For many years I had sought him,and at last I found him in a club.Ihad been told that he was everywhere;but I had almost begun to think that he was nowhere.I had been assured that there were millions of him;but before my late discovery I inclined to think that there were none of him.After my late discovery I am sure that there is one;and I incline to think that there are several,say,a few hundreds;but unfortunately most of them occupying important positions.When I say "him,"I mean the entire idiot.
I have never been able to discover that "stupid public"of which so many literary men complain.The people one actually meets in trains or at tea-parties seem to me quite bright and interesting;certainly quite enough so to call for the full exertion of one's own wits.And even when I have heard brilliant "conversationalists"conversing with other people,the conversation had much more equality and give and take than this age of intellectual snobs will admit.I have sometimes felt tired,like other people;but rather tired with men's talk and variety than with their stolidity or sameness;therefore it was that I sometimes longed to find the refreshment of a single fool.
But it was denied me.Turn where I would I found this monotonous brilliancy of the general intelligence,this ruthless,ceaseless sparkle of humour and good sense.The "mostly fools"theory has been used in an anti-democratic sense;but when I found at last my priceless ass,I did not find him in what is commonly called the democracy;nor in the aristocracy either.The man of the democracy generally talks quite rationally,sometimes on the anti-democratic side,but always with an idea of giving reasons for what he says and referring to the realities of his experience.Nor is it the aristocracy that is stupid;at least,not that section of the aristocracy which represents it in politics.They are often cynical,especially about money,but even their boredom tends to make them a little eager for any real information or originality.If a man like Mr.Winston Churchill or Mr.Wyndham made up his mind for any reason to attack Syndicalism he would find out what it was first.
Not so the man I found in the club.
He was very well dressed;he had a heavy but handsome face;his black clothes suggested the City and his gray moustaches the Army;but the whole suggested that he did not really belong to either,but was one of those who dabble in shares and who play at soldiers.There was some third element about him that was neither mercantile nor military.His manners were a shade too gentlemanly to be quite those of a gentleman.
They involved an unction and over-emphasis of the club-man:then Isuddenly remembered feeling the same thing in some old actors or old playgoers who had modelled themselves on actors.As I came in he said,"If I was the Government,"and then put a cigar in his mouth which he lit carefully with long intakes of breath.Then he took the cigar out of his mouth again and said,"I'd give it 'em,"as if it were quite a separate sentence.But even while his mouth was stopped with the cigar his companion or interlocutor leaped to his feet and said with great heartiness,snatching up a hat,"Well,I must be off.Tuesday!".Idislike these dark suspicions,but I certainly fancied I recognised the sudden geniality with which one takes leave of a bore.
