Afterwards our friendship waned, but living as we did in the same
outlying suburb, I was bound to see a good deal of him; and to hear
more.
At parties of all kinds he was particularly prominent, and on such
occasions, being in his most good-natured mood, was most to be
dreaded. No human being worked harder for the enjoyment of others,
or produced more universal wretchedness.
One Christmas afternoon, calling upon a friend, I found some
fourteen or fifteen elderly ladies and gentlemen trotting solemnly
round a row of chairs in the centre of the drawing-room while
Poppleton played the piano. Every now and then Poppleton would
suddenly cease, and everyone would drop wearily into the nearest
chair, evidently glad of a rest; all but one, who would thereupon
creep quietly away, followed by the envying looks of those left
behind. I stood by the door watching the weird scene. Presently
an escaped player came towards me, and I enquired of him what the
ceremony was supposed to signify.
"Don't ask me," he answered grumpily. "Some of Poppleton's damned
tomfoolery." Then he added savagely, "We've got to play forfeits
after this.
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