The Journal of a Disappointed Man

October 27. Quarrelled with D----! The atmosphere is changed at the flat--my character is ruined. D---- has told them I'm a loose fellow. I've always contrived to give him that impression--I liked to be cutting my throat--and now it's cut! November 1. D---- came and carried me off to the flat, where they asked why I hadn't been over--which, of course, pleased me immensely. November 6. Doctor M---- is very gloomy about my health and talks of S. Africa, Labrador, and so on. I'm not responding to his treatment as I should. November 11. Met her this evening in Kensington Road. "I timed this well," said she, "I thought I should meet you." Good Heavens, I am getting embroiled. Returned to the flat with her and after supper called her "The Lady of Shalott." "I don't think you know what you're talking about"--this stiffly. "Perhaps not," I answered. "I leave it to you." "Oh! but it rests with you," she said. Am I in love? God knows--but I don't suppose God cares. November 15. On M----'s advice went to see a stomach specialist--Dr. Hawkins. As I got there a little too early walked up the street--Portland Place--on the opposite side (from shyness) past an interminable and nauseating series of night bells and brass plates, then down again on the right side till I got to No. 66 which made me flutter--for ten doors ahead I mused is the house I must call at. It made me shiver a little. The specialist took copious notes of my evidence and after examining me retired to consult with M----. What a parade of ceremony! On coming back, the jury returned a verdict of "Not proven." I was told I ought to go out and live on the prairies--and in two years I should be a giant! But where are the prairies? What 'bus? If I get worse, I must take several months' leave. I think it will come to this.