Augustus Carp, Esq., by Himself: Being the Autobiography of a Really Good ManBashford, H. H. (Henry Howarth), Sir
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Augustus Carp, Esq., by Himself: Being the Autobiography of a Really Good Man
Bashford, H. H. (Henry Howarth), Sir
English fiction -- 20th century; Humorous stories; Satire
“So I apologized,” I said.
“Quite right,” she said.
“But not to Mr. Chrysostom,” I said. “I apologized to the moisture.”
“To the moisture?” she said. “What moisture?”
“Why, to the moisture,” I explained, “of the tear.”
She stared at me with her mouth open.
“But what was the good of that?” she asked. “The moisture couldn’t hear
you.”
“No. It couldn’t hear me,” I said, “it couldn’t hear me, Miss Botterill.
But don’t you see that by apologizing to the moisture, I was conveying
to Mr. Chrysostom, in the most trenchant way possible, my own opinion of
his character.”
“No, I don’t,” said Miss Botterill. “I don’t see it at all.”
“Then I’ll explain it,” I said, “over again.”
Just at that moment, however, a customer entered the show-room, and
although I waited for several minutes, another customer entered the
show-room just as the first was departing. I therefore decided to leave
the premises, spurning them, as I did so, with my right foot, and it was
not until I had already turned into Ludgate Hill that I suddenly
remembered my unused weapon. Mrs. Chrysostom Lorton—I had utterly
forgotten her. Indeed I had never seen her since my first interview. But
she had always been there, of course—there in the background—ready to be
used in an emergency like this. I stopped short. Yes, I had forgotten
her. But to have remembered her was to act at once. For there could be
no doubt about it. It would be wholly impossible for her to afford to
sit still and have me dismissed. I therefore advanced to the kerb-stone
and hailed an omnibus, and within half an hour of conceiving the idea
was in a third-class carriage leaving Liverpool Street Station upon my
second visit to Enfield. Depressed as I was, too, both physically and
mentally, in spite of my crushing rejoinder to Mr. Chrysostom, my
spirits perceptibly rose as I neared my destination, stimulated by the
memory of my previous triumph. For though a good many years had now
elapsed since I last stood in that lascivious boudoir, Time had not
dimmed the spiritual victory that it had been my privilege to gain
there.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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