THE DIARY OF A NOBODY.
head through and said: "Who is it? What do you want?" I said: "Mr. Gowing, he is expecting us." The man said (as well as I could hear, owing to the yapping of a little dog): "I don't think he is. Mr. Gowing is not at home." I said: "He will be in directly."
With that observation he slammed the door, leaving Carrie and me standing on the steps with a cutting wind blowing round the corner.
Carrie advised me to knock again. I did so, and then discovered for the first time that the knocker had been newly painted, and the paint had come off on my gloves—which were, in consequence, completely spoiled.
I knocked at the door with my stick two or three times.
The man opened the door, taking the chain off this time, and began abusing me. He said: "What do you mean by scratching the paint with your stick like that, spoiling the varnish? You ought to be ashamed of yourself."
I said: "Pardon me, Mr. Gowing invited"
He interrupted and said: "I don't care for Mr. Gowing, or any of his friends. This is my door, not Mr. Gowing's. There are people here besides Mr. Gowing."
The impertinence of this man was nothing. I scarcely noticed it, it was so trivial in com-
166
