I walked back and spent a very interesting hour looking into the shops
and so on. There was a place in High Holborn full of models of steam
engines, and I rather longed for one. But it cost three pounds. Besides,
I was now, of course, past childish things and thought no more of it. I
stopped, too, to see some Blue Coat boys playing “footer” in a
playground that was railed off from the street by lofty railings. It was
somewhere near the General Post Office, I believe. Some of the chaps,
despite their long coats, which they strapped round their waists, played
jolly well. I felt it would have been fine to have gone in and had a
kick about. But, of course, the days for that were past. It was rather
sad in a way. But, there it was—I’d grown up. I had to keep reminding
myself of this, and now and then my beastly top-hat fell off and
reminded me again. Only it takes a bit of time to realise such a thing.
In fact, I’ve heard grey-haired men say that they don’t feel a bit old,
though they may be simply fossils really, to the critical eye; so, no
doubt, it was natural even for me not to _feel_ that I had grown up, and
had now got to face things and run my own show, as well as I could, for
evermore. To rub it in, as it were, I had my first shave on the way
home. Mr. Blades had advised this course.
Aunt Augusta showed a great deal of interest in the day’s adventures,
and next morning I took a dark blue “blazer” to the office. It had the
badge of Merivale first footer team on it; but, of course, I made my
aunt cut that off. Because, though it meant a good deal at Merivale, to
a man earning his own living in a hive of industry, it simply counted
for nothing at all.