CHAPTER XX
Dinner at Franching’s to meet Mr. Hardfur Huttle.
MAY 10.—Received a letter from Mr. Franching, of Peckham, asking us todine with him to-night, at seven o’clock, to meet Mr. Hardfur Huttle, avery clever writer for the American papers. Franching apologised for theshort notice; but said he had at the last moment been disappointed of twoof his guests and regarded us as old friends who would not mind fillingup the gap. Carrie rather demurred at the invitation; but I explained toher that Franching was very well off and influential, and we could notafford to offend him. “And we are sure to get a good dinner and a goodglass of champagne.” “Which never agrees with you!” Carrie replied,sharply. I regarded Carrie’s observation as unsaid. Mr. Franching askedus to wire a reply. As he had said nothing about dress in the letter, Iwired back: “With pleasure. Is it full dress?” and by leaving out ourname, just got the message within the sixpence.
Got back early to give time to dress, which we received a telegraminstructing us to do. I wanted Carrie to meet me at Franching’s house;but she would not do so, so I had to go home to fetch her. What a longjourney it is from Holloway to Peckham! Why do people live such a longway off? Having to change ’buses, I allowed plenty of time—in fact, toomuch; for we arrived at twenty minutes to seven, and Franching, so theservant said, had only just gone up to dress. However, he was down asthe clock struck seven; he must have dressed very quickly.
I must say it was quite a distinguished party, and although we did notknow anybody personally, they all seemed to be quite swells. Franchinghad got a professional waiter, and evidently spared no expense. Therewere flowers on the table round some fairy-lamps and the effect, I mustsay, was exquisite. The wine was good and there was plenty of champagne,concerning which Franching said he himself, never wished to taste better.We were ten in number, and a _menû_ card to each. One lady said shealways preserved the _menû_ and got the guests to write their names onthe back.
We all of us followed her example, except Mr. Huttle, who was of coursethe important guest.
The dinner-party consisted of Mr. Franching, Mr. Hardfur Huttle, Mr. andMrs. Samuel Hillbutter, Mrs. Field, Mr. and Mrs. Purdick, Mr. Pratt, Mr.R. Kent, and, last but not least, Mr. and Mrs. Charles Pooter. Franchingsaid he was sorry he had no lady for me to take in to dinner. I repliedthat I preferred it, which I afterwards thought was a veryuncomplimentary observation to make.
I sat next to Mrs. Field at dinner. She seemed a well-informed lady, butwas very deaf. It did not much matter, for Mr. Hardfur Huttle did allthe talking. He is a marvellously intellectual man and says things whichfrom other people would seem quite alarming. How I wish I could remembereven a quarter of his brilliant conversation. I made a few littlereminding notes on the _menû_ card.
One observation struck me as being absolutely powerful—though not to myway of thinking of course. Mrs. Purdick happened to say “You arecertainly unorthodox, Mr. Huttle.” Mr. Huttle, with a peculiarexpression (I can see it now) said in a slow rich voice: “Mrs. Purdick,‘orthodox’ is a grandiloquent word implying sticking-in-the-mud. IfColumbus and Stephenson had been orthodox, there would neither have beenthe discovery of America nor the steam-engine.” There was quite asilence. It appeared to me that such teaching was absolutely dangerous,and yet I felt—in fact we must all have felt—there was no answer to theargument. A little later on, Mrs. Purdick, who is Franching’s sister andalso acted as hostess, rose from the table, and Mr. Huttle said: “Why,ladies, do you deprive us of your company so soon? Why not wait while wehave our cigars?”
The effect was electrical. The ladies (including Carrie) were in no wayinclined to be deprived of Mr. Huttle’s fascinating society, andimmediately resumed their seats, amid much laughter and a little chaff.Mr. Huttle said: “Well, that’s a real good sign; you shall not beinsulted by being called orthodox any longer.” Mrs. Purdick, who seemedto be a bright and rather sharp woman, said: “Mr. Huttle, we will meetyou half-way—that is, till you get half-way through your cigar. That, atall events, will be the happy medium.”
I shall never forget the effect the words, “happy medium,” had upon him.He was brilliant and most daring in his interpretation of the words. Hepositively alarmed me. He said something like the following: “Happymedium, indeed. Do you know ‘happy medium’ are two words which mean‘miserable mediocrity’? I say, go first class or third; marry a duchessor her kitchenmaid. The happy medium means respectability, andrespectability means insipidness. Does it not, Mr. Pooter?”
I was so taken aback by being personally appealed to, that I could onlybow apologetically, and say I feared I was not competent to offer anopinion. Carrie was about to say something; but she was interrupted, forwhich I was rather pleased, for she is not clever at argument, and onehas to be extra clever to discuss a subject with a man like Mr. Huttle.
He continued, with an amazing eloquence that made his unwelcome opinionspositively convincing: “The happy medium is nothing more or less than avulgar half-measure. A man who loves champagne and, finding a pint toolittle, fears to face a whole bottle and has recourse to an imperialpint, will never build a Brooklyn Bridge or an Eiffel Tower. No, he ishalf-hearted, he is a half-measure—respectable—in fact, a happy medium,and will spend the rest of his days in a suburban villa with astucco-column portico, resembling a four-post bedstead.”
We all laughed.
“That sort of thing,” continued Mr. Huttle, “belongs to a soft man, witha soft beard with a soft head, with a made tie that hooks on.”
This seemed rather personal and twice I caught myself looking in theglass of the cheffonière; for _I_ had on a tie that hooked on—and whynot? If these remarks were not personal they were rather careless, andso were some of his subsequent observations, which must have made bothMr. Franching and his guests rather uncomfortable. I don’t think Mr.Huttle meant to be personal, for he added; “We don’t know that class herein this country: but we do in America, and I’ve no use for them.”
Franching several times suggested that the wine should be passed roundthe table, which Mr. Huttle did not heed; but continued as if he weregiving a lecture:
“What we want in America is your homes. We live on wheels. Your simple,quiet life and home, Mr. Franching, are charming. No display, nopretension! You make no difference in your dinner, I dare say, when yousit down by yourself and when you invite us. You have your own personalattendant—no hired waiter to breathe on the back of your head.”
I saw Franching palpably wince at this.
Mr. Huttle continued: “Just a small dinner with a few good things, suchas you have this evening. You don’t insult your guests by sending tothe grocer for champagne at six shillings a bottle.”
I could not help thinking of “Jackson Frères” at three-and-six!
“In fact,” said Mr. Huttle, “a man is little less than a murderer whodoes. That is the province of the milksop, who wastes his evening athome playing dominoes with his wife. I’ve heard of these people. Wedon’t want them at this table. Our party is well selected. We’ve no usefor deaf old women, who cannot follow intellectual conversation.”
All our eyes were turned to Mrs. Field, who fortunately, being deaf, didnot hear his remarks; but continued smiling approval.
“We have no representative at Mr. Franching’s table,” said Mr. Huttle,“of the unenlightened frivolous matron, who goes to a second class danceat Bayswater and fancies she is in Society. Society does not know her;it has no use for her.”
Mr. Huttle paused for a moment and the opportunity was afforded for theladies to rise. I asked Mr. Franching quietly to excuse me, as I did notwish to miss the last train, which we very nearly did, by-the-by, throughCarrie having mislaid the little cloth cricket-cap which she wears whenwe go out.
It was very late when Carrie and I got home; but on entering thesitting-room I said: “Carrie, what do you think of Mr. Hardfur Huttle?”She simply answered: “How like Lupin!” The same idea
occurred to me inthe train. The comparison kept me awake half the night. Mr. Huttle was,of course, an older and more influential man; but he _was_ like Lupin,and it made me think how dangerous Lupin would be if he were older andmore influential. I feel proud to think Lupin _does_ resemble Mr. Huttlein some ways. Lupin, like Mr. Huttle, has original and sometimeswonderful ideas; but it is those ideas that are so dangerous. They makemen extremely rich or extremely poor. They make or break men. I alwaysfeel people are happier who live a simple unsophisticated life. Ibelieve _I_ am happy because I am not ambitious. Somehow I feel thatLupin, since he has been with Mr. Perkupp, has become content to settledown and follow the footsteps of his father. This is a comfort.
The Diary of a Nobody Page 20