A Fool and His Money | Page 4

apartment.
Still, some men, no matter how shy and procrastinating they may be--or
reluctant, for that matter--are doomed to have love affairs thrust upon
them, as you will perceive if you follow the course of this narrative to
the bitter end.
In order that you may know me when you see me struggling through
these pages, as one might struggle through a morass on a dark night, I
shall take the liberty of describing myself in the best light possible
under the circumstances.
I am a tallish sort of person, moderately homely, and not quite
thirty-five. I am strong but not athletic. Whatever physical development
I possess was acquired through the ancient and honourable game of
golf and in swimming. In both of these sports I am quite proficient. My
nose is rather long and inquisitive, and my chin is considered to be
singularly firm for one who has no ambition to become a hero. My
thatch is abundant and quite black. I understand that my eyes are green
when I affect a green tie, light blue when I put on one of that delicate
hue, and curiously yellow when I wear brown about my neck. Not that I

really need them, but I wear nose glasses when reading: to save my
eyes, of course. I sometimes wear them in public, with a very fetching
and imposing black band draping across my expanse of shirt front. I
find this to be most effective when sitting in a box at the theatre. My
tailor is a good one. I shave myself clean with an old-fashioned razor
and find it to be quite safe and tractable. My habits are considered
rather good, and I sang bass in the glee club. So there you are. Not
quite what yon would call a lady killer, or even a lady's man, I fancy
you'll say.
You will be surprised to learn, however, that secretly I am of a rather
romantic, imaginative turn of mind. Since earliest childhood I have
consorted with princesses and ladies of high degree,--mentally, of
course,--and my bosom companions have been knights of valour and
longevity. Nothing could have suited me better than to have been born
in a feudal castle a few centuries ago, from which I should have sallied
forth in full armour on the slightest provocation and returned in glory
when there was no one left in the neighbourhood to provoke me.
Even now, as I make this astounding statement, I can't help thinking of
that confounded jeweller's clerk. At thirty-five I am still unattached and,
so far as I can tell, unloved. What more could a sensible, experienced
bachelor expect than that? Unless, of course, he aspired to be a monk or
a hermit, in which case he reasonably could be sure of himself if not of
others.
Last winter in London my mother went to a good bit of trouble to set
my cap for a lady who seemed in every way qualified to look after an
only son as he should be looked after from a mother's point of view,
and I declare to you I had a wretchedly close call of it. My poor mother,
thinking it was quite settled, sailed for America, leaving me entirely
unprotected, whereupon I succeeded in making my escape. Heaven
knows I had no desperate longing to visit Palestine at that particular
time, but I journeyed thither without a qualm of regret, and thereby
avoided the surrender without love or honour.
For the past year I have done little or no work. My books are few and
far between, so few in fact that more than once I have felt the sting of

dilettantism inflicting my labours with more or less increasing
sharpness. It is not for me to say that I despise a fortune, but I am
constrained to remark that I believe poverty would have been a fairer
friend to me. At any rate I now pamper myself to an unreasonable
extent. For one thing, I feel that I cannot work,--much less think,--when
opposed by distracting conditions such as women, tea, disputes over
luggage, and things of that sort. They subdue all the romantic
tendencies I am so parsimonious about wasting. My best work is done
when the madding crowd is far from me. Hence I seek out remote,
obscure places when I feel the plot boiling, and grind away for dear life
with nothing to distract me save an unconquerable habit acquired very
early in life which urges me to eat three meals a day and to sleep nine
hours out of twenty-four.
A month ago, in Vienna, I felt the plot breaking out on me, very much
as the measles do, at a most inopportune time for everybody concerned,
and my secretary, more wide-awake than you'd imagine by