This was a revolutionary enough remark, but when he went on to ask, Wasn't it a lovely spring morning? I felt shamed completely, for I was still angry with the gusts under the scudding sky. And it had been a lovely night, too, he added. Not a cloud all night. And a moon! such a moon! He never remembered a lovelier night. How did he know so much about the night? Why, he was a night watchman. In the General Omnibus Company. Had been for years. When then did he sleep? Oh, he would soon be in bed, but he liked a walk in the morning. Especially such a morning as this. In two hours' time he'd be fast asleep. Oh no, he didn't mind being on duty at night, and then, being in the General, he could have rides for nothing, and only the other day he'd been to Bushy Park to see the fallen trees. My, what a grand sight! He'd never seen so many fine trees on their sides. Wonderful it was.
Didn't Chiswick look grand in the Spring? he asked me. Such lovely blossom in the gardens. Chiswick had once been famous for its fruit orchards, and many trees still remained. Didn't I think it pretty?
As a matter of fact it was looking to me exactly like other suburbs; but I hadn't the heart to dash so enthusiastic and friendly a creature; so I said I thought Chiswick charming.
And healthy, he went on: there wasn't a healthier place anywhere—all sand. Wherever you dug you'd find sand.
I had a sudden vision of myself, spade in hand, testing this statement; but he allowed no time for such diversions of thought. The goodness of Chiswick and the importance of praising it were too urgent with him.
After passing the station we came to a block of peculiarly hideous flats on the right. There, he said, pointing to them, wasn't that convenient? What could a clerk want better than that? For himself he couldn't ask a better fate than to live at Chiswick. Such a fine High Street, and the biggest music-hall in the suburbs. The picture palaces too. But he was sorry to say that some Chiswick people had taken to going to a new one at Hammersmith. That was a pity, he thought. Had I ever seen such a nice Green?
By this time I was becoming stunned. I pinched myself to discover whether or not I dreamed. A Londoner, or Greater Londoner, pleased with his home; an Englishman of any description satisfied with anything English, and especially just now, when the rule is to cry stinking fish! What could be the matter?
I would try him, I thought, in his most sensitive spot, his pocket; and the opportunity came naturally enough for we were passing the shops in the High Street and he began to extol their merits.
"But isn't everything horribly dear nowadays?" I said.
"Yes," he replied, gaily "it is; but I can remember when it was dearer."