George Grossmith - The Diary of a Nobody

Mr Padge

I must say we were all astounded. I never saw such a resemblance. It was astonishing. The only person who did not appear interested was the man Padge, who had got the best armchair, and was puffing away at a foul pipe into the fireplace. After some little time I said: ‘Why do actors always wear their hair so long?’ Carrie in a moment said, ‘Mr Hare doesn’t wear long hair .’ How we laughed except Mr Fosselton, who said, in a rather patronizing kind of way, ‘The joke, Mrs Pooter, is extremely appropriate, if not altogether new.’ Thinking this rather a snub, I said: ‘Mr Fosselton, I fancy – ’ He interrupted me by saying: ‘Mr Burwin -Fosselton, if you please,’ which made me quite forget what I was going to say to him. During the supper Mr Burwin-Fosselton again monopolized the conversation with his Irving talk, and both Carrie and I came to the conclusion one can

Lupin announces ‘Mr Henry Irving ’

have even too much imitation of Irving. After supper, Mr Burwin-Fosselton got a little too boisterous over his Irving imitation, and suddenly seizing Gowing by the collar of his coat, dug his thumb-nail, accidentally of course, into Gowing’s neck and took a piece of flesh out. Gowing was rightly annoyed, but that man Padge, who having declined our modest supper in order that he should not lose his comfortable chair, burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter at the little misadventure. I was so annoyed at the conduct of Padge, I said: ‘I suppose you would have laughed if he had poked Mr Gowing’s eye out?’ to which Padge replied: ‘That’s right,’ and laughed more than ever. I think perhaps the greatest surprise was when we broke up, for Mr Burwin-Fosselton said: ‘Good night, Mr Pooter. I’m glad you like the imitation. I’ll bring the other make-up tomorrow night .’

NOVEMBER 24. I went to town without a pocket-handkerchief. This is the second time I have done this during the last week. I must be losing my memory. Had it not been for this Daisy Mutlar business, I would have written to Mr Burwin-Fosselton and told him I should be out this evening, but I fancy he is the sort of young man who would come all the same.

Dear old Cummings came in the evening; but Gowing sent round a little note saying he hoped I would excuse his not turning up, which rather amused me. He added that his neck was still painful. Of course, Burwin-Fosselton came, but Lupin never turned up, and imagine my utter disgust when that man Padge actually came again, and not even accompanied by Gowing. I was exasperated, and said: ‘Mr Padge, this is a surprise .’ Dear Carrie, fearing unpleasantness, said: ‘Oh, I suppose Mr Padge has only come to see the other Irving make-up.’ Mr Padge said: ‘That’s right,’ and took the best chair again, from which he never moved the whole evening.

My only consolation is, he takes no supper, so he is not an expensive guest, but I shall speak to Gowing about the matter. The Irving imitations and conversations occupied the whole evening, till I was sick of it. Once we had a rather heated discussion, which was commenced by Cummings saying that it appeared to him that Mr Burwin-Fosselton was not only like Mr Irving, but was in his judgement every way as good or even better . I ventured to remark that after all it was but an imitation of an original.

Cummings said surely some imitations were better than the originals. I made what I considered a very clever remark: ‘Without an original there can be no imitation.’ Mr Burwin-Fosselton said quite impertinently: ‘Don’t discuss me in my presence, if you please; and, Mr Pooter, I should advise you to talk about what you understand’; to which that cad Padge replied: ‘That’s right.’ Dear Carrie saved the whole thing by suddenly saying: ‘I’ll be Ellen Terry.’ Dear Carrie’s imitation wasn’t a bit liked, but she was so spontaneous and so funny that the disagreeable discussion passed off. When they left, I very pointedly said to Mr Burwin-Fosselton and Mr Padge that we should be engaged tomorrow evening.

NOVEMBER 25. Had a long letter from Mr Fosselton respecting last night’s Irving discussion. I was very angry, and I wrote and said I knew little or nothing about stage matters, was not in the least interested in them and positively declined to be drawn into a discussion on the subject, even at the risk of its leading to a breach of friendship. I never wrote a more determined letter.

On returning home at the usual hour on Saturday afternoon I met near the Archway Daisy Mutlar. My heart gave a leap. I bowed rather stiffly, but she affected not to have seen me. Very much annoyed in the evening by the laundress sending home an odd sock. Sarah said she sent two pairs, and the laundress declared only a pair and a half were sent. I spoke to Carrie about it, but she rather testily replied: ‘I am tired of speaking to her; you had better go and speak to her yourself. She is outside.’ I did so, but the laundress declared that only an odd sock was sent.

Gowing passed into the passage at this time and was rude enough to listen to the conversation, and interrupting, said: ‘Don’t waste the odd sock, old man; do an act of charity and give it to some poor man with only one leg.’ The laundress giggled like an idiot. I was disgusted and walked upstairs for the purpose of pinning down my collar, as the button had come off the back of my shirt!

When I returned to the parlour, Gowing was retailing his idiotic joke about the odd sock, and Carrie was roaring with laughter. I suppose I am losing my sense of humour. I spoke my mind pretty freely about Padge. Gowing said he had met him only once before that evening. He had been introduced by a friend, and as he (Padge) had ‘stood’ a good dinner, Gowing wished to show him some little return. Upon my word, Gowing’s coolness surpasses all belief. Lupin came in before I could reply, and Gowing unfortunately inquired after Daisy Mutlar. Lupin shouted: ‘Mind your own business, sir!’ and bounced out of the room, slamming the door. The remainder of the night was Daisy Mutlar – Daisy Mutlar – Daisy Mutlar. Oh dear!

NOVEMBER 26, SUNDAY. The Curate preached a very good sermon today – very good indeed. His appearance is never so impressive as our dear old Vicar’s, but I am bound to say his sermons are much more impressive. A rather annoying incident occurred, of which I must make mention. Mrs Fernlosse, who is quite a grand lady, living in one of those large houses in the Camden Road, stopped to speak to me after church, when we were all coming out. I must say I felt flattered, for she is thought a good deal of. I suppose she knew me through seeing me so often take round the plate, especially as she always occupies the corner seat of the pew. She is a very influential lady, and may have had something of the utmost importance to say, but unfortunately, as she commenced to speak a strong gust of wind came and blew my hat off into the middle of the road.

I had to run after it, and had the greatest difficulty in recovering it. When I had succeeded in doing so, I found Mrs Fernlosse had walked on with some swell friends, and I felt I could not well approach her now, especially as my hat was smothered with mud. I cannot say how disappointed I felt.

In the evening ( Sunday evening of all others) I found an impertinent note from Mr Burwin-Fosselton, which ran as follows:

DEAR MR POOTER, – Although your junior by perhaps some twenty or thirty years – which is sufficient reason that you ought to have a longer record of the things and ways in this miniature of a planet – I feel it is just within the bounds of possibility that the wheels of your life don’t travel so quickly round as those of the humble writer of these lines. The dandy horse of past days has been known to overtake the slow coach .