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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
267
"As!
yes,
R----
is
an
authority
on
Fishes."
I
assented.
"At
the
last
meeting
of
the
British
Ass.
he
tore
the
idea
to
shreds."
The
drowning
Caledonian
seized
at
any
straw:
"Fishes,
however,
are
not
of
paramount
importance
in
cases
of
geographical
distribution,
are
they?"
I
knew
he
was
thinking
of
marine
fishes,
but
I
did
not
illumine
him,
and
merely
said:
"Oh!
yes,
of
very
great
importance,"
at
which
he
looked
still
more
"hurt,"
decamped
in
silence
and
left
me
conqueror
of
the
field
but
without
the
spoils
of
victory:
it
was
impossible
to
bring
him
to
say
"I
do
not
know"--four
mono-syllables
was
all
I
wanted
from
the
man
who
for
months
past
has
been
lecturing
me
on
all
things
from
Music
and
the
Drama
to
Philosophy,
Painting
and--Insects.
July
20.
The
cradle
came
a
few
days
ago
but
I
had
not
seen
it
until
this
morning
when
I
unlocked
the
cupboard
door,
looked
in
and
shuddered.
"That's
the
skeleton
in
our
cupboard,"
I
said
on
coming
down
to
breakfast.
She
laughed,
but
I
really
meant
it.
E----
keeps
a
blue
bowl
replenished
with
flaming
Poppies
in
our
room.
The
cottage
is
plagued
with
Ear-wigs
which
fly
in
at
night
and
get
among
the
clothes
and
bedlinen.
This
morning,
dressing,
she
held
up
her
chemise
to
the
light
saying:
"I
always
do
this--you
can
see
their
little
heathen
bodies
then
against
the
light...."
Isn't
she
charming?
July
30.
The
other
day
R----
and
I
were
sitting
on
a
stile
on
the
uplands
in
perfect
summer
weather
and
talking
of
happy
days
before
the
War--he
was
in
khaki
and
I
was
resting
my
"gammy"
leg....
As
we
talked,
we
let
our
eyes
roam,
resting
luxuriously
wherever
we
pleased
and
occasionally
interrupting
the
conversation
with
"Look
at
that
cow
scratching
herself
against
the
Oak,"
or
"Do
you
see
the
oats
waving?"
In
the
distance
we
saw
a
man
and
a
boy
walking
up
towards
us
along
the
path
thro'
the
corn,
but
the
eye
having
momentarily
scrutinised
them
wandered
away
and
the
conversation
never
paused.
When
next
I
looked,
they
were
much
nearer--crossing
the
furrows
in
the
potato
field
in
fact,
and
we
both
stopped
talking
to
watch--idly.
The
boy
seemed
to
be
about
10
years
old,
and
it
amused
us
to
see
his
great
difficulty
in
stepping
across
the
furrows.
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