The Autobiography of a Super-TrampDavies, W. H. (William Henry)
General
The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp
Davies, W. H. (William Henry)
Davies, W. H. (William Henry), 1871-1940; Poets, English -- 20th century -- Biography; Tramps -- Biography
The third day I continued my work, the others again working on the
comfort of this large house; one being outside trimming the
evergreens, and taking a general pride in our half orchard and half
park. Ditto the third day, and so on day after day, until the rent
became due. This was the first time for me to take a personal hand in
my affairs, and, when the agent called, I thought it more business
like to put in an appearance, for the first rent day, at least, seeing
that the house was in my name, after which others might attend to it.
I paid the rent, 9s. 6d.--the house, as I have said, was a fine large
villa, and was really worth fifteen or sixteen shillings a week; and
this small amount demanded for it, was a mystery at which any sensible
person would have sniffed. This agent then gave me a book, with the
rent entered to my account. After this he handed me a letter, which,
said he, was sent from the office. Not dreaming of its contents, I
there and then opened this letter, and to my astonishment saw that it
was a notice to quit within one week of that date, at the orders of
Messrs. H. and B., her solicitors. This notice was a severe blow, for,
up till then, the place had been unsettled, and we had only been
enjoying the expectation of future comfort. "Who, or what does this
lady object to?" I asked the agent, with some bitterness. "I need
absolute quiet for my work, and the amount I have done in the past
week proves that I have had it. What then has disturbed my landlady,
that has not interfered with my work? To make a person suffer the
expense, and worse, the worry of moving twice in a few days, should
not be done without due consideration, and some definite reason." But
the agent knew or pretended to know nothing of the affair, and he
left me at the door, feeling more shame and mortification than I have
ever felt before. There was nothing else to do but to pack up again as
soon as possible and to seek fresh quarters, which, after great
difficulty, were found.
To think that I have lived thirty-five years, and not to have known
the folly and ill policy of living next door to one's landlady! But
this particular landlady is eccentric, can afford to be independent,
and I verily believe she would not sell a house for even twice its
worth if she thought the would-be purchaser to be a man incapable of
taking charge of property. Her house is more often unoccupied than
let, as I have since been told, for the most respectable people cannot
live near her. Apparently this is the case, for the house was still
empty several weeks after I had quit, in spite of its unreasonably low
rent and the beauty of its surroundings.
A robin came to the back door every morning and was fed. Perhaps this
time wasted on the robin might have been better employed in winning
the good graces of the landlady.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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