This Is the End | Page 4

origin. He had
not exactly a double chin, but rather a chin and a half, and the rest of
him followed this moderate example. His grey hair retired in a
pronounced estuary over each temple, leaving a beautifully brushed
peninsula between. He had no sense of humour, but hid this deformity

skillfully. Hardly anybody knew that he was a poet, except presumably
his dog. He often talked to his dog; he told it every speakable thought
that he had. This was his only bad habit. Occasionally his dog was
heard to reply in a small curious voice proceeding also from Mr.
Russell.
These four people looked out at Kensington Gardens, which were
rejoicing in the very babyhood of the year. The naked trees were like
pillars in the mist, the grass was grey and whitened to the distance, the
world had mislaid its horizon, and one's eye slid up without check
between the trees to where the last word of a daylight moon whispered
in the sky.
"I glory in a view that dispenses with colour," said Mrs. Gustus
severely. She always spoke as though she were sure of the whole of
what she intended to say. When she did hesitate, it only meant that she
was seeking for the simplest word, and she would cap her pause with a
monosyllable as curt as an explosion.
But glory is the right word, I think, for London in some moods. Do you
know the feeling of a heart beating too high, when you see the great
cliffs of London under rain or vague sunshine, or rising out of yellow
air? Do you ever want, as I do, to stand with arms out against the
London wind, and shout your own unmade poetry on the top of a 'bus?
With this sort of grotesque glorying does London inspire me, so that I
spend whole days together feeling that the essential I is too big for what
encloses it.
Anonyma never felt like this. She often spoke the right word, but she
nearly always spoke it coldly.
"This morning," said Kew, "when I looked out, I felt the futility of bed,
so I made an assignation with the Hound when I met it trooping along
with Russ in single file to the bathroom. Why does your Hound always
accompany you there, Russ? Dogs must think us awfully irrational
beasts, and yet--does that Hound really think you could elope for ever
and be no more seen, with nothing on but pyjamas and a towel? I
suppose he thinks 'You can't be too careful.' It makes one humble to
live with a dog. I always blush when I see a dog dreaming, because I'm
afraid they give us an undignified place in their dreams. Your Hound,
Russ, dreams of you plunging into the Serpentine after a Canadian
Goose, with your topper floating behind you, or Anonyma with her

tongue hanging out, scratching at a little mousehole in Piccadilly. It is
humiliating, isn't it? Anyway, before breakfast, Russ's Hound and I
went and jumped over things in the Gardens. The park-keeper mistook
us for young lambs."
Russell's Hound was called so by courtesy, in order to lend him a
dignity which he lacked. He may have been twelve inches high at the
shoulder, and he thought that he was exactly like a lion, except for a
trifling difference in size. Dignity is not, of course, incompatible with
small stature, but I think it was the twinkling gait of Mr. Russell's
Hound that robbed him of moral weight, and prevented you from
attaching great importance to his views.
"Young lambs!" exclaimed Mrs. Gustus. "Really, my good Kew, had
you nothing better to do?"
"Not at that time," replied Kew. "You weren't up." And he sang to
drown her sigh. Kew was the only person I ever knew who really sang
to the tune of his moods. He sang Albert Hall sort of music very loudly
when he was happy, and when he was extremely happy he roared so
that his voice broke out of tune. When he was silent it was almost
always because he was asleep, or because some other member of the
Family was talking. When, by some accident, the whole Family was
simultaneously silent, you could not help noticing what an oppressively
still place London was. The sound of Russell's Hound sneezing in the
hall was like a bomb.
But at the present moment Kew only sang a few bars of Beethoven in a
small voice. He was rather sad, because of Jay. He had not realised till
he came home how very thoroughly Jay had disappeared. He led the
conversation to Jay. It often happened that Kew led conversations,
because conversations, like the public, generally follow the loudest
voice.
"Why so sudden?" asked Kew, apparently