Jerome K. Jerome

“ Clodd, sinking his voice, “we are not half as foolish as folks think we are.”
Peter Hope went his way down the Strand.
“Clodd's a good sort—a good sort,” said Peter Hope, who, having in his time lived much alone, had fallen into the habit of speaking his thoughts aloud; “but he's not the man to waste his time. I wonder.”
With the winter Clodd's Lunatic fell ill.
Clodd bustled round to Chancery Lane.
“To tell you the truth,” confessed Mr. Gladman, “we never thought he would live so long as he has.” ”

“ Old Gladman seemed inclined to consider the question, but Mrs. Gladman, a brisk, cheerful little woman, had made up her mind.
“We've had what there is to have,” said Mrs. Gladman. “He's seventy-three. What's the sense of risking good money? Be content.”
No one could say—no one ever did say—that Clodd, under the circumstances, did not do his best. Perhaps, after all, nothing could have helped. The little old gentleman, at Clodd's suggestion, played at being a dormouse and lay very still. ”

“ Postwhistle's pious ejaculation.
“It is just as I thought,” continued Mr. Clodd. “The old innocent—he's Gladman's brother-in-law, by the way—has got a small annuity. I couldn't get the actual figure, but I guess it's about sufficient to pay for his keep and leave old Gladman, who is running him, a very decent profit. They don't want to send him to an asylum. They can't say he's a pauper, and to put him into a private establishment would swallow up, most likely, the whole of his income. On the other hand, they don't want the bother of looking after him themselves. ”

“ No. II—THE BEGINNINGS OF WILLIAM CLODD MRS. POSTWHISTLE sat on a Windsor chair in the centre of Rolls Court. Mrs. Postwhistle, who, in the days of her Hebehood, had been likened by admiring frequenters of the old “Mitre” in Chancery Lane to the ladies, somewhat emaciated, that an English artist, since become famous, was then commencing to popularise, had developed with the passing years, yet still retained a face of placid youthfulness. The two facts, taken in conjunction, had resulted in an asset to her income not to be despised. ”

“ If he grew restless, thereby bringing on his cough, Clodd, as a terrible black cat, was watching to pounce upon him. Only by keeping very quiet and artfully pretending to be asleep could he hope to escape the ruthless Clodd.
Doctor William Smith (né Wilhelm Schmidt) shrugged his fat shoulders. “We can do noding. Dese fogs of ours: it is de one ting dat enables the foreigner to crow over us. Keep him quiet. De dormouse—it is a goot idea.”
That evening William Clodd mounted to the second floor of 16, Gough Square, where dwelt his friend, Peter Hope, and knocked briskly at the door. ”

“ Wish some of the sane ones were as little trouble.”
The summer came again. Clodd and his Lunatic, a mild-looking little old gentleman of somewhat clerical cut, one often met with arm-in-arm, bustling about the streets and courts that were the scene of Clodd's rent-collecting labours. Their evident attachment to one another was curiously displayed; Clodd, the young and red-haired, treating his white-haired, withered companion with fatherly indulgence; the other glancing up from time to time into Clodd's face with a winning expression of infantile affection. ”

“ Dunstan-in-the-West, seeking Rolls Court, discomforted because it is no more. But that is the history of the “Wee Laddie,” and this of the beginnings of William Clodd.
No one can say of Clodd that he did not deserve whatever profit his unlicensed lunatic asylum may have brought him. A kindly man was William Clodd when indulgence in sentiment did not interfere with business.
“There's no harm in him,” asserted Mr. Clodd, talking the matter over with one Mr. Peter Hope, journalist, of 16, Gough Square. ”

“ So, too, the handsome, brass-bound desk; it must be worthy of the beautiful thoughts Peter would pen upon it. The great sideboard, supported by two such angry-looking mahogany lions; it must be strong to support the weight of silver clever Peter would one day purchase to place upon it. ”

“ Postwhistle—“'e fancying 'imself a monkey. Last week he was a tortoise, and was crawling about on his stomach with a tea-tray tied on to 'is back. 'E's as sensible as most men, if that's saying much, the moment 'e's outside the front door; but in the 'ouse—well, I suppose the fact is that 'e's a lunatic.”
“Don't seem no hiding anything from you,” Mrs. Postwhistle remarked Mr. Clodd in tones of admiration. “Does he ever get violent?”
“Don't know what 'e would be like if 'e 'appened to fancy 'imself something really dangerous,” answered Mrs. Postwhistle. ”

“ Gladman. “It's five hundred pounds we never expected. Live and let live is what I always say.”
“It's the damned artfulness of the thing,” said Mr. Gladman, still very white about the gills.
“Oh! you have a little something to thaw your face,” suggested his wife.
Mr. and Mrs. Gladman, on the strength of the five hundred pounds, went home in a cab. Mr. Pincer stayed behind and made a night of it with Mr. Clodd and Bonner's clerk, at Clodd's expense.
The residue worked out at eleven hundred and sixty-nine pounds and a few shillings. ”

“ An equally short and simple document, it bequeathed three hundred pounds to Mr. William Clodd in acknowledgment of kindnesses received, the residue to the Royal Zoological Society of London, the deceased having been always interested in and fond of animals. The relatives, “who have never shown me the slightest affection or given themselves the slightest trouble concerning me, and who have already received considerable sums out of my income,” being by name excluded. ”

“ Clodd. “I'm fond of animals.”
Early the next morning a four-wheeled cab drew up at the entrance to Rolls Court, and in it and upon it went away Clodd and Clodd's Lunatic (as afterwards he came to be known) , together with all the belongings of Clodd's Lunatic, the curtain-pole included; and there appeared again behind the fanlight of the little grocer's shop the intimation: “Lodgings for a Single Man,” which caught the eye a few days later of a weird-looking, lanky, raw-boned laddie, whose language Mrs. Postwhistle found difficulty for a time in comprehending ”

“ Peter Hope, M.A., of 16, Gough Square, of one hundred; Miss Jane Hope, adopted daughter of said Peter Hope (her real name nobody, herself included, ever having known) , and generally called Tommy, of three, paid for by herself after a battle royal with William Clodd; Mrs. Postwhistle, of Rolls Court, of ten, presented by the promoter; Mr. Pincer, of the House of Commons, also of ten (still owing for) ; Dr. Smith (né Schmidt) of fifty ”

“ I for one am prepared to swear that he was of sound mind in August last and quite capable of making his own will. It seems to me that the other thing, dated in June, is just waste paper.”
Mr. Pincer having delivered himself, sat down again. Mr. Gladman showed signs of returning language.
“Oh! what's the use of quarrelling?” chirped in cheery Mrs. ”