Speaker 1: Chapter twelve of They and I by Jerome K. Jerome.
Speaker 1: This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Debrelyn.
Speaker 1: They and I by Jerome K. Jerome, Chapter twelve. I
Speaker 1: am sorry the house is finished. There is a proverb
Speaker 1: fools build houses for wise men to live in. It
Speaker 1: depends upon what you are after. The fool gets the fun,
Speaker 1: and the wise men the bricks and mortar. I remember
Speaker 1: a whimsical story I picked up at the bookstall of
Speaker 1: the Guerdlillon. I read it between Paris and Fontainebleu many
Speaker 1: years ago. Three friends, youthful bohemians, smoking their pipes after
Speaker 1: the meager dinner of a cheap restaurant in the Latin Quarter,
Speaker 1: fell to thinking of their poverty, of the long and
Speaker 1: bitter struggle that lay before them. My themes are so original,
Speaker 1: sighed the musician. It will take me a year of
Speaker 1: fate days to teach the public to understand them, even
Speaker 1: if ever I do succeed, And meanwhile I shall live unknown, neglected,
Speaker 1: watching the men without ideals passing me by in the race,
Speaker 1: splashed with the mud from their carriage wheels. As I
Speaker 1: beat the pavements with worn shoes. It is really a
Speaker 1: most unjust world, an abominable world, agreed the poet. Think
Speaker 1: of me, My case is far harder than yours. Your
Speaker 1: gift lies within you. Mine is to translate what lies
Speaker 1: around me, and that, for so far ahead as I
Speaker 1: can see, will always be the shadow side of life.
Speaker 1: To develop my genius to its fullest, I need the
Speaker 1: sunshine of existence. My soul is being starved for lack
Speaker 1: of the beautiful things of life. A little of the
Speaker 1: wealth that vulgar people waste would make a great poet
Speaker 1: for France. It is not only of myself that I
Speaker 1: am thinking, the painter laughed. I cannot sor to your heights,
Speaker 1: he said, frankly speaking, it is myself that chiefly appeals
Speaker 1: to me. Why not I give the world beauty, and
Speaker 1: in return, what does it give me? This dingy restaurant
Speaker 1: where I eat ill flavored food off hideous platters, a
Speaker 1: foul gear giving on to chimney pots. After long years
Speaker 1: of ill requited labor, I may, as others have before me,
Speaker 1: come into my kingdom, possessed my studio in the chancelise,
Speaker 1: my fine house at Nuilli. But the prospect of the
Speaker 1: intervening period I confess appalls me. Absorbed in themselves, they
Speaker 1: had not noticed that a stranger seated at a neighboring
Speaker 1: table had been listening with attention. He rose, and, apologizing
Speaker 1: with easy grace for intrusion into a conversation he could
Speaker 1: hardly have avoided. Overhearing, requested permission to be of service.
Speaker 1: The restaurant was dimly lighted. The three friends, on entering,
Speaker 1: had chosen its obscurest corner. The stranger appeared to be
Speaker 1: well dressed. His voice and bearing suggested the man of affairs.
Speaker 1: His face, what feeble light there was being behind him,
Speaker 1: remained in shadow. The three friends eyed him furtively. Possibly
Speaker 1: some rich but eccentric patron of the arts, not beyond
Speaker 1: the bounds of speculation that he was acquainted with their work,
Speaker 1: had read the poet's verses in one of the minor magazines,
Speaker 1: had stumbled upon some sketch of the painters. While bargain
Speaker 1: hunting among the dealers of the Quartier Saint Antoine, been
Speaker 1: struck by the beauty of the composers, not turning half
Speaker 1: heard at some student's concert, having made enquiries concerning their haunts,
Speaker 1: had chosen this method of introducing himself. The young men
Speaker 1: made room for him. With feelings of hope mingled with curiosity.
Speaker 1: The affable stranger called for liqueurs and handed round his
Speaker 1: cigar case, and almost his first words brought them joy.
Speaker 1: Before we go further, said the smiling stranger, it is
Speaker 1: my pleasure to inform you that all three of you
Speaker 1: are destined to become great. The liqueurs, to their unaccustomed palates,
Speaker 1: were proving potent. The stranger's cigars were singularly aromatic. It
Speaker 1: seemed the most reasonable thing in the world that the
Speaker 1: strangers should be thus able to foretell to them their future. Fame,
Speaker 1: fortune will be yours, continued the agreeable stranger. All things
Speaker 1: delightful will be to your hand, the adoration of women,
Speaker 1: the honor of men, the incense of society, joy's spiritual
Speaker 1: and material, beauteous surroundings, choice foods, all luxury and ease.
Speaker 1: The world your pleasure ground. The stained walls of the
Speaker 1: dingy restaurant were fading into space before the young men's eyes.
Speaker 1: They saw themselves as gods walking in the garden of
Speaker 1: their heart's desires. But alas went on the stranger, and
Speaker 1: with the first note of his changed voice, the visions vanished,
Speaker 1: the dingy walls came back. These things take time. You
Speaker 1: will all three be well past middle aged before you
Speaker 1: will reap the just reward of your toil and talents. Meanwhile,
Speaker 1: the sympathetic stranger shrugged his shoulders. It is the old
Speaker 1: story genius spending its youth battling for recognition against indifference, ridicule, envy,
Speaker 1: the spirit crushed by its sordid environment, the drab monotony
Speaker 1: of narrow days. There will be winter nights when you
Speaker 1: will tramp the streets, cold hungry, forlorn summer days when
Speaker 1: you will hide in your attics, the sh ashamed of
Speaker 1: the sunlight on your ragged garments, chill dawns when you
Speaker 1: will watch wild eye the suffering of those you love,
Speaker 1: helpless by reason of your poverty to alleviate their pain.
Speaker 1: The stranger paused, while the ancient waiter replenished the empty glasses.
Speaker 1: The three friends drank in silence. I propose, said the stranger,
Speaker 1: with a pleasant laugh, that we pass over this customary
Speaker 1: period of probation, that we skip the intervening years, arrive
Speaker 1: at once at our true destination. The stranger, leaning back
Speaker 1: in his chair, regarded the three friends with a smile
Speaker 1: they felt, rather than saw, and something about the stranger
Speaker 1: they could not have told themselves. What made all things possible?
Speaker 1: A quite simple matter. The stranger assured them A little
Speaker 1: sleep and a forgetting, and the years lie behind us. Come, gentlemen,
Speaker 1: have I your consent? It seemed to question, hardly needing answer.
Speaker 1: To escape. At one stride the long, weary struggle to
Speaker 1: enter without fighting into victory. The young men looked at
Speaker 1: one another, and each one, thinking of his gain, bartered
Speaker 1: the battle for the spoil. It seemed to them that
Speaker 1: suddenly the lights went out in a darkness, like a
Speaker 1: rushing wind swept past them, filled with many sounds, and
Speaker 1: then forgetfulness, and then the coming back of light. They
Speaker 1: were seated at a table glittering with silver and dainty chinaware,
Speaker 1: to which the red wine in Venetian goblets, the varied
Speaker 1: fruit and flowers gave color. The room furnished too gorgeously
Speaker 1: for taste. They judged to be a private cabinet in
Speaker 1: one of the great restaurants. Of such interiors they had
Speaker 1: occasionally caught glimpses through open windows on summer nights. It
Speaker 1: was softly illuminated by shaded lamps. The stranger's face was
Speaker 1: still in shadow. But what surprised each of the three
Speaker 1: most was to observe opposite him too, more or less
Speaker 1: bald headed gentlemen of somewhat flabby appearance, whose features, however,
Speaker 1: in some mysterious way, appeared familiar. The stranger had his
Speaker 1: wine glass raised in his hand. Our dear Paul, the
Speaker 1: stranger was saying, has declined, with his customary modesty, any
Speaker 1: public recognition of his triumph. He will not refuse three
Speaker 1: old friends the privilege of offering him their heartiest congratulations. Gentlemen,
Speaker 1: I drink not only to our dear Paul, but to
Speaker 1: the French academy, which, in honoring him, has honored France.
Speaker 1: The stranger, rising from his chair, turned his piercing eyes,
Speaker 1: the only part of him that could be clearly seen,
Speaker 1: upon the astonished poet. The two elderly gentlemen opposite, evidently
Speaker 1: as bewildered as Paul himself, taking their cue from the stranger,
Speaker 1: drained their glasses, Still following the stranger's lead, leant each
Speaker 1: across the table and shook him warmly by the hand.
Speaker 1: I beg pardon, said the poet, But really I am
Speaker 1: afraid I must have been asleep. Would it sounded rude
Speaker 1: to you? He addressed himself to the stranger. The faces
Speaker 1: of the elderly gentleman opposite did not suggest there being
Speaker 1: of much assistance to him. If I asked you where
Speaker 1: I was again, there flickered across the stranger's face, the
Speaker 1: smile that was felt rather than seen. You are in
Speaker 1: a private room of the Cafe Prittali, he answered. We
Speaker 1: are met this evening to celebrate your recent elevation into
Speaker 1: the company of the immortals. Oh, said the poet, Thank you.
Speaker 1: The academy continued. The stranger is always a little late
Speaker 1: in these affairs. Myself. I could have wished your election
Speaker 1: had taken place ten years ago, when all France, all
Speaker 1: France that counts, that is, was talking of you. At
Speaker 1: fifty three. The stranger touched lightly with his fingers the
Speaker 1: poet's fat hand. One does not write as when the
Speaker 1: sap was running up instead of down slowly. Memory of
Speaker 1: the dingy cafe in the Rue Saint Louis, of the
Speaker 1: strange happening that took place there that night when he
Speaker 1: was young, crept back into the poet's brain. Would you mind,
Speaker 1: said the poet. Would it be troubling you too much
Speaker 1: to tell me something of what has occurred to me?
Speaker 1: Not in the least, responded the agreeable stranger. Your career
Speaker 1: has been most interesting for the first few years, chiefly
Speaker 1: to yourself. You married Marguerite. You remember Marguerite, the poet
Speaker 1: remembered her. A mad thing to do so most people
Speaker 1: would have said, continued the stranger. It had not a
Speaker 1: soue between you but myself. I think you were justified.
Speaker 1: Youth comes to us but once, and at twenty five.
Speaker 1: Our business is to live. Undoubtedly the marriage helped you.
Speaker 1: You lived in idyllic existence for a time in a
Speaker 1: tumble down cottage at Sheerchnee, with a garden that went
Speaker 1: down to the river. Poor. Of course, you were poor
Speaker 1: as church mice. But who fears poverty when hope and
Speaker 1: love are singing on the bow? I really think quite
Speaker 1: your best work was done during those years at Cherchnee. Ah,
Speaker 1: the sweetness, the tenderness of it, there has been nothing
Speaker 1: like it in French poetry. It made no mark at
Speaker 1: the time, but ten years later the public went mad
Speaker 1: about it. She was dead then, poor child. It had
Speaker 1: been a hard struggle, and as you may remember, she
Speaker 1: was always fragile. Yet even in her death I think
Speaker 1: she helped you. There entered a new note into your poetry,
Speaker 1: a depth that had hitherto been wanting. It was the
Speaker 1: best thing it ever came to you, your love for Marguerite.
Speaker 1: The stranger refilled his glass and passed the decanter, but
Speaker 1: the poet left the wine unheeded. And then ah yes,
Speaker 1: Then followed that excursion into politics, those scathing articles you
Speaker 1: wrote for La le Bertay. It is hardly an exaggeration
Speaker 1: to say that they altered the whole aspect of French
Speaker 1: political thought. Those wonderful speeches you made during your election
Speaker 1: campaign at Aannger, How the people worshiped you. You might
Speaker 1: have carried your portfolio had you persisted. But your poets
Speaker 1: are such restless fellows. And after all, I dare say
Speaker 1: you have really accomplished more by your plays you remember, no,
Speaker 1: of course, how could you the first night of La Coquette.
Speaker 1: Shall I ever forget it? I have always reckoned that
Speaker 1: the crown of your career your marriage with Madame de Chanel.
Speaker 1: I do not think it was for the public good.
Speaker 1: Poor Deschanel's millions is it not so poetry and millions
Speaker 1: interfere with one another, but a thousand pardons, My dear Paul,
Speaker 1: you have done so much. It is only right you
Speaker 1: should now be taking your ease. Your work is finished.
Speaker 1: The poet does not answer, since, staring before him with
Speaker 1: eyes turned inward, the painter the musician. What do the
Speaker 1: years bring to them? The stranger tells them also of
Speaker 1: all that they have lost, of the griefs and sorrows,
Speaker 1: of the hopes and fears they have never tasted, of
Speaker 1: their tears that ended in laughter, of the pain that
Speaker 1: gave sweetness to joy, of the triumphs that came to them,
Speaker 1: and the days before triumph had lost its savor, of
Speaker 1: the loves and the longings and fervors they would never know.
Speaker 1: All was ended. The Stranger had given them what he
Speaker 1: had promised, what they had desired, the gain without the getting.
Speaker 1: Then they break out, What is it to me? Cries
Speaker 1: the painter, that I wake to find myself wearing the
Speaker 1: gold medal of the Salon, robbed of the memory of
Speaker 1: all by which it was earned. The stranger points out
Speaker 1: to him that he is illogical. Such memories would have
Speaker 1: included long vistas of meager dinners and dingy restaurants, of
Speaker 1: attic studios, of a life, the chief part of which
Speaker 1: had been passed amid ugly surroundings. It was to escape
Speaker 1: from all such that he had clamored. The poet is silent.
Speaker 1: I asked but for recognition, cries the musician, that men
Speaker 1: might listen to me, Not for my music to be
Speaker 1: taken from me in exchange for the recompense of a
Speaker 1: successful tradesman. My inspiration is burnt out. I feel it.
Speaker 1: The music that once filled my soul is mute. It
Speaker 1: was born of the strife and anguish. The stranger tells
Speaker 1: him of the loves that died, of the hopes that faded,
Speaker 1: of the beating of youth's wings against the bars of sorrow,
Speaker 1: of the glory and madness and torment called life, of
Speaker 1: the struggle you shrank from facing. The poet takes up
Speaker 1: the tale. You have robbed us of life. He cries,
Speaker 1: you tell us of dead lips whose kiss as we
Speaker 1: have never felt, of songs of victory sung to our
Speaker 1: deaf ears. You have taken our fires. You have left
Speaker 1: us but the ashes, the fires that scorch and sear.
Speaker 1: The stranger adds the lips that cried in their pain,
Speaker 1: the victory bought of wounds. It is not yet too late,
Speaker 1: the stranger tells them all this can be but a
Speaker 1: troubled dream, growing fainter with each waking moment. Will you
Speaker 1: buy back your youth at the cost of ease? Will
Speaker 1: you buy back life at the price of tears? They
Speaker 1: cry with one voice, Give us back our youth, with
Speaker 1: its burdens and a heart to bear them, Give us
Speaker 1: back life, with its mingled bitter and sweet. Then suddenly
Speaker 1: the stranger stands, revealed before them. They see that he
Speaker 1: is life, Life born of battle, life made strong by endeavor,
Speaker 1: life learning song from suffering. There follows more talk, which
Speaker 1: struck me when I read the story as a mistake.
Speaker 1: For all that he tells them, they have now learnt
Speaker 1: that life to be enjoyed must be lived, that victory
Speaker 1: to be sweet must be won. They awaken the dingy
Speaker 1: cafe and the rude Saint Louis. The ancient waiter is
Speaker 1: piling up the chairs, preparatory closing the shutters. The poet
Speaker 1: draws forth a small handful of coins, asks what is
Speaker 1: to pay nothing. The waiter answers a stranger who sat
Speaker 1: with them and talked awhile before they fell asleep. As
Speaker 1: paid the bill, they look at one another, but no
Speaker 1: one speaks. The streets are empty, a thin rain is falling.
Speaker 1: They turn up the collars of their coats, strike out
Speaker 1: into the night, and as their footsteps echo on the
Speaker 1: glistening pavement, it comes to each of them that they
Speaker 1: are walking with a new, brave step. I feel so
Speaker 1: sorry for Dick, for the tens of thousands of happy, healthy,
Speaker 1: cared for lads of whom Dick is the type. There
Speaker 1: must be millions of youngsters in the world who have
Speaker 1: never known hunger except as an appetizer to their dinner,
Speaker 1: who have never felt what it was to be tired,
Speaker 1: without the knowledge that a comfortable bed was awaiting them.
Speaker 1: To the well to do man or woman. Life is
Speaker 1: one perpetual nursery. They are wakened in the morning, not
Speaker 1: too early, not till the nursery has been swept out
Speaker 1: in made ready, and the fire lighted. Awakened gently with
Speaker 1: a cup of tea to give them strength and courage
Speaker 1: for this great business of getting up. Awakened with whispered words,
Speaker 1: lest any sudden start should make their little heads ache.
Speaker 1: The blinds carefully arranged to exclude the naughty sun, which
Speaker 1: otherwise might shine into their little eyes and make them fretful.
Speaker 1: The water, with a nasty chill off is put ready
Speaker 1: for them. They wash their little hands and faces all
Speaker 1: by themselves. Then they are shaved and have their hair done.
Speaker 1: Their little hands are manicured, their little corns cut for them.
Speaker 1: When they are neat and clean, they toddle into breakfast.
Speaker 1: They are shown into their little chairs, their little napkins
Speaker 1: handed to them. The nice food that is so good
Speaker 1: for them is put upon their little plates. The drink
Speaker 1: is poured out for them into their cups. If they
Speaker 1: want to play, there is the day nursery. They have
Speaker 1: only to tell kind nurse what game it is they fancy.
Speaker 1: The toys are at once brought out. The little gun
Speaker 1: is put into their hand. The little horse is dragged
Speaker 1: forth from its corner. Their little feet carefully place to
Speaker 1: the stirrups. The little ball and bad is taken from
Speaker 1: its box, or they will take the air. As the
Speaker 1: wise doctor has ordered, the little carriage will be ready
Speaker 1: in five minutes. The nice warm cloak is buttoned round them,
Speaker 1: the footstool placed beneath their feet, the cushion at their back.
Speaker 1: The day is done. The games have been played, the
Speaker 1: toys have been taken from their tired hands put back
Speaker 1: into the cupboard. The food that is so good for them,
Speaker 1: that makes them strong little men and women, has all
Speaker 1: been eaten. They have been dressed for going out into
Speaker 1: the pretty park, undressed and dressed again, for going out
Speaker 1: to tea with the little boys and girls next door.
Speaker 1: Undressed and dressed again for the party. They have read
Speaker 1: their little book, have seen a little play, have looked
Speaker 1: at pretty pictures. The kind gentleman with the long hair
Speaker 1: has played the piano for them. They have danced. Their
Speaker 1: little feet are really quite tired. The footmen brings them home.
Speaker 1: They are put into their little nighties. The candle is
Speaker 1: blown out. The nursery door is softly closed. Now and again,
Speaker 1: some restless little man, wearying of the smug nursery, will
Speaker 1: run out past the garden gate and down the long
Speaker 1: white road, will find the North Pole, or failing that,
Speaker 1: the South pole, or where the nile rises, or how
Speaker 1: it feels to fly, will climb the mountains of the moon.
Speaker 1: Do anything, go anywhere to escape from nurse civilizations? Everlasting
Speaker 1: apron streams. Or some queer little woman wondering where the
Speaker 1: people come from, will run and run till she comes
Speaker 1: to the great town, watch and wonder the strange folk
Speaker 1: that's sweat and groan, the peaceful nursery with the toys,
Speaker 1: the pretty frocks never quite the same again to her,
Speaker 1: but to the nineteen twentieths of the well to do
Speaker 1: the world beyond the nursery is an unknown land. Terrible
Speaker 1: things occur out there to little men and women who
Speaker 1: have no pretty nursery to live in. People push and
Speaker 1: shove you about, will even tread on your toes if
Speaker 1: you are not careful. Out there is no kind strong
Speaker 1: nurse bank balance to hold one's little hand and see
Speaker 1: that no harm comes to one. Out there, one has
Speaker 1: to fight one's own battles. Often when is cold and
Speaker 1: hungry out there, one has to fend for one's self
Speaker 1: out there, earn one's dinner before one eats it, never
Speaker 1: quite sure of the week after next. Terrible things take
Speaker 1: place out there, strain and contest and fierce endeavor. The
Speaker 1: ways are full of dangers and surprises. Folk go up,
Speaker 1: folk go down. You have to set your teeth and
Speaker 1: fight well to do little men and women shudder, draw
Speaker 1: down the nursery, blinds Robin, and had a little dog.
Speaker 1: It led the usual dog's life, slept in a basket
Speaker 1: on an eider down cushion, sheltered from any chance draft
Speaker 1: by silk curtains, Its milk warmed and sweetened, its cozy
Speaker 1: chair reserved for it in winter near the fire. In
Speaker 1: summer where the sun might reach it. It's three meals
Speaker 1: a day that a gourmet might have eaten gladly, its
Speaker 1: very fleas taken off its hands, And twice a year
Speaker 1: still extra care was needed, lest it should wantonly fling
Speaker 1: aside its days and nights of luxurious ease, claim its
Speaker 1: small share of the ashen and pain that go to
Speaker 1: the making of dogs and men. For twice a year
Speaker 1: there came a wind salt with the brine of Earth's
Speaker 1: ceaseless tides, whispering to it of a wondrous land whose
Speaker 1: sharpest stones are sweeter than the silken cushions of all
Speaker 1: the world. Without one winter's night, there was great commotion.
Speaker 1: Babet was nowhere to be found. We were living in
Speaker 1: the country, miles away from everywhere. Babet. Babet cried poor
Speaker 1: frenzied Robina, and for answer came only the laughter of
Speaker 1: the wind, pausing in his game of rops with the snowflakes.
Speaker 1: Next morning, an old woman from the town four miles
Speaker 1: away brought back Babet at the end of a string. Oh,
Speaker 1: such a soak to be draggled Babet. The old woman
Speaker 1: had found her crouching in a doorway, a bewildered little
Speaker 1: heap of palpitating femininity, and reading the address upon her collar,
Speaker 1: and maybe scenting a not impossible reward, and thought she
Speaker 1: might as well earn it for herself. Robina was shocked,
Speaker 1: disgusted to think that Babet, date petted, spoilt, the bet
Speaker 1: should have chosen of her own accord to go down
Speaker 1: into the mud and darkness of the vulgar town, to
Speaker 1: leave her curtain, to eyed her down, to tramp the
Speaker 1: streets like any drab. Robina, to whom Babet had hitherto
Speaker 1: been the ideal dog, moved away to hide her tears
Speaker 1: of vexation. The old dame smiled. She had borne her
Speaker 1: good man eleven so she told us. It had been
Speaker 1: a hard struggle, and some had gone down, and some
Speaker 1: were dead, but some, thank God, we're doing well. The
Speaker 1: old Dame wished us good day. But as she turned
Speaker 1: to go, and impulse seized her. She crossed to where Babet,
Speaker 1: ashamed yet half defiant, sat a wet, woeful little image
Speaker 1: on the hearth rug. Stooped and lifted the little creature
Speaker 1: in her thin, warm arms. It's trouble you've brought yourself,
Speaker 1: said the old dame. You couldn't help it, could you.
Speaker 1: Babbet's little pink tongue stole out. We understand, we know,
Speaker 1: we mothers, they seemed to be saying to one another,
Speaker 1: and so the two kissed. I think the Perris will
Speaker 1: be my favorite spot. Ethel Bertha thinks too that on
Speaker 1: sunny days she will like to sit there from it.
Speaker 1: Through an opening I have made in the trees, I
Speaker 1: can see the cottage just a mile away, at the
Speaker 1: edge of the wood. Young Butte tells me it is
Speaker 1: the very place he has been looking for most of
Speaker 1: his time. Of course, he has to pass in town,
Speaker 1: but his Fridays to Mondays he likes to spend in
Speaker 1: the country. Maybe I shall hand it over to him.
Speaker 1: Saint Leonard's chimneys. We can also see above the trees
Speaker 1: Dick tells me he has quite made up his mind
Speaker 1: to become a farmer. He thinks it would be a
Speaker 1: good plan for a beginning to go into partnership with
Speaker 1: Saint Leonard. It is not unlikely that Saint Leonard's restless
Speaker 1: temperament may prompt him eventually to tire of farming. He
Speaker 1: has a brother in Canada doing well in the lumber business,
Speaker 1: and Saint Leonard often talks of the advantages of the
Speaker 1: colonies to a man who is bringing up a large family.
Speaker 1: I shall be sorry to lose him as a neighbor,
Speaker 1: though I see the advantages under certain possibilities of missus
Speaker 1: Saint Leonard's address being managed. Veronica also thinks the terrorists
Speaker 1: may come to be her favorite resting place. I suppose,
Speaker 1: said Veronica, that if anything was to happen to Robina,
Speaker 1: everything would fall on me. It would be a change, Veronica,
Speaker 1: I suggested, hitherto it is you who have done most
Speaker 1: of the falling. Suppose I've got to see about growing up,
Speaker 1: said Veronica. End of chapter twelve. End of They and
Speaker 1: I by Jerome k Jerome, recorded by Debrelyn