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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
156
"It
makes
me
hate
you
like
mad,"
I
said
to
him
to-day.
"How
can
I
confront
these
people
with
the
naked
truth?"
R----
chuckled
complacently.
"If
I
deny
your
alleged
supremacy,
as
I
did
this
morning,
or
if
suddenly,
in
a
fit
of
spleen,
I'm
induced
to
declare
that
I
loathe
you
(as
I
sometimes
do)"--(more
chuckles)
"that
your
breath
stinks,
your
eyes
bulge,
that
you
have
swollen
jugulars
and
a
platter
face:
they
will
think
I
am
either
jealous
or
insincere....
To
be
your
Echo
tho'!--my
God!"
I
spat.
We
then
grinned
at
one
another,
and
I,
being
bored,
went
to
the
lavatory
and
read
the
newspaper
secure
from
interruption.
Resignation
In
the
Tube,
a
young
widow
came
in
and
sat
in
front
of
me--pale-faced,
grief-stricken,
demure--a
sort
of
"Thy
Will
be
Done"
look.
The
adaptability
of
human
beings
has
something
in
it
that
seems
horrible.
It
is
dreadful
to
think
how
we
have
all
accommodated
ourselves
to
this
War.
Christian
resignation
is
a
feeble
thing.
Why
won't
this
demure
widow
with
a
loud
voice
blaspheme
against
this
iniquitous
world
that
permits
this
iniquitous
war?
October
21.
I
myself
(licking
a
stamp):
"The
taste
of
gum
is
really
very
nice."
R.:
"I
hate
it."
I:
"My
dear
fellow"
(surprised
and
entreating),
"envelope
gum
is
simply
delicious."
R.:
"I
never
lick
stamps--it's
dangerous--microbes."
I:
"I
always
do:
I
shall
buy
a
bookful
and
go
away
to
the
seaside
with
them."
R.:
"Yes,
you'll
need
to."
(Laughter.)
Thus
gaily
and
jauntily
we
went
on
to
discuss
wines,
whiskies,
and
Worthington's,
and
I
rounded
it
up
in
a
typical
cock-eyed
manner,--
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