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349
The Journal of a Disappointed Man
·
W. N. P. Barbellion
268
"Poor
little
chap,"
R----
said,
and
we
laughed.
Then
the
boy
stumbled
badly
and
all
at
once
the
man
lifted
his
walking-stick
and
beat
him,
saying
ill-naturedly,
"Step
between
the
furrows,"
and
again,
"Step
between
the
furrows."
Our
enchanting
little
picture
was
transfigured
in
an
instant.
The
"charming
little
boy"
was
a
natural
idiot--a
gross,
hefty
creature
perhaps
30
years
of
age,
very
short
and
very
thick,
dressed
in
a
little
sailor
suit.
I
said,
"Heavens,"
and
R----
looked
positively
scared.
We
stood
aside
for
them
to
get
over
the
stile,
the
"boy"
still
suffering
from
his
over
exertion,
breathing
stertorously
like
a
horse
pulling
uphill
and
still
evidently
fearful
of
the
big
stick
behind.
He
scrambled
over
the
stile
as
best
he
could,
rolling
a
wild
eye
at
us
as
he
did
so--a
large,
bulgy
eye
with
the
lower
lid
swollen
and
sore,
like
the
eye
of
a
terrified
ox
on
the
way
to
the
slaughter
house.
So
much
then
for
our
little
picture
of
charming
childhood!
The
man
followed
close
at
his
heels
and
looked
at
me
with
stern
defiant
eyes.
"Yes,
that
is
my
son,"
his
eyes
declaimed,
"and
I'll
thank
you
to
avert
your
gaze
or
by
the
Lord
I'll
beat
you
too."
A
Yellow
Cat
Last
week,
I
saw
a
yellow
cat
perched
up
quite
high
on
a
window
ledge
at
the
S----
Underground
Station
in
celestial
detachment
from
the
crowd
of
serious,
black-coated
gentlemen
hustling
along
to
and
from
the
trains.
He
had
his
back
turned
to
us,
but
as
I
swept
past
in
the
stream,
I
was
forced
to
look
back
a
moment,
and
caught
the
outline
of
his
whiskers--it
made
me
smile
intensely
to
myself
and
secretly
I
gave
the
palm
to
the
cat
for
wisdom.
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