The Clean HeartHutchinson, A. S. M. (Arthur Stuart-Menteth)
Science
The Clean Heart
Hutchinson, A. S. M. (Arthur Stuart-Menteth)
Authors -- Fiction; Happiness -- Fiction
This long speech, delivered with much blinking and redness of the
face, was listened to by Mr. Wriford with the fierceness gone out of
his eyes but with his face twisting and working as though what he
heard put him in difficulty. In difficulty and with difficulty he
then broke out. "God knows I'm grateful," Mr. Wriford said, his
voice strained as his face. "But look at this--I don't want to be
grateful. I don't want that kind of thing. I've been through all
that. 'Thank you' for this; and 'Thank you' for that; and 'I beg
your pardon;' and 'Oh, how kind of you.' Man, man!" cried Mr.
Wriford, striking his hands to his face and tearing them away again
as though scenes were before his eyes that he would wrench away.
"Man, I've done that thirty years and been killed of it. I don't
want ever to think that kind of stuff again. I want just to keep
going on and having nothing touch me except what hurts me here in my
body and not care a damn for it--which I don't. You're always asking
me if I'm happy, and I know you think I'm not. But I am. Look how
hard my hands are: that makes me happy just to think of that. And
how I don't mind getting wet or cold: that makes me happy, so happy
that I shout out with the gladness of it and get myself wetter. It's
being a man. It's getting the better of myself. You're going to say
it's not. But you don't understand. One man has to get the better
of himself one way and one another. With me it's getting the better
of being afraid of things. Well, I'm beating it. I'm beating it
when I'm out here, tramping along. But when I'm sheltering it's
beating me. When you tell me--" He stopped, and stooping to Mr.
Puddlebox took his hands and squeezed them so that the water was
squeezed to Mr. Puddlebox's eyes. "There!" cried Mr. Wriford.
"Grateful! I'm more grateful to you. I'm fonder of you than any man
I've ever met. But don't tell me you're fond of me. I don't want
that from anybody. When you tell me that it puts me back to what I
used to be. I'm grateful. Believe that; but don't make me talk
about it."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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