Having alighted on strange ground at Chiswick Park Station, I was
lost. My destination was HOGARTH'S House--one of the few homes of the
illustrious which are preserved for pious pilgrims, but whether to go
this way or that I had no notion, nor was there anyone to ask. I
therefore turned to the left and, just after being half-blinded by a
dusty whirlwind, stopped an errand-boy and was told by him I had done
right, and had but to keep on.
I therefore continued, but with so little confidence that a hundred
yards further on I stopped another wayfarer, who, however, had no
knowledge of any Hogarth but a local laundry of that name, and could
not say where it was.
It was then that I fell into the arms of as admirable although
peculiar a man as I ever hope to meet, and communicative too. He was
one of those elderly men who keep their youth, largely by virtue of
cheerful spirits. He was short and active and he wore a cap. He had
sandy-grey hair and a touch of sandy-grey whisker; his eye was bright
and his cheeks were ruddy. He beamed with contentment. He may not have
been, as the diverting Mr. BERRY says in _Tina_, "fearfully crisp,"
but he was crisp enough.
Did he know Chiswick? Why, he had known it for nearly sixty years.
Then he knew HOGARTH'S House? No, he couldn't say he did, but, anyhow,
it must be in the other direction, because this, strictly speaking,
was Acton Green and not Chiswick at all. To get to Chiswick I ought to
have gone the other way. "But a depraved errand-boy----" I began to
say, and then realising that the recapitulation of other people's
errors is perhaps the idlest form of speech, where nearly all lack
necessity, I said instead that the natives did not seem to specialise
much in knowledge of their locality; to which he replied that they
ought to, for there was no more beautiful place in the world.
"I'm going in the direction you want, myself," he added. "The fact is
we're moving, and I've got to get some new blinds, and the shop's on
your way."
So we fell into step, I with great difficulty keeping up with his
happy buoyancy.
Yes, he admitted, moving was a trial, but his new house was far more
comfortable than the old one, and, after all, what's a little trouble?
This was a revolutionary enough remark, but when he went on to ask,
Wasn't it a lovely spring morning? I felt shamed completely, for I was
still angry with the gusts under the scudding sky. And it had been a
lovely night, too, he added. Not a cloud all night. And a moon! such a
moon! He never remembered a lovelier night. How did he know so much
about the night? Why, he was a night watchman. In the General Omnibus
Company. Had been for years. When then did he sleep? Oh, he would soon
be in bed, but he liked a walk in the morning. Especially such a
morning as this. In two hours' time he'd be fast asleep. Oh no, he
didn't mind being on duty at night, and then, being in the General, he
could have rides for nothing, and only the other day he'd been to
Bushy Park to see the fallen trees. My, what a grand sight! He'd never
seen so many fine trees on their sides. Wonderful it was.
Didn't Chiswick look grand in the Spring? he asked me. Such lovely
blossom in the gardens. Chiswick had once been famous for its fruit
orchards, and many trees still remained. Didn't I think it pretty?
As a matter of fact it was looking to me exactly like other suburbs;
but I hadn't the heart to dash so enthusiastic and friendly a
creature; so I said I thought Chiswick charming.
And healthy, he went on: there wasn't a healthier place anywhere--all
sand. Wherever you dug you'd find sand.
I had a sudden vision of myself, spade in hand, testing this
statement; but he allowed no time for such diversions of thought. The
goodness of Chiswick and the importance of praising it were too urgent
with him.
After passing the station we came to a block of peculiarly hideous
flats on the right. There, he said, pointing to them, wasn't that
convenient? What could a clerk want better than that? For himself he
couldn't ask a better fate than to live at Chiswick. Such a fine High
Street, and the biggest music-hall in the suburbs. The picture palaces
too. But he was sorry to say that some Chiswick people had taken to
going to a new one at Hammersmith. That was a pity, he thought. Had I
ever seen such a nice Green?
By this time I was becoming stunned. I pinched myself to discover
whether or not I dreamed. A Londoner, or Greater Londoner, pleased
with his home; an Englishman of any description satisfied with
anything English, and especially just now, when the rule is to cry
stinking fish! What could be the matter?
I would try him, I thought, in his most sensitive spot, his pocket;
and the opportunity came naturally enough for we were passing the
shops in the High Street and he began to extol their merits.
"But isn't everything horribly dear nowadays?" I said.
"Yes," he replied, gaily "it is; but I can remember when it was
dearer."
What is one to do with a man like that? Had we not now come to my
turning, Duke's Avenue, where he bade me good-bye, I might have
discovered that he did not think Lord KITCHENER an imbecile, Mr.
BALFOUR a mere salary-hunter, and Mr. ASQUITH a traitor. To such an
oddly constructed mind even those things were possible.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Tommy (to Jock, on leave)._ "WHAT ABOUT THE LINGO?
SUPPOSE YOU WANT AN EGG OVER THERE, WHAT DO YOU SAY?"
_Jock._ "YE JUIST SAY, 'OOF'."
_Tommy._ "BUT SUPPOSE YOU WANT TWO?"
_Jock._ "YE SAY 'TWA OOFS,' AND THE SILLY AULD FULE WIFE GIES YE
THREE, AND YE JUIST GIE HER BACK ONE. MAN, IT'S AN AWFU' EASY
LANGUAGE."]
* * * * *