Mr. Britling Sees It Through | Page 4

rapidity into a
writer recognised and welcomed by the more cultivated sections of the
American public, and even known to a select circle of British readers.
To his American discoverers he had first appeared as an essayist, a

serious essayist who wrote about aesthetics and Oriental thought and
national character and poets and painting. He had come through
America some years ago as one of those Kahn scholars, those
promising writers and intelligent men endowed by Auguste Kahn of
Paris, who go about the world nowadays in comfort and consideration
as the travelling guests of that original philanthropist--to acquire the
international spirit. Previously he had been a critic of art and literature
and a writer of thoughtful third leaders in the London Times. He had
begun with a Pembroke fellowship and a prize poem. He had returned
from his world tour to his reflective yet original corner of The Times
and to the production of books about national relationships and social
psychology, that had brought him rapidly into prominence.
His was a naturally irritable mind, which gave him point and passion;
and moreover he had a certain obstinate originality and a generous
disposition. So that he was always lively, sometimes spacious, and
never vile. He loved to write and talk. He talked about everything, he
had ideas about everything; he could no more help having ideas about
everything than a dog can resist smelling at your heels. He sniffed at
the heels of reality. Lots of people found him interesting and
stimulating, a few found him seriously exasperating. He had ideas in
the utmost profusion about races and empires and social order and
political institutions and gardens and automobiles and the future of
India and China and aesthetics and America and the education of
mankind in general.... And all that sort of thing....
Mr. Direck had read a very great deal of all this expressed
opiniativeness of Mr. Britling: he found it entertaining and stimulating
stuff, and it was with genuine enthusiasm that he had come over to
encounter the man himself. On his way across the Atlantic and during
the intervening days, he had rehearsed this meeting in varying keys, but
always on the supposition that Mr. Britling was a large, quiet,
thoughtful sort of man, a man who would, as it were, sit in attentive
rows like a public meeting and listen. So Mr. Direck had prepared quite
a number of pleasant and attractive openings, and now he felt was the
moment for some one of these various simple, memorable utterances.
But in none of these forecasts had he reckoned with either the

spontaneous activities of Mr. Britling or with the station-master of
Matching's Easy. Oblivious of any conversational necessities between
Mr. Direck and Mr. Britling, this official now took charge of Mr.
Direck's grip-sack, and, falling into line with the two gentlemen as they
walked towards the exit gate, resumed what was evidently an
interrupted discourse upon sweet peas, originally addressed to Mr.
Britling.
He was a small, elderly man with a determined-looking face and a sea
voice, and it was clear he overestimated the distance of his hearers.
"Mr. Darling what's head gardener up at Claverings, 'e can't get sweet
peas like that, try 'ow 'e will. Tried everything 'e 'as. Sand ballast, 'e's
tried. Seeds same as me. 'E came along 'ere only the other day, 'e did,
and 'e says to me, 'e says, 'darned 'f I can see why a station-master
should beat a professional gardener at 'is own game,' 'e says, 'but you
do. And in your orf time, too, so's to speak,' 'e says. 'I've tried sile,' 'e
says--"
"Your first visit to England?" asked Mr. Britling of his guest.
"Absolutely," said Mr. Direck.
"I says to 'im, 'there's one thing you 'aven't tried,' I says," the
station-master continued, raising his voice by a Herculean feat still
higher.
"I've got a little car outside here," said Mr. Britling. "I'm a couple of
miles from the station."
"I says to 'im, I says, ''ave you tried the vibritation of the trains?' I says.
'That's what you 'aven't tried, Mr. Darling. That's what you can't try,' I
says. 'But you rest assured that that's the secret of my sweet peas,' I
says, 'nothing less and nothing more than the vibritation of the trains.'"
Mr. Direck's mind was a little confused by the double nature of the
conversation and by the fact that Mr. Britling spoke of a car when he
meant an automobile. He handed his ticket mechanically to the

station-master, who continued to repeat and endorse his anecdote at the
top of his voice as Mr. Britling disposed himself and his guest in the
automobile.
"You know you 'aven't 'urt that mud-guard, sir, not the slightest bit that
matters," shouted the station-master. "I've been a