These houses showed signs of pride and affluence. Their woodwork
was frequently painted; the gravel was renewed; the knockers and
letter-boxes gleamed; their inhabitants were always either neat or
gaudy; even the servants were chosen half for their good looks, and
were therefore continually being changed. At the Elms lived several
people and a great Dane; at Orchard Lea a wire-haired terrier with a
silver collar; at Candelent Gate a sort of whippet; at the house whose
name I have forgotten, three pugs. These dogs all liked the Morgans’
house for one reason or another: men and dogs and food were always
to be found there. The dogs’ owners never got so far up the street
as that, though they sometimes sent to ask if Bunter the wire-haired
terrier, or Lofty the Dane, or Silvermoon the whippet, were there, or
to complain about one of some score of things which they disliked,
as, for example, the conduct of the dogs (especially Bully, who was
damned at first sight for his looks), the use of the hundred yards of
roadway as a running ground, Jessie’s entering the races in a costume
which enabled her to win, the noise of boys whistling at the pigeons,
the number of the pigeons, the visits of almost verminous-looking
strangers who had forgotten the name of the house and tried The Elms,
or Candelent Gate, or Orchard Lea, or Brockenhurst, before discovering
the Morgans. In return, Mr Morgan regretted the nature of things and
the incompatibility of temperaments, and he forbade racing in the
street; but as races were always an inspiration, they recurred. As for
Jessie’s clothes, his opinion was that his neighbours, being fools,
should look the other way or pull down their blinds. He did not see why
Godiva should complain of Peeping Tom, or Peeping Tom of Godiva. As for
the difficulty in remembering the name of the house, he saw no reason
for changing it; all his friends and his children’s friends could see
instantly that neither The Elms, nor Orchard Lea, nor Brockenhurst, nor
Candelent Gate, nor the other house, was his, and he could not think of
consulting those who were not his friends.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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