P G Wodehouse – Man Upstairs

It was at this point that he definitely condemned Simeon Stylites as a sybaritic fraud.

If this were one of those realistic Zolaesque stories I would describe the crick in the back that-but let us hurry on.

It was about six hours later-he had no watch, but the number of aches, stitches, not to mention cramps, that he had experienced could not possibly have been condensed into a shorter period-that his manly spirit snapped. Let us not judge him too harshly. The girl upstairs had broken his heart, ruined his life, and practically compared him to Rolan Bean, and his pride should have built up an impassable wall between them, but-she had cake and cocoa. In similar circumstances King Arthur would have grovelled before Guinevere.

He rushed to the door and tore it open. There was a startled exclamation from the darkness outside.

“I hope I didn’t disturb you,” said a small meek voice.

Mr. Ferguson did not answer. His twitching nostrils were drinking in a familiar aroma.

“Were you asleep? May I come in? I’ve brought you some cake and cocoa.”

He took the rich gifts from her in silence. There are moments in a man’s life too sacred for words. The wonder of the thing had struck him dumb. An instant before and he had had but a desperate hope of winning these priceless things from her at the cost of all his dignity and self-respect. He had been prepared to secure them through a shower of biting taunts, a blizzard of razor-like “I told you so’s.” Yet here he was, draining the cup, and still able to hold his head up, look the world in the face, and call himself a man.

His keen eye detected a crumb on his coat-sleeve. This retrieved and consumed, he turned to her, seeking explanation.

She was changed. The battle-gleam had faded from her eyes. She seemed scared and subdued. Her manner was of one craving comfort and protection.

“That awful boy!” she breathed.

“Bean?” said Mr. Ferguson, picking a crumb off the carpet.

“He’s frightful.”

“I thought you might get a little tired of him! What has he been doing?”

“Talking. I feel battered. He’s like one of those awful encyclopædias that give you a sort of dull leaden feeling in your head directly you open them. Do you know how many tons of water go over Niagara Falls every year?”

“No.”

“He does.”

“I told you he had a fund of useful information. The Purpose and Tenacity books insist on it. That’s how you Catch your Employer’s Eye. One morning the boss suddenly wants to know how many horsehair sofas there are in Brixton, the number of pins that would reach from London Bridge to Waterloo. You tell him, and he takes you into partnership. Later, you become a millionaire. But I haven’t thanked you for the cocoa. It was fine.”

He waited for the retort, but it did not come. A pleased wonderment filled him. Could these things really be thus?

“And it isn’t only what he says,” she went on. “I know what you mean about him now. It’s his accusing manner.”

“I’ve tried to analyse that manner. I believe it’s the spectacles.”

“It’s frightful when he looks at you; you think of all the wrong things you’ve ever done or ever wanted to do.”

“Does he have that effect on you?” he said, excitedly. “Why, that exactly describes what I feel.”

The affinities looked at one another.

She was the first to speak.

“We always did think alike on most things, didn’t we?” she said.

“Of course we did.”

He shifted his chair forward.

“It was all my fault,” he said. “I mean, what happened.”

“It wasn’t. It-”

“Yes, it was. I want to tell you something. I don’t know if it will make any difference now, but I should like you to know it. It’s this. I’ve altered a good deal since I came to London. For the better, I think. I’m a pretty poor sort of specimen still, but at least I don’t imagine I can measure life with a foot-rule. I don’t judge the world any longer by the standards of a country town. London has knocked some of the corners off me. I don’t think you would find me the Bean type any longer. I don’t disapprove of other people much now. Not as a habit. I find I have enough to do keeping myself up to the mark.”