I fancy this must be a socialistic formula, for short as the period of my acquaintance with him had been he had already used it to me three times. Perhaps it is the way in which his sect reminds those outside it of the existence of its barren and joyless notions of other people’s obligations. A Socialist, as far as I can make out, is a person who may never sit down. If he does, the bleak object he calls the Community immediately becomes vocal, because it considers that by sitting down he is cheating it of what he would be producing by his labour if he did not. Once I (quite good naturedly) observed to Jellaby that in a socialistic world the chair-making industry would be the first to go to the wall (or the dogs—I cannot quite recollect which I said it would go to) for want of suitable sitters, and he angrily retorted—but this occurred later in the tour, and no doubt I shall refer to it in its proper place.
Mrs. Menzies-Legh got up at once on his asking if we were enjoying ourselves, as though her conscience reproached her, and went over to the larder of her caravan and busily began pulling out pots; and I too seeing that it was expected of me prepared to rise (for English society is conducted on such artificial lines that immediately a woman begins to do anything a man must at least pretend to do something too) but found that my short stay on the grass had stiffened my over-tired limbs to such an extent that I could not.
The two nondescripts, who were passing, lingered to look.
“Can I help you?” said the one they called Jumps, as I made a second ineffectual effort, advancing and holding out a knuckly hand. “Will you take my arm?” said the other one, Jane, crooking a bony elbow.
“Thank you, thank you, dear children,” I said, with bland heartiness one assumes—for no known reason—toward the offspring of strangers; and obliged to avail myself of their assistance (for want of practice makes it at all times difficult for me to get up from a flat surface, and my stiffness on this occasion turned the difficult into the impossible), I somehow was pulled on to my feet.
“Thank you, thank you,” I said again, adding jestingly, “I expect I am too old to sit on the ground.” ^
“Yes,” said Jane.
This was so unexpected that I could not repress a slight sensation of annoyance, which found its expression in sarcasm.
“I am extremely obliged to you young ladies,” I said, sweeping off my Panama, “for extending your charitable support and assistance to such a poor old gentleman.”
