A Nervous Visitor.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 978, 28 November 1890, Page 4

A Nervous Visitor.

When I go into a home I don’t like too much trouble to be made about my coming. The two special objects to which attention is directed are my hat and a chair. My hat ib such a disreputable affair that I like to put it down beside me on the floor, and there let it rest in silent obscurity until I depart. But the good lady upon whom I am calling frequently seems to think the hat represents the brain. She fishes it up from the floor, carries it as if she were bearing a plate of melted icecream, and deposits it in the front hall, or * lays it gently upon the table in the centre of the room. The contrast between its limpness and dust and the other belongings of the table is so great that I am usually a little shocked. But more than the hat, , the chair attracts attention. lam usually asked to occupy the largest and most imposing chair. I usually say that it iB altogether too large for me, and I select some less noticeable piece, and yet strong, upon which I can rest my two hundred or more pounds. And yet I am also inclined to ocoupy the chair that is offered me. Already I have broken down several chairs. It takes a pretty strong piece of parlour furniture to hold up a nervous man as heavy as a barrel of flour. I now, as a rule, take the chair that is offered me, great or small, asking no questions, for the sake of not mining any more chairs.