He understands them and they understand
him. I was at home with herds and tramps and roadmen, and I was
sufficiently at my ease with people like Sir Walter and the men I
had met the night before. I can't explain why, but it is a fact. But
what fellows like me don't understand is the great comfortable,
satisfied middle-class world, the folk that live in villas and suburbs.
He doesn't know how they look at things, he doesn't understand
their conventions, and he is as shy of them as of a black mamba.
When a trim parlour-maid opened the door, I could hardly find my voice.
I asked for Mr Appleton, and was ushered in. My plan had been
to walk straight into the dining-room, and by a sudden appearance
wake in the men that start of recognition which would confirm my
theory. But when I found myself in that neat hall the place mastered
me. There were the golf-clubs and tennis-rackets, the straw hats
and caps, the rows of gloves, the sheaf of walking-sticks, which
you will find in ten thousand British homes. A stack of neatly
folded coats and waterproofs covered the top of an old oak chest;
there was a grandfather clock ticking; and some polished brass
warming-pans on the walls, and a barometer, and a print of Chiltern
winning the St Leger. The place was as orthodox as an Anglican
church. When the maid asked me for my name I gave it automatically,
and was shown into the smoking-room, on the right side of the hall.
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