and many other richnesses and attractions. It was +the sort of house, ornate and in its dignified way voluptuous, that a +city magnate might build, but it seemed excessive to the Kippses. The +first plan had seven bedrooms, the second eight, the third eleven; that +had, the architect explained, "worked in" as if they were pebbles in a +mountaineer's boat.</p> + +<p>"They're big 'ouses," said Ann directly the elevations were unrolled.</p> + +<p>Kipps listened to the architect with round eyes and an exuberant caution +in his manner, anxious not to commit himself further than he had done to +the enterprise, and the architect pointed out the Features and other +objects of interest with the scalpel belonging to a pocket manicure set +that he carried. Ann watched Kipps' face and communicated with him +furtively over the architect's head. "<i>Not so big</i>," said Ann's lips.</p> + +<p>"It's a bit big for what I meant," said Kipps, with a reassuring eye on +Ann.</p> + +<p>"You won't think it big when you see it up," said the architect; "you +take my word for that."</p> + +<p>"We don't want no more than six bedrooms," said Kipps.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[Pg 413]</a></span></p><p>"Make this one a box-room, then," said the architect.</p> + +<p>A feeling of impotence silenced Kipps for a time.</p> + +<p>"Now which," said the architect, spreading them out, "is it to be?"</p> + +<p>He flattened down the plans of the most ornate mansion to show it to +better effect.</p> + +<p>Kipps wanted to know how much each would cost "at the outside," which +led to much alarmed signalling from Ann. But the architect could +estimate only in the most general way.</p> + +<p>They were not really committed to anything when the architect went away; +Kipps had promised to think it over, that was all.</p> + +<p>"We can't 'ave that 'ouse," said Ann.</p> + +<p>"They're miles too big—all of them," agreed Kipps.</p> + +<p>"You'd want——. Four servants wouldn't be 'ardly enough," said Ann.</p> + +<p>Kipps went to the hearthrug and spread himself. His tone was almost +offhand. "Nex' time 'e comes," said Kipps, "I'll 'splain to him. It +isn't at all the sort of thing we want. It's—it's a misunderstanding. +You got no occasion to be anxious 'bout it, Ann."</p> + +<p>"I don't see much good reely in building an 'ouse at all," said Ann.</p> + +<p>"Oo, we <i>got</i> to build a 'ouse now we begun," said Kipps. "But, now, +supposin' we 'ad——."</p> + +<p>He spread out the most modest of the three plans and scratched his cheek.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[Pg 414]</a></span></p><p class="center">§6</p> + +<p>It was unfortunate that old Kipps came over the next day.</p> + +<p>Old Kipps always produced peculiar states of mind in his nephew, a rash +assertiveness, a disposition towards display unlike his usual self. +There had been great difficulty in reconciling both these old people to +the Pornick mesalliance, and at times the controversy echoed in old +Kipps' expressed thoughts. This perhaps it was, and no ignoble vanity, +that set the note of florid successfulness going in Kipps' conversation +whenever his uncle appeared. Mrs. Kipps was, as a matter of fact, not +reconciled at all, she had declined all invitations to come over on the +'bus, and was a taciturn hostess on the one occasion when the young +people called at the toy shop <i>en route</i> for Mrs. Pornick. She displayed +a tendency to sniff that was clearly due to pride rather than catarrh, +and except for telling Ann she hoped she would not feel too "stuck up" +about her marriage, confined her conversation to her nephew or the +infinite. The call was a brief one and made up chiefly of pauses, no +refreshment was offered or asked for, and Ann departed with a singularly +high colour. For some reason she would not call at the toy shop when +they found themselves again in New Romney.</p> + +<p>But old Kipps, having adventured over and tried the table of the new +<i>menage</i> and found it to his taste,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[Pg 415]</a></span> showed many signs of softening +towards Ann. He came again and then again. He would come over by the +'bus, and except when his mouth was absolutely full, he would give his +nephew one solid and continuous mass of advice of the most subtle and +disturbing description, until it was time to toddle back to the High +Street for the afternoon 'bus. He would walk with him to the sea front, +and commence <i>pourparlers</i> with boatmen for the purchase of one of their +boats. "You ought to keep a boat of your own," he said, though Kipps was +a singularly poor sailor—or he would pursue a plan that was forming in +his mind in which he should own and manage what he called "weekly" +property in the less conspicuous streets of Hythe. The cream of that was +to be a weekly collection of rents in person, the nearest approach to +feudal splendour left in this democratised country. He gave no hint of +the source of the capital he designed for this investment and at times +it would appear he intended it as an occupation for his nephew rather +than himself.</p> + +<p>But there remained something in his manner towards Ann; in the glances +of scrutiny he gave her unawares, that kept Kipps alertly expansive +whenever he was about. And in all sorts of ways. It was on account of +old Kipps, for example, that our Kipps plunged one day, a golden plunge, +and brought home a box of cummerbundy ninepenny cigars, and substituted +blue label old Methusaleh Four Stars for the common and generally +satisfactory white brand.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[Pg 416]</a></span></p><p>"Some of this is whiskey, my boy," said old Kipps when he tasted it, +smacking critical lips.</p> + +<p>"Saw a lot of young officer fellers coming along," said old Kipps. "You +ought to join the volunteers, my boy, and get to know a few."</p> + +<p>"I dessay I shall," said Kipps. "Later."</p> + +<p>"They'd make you an officer, you know, 'n no time. They want officers," +said old Kipps. "It isn't everyone can afford it. They'd be regular glad +to 'ave you.... Ain't bort a dog yet?"</p> + +<p>"Not yet, uncle. 'Ave a segar?"</p> + +<p>"Not a moty car?"</p> + +<p>"Not yet, uncle."</p> + +<p>"There's no 'urry 'bout that. And don't get one of these 'ere trashy +cheap ones when you do get it, my boy. Get one as'll last a lifetime.... +I'm surprised you don't 'ire a bit more."</p> + +<p>"Ann don't seem to fency a moty car," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said old Kipps, "I expect not," and glanced a comment at the door. +"She ain't used to going out," he said. "More at 'ome indoors."</p> + +<p>"Fact is," said Kipps, hastily, "we're thinking of building a 'ouse."</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't do that, my boy," began old Kipps, but his nephew was +routing in the cheffonier drawer amidst the plans. He got them in time +to check some further comment on Ann. "Um," said the old gentleman, a +little impressed by the extraordinary odour and the unusual transparency +of the tracing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[Pg 417]</a></span> paper Kipps put into his hands. "Thinking of building a +'ouse, are you?"</p> + +<p>Kipps began with the most modest of the three projects.</p> + +<p>Old Kipps read slowly through his silver-rimmed spectacles: "Plan of a +'ouse for Arthur Kipps Esquire—Um."</p> + +<p>He didn't warm to the project all at once, and Ann drifted into the room +to find him still scrutinising the architect's proposals a little doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"We couldn't find a decent 'ouse anywhere," said Kipps, leaning against +the table and assuming an offhand note. "I didn't see why we shouldn't +run up one for ourselves." Old Kipps could not help liking the tone of that.</p> + +<p>"We thought we might see——" said Ann.</p> + +<p>"It's a spekerlation, of course," said old Kipps, and held the plan at a +distance of two feet or more from his glasses and frowned. "This isn't +exactly the 'ouse I should expect you to 'ave thought of, though," he +said. "Practically it's a villa. It's the sort of 'ouse a bank clerk +might 'ave. 'Tisn't what I should call a gentleman's 'ouse, Artie."</p> + +<p>"It's plain, of course," said Kipps, standing beside his uncle and +looking down at this plan, which certainly did seem a little less +magnificent now than it had at the first encounter.</p> + +<p>"You mustn't 'ave it too plain," said old Kipps.</p> + +<p>"If it's comfortable——," Ann hazarded.</p> + +<p>Old Kipps glanced at her over his spectacles.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[Pg 418]</a></span> "You ain't comfortable, +my gal, in this world, not if you don't live up to your position," so +putting compactly into contemporary English that fine old phrase, +<i>noblesse oblige</i>. "A 'ouse of this sort is what a retired tradesman +might 'ave, or some little whippersnapper of a s'liciter. But <i>you</i>——"</p> + +<p>"Course that isn't the o'ny plan," said Kipps, and tried the middle one.</p> + +<p>But it was the third one which won over old Kipps. "Now that's a +<i>'ouse</i>, my boy," he said at the sight of it.</p> + +<p>Ann came and stood just behind her husband's shoulder while old Kipps +expanded upon the desirability of the larger scheme. "You ought to 'ave +a billiard-room," he said; "I don't see that, but all the rest's all +right. A lot of these 'ere officers 'ere 'ud be glad of a game of +billiards."...</p> + +<p>"What's all these dots?" said old Kipps.</p> + +<p>"S'rubbery," said Kipps. "Flow'ing s'rubs."</p> + +<p>"There's eleven bedrooms in that 'ouse," said Ann. "It's a bit of a lot, +ain't it, uncle?"</p> + +<p>"You'll want 'em, my girl. As you get on, you'll be 'aving visitors. +Friends of your 'usband, p'raps, from the School of Musketry, what you +want 'im to get on with. You can't never tell."</p> + +<p>"If we 'ave a great s'rubbery," Ann ventured, "we shall 'ave to keep a +gardener."</p> + +<p>"If you don't 'ave a s'rubbery," said old Kipps, with a note of patient +reasoning, "'ow are you to prevent every jackanapes that goes by, +starin' into your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[Pg 419]</a></span> drorin'-room winder—p'raps when you get someone a +bit special to entertain?"</p> + +<p>"We ain't <i>used</i> to a s'rubbery," said Ann, mulishly; "we get on very +well 'ere."</p> + +<p>"It isn't what you're used to," said old Kipps, "it's what you ought to +'ave <i>now</i>." And with that Ann dropped out of the discussion.</p> + +<p>"Study and lib'ry," old Kipps read. "That's right. I see a Tantalus the +other day over Brookland, the very thing for a gentleman's study. I'll +try and get over and bid for it."...</p> + +<p>By 'bus time old Kipps was quite enthusiastic about the house building, +and it seemed to be definitely settled that the largest plan was the one +decided upon. But Ann had said nothing further in the matter.</p> + +<p class="center">§7</p> + +<p>When Kipps returned from seeing his uncle into the 'bus—there always +seemed a certain doubt whether that portly figure would go into the +little red "Tip-Top" box—he found Ann still standing by the table, +looking with an expression of comprehensive disapproval at the three +plans.</p> + +<p>"There don't seem much the matter with uncle," said Kipps, assuming the +hearthrug, "spite of 'is 'eartburn. 'E 'opped up them steps like a +bird."</p> + +<p>Ann remained staring at the plans.</p> + +<p>"You don't like them plans?" hazarded Kipps.</p> + +<p>"No, I don't, Artie."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[Pg 420]</a></span></p><p>"We got to build somethin' now."</p> + +<p>"But—it's a gentleman's 'ouse, Artie!"</p> + +<p>"It's—it's a decent size, o' course."</p> + +<p>Kipps took a flirting look at the drawing and went to the window.</p> + +<p>"Look at the cleanin'. Free servants'll be lost in that 'ouse, Artie."</p> + +<p>"We must <i>'ave</i> servants," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>Ann looked despondently at her future residence.</p> + +<p>"We got to keep up our position, any'ow," said Kipps, turning towards +her. "It stands to reason, Ann, we got a position. Very well! I can't +'ave you scrubbin' floors. You got to 'ave a servant and you got to +manage a 'ouse. You wouldn't 'ave me ashamed——"</p> + +<p>Ann opened her lips and did not speak.</p> + +<p>"What?" asked Kipps.</p> + +<p>"Nothing," said Ann, "only I did want it to be a <i>little</i> 'ouse, Artie. +I wanted it to be a 'andy little 'ouse, jest for us."</p> + +<p>Kipps' face was suddenly flushed and mulish. He took up the curiously +smelling tracings again. "I'm not a-going to be looked down upon," he +said. "It's not only Uncle I'm thinking of!"</p> + +<p>Ann stared at him.</p> + +<p>Kipps went on. "I won't 'ave that young Walshingham f'r instance, +sneering and sniffling at me. Making out as if we was all wrong. I see +'im yesterday.... Nor Coote neether. I'm as good—we're as good. +Whatever's 'appened."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[Pg 421]</a></span></p><p>Silence and the rustle of plans.</p> + +<p>He looked up and saw Ann's eyes bright with tears. For a moment the two +stared at one another.</p> + +<p>"We'll 'ave the big 'ouse," said Ann, with a gulp. "I didn't think of +that, Artie."</p> + +<p>Her aspect was fierce and resolute, and she struggled with emotion. +"We'll 'ave the big 'ouse," she repeated. "They shan't say I dragged you +down wiv' me—none of them shan't say that. I've thought—I've always +been afraid of that."</p> + +<p>Kipps looked again at the plan, and suddenly the grand house had become +very grand indeed. He blew.</p> + +<p>"No, Artie, none of them shan't say that," and with something blind in +her motions Ann tried to turn the plan round to her....</p> + +<p>After all, Kipps thought there might be something to say for the milder +project.... But he had gone so far that now he did not know how to say +it.</p> + +<p>And so the plans went out to the builders, and in a little while Kipps +was committed to two thousand five hundred pounds worth of building. But +then, you know, he had an income of twelve hundred a year.</p> + +<p class="center">§8</p> + +<p>It is extraordinary what minor difficulties cluster about house +building.</p> + +<p>"I say, Ann," remarked Kipps one day, "we shall 'ave to call this little +'ouse by a name. I was thinking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">[Pg 422]</a></span> of 'Ome Cottage. But I dunno whether +'Ome Cottage is quite the thing like. All these little fishermen's +places are called Cottages."</p> + +<p>"I like cottage," said Ann.</p> + +<p>"It's got eleven bedrooms, d'see," said Kipps. "I don't see 'ow you can +call it a cottage with more bedrooms than four. Prop'ly speaking, it's a +Large Villa. Prop'ly, it's almost a Big 'Ouse. Leastways a 'Ouse."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Ann, "if you must call it Villa—Home Villa.... I wish it +wasn't."</p> + +<p>Kipps meditated.</p> + +<p>"'Ow about Eureka Villa?" he said, raising his voice.</p> + +<p>"What's Eureka?"</p> + +<p>"It's a name," he said. "There used to be Eureka Dress Fasteners. +There's lots of names, come to think of it, to be got out of a shop. +There's Pyjama Villa. I remember that in the hosiery. No, come to think, +that wouldn't do. But Maraposa—sort of oatmeal cloth, that was.... No! +Eureka's better."</p> + +<p>Ann meditated. "It seems silly like to 'ave a name that don't mean +much."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it does," said Kipps. "Though it's what people 'ave to do."</p> + +<p>He became meditative. "I got it!" he cried.</p> + +<p>"Not Oreeka!" said Ann.</p> + +<p>"No! There used to be a 'ouse at Hastings opposite our school—quite a +big 'ouse it was—St. Ann's. Now <i>that</i>——"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[Pg 423]</a></span></p><p>"No," said Mrs. Kipps with decision. "Thanking you kindly, but I don't +have no butcher boys making game of me."...</p> + +<p>They consulted Carshot, who suggested after some days of reflection, +Waddycombe, as a graceful reminder of Kipps' grandfather; Old Kipps, who +was for "Upton Manor House," where he had once been second footman; +Buggins, who favoured either a stern simple number, "Number One"—if +there were no other houses there, or something patriotic, as "Empire +Villa," and Pierce, who inclined to "Sandringham"; but in spite of all +this help they were still undecided when, amidst violent perturbations +of the soul, and after the most complex and difficult hagglings, +wranglings, fears, muddles and goings to and fro, Kipps became the +joyless owner of a freehold plot of three-eighths of an acre, and saw +the turf being wheeled away from the site that should one day be his home.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[Pg 424]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER II</span> <span class="smaller">THE CALLERS</span></h2> + +<p class="center">§1</p> + +<p>The Kippses sat at their midday dinner-table and amidst the vestiges of +rhubarb pie, and discussed two postcards the one o'clock post had +brought. It was a rare bright moment of sunshine in a wet and windy day +in the March that followed their marriage. Kipps was attired in a suit +of brown, with a tie of fashionable green, while Ann wore one of those +picturesque loose robes that are usually associated with sandals and +advanced ideas. But there weren't any sandals on Ann or any advanced +ideas, and the robe had come quite recently through the counsels of Mrs. +Sid Pornick. "It's Artlike," said Kipps, giving way. "It's more +comfortable," said Ann. The room looked out by French windows upon a +little patch of green and the Hythe parade. The parade was all shiny wet +with rain, and the green-grey sea tumbled and tumbled between parade and sky.</p> + +<p>The Kipps' furniture, except for certain chromo lithographs of Kipps' +incidental choice that struck a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[Pg 425]</a></span> quiet note amidst the wall paper, had +been tactfully forced by an expert salesman, and it was in a style of +mediocre elegance. There was a sideboard of carved oak that had only one +fault, it reminded Kipps at times of wood-carving, and its panel of +bevelled glass now reflected the back of his head. On its shelf were two +books from Parsons' Library, each with a "place" marked by a slip of +paper; neither of the Kippses could have told you the title of either +book they read, much less the author's name. There was an ebonised +overmantel set with phials and pots of brilliant colour, each duplicated +by looking-glass, and bearing also a pair of Chinese jars made in +Birmingham, a wedding present from Mr. and Mrs. Sidney Pornick, and +several sumptuous Japanese fans. And there was a Turkey carpet of great +richness. In addition to these modern exploits of Messrs. Bunt and +Bubble, there were two inactive tall clocks, whose extreme dilapidation +appealed to the connoisseur; a terrestrial and a celestial globe, the +latter deeply indented; a number of good old iron moulded and dusty +books, and a stuffed owl wanting one (easily replaceable) glass eye, +obtained by the exertions of Uncle Kipps. The table equipage was as much +as possible like Mrs. Bindon Botting's, only more costly, and in +addition there were green and crimson wine glasses—though the Kippses +never drank wine.</p> + +<p>Kipps turned to the more legible of his two postcards again.</p> + +<p>"'Unavoidably prevented from seein' me to-day,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426">[Pg 426]</a></span>' 'e says. I like 'is +cheek. After I give 'im 'is start and everything."</p> + +<p>He blew.</p> + +<p>"'E certainly treats you a bit orf'and," said Ann.</p> + +<p>Kipps gave vent to his dislike of young Walshingham. "He's getting too +big for 'is britches," he said. "I'm beginning to wish she <i>'ad</i> brought +an action for breach. Ever since <i>'e</i> said she wouldn't, 'e's seemed to +think I've got no right to spend my own money."</p> + +<p>"'E's never liked your building the 'ouse," said Ann.</p> + +<p>Kipps displayed wrath. "What the goodness 'as it got to do wiv' 'im?"</p> + +<p>"Overman indeed!" he added. "Overmantel!... 'E trys that on with me, +I'll tell 'im something 'e won't like."</p> + +<p>He took up the second card. "Dashed if I can read a word of it. I can +jest make out Chit-low at the end and that's all."</p> + +<p>He scrutinised it. "It's like someone in a fit writing. This here might +be W H A T—<i>what</i>. P R I C E—<i>I</i> got it! What price Harry now? It was +a sort of saying of 'is. I expect 'e's either done something or not done +something towards starting that play, Ann."</p> + +<p>"I expect that's about it," said Ann.</p> + +<p>Kipps grunted with effort. "I can't read the rest," he said at last, +"nohow."</p> + +<p>A thoroughly annoying post. He pitched the card on the table, stood up +and went to the window, where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">[Pg 427]</a></span> Ann, after a momentary reconnaisance at +Chitterlow's hieroglyphics, came to join him.</p> + +<p>"Wonder what I shall do this afternoon," said Kipps, with his hands deep +in his pockets.</p> + +<p>He produced and lit a cigarette.</p> + +<p>"Go for a walk, I s'pose," said Ann.</p> + +<p>"I <i>been</i> for a walk this morning.</p> + +<p>"S'pose I must go for another," he added, after an interval.</p> + +<p>They regarded the windy waste of sea for a space.</p> + +<p>"Wonder why it is 'e won't see me," said Kipps, returning to the problem +of young Walshingham. "It's all lies about 'is being too busy."</p> + +<p>Ann offered no solution.</p> + +<p>"Rain again!" said Kipps, as the lash of the little drops stung the +window.</p> + +<p>"Oo, bother!" said Kipps, "you got to do something. Look 'ere, Ann! I'll +go orf for a reg'lar tramp through the rain, up by Saltwood, 'round by +Newington, over the camp, and so 'round and back, and see 'ow they're +getting on about the 'ouse. See? And look 'ere! you get Gwendolen to go +out a bit before I come back. If it's still rainy, she can easy go +'round and see 'er sister. Then we'll 'ave a bit of tea, with tea +cake—all buttery, see? Toce it ourselves, p'raps. Eh?"</p> + +<p>"I dessay I can find something to do in the 'ouse," said Ann, +considering. "You'll take your mackintosh and leggin's, I s'pose. You'll +get wet without your mackintosh over those roads."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">[Pg 428]</a></span></p><p>"Righ-O," said Kipps, and went to ask Gwendolen for his brown leggings +and his other pair of boots.</p> + +<p class="center">§2</p> + +<p>Things conspired to demoralise Kipps that afternoon.</p> + +<p>When he got outside the house everything looked so wet under the drive +of the southwester that he abandoned the prospect of the clay lanes +towards Newington altogether, and turned east to Folkestone along the +Seabrook digue. His mackintosh flapped about him, the rain stung his +cheek; for a time he felt a hardy man. And then as abruptly the rain +ceased and the wind fell, and before he was through Sandgate High Street +it was a bright spring day. And there was Kipps in his mackintosh and +squeaky leggings, looking like a fool!</p> + +<p>Inertia carried him another mile to the Leas, and there the whole world +was pretending there had never been such a thing as rain—ever. There +wasn't a cloud in the sky; except for an occasional puddle the asphalt +paths looked as dry as a bone. A smartly dressed man in one of those +overcoats that look like ordinary cloth and are really most deceitfully +and unfairly waterproof, passed him and glanced at the stiff folds of +his mackintosh. "Demn!" said Kipps. His mackintosh swished against his +leggings, his leggings piped and whistled over his boot-tops.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429">[Pg 429]</a></span></p><p>"Why do I never get anything right?" Kipps asked of a bright implacable +universe.</p> + +<p>Nice old ladies passed him, refined people with tidy umbrellas, bright, +beautiful, supercilious-looking children. Of course! the right thing for +such a day as this was a light overcoat and an umbrella. A child might +have known that. He had them at home, but how could one explain that? He +decided to turn down by the Harvey monument and escape through Clifton +Gardens towards the hills. And thereby he came upon Coote.</p> + +<p>He already felt the most abject and propitiatory of social outcasts when +he came upon Coote, and Coote finished him. He passed within a yard of +Coote. Coote was coming along towards the Leas, and when Kipps saw him +his legs hesitated about their office and he seemed to himself to +stagger about all over the footpath. At the sight of him Coote started +visibly. Then a sort of <i>rigor vitae</i> passed through his frame, his jaw +protruded and errant bubbles of air seemed to escape and run about +beneath his loose skin. (Seemed I say—I am perfectly well aware that +there is really connective tissue in Coote as in all of us to prevent +anything of the sort.) His eyes fixed themselves on the horizon and +glazed. As he went by Kipps could hear his even, resolute breathing. He +went by, and Kipps staggered on into a universe of dead cats and dust +heaps, rind and ashes—<i>cut!</i> Cut!</p> + +<p>It was part of the inexorable decrees of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430">[Pg 430]</a></span>Providence that almost +immediately afterwards the residuum of Kipps had to pass a very, very +long and observant-looking girls' school.</p> + +<p>Kipps recovered consciousness again on the road between Shorncliffe +Station and Cheriton, though he cannot remember, indeed to this day he +has never attempted to remember, how he got there. And he was back at +certain thoughts suggested by his last night's novel reading, that +linked up directly with the pariah-like emotions of these last +encounters. The novel lay at home upon the cheffonier; it was one of +society and politics—there is no need whatever to give the title or +name the author—written with a heavy-handed thoroughness that overrode +any possibility of resistance on the part of the Kipps mind. It had +crushed all his poor little edifice of ideals, his dreams of a sensible, +unassuming existence, of snugness, of not caring what people said and +all the rest of it, to dust; it had reinstated, squarely and strongly +again, the only proper conception of English social life. There was a +character in the book who trifled with Art, who was addicted to reading +French novels, who dressed in a loose, careless way, who was a sorrow to +his dignified, silvery-haired, politico-religious mother, and met the +admonitions of bishops with a front of brass. He treated a "nice girl," +to whom they had got him engaged, badly; he married beneath him—some +low thing or other. And sank....</p> + +<p>Kipps could not escape the application of the case. He was enabled to +see how this sort of thing looked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431">[Pg 431]</a></span> to decent people; he was enabled to +gauge the measure of the penalties due. His mind went from that to the +frozen marble of Coote's visage.</p> + +<p><i>He deserved it!</i>...</p> + +<p>That day of remorse! Later it found him coming upon the site of his +building operations and surveying it in a mood near to despair, his +mackintosh over his arm.</p> + +<p>Hardly anyone was at work that day—no doubt the builders were having +him in some obscure manner—and the whole place seemed a dismal and +depressing litter. The builder's shed, black-lettered <span class="smcap">Wilkins</span>, <span class="smcap">Builder</span>, +<span class="smcap">Hythe</span>, looked like a stranded thing amidst a cast-up disorder of +wheelbarrows and wheeling planks, and earth and sand and bricks. The +foundations of the walls were trenches full of damp concrete, drying in +patches; the rooms—it was incredible they could ever be rooms—were +shaped out as squares and oblongs of coarse, wet grass and sorrel. They +looked absurdly small—dishonestly small. What could you expect? Of +course the builders were having him, building too small, building all +wrong, using bad materials! Old Kipps had told him a wrinkle or two. The +builders were having him, young Walshingham was having him, everybody +was having him! They were having him and laughing at him because they +didn't respect him. They didn't respect him because he couldn't do +things right. Who could respect him?...</p> + +<p>He was an outcast, he had no place in the world.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_432" id="Page_432">[Pg 432]</a></span> He had had his chance +in the world and turned his back on it. He had "behaved badly"—that was +the phrase....</p> + +<p>Here a great house was presently to arise, a house to be paid for, a +house neither he nor Ann could manage—with eleven bedrooms, and four +disrespectful servants having them all the time!</p> + +<p>How had it all happened exactly?</p> + +<p>This was the end of his great fortune! What a chance he had had! If he +had really carried out his first intentions and stuck to things, how +much better everything might have been! If he had got a tutor—that had +been in his mind originally—a special sort of tutor to show him +everything right; a tutor for gentlemen of neglected education. If he +had read more and attended better to what Coote had said!</p> + +<p>Coote, who had just cut him!...</p> + +<p>Eleven bedrooms! What had possessed him? No one would ever come to see +them, no one would ever have anything to do with them. Even his aunt cut +him! His uncle treated him with a half-contemptuous sufferance. He had +not a friend worth counting in the world! Buggins, Carshot, Pierce; shop +assistants! The Pornicks—a low socialist lot! He stood among his +foundations like a lonely figure among ruins; he stood among the ruins +of his future, and owned himself a foolish and mistaken man. He saw +himself and Ann living out their shameful lives in this great crazy +place—as it would be—with everybody laughing secretly at them and +their eleven<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_433" id="Page_433">[Pg 433]</a></span> rooms, and nobody approaching them—nobody nice and right +that is, for ever. And Ann!</p> + +<p>What was the matter with Ann? She'd given up going for walks lately, got +touchy and tearful, been fitful with her food. Just when she didn't +ought to. It was all a part of the judgment upon wrongdoing, it was all +part of the social penalties that Juggernaut of a novel had brought home +to his mind.</p> + +<p class="center">§3</p> + +<p>He let himself in with his latchkey. He went moodily into the +dining-room and got out the plans to look at them. He had a vague hope +that there would prove to be only ten bedrooms. But he found there were +still eleven. He became aware of Ann standing over him. "Look 'ere, +Artie!" said Ann.</p> + +<p>He looked up and found her holding a number of white oblongs. His +eyebrows rose.</p> + +<p>"It's Callers," said Ann.</p> + +<p>He put his plans aside slowly and took and read the cards in silence, +with a sort of solemnity. Callers after all! Then perhaps he wasn't to +be left out of the world after all. Mrs. G. Porrett Smith, Miss Porrett +Smith, Miss Mabel Porrett Smith, and two smaller cards of the Rev. G. +Porrett Smith. "Lor'!" he said, "<i>Clergy!</i>"</p> + +<p>"There was a lady," said Ann, "and two growed-up gals—all dressed up!"</p> + +<p>"And 'im?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_434" id="Page_434">[Pg 434]</a></span></p><p>"There wasn't no <i>'im</i>."</p> + +<p>"Not——?" He held out the little card.</p> + +<p>"No; there was a lady and two young ladies."</p> + +<p>"But—these cards! Wad they go and leave these two little cards with the +Rev. G. Smith on for? Not if 'e wasn't with 'em."</p> + +<p>"'E wasn't with 'em."</p> + +<p>"Not a little chap—dodgin' about be'ind the others? And didn't come +in?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't see no gentleman with them at all," said Ann.</p> + +<p>"Rum!" said Kipps. A half-forgotten experience came back to him. "<i>I</i> +know," he said, waving the reverend gentleman's card; "'e give 'em the +slip, that's what he'd done. Gone off while they was rapping before you +let 'em in. It's a fair call, any'ow." He felt a momentary base +satisfaction at his absence. "What did they talk about, Ann?"</p> + +<p>There was a pause. "I didn't let 'em in," said Ann.</p> + +<p>He looked up suddenly and perceived that something unusual was the +matter with Ann. Her face was flushed, her eyes were red and hard.</p> + +<p>"Didn't let 'em in?"</p> + +<p>"No! They didn't come in at all."</p> + +<p>He was too astonished for words.</p> + +<p>"I answered the door," said Ann; "I'd been upstairs 'namelling the +floor. 'Ow was I to think about Callers, Artie? We ain't never 'ad +Callers all the time we been 'ere. I'd sent Gwendolen out for a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_435" id="Page_435">[Pg 435]</a></span> bref of +fresh air, and there I was upstairs 'namelling that floor she done so +bad, so's to get it done before she came back. I thought I'd 'namel that +floor and then get tea and 'ave it quiet with you, toce and all, before +she came back. 'Ow was I to think about Callers?"</p> + +<p>She paused. "Well," said Kipps, "what them?"</p> + +<p>"They came and rapped. 'Ow was I to know? I thought it was a tradesman +or something. Never took my apron off, never wiped the 'namel off my +'ands—nothing. There they was!"</p> + +<p>She paused again. She was getting to the disagreeable part.</p> + +<p>"Wad they say?" said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"She says, 'Is Mrs. Kipps at home?' See? To me."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And me all painty and no cap on and nothing, neither missis nor servant +like. There, Artie, I could 'a sunk through the floor with shame, I +really could. I could 'ardly get my voice. I couldn't think of nothing +to say but just 'Not at 'Ome,' and out of 'abit like I 'eld the tray. +And they give me the cards and went, and 'ow I shall ever look that lady +in the face again I don't know.... And that's all about it, Artie! They +looked me up and down, they did, and then I shut the door on 'em."</p> + +<p>"Goo!" said Kipps.</p> + +<p>Ann went and poked the fire needlessly with a passion quivering hand.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_436" id="Page_436">[Pg 436]</a></span></p><p>"I wouldn't 'ave 'ad that 'appen for five pounds," said Kipps. "A +clergyman and all!"</p> + +<p>Ann dropped the poker into the fender with some <i>éclat</i> and stood up and +looked at her hot face in the glass. Kipps' disappointment grew. "You +did ought to 'ave known better than that, Ann! You reely did."</p> + +<p>He sat forward, cards in hand, with a deepening sense of social +disaster. The things were laid upon the table, toast sheltered under a +cover, at mid fender, the teapot warmed beside it, and the kettle just +lifted from the hob, sang amidst the coals. Ann glanced at him for a +moment, then stooped with the kettle-holder to wet the tea.</p> + +<p>"Tcha!" said Kipps, with his mental state developing.</p> + +<p>"I don't see it's any use getting in a state about it now," said Ann.</p> + +<p>"Don't you? I do. See? 'Ere's these people, good people, want to +'sociate with us, and 'ere you go and slap 'em in the face!"</p> + +<p>"I didn't slap 'em in the face."</p> + +<p>"You do—practically. You slams the door in their face, and that's all +we see of 'em ever. I wouldn't 'ave 'ad this 'appen not for a ten-pound +note."</p> + +<p>He rounded his regrets with a grunt. For a while there was silence, save +for the little stir of Ann's movements preparing the tea.</p> + +<p>"Tea, Artie," said Ann, handing him a cup.</p> + +<p>Kipps took it.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_437" id="Page_437">[Pg 437]</a></span></p><p>"I put sugar <i>once</i>," said Ann.</p> + +<p>"Oo, dash it! Oo cares?" said Kipps, taking an extraordinarily large +additional lump with fury quivering fingers, and putting his cup with a +slight excess of force on the recess cupboard. "Oo cares?</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't 'ave 'ad that 'appen," he said, bidding steadily against +accomplished things, "for twenty pounds."</p> + +<p>He gloomed in silence through a long minute or so. Then Ann said the +fatal thing that exploded him. "Artie!" she said.</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"There's Buttud Toce down there! By your foot!" There was a pause, +husband and wife regarded one another.</p> + +<p>"Buttud Toce!" he said. "You go and mess up them callers and then you +try and stuff me up with Buttud Toce! Buttud Toce indeed! 'Ere's our +first chance of knowing anyone that's at all fit to 'sociate with——. +Look 'ere, Ann! Tell you what it is—you got to return that call."</p> + +<p>"Return that call!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you got to return that call. That's what you got to do! I +know——" He waved his arm vaguely towards the miscellany of books in +the recess. "It's in Manners and Rools of Good S'ity. You got to find +jest 'ow many cards to leave and you got to go and leave 'em. See?"</p> + +<p>Ann's face expressed terror. "But, Artie, 'ow <i>can</i> I?"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_438" id="Page_438">[Pg 438]</a></span></p><p>"'Ow <i>can</i> you? 'Ow <i>could</i> you? You got to do it, any'ow. They won't +know you—not in your Bond Street 'at! If they do, they won't say +nothing."</p> + +<p>His voice assumed a note of entreaty. "You mus', Ann."</p> + +<p>"I can't."</p> + +<p>"You mus'."</p> + +<p>"I can't and I won't. Anything in reason I'll do, but face those people +again I can't—after what 'as 'appened."</p> + +<p>"You won't?"</p> + +<p>"No!"...</p> + +<p>"So there they go—orf! And we never see them again! And so it goes on! +So it goes on! We don't know nobody and we <i>shan't</i> know anybody! And +you won't put yourself out not a little bit, or take the trouble to find +out anything 'ow it ought to be done."</p> + +<p>Terrible pause.</p> + +<p>"I never ought to 'ave merried you, Artie, that's the troof."</p> + +<p>"Oh! <i>don't</i> go into that."</p> + +<p>"I never ought to 'ave merried you, Artie. I'm not equal to the +position. If you 'adn't said you'd drown yourself——" She choked.</p> + +<p>"I don' see why you shouldn't <i>try</i>, Ann. <i>I've</i> improved. Why don't +you? 'Stead of which you go sending out the servant and 'namelling +floors, and then when visitors come——"</p> + +<p>"'Ow was <i>I</i> to know about y'r old visitors?" cried<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_439" id="Page_439">[Pg 439]</a></span> Ann in a wail, and +suddenly got up and fled from amidst their ruined tea, the tea of which +"toce, all buttery," was to be the crown and glory.</p> + +<p>Kipps watched her with a momentary consternation. Then he hardened his +heart. "Ought to 'ave known better," he said, "goin' on like that!" He +remained for a space rubbing his knees and muttering. He emitted +scornfully: "I carn't an' I won't." He saw her as the source of all his +shames.</p> + +<p>Presently, quite mechanically, he stooped down and lifted the flowery +china cover. "Ter dash 'er Buttud Toce!" he shouted at the sight of it, +and clapped the cover down again hard....</p> + +<p>When Gwendolen came back she perceived things were in a slightly unusual +poise. Kipps sat by the fire in a rigid attitude reading a casually +selected volume of the <i>Encyclopaedia Britannica</i>, and Ann was upstairs +and inaccessible—to reappear at a later stage with reddened eyes. +Before the fire and still in a perfectly assimilable condition was what +was evidently an untouched supply of richly buttered toast under a +cracked cover.</p> + +<p>"They've 'ad a bit of a tiff," said Gwendolen, attending to her duties +in the kitchen, with her outdoor hat still on and her mouth full. +"They're rummuns—if ever! My eye!"</p> + +<p>And she took another piece of Ann's generously buttered toast.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_440" id="Page_440">[Pg 440]</a></span></p><p class="center">§4</p> + +<p>The Kippses spoke no more that day to one another.</p> + +<p>The squabble about cards and buttered toast was as serious to them as +the most rational of differences. It was all rational to them. Their +sense of wrong burnt within them; their sense of what was owing to +themselves, the duty of implacability, the obstinacy of pride. In the +small hours Kipps lay awake at the nadir of unhappiness and came near +groaning. He saw life as an extraordinarily desolating muddle; his +futile house, his social discredit, his bad behaviour to Helen, his low +marriage to Ann....</p> + +<p>He became aware of something irregular in Ann's breathing....</p> + +<p>He listened. She was awake and quietly and privately sobbing!</p> + +<p>He hardened his heart; resolutely he hardened his heart.</p> + +<p>The stupid little tragedies of these clipped and limited lives!</p> + +<p>What is the good of keeping up the idyllic sham and pretending that +ill-educated, misdirected people "get along very well," and that all +this is harmlessly funny and nothing more? You think I'm going to write +fat, silly, grinning novels about half-educated, under-trained people +and keep it up all the time, that the whole thing's nothing but funny!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_441" id="Page_441">[Pg 441]</a></span></p><p>As I think of them lying unhappily there in the darkness, my vision +pierces the night. See what I can see! Above them, brooding over them, I +tell you there is a monster, a lumpish monster, like some great, clumsy +griffin thing, like the Crystal Palace labyrinthodon, like Coote, like +the leaden goddess Dulness Pope Abhorred, like some fat, proud flunkey, +like pride, like indolence, like all that is darkening and heavy and +obstructive in life. It is matter and darkness, it is the anti-soul, +Stupidity. My Kippses live in its shadow. Shalford and his +apprenticeship system, the Hastings Academy, the ideas of Coote, the +ideas of the old Kippses, all the ideas that have made Kipps what he is, +all these are its shadow. But for that monster they might not be groping +among false ideas and hurt one another so sorely and so stupidly; but +for that, the glowing promise of childhood and youth might have had a +happier fruition, thought might have awakened in them to meet <i>the</i> +thought of the world, the quickening sunshine of literature pierced to +the substance of their souls, their lives might not have been divorced, +as now they are divorced for ever, from the apprehension of beauty that +we favoured ones are given—the vision of the Grail that makes life fine +for ever. I have laughed, and I laugh at these two people; I have sought +to make you laugh....</p> + +<p>But I see through the darkness the souls of my Kippses, as they are, as +little pink strips of living stuff, like the bodies of little, +ill-nourished, ailing,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_442" id="Page_442">[Pg 442]</a></span> ignorant children, children who feel pain, who +are naughty and muddled and suffer and do not understand why. And the +claw of this Beast rests upon them!</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_443" id="Page_443">[Pg 443]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>CHAPTER III</span> <span class="smaller">TERMINATIONS</span></h2> + +<p class="center">§1</p> + +<p>Next morning came a remarkable telegram from Folkestone. "Please come at +once, urgent, Walshingham," said the telegram, and Kipps, after an +agitated but still ample breakfast, departed....</p> + +<p>When he returned his face was very white and his countenance disordered. +He let himself in with his latchkey and came into the dining-room where +Ann sat, affecting to work at a little thing she called a bib. She heard +his hat fall in the hall before he entered, as though he had missed the +peg. "I got something to tell you, Ann," he said, disregarding their +overnight quarrel, and went to the hearthrug and took hold of the +mantel, and stared at Ann as though the sight of her was novel.</p> + +<p>"Well?" said Ann, not looking up and working a little faster.</p> + +<p>"'E's gone!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_444" id="Page_444">[Pg 444]</a></span></p><p>Ann looked up sharply and her hands stopped. "<i>Who's</i> gone?" For the +first time she perceived Kipps' pallor.</p> + +<p>"Young Walshingham—I saw 'er and she tole me."</p> + +<p>"Gone? What d'you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Cleared out! Gone off for good!"</p> + +<p>"What for?"</p> + +<p>"For 'is 'ealth," said Kipps, with sudden bitterness. "'E's been +speckylating. He's speckylated our money and 'e's speckylated their +money, and now 'e's took 'is 'ook. That's all about it, Ann."</p> + +<p>"You mean?"</p> + +<p>"I mean 'e's orf and our twenty-four thousand's orf, too! And 'ere we +are! Smashed up! That's all about it, Ann." He panted.</p> + +<p>Ann had no vocabulary for such an occasion. "Oh, Lor'!" she said, and +sat still.</p> + +<p>Kipps came about and stuck his hands deeply in his trouser pockets. +"Speckylated every penny—lorst it all—and gorn."</p> + +<p>Even his lips were white.</p> + +<p>"You mean we ain't got nothin' left, Artie?"</p> + +<p>"Not a penny! Not a bloomin' penny, Ann. No!"</p> + +<p>A gust of passion whirled across the soul of Kipps. He flung out a +knuckly fist. "If I 'ad 'im 'ere," he said, "I'd—I'd—I'd wring 'is +neck for 'im. I'd—I'd——" His voice rose to a shout. He thought of +Gwendolen in the kitchen and fell to "Ugh!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_445" id="Page_445">[Pg 445]</a></span></p><p>"But, Artie," said Ann, trying to grasp it, "d'you mean to say he's +took our money?"</p> + +<p>"Speckylated it!" said Kipps, with an illustrative flourish of the arm, +that failed to illustrate. "Bort things dear and sold 'em cheap, and +played the 'ankey-pankey jackass with everything we got. That's what I +mean 'e's done, Ann." He repeated this last sentence with the addition +of violent adverbs.</p> + +<p>"D'you mean to say our money's <i>gone</i>, Artie?"</p> + +<p>"Ter-dash it, <i>Yes</i>, Ann!" swore Kipps, exploding in a shout. "Ain't I +tellin' you?"</p> + +<p>He was immediately sorry. "I didn't mean to 'oller at you, Ann," he +said, "but I'm all shook up. I don't 'ardly know what I'm sayin'. Ev'ry +penny."...</p> + +<p>"But, Artie——"</p> + +<p>Kipps grunted. He went to the window and stared for a moment at a sunlit +sea. "Gord!" he swore.</p> + +<p>"I mean," he said, coming back to Ann and with an air of exasperation, +"that he's 'bezzled and 'ooked it. That's what I mean, Ann."</p> + +<p>Ann put down the bib. "But wot are we going to <i>do</i>, Artie?"</p> + +<p>Kipps indicated ignorance, wrath and despair with one comprehensive +gesture of his hands. He caught an ornament from the mantel and replaced +it. "I'm going to bang about," he said, "if I ain't precious careful."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_446" id="Page_446">[Pg 446]</a></span></p><p>"You saw <i>'er</i>, you say?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"What did she say 'xactly?" said Ann.</p> + +<p>"Told me to see a s'licitor—tole me to get someone to 'elp me at once. +She was there in black—like she used to be—and speaking cool and +careful-like. 'Elen!... She's precious 'ard, is 'Elen. She looked at me +straight. 'It's my fault,' she said, 'I ought to 'ave warned you.... +Only under the circumstances it was a little difficult.' Straight as +anything. I didn't 'ardly say anything to 'er. I didn't seem to begin to +take it in until she was showing me out. I 'adn't anything to say. Jest +as well, perhaps. She talked like a call a'most. She said—what <i>was</i> it +she said about her mother? 'My mother's overcome with grief,' she said, +'so naturally everything comes on me.'"</p> + +<p>"And she told you to get someone to 'elp you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I been to old Bean."</p> + +<p>"O' Bean?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. What I took my business away from!"</p> + +<p>"What did he say?"</p> + +<p>"He was a bit off'and at first, but then 'e come 'round. He couldn't +tell me anything till 'e knew the facts. What I know of young +Walshingham, there won't be much 'elp in the facts. No!"</p> + +<p>He reflected for a space. "It's a smash-up, Ann. More likely than not, +Ann, 'e's left us over'ead in debt. We got to get out of it just 'ow we +can....</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_447" id="Page_447">[Pg 447]</a></span></p><p>"We got to begin again," he went on. "<i>'Ow</i>, I don't know. All the way +'ome my 'ead's been going. We got to get a living some'ow or other. +'Aving time to ourselves, and a bit of money to spend, and no hurry and +worry, it's all over for ever, Ann. We was fools, Ann. We didn't know +our benefits. We been caught. Gord!... Gord!"</p> + +<p>He was on the verge of "banging about" again.</p> + +<p>They heard a jingle in the passage, the large soft impact of a servant's +indoor boots. As if she were a part, a mitigatory part of Fate, came +Gwendolen to lay the midday meal. Kipps displayed self-control +forthwith. Ann picked up the bib again and bent over it, and the Kippses +bore themselves gloomily perhaps, but not despairfully, while their +dependant was in the room. She spread the cloth and put out the cutlery +with a slow inaccuracy, and Kipps, after a whisper to himself, went +again to the window. Ann got up and put away her work methodically in +the cheffonier.</p> + +<p>"When I think," said Kipps, as soon as the door closed again behind +Gwendolen, "when I think of the 'ole people and 'aving to tell 'em of it +all—I want to smesh my 'ead against the nearest wall. Smesh my silly +brains out! And Buggins—Buggins what I'd 'arf promised to start in a +lill' outfitting shop in Rendezvous Street."...</p> + +<p>Gwendolen returned and restored dignity.</p> + +<p>The midday meal spread itself slowly before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_448" id="Page_448">[Pg 448]</a></span> them. Gwendolen, after her +custom, left the door open and Kipps closed it carefully before sitting +down.</p> + +<p>He stood for a moment, regarding the meal doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"I don't feel as if I could swaller a moufful," he said.</p> + +<p>"You got to eat," said Ann....</p> + +<p>For a time they said little, and once swallowing was achieved, ate on +with a sort of melancholy appetite. Each was now busy thinking.</p> + +<p>"After all," said Kipps, presently, "whatever 'appens, they can't turn +us out or sell us up before nex' quarter-day. I'm pretty sure about +that."</p> + +<p>"Sell us up!" said Ann.</p> + +<p>"I dessey we're bankrup'," said Kipps, trying to say it easily and +helping himself with a trembling hand to unnecessary potatoes.</p> + +<p>Then a long silence. Ann ceased to eat, and there were silent tears.</p> + +<p>"More potatoes, Artie?" choked Ann.</p> + +<p>"I couldn't," said Kipps. "No."</p> + +<p>He pushed back his plate, which was indeed replete with potatoes, got up +and walked about the room. Even the dinner-table looked distraught and +unusual.</p> + +<p>"What to do, I <i>don't</i> know," he said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>Lord</i>!" he ejaculated, and picked up and slapped down a book.</p> + +<p>Then his eye fell upon another postcard that had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_449" id="Page_449">[Pg 449]</a></span> come from Chitterlow +by the morning's post, and which now lay by him on the mantel-shelf. He +took it up, glanced at its imperfectly legible message, and put it down.</p> + +<p>"Delayed!" he said, scornfully. "Not prodooced in the smalls. Or is it +smells 'e says? 'Ow can one understand that? Any'ow 'e's 'umbugging +again.... Somefing about the Strand. No! Well, 'e's 'ad all the money +'e'll ever get out of me!... I'm done."</p> + +<p>He seemed to find a momentary relief in the dramatic effect of his +announcement. He came near to a swagger of despair upon the hearthrug, +and then suddenly came and sat down next to Ann and rested his chin on +the knuckles of his two clenched hands.</p> + +<p>"I been a fool, Ann," he said in a gloomy monotone. "I been a brasted +fool. But it's 'ard on us, all the same. It's 'ard."</p> + +<p>"'Ow was you to know?" said Ann.</p> + +<p>"I ought to 'ave known. I did in a sort of way know. And 'ere we are! I +wouldn't care so much if it was myself, but it's <i>you</i>, Ann! 'Ere we +are! Regular smashed up! And you——" He checked at an unspeakable +aggravation of their disaster. "I knew 'e wasn't to be depended upon and +there I left it! And you got to pay.... What's to 'appen to us all, I +don't know."</p> + +<p>He thrust out his chin and glared at fate.</p> + +<p>"'Ow do you know 'e's speckylated everything?" said Ann, after a silent +survey of him.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_450" id="Page_450">[Pg 450]</a></span></p><p>"'E 'as," said Kipps, irritably, holding firm to disaster.</p> + +<p>"She say so?"</p> + +<p>"She don't know, of course, but you depend upon it that's it. She told +me she knew something was on, and when she found 'im gone and a note +lef' for her she knew it was up with 'im. 'E went by the night boat. She +wrote that telegram off to me straight away."</p> + +<p>Ann surveyed his features with tender, perplexed eyes; she had never +seen him so white and drawn before, and her hand rested an inch or so +away from his arm. The actual loss was still, as it were, afar from her. +The immediate thing was his enormous distress.</p> + +<p>"'Ow do you know——?" she said and stopped. It would irritate him too +much.</p> + +<p>Kipps' imagination was going headlong.</p> + +<p>"Sold up!" he emitted presently, and Ann flinched.</p> + +<p>"Going back to work, day after day—I can't stand it, Ann, I can't. And +you——"</p> + +<p>"It don't do to think of it," said Ann.</p> + +<p>Presently he came upon a resolve. "I keep on thinking of it, and +thinking of it, and what's to be done and what's to be done. I shan't be +any good 'ome s'arfernoon. It keeps on going 'round and 'round in my +'ead, and 'round and 'round. I better go for a walk or something. I'd be +no comfort to you, Ann. I should want to 'owl and 'ammer things if I +'ung about 'ome. My fingers is all atwitch. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_451" id="Page_451">[Pg 451]</a></span> shall keep on thinking +'ow I might 'ave stopped it and callin' myself a fool."...</p> + +<p>He looked at her between pleading and shame. It seemed like deserting +her.</p> + +<p>Ann regarded him with tear-dimmed eyes.</p> + +<p>"You'd better do what's good for you, Artie," she said.... "<i>I'll</i> be +best cleaning. It's no use sending off Gwendolen before her month, and +the top room wants turning out." She added with a sort of grim humour: +"May as well turn it out now while I got it."</p> + +<p>"I <i>better</i> go for a walk," said Kipps....</p> + +<p>And presently our poor exploded Kipps was marching out to bear his +sudden misery. Habit turned him up the road towards his growing house, +and then suddenly he perceived his direction—"Oh, Lor'!"—and turned +aside and went up the steep way to the hill crest and the Sandling Road, +and over the line by that tree-embowered Junction, and athwart the wide +fields towards Postling—a little, black, marching figure—and so up the +Downs and over the hills, whither he had never gone before....</p> + +<p class="center">§2</p> + +<p>He came back long after dark, and Ann met him in the passage.</p> + +<p>"Where you been, Artie?" she asked, with a strained note in her voice.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_452" id="Page_452">[Pg 452]</a></span></p><p>"I been walking and walking—trying to tire myself out. All the time I +been thinking what shall I do. Trying to fix something up all out of +nothing."</p> + +<p>"I didn't know you meant to be out all this time."</p> + +<p>Kipps was gripped by compunction....</p> + +<p>"I can't think what we ought to do," he said, presently.</p> + +<p>"You can't do anything much, Artie, not till you hear from Mr. Bean."</p> + +<p>"No; I can't do anything much. That's jest it. And all this time I keep +feelin' if I don't do something the top of my 'ead'll bust.... Been +trying to make up advertisements 'arf the time I been out—'bout finding +a place, good salesman and stock-keeper, and good Manchester dresses, +window-dressing—Lor'! Fancy that all beginning again!... If you went to +stay with Sid a bit—if I sent every penny I got to you—I dunno! I +dunno!"</p> + +<p>When they had gone to bed there was an elaborate attempt to get to +sleep.... In one of their great waking pauses Kipps remarked in a +muffled tone: "I didn't mean to frighten you, Ann, being out so late. I +kep' on walking and walking, and some'ow it seemed to do me good. I went +out to the 'illtop ever so far beyond Stanford, and sat there ever so +long, and it seemed to make me better. Just looking over the marsh like, +and seeing the sun set."...</p> + +<p>"Very likely," said Ann, after a long interval, "it isn't so bad as you +think it is, Artie."</p> + +<p>"It's bad," said Kipps.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_453" id="Page_453">[Pg 453]</a></span></p><p>"Very likely, after all, it isn't quite so bad. If there's only a +little——"</p> + +<p>There came another long silence.</p> + +<p>"Ann," said Kipps in the quiet darkness.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Ann.</p> + +<p>"Ann," said Kipps, and stopped as though he had hastily shut a door upon +speech.</p> + +<p>"I kep' thinking," he said, trying again, "I kep' thinking—after all—I +been cross to you and a fool about things—about them cards, Ann; +but"—his voice shook to pieces—"we <i>'ave</i> been 'appy, Ann ... some'ow +... togever."</p> + +<p>And with that he and then she fell into a passion of weeping. They clung +very tightly together—closer than they had been since ever the first +brightness of their married days turned to the grey of common life +again.</p> + +<p>All the disaster in the world could not prevent their going to sleep at +last with their poor little troubled heads close together on one pillow. +There was nothing more to be done, there was nothing more to be thought; +Time might go on with his mischiefs, but for a little while at least +they still had one another.</p> + +<p class="center">§3</p> + +<p>Kipps returned from his second interview with Mr. Bean in a state of +strange excitement. He let himself in with his latch-key and slammed the +door. "Ann!" he shouted, in an unusual note; "Ann!"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_454" id="Page_454">[Pg 454]</a></span></p><p>Ann replied distantly.</p> + +<p>"Something to tell you," said Kipps; "something noo!"</p> + +<p>Ann appeared apprehensive from the kitchen.</p> + +<p>"Ann," he said, going before her into the little dining-room, for his +news was too dignified for the passage, "very likely, Ann, o' Bean says, +we shall 'ave——" He decided to prolong the suspense. "Guess!"</p> + +<p>"I can't, Artie."</p> + +<p>"Think of a lot of money!"</p> + +<p>"A 'undred pounds p'raps?"</p> + +<p>He spoke with immense deliberation. "O v e r a f o u s a n d p o u n d +s!"</p> + +<p>Ann stared and said nothing, only went a shade whiter.</p> + +<p>"Over, he said. A'most certainly over."</p> + +<p>He shut the dining-room door and came forward hastily, for Ann, it was +clear, meant to take this mitigation of their disaster with a complete +abandonment of her self-control. She came near flopping; she fell into +his arms.</p> + +<p>"Artie," she got to at last and began to weep, clinging tightly to him.</p> + +<p>"Pretty near certain," said Kipps, holding her. "A fousand pounds!"</p> + +<p>"I <i>said</i>, Artie," she wailed on his shoulder with the note of +accumulated wrongs, "very likely it wasn't so bad."...</p> + +<p>"There's things," he said, when presently he came<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_455" id="Page_455">[Pg 455]</a></span> to particulars, "'e +couldn't touch. The noo place! It's freehold and paid for, and with the +bit of building on it, there's five or six 'undred pound p'raps—say +worf free 'undred, for safety. We can't be sold up to finish it, like we +thought. O' Bean says we can very likely sell it and get money. 'E says +you often get a chance to sell a 'ouse lessen 'arf done, 'specially +free'old. <i>Very</i> likely, 'e say. Then there's Hughenden. Hughenden +'asn't been mortgaged not for more than 'arf its value. There's a +'undred or so to be got on that, and the furniture and the rent for the +summer still coming in. 'E says there's very likely other things. A +fousand pounds, that's what 'e said. 'E said it might even be more."...</p> + +<p>They were sitting now at the table.</p> + +<p>"It alters everything," said Ann.</p> + +<p>"I been thinking that, Ann, all the way 'ome. I came in the motor car. +First ride I've 'ad since the smash. We needn't send off Gwendolen, +leastways not till <i>after</i>. You know. We needn't turn out of 'ere—not +for a long time. What we been doing for the o' people we can go on doing +a'most as much. And your mother!... I wanted to 'oller coming along. I +pretty near run coming down the road by the hotel."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I <i>am</i> glad we can stop 'ere and be comfortable a bit," said Ann. +"I <i>am</i> glad for that."</p> + +<p>"I pretty near told the driver on the motor—only 'e was the sort won't +talk.... You see, Ann, we'll be able to start a shop, we'll be able to +get <i>into</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_456" id="Page_456">[Pg 456]</a></span> something like. All about our 'aving to go back to places +and that; all that doesn't matter any more."</p> + +<p>For a while they abandoned themselves to ejaculating transports. Then +they fell talking to shape an idea to themselves of the new prospect +that opened before them.</p> + +<p>"We must start a sort of shop," said Kipps, whose imagination had been +working. "It'll 'ave to be a shop."</p> + +<p>"Drapery?" said Ann.</p> + +<p>"You want such a lot of capital for the drapery, mor'n a thousand pounds +you want by a long way—to start it anything like proper."</p> + +<p>"Well, outfitting. Like Buggins was going to do."</p> + +<p>Kipps glanced at that for a moment, because the idea had not occurred to +him. Then he came back to his prepossession.</p> + +<p>"Well, I thought of something else, Ann," he said. "You see, I've always +thought a little book-shop. It isn't like the drapery—'aving to be +learnt. I thought—even before this smash-up—'ow I'd like to 'ave +something to do, instead of always 'aving 'olidays always like we 'ave +been 'aving."</p> + +<p>He reflected.</p> + +<p>"You don't know <i>much</i> about books, do you, Artie?"</p> + +<p>"You don't want to." He illustrated. "I noticed when we used to go to +that Lib'ry at Folkestone, ladies weren't anything like what they was in +a draper's—if you 'aven't got <i>just</i> what they want it's 'Oh,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_457" id="Page_457">[Pg 457]</a></span> no!' and +out they go. But in a book shop it's different. One book's very like +another—after all, what is it? Something to read and done with. It's +not a thing that matters like print dresses or serviettes—where you +either like 'em or don't, and people judge you by. They take what you +give 'em in books and lib'ries, and glad to be told <i>what</i> to. See 'ow +we was—up at that lib'ry."...</p> + +<p>He paused. "You see, Ann——</p> + +<p>"Well, I read 'n 'dvertisement the other day. I been asking Mr. Bean. It +said—five 'undred pounds."</p> + +<p>"What did?"</p> + +<p>"Branches," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>Ann failed to understand. "It's a sort of thing that gets up book shops +all over the country," said Kipps. "I didn't tell you, but I arst about +it a bit. On'y I dropped it again. Before this smash, I mean. I'd +thought I'd like to keep a shop for a lark, on'y then I thought it +silly. Besides it 'ud 'ave been beneath me."</p> + +<p>He blushed vividly. "It was a sort of projek of mine, Ann.</p> + +<p>"On'y it wouldn't 'ave done," he added.</p> + +<p>It was a tortuous journey when the Kippses set out to explain anything +to each other. But through a maze of fragmentary elucidations and +questions, their minds did presently begin to approximate to a picture +of a compact, bright, little shop, as a framework for themselves.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_458" id="Page_458">[Pg 458]</a></span></p><p>"I thought of it one day when I was in Folkestone. I thought of it one +day when I was looking in at a window. I see a chap dressin' a window +and he was whistlin' reg'lar light-'arted.... I thought then I'd like to +keep a bookshop, any'ow, jest for something to do. And when people +weren't about, then you could sit and read the books. See? It wouldn't +be 'arf bad."...</p> + +<p>They mused, each with elbows on table and knuckles to lips, looking with +speculative eyes at each other.</p> + +<p>"Very likely we'll be 'appier than we should 'ave been with more money," +said Kipps presently.</p> + +<p>"We wasn't 'ardly suited," reflected Ann, and left her sentence +incomplete.</p> + +<p>"Fish out of water like," said Kipps....</p> + +<p>"You won't 'ave to return that call now," said Kipps, opening a new +branch of the question. "That's one good thing."</p> + +<p>"Lor'!" said Ann, visibly brightening, "no more I shan't!"</p> + +<p>"I don't s'pose they'd want you to, even if you did—with things as they +are."</p> + +<p>A certain added brightness came into Ann's face. "Nobody won't be able +to come leaving cards on us, Artie, now, any more. We are out of +<i>that</i>!"</p> + +<p>"There isn't no necessity for us to be stuck up," said Kipps, "any more +for ever! 'Ere we are, Ann, common people, with jest no position at all, +as you might say, to keep up. No sev'nts, not if you don't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_459" id="Page_459">[Pg 459]</a></span> like. No +dressin' better than other people. If it wasn't we been robbed—dashed +if I'd care a rap about losing that money. I b'lieve"—his face shone +with the rare pleasure of paradox—"I reely b'lieve, Ann, it'll prove a +savin' in the end."</p> + +<p class="center">§4</p> + +<p>The remarkable advertisement which had fired Kipps' imagination with +this dream of a bookshop opened out in the most alluring way. It was one +little facet in a comprehensive scheme of transatlantic origin, which +was to make our old-world methods of book-selling "sit up," and it +displayed an imaginative briskness, a lucidity and promise that aroused +the profoundest scepticism in the mind of Mr. Bean. To Kipps' renewed +investigations it presented itself in an expository illustrated pamphlet +(far too well printed, Mr. Bean thought, for a reputable undertaking) of +the most convincing sort. Mr. Bean would not let him sink his capital in +shares in its projected company that was to make all things new in the +world of books, but he could not prevent Kipps becoming one of their +associated booksellers. And so when presently it became apparent that an +epoch was not to be made, and the "Associated Booksellers' Trading Union +(Limited)" receded and dissolved and liquidated (a few drops) and +vanished and went away to talk about something else, Kipps remained<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_460" id="Page_460">[Pg 460]</a></span> +floating undamaged in this interestingly uncertain universe as an +independent bookseller.</p> + +<p>Except that it failed, the Associated Booksellers' Trading Union had all +the stigmata of success. Its fault, perhaps, was that it had them all +instead of only one or two. It was to buy wholesale for all its members +and associates and exchange stock, having a common books-in-stock list +and a common lending library, and it was to provide a uniform registered +shop front to signify all these things to the intelligent passer-by. +Except that it was controlled by buoyant young Over-men with a touch of +genius in their arithmetic, it was, I say, a most plausible and hopeful +project. Kipps went several times to London and an agent came to Hythe; +Mr. Bean made some timely interventions, and then behind a veil of +planks and an announcement in the High Street, the uniform registered +shop front came rapidly into being. "Associated Booksellers' Trading +Union," said this shop front, in a refined, artistic lettering that +bookbuyers were going to value, as wise men over forty value the proper +label for Berncasteler Doctor, and then, "Arthur Kipps."</p> + +<p>Next to starting a haberdasher's shop I doubt if Kipps could have been +more truly happy than during those weeks of preparation.</p> + +<p>There is, of course, nothing on earth, and I doubt at times if there is +a joy in Heaven, like starting a small haberdasher's shop. Imagine, for +example, having a drawerful of tapes (one whole piece most<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_461" id="Page_461">[Pg 461]</a></span> exquisitely +blocked of every possible width of tape), or, again, an army of neat, +large packages, each displaying one sample of hooks and eyes. Think of +your cottons, your drawer of coloured silks, the little, less, least of +the compartments and thin packets of your needle drawer! Poor princes +and wretched gentlefolk mysteriously above retail trade, may taste only +the faint unsatisfactory shadow of these delights with trays of stamps +or butterflies. I write, of course, for those to whom these things +appeal; there are clods alive who see nothing, or next to nothing, in +spools of mercerised cotton and endless bands of paper-set pins. I write +for the wise, and as I write I wonder that Kipps resisted haberdashery. +He did. Yet even starting a bookshop is at least twenty times as +interesting as building your own house to your own design in unlimited +space and time, or any possible thing people with indisputable social +position and sound securities can possibly find to do. Upon that I rest.</p> + +<p>You figure Kipps "going to have a look to see how the little shop is +getting on," the shop that is not to be a loss and a spending of money, +but a gain. He does not walk too fast towards it; as he comes into view +of it his paces slacken and his head goes to one side. He crosses to the +pavement opposite in order to inspect the fascia better, already his +name is adumbrated in faint white lines; stops in the middle of the road +and scrutinises imaginary details for the benefit of his future next +door neighbour, the curiosity-shop<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_462" id="Page_462">[Pg 462]</a></span> man, and so at last, in.... A smell +of paint and of the shavings of imperfectly seasoned pinewood! The shop +is already glazed and a carpenter is busy over the fittings for +adjustable shelves in the side windows. A painter is busy on the +fixtures round about (shelving above and drawers below), which are to +accommodate most of the stock, and the counter—the counter and desk are +done. Kipps goes inside the desk, the desk which is to be the strategic +centre of the shop, brushes away some sawdust, and draws out the +marvellous till; here gold is to be, here silver, here copper—notes +locked up in a cash-box in the well below. Then he leans his elbows on +the desk, rests his chin on his fist and fills the shelves with +imaginary stock; books beyond reading. Every day a man who cares to wash +his hands and read uncut pages artfully may have his cake and eat it, +among that stock. Under the counter to the right, paper and string are +to lurk ready to leap up and embrace goods sold; on the table to the +left, art publications, whatever they may prove to be! He maps it out, +serves an imaginary customer, receives a dream seven and six pence, +packs, bows out. He wonders how it was he ever came to fancy a shop a +disagreeable place.</p> + +<p>"It's different," he says at last, after musing on that difficulty, +"being your own."</p> + +<p>It <i>is</i> different....</p> + +<p>Or, again, you figure Kipps with something of the air of a young +sacristan, handling his brightly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_463" id="Page_463">[Pg 463]</a></span>virginal account-books, and looking, +and looking again, and then still looking, at an unparalleled specimen +of copperplate engraving, ruled money below and above, bearing the words +"In Account with, <span class="smcap">Arthur Kipps</span>" (loud flourishes), "The Booksellers' +Trading Union" (temperate decoration). You figure Ann sitting and +stitching at one point of the circumference of the light of the lamp, +stitching queer little garments for some unknown stranger, and over +against her sits Kipps. Before him is one of those engraved memorandum +forms, a moist pad, wet with some thick and greasy greenish purple ink +that is also spreading quietly but steadily over his fingers, a +cross-nibbed pen for first-aid surgical assistance to the patient in his +hand, a dating rubber stamp. At intervals he brings down this latter +with great care and emphasis upon the paper, and when he lifts it there +appears a beautiful oval design of which "Paid, Arthur Kipps, The +Associated Booksellers' Trading Union," and a date, are the essential +ingredients, stamped in purple ink.</p> + +<p>Anon he turns his attention to a box of small, round, yellow labels, +declaring "This book was bought from the Associated Booksellers' Trading +Union." He licks one with deliberate care, sticks it on the paper before +him and defaces it with great solemnity. "I can do it, Ann," he says, +looking up brightly. For the Associated Booksellers' Trading Union, +among other brilliant notions and inspirations, devised an ingenious +system of taking back its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_464" id="Page_464">[Pg 464]</a></span> books again in part payment for new ones +within a specified period. When it failed, all sorts of people were left +with these unredeemed pledges in hand.</p> + +<p class="center">§5</p> + +<p>Amidst all this bustle and interest, all this going to and fro before +they "moved in" to the High Street, came the great crisis that hung over +the Kippses, and one morning in the small hours Ann's child was born....</p> + +<p>Kipps was coming to manhood swiftly now. The once rabbit-like soul that +had been so amazed by the discovery of "chubes" in the human interior +and so shocked by the sight of a woman's shoulder-blades, that had found +shame and anguish in a mislaid Gibus and terror in an Anagram Tea, was +at last facing the greater realities. He came suddenly upon the master +thing in life, birth. He passed through hours of listening, hours of +impotent fear in the night and in the dawn, and then there was put into +his arms something most wonderful, a weak and wailing creature, +incredibly, heart-stirringly soft and pitiful, with minute appealing +hands that it wrung his heart to see. He held this miracle in his arms +and touched its tender cheek as if he feared his lips might injure it. +And this marvel was his Son!</p> + +<p>And there was Ann, with a greater strangeness and a greater familiarity +in her quality than he had ever found before. There were little beads of +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_465" id="Page_465">[Pg 465]</a></span>perspiration on her temples and her lips, and her face was flushed, not +pale as he had feared to see it. She had the look of one who emerges +from some strenuous and invigorating act. He bent down and kissed her, +and he had no words to say. She wasn't to speak much yet, but she +stroked his arm with her hand and had to tell him one thing:</p> + +<p>"He's over nine pounds, Artie," she whispered. "Bessie's—Bessie's +wasn't no more than eight."</p> + +<p>To have given Kipps a pound of triumph over Sid seemed to her almost to +justify Nunc Dimittis. She watched his face for a moment, then closed +her eyes in a kind of blissful exhaustion as the nurse, with something +motherly in her manner, pushed Kipps out of the room.</p> + +<p class="center">§6</p> + +<p>Kipps was far too much preoccupied with his own life to worry about the +further exploits of Chitterlow. The man had got his two thousand; on the +whole Kipps was glad he had had it rather than young Walshingham, and +there was an end to the matter. As for the complicated transactions he +achieved and proclaimed by mainly illegible and always incomprehensible +postcards, they were like passing voices heard in the street as one goes +about one's urgent concerns. Kipps put them aside and they got in +between the pages of the stock and were lost forever and sold in with +the goods to customers who puzzled over them mightily.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_466" id="Page_466">[Pg 466]</a></span></p><p>Then one morning as he was dusting round before breakfast, Chitterlow +returned, appeared suddenly in the shop doorway.</p> + +<p>Kipps was overcome with amazement.</p> + +<p>It was the most unexpected thing in the world. The man was in evening +dress, evening dress in that singularly crumpled state it assumes after +the hour of dawn, and above his dishevelled red hair, a smallish Gibus +hat tilted remarkably forward. He opened the door and stood, tall and +spread, with one vast white glove flung out as if to display how burst a +glove might be, his eyes bright, such wrinkling of brow and mouth as +only an experienced actor can produce, and a singular radiance of +emotion upon his whole being, an altogether astonishing spectacle.</p> + +<p>It was amazing beyond the powers of Kipps. The bell jangled for a bit +and then gave it up and was silent. For a long, great second everything +was quietly attentive. Kipps was amazed to his uttermost; had he had ten +times the capacity he would still have been fully amazed. "It's +Chit'low!" he said at last, standing duster in hand.</p> + +<p>But he doubted whether it was not a dream.</p> + +<p>"Tzit!" gasped that most excitable and extraordinary person, still in an +incredibly expanded attitude, and then with a slight forward jerk of the +starry split glove, "Bif!"</p> + +<p>He could say no more. The tremendous speech he had had ready vanished +from his mind. Kipps stared at his extraordinary facial changes, vaguely +conscious<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_467" id="Page_467">[Pg 467]</a></span> of the truth of the teachings of Nisbet and Lombroso +concerning men of genius.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly Chitterlow's features were convulsed, the histrionic fell +from him like a garment, and he was weeping. He said something +indistinct about "Old Kipps! <i>Good</i> old Kipps! Oh, old Kipps!" and +somehow he managed to mix a chuckle and a sob in the most remarkable +way. He emerged from somewhere near the middle of his original attitude, +a merely life-size creature. "My play, boo-hoo!" he sobbed, clutching at +his friend's arm. "My play, Kipps! (sob) You know?"</p> + +<p>"Well?" cried Kipps, with his heart sinking in sympathy, "it ain't——"</p> + +<p>"No," howled Chitterlow; "no. It's a success! My dear chap! my dear boy! +oh! it's a—bu—boo-hoo!—a big success!" He turned away and wiped +streaming tears with the back of his hand. He walked a pace or so and +turned. He sat down on one of the specially designed artistic chairs of +the Associated Booksellers' Trading Union and produced an exiguous +lady's handkerchief, extraordinarily belaced. He choked. "<i>My</i> play," +and covered his face here and there.</p> + +<p>He made an unsuccessful effort to control himself, and shrank for a +space to the dimensions of a small and pathetic creature. His great nose +suddenly came through a careless place in the handkerchief.</p> + +<p>"I'm knocked," he said in a muffled voice, and so remained for a +space—wonderful—veiled.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_468" id="Page_468">[Pg 468]</a></span></p><p>He made a gallant effort to wipe his tears away. "I had to tell you," +he said, gulping.</p> + +<p>"Be all right in a minute," he added, "calm," and sat still....</p> + +<p>Kipps stared in commiseration of such success. Then he heard footsteps +and went quickly to the house doorway. "Jest a minute," he said. "Don't +go in the shop, Ann, for a minute. It's Chitterlow. He's a bit essited. +But he'll be better in a minute. It's knocked him over a bit. You +see"—his voice sank to a hushed note as one who announces death—"'e's +made a success with his play."</p> + +<p>He pushed her back lest she should see the scandal of another male's +tears....</p> + +<p>Soon Chitterlow felt better, but for a little while his manner was even +alarmingly subdued. "I <i>had</i> to come and tell you," he said. "I <i>had</i> to +astonish someone. Muriel—she'll be firstrate, of course. But she's over +at Dymchurch." He blew his nose with enormous noise, and emerged +instantly a merely garrulous optimist.</p> + +<p>"I expect she'll be precious glad."</p> + +<p>"She doesn't know yet, my dear boy. She's at Dymchurch—with a friend. +She's seen some of my first nights before.... Better out of it.... I'm +going to her now. I've been up all night—talking to the boys and all +that. I'm a bit off it just for a bit. But—it Knocked 'em. It Knocked +everybody."</p> + +<p>He stared at the floor and went on in a monotone. "They laughed a bit at +the beginning—but nothing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_469" id="Page_469">[Pg 469]</a></span> like a settled laugh—not until the second +act—you know—the chap with the beetle down his neck. Little Chisholme +did that bit to rights. Then they began—<i>to</i> rights." His voice warmed +and increased. "Laughing! It made <i>me</i> laugh! We jumped 'em into the +third act before they had time to cool. Everybody was on it. I never saw +a first night go so fast. Laugh, laugh, laugh, LAUGH, LAUGH, LAUGH" (he +howled the last word with stupendous violence). Everything they laughed +at. They laughed at things that we hadn't meant to be funny—not for one +moment. Bif! Bizz! Curtain. A Fair Knock-Out!... I went on—but I didn't +say a word. Chisholme did the patter. Shouting! It was like walking +under Niagara—going across that stage. It was like never having seen an +audience before....</p> + +<p>"Then afterwards—the Boys!"</p> + +<p>His emotion held him for a space. "Dear old Boys!" he murmured.</p> + +<p>His words multiplied, his importance increased. In a little while he was +restored to something of his old self. He was enormously excited. He +seemed unable to sit down anywhere. He came into the breakfast-room so +soon as Kipps was sure of him, shook hands with Mrs. Kipps +parenthetically, sat down and immediately got up again. He went to the +bassinette in the corner and looked absentmindedly at Kipps, junior, and +said he was glad if only for the youngster's sake. He immediately +resumed the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_470" id="Page_470">[Pg 470]</a></span> thread of his discourse.... He drank a cup of coffee +noisily and walked up and down the room talking, while they attempted +breakfast amidst the gale of his excitement. The infant slept +marvellously through it all.</p> + +<p>"You won't mind my sitting down, Mrs. Kipps. I couldn't sit down for +anyone, or I'd do it for you. It's you I'm thinking of more than anyone, +you and Muriel, and all Old Pals and Good Friends. It means wealth, it +means money—hundreds and thousands.... If you'd heard 'em, <i>you'd +know</i>."</p> + +<p>He was silent through a portentous moment while topics battled for him +and finally he burst and talked of them all together. It was like the +rush of water when a dam bursts and washes out a fair-sized provincial +town; all sorts of things floated along on the swirl. For example, he +was discussing his future behaviour. "I'm glad it's come now. Not +before. I've had my lesson. I shall be very discreet now, trust me. +We've learnt the value of money." He discussed the possibility of a +country house, of taking a Martello tower as a swimming-box (as one +might say a shooting-box) of living in Venice because of its artistic +associations and scenic possibilities, of a flat in Westminster or a +house in the West End. He also raised the question of giving up smoking +and drinking, and what classes of drink were especially noxious to a man +of his constitution. But discourses on all this did not prevent a +parenthetical computation of the probable profits on the supposition of +a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_471" id="Page_471">[Pg 471]</a></span> thousand nights here and in America, nor did it ignore the share +Kipps was to have, nor the gladness with which Chitterlow would pay that +share, nor the surprise and regret with which he had learnt, through an +indirect source which awakened many associations, of the turpitude of +young Walshingham, nor the distaste Chitterlow had always felt for young +Walshingham and men of his type. An excursus upon Napoleon had got into +the torrent somehow and kept bobbing up and down. The whole thing was +thrown into the form of a single complex sentence, with parenthetical +and subordinate clauses fitting one into the other like Chinese boxes, +and from first to last it never even had an air of approaching anything +in the remotest degree partaking of the nature of a full stop.</p> + +<p>Into this deluge came the <i>Daily News</i>, like the gleam of light in +Watts' picture, the waters were assuaged while its sheet was opened, and +it had a column, a whole column, of praise. Chitterlow held the paper +and Kipps read over his left hand, and Ann under his right. It made the +affair more real to Kipps; it seemed even to confirm Chitterlow against +lurking doubts he had been concealing. But it took him away. He departed +in a whirl, to secure a copy of every morning paper, every blessed rag +there is, and take them all to Dymchurch and Muriel forthwith. It had +been the send-off the Boys had given him that had prevented his doing as +much at Charing Cross—let alone that he only caught it by the skin of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_472" id="Page_472">[Pg 472]</a></span> +his teeth.... Besides which the bookstall wasn't open. His white face, +lit by a vast excitement, bid them a tremendous farewell, and he +departed through the sunlight, with his buoyant walk, buoyant almost to +the tottering pitch. His hair, as one got it sunlit in the street, +seemed to have grown in the night.</p> + +<p>They saw him stop a newsboy.</p> + +<p>"Every blessed rag," floated to them on the notes of that gorgeous +voice.</p> + +<p>The newsboy, too, had happened on luck. Something like a faint cheer +from the newsboy came down the air to terminate that transaction.</p> + +<p>Chitterlow went on his way swinging a great budget of papers, a figure +of merited success. The newsboy recovered from his emotion with a jerk, +examined something in his hand again, transferred it to his pocket, +watched Chitterlow for a space, and then in a sort of hushed silence +resumed his daily routine....</p> + +<p>Ann and Kipps watched that receding happiness in silence, until he +vanished round the bend of the road.</p> + +<p>"I <i>am</i> glad," said Ann at last, speaking with a little sigh.</p> + +<p>"So'm I," said Kipps, with emphasis. "For if ever a feller 'as worked +and waited—it's 'im."...</p> + +<p>They went back through the shop rather thoughtfully, and after a peep at +the sleeping baby, resumed their interrupted breakfast. "If ever a +feller 'as worked and waited, it's 'im," said Kipps, cutting bread.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_473" id="Page_473">[Pg 473]</a></span></p><p>"Very likely it's true," said Ann, a little wistfully.</p> + +<p>"What's true?"</p> + +<p>"About all that money coming."</p> + +<p>Kipps meditated. "I don't see why it shouldn't be," he decided, and +handed Ann a piece of bread on the tip of his knife.</p> + +<p>"But we'll keep on the shop," he said after an interval for further +reflection, "all the same.... I 'aven't much trust in money after the +things we've seen."</p> + +<p class="center">§7</p> + +<p>That was two years ago, and as the whole world knows, the "Pestered +Butterfly" is running still. It <i>was</i> true. It has made the fortune of a +once declining little theatre in the Strand, night after night the great +beetle scene draws happy tears from a house packed to repletion, and +Kipps—for all that Chitterlow is not what one might call a business +man—is almost as rich as he was in the beginning. People in Australia, +people in Lancashire, Scotland, Ireland, in New Orleans, in Jamaica, in +New York and Montreal, have crowded through doorways to Kipps' +enrichment, lured by the hitherto unsuspected humours of the +entomological drama. Wealth rises like an exhalation all over our little +planet, and condenses, or at least some of it does, in the pockets of +Kipps.</p> + +<p>"It's rum," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>He sat in the little kitchen out behind the bookshop and philosophised +and smiled, while Ann gave<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_474" id="Page_474">[Pg 474]</a></span> Arthur Waddy Kipps his evening tub before +the fire. Kipps was always present at this ceremony unless customers +prevented; there was something in the mixture of the odours of tobacco, +soap and domesticity that charmed him unspeakably.</p> + +<p>"Chuckerdee, o' man," he said, affably, wagging his pipe at his son, and +thought incidentally, after the manner of all parents, that very few +children could have so straight and clean a body.</p> + +<p>"Dadda's got a cheque," said Arthur Waddy Kipps, emerging for a moment +from the towel.</p> + +<p>"'E gets 'old of everything," said Ann. "You can't say a word——"</p> + +<p>"Dadda got a cheque," this marvellous child repeated.</p> + +<p>"Yes, o' man, I got a cheque. And it's got to go into a bank for you, +against when you got to go to school. See? So's you'll grow up knowing +your way about a bit."</p> + +<p>"Dadda's got a cheque," said the wonder son, and then gave his mind to +making mighty splashes with his foot. Every time he splashed, laughter +overcame him, and he had to be held up for fear he should tumble out of +the tub in his merriment. Finally he was towelled to his toe-tips, +wrapped up in warm flannel, and kissed, and carried off to bed by Ann's +cousin and lady help, Emma. And then after Ann had carried away the bath +into the scullery, she returned to find her husband with his pipe +extinct and the cheque still in his hand.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_475" id="Page_475">[Pg 475]</a></span></p><p>"Two fousand pounds," he said. "It's dashed rum. Wot 'ave <i>I</i> done to +get two fousand pounds, Ann?"</p> + +<p>"What 'aven't you—not to?" said Ann.</p> + +<p>He reflected upon this view of the case.</p> + +<p>"I shan't never give up this shop," he said at last.</p> + +<p>"We're very 'appy 'ere," said Ann.</p> + +<p>"Not if I 'ad <i>fifty</i> fousand pounds."</p> + +<p>"No fear," said Ann.</p> + +<p>"You got a shop," said Kipps, "and you come along in a year's time and +there it is. But money—look 'ow it come and goes! There's no sense in +money. You may kill yourself trying to get it, and then it comes when +you aren't looking. There's my 'riginal money! Where is it now? Gone! +And it's took young Walshingham with it, and 'e's gone, too. It's like +playing skittles. 'Long comes the ball, right and left you fly, and +there it is rolling away and not changed a bit. No sense in it! 'E's +gone, and she's gone—gone off with that chap Revel, that sat with me at +dinner. Merried man! And Chit'low rich! Lor'!—what a fine place that +Gerrik Club is, to be sure, where I 'ad lunch wiv' 'im! Better'n <i>any</i> +'otel. Footmen in powder they got—not waiters, Ann—footmen! 'E's rich +and me rich—in a sort of way.... Don't seem much sense in it, Ann, +'owever you look at it." He shook his head.</p> + +<p>"I know one thing," said Kipps.</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"I'm going to put it in jest as many different banks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_476" id="Page_476">[Pg 476]</a></span> as I can. See? +Fifty 'ere, fifty there. 'Posit. I'm not going to 'nvest it—no fear."</p> + +<p>"It's only frowing money away," said Ann.</p> + +<p>"I'm 'arf a mind to bury some of it under the shop. Only I expect one +'ud always be coming down at nights to make sure it was there.... I +don't seem to trust anyone—not with money." He put the cheque on the +table corner and smiled and tapped his pipe on the grate with his eyes +on that wonderful document. "S'pose old Bean started orf," he +reflected.... "One thing, 'e <i>is</i> a bit lame."</p> + +<p>"'E wouldn't," said Ann; "not 'im."</p> + +<p>"I was only joking like." He stood up, put his pipe among the +candlesticks on the mantel, took up the cheque and began folding it +carefully to put it back in his pocket-book.</p> + +<p>A little bell jangled.</p> + +<p>"Shop!" said Kipps. "That's right. Keep a shop and the shop'll keep you. +That's 'ow I look at it, Ann."</p> + +<p>He drove his pocket-book securely into his breast pocket before he +opened the living-room door....</p> + +<p>But whether indeed it is the bookshop that keeps Kipps or whether it is +Kipps who keeps the bookshop is just one of those commercial mysteries +people of my unarithmetical temperament are never able to solve. They do +very well, the dears, anyhow, thank Heaven!</p> + +<p>The bookshop of Kipps is on the left-hand side of the Hythe High Street +coming from Folkestone, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_477" id="Page_477">[Pg 477]</a></span>between the yard of the livery stable and the +shop-window full of old silver and such like things—it is quite easy to +find—and there you may see him for yourself and speak to him and buy +this book of him if you like. He has it in stock, I know. Very +delicately I've seen to that. His name is not Kipps, of course, you must +understand that, but everything else is exactly as I have told you. You +can talk to him about books, about politics, about going to Boulogne, +about life, and the ups and downs of life. Perhaps he will quote you +Buggins—from whom, by the bye, one can now buy everything a gentleman's +wardrobe should contain at the little shop in Rendezvous Street, +Folkestone. If you are fortunate to find Kipps in a good mood he may +even let you know how he inherited a fortune "once." "Run froo it," +he'll say with a not unhappy smile. "Got another +afterwards—speckylating in plays. Needn't keep this shop if I didn't +like. But it's something to do."...</p> + +<p>Or he may be even more intimate. "I seen some things," he said to me +once. "Raver! Life! Why! once I—I <i>'loped</i>! I did—reely!"</p> + +<p>(Of course you will not tell Kipps that he <i>is</i> "Kipps," or that I have +put him in this book. He does not know. And you know, one never knows +how people are going to take that sort of thing. I am an old and trusted +customer now, and for many amiable reasons I should prefer that things +remained exactly on their present footing.)</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_478" id="Page_478">[Pg 478]</a></span></p><p class="center">§8</p> + +<p>One early-closing evening in July they left the baby to the servant +cousin, and Kipps took Ann for a row on the Hythe canal. It was a +glorious evening, and the sun set in a mighty blaze and left a world +warm, and very still. The twilight came. And there was the water, +shining bright, and the sky a deepening blue, and the great trees that +dipped their boughs towards the water, exactly as it had been when he +paddled home with Helen, when her eyes had seemed to him like dusky +stars. He had ceased from rowing and rested on his oars, and suddenly he +was touched by the wonder of life, the strangeness that is a presence +stood again by his side.</p> + +<p>Out of the darknesses beneath the shallow, weedy stream of his being +rose a question, a question that looked up dimly and never reached the +surface. It was the question of the wonder of the beauty, the +purposeless, inconsecutive beauty, that falls so strangely among the +happenings and memories of life. It never reached the surface of his +mind, it never took to itself substance or form, it looked up merely as +the phantom of a face might look, out of deep waters, and sank again to +nothingness.</p> + +<p>"Artie," said Ann.</p> + +<p>He woke up and pulled a stroke. "What?" he said.</p> + +<p>"Penny for your thoughts, Artie."</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_479" id="Page_479">[Pg 479]</a></span></p><p>He considered.</p> + +<p>"I reely don't think I was thinking of anything," he said at last with a +smile. "No."</p> + +<p>He still rested on his oars.</p> + +<p>"I expect," he said, "I was thinking jest what a Rum Go everything is. I +expect it was something like that."</p> + +<p>"Queer old Artie!"</p> + +<p>"Ain't I? I don't suppose there ever was a chap quite like me before."</p> + +<p>He reflected for just another minute. "Oo! I dunno," he said, and roused +himself to pull.</p> + +<p class="tbrk"> </p> + +<p class="center">THE END</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_481" id="Page_481">[Pg 481]</a></span></p> + +<h2><span>ADVERTISEMENTS</span></h2> + +<hr /> + +<p class="center">By H. G. WELLS</p> + +<p class="center">"Imagination—that is his master quality."—<span class="smcap">William Archer.</span></p> + +<p class="bold2">The Food of the Gods,</p> + +<p class="bold">and How it Came to Earth</p> + +<p class="center">12mo. $1.50</p> + +<p>"A remarkably diverting fantasy, to the spell of which it is as easy as +it is pleasant to yield."—New York <i>Tribune</i>.</p> + +<p>"A strikingly good imaginative novel."—Philadelphia <i>Press</i>.</p> + +<p>"This is a book well worth reading for those who like something that +stimulates mentally as well as entertains."—Chicago <i>Inter-Ocean</i>.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Wells never fails to see the romantic as well as mechanical +implications of his imaginary changes in the fate of the world, and this +is one of his most suggestive and satisfactory +stories."—<i>Congregationalist.</i></p> + +<p>"It is apparent from 'The Food of the Gods' that Mr. Wells's powers of +invention show no sign of relaxation.... Best of all, however, it is an +entertaining story and a far-seeing outlook toward the scientific +possibilities of the future."—Boston <i>Transcript</i>.</p> + +<p>"'The Food of the Gods,' like Mr. Wells's other books, proves that the +inventor of the romance of science is always able to respond to any call +made upon it, however complex. In the interest of its central idea, no +less than in the careful working out of every part of the subject, 'The +Food of the Gods' proves itself a notable and popular addition to the +author's many successful novels."—Philadelphia <i>Public Ledger</i>.</p> + +<hr class="smler" /> + +<p class="center">Charles Scribner's Sons, New York</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_482" id="Page_482">[Pg 482]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center">By H. G. WELLS</p> + +<p class="bold2">Twelve Stories and a Dream</p> + +<p class="center">12mo. $1.50</p> + +<div class="block"><p class="center">THE STORIES</p> + +<p>FILMER<br />THE MAGIC SHOP<br />THE VALLEY OF SPIDERS<br /> +THE TRUTH ABOUT PYECRAFT<br />MR. LEDBETTER'S VACATION<br /> +MR. SKELMERSDALE IN FAIRYLAND<br />THE INEXPERIENCED GHOST<br /> +JIMMY GOGGLES THE GOD<br />THE NEW ACCELERATOR<br />THE STOLEN BODY<br /> +MR. BRISHER'S TREASURE<br />MISS WINCHELSEA'S HEART<br /><br /> +A DREAM OF ARMAGEDDON</p></div> + +<p>"It is distinctly into another world of fancy and humor that the reader +steps when he turns the title-page of '<span class="smcap">Twelve Stories and a Dream</span>' and +finds himself held by the spell of Mr. Wells's wonderful imagination.... +Each tale shows Mr. Wells in a mood that is wholly his own, and they +each give expression to a diverse fancy that displays exceptional +literary skill and ingenuity."—Boston <i>Transcript</i>.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Wells's technique is admirable, and one scarcely recalls a +better-handled absurdity than 'The Truth About Pyecraft.'"—<i>Life.</i></p> + +<p>"All are written with an effectiveness and skill that are beyond +criticism."—New York <i>Times Review</i>.</p> + +<p>"Each of these stories is unique and thoroughly enjoyable."—Boston +<i>Herald</i>.</p> + +<hr class="smler" /> + +<p class="center">Charles Scribner's Sons, New York</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_483" id="Page_483">[Pg 483]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center">By H. G. WELLS</p> + +<p class="center">"A book which everyone should read."—London <i>Daily Telegraph</i>.</p> + +<p class="bold2">Mankind in the Making</p> + +<p class="center">12mo. $1.50 Net (postage, 13 cents)</p> + +<p>"The development of this interesting theory in detail must be left to +the reader, who may anticipate a lively succession of sensations, some +assenting and some dissenting, as he reads how mankind is to be made +over.... Mr. Wells carries his readers with him and does not allow the +least flagging of interest."—<i>Outlook.</i></p> + +<p>"He shows a wide knowledge of facts and an admirable temper from first +to last ... his book is exceedingly interesting and +stimulating."—Baltimore <i>Sun</i>.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Wells's discussions of vital themes are suggestive, original, and +plain spoken, and seamed with a racy vigor of style."—Boston <i>Herald</i>.</p> + +<p>"The first tribute this book draws from us is one of sincere respect.... +Mr. Wells's duty as a thinker and a writer lay in the producing of this +brilliant revolutionary book."—London <i>Daily News</i>.</p> + +<p>"He has an acute eye for prevailing weaknesses and absurdities ... an +admirable knack of showing the absurd side of cant and pedantry."—New +York Evening <i>Sun</i>.</p> + +<p>"Contains a good deal of plain truth and many suggestions worthy of +consideration."—Boston <i>Transcript</i>.</p> + +<hr class="smler" /> + +<p class="center">Charles Scribner's Sons, New York</p> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_484" id="Page_484">[Pg 484]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center">By H. G. WELLS</p> + +<p class="center">"Mr. Wells's masterpiece."—<i>Review of Reviews.</i></p> + +<p class="bold2">A Modern Utopia</p> + +<p class="center">ILLUSTRATED BY E. J. SULLIVAN</p> + +<p class="center">12mo. $1.50 net. Postage, 12 cents</p> + +<p>"This, the last of Mr. Wells's speculations regarding the future of the +human race, will take its place at the head of the long list of works of +its class, beginning with Plato's 'Republic.'"—<i>Evening Mail.</i></p> + +<p>"There has been no work of this importance published in the last thirty +years, and it is possible and permissible to hope that some ideas +sketched in it will fructify in the future."—London <i>Athenæum</i>.</p> + +<p>"Quite the most fascinating, and also most rich in suggestion, will be +found this latest of Mr. Wells's anticipatory writings."—New York +<i>Globe</i>.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Wells's '<span class="smcap">Utopia</span>' is far the most interesting, imaginative, and +possible of all the Utopias written since the inventions and discoveries +of science began to color our conceptions of the future."—The London +<i>Times Literary Supplement</i>.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Wells has the gift of making his philosophical, or rather +sociological, speculations of absorbing interest to the general reader. +His literary imagination, which was born in him, works on the positive, +scientific education to which his mind was subjected at its most +receptive period, and the rare combination gives to his writings a +peculiar distinction."—<i>The Academy.</i></p> + +<hr class="smler" /> + +<p class="center">Charles Scribner's Sons, New York</p> + +<hr /> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Kipps, by H. 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