The Black Dog, and Other StoriesCoppard, A. E. (Alfred Edgar)
General
The Black Dog, and Other Stories
Coppard, A. E. (Alfred Edgar)
England -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction; Short stories, English
“No, none of them,” replied Simpkins. “Don’t care for theatres, I’ve
never been. Don’t care for girls, I like a quiet life. I keep myself to
myself—it’s safer, don’t get out of your depth then. I do go and have
a look at the football match sometimes, but it’s only because we make
the boots for some of your crack players, and you want to know what you
are making them for. Work doesn’t trouble me, nothing troubles me, and
I got money in the bank.”
“Damme, Simpkins, you have a terrible conviction about you; if I listen
to you much longer I shall bind myself apprentice to you. I feel sure
that you make nice, soft, watertight, everlasting boots, and then
we should rise in the profession together. Discourse, Simpkins; you
enchant mine ears—both of them.”
“What I say is,” concluded Simpkins, “you can’t understand everything.
I shouldn’t want to; I’m all right as it is.”
“Of course you are, you’re simply too true. This is a place flowing
with afternoon tea, tutors, and clap-trap. It’s a city in which
everything is set upon a bill. You’re simply too true, if we are not
out of our depth we are in up to our ears—I am. It’s most fascinating.”
Soon afterwards Simpkins left him. Descending the stairs to the rooms
of Evans-Antrobus he switched on the light. It was very quiet and snug
in those rooms, with the soft elegant couch, the reading-lamp with the
delicious violet shade, the decanter with whiskey, the box of chocolate
biscuits, and the gramophone. He sat down by the fire, waiting and
waiting. Simpkins waited so long that he got used to the room, he even
stole a sip of whiskey and some of the chocolate biscuits. Then to show
his independence, his contempt for Mr. Evans-Antrobus and his trickery,
he took still more of the whiskey—a drink he had never tasted before—he
really took quite a lot. He heaped coal upon the fire, and stalked
about the room with his hands in his pockets or examined the books,
most of which were about something called Jurisprudence, and suchlike.
Simpkins liked books; he began reading:
That the Pleuronectidæ are admirably adapted by their flattened and
asymmetrical structure for their habits of life, is manifest from
several species, such as soles and flounders, etc., being extremely
common.
He did not care much for science; he opened another:
It is difficult indeed to imagine that anything can oscillate so
rapidly as to strike the retina of the eye 831,479,000,000,000 in
one second, as must be the case with violet light according to this
hypothesis.
Simpkins looked at the light and blinked his eyes. That had a violet
shade. He really did not care for science, and he had an inclination to
put the book down as his head seemed to be swaying, but he continued to
turn the pages.
Snowdon is the highest mountain in England or Wales. Snowdon is not so
high as Ben Nevis.
Therefore the highest mountain in England or Wales is not so high as
Ben Nevis.
“Oh, my head!” mumbled Simpkins.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account