In the middle of the story he looked round for applause, as
professional story-tellers do, caught my eye, and straightway collapsed.
professional story-tellers do, caught my eye, and straightway collapsed.
Kipling - Poems
Mad to
a certain extent I must have been, for I recollect that I reined in my
horse at the head of the 'rickshaw, and politely wished Mrs. Wessington
"Good evening. " Her answer was one I knew only too well. I listened
to the end; and replied that I had heard it all before, but should
be delighted if she had anything further to say. Some malignant devil
stronger than I must have entered into me that evening, for I have a dim
recollection of talking the commonplaces of the day for five minutes to
the Thing in front of me.
"Mad as a hatter, poor devil--or drunk. Max, try and get him to come
home. "
Surely that was not Mrs. Wessington's voice! The two men had overheard
me speaking to the empty air, and had returned to look after me. They
were very kind and considerate, and from their words evidently gathered
that I was extremely drunk. I thanked them confusedly and cantered away
to my hotel, there changed, and arrived at the Mannerings' ten minutes
late. I pleaded the darkness of the night as an excuse; was rebuked by
Kitty for my unlover-like tardiness; and sat down.
The conversation had already become general; and under cover of it, I
was addressing some tender small talk to my sweetheart when I was aware
that at the further end of the table a short red-whiskered man was
describing, with much broidery, his encounter with a mad unknown that
evening.
A few sentences convinced me that he was repeating the incident of half
an hour ago.
In the middle of the story he looked round for applause, as
professional story-tellers do, caught my eye, and straightway collapsed.
There was a moment's awkward silence, and the red-whiskered man muttered
something to the effect that he had "forgotten the rest," thereby
sacrificing a reputation as a good story-teller which he had built
up for six seasons past. I blessed him from the bottom of my heart,
and--went on with my fish.
In the fulness of time that dinner came to an end; and with genuine
regret I tore myself away from Kitty--as certain as I was of my
own existence that It would be waiting for me outside the door. The
red-whiskered man, who had been introduced to me as Doctor Heatherlegh,
of Simla, volunteered to bear me company as far as our roads lay
together. I accepted his offer with gratitude.
My instinct had not deceived me. It lay in readiness in the Mall, and,
in what seemed devilish mockery of our ways, with a lighted head-lamp.
The red-whiskered man went to the point at once, in a manner that showed
he bad been thinking over it all dinner time.
"I say, Pansay, what the deuce was the matter with you this evening on
the Elysium road? " The suddenness of the question wrenched an answer
from me before I was aware.
"That! " said I, pointing to It.
"That may be either D. T. or Eyes for aught I know.
a certain extent I must have been, for I recollect that I reined in my
horse at the head of the 'rickshaw, and politely wished Mrs. Wessington
"Good evening. " Her answer was one I knew only too well. I listened
to the end; and replied that I had heard it all before, but should
be delighted if she had anything further to say. Some malignant devil
stronger than I must have entered into me that evening, for I have a dim
recollection of talking the commonplaces of the day for five minutes to
the Thing in front of me.
"Mad as a hatter, poor devil--or drunk. Max, try and get him to come
home. "
Surely that was not Mrs. Wessington's voice! The two men had overheard
me speaking to the empty air, and had returned to look after me. They
were very kind and considerate, and from their words evidently gathered
that I was extremely drunk. I thanked them confusedly and cantered away
to my hotel, there changed, and arrived at the Mannerings' ten minutes
late. I pleaded the darkness of the night as an excuse; was rebuked by
Kitty for my unlover-like tardiness; and sat down.
The conversation had already become general; and under cover of it, I
was addressing some tender small talk to my sweetheart when I was aware
that at the further end of the table a short red-whiskered man was
describing, with much broidery, his encounter with a mad unknown that
evening.
A few sentences convinced me that he was repeating the incident of half
an hour ago.
In the middle of the story he looked round for applause, as
professional story-tellers do, caught my eye, and straightway collapsed.
There was a moment's awkward silence, and the red-whiskered man muttered
something to the effect that he had "forgotten the rest," thereby
sacrificing a reputation as a good story-teller which he had built
up for six seasons past. I blessed him from the bottom of my heart,
and--went on with my fish.
In the fulness of time that dinner came to an end; and with genuine
regret I tore myself away from Kitty--as certain as I was of my
own existence that It would be waiting for me outside the door. The
red-whiskered man, who had been introduced to me as Doctor Heatherlegh,
of Simla, volunteered to bear me company as far as our roads lay
together. I accepted his offer with gratitude.
My instinct had not deceived me. It lay in readiness in the Mall, and,
in what seemed devilish mockery of our ways, with a lighted head-lamp.
The red-whiskered man went to the point at once, in a manner that showed
he bad been thinking over it all dinner time.
"I say, Pansay, what the deuce was the matter with you this evening on
the Elysium road? " The suddenness of the question wrenched an answer
from me before I was aware.
"That! " said I, pointing to It.
"That may be either D. T. or Eyes for aught I know.
