Above all, I knew these speculations to be cheek of the worst kind; but if a horrid, impish little clergyman sits opposite, and regards one with a gaze of pure, rapturous pity, and talks in a holy undertone of that man Comfort, and what that man Comfort said, and what a privilege it is to converse with a person of his polished manners and width of outlook, it is not always possible for one to marshal one’s meditations into the channels of decency. As for the poor, dear Optimist, he suffered to a like extent from the indefatigable Toddles. The cheerful wretch writhed through the meal, and, of course, the moment he tried to deliver a kick under the table to Toddles, he fetched the Rector a crack on the knee. But in the matter of our peerless hostess, the Optimist and I effusively agreed with one another that we were both equally impossible. We were simply indulging in the dangerous amusement of skating over thin ice just for the pleasure of hearing it crack, and the cold water gurgle under our feet. The Optimist has long been regarded as a past master in the art of partaking of unexpected joys. It is recorded of him that he has been known to tip an umpire after being leg before, and to make a pun on being run out.
Dessert over, Miss Grace withdrew. Immediately afterwards the Rector retired to his den.
“What’s it to be—‘pills’ or poker?” said Charlie, as the rest of us lingered over the coffee and cigars.
“Brightside looks so quietly happy,” said Toddles at last audible to all, “that to begin with, he might minister to the enjoyment of life by standing on his head, or otherwise making his ecstasy articulate. He looks like one who has built a philosophy upon his sorrow.”
Never, ere now, had I seen the Optimist positively strain after cheerfulness. It was an impressive sight. But is it not strange the vast difference there is in the constitution of the most common men? For I was indecently hilarious. I laughed myself to tears over my own stories, unblushing chestnuts as they were.
“For your information, Brightside,” said the little parson, “Grace is a good girl, who goes to bed at ten. It is now nine-twenty. Therefore if you desire to compliment her to-night, you’ve got to buck up!”
“Do you men take me for a common jay?” said the Optimist. “Do you think I don’t know exactly how big I bulge in this great universe? Not for J. Brightside, thank you. If he were going out with Stoddart, it might be otherwise; but his batting’s really too steep!”
“Brightside,” said the persevering little parson, “we’re deceived in you. We thought you were a man with g—,—with an interior.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” the Optimist said; “but I recognise my limitations, thank you. Don’t fancy myself a Ranjy quite.”
“But women are that funny,” said the little parson, “one don’t know exactly how they’ll act.”