George Grossmith - The Diary of a Nobody

I shall never forget the effect the words, ‘happy medium’, had upon him. He was brilliant and most daring in his interpretation of the words. He positively alarmed me. He said something like the following: ‘Happy medium, indeed. Do you know “happy medium” are two

‘Orthodox’ is a grandiloquent word

words which mean “miserable mediocrity”? I say, go first class or third; marry a duchess or her kitchen-maid. The happy medium means respectability, and respectability means insipidness. Does it not, Mr Pooter?’

I was so taken aback by being personally appealed to, that I could only bow apologetically, and say I feared I was not competent to offer an opinion. Carrie was about to say something; but she was interrupted, for which I was rather pleased, for she is not clever at argument, and one has to be extra clever to discuss a subject with a man like Mr Huttle.

He continued, with an amazing eloquence that made his unwelcome opinions positively convincing: ‘The happy medium is nothing more or less than a vulgar half-measure. A man who loves champagne and, finding a pint too little, fears to face a whole bottle and has recourse to an imperial pint, will never build a Brooklyn Bridge or an Eiffel Tower. No, he is half-hearted, he is a half-measure – respectable – in fact, a happy medium, and will spend the rest of his days in a suburban villa with a stucco-column portico, resembling a four-post bedstead.’

We all laughed.

‘That sort of thing,’ continued Mr Huttle, ‘belongs to a soft man, with a soft beard, with a soft head, with a made tie that hooks on.’

This seemed rather personal, and twice I caught myself looking in the glass of the chiffonier; for I had on a tie that hooked on – and why not? If these remarks were not personal they were rather careless, and so were some of his subsequent observations, which must have made both Mr Franching and his guests rather uncomfortable. I don’t think Mr Huttle meant to be personal, for he added: ‘We don’t know that class here in this country; but we do in America, and I’ve no use for them.’

Franching several times suggested that the wine should be passed round the table, which Mr Huttle did not heed; but continued as if he were giving a lecture:

‘What we want in America is your homes. We live on wheels. Your simple, quiet life and home, Mr Franching, are charming. No display, no pretension! You make no difference in your dinner, I dare say, when you sit down by yourself and when you invite us. You have your own personal attendant – no hired waiter to breathe on the back of your head.’

I saw Franching palpably wince at this.

Mr Huttle continued: ‘Just a small dinner with a few good things, such as you have this evening. You don’t insult your guests by sending to the grocer for champagne at six shillings a bottle.’

I could not help thinking of ‘Jackson Frères’ at three-and-six!

‘In fact,’ said Mr Huttle, ‘a man is little less than a murderer who does. That is the province of the milksop, who wastes his evening at home playing dominoes with his wife. I’ve heard of these people. We don’t want them at this table. Our party is well selected. We’ve no use for deaf old women, who cannot follow intellectual conversation.’

All our eyes were turned to Mrs Field, who fortunately, being deaf, did not hear his remarks; but continued smiling approval.

‘We have no representative at Mr Franching’s table,’ said Mr Huttle, ‘of the unenlightened frivolous matron, who goes to a second-class dance at Bayswater and fancies she is in Society. Society does not know her; it has no use for her.’

Mr Huttle paused for a moment, and the opportunity was afforded for the ladies to rise. I asked Mr Franching quietly to excuse me, as I did not wish to miss the last train, which we very nearly did, by-the-by, through Carrie having mislaid the little cloth cricket-cap which she wears when we go out.

It was very late when Carrie and I got home; but on entering the sitting-room I said: ‘Carrie, what do you think of Mr Hardfur Huttle?’ She simply answered: ‘How like Lupin!’ The same idea occurred to me in the train. The comparison kept me awake half the night. Mr Huttle was, of course, an older and more influential man; but he was like Lupin, and it made me think how dangerous Lupin would be if he were older and more influential. I feel proud to think Lupin does resemble Mr Huttle in some ways, Lupin, like Mr Huttle, has original and sometimes wonderful ideas; but it is those ideas that are so dangerous. They make men extremely rich or extremely poor. They make or break men. I always feel people are happier who live a simple unsophisticated life. I believe I am happy because I am not ambitious. Somehow I feel that Lupin, since he has been with Mr Perkupp, has become content to settle down and follow the footsteps of his father. This is a comfort.

Lupin is discharged. We are in great trouble. Lupin gets engaged elsewhere at a handsome salary .

MAY 13. A terrible misfortune has happened. Lupin is discharged from Mr Perkupp’s office, and I scarcely know how I am writing my diary. I was away from office last Sat., the first time I have been absent through illness for twenty years. I believe I was poisoned by some lobster. Mr Perkupp was also absent, as Fate would have it; and our most valued customer, Mr Crowbillon, went to the office in a rage, and withdrew his custom. My boy Lupin not only had the assurance to receive him, but recommended him the firm of Gylterson, Sons and Co., Ltd. In my own humble judgement, and though I have to say it against my own son, this seems an act of treachery.

This morning I receive a letter from Perkupp, informing me that Lupin’s services are no longer required, and an interview with me is desired at eleven o’clock. I went down to the office with an aching heart, dreading an interview with Mr Perkupp, with whom I have never had a word. I saw nothing of Lupin in the morning. He had not got up when it was time for me to leave, and Carrie said I should do no good by disturbing him. My mind wandered so at the office that I could not do my work properly.

As I expected, I was sent for by Mr Perkupp, and the following conversation ensued as nearly as I can remember it.

Mr Perkupp said: ‘Good morning, Mr Pooter! This is a very serious business, I am not referring so much to the dismissal of your son, for I knew we should have to part sooner or later. I am the head of this old, influential, and much-respected firm; and when I consider the time has come to revolutionize the business, I will do it myself.’

I could see my good master was somewhat affected, and I said: ‘I hope, sir, you do not imagine that I have in any way countenanced my son’s unwarrantable interference?’ Mr Perkupp rose from his seat and took my hand, and said: ‘Mr Pooter, I would as soon suspect myself as suspect you.’ I was so agitated that in the confusion, to show my gratitude, I very nearly called him a ‘grand old man’.

Fortunately I checked myself in time, and said he was a ‘grand old master’. I was so unaccountable for my actions that I sat down, leaving him standing. Of course, I at once rose, but Mr Perkupp bade me sit down, which I was very pleased to do. Mr Perkupp, resuming, said: ‘You will understand, Mr Pooter, that the high-standing nature of our firm will not admit of our bending to anybody. If Mr Crowbillon chooses to put his work into other hands – I may add, less experienced hands – it is not for us to bend and beg back his custom.’ ‘You shall not do it, sir,’ I said with indignation. ‘Exactly,’ replied Mr Perkupp; ‘I shall not do it. But I was thinking this, Mr Pooter. Mr Crowbillon is our most valued client, and I will even confess – for I know this will not go beyond ourselves – that we cannot afford very well to lose him, especially in these times, which are not of the brightest. Now, I fancy you can be of service.’