MASTER OF FALLEN YEARS[17]
By VINCENT O'SULLIVAN
(From _The Smart Set_)
Several years ago, I was intimately acquainted with a young man named
Augustus Barber. He was employed in a paper-box manufacturer's business
in the city of London. I never heard what his father was. His mother was
a widow and lived, I think, at Godalming; but of this I am not sure. It
is odd enough that I should have forgotten where she lived, for my
friend was always talking about her. Sometimes he seemed immensely fond
of her; at other times almost to hate her; but whichever it was, he
never left her long out of his conversation. I believe the reason I
forget is that he talked so much about her that I failed at last to pay
attention to what he said.
He was a stocky young man, with light-coloured hair and a pale, rather
blotchy complexion. There was nothing at all extraordinary about him on
either the material or spiritual side. He had rather a weakness for
gaudy ties and socks and jewelry. His manners were a little boisterous;
his conversation, altogether personal. He had received some training at
a commercial school. He read little else than the newspapers. The only
book I ever knew him to read was a novel of Stevenson's, which he said
was "too hot for blisters.
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