june 6, 1892.
i have often thought what a lightening of the load of life it would be if we could arrive at greater simplicity and directness in our social dealings with others. of course the first difficulty to triumph over is the physical difficulty of simple shyness, which so often paralyses men and women in the presence of a stranger. but how instantly and perfectly a natural person evokes naturalness in others. this naturalness is hardly to be achieved without a certain healthy egotism. it by no means produces naturalness in others to begin operations by questioning people about themselves. but if one person begins to talk easily and frankly about his own interests, others insensibly follow suit by a kind of simple imitativeness. and if the inspirer of this naturalness is not a profound egotist, if he is really interested in other people, if he can waive his own claims to attention, the difficulty is overcome.
the conveyancer
the other day i was bicycling, and on turning[183] out of spyfield, where i had been doing some business, i observed another bicyclist a little ahead of me. he was a tall thin man, with a loose white hat, and he rode with a certain fantastic childish zest which attracted my attention. if there was a little upward slope in the road, he tacked extravagantly from side to side, and seemed to be encouraging himself by murmured exhortations. he had a word for every one he passed. i rode for about half a mile behind him, and he at last dismounted at the foot of a steep slope that leads up to a place called gallows hill. he stopped half-way up the hill to study a map, and as i passed him wheeling my bicycle, he called cheerily to me to ask how far it was to a neighbouring village. i told him to the best of my ability, whereupon he said, “oh no, i am sure you are wrong; it must be twice that distance!” i was for an instant somewhat nettled, feeling that if he knew the distance, his question had a certain wantonness. so i said, “well, i have lived here for twenty years and know all the roads very well.” the stranger touched his hat and said, “i am sure i apologise with all my heart; i ought not to have spoken as i did.”
[184]
examining him at my leisure i saw him to be a tall, lean man, with rather exaggerated features. he had a big, thin head, a long, pointed nose, a mobile and smiling mouth, large dark eyes, and full side-whiskers. i took him at once for a professional man of some kind, solicitor, schoolmaster, or even a clergyman, though his attire was not clerical. “here,” he said, “just take the end of this map and let us consult together.” i did as i was desired, and he pointed out the way he meant to take. “now,” he said, “there is a train there in an hour, and i want to arrive there easily—mind you, not hot; that is so uncomfortable.” i told him that if he knew the road, which was a complicated one, he could probably just do it in the time; but i added that i was myself going to pass a station on the line, where he might catch the same train nearer town. he looked at me with a certain slyness. “are you certain of that?” he cried; “i have all the trains at my fingers’ ends.” i assured him it was so, while he consulted a time-table. “right!” he said, “you are right, but all the trains do not stop there; it is not a deduction that you can draw from the fact of one stopping at the other station.” we[185] walked up to the top of the hill together, and i proposed that we should ride in company. he accepted with alacrity. “nothing i should like better!” as we got on to our bicycles his foot slipped. “you will notice,” he said, “that these are new boots—of a good pattern—but somewhat smooth on the sole; in fact they slip.” i replied that it was a good thing to scratch new boots on the sole, so as to roughen them before riding. “a capital idea!” he said delightedly; “i shall do it the moment i return, with a pair of nail-scissors, closed, mind you, to prevent my straining either blade.” we then rode off, and after a few yards he said, “now, this is not my usual pace—rather faster than i can go with comfort.” i begged him to take his own pace, and he then began to talk of the country. “pent up in my chambers,” he said—“i am a conveyancer, you must know—i long for a green lane and a row of elms. i have lived for years in town, in a most convenient street, i must tell you, but i sicken for the country; and now that i am in easier circumstances—i have lived a hard life, mind you—i am going to make the great change, and live in the country. now, what is your opinion of[186] the relative merits of town and country as a place of residence?” i told him that the only disadvantage of the country to my mind was the difficulty of servants. “right again!” he said, as if i had answered a riddle. “but i have overcome that; i have been educating a pair of good maids for years—they are paragons, and they will go anywhere with me; indeed, they prefer the country themselves.”
in such light talk we beguiled the way; too soon we came to where our roads divided; i pointed out to him the turn he was to take. “well,” he said cheerily, “all pleasant things come to an end. i confess that i have enjoyed your company, and am grateful for your kind communications; perhaps we may have another encounter, and if not, we will be glad to have met, and think sometimes of this pleasant hour!” he put his foot upon the step of his bicycle cautiously, then mounted gleefully, and saying “good-bye, good-bye!” he waved his hand, and in a moment was out of sight.
the thought of this brave and merry spirit planning schemes of life, making the most of simple pleasures, has always dwelt with me. the gods, as we know from homer, assumed[187] the forms of men, and were at the pains to relate long and wholly unreliable stories to account for their presence at particular times and places; and i have sometimes wondered whether in the lean conveyancer, with his childlike zest for experience, his brisk enjoyment of the smallest details of daily life, i did not entertain some genial, masquerading angel unawares.
