I
London on a November Sunday inspired Eustace Reynolds with a
melancholy too insistent to be ignored and too causeless to be
enjoyed. The grey sky overhead between the house-tops, the cold wind
round every street-corner, the sad faces of the men and women on the
pavements, combined to create an atmosphere of ineloquent misery.
Eustace was sensitive to impressions, and in spite of a
half-conscious effort to remain a dispassionate spectator of the
world's melancholy, he felt the chill of the aimless day creeping
over his spirit. Why was there no sun, no warmth, no laughter on the
earth? What had become of all the children who keep laughter like a
mask on the faces of disillusioned men? The wind blew down
Southampton Street, and chilled Eustace to a shiver that passed away
in a shudder of disgust at the sombre colour of life. A windy Sunday
in London before the lamps are lit, tempts a man to believe in the
nobility of work.
At the corner by Charing Cross Telegraph Office a man thrust a
handbill under his eyes, but he shook his head impatiently. The
blueness of the fingers that offered him the paper was alone
sufficient to make him disinclined to remove his hands from his
pockets even for an instant. But, the man would not be dismissed so
lightly.
"Excuse me, sir," he said, following him, "you have not looked to
see what my bills are."
"Whatever they are I do not want them."
"That's where you are wrong, sir," the man said earnestly. "You will
never find life interesting if you do not lie in wait for the
unexpected. As a matter of fact, I believe that my bill contains
exactly what you do want."
Eustace looked at the man with quick curiosity. His clothes were
ragged, and the visible parts of his flesh were blue with cold, but
his eyes were bright with intelligence and his speech was that of an
educated man. It seemed to Eustace that he was being regarded with a
keen expectancy, as though his decision I on the trivial point was of
real importance.
"I don't know what you are driving at," he said, "but if it will give
you any pleasure I will take one of your bills; though if you argue
with all your clients as you have with me, it must take you a long
time to get rid of them."
"I only offer them to suitable persons," the man said, folding up one
of the handbills while he spoke, "and I'm sure you will not regret
taking it," and he slipped the paper into Eustace's hand and walked
rapidly away.
Eustace looked after him curiously for a moment, and then opened the
paper in his hand. When his eyes comprehended its significance, he
gave a low whistle of astonishment. "You will soon be warning a
coffin!" it read. "At 606, Gray's Inn Road, your order will be
attended to with civility and despatch. Call and see us!!"
Eustace swung round quickly to look for the man, but he was out of
sight. The wind was growing colder, and the lamps were beginning to
shine out in the greying streets. Eustace crumpled the paper into
his overcoat pocket, and turned homewards.
"How silly!" he said to himself, in conscious amusement. The sound of
his footsteps on the pavement rang like an echo to his laugh.