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235
The Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft
·
George Gissing
91
In
my
garret-days
it
was
seldom
that
I
rose
early:
with
the
exception
of
one
year--or
the
greater
part
of
a
twelvemonth--during
which
I
was
regularly
up
at
half-past
five
for
a
special
reason.
I
had
undertaken
to
"coach"
a
man
for
the
London
matriculation;
he
was
in
business,
and
the
only
time
he
could
conveniently
give
to
his
studies
was
before
breakfast.
I,
just
then,
had
my
lodgings
near
Hampstead
Road;
my
pupil
lived
at
Knightsbridge;
I
engaged
to
be
with
him
every
morning
at
half-past
six,
and
the
walk,
at
a
brisk
pace,
took
me
just
about
an
hour.
At
that
time
I
saw
no
severity
in
the
arrangement,
and
I
was
delighted
to
earn
the
modest
fee
which
enabled
me
to
write
all
day
long
without
fear
of
hunger;
but
one
inconvenience
attached
to
it.
I
had
no
watch,
and
my
only
means
of
knowing
the
time
was
to
hear
the
striking
of
a
clock
in
the
neighbourhood.
As
a
rule,
I
awoke
just
when
I
should
have
done;
the
clock
struck
five,
and
up
I
sprang.
But
occasionally--and
this
when
the
mornings
had
grown
dark--my
punctual
habit
failed
me;
I
would
hear
the
clock
chime
some
fraction
of
the
hour,
and
could
not
know
whether
I
had
awoke
too
soon
or
slept
too
long.
The
horror
of
unpunctuality,
which
has
always
been
a
craze
with
me,
made
it
impossible
to
lie
waiting;
more
than
once
I
dressed
and
went
out
into
the
street
to
discover
as
best
I
could
what
time
it
was,
and
one
such
expedition,
I
well
remember,
took
place
between
two
and
three
o'clock
on
a
morning
of
foggy
rain.
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