LECTOR. Well, then, let us skip it and tell stories.
AUCTOR. With all my heart. And since you are such a good judge of
literary poignancy, do you begin.
LECTOR. I will, and I draw my inspiration from your style.
Once upon a time there was a man who was born in Croydon, and whose
name was Charles Amieson Blake. He went to Rugby at twelve and left it
at seventeen. He fell in love twice and then went to Cambridge till he
was twenty-three. Having left Cambridge he fell in love more mildly,
and was put by his father into a government office, where he began at
_180_ pounds a year. At thirty-five he was earning 500 pounds a year,
and perquisites made 750 pounds a year. He met a pleasant lady and
fell in love quite a little compared with the other times. She had 250
pounds a year. That made _1000_ pounds a year. They married and had
three children - Richard, Amy, and Cornelia. He rose to a high
government position, was knighted, retired at sixty-three, and died at
sixty-seven. He is buried at Kensal Green...
AUCTOR. Thank you, Lector, that is a very good story. It is simple and
full of plain human touches. You know how to deal with the facts of
everyday life ... It requires a master-hand. Tell me, Lector, had this
man any adventures?
LECTOR. None that I know of.
AUCTOR. Had he opinions?
LECTOR. Yes. I forgot to tell you he was a Unionist. He spoke two
foreign languages badly. He often went abroad to Assisi, Florence, and
Boulogne... He left 7,623 pounds 6s. 8d., and a house and garden at
Sutton. His wife lives there still.
AUCTOR. Oh!
LECTOR. It is the human story ... the daily task!
AUCTOR. Very true, my dear Lector ... the common lot... Now let me
tell my story. It is about the Hole that could not be Filled Up.
LECTOR. Oh no! Auctor, no! That is the oldest story in the -
AUCTOR. Patience, dear Lector, patience! I will tell it well. Besides
which I promise you it shall never be told again. I will copyright it.
Well, once there was a Learned Man who had a bargain with the Devil
that he should warn the Devil's emissaries of all the good deeds done
around him so that they could be upset, and he in turn was to have all
those pleasant things of this life which the Devil's allies usually
get, to wit a Comfortable Home, Self-Respect, good health, 'enough
money for one's rank', and generally what is called 'a happy useful
life' - _till_ midnight of All-Hallowe'en in the last year of the
nineteenth century.
So this Learned Man did all he was required, and daily would inform
the messenger imps of the good being done or prepared in the
neighbourhood, and they would upset it; so that the place he lived in
from a nice country town became a great Centre of Industry, full of
wealth and desirable family mansions and street property, and was
called in hell 'Depot B' (Depot A you may guess at). But at last
toward the 15th of October 1900, the Learned Man began to shake in his
shoes and to dread the judgement; for, you see, he had not the
comfortable ignorance of his kind, and was compelled to believe in the
Devil willy-nilly, and, as I say, he shook in his shoes.
