“But aren’t you”—I scarcely knew how to phrase it—“aren’t you exactly what you want to be, Mr. Cartwright? You’re so good-humoured and jolly.”
He gave a gasp and looked at the window.
“I don’t lose my temper now,” he said. “I used to, and the last time I lost with it everything that was worth having. Here’s the advice I want to give you. Forget me, but try to remember this. Quarrel, if you must quarrel, with the people who don’t matter. Never quarrel with your friends. I had fierce words once with the best friend a man ever had.”
“What was his name?”
“It has taken her twelve years to forgive me, and in that time I’ve gone to pieces. All just for the luxury of five minutes of wild talk. Here’s the station; my wife will be waiting for me at the other end, to take the money I’ve earned.” He laughed in a peculiar way. “Goodbye, old chap. Not too big for this, are you?” He placed his hands on either side of my face. “I wish—oh, I wish you were my boy!”
My mother asked me, when I got back and told her, to show her exactly where he had kissed me, and she pressed her lips for some moments to the place on my forehead. Then we went in and brightened up the party.
II—A BENEVOLENT CHARACTER
A youth came into the small tobacconist’s and inquired, across the counter, whether there happened to be in the neighbourhood a branch establishment of a well-known firm (mentioned by name) dealing in similar goods and guaranteeing to save the consumer thirty-three per cent. He required the information, it appeared, because he contemplated buying a packet of cigarettes.
No, said the proprietor (after he finished his speech and the youth had gone), not quite the limit. Near to the edge, I admit; but remembering my friend, Mr. Ardwick, I can’t say it’s what you’d call the highest possible. It was a privilege to know Ardwick; he was, without any doubt whatsoever, a masterpiece. I’ve give up all hopes of ever finding his equal.
He was a customer here at the time Mrs. Ingram had the shop—and when I say customer, of course I don’t mean that he ever handed over a single halfpenny. Mrs. Ingram had only been a widow for about a twelvemonth, and naturally enough she liked gentlemen’s society; and Ardwick, after he got his compensation out of the County Council—that, by the by, was one of his triumphs—he had nothing else to do, and he became very much attached to that chair what you’re sitting on now. He’d call in to have a look at the morning paper, and read it through from start to finish; later in the day he’d call to see the evening paper, and keep tight hold of it till he’d come to the name of the printers at the foot of the last page. Between whiles he’d pretend to make himself handy at dusting the counter, and help himself to a pipe of tobacco, out of the shag-jar. It was a pretty sight to see old Ardwick, before he left of an evening, talk, as he filled a pocket with matches out of the stand, about the way the rich robbed the poor.