The Journal of a Disappointed Man

"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.