THE CELESTIAL OMNIBUS AND OTHER STORIES By E.M. FORSTER London: Sidgwick & Jackson Ltd. Adam Street, Adelphi, W.C. 1912. TO THE MEMORY OF THE INDEPENDENT REVIEW These stories first appeared in _The Albany Review, The English Review, The Independent Review, The Pall Mall Magazine_, and _Putnams Magazine_; thanks are due to the editors for kindly permitting republication. CONTENTS The Story of a Panic The Other Side of the Hedge The Celestial Omnibus Other Kingdom The Curate's Friend The Road from Colonus THE STORY OF A PANIC I Eustace's career--if career it can be called--certainly dates from that afternoon in the chestnut woods above Ravello. I confess at once that I am a plain, simple man, with no pretensions to literary style. Still, I do flatter myself that I can tell a story without exaggerating, and I have therefore decided to give an unbiassed account of the extraordinary events of eight years ago. Ravello is a delightful place with a delightful little hotel in which we met some charming people. There were the two Miss Robinsons, who had been there for six weeks with Eustace, their nephew, then a boy of about fourteen. Mr. Sandbach had also been there some time. He had held a curacy in the north of England, which he had been compelled to resign on account of ill-health, and while he was recruiting at Ravello he had taken in hand Eustace's education--which was then sadly deficient--and was endeavouring to fit him for one of our great public schools. Then there was Mr. Leyland, a would-be artist, and, finally, there was the nice landlady, Signora Scafetti, and the nice English-speaking waiter, Emmanuele--though at the time of which I am speaking Emmanuele was away, visiting a sick father. To this little circle, I, my wife, and my two daughters made, I venture to think, a not unwelcome addition. But though I liked most of the company well enough, there were two of them to whom I did not take at all. They were the artist, Leyland, and the Miss Robinsons' nephew, Eustace. Leyland was simply conceited and odious, and, as those qualities will be amply illustrated in my narrative, I need not enlarge upon them here. But Eustace was something besides: he was indescribably repellent. I am fond of boys as a rule, and was quite disposed to be friendly. I and my daughters offered to take him out--'No, walking was such a fag.' Then I asked him to come and bathe--'No, he could not swim.' "Every English boy should be able to swim," I said, "I will teach you myself." "There, Eustace dear," said Miss Robinson; "here is a chance for you." But he said he was afraid of the water!--a boy afraid!--and of course I said no more.