To Lhassa at Last

John Stuart Mill · en
'Why, the life of the bank clerk at home,' I replied; 'that bank clerk
whom we have always envied, who lives at Tooting in a little house just
like this, with a creaking staircase just like this, who never gets
harried from pillar to post, who is peaceful and domestic, and gets fat
as soon as he can afford to. And here I am, for two months at any rate,
and I'm living in a Tooting villa just like the bank clerk, and in the
bosom of my family, and I'm going to get fat too.'

So up we went to bed, full of peace. There was a big black centipede
crawling on the bedroom wall, a sinister-looking object, looking on the
white surface like mysterious handwriting, bringing with it to the
fanciful mind suggestions of 'Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin.' My wife has
a horror of centipedes. I was at once detailed to destroy it: a feat
soon accomplished.

'That dispels the bank clerk idea altogether, does it not?' one of us
remarked to the other. 'Bank clerks at Tooting don't have centipedes on
their bedroom walls, do they?'

When I had gone to my dressing-room, I heard the sound below of a key
turning in a lock. It was a servant opening the back door.

A moment later I heard the tread of the servant's bare feet on the
stairs. This was unusual. My bearer does not voluntarily visit me at
this hour.

Yes, it was the bearer. He came to the dressing-room door and presented
me with a telegram. It was 'urgent,' as denoted by the yellow colour of
the envelope. 'Urgent' telegrams when addressed to officers on leave are
apt to involve some interference with their plans.

I read the telegram and signed the receipt. The servant asked if he was
wanted any more. 'Yes, very much wanted,' I answered; 'but go downstairs
now and I'll call you later.'

Then came the process of breaking the news to my wife. It is difficult
not to be clumsy on these occasions. I went into the bedroom with the
telegram concealed somewhere on my person. There she sat unconcerned,
and I had to break it to her and did not know how to begin. I got to
within a foot or two of her and then stopped, held out a beckoning hand
to her, and said roughly:

'Come here.'

'What is it?' she said, sitting transfixed. There was something in my
face which alarmed her.

I beckoned again, and again said, 'Come here.'

'Oh!' she cried, 'take it off, take it off! It must be a centipede on my
shoulder that you are pointing at. I know it must be.'

'No, dear, it's not half so bad as that: it's only that I'm ordered to
Tibet.'




CHAPTER II

PRELIMINARIES