three men on the bummel-第11章
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back into the room。 She enters as from a catapult。 She is
handicapped by having long hair； which can be used as a convenient
handle。 Evidently aware of this natural disadvantage； she clutches
it herself tightly in one hand； and punches with the other。 He
opens the door again； and cleverly uses her as a battering…ram
against the wall of those without。 You can hear the dull crash as
her head enters among them； and scatters them。 When the victory is
complete； he comes back and resumes his seat on the bed。 There is
no bitterness about him； he has forgotten the whole incident。
〃I like the morning；〃 he says； 〃don't you？〃
〃Some mornings；〃 you agree； 〃are all right； others are not so
peaceful。〃
He takes no notice of your exception； a far…away look steals over
his somewhat ethereal face。
〃I should like to die in the morning；〃 he says； 〃everything is so
beautiful then。〃
〃Well；〃 you answer； 〃perhaps you will； if your father ever invites
an irritable man to come and sleep here； and doesn't warn him
beforehand。〃
He descends from his contemplative mood； and becomes himself again。
〃It's jolly in the garden；〃 he suggests； 〃you wouldn't like to get
up and have a game of cricket； would you？〃
It was not the idea with which you went to bed； but now； as things
have turned out； it seems as good a plan as lying there hopelessly
awake； and you agree。
You learn； later in the day； that the explanation of the proceeding
is that you； unable to sleep； woke up early in the morning； and
thought you would like a game of cricket。 The children； taught to
be ever courteous to guests； felt it their duty to humour you。
Mrs。 Harris remarks at breakfast that at least you might have seen
to it that the children were properly dressed before you took them
out； while Harris points out to you； pathetically； how； by your one
morning's example and encouragement； you have undone his labour of
months。
On this Wednesday morning； George； it seems； clamoured to get up at
a quarter…past five； and persuaded them to let him teach them
cycling tricks round the cucumber frames on Harris's new wheel。
Even Mrs。 Harris； however； did not blame George on this occasion；
she felt intuitively the idea could not have been entirely his。
It is not that the Harris children have the faintest notion of
avoiding blame at the expense of a friend and comrade。 One and all
they are honesty itself in accepting responsibility for their own
misdeeds。 It simply is； that is how the thing presents itself to
their understanding。 When you explain to them that you had no
original intention of getting up at five o'clock in the morning to
play cricket on the croquet lawn； or to mimic the history of the
early Church by shooting with a cross…bow at dolls tied to a tree；
that as a matter of fact； left to your own initiative； you would
have slept peacefully till roused in Christian fashion with a cup
of tea at eight； they are firstly astonished； secondly apologetic；
and thirdly sincerely contrite。 In the present instance； waiving
the purely academic question whether the awakening of George at a
little before five was due to natural instinct on his part； or to
the accidental passing of a home…made boomerang through his bedroom
window； the dear children frankly admitted that the blame for his
uprising was their own。 As the eldest boy said：
〃We ought to have remembered that Uncle George had a long day；
before him； and we ought to have dissuaded him from getting up。 I
blame myself entirely。〃
But an occasional change of habit does nobody any harm； and
besides； as Harris and I agreed； it was good training for George。
In the Black Forest we should be up at five every morning； that we
had determined on。 Indeed； George himself had suggested half…past
four； but Harris and I had argued that five would be early enough
as an average； that would enable us to be on our machines by six；
and to break the back of our journey before the heat of the day set
in。 Occasionally we might start a little earlier； but not as a
habit。
I myself was up that morning at five。 This was earlier than I had
intended。 I had said to myself on going to sleep； 〃Six o'clock；
sharp！〃
There are men I know who can wake themselves at any time to the
minute。 They say to themselves literally； as they lay their heads
upon the pillow； 〃Four…thirty；〃 〃Four…forty…five；〃 or 〃Five…
fifteen；〃 as the case may be； and as the clock strikes they open
their eyes。 It is very wonderful this； the more one dwells upon
it； the greater the mystery grows。 Some Ego within us； acting
quite independently of our conscious self； must be capable of
counting the hours while we sleep。 Unaided by clock or sun； or any
other medium known to our five senses； it keeps watch through the
darkness。 At the exact moment it whispers 〃Time！〃 and we awake。
The work of an old riverside fellow I once talked with called him
to be out of bed each morning half an hour before high tide。 He
told me that never once had he overslept himself by a minute。
Latterly； he never even troubled to work out the tide for himself。
He would lie down tired； and sleep a dreamless sleep； and each
morning at a different hour this ghostly watchman； true as the tide
itself； would silently call him。 Did the man's spirit haunt
through the darkness the muddy river stairs； or had it knowledge of
the ways of Nature？ Whatever the process； the man himself was
unconscious of it。
In my own case my inward watchman is； perhaps； somewhat out of
practice。 He does his best； but he is over…anxious； he worries
himself； and loses count。 I say to him； maybe； 〃Five…thirty；
please；〃 and he wakes me with a start at half…past two。 I look at
my watch。 He suggests that； perhaps； I forgot to wind it up。 I
put it to my ear； it is still going。 He thinks； maybe； something
has happened to it； he is confident himself it is half…past five；
if not a little later。 To satisfy him； I put on a pair of slippers
and go downstairs to inspect the dining…room clock。 What happens
to a man when he wanders about the house in the middle of the
night； clad in a dressing…gown and a pair of slippers； there is no
need to recount； most men know by experience。 Everything
especially everything with a sharp cornertakes a cowardly delight
in hitting him。 When you are wearing a pair of stout boots； things
get out of your way； when you venture among furniture in woolwork
slippers and no socks； it comes at you and kicks you。 I return to
bed bad tempered； and refusing to listen to his further absurd
suggestion that all the clocks in the house have entered into a
conspiracy against me； take half an hour to get to sleep again。
From four to five he wakes me every ten minutes。 I wish I had
never said a word to him about the thing。 At five o'clock he goes
to sleep himself； worn out； and leaves it to the girl； who does it
half an hour later than usual。
On this particular Wednesday he worried me to such an extent； that
I got up at five simply to be rid of him。 I did not know what to
do with myself。 Our train did not leave till eight； all our
luggage had been packed and sent on the night before； together with
the bicycles； to Fenchurch Street Station。 I went into my study； I
thought I would put in an hour's writing。 The early morning；
before one has breakfasted； is not； I take it； a good season for
literary effort。 I wrote three paragraphs of a story； and then
read them over to myself。 Some unkind things have been said about
my work； but nothing has yet been written which would have done
justice to those three paragraphs。 I threw them into the waste…
paper basket； and sat trying to remember what； if any； charitable
institutions provided pensions for decayed authors。
To escape from this train of reflection； I put a golf…ball in my
pocket； and selecting a driver； strolled out into the paddock。 A
couple of sheep were browsing there； and they followed and took a
keen interest in my practice。 The one was a kindly； sympathetic
old party。 I do not think she understood the game； I think it was
my doing this innocent thing so early in the morning that appealed
to her。 At every stroke I made she
