Three Men on the Bummel. Джером К. Джером

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      I was sorry to hear him say this.

      “Then there’s the kitchen stove,” continued Harris; “everything that has gone wrong in the house for the last two years has been the fault of that kitchen stove.”

      “I know,” I said. “We have been in seven houses since we were married, and every kitchen stove has been worse than the last. Our present one is not only incompetent; it is spiteful. It knows when we are giving a party, and goes out of its way to do its worst.”

      “We are going to have a new one,” said Harris, but he did not say it proudly. “Clara thought it would be such a saving of expense, having the two things done at the same time. I believe,” said Harris, “if a woman wanted a diamond tiara, she would explain that it was to save the expense of a bonnet.”

      “How much do you reckon the stove is going to cost you?” I asked. I felt interested in the subject.

      “I don’t know,” answered Harris; “another twenty, I suppose. Then we talked about the piano. Could you ever notice,” said Harris, “any difference between one piano and another?”

      “Some of them seem to be a bit louder than others,” I answered; “but one gets used to that.”

      “Ours is all wrong about the treble,” said Harris. “By the way, what is the treble?”

      “It’s the shrill end of the thing,” I explained; “the part that sounds as if you’d trod on its tail. The brilliant selections always end up with a flourish on it.”

      “They want more of it,” said Harris; “our old one hasn’t got enough of it. I’ll have to put it in the nursery, and get a new one for the drawing-room.”

      “Anything else?” I asked.

      “No,” said Harris; “she didn’t seem able to think of anything else.”

      “You’ll find when you get home,” I said, “she has thought of one other thing.”

      “What’s that?” said Harris.

      “A house at Folkestone for the season.”

      “What should she want a house at Folkestone for?” said Harris.

      “To live in,” I suggested, “during the summer months.”

      “She’s going to her people in Wales,” said Harris, “for the holidays, with the children; we’ve had an invitation.”

      “Possibly,” I said, “she’ll go to Wales before she goes to Folkestone, or maybe she’ll take Wales on her way home; but she’ll want a house at Folkestone for the season, notwithstanding. I may be mistaken—I hope for your sake that I am—but I feel a presentiment that I’m not.”

      “This trip,” said Harris, “is going to be expensive.”

      “It was an idiotic suggestion,” I said, “from the beginning.”

      “It was foolish of us to listen to him,” said Harris; “he’ll get us into real trouble one of these days.”

      “He always was a muddler,” I agreed.

      “So headstrong,” added Harris.

      We heard his voice at that moment in the hall, asking for letters.

      “Better not say anything to him,” I suggested; “it’s too late to go back now.”

      “There would be no advantage in doing so,” replied Harris. “I should have to get that bathroom and piano in any case now.”

      He came in looking very cheerful.

      “Well,” he said, “is it all right? Have you managed it?”

      There was that about his tone I did not altogether like; I noticed Harris resented it also.

      “Managed what?” I said.

      “Why, to get off,” said George.

      I felt the time was come to explain things to George.

      “In married life,” I said, “the man proposes, the woman submits. It is her duty; all religion teaches it.”

      George folded his hands and fixed his eyes on the ceiling.

      “We may chaff and joke a little about these things,” I continued; “but when it comes to practice, that is what always happens. We have mentioned to our wives that we are going. Naturally, they are grieved; they would prefer to come with us; failing that, they would have us remain with them. But we have explained to them our wishes on the subject, and—there’s an end of the matter.”

      George said, “Forgive me; I did not understand. I am only a bachelor. People tell me this, that, and the other, and I listen.”

      I said, “That is where you do wrong. When you want information come to Harris or myself; we will tell you the truth about these questions.”

      George thanked us, and we proceeded with the business in hand.

      “When shall we start?” said George.

      “So far as I am concerned,” replied Harris, “the sooner the better.”

      His idea, I fancy, was to get away before Mrs. H. thought of other things. We fixed the following Wednesday.

      “What about route?” said Harris.

      “I have an idea,” said George. “I take it you fellows are naturally anxious to improve your minds?”

      I said, “We don’t want to become monstrosities. To a reasonable degree, yes, if it can be done without much expense and with little personal trouble.”

      “It can,” said George. “We know Holland and the Rhine. Very well, my suggestion is that we take the boat to Hamburg, see Berlin and Dresden, and work our way to the Schwarzwald, through Nuremberg and Stuttgart.”

      “There are some pretty bits in Mesopotamia, so I’ve been told,” murmured Harris.

      George said Mesopotamia was too much out of our way, but that the Berlin-Dresden route was quite practicable. For good or evil, he persuaded us into it.

      “The machines, I suppose,” said George, “as before. Harris and I on the tandem, J.—”

      “I think not,” interrupted Harris, firmly. “You and J. on the tandem, I on the single.”

      “All the same to me,” agreed George. “J. and I on the tandem, Harris—”

      “I do not mind taking my turn,” I interrupted, “but I am not going to carry George all the way; the burden should be divided.”

      “Very well,” agreed Harris, “we’ll divide СКАЧАТЬ