Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1913-12-12
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toy? At length he was SATISFIED. and.
inviting me into the house, took me
into the drawing-room. told me to sit
down, and then placed in my hands
a copy of the Candid Friend"-that
brilliant weekly Of Frank Harris's
which was too clever to live. Read
that he said, opening the journal in
the middle and indicating a certain
page. I obeyed. II was review of a
book and the book had been written by
me. have read many scathing re-
views, but this was the most merci-
less l remember ever to have seen. The
full column held me up to irresist-
ible ridicule-ridicule that now real
ize was fully deserved My only ex-
cuse for writing wretched book Is
that I was nineteen, and boys of nine
teen do many silly things. AS / read
the review, Shaw stood in front of me,
his legs astride, his eyes mercilessly
examining my face. He was watching
to sec how l would take 1t. Realizing
this, I concealed my misery, read the
article to it's biting end, and made
some casual remark about It's clever
ness. And now" said Shaw, I" let
us go for a walk"
But he ran-or so 1t seemed to me.
He wore no overcoat, and added no.
thing to his clothing save cap ana
a pair of wooden gloves. StrfdinS
along at the rate of five miles an hour,
his arms freely swinging, his face
glowing with health, he began to talk.
He talked about Sidney Webb, the Fa-
bian Society, Karl Marx. Janet Ach-
himself Pant
ing along by his side, l said nothing
but "Yes.' and mol" whenever it
seemed necessary to say either one or
the ether. He was overwhelmingly
brilllant-so brilliant that I became be-
wildered. Having Travelled up by the
midnight train from Manchester 1 was
already tired, and the ohampagne-like
air, the light of the sun on the snow,
the quick walking and the constant
stream of talk from the wittiest man IN
England, reduced my brain to chaos
How ardently did I long to say some
thing that would sound even intelli-
gent! What would I not have given
to be able to say even a dozen words!
But he betrayed no sign that he was
conscious Of my stupidity. Suddenly
he ceased both walking and talking
and 1 found we were opposite large
house nearly concealed by trees
THAT" said he, solemnly, is where G.
F. Watts lives" And. turning on his
heel, he resumed his scamper over the
downs
An hour later, having covered ten
miles, we were back at Piccard's Cot
tage. Midday dinner was served al
most at once. Mrs. Shaw and I ate
meat and drank wine; Shaw himself
Toasted on vegetables and fruit. among
which I remember dish of raisins
While he ate, he talked. He told me
about Mrs. Annie Besant, about a
new system of shorthand he was
studying. about Granville Barker. who
only a few days before, had in this
very house been rendered almost tip
sy by bottle of wonderful cider And
at length, we began to talk about the
book I was to write about him. He OBJ
jected to having only half a pooR
written about him and his work
"George Moore" he said, over and
over again, lis quite big enough tc
have n whole book to himself" AND
was left to infer that this remarR
had a double application.
7 asked him If. in the event OF my
nublishers consenting to issue two
books. one on himself and one or
Moore. he would write preface te
that dealing with his own work, ane
7 nut the question in way that snow
ed him l wished him to contribute the
preface without payment. At this M
hurst into uncomfortable laughter. tell.
ing me that for all my silence l hae
really admirable impudence. From
this point EDWARDS he appeared to take
more interest in me, and, when dinner
was over, he showed me number o.
photographs of himself that various
friends had taken. One OF these rep.
resented Mr.. Shaw with his arm roune
the waist of female scarecrow' ms
ewes appealing to her with a leerlnf
look. And while he turned over ths
photographs, he talked and talked ane
talked. His energy was inexhaustipis
and terrifying.
"Do YOU never get tired?" ] asked