The Wife of Sir Isaac HarmanWells, H. G. (Herbert George)
General
The Wife of Sir Isaac Harman
Wells, H. G. (Herbert George)
England -- Fiction; Upper class -- Fiction; Women's rights -- Fiction
He had a vague notion that he would be able to get tickets on credit at
the booking office if he presented his visiting card. But the clerk in
charge seemed to find something uncongenial in his proposal. He did not
seem to like what he saw of Mr. Brumley through his little square
window and Mr. Brumley found something slighting and unpleasant in his
manner. It was one of those little temperamental jars which happen to
men of delicate sensibilities and Mr. Brumley tried to be reassuringly
overbearing in his manner and then lost his temper and was threatening
and so wasted precious moments what time Lady Harman waited on the
platform, with a certain shadow of doubt falling upon her confidence in
him, and watched the five-twenty-five gather itself together and start
Londonward. Mr. Brumley came out of the ticket office resolved to
travel without tickets and carry things through with a high hand just
as it became impossible to do so by that train, and then I regret to
say he returned for some further haughty passages with the ticket clerk
upon the duty of public servants to point out such oversights as his,
that led to repartee and did nothing to help Lady Harman on her
homeward way.
Then he discovered a current time-table and learnt that now even were
all the ticket difficulties over-ridden he could not get Lady Harman to
Putney before twenty minutes past seven, so completely is the South
Western Railway not organized for conveying people from Hampton Court
to Putney. He explained this as well as he could to Lady Harman, and
then led her out of the station in another last desperate search for a
taxi.
“We can always come back for that next train,” he said. “It doesn’t go
for half an hour.”
“I cannot blame myself sufficiently,” he said for the eighth or ninth
time....
It was already well past a quarter to six before Mr. Brumley bethought
himself of the London County Council tramcars that run from the palace
gates. Along these an ample four-pennyworth was surely possible and at
the end would be taxis——There _must_ be taxis. The tram took them—but
oh! how slowly it seemed!—to Hammersmith by a devious route through
interminable roads and streets, and long before they reached that spot
twilight had passed into darkness, and all the streets and shops were
flowering into light and the sense of night and lateness was very
strong. After they were seated in the tram a certain interval of
silence came between them and then Lady Harman laughed and Mr. Brumley
laughed—there was no longer any need for him to be energetic and
fussy—and they began to have that feeling of adventurous amusement
which comes on the further side of desperation. But beneath the
temporary elation Lady Harman was a prey to grave anxieties and Mr.
Brumley could not help thinking he had made a tremendous ass of himself
in that ticket clerk dispute....
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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