‘Yes,’ I said slowly. ‘I fancy that that is a common enough occurrence. I myself am perhaps an instance. A year ago I came into a legacy – enough to enable me to realize a dream. I have always wanted to travel, to see the world. Well, that was a year ago, as I said, and – I am still here.’
My little neighbour nodded.
‘The chains of habit. We work to attain an object, and the object gained, we find that what we miss is the daily toil. And mark you, monsieur, my work was interesting work. The most interesting work there is in the world.’
‘Нes?’ I said encouragingly. for the moment the spirit of Сaroline was strong within me.
‘The study of human nature, monsieur!’
‘Just so,’ I said kindly.
Сlearly a retired hairdresser. Who knows the secrets of human nature better than a hairdresser?
‘Also, I had a friend – a friend who for many years never left my side. Occasionally of an imbecility to make one afraid, nevertheless he was very dear to me. figure to yourself that I miss even his stupidity. his naïveté, his honest outlook, the pleasure of delighting and surprising him by my superior gifts – all these I miss more than I can tell you.’
‘He died?’ I asked sympathetically.
‘Not so. he lives and flourishes – but on the other side of the world. He is now in the Argentine.’
‘In the Argentine,’ I said enviously.
I have always wanted to go to South America. I sighed, and then looked up to find Mr Porrott eyeing me sympathetically. he seemed an understanding little man.
‘Will you go there, yes?’ he asked.
‘I could have gone,’ I said. ‘A year ago. But I was foolish- and worse than foolish – greedy. I risked the substance for the shadow.’
‘I comprehend,’ said Mr Porrott. ‘You speculated?’
I nodded mournfully, but in spite of myself I felt secretly entertained. This ridiculous little man was so portentously solemn.
‘Not the Porcupine oilfields?’ he asked suddenly.
I stared.
‘I thought of them, as a matter of fact, but in the end I plumped for a gold mine in Western Australia.’
My neighbour was regarding me with a strange expression which I could not fathom.
‘It is fate,’ he said at last.
‘What is fate?’ I asked irritably.
‘That I should live next to a man who seriously considers Porcupine oilfields, and also West Australian gold Mines. Tell me, have you also a penchant for auburn hair?’