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There came an inaudible reply, and a sudden loud bump over our heads as of some article of domestic utility pettishly flung aside, then the cautious steps of someone descending the twist, and then my aunt appeared in the doorway with her hand upon the jamb. "It's Aunt Ponderevo," cried my uncle. "George's wife and she's brought over her son!" His eye roamed about the room.
I've a sort of feeling that the chisel I began with painting, Ponderevo, and found I was colour-blind, colour-blind enough to stop it. I've drawn about and thought about thought more particularly. I give myself three days a week as an art student, and the rest of the time I've a sort of trade that keeps me. And we're still in the beginning of things, young men starting.
You aren't going to alter that in a thousand years or so.... Never should you have a mixed company, never except with only one man or only one woman. How would that be?... "Or duets only?... "How to manage it? Some rule of etiquette, perhaps."... He became portentously grave. Then his long hand went out in weird gestures. "I seem to see I seem to see a sort of City of Women, Ponderevo.
"And why has she given me a most violent desire towards sculpture and an equally violent desire to leave off work directly I begin it, eh?... Let's have some more coffee. I put it to you, these things puzzle me, Ponderevo. They dishearten me. They keep me in bed." He had an air of having saved up these difficulties for me for some time.
"What I like about it all, Ponderevo, is its poetry.... That's where we get the pull of the animals. No animal would ever run a factory like this. Think!... One remembers the Beaver, of course. He might very possibly bottle things, but would he stick a label round 'em and sell 'em?
You find chaps keeping grocers' shops why the DEVIL, Ponderevo, do they keep grocers' shops? They all do it very carefully, very steadily, very meanly. You find people running about and doing the most remarkable things being policemen, for example, and burglars. They go about these businesses quite gravely and earnestly. I somehow can't go about mine. Is there any sense in it at all anywhere?"
It was the Accident of Birth. It always is in England. Indeed, if I may make the remark so cosmic, everything is. But that is by the way. I was my uncle's nephew, and my uncle was no less a person than Edward Ponderevo, whose comet-like transit of the financial heavens happened it is now ten years ago! Do you remember the days of Ponderevo, the great days, I mean, of Ponderevo?
She never told me his christian name or indeed spoke a word to me of him; though at times I came near daring to ask her: add what I have of him it isn't much I got from his brother, my hero, my uncle Ponderevo. She wore her ring; her marriage certificate she kept in a sealed envelope in the very bottom of her largest trunk, and me she sustained at a private school among the Kentish hills.
NOTHING! I have no advice to give anyone, except to avoid regrets. Be yourself, seek after such beautiful things as your own sense determines to be beautiful. And don't mind the headache in the morning.... For what, after all, is a morning, Ponderevo? It isn't like the upper part of a day!" He paused impressively. "What Rot!" I cried, after a confused attempt to apprehend him. "Isn't it!
"I want to do some good in the world something something effectual, before I die. I have a sort of idea my scientific work I don't know." "Yes," he mused. "And I've got a sort of idea my sculpture, but now it is to come in and WHY, I've no idea at all." He hugged his knees for a space. "That's what puzzles me, Ponderevo, no end." He became animated.
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