The Diary of a Nobody

by George Grossmith

  CHAPTER III

  A conversation with Mr. Merton on Society. Mr. and Mrs. James, ofSutton, come up. A miserable evening at the Tank Theatre. Experimentswith enamel paint. I make another good joke; but Gowing and Cummings areunnecessarily offended. I paint the bath red, with unexpected result.

  APRIL 19.—Cummings called, bringing with him his friend Merton, who is inthe wine trade. Gowing also called. Mr. Merton made himself at home atonce, and Carrie and I were both struck with him immediately, andthoroughly approved of his sentiments.

  He leaned back in his chair and said: “You must take me as I am;” and Ireplied: “Yes—and you must take us as we are. We’re homely people, weare not swells.”

  He answered: “No, I can see that,” and Gowing roared with laughter; butMerton in a most gentlemanly manner said to Gowing: “I don’t think youquite understand me. I intended to convey that our charming host andhostess were superior to the follies of fashion, and preferred leading asimple and wholesome life to gadding about to twopenny-halfpennytea-drinking afternoons, and living above their incomes.”

  I was immensely pleased with these sensible remarks of Merton’s, andconcluded that subject by saying: “No, candidly, Mr. Merton, we don’t gointo Society, because we do not care for it; and what with the expense ofcabs here and cabs there, and white gloves and white ties, etc., itdoesn’t seem worth the money.”

  Merton said in reference to _friends_: “My motto is ‘Few and True;’ and,by the way, I also apply that to wine, ‘Little and Good.’” Gowing said:“Yes, and sometimes ‘cheap and tasty,’ eh, old man?” Merton, stillcontinuing, said he should treat me as a friend, and put me down for adozen of his “Lockanbar” whisky, and as I was an old friend of Gowing, Ishould have it for 36s., which was considerably under what he paid forit.

  He booked his own order, and further said that at any time I wanted anypasses for the theatre I was to let him know, as his name stood good forany theatre in London.

  APRIL 20.—Carrie reminded me that as her old school friend, Annie Fullers(now Mrs. James), and her husband had come up from Sutton for a few days,it would look kind to take them to the theatre, and would I drop a lineto Mr. Merton asking him for passes for four, either for the ItalianOpera, Haymarket, Savoy, or Lyceum. I wrote Merton to that effect.

  APRIL 21.—Got a reply from Merton, saying he was very busy, and just atpresent couldn’t manage passes for the Italian Opera, Haymarket, Savoy,or Lyceum, but the best thing going on in London was the _Brown Bushes_,at the Tank Theatre, Islington, and enclosed seats for four; also billfor whisky.

  APRIL 23.—Mr. and Mrs. James (Miss Fullers that was) came to meat tea,and we left directly after for the Tank Theatre. We got a ’bus that tookus to King’s Cross, and then changed into one that took us to the“Angel.” Mr. James each time insisted on paying for all, saying that Ihad paid for the tickets and that was quite enough.

  We arrived at theatre, where, curiously enough, all our ’bus-load exceptan old woman with a basket seemed to be going in. I walked ahead andpresented the tickets. The man looked at them, and called out: “Mr.Willowly! do you know anything about these?” holding up my tickets. Thegentleman called to, came up and examined my tickets, and said: “Who gaveyou these?” I said, rather indignantly: “Mr. Merton, of course.” Hesaid: “Merton? Who’s he?” I answered, rather sharply: “You ought toknow, his name’s good at any theatre in London.” He replied: “Oh! is it?Well, it ain’t no good here. These tickets, which are not dated, wereissued under Mr. Swinstead’s management, which has since changed hands.”While I was having some very unpleasant words with the man, James, whohad gone upstairs with the ladies, called out: “Come on!” I went upafter them, and a very civil attendant said: “This way, please, box H.”I said to James: “Why, how on earth did you manage it?” and to my horrorhe replied: “Why, paid for it of course.”

  This was humiliating enough, and I could scarcely follow the play, but Iwas doomed to still further humiliation. I was leaning out of the box,when my tie—a little black bow which fastened on to the stud by means ofa new patent—fell into the pit below. A clumsy man not noticing it, hadhis foot on it for ever so long before he discovered it. He then pickedit up and eventually flung it under the next seat in disgust. What withthe box incident and the tie, I felt quite miserable. Mr. James, ofSutton, was very good. He said: “Don’t worry—no one will notice it withyour beard. That is the only advantage of growing one that I can see.”There was no occasion for that remark, for Carrie is very proud of mybeard.

  To hide the absence of the tie I had to keep my chin down the rest of theevening, which caused a pain at the back of my neck.

  APRIL 24.—Could scarcely sleep a wink through thinking of having broughtup Mr. and Mrs. James from the country to go to the theatre last night,and his having paid for a private box because our order was not honoured,and such a poor play too. I wrote a very satirical letter to Merton, thewine merchant, who gave us the pass, and said, “Considering we had to payfor our seats, we did our best to appreciate the performance.” I thoughtthis line rather cutting, and I asked Carrie how many p’s there were inappreciate, and she said, “One.” After I sent off the letter I looked atthe dictionary and found there were two. Awfully vexed at this.

  Decided not to worry myself any more about the James’s; for, as Carriewisely said, “We’ll make it all right with them by asking them up fromSutton one evening next week to play at Bézique.”

  APRIL 25.—In consequence of Brickwell telling me his wife was workingwonders with the new Pinkford’s enamel paint, I determined to try it. Ibought two tins of red on my way home. I hastened through tea, went intothe garden and painted some flower-pots. I called out Carrie, who said:“You’ve always got some newfangled craze;” but she was obliged to admitthat the flower-pots looked remarkably well. Went upstairs into theservant’s bedroom and painted her washstand, towel-horse, and chest ofdrawers. To my mind it was an extraordinary improvement, but as anexample of the ignorance of the lower classes in the matter of taste, ourservant, Sarah, on seeing them, evinced no sign of pleasure, but merelysaid “she thought they looked very well as they was before.”

  APRIL 26.—Got some more red enamel paint (red, to my mind, being the bestcolour), and painted the coal-scuttle, and the backs of our _Shakspeare_,the binding of which had almost worn out.

  APRIL 27.—Painted the bath red, and was delighted with the result. Sorryto say Carrie was not, in fact we had a few words about it. She said Iought to have consulted her, and she had never heard of such a thing as abath being painted red. I replied: “It’s merely a matter of taste.”

  Fortunately, further argument on the subject was stopped by a voicesaying, “May I come in?” It was only Cummings, who said, “Your maidopened the door, and asked me to excuse her showing me in, as she waswringing out some socks.” I was delighted to see him, and suggested weshould have a game of whist with a dummy, and by way of merriment said:“You can be the dummy.” Cummings (I thought rather ill-naturedly)replied: “Funny as usual.” He said he couldn’t stop, he only called toleave me the _Bicycle News_, as he had done with it.

  Another ring at the bell; it was Gowing, who said he “must apologise forcoming so often, and that one of these days we must come round to _him_.”I said: “A very extraordinary thing has struck me.” “Something funny, asusual,” said Cummings. “Yes,” I replied; “I think even you will say sothis time. It’s concerning you both; for doesn’t it seem odd thatGowing’s always coming and Cummings’ always going?” Carrie, who hadevidently quite forgotten about the bath, went into fits of laughter, andas for myself, I fairly doubled up in my chair, till it cracked beneathme. I think this was one of the best jokes I have ever made.

  Then imagine my astonishment on perceiving both Cummings and Gowingperfectly silent, and without a smile on their faces. After rather anunpleasant pause, Cummings, who had opened a cigar-case, closed it upagain and said: “Yes—I think, after that
, I _shall_ be going, and I amsorry I fail to see the fun of your jokes.” Gowing said he didn’t mind ajoke when it wasn’t rude, but a pun on a name, to his thinking, wascertainly a little wanting in good taste. Cummings followed it up bysaying, if it had been said by anyone else but myself, he shouldn’t haveentered the house again. This rather unpleasantly terminated what mighthave been a cheerful evening. However, it was as well they went, for thecharwoman had finished up the remains of the cold pork.

  APRIL 28.—At the office, the new and very young clerk Pitt, who was veryimpudent to me a week or so ago, was late again. I told him it would bemy duty to inform Mr. Perkupp, the principal. To my surprise, Pittapologised most humbly and in a most gentlemanly fashion. I wasunfeignedly pleased to notice this improvement in his manner towards me,and told him I would look over his unpunctuality. Passing down the rooman hour later. I received a smart smack in the face from a rolled-upball of hard foolscap. I turned round sharply, but all the clerks wereapparently riveted to their work. I am not a rich man, but I would givehalf-a-sovereign to know whether that was thrown by accident or design.Went home early and bought some more enamel paint—black this time—andspent the evening touching up the fender, picture-frames, and an old pairof boots, making them look as good as new. Also painted Gowing’swalking-stick, which he left behind, and made it look like ebony.

  APRIL 29, Sunday.—Woke up with a fearful headache and strong symptoms ofa cold. Carrie, with a perversity which is just like her, said it was“painter’s colic,” and was the result of my having spent the last fewdays with my nose over a paint-pot. I told her firmly that I knew agreat deal better what was the matter with me than she did. I had got achill, and decided to have a bath as hot as I could bear it. Bathready—could scarcely bear it so hot. I persevered, and got in; very hot,but very acceptable. I lay still for some time.

  On moving my hand above the surface of the water, I experienced thegreatest fright I ever received in the whole course of my life; forimagine my horror on discovering my hand, as I thought, full of blood.My first thought was that I had ruptured an artery, and was bleeding todeath, and should be discovered, later on, looking like a second Marat,as I remember seeing him in Madame Tussaud’s. My second thought was toring the bell, but remembered there was no bell to ring. My third was,that there was nothing but the enamel paint, which had dissolved withboiling water. I stepped out of the bath, perfectly red all over,resembling the Red Indians I have seen depicted at an East-End theatre.I determined not to say a word to Carrie, but to tell Farmerson to comeon Monday and paint the bath white.