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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
258
An
observant
eye
can
now
discover
state
visits
to
our
dipterists
from
interested
persons
carrying
their
flies
with
them,
animated
discussions
in
the
corridor,
knots
of
excited
enthusiasts
in
the
Lavatory,
in
the
Library,
everywhere--and
everywhere
the
subject
discussed
is
the
same:
How
does
the
Housefly
pass
the
winter?
As
one
passes
one
catches:
"In
Bakehouses
certainly
they
are
to
be
found
but...."
or
a
wistful
voice,
"I
wish
I
had
caught
that
one
in
my
bathroom
three
winters
ago--I
am
certain
it
was
a
Housefly."
The
Doctor
himself--a
gallant
Captain--wanders
from
room
to
room
stimulating
his
lieutenants
to
make
suggestions,
and
examining
every
answer
to
the
great
interrogative
on
its
merits,
no
matter
how
humble
or
insignificant
the
person
who
makes
it.
Then
of
an
afternoon
he
will
entirely
disappear,
and
word
goes
round
that
he
has
set
forth
to
examine
a
rubbish
heap
in
Soho
or
Pimlico.
As
the
afternoon
draws
to
its
close
someone
enquires
if
he
has
come
back
yet;
next
morning
a
second
asks
if
I
had
seen
him,
then
a
third
announces
mournfully
that
he
has
just
been
holding
conversation
with
him,
but
that
nothing
at
all
was
found
in
the
rubbish
heap.
The
great
sensation
of
all
occurred
last
week
when
somebody
ran
along
the
corridor
crying
that
Mr.
----
had
just
found
a
Housefly
in
his
room.
We
were
all
soon
agog
with
the
news,
and
the
excited
Captain
was
presently
espied
setting
out
for
the
scene
of
operations
with
a
killing
bottle
and
net.
The
insect
was
promptly
impounded
and
identified
as
a
veritable
Musca
domestica.
A
consultation
being
held
to
sit
on
the
body,
a
lady
finally
laid
information
that
two
"forced
Houseflies"
hatched
the
day
before
had
escaped
from
her
possession.
She
suggested
Mr.
----'s
specimen
was
one
of
them.
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