"
"You ought to have known better, then. It's a poor business being that
in your country nowadays. Pity there are no bye-elections on the
African Labour Question, or you'd be snapped up for a procession."
To this I replied that although the idea of moving in a processional
triumph would readily ensnare the minds of the light and fantastic, I
should prefer some more literary occupation, submissively adding that
in such a case I would not stiffen my joints against the most menial
lot, even that of blending my voice in a laudatory chorus, or of
carrying official pronouncements about the walls of the city, for it
is said with justice, "The starving man does not peel his melon, nor
do the parched first wipe round the edges of the proffered cup."
"If you've set your mind on something literary," said Beveledge
confidently, "you have every chance of finishing up in a chorus or
carrying printed placards about the streets, certainly. When it comes
to that, look me up in Eastcheap." With this encouraging assurance of
my ultimate success he left me, and rejoicing that I had not fallen
into the snare of opposing a written destiny, I sought the literary
quarters of the city.
*
When this person has been able to write of any custom or facet of
existence here in a strain of conscientious esteem, he has not
hesitated to dip his brush deeply into the inkpot. Reverting
backwards, this barbarian enactment of not permitting those who from
any cause have decided upon spending the night in a philosophical
abstraction to repose upon the public seats about the swards and open
spaces is not conceived in a mood of affable toleration.
Pages:
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181