5·30.—I am growing humbler—I would almost take a coal-cellar now. Think I will go back to Hatfield and recant.... I have. "Very sorry—this moment let".... "Oh!"
5·35.—At last! May choicest blessings light upon the head of Plapper!—or rather of Mrs. Plapper, as her husband is out. She has taken me in! Charming rooms—not actually facing the sea, but with capital view of it round corner from bow-window. Plapper is an optician—wonder whether it is weak eyes, or wifely duty, that makes Mrs. P. wear blue spectacles? Everything arranged—terms most reasonable—now to recover luggage. Stop; better ask address—or I might never be able to find my optician again—like Mrs. Barrett Browning and her lost Bower! "You've only got to use Plapper's name, Sir, anywhere, and it will be all right," says Mrs. P. with natural pride. Very convenient. For instance: Stern Constable (to me). "Can't come in here, Sir." Myself. "Can't I, though? Plapper!" And in I go! Or I am in a scrape of some sort: "Have you anything to say?" asks the Inspector. I whisper in his ear, "Plapper!" And they grovel and release me.
5·45.—Odd—but now I find myself wondering ungratefully, whether I mightn't have done better than Plapper, after all. This is human nature, I suppose—but discreditable. I am overjoyed—really. I no longer hate people. I too am an initiate! But I can pity poor devils who are houseless, I hope.... I order sundry things: "Send them in to Plapper's." Luggage regained and sent back—to Plapper's. I feel self-respect once more.
6 p.m.—Returning to Plapper's. And in this secure retreat my Nautical drama is destined to see the light—if Plapper only knew! I feel an affection already for this humble temporary home. Mrs. P. meets me at the door. "So sorry, Sir—but you can't have the rooms, after all! Plapper had let 'em quite unbeknown to me!"
And this is Saturday! I am under a curse!
THE BALLET.
Lament by the Rev. S. D. Headlam.
What was it first my fancy fed,
My steps to the Alhambra led,