“Your fare, and you know it very well,” I answered, whereupon he replied:
“Oh, all right. Wish I could give you the cab an’ the hoss in. Don’t you chuck away your money, that’s all. You’re a blimed sight too big-’earted—that’s what’s the matter with you.”
I felt cheered. Here was practical advice given by a mere toiler from the ranks. I promised the man that I would not waste my money; I reciprocated his caution, beamed upon him, ignored his satire, and went downstairs to the trains. A newspaper boy offered me Punch. I bought it, and with rising spirits lighted a cigar and got into a City train. It happened to come from Ealing, and contained, amongst other people, my dear old friend Tracy Mainwaring—cheeriest, brightest, and best of men. The fog deepened, and somewhere about the Temple a violent fit of coughing caused me to fling away my cigar, and double up in considerable physical discomfort. Mainwaring, with his universal sympathy, was instantly much concerned for me.
“My dear Honeybun, you’ll kill yourself—you will indeed. It’s suicide for you to come to town on days like this. How often have I expostulated! And nobody will pity you, because you need not do it. Why don’t you go to the South of France? You ought to go for all our sakes.”
“Mainwaring,” I said, “you’re right. You always are. Here’s the Temple. I’ll return home at once, and start as soon as I conveniently can—to-morrow at latest.”
The amazement which burst forth upon the face of every man in that carriage was a striking commentary on my original assertion that advice is not taken habitually in this country.
As for Mainwaring himself, I could perceive that he was seriously alarmed. He followed me out of the train, and his face was white, his voice much shaken, as he took my arm.
“Old chap,” he said, “I’ve annoyed you; I’ve bored you with my irresponsible chatter. You’re trying to escape from me. You mustn’t let a friend influence you against your better judgment. Of course, I only thought of your good, but——”
“My dear fellow,” I answered, “nobody ever gave me better advice, and unless circumstances conspire against it, I mean to do as you suggest.”
“Yes, yes—capital,” he said, with the voice we assume when trying to soothe an intoxicated acquaintance or a lunatic. “You shall go, dear old fellow, and I’ll see you home.”