For other breakfast things, George suggested eggs and bacon, which were easy to cook, cold meat, tea, bread and butter, and jam. For lunch, he said, we could have biscuits, cold meat, bread and butter, and jam – but no cheese. Cheese, like oil, makes too much of itself.42 It wants the whole boat to itself. It gives a cheesy flavour to everything else there. You can’t tell whether you are eating apple-pie or German sausage, or strawberries and cream. It all seems cheese. There is too much odour about cheese.

I remember a friend of mine, buying a couple of cheeses at Liverpool. Splendid cheeses they were, ripe and mellow, and with a strong scent about them that might have knocked a man over at two hundred yards43. I was in Liverpool at the time, and my friend asked me to take them to London.

“Oh, with pleasure, dear boy,” I replied, “with pleasure.”

I called for the cheeses, and took them away in a cab. The cab was very old, dragged along by a sick somnambulist, which his owner, in a moment of enthusiasm, during conversation, called a horse. I put the cheeses on the top, and we started off and all went merry as a funeral bell, until we turned the corner. There, the wind carried a whiff from the cheeses on to our horse. It woke him up, and, with a snort of terror, he dashed off at three miles an hour. It took two porters as well as the driver to hold him in at the station; and I do not think they would have done it, if one of the men hadn’t put a handkerchief over the horse’s nose, and lit a bit of brown paper.

I took my ticket, and marched proudly up the platform, with my cheeses, the people falling back respectfully on either side. The train was crowded, and I had to get into a carriage where there were already seven other people. One grumpy old gentleman objected, but I got in; and, putting my cheeses upon the shelf, squeezed down with a pleasant smile, and said it was a warm day.

A few moments passed, and then the old gentleman began to fidget.

“Very close in here,” he said.

“Quite oppressive,”44 said the man next to him.

And then they both began sniffing, and, at the third sniff, they caught it right on the chest, and rose up without another word and went out. And then a plump lady got up, and said it was disgraceful that a respectable married woman should be treated in this way, and gathered up a bag and eight parcels and went. Then the other three passengers tried to get out of the door at the same time, and hurt themselves.

I smiled at the black gentleman, and said I thought we were going to have the carriage to ourselves; and he laughed pleasantly, and said that some people made such a fuss over a little thing. But even he grew strangely depressed after we had started, and so, when we reached Crewe, I asked him to come and have a drink. He accepted, and we forced our way into the buffet, where we yelled, and stamped, and waved our umbrellas for a quarter of an hour; and then a young lady came, and asked us if we wanted anything.

“What would you like to drink?” I said, turning to my friend.

“I’ll have half-a-crown’s worth of brandy, neat, if you please, miss,45” he responded.

And he went off quietly after he had drunk it and got into another carriage, which I thought mean.

From Crewe I had the compartment to myself, though the train was crowded. As we drew up at the different stations, the people, seeing my empty carriage, would rush for it. “Here you are, Maria; come along, plenty of room.” “All right, Tom; we’ll get in here,” they would shout. And they would run along, carrying heavy bags, and fight round the door to get in first. And one would open the door and mount the steps, and fall back into the arms of the man behind him; and they would all come and have a sniff, and then go away and squeeze into other carriages, or pay the difference and go first46.

From Euston, I took the cheeses down to my friend’s house. When his wife came into the room she smelt round for an instant. Then she said:

“What is it? Tell me the worst.”

I said:

“It’s cheeses. Tom bought them in Liverpool, and asked me to bring them up with me.”

And I added that I hoped she understood that it had nothing to do with me; and she said that she was sure of that, but that she would speak to Tom about it when he came back.

My friend was detained in Liverpool longer than he expected; and, three days later, as he hadn’t returned home, his wife called on me. She said:

“What did Tom say about those cheeses?”

I replied that he had directed they were to be kept in a moist place, and that nobody was to touch them.

She said:

“Nobody’s likely to touch them. Had he smelt them?”

I thought he had, and added that he seemed greatly attached to them.

“You think he would be upset,” she asked, “if I gave a man a sovereign47 to take them away and bury them?”

I answered that I thought he would never smile again. An idea struck her. She said:

“Do you mind keeping them for him? Let me send them round to you.”

“Madam,” I replied, “for myself I like the smell of cheese, and the journey the other day with them from Liverpool I shall ever look back upon as a happy ending to a pleasant holiday. But, in this world, we must consider others. The lady under whose roof I have the hon-our of living is a widow, and, for all I know, possibly an orphan too. She has a strong objection to being what she terms ‘put upon48.’ The presence of your husband’s cheeses in her house she would, I instinctively feel, regard as a ‘put upon’; and it shall never be said that I put upon the widow and the orphan.”

“Very well, then,” said my friend’s wife, rising, “all I have to say is, that I shall take the children and go to a hotel until those cheeses are eaten. I refuse to live any longer in the same house with them.”

She kept her word, leaving the place in charge of the housemaid, who, when asked if she could stand the smell, replied, “What smell?” and who, when taken close to the cheeses and told to sniff hard, said she could detect a faint odour of melons.

The hotel bill came to fifteen guineas49; and my friend, after thinking everything over, found that the cheeses had cost him eight-and-sixpence a pound. He said he dearly loved a bit of cheese, but it was beyond his means50; so he determined to get rid of them. He threw them into the canal; but had to fish them out again, as the bargemen complained. They said it made them feel quite sick. And, after that, he took them one dark night and left them in the parish morgue. But the coroner discovered them, and said it was a plot to deprive him of his living51 by waking up the corpses. My friend got rid of them, at last, by taking them down to a sea-side town, and burying them on the beach.

Fond as I am of cheese, therefore, I considered that George was right in declining to take any.

“We shan’t52 want any tea,” said George (Harris’s face fell at this); “but we’ll have a good round, square, fabulous meal at seven – dinner, tea, and supper combined.”

Harris grew more cheerful. George suggested meat and fruit pies, cold meat, tomatoes, fruit, and green stuff. For drink, we took some wonderful sticky mixture of Harris’s, in which you added some water and called it lemonade, plenty of tea, and a bottle of whisky, in case, as George said, we got upset.

We didn’t take beer or wine. They are a mistake up the river. They make you feel sleepy and heavy. A glass in the evening when you are wandering round the town and looking at the girls is all right enough; but don’t drink when the sun is blazing down on your head, and you’ve got hard work to do.

We made a list of the things to be taken, and a pretty lengthy one it was. The next day, which was Friday, we got them all together, and met in the evening to pack. We moved the table up against the window, piled everything in a heap in the middle of the floor, and sat round and looked at it.

I said I’d pack.

I rather pride myself on my packing. Packing is one of those many things that I feel I know more about than any other person living. I impressed the fact upon George and Harris, and told them that they had better leave the whole matter entirely to me. They fell into the suggestion with a readiness. George put on a pipe and spread himself over the armchair, and Harris put his legs on the table and lit a cigar.

This was hardly what I intended. What I had meant, of course, was, that I should boss the job, and that Harris and George should potter about under my directions, I pushing them aside every now and then with, “Oh, you —!” “Here, let me do it.” “There you are, simple enough!” – really teaching them, as you might say. Their taking it in the way they did irritated me. Nothing irritates me more than seeing other people sitting about doing nothing when I’m working. I can’t sit still and see another man slaving and working. I want to get up and superintend, and walk round with my hands in my pockets, and tell him what to do. It is my energetic nature. I can’t help it.

However, I did not say anything, but started the packing. It seemed a longer job than I had thought it was going to be; but I got the bag finished at last, and I sat on it and strapped it.

“Aren’t you going to put the boots in?” said Harris. And I looked round, and found I had forgotten them. That’s just like Harris. He couldn’t have said a word until I’d got the bag shut and strapped, of course. And George laughed – one of those irritating, senseless laughs of his. They do make me so wild.

I opened the bag and packed the boots in; and then, just as I was going to close it, a horrible idea occurred to me. Had I packed my tooth-brush? I don’t know how it is, but I never do know whether I’ve packed my tooth-brush.

My tooth-brush is a thing that haunts me when I’m travelling, and makes my life a misery. I dream that I haven’t packed it, and wake up, and get out of bed and hunt for it. And, in the morning, I pack it before I have used it, and have to unpack again to get it, and it is always the last thing I turn out of the bag; and then I repack and forget it, and have to rush upstairs for it at the last moment and carry it to the railway station, wrapped up in my pocket-handkerchief.

Of course I had to turn every single thing out now, and, of course, I could not find it. Of course, I found George’s and Harris’s eighteen times over, but I couldn’t find my own. I put the things back one by one, and held everything up and shook it. Then I found it inside a boot. I repacked once more.

When I had finished, George asked if the soap was in. I said I didn’t care whether the soap was in or whether it wasn’t; and I slammed the bag and strapped it, and found that I had packed my tobacco-pouch53 in it, and had to re-open it. It got shut up finally at 10.50 p.m., and then there remained the hampers to do. Harris said that he and George had better do the rest; and I agreed and sat down, and they had a go.

They began in a light-hearted spirit, evidently intending to show me how to do it. I made no comment; I only waited. Harris is the worst packer in this world; and I looked at the piles of plates and cups, and kettles, and bottles and jars, and pies, and stoves, and cakes, and tomatoes, etc., and felt that the thing would soon become exciting.

It did. They started with breaking a cup. That was the first thing they did. They did that just to show you what they could do, and to get you interested. Then Harris packed the strawberry jam on top of a tomato and squashed it, and they had to pick out the tomato with a teaspoon.

And then it was George’s turn, and he stepped on the butter. I didn’t say anything, but I came over and sat on the edge of the table and watched them. It irritated them more than anything I could have said. I felt that. It made them nervous and excited, and they stepped on things, and put things behind them, and then couldn’t find them when they wanted them; and they packed the pies at the bottom, and put heavy things on top, and smashed the pies in.

They upset salt over everything, and as for the butter! After George had got it off his slipper, they tried to put it in the kettle. It wouldn’t go in, and what was in wouldn’t come out. They did scrape it out at last, and put it down on a chair, and Harris sat on it, and it stuck to him, and they went looking for it all over the room.

“I’ll take my oath I put it down on that chair,” said George, staring at the empty seat.

“I saw you do it myself, not a minute ago,” said Harris. Then they started round the room again looking for it; and then they met again in the centre, and stared at one another.

“Most extraordinary thing I ever heard of,” said George.

“So mysterious!” said Harris.

Then George got round at the back of Harris and saw it.

“Why, here it is all the time,” he exclaimed, indignantly. “Where?” cried Harris, turning round.

“Stand still, can’t you!” roared George, flying after him. And they got it off, and packed it in the teapot.

Montmorency was in it all, of course. Montmorency’s ambition in life is to get in the way and be sworn at.54 If he can be anywhere where he particularly is not wanted, and make people mad, and have things thrown at his head, then he feels his day has not been wasted. To get somebody to stumble over him, and curse him steadily for an hour, is his highest aim and object; and, when he has succeeded in accomplishing this, his egotism becomes quite unbearable.

He came and sat down on things, just when they were wanted to be packed; and he laboured under the fixed belief that, whenever Harris or George reached out their hand for anything, it was his cold, damp nose that they wanted. He put his leg into the jam, and he worried the teaspoons, and he pretended that the lemons were rats, and got into the hamper and killed three of them before Harris could calm him with the frying pan.

The packing was done at 12.50; and Harris sat on the big hamper, and said he hoped nothing is broken. George said he was ready for bed. We were all ready for bed. Harris was to sleep with us that night, and we went upstairs.

We tossed for beds, and Harris had to sleep with me. He said:

“Do you prefer the inside or the outside, J.?”

I said I generally preferred to sleep inside a bed.

Harris said it was old.

George said:

“What time shall I wake you fellows?”

Harris said:

“Seven.”

I said:

“No – six,” because I wanted to write some letters.

Harris and I had a bit of a row over it, but at last split the difference, and said half-past six.

“Wake us at 6.30, George,” we said.

George made no answer, and we found that he had been asleep for some time; so we placed the bath where he could fall into it on getting out in the morning, and went to bed ourselves.

Exercises

1. Read the chapter and choose the correct answer.

1. The friends decided not to take

a) a methylated spirit stove.

b) an oil stove.

c) a frying pan.

2. The friend were against any cheese because

a) they don’t like cheese.

b) George suggested eggs and bacon.

c) it smells too strong.

3. People, seeing the narrator’s empty carriage, would

a) go into another carriage.

b) stay at the station.

c) rush for it.

4. Tom’s wife wanted to

a) eat the cheeses.

b) bury the cheeses.

c) keep the cheeses in a moist place.

5. In case the friends got upset they took

a) a bottle of whisky.

b) some lemonade.

c) beer and wine.

6. The thing that haunts the narrator when he is travelling is

a) his boots.

b) packing.

c) his tooth-brush.

7. The narrator finally shut the bag at

a) 10.00.

b) 10.15.

c) 10.50.

8. George and Harris started packing with

a) squashing a tomato.

b) breaking a cup.

c) stepping on things.

9. Montmorency pretended that

a) the lemons were rats.

b) Harris could calm him.

c) he was helping with packing.

10. The friends agreed to wake up at

a) 6.00.

b) 6.30.

c) 7.00.

2. Learn the words from the text:

significant, scenery, reply, scent, grumpy, compartment, consider, widow, orphan, wander, strap, occur, pretend, waste, aim, accomplish, unbearable, exclaim, crowded, attached.

3. Practice the pronunciation of the following words.

4. Fill in the gaps using the words from the text.

1. You can’t tell … you are … apple-pie or German sausage, or strawberries and cream. It all … cheese.

2. I … not think they would … … it, if one of the men … put a handkerchief over the horse’s nose.

3. She said that she … sure of that, but that she … speak to Tom about it when he … back.

4. I replied that he … directed they were to … … in a moist place.

5. I … take the children and go to a hotel until those cheeses … … .

6. My friend, after … everything …, found that the cheeses … … him eight-and-sixpence a pound.

7. I impressed the fact upon George and Harris, and told them that they … … leave the whole matter entirely to me.

8. If he can … anywhere where he particularly … not wanted, and … people mad, and … things thrown at his head, then he … his day … not been … .

9. The packing … … at 12.50.

10. George made no answer, and we found that he … … asleep for some time.

5. Match the words with definitions.

6. Find in the text the English equivalents for:

один мой друг, многозначительный взгляд, в конце поездки, переполненный поезд, быть сильно привязанным к чему-то, бродить по городу, что касается, сводить с ума, едва уловимый запах, протянуть руку, сделать все остальное, заинтересовать кого-то.

7. Find the words in the text for which the following are synonyms:

pretty, decline, regard, plenty, odour, whether, ambition, labour, reply, intend.

8. Explain and expand on the following.

1. We had taken up an oil-stove once, but “never again.”

2. Cheese, like oil, makes too much of itself.

3. My friend got rid of the cheeses by burying them on the beach.

4. I said I’d pack.

5. My tooth-brush is a thing that haunts me when I’m travelling.

6. Harris is the worst packer in this world.

7. Montmorency was in it all, of course.

8. What time shall I wake you fellows?

9. Answer the following questions.

1. Why did the friends take an awful oath never to take paraffine oil with them in a boat again?

2. What did George refuse to take for breakfast? Why?

3. What happened with the horse that carried the cheeses?

4. How did the people who travelled with the narrator behave? Why?

5. Did Tom’s wife like the cheese? Why / why not?

6. How did Tom get rid of the cheeses?

7. Was the narrator successful at packing?

8. Why does the narrator say that his tooth-brush haunts him?

9. Did George and Harris manage to do the packing? Was it easy?

10. What was Montmorency doing during the packing?

10. Retell the chapter for the persons of the narrator, Tom, Tom’s wife, George, Harris.

CHAPTER V

It was Mrs. Poppets that woke me up next morning. She said:

“Do you know that it’s nearly nine o’clock, sir?”

“Nine o’ what?” I cried, starting up.

“Nine o’clock,” she replied, through the keyhole. “I thought you were oversleeping.”

I woke Harris, and told him. He said:

“I thought you wanted to get up at six?”

“So I did,” I answered; “why didn’t you wake me?” “How could I wake you, when you didn’t wake me?” he responded. “Now we shan’t get on the water till after twelve. I wonder you take the trouble to get up at all.”

“Um,” I replied, “lucky for you that I do. If I hadn’t woken you, you’d have lain there for the whole fortnight.”

We were growling at one another for the next few minutes, when we were interrupted by a snore from George. It reminded us of his existence. There he lay – the man who had wanted to know what time he should wake us – on his back, with his mouth wide open, and his knees stuck up.

I don’t know why it should be, but the sight of another man asleep in bed when I am up, makes me mad. It seems to me so shocking to see the precious hours of a man’s life – the priceless moments that will never come back to him again – being wasted in mere brutish sleep. There was George, throwing away the inestimable gift of time. He might have been up stuffing himself with eggs and bacon or irritating the dog instead of sprawling there.

It was a terrible thought. Harris and I seemed to be struck by it at the same instant. We determined to save him, and our own dispute was forgotten. We rushed to him and pull his blanket off him, and Harris hit him with a slipper, and I shouted in his ear, and he awoke.

“Wasermarrer?55” he observed, sitting up.

“Get up, you fat-headed chunk!56” roared Harris. “It’s quarter to ten.”

“What!” he exclaimed, jumping out of bed into the bath; “Who put this thing here?”

We told him he must have been a fool not to see the bath. We finished dressing, and, when it came to the other procedures, we remembered that we had packed the tooth-brushes and the brush and comb (that toothbrush of mine will be the death of me57, I know), and we had to go downstairs, and fish them out of the bag. And when we had done that George wanted the shaving tackle. We told him that he would have to go without shaving that morning, as we weren’t going to unpack that bag again for him, nor for anyone like him.

We went downstairs to have breakfast. Montmorency had invited two other dogs to come and see him, and they were whiling away the time58 by fighting on the doorstep. We calmed them with an umbrella, and sat down to chops and cold beef.

Harris said:

“The great thing is to make a good breakfast,” and he started with a couple of chops, saying that he would take these while they were hot, as the beef could wait.

George got hold of the newspaper, and read us out the boating fatalities, and the weather forecast, which predicted “rain, cold, wet to fine59” (the worst thing that may be in weather), “occasional local thunderstorms, east wind.”

I do think that, of all the silly, irritating nonsense by which we are ill, this “weather-forecast” fraud is about the most annoying. It “forecasts” precisely what happened yesterday or the day before, and precisely the opposite of what is going to happen today.

I remember a holiday of mine being completely ruined one late autumn by our paying attention to the weather report of the local newspaper. “Heavy showers60, with thunderstorms, may be expected today,” it said on Monday, and so we gave up our picnic, and stayed indoors all day, waiting for the rain. And people would pass the house, going off in cabs and coaches as jolly and merry as could be, the sun shining out, and not a cloud to be seen.

“Ah!” we said, as we stood looking out at them through the window, “won’t they come home soaked!”

And we chuckled to think how wet they were going to get, and came back and made a fire, and got our books, and arranged our collection of seaweed and shells. By twelve o’clock, with the sun pouring into the room, the heat became quite oppressive, and we wondered when those heavy showers and occasional thunderstorms were going to begin.

“Ah! They’ll come in the afternoon, you’ll find,” we said to each other. “Oh, won’t those people get wet. What a lark!61”

At one o’clock, the landlady came in to ask if we weren’t going out, as it seemed such a lovely day.

“No, no,” we replied, with a knowing chuckle, “not we. We don’t mean to get wet – no, no.”

And when the afternoon was nearly gone, and still there was no sign of rain, we tried to cheer ourselves up with the idea that it would come down all at once, just as the people had started for home, and were out of the reach of any shelter62, and that they would thus get more soaked than ever. But not a drop ever fell, and it finished a grand day, and a lovely night after it.

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