Not long ago, in the garage at Salamis run by our friend Fred Seaman,
we were admiring and examining a very beautiful sedan. Not that we
had any idea of ever abandoning our cherished Dame Quickly, who means
more to us than any other vehicle ever will or can. But, just in a
contemplative spirit, and as a frustrated lover of luxury, we were
admiring this sedan, and saying to ourself that if we were a person of
wealth and standing that would be just about the kind of car we would
like to own. And we gazed entranced at its opulent upholstery, its
cut-glass carnation-vase, its little 8-day clock, cigar-holder, and all
the other gauds and trinkets. Just in idle curiosity we inquired the
price. Then we went over the hill to our home.
A day or so later a cheerful Polish friend of ours, who is so kind as
to call for the washing weekly, and who used to do odd jobs round our
estate, and with whom we boarded our admirable cat _Pepys_ while we
were in town, called at our house. Titania had always represented this
person to us as being in the last agony of financial dissolution and a
worthy object of charity.
“I want to show you my new boat,” said he.
We thought at first that he meant an actual boat, down in the harbour,
and were interested. But he pointed out to the front of the house.
There was the very sedan we had admired. He insisted on our going down
to listen to the engine. “Paid all cash for it,” he said proudly.
When we see a large, glimmering limousine pass us on the road,
hereafter, we shall always wonder whether it is some thrifty washerman
and his family.