Eden Phillpotts, “The Diary of a Perfect Gentleman”

Just because I’ve started a new insane project is no reason to abandon the old one: here’s the weekly dose of public domain short stories. This week it’s Eden Philpotts, a fairly classy British writer of the Oughts, Teens and Twenties, who could be wearily jaded or roughly sentimental, as the occasion allowed. This is a trifle of a story, more social satire than anything, and would probably be condensed into one page in the New Yorker’s “Shouts and Murmurs” section today. I got it from Philpotts’ 1903 story collection Fancy Free.

There is to be a break-up in the family, and I gather that my future address will be Peckham Rye. Never heard of the place, and never wanted to, but begin to take an interest in it now. I travel in a hamper alone. It seems I was advertised in the Exchange and Mart, and my people have sold me for thirty shillings. Thirty shillings for a pure-bred Persian tom kitten! Their business instincts must be paltry. I am worth five pounds if a penny. Not sorry to go. Only regret leaving my mother. I am two months old now, and she has been a great comfort to me since I was born. However, I can lap all right, so she’s no more use. My people tie a ribbon round my neck, pretend to regret my departure, then take me to the station. Thus I enter the world.

* * *

Two maiden ladies have secured me. Might have been worse, for they are a soft-hearted couple. They tell one another that they have a bargain and think themselves clever to have acquired me for £1 10s. They laugh when I am introduced to their wirehaired fox-terrier and put up my back and get ready for him. But it seems he has lived with cats all his life. He wags his tail and makes friends. He appears to be a lumbering, well-meaning fool. His nose will be out of joint in four-and-twenty hours. The old women like me, and stuff me, and decide I shall be called “Shah.” So far so good. They talk a great deal about me, and watch me walk around, and quarrel as to where I shall sleep. It is to be a toss-up between a tool-shed and the kitchen. They decide for the kitchen. But, when they have gone to bed, the cook decides for tool-shed. Never trust a servant. They are time-serving wretches. They pretend to like a cat about the place. But not one mistress in a hundred knows what we have to put up with behind her back.

* * *

Distinct score off the cook last night. She left me in the tool-shed, and during some excursions I fetched down a board with a variety of gardening trifles upon it. Of pots there were broken two score. Gardener annoyed. This man will be my thorn in the flesh, I fancy. He dares cook to put me there again. I am left in the garden while they argue. Dog has a kennel, but I don’t like it. He invites me to join him at breakfast. Cold water and stuff he calls biscuit. I explain I shall take my meals with the family. He hopes I am not home-sick, and tells me that he will do all he can to make things pleasant. Snub him. Explain my origin, and let him plainly understand that there is a social gulf fixed between us. He is humble and apologetic. A good breakfast indoors. The cook assures my mistress that I slept in the kitchen and didn’t behave well. I knew she would. Always be on your guard against a liar.

* * *

When a man interferes with my amusement he suffers for it sooner or later. The gardener has told me to keep off a bed of mignonette seed. Fool — he ought to have commanded me to keep on it! A deliberate invitation to do anything in particular always annoys me; a command angers me. I spend much time upon the mignonette. The dog is rather impressed. I invite him to join me, but he refuses, and explains that the gardener dare not touch me, but would not hesitate in his case. Unpleasantness to-day. Was having a game with some stuffed birds in the drawing-room when my old ladies rang for the parlourmaid to remove me. I scratched her hand, and my old ladies laughed and applauded my spirit. But when she got me on the other side of the door, that parlourmaid rubbed it in pretty stiffly. I shan’t forget it. When I’m a grown cat, there will probably be a day of reckoning.

* * *

A niece has come to stay with the old ladies. She is very wealthy and engaged. We get on well. But the man, who calls twice a week, is a failure. The first time he came he slighted me, saying that Persians had no spirit or “go,” and were always sleeping or eating. Later on I went round to his silk hat, which was on the floor, and when he came back from a stroll round the garden he knew all about it. My strength is such that I can now jump through the drawing-room window; and when I had made it clear that I was responsible for the hat, I jumped. Tree-climbing very good for the claws; gives strength and tone. Relations strained all round now, because I caught a bee off a white lily yesterday, and broke down the lily. Moth-hunting of an evening is tidy sport.

* * *

The niece is called Ethel. She is to be married from here. My own opinion is that the man only wants her money, for he is a low-looking brute, though the servants say he is the younger son of somebody distinguished. The girl talks to me about him. The dog does not like this man either. A trustful animal, a dog. Gives everybody credit for best motives as a rule. But still, this dog bars this man; he cannot tell me why, but says it must be instinct. Have made a friend — an elderly tabby tom from four doors lower down the terrace. He has seen a good deal of the seamy side of life, and gathers his roses where he can. Well up in dustbins. Is called “Jim.” He moral views are elastic. I believe nothing at present, but Jim’s code will suit me well enough. Convenience is its principal beauty. Jim makes a good deal of me. He says I have gifts, and he assures me that it refreshes him and causes him to think deeply when I talk. I have made him free of our dustbin and introduced him to the dog. Henceforth he is safe here. He hates the gardener, too. He had a brother the gardener caught in the fowl-house. Jim knows where his brother was buried — in a tomato bed. Murderous man, the gardener.

* * *

Of course I’m not under Jim’s thumb. Yesterday we were walking together in the cool of the evening on the croquet ground, and my old ladies saw us, and rushed out as if I was taking a stroll with the devil. Jim had to hurry, and they picked me up, and told me he was a bad companion and would teach me all sorts of wicked things. What fools women are! I fancy I know a bit more than they think already. And as to Jim — why I teach him. He says that I’m always well worth listening to, and constantly asks my advice. Am growing quickly now, and begin to see a little society. Ethel’s wedding comes off this day fortnight. I shall give my first party on that evening. A quiet wedding it is to be; but probably a noisy party. Jim is asking the cats. He says I cannot be too careful about invitations. No doubt he is right. Good fellow, Jim, and worships me. Learning to sing a little. The ladies like it — not my old ladies, but the young ones of my own species. We are badly off for ladies in this terrace; still, I have my eye on a pretty little thing — black, with white paws. She is coming to the party. No catch socially, but love levels all — so Jim says. (Ethel’s wedding breakfast will include salmon. I heard the cook say so.) Row with the oldest of my ladies. She can’t understand that a cat gets beyond the cork-on-a-string stage. I’m growing up fast. Not that I don’t have a game on the quiet sometimes, but never before people. They turn me out at night now. Much pleasanter. Supped with Jim down the road at his own place. A fair bit of haddock, but no style. There are children in the house.

* * *

Wedding went off very well. A number of strange people about. Naturally I watched with some interest to see what went into the dustbin. Rather disappointing. Servants are the deuce in a case like this. Can’t keep their hands off anything. Managed to get a tail of salmon myself, while they were hiding a few bottles of champagne. Secreted the salmon in the garden. It will come as a pleasant surprise to-night. Ethel cried when she started. My old ladies cried too. The man seemed pleased at what he’d managed. I’m afraid he’s a blackguard. My party begins about half-past eleven. There are about ten of us. The black girl with white paws is called “Tottie” — pretty name. Very shy and retiring. Pleasant voice. Jim and a grey cat, called “The Colonel,” have a rather unseemly row over an old tortoiseshell dowager. I wouldn’t have looked at her. No accounting for tastes. Music sets the dogs barking for miles. Our own dog chained up. Not that he would have interfered. Cook, or some other damned menial, flings a pot of potatum into the very middle of the conversazione. Nobody hurt, thank God, but a good deal is said about it. Of course I make it clear that the fault is not mine. Fine moonlight. Hide-and-seek in the geraniums. Wish the gardener could see us. I seem very popular. Get a chat with Tottie, and take her off to where I hid the salmon. Gone! I had only mentioned it to Jim. So much for friendship. In another month I shall not be afraid to stand up to him. Then he’ll possibly wish he’d never been born. Party over at dawn. See Tottie home. She says that to meet a real gentleman is refreshing nowadays. True enough. They’re growing scarce.

* * *

Very cheap next morning, and my old ladies see I am. Unpleasant remarks and an inclination to withhold my saucer of milk. Some talk of giving me away. Giving me away! How insulting human beings are. And then they turn round and say we have no gratitude! Caught a young thrush in the afternoon. It was sitting with its back turned waiting for its mother. Mother came back with a worm, and when she saw what I’d been and done, she spoke her mind. Gardener noticed me too and seemed rather gratified than not. I shall go on catching young thrushes — not to please the gardener, but because I like them.

* * *

We are engaged. I sang to her for an hour in the moonlight. Henceforth we live for each other. Everybody is saying she angled for me and caught me. I am a catch and I know it; but, in a place like this, where there’s not another Persian within a radius of five hundred yards, we must do the best we can. And Tottie worships the wall I walk on. A very good, trustful, domesticated, little thing, and knows her luck. Am growing devilish handsome. My old ladies talk about sending me to the Crystal Palace Show next autumn. Had it out with Jim last night. He said I was ungrateful and never looked at him now that I was getting in with a better set. I knocked him out of a rain-shoot into a water-barrel; and when he came ashore we fought four rounds. He had some fur out of me certainly, but I took half his right ear off and hall-marked his nose for life. Now we pass on the same flower-bed and don’t know each other. A low-bred animal Jim, and blood will tell. After our difference my old ladies changed their mind about sending me for exhibition.

* * *

I am a father. Tottie has a fine family. Rather a bore. But of course there are no obligations. Two days later she meets me with a face as long as a chicken’s thigh-bone. The family has been drowned to a kitten before her eyes. Well, well, we must all die. Surprised to find how I bear this blow. Tottie hard to comfort. Of course, the murderers did not know that I was the father. Those kittens cannot have been worth less than five shillings each. I feel angry when I look at the matter from a business point of view. Tottie rather a nuisance about it. What’s the use of crying over dead kittens? I tell her not to try my patience too far. Females are so exacting. She is hurt. What does she expect? She surely doesn’t suppose that I am going to cry about it? She goes and gets one of her dead babes and lays it at my feet. Very harrowing, of course; but if the others were like this one, I am glad somebody drowned them. These mixed marriages are a mistake.

* * *

Ethel has come back to my old ladies. The dog and I were right about that man. Only been married six months, and he is tired of her, and has been brutal; and she must go through some legal business to be rid of him. What devils these men are to the weaker vessels! Tottie has gone off in appearance a good deal lately. Her spirit is broken. To see her crawl along a fence you would think she was five years old. Her temper is soured too. There has come a blue French cat to the house next door but three. I introduced myself. She is young and attractive, and, thank Heaven, a lady of elegant extraction. Inclined to be extremely exclusive. Tell her she is right. Her name is “Sally B.” Pretty name. Has some English, but not much. Is teaching me French. Chic — very chic indeed. Had half a brickbat within two inches of me yesterday, next door but three. Her people are as exclusive as she is. Faint Persian never won fair French puss yet. Tottie growing quite impossible. Sorry, but had to speak. She fainted. You can only live your life once; therefore never let sentiment come between you and your ambitions. Sally B. says ours was a case of love at first sight. Very possibly. We are engaged, anyhow. Haven’t mentioned Tottie.

* * *

They are saying in the house that Ethel is going to die. If she does, they certainly ought to kill the fiend who is responsible for her misery. I’m sure I can feel for the poor girl. Sally B. has thrown me over for a lop-sided, yellow cat, with one eye and no tail — a paltry Manx thing that would disgrace Seven Dials. Oh yes, the beast can fight, I know; but I was dead out of training at the time. Not that I care. I might have known what to expect from a French cat. There are as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it.

* * *

Shall give up keeping a diary. The thing only makes people laugh at you after you are gone. Besides, you often think of things you can’t even say to yourself, let alone write in a book.

* * *

Resumed my diary after several years. I’ve felt very seedy lately and been getting worse every day for a year. Shabby and old. Don’t create any sensation as of yore. Vet comes to see me, and the case evidently interests him a good deal. He says a pinch of arsenic is the only thing for me, and my old ladies both begin to cry. I suppose it’s expensive. Still, as this is the only cure the man can suggest, they are bound in decency to let me have it. They agree to the vet’s proposal, though reluctantly. Disgusting to see meanness at such a time. However, it’s all right: I’m to have the arsenic to-morrow.