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said； 〃I'll just be one of those men who wear a thing in their buttonholes
and go about telling people which is the way to tea and not to walk on the
grass。〃
〃No； no；〃 said Anne。 〃That won't do。 You must do something more
than that。〃
〃But what？ All the good jobs are taken； and I can do nothing but lisp
in numbers。〃
〃Well； then； you must lisp；〃 concluded Anne。 〃You must write a
poem for the occasionan 'Ode on Bank Holiday。' We'll print it on Uncle
Henry's press and sell it at twopence a copy。〃
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〃Sixpence；〃 Denis protested。 〃It'll be worth sixpence。〃
Anne shook her head。 〃Twopence；〃 she repeated firmly。 〃Nobody
will pay more than twopence。〃
〃And now there's Jenny；〃 said Mr Wimbush。 〃Jenny；〃 he said； raising
his voice； 〃what will you do？〃
Denis thought of suggesting that she might draw caricatures at
sixpence an execution； but decided it would be wiser to go on feigning
ignorance of her talent。 His mind reverted to the red notebook。 Could it
really be true that he looked like that？
〃What will I do；〃 Jenny echoed； 〃what will I do？〃 She frowned
thoughtfully for a moment； then her face brightened and she smiled。
〃When I was young；〃 she said； 〃I learnt to play the drums。〃
〃The drums？〃
Jenny nodded； and； in proof of her assertion； agitated her knife and
fork； like a pair of drumsticks； over her plate。 〃If there's any opportunity
of playing the drums。。。〃 she began。
〃But of course；〃 said Anne； 〃there's any amount of opportunity。 We'll
put you down definitely for the drums。 That's the lot；〃 she added。
〃And a very good lot too；〃 said Gombauld。 〃I look forward to my
Bank Holiday。 It ought to be gay。〃
〃It ought indeed；〃 Mr Scogan assented。 〃But you may rest assured
that it won't be。 No holiday is ever anything but a disappointment。〃
〃Come； come；〃 protested Gombauld。 〃My holiday at Crome isn't
being a disappointment。〃
〃Isn't it？〃 Anne turned an ingenuous mask towards him。
〃No； it isn't；〃 he answered。
〃I'm delighted to hear it。〃
〃It's in the very nature of things；〃 Mr。 Scogan went on； 〃our holidays
can't help being disappointments。 Reflect for a moment。 What is a
holiday？ The ideal； the Platonic Holiday of Holidays is surely a
complete and absolute change。 You agree with me in my definition？〃
Mr。 Scogan glanced from face to face round the table； his sharp nose
moved in a series of rapid jerks through all the points of the compass。
There was no sign of dissent； he continued： 〃A complete and absolute
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change； very well。 But isn't a complete and absolute change precisely the
thing we can never havenever； in the very nature of things？〃 Mr。
Scogan once more looked rapidly about him。 〃Of course it is。 As
ourselves； as specimens of Homo Sapiens； as members of a society； how
can we hope to have anything like an absolute change？ We are tied down
by the frightful limitation of our human faculties； by the notions which
society imposes on us through our fatal suggestibility； by our own
personalities。 For us； a complete holiday is out of the question。 Some
of us struggle manfully to take one； but we never succeed； if I may be
allowed to express myself metaphorically； we never succeed in getting
farther than Southend。〃
〃You're depressing；〃 said Anne。
〃I mean to be；〃 Mr。 Scogan replied； and； expanding the fingers of his
right hand； he went on： 〃Look at me； for example。 What sort of a
holiday can I take？ In endowing me with passions and faculties Nature
has been horribly niggardly。 The full range of human potentialities is in
any case distressingly limited； my range is a limitation within a limitation。
Out of the ten octaves that make up the human instrument； I can compass
perhaps two。 Thus； while I may have a certain amount of intelligence； I
have no aesthetic sense； while I possess the mathematical faculty； I am
wholly without the religious emotions； while I am naturally addicted to
venery； I have little ambition and am not at all avaricious。 Education has
further limited my scope。 Having been brought up in society； I am
impregnated with its laws； not only should I be afraid of taking a holiday
from them； I should also feel it painful to try to do so。 In a word； I have a
conscience as well as a fear of gaol。 Yes； I know it by experience。 How
often have I tried to take holidays； to get away from myself； my own
boring nature； my insufferable mental surroundings！〃 Mr。 Scogan sighed。
〃But always without success；〃 he added； 〃always without success。 In my
youth I was always strivinghow hard！to feel religiously and
aesthetically。 Here； said I to myself； are two tremendously important and
exciting emotions。 Life would be richer； warmer； brighter； altogether
more amusing； if I could feel them。 I try to feel them。 I read the works
of the mystics。 They seemed to me nothing but the most deplorable
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claptrapas indeed they always must to anyone who does not feel the
same emotion as the authors felt when they were writing。 For it is the
emotion that matters。 The written work is simply an attempt to express
emotion； which is in itself inexpressible； in terms of intellect and logic。
The mystic objectifies a rich feeling in the pit of the stomach into a
cosmology。 For other mystics that cosmology is a symbol of the rich
feeling。 For the unreligious it is a symbol of nothing； and so appears
merely grotesque。 A melancholy fact！ But I divagate。〃 Mr。 Scogan
checked himself。 〃So much for the religious emotion。 As for the
aestheticI was at even greater pains to cultivate that。 I have looked at
all the right works of art in every part of Europe。 There was a time when；
I venture to believe； I knew more about Taddeo da Poggibonsi； more about
the cryptic Amico di Taddeo； even than Henry does。 To…day； I am happy
to say； I have forgotten most of the knowledge I then so laboriously
acquired； but without vanity I can assert that it was prodigious。 I don't
pretend； of course； to know anything about nigger sculpture or the later
seventeenth century in Italy； but about all the periods that were
fashionable before 1900 I am； or was； omniscient。 Yes； I repeat it；
omniscient。 But did that fact make me any more appreciative of art in
general？ It did not。 Confronted by a picture； of which I could tell you
all the known and presumed historythe date when it was painted； the
character of the painter； the influences that had gone to make it what it
wasI felt none of that strange excitement and exaltation which is； as I am
informed by those who do feel it； the true aesthetic emotion。 I felt
nothing but a certain interest in the subject of the picture； or more often；
when the subject was hackneyed and religious； I felt nothing but a great
weariness of spirit。 Nevertheless； I must have gone on looking at
pictures for ten years before I would honestly admit to myself that they
merely