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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
130
"Try
the
other
end,"
repeated
the
young
man,
smiling
blandly.
I
blushed,
and
immediately
recovered
my
balance,
and
even
related
my
knowledge
of
pipes
fitted
to
carry
similar
plugs....
During
lunch
(at
which
we
sat
alone)
after
sundry
visits
to
the
top
of
the
stairs
to
shout
down
to
the
kitchen,
he
announced
that
he
thought
it
wasn't
last
night's
affair
after
all
which
was
annoying
the
Cook
(he
got
home
late
without
a
latch-key)--it
was
because
he
called
her
"Cook"
instead
of
Mrs.
Austin.
He
smiled
serenely
and
decided
to
indulge
Mrs.
A.,
his
indulgent
attitude
betraying
an
objectionable
satisfaction
with
the
security
of
his
own
unassailable
social
status.
There
was
a
trace
of
gratification
at
the
little
compliment
secreted
in
the
Cook's
annoyance.
She
wanted
Mr.
Charles
to
call
her
Mrs.
Austin,
forsooth.
Very
well!
and
he
smiled
down
on
the
little
weakness
de
haute
en
bas.
I
enjoyed
this
little
experience.
Turning
it
over
in
my
mind
(as
the
housemaid
says
when
she
decides
to
stay
on)
I
have
come
to
the
conclusion
that
the
social
parvenu
is
not
such
a
vulgar
fellow
after
all.
He
may
be
a
bore--particularly
if
he
sits
with
his
finger
tips
apposed
over
a
spherical
paunch,
festooned
with
a
gold
chain,
and
keeps
on
relating
in
extenso
how
once
he
gummed
labels
on
blacking
bottles.
Often
enough
he
is
a
smug
fellow,
yet,
truth
to
tell,
we
all
feel
a
little
interested
in
him.
He
is
a
traveller
from
an
antique
land,
and
we
sometimes
like
to
listen
to
his
tales
of
adventure
and
all
he
has
come
through.
He
has
traversed
large
territories
of
human
experience,
he
has
met
strange
folk
and
lodged
in
strange
caravanserai.
Similarly
with
the
man
who
has
come
down
in
the
world--the
fool,
the
drunkard,
the
embezzler--he
may
bore
us
with
his
maudlin
sympathy
with
himself
yet
his
stories
hold
us.
It
must
be
a
fine
experience
within
the
limits
of
a
single
life
to
traverse
the
whole
keyboard
of
our
social
status,
whether
up
or
down.
I
should
like
to
be
a
peer
who
grinds
a
barrel
organ
or
(better
still)
a
one-time
organ-grinder
who
now
lives
in
Park
Lane.
It
must
be
very
dull
to
remain
stationary--once
a
peer
always
a
peer.
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