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Diary of a Nobody, The

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<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> The Unexpected Arrival Home of our Son, Willie Lupin Pooter. August 4.—The first post brought a nice letter from our dear son Willie, acknowledging a trifling present which Carrie sent him, the day before yesterday being his twentieth birthday.  To our utter amazement he turned up himself in the afternoon, having journeyed all the way from Oldham.  He said he had got leave from the bank, and as Monday was a holiday he thought he would give us a little surprise. August 5, Sunday.—We have not seen Willie since last Christmas, and are pleased to notice what a fine young man he has grown.  One would scarcely believe he was Carrie’s son.  He looks more like a younger brother.  I rather disapprove of his wearing a check suit on a Sunday, and I think he ought to have gone to church this morning; but he said he was tired after yesterday’s journey, so I refrained from any remark on the subject.  We had a bottle of port for dinner, and drank dear Willie’s health. He said: “Oh, by-the-by, did I tell you I’ve cut my first name, ‘William,’ and taken the second name ‘Lupin’?  In fact, I’m only known at Oldham as ‘Lupin Pooter.’  If you were to ‘Willie’ me there, they wouldn’t know what you meant.” Of course, Lupin being a purely family name, Carrie was delighted, and began by giving a long history of the Lupins.  I ventured to say that I thought William a nice simple name, and reminded him he was christened after his Uncle William, who was much respected in the City.  Willie, in a manner which I did not much care for, said sneeringly: “Oh, I know all about that—Good old Bill!” and helped himself to a third glass of port. Carrie objected strongly to my saying “Good old,” but she made no remark when Willie used the double adjective.  I said nothing, but looked at her, which meant more.  I said: “My dear Willie, I hope you are happy with your colleagues at the Bank.”  He replied: “Lupin, if you please; and with respect to the Bank, there’s not a clerk who is a gentleman, and the ‘boss’ is a cad.”  I felt so shocked, I could say nothing, and my instinct told me there was something wrong. August 6, Bank Holiday.—As there was no sign of Lupin moving at nine o’clock, I knocked at his door, and said we usually breakfasted at half-past eight, and asked how long would he be?  Lupin replied that he had had a lively time of it, first with the train shaking the house all night, and then with the sun streaming in through the window in his eyes, and giving him a cracking headache.  Carrie came up and asked if he would like some breakfast sent up, and he said he could do with a cup of tea, and didn’t want anything to eat. Lupin not having come down, I went up again at half-past one, and said we dined at two; he said he “would be there.”  He never came down till a quarter to three.  I said: “We have not seen much of you, and you will have to return by the 5.30 train; therefore you will have to leave in an hour, unless you go by the midnight mail.”  He said: “Look here, Guv’nor, it’s no use beating about the bush.  I’ve tendered my resignation at the Bank.” For a moment I could not speak.  When my speech came again, I said: “How dare you, sir?  How dare you take such a serious step without consulting me?  Don’t answer me, sir!—you will sit down immediately, and write a note at my dictation, withdrawing your resignation and amply apologising for your thoughtlessness.” Imagine my dismay when he replied with a loud guffaw: “It’s no use.  If you want the good old truth, I’ve got the chuck!” August 7.—Mr. Perkupp has given me leave to postpone my holiday a week, as we could not get the room.  This will give us an opportunity of trying to find an appointment for Willie before we go.  The ambition of my life would be to get him into Mr. Perkupp’s firm. August 11.—Although it is a serious matter having our boy Lupin on our hands, still it is satisfactory to know he was asked to resign from the Bank simply because “he took no interest in his work, and always arrived an hour (sometimes two hours) late.”  We can all start off on Monday to Broadstairs with a light heart.  This will take my mind off the worry of the last few days, which have been wasted over a useless correspondence with the manager of the Bank at Oldham. August 13.—Hurrah! at Broadstairs.  Very nice apartments near the station.  On the cliffs they would have been double the price.  The landlady had a nice five o’clock dinner and tea ready, which we all enjoyed, though Lupin seemed fastidious because there happened to be a fly in the butter.  It was very wet in the evening, for which I was thankful, as it was a good excuse for going to bed early.  Lupin said he would sit up and read a bit. August 14.—I was a little annoyed to find Lupin, instead of reading last night, had gone to a common sort of entertainment, given at the Assembly Rooms.  I expressed my opinion that such performances were unworthy of respectable patronage; but he replied: “Oh, it was only ‘for one night only.’  I had a fit of the blues come on, and thought I would go to see Polly Presswell, England’s Particular Spark.”  I told him I was proud to say I had never heard of her.  Carrie said: “Do let the boy alone.  He’s quite old enough to take care of himself, and won’t forget he’s a gentleman.  Remember, you were young once yourself.”  Rained all day hard, but Lupin would go out. August 15.—Cleared up a bit, so we all took the train to Margate, and the first person we met on the jetty was Gowing.  I said: “Hulloh!  I thought you had gone to Barmouth with your Birmingham friends?”  He said: “Yes, but young Peter Lawrence was so ill, they postponed their visit, so I came down here.  You know the Cummings’ are here too?”  Carrie said: “Oh, that will be delightful!  We must have some evenings together and have games.” I introduced Lupin, saying: “You will be pleased to find we have our dear boy at home!”  Gowing said: “How’s that?  You don’t mean to say he’s left the Bank?” I changed the subject quickly, and thereby avoided any of those awkward questions which Gowing always has a knack of asking. August 16.—Lupin positively refused to walk down the Parade with me because I was wearing my new straw helmet with my frock-coat.  I don’t know what the boy is coming to. August 17.—Lupin not falling in with our views, Carrie and I went for a sail.  It was a relief to be with her alone; for when Lupin irritates me, she always sides with him.  On our return, he said: “Oh, you’ve been on the ‘Shilling Emetic,’ have you?  You’ll come to six-pennorth on the ‘Liver Jerker’ next.”  I presume he meant a tricycle, but I affected not to understand him. August 18.—Gowing and Cummings walked over to arrange an evening at Margate.  It being wet, Gowing asked Cummings to accompany him to the hotel and have a game of billiards, knowing I never play, and in fact disapprove of the game.  Cummings said he must hasten back to Margate; whereupon Lupin, to my horror, said: “I’ll give you a game, Gowing—a hundred up.  A walk round the cloth will give me an appetite for dinner.”  I said: “Perhaps Mister Gowing does not care to play with boys.”  Gowing surprised me by saying: “Oh yes, I do, if they play well,” and they walked off together. August 19, Sunday.—I was about to read Lupin a sermon on smoking (which he indulges in violently) and billiards, but he put on his hat and walked out.  Carrie then read me a long sermon on the palpable inadvisability of treating Lupin as if he were a mere child.  I felt she was somewhat right, so in the evening I offered him a cigar.  He seemed pleased, but, after a few whiffs, said: “This is a good old tup’ny—try one of mine,” and he handed me a cigar as long as it was strong, which is saying a good deal. August 20.—I am glad our last day at the seaside was fine, though clouded overhead.  We went over to Cummings’ (at Margate) in the evening, and as it was cold, we stayed in and played games; Gowing, as usual, overstepping the mark.  He suggested we should play “Cutlets,” a game we never heard of.  He sat on a chair, and asked Carrie to sit on his lap, an invitation which dear Carrie rightly declined. After some species of wrangling, I sat on Gowing’s knees and Carrie sat on the edge of mine.  Lupin sat on the edge of Carrie’s lap, then Cummings on Lupin’s, and Mrs. Cummings on her husband’s.  We looked very ridiculous, and laughed a good deal. Gowing then said: “Are you a believer in the Great Mogul?”  We had to answer all together: “Yes—oh, yes!” (three times).  Gowing said: “So am I,” and suddenly got up.  The result of this stupid joke was that we all fell on the ground, and poor Carrie banged her head against the corner of the fender.  Mrs. Cummings put some vinegar on; but through this we missed the last train, and had to drive back to Broadstairs, which cost me seven-and-sixpence. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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