tle hall bedroom in town. "Never mind, it will all come
back to you. Bill has got some extra things all put out for you
upstairs." So you start off your week-end by making a dub of yourself
and are known from that afternoon on by the people who didn't catch your
name as "the man who had such a funny serve."

Or if it isn't that, it's dancing. Immediately after dinner, just as you
are about to settle down for a comfortable evening by the fire, you
notice that they are rolling back the rugs. "House-cleaning?" you
suggest, with a nervous little laugh. "Oh, no, just a little dancing in
your honor." And then you tell them that your honor will be satisfied
perfectly without dancing, that you haven't danced since you left
school, that you don't dance very well, or that you have hurt
your foot; to which the only reply is an encouraging laugh and a
hail-fellow-well-met push out into the middle of the floor.

A pox on both your house parties!

* * * * *

And yet, in a way, that is just what one might expect from Mr. Wells. He
has done the same thing to me in his books many a time. I personally
have but little facility for world-repairing. I haven't the slightest
idea of how one would go about making things better. And yet before I am
more than two-thirds of the way through "Joan and Peter" or "The
Undying Fire" or "The Outline of History," Mr. Wells has me out on the
hockey-field waving a stick with a magnificent enthusiasm but no aim,
rushing up and down and calling, "Come on, now!" to no one in
particular.

No matter how discouraging things seem when I pick up a Wells book, or
how averse I may be to launching out on a crusade of any sort, I always
end by walking with a firm step to the door (feeling, somehow, that I
have grown quite a bit taller and much handsomer) and saying quietly:
"Meadows, my suit of armor, please; the one with a chain-mail shirt and
a purple plume."

This, of course, is silly, as any of Mr. Wells's critics will tell you.
It is the effect that he has on irresponsible, visionary minds. But if
all the irresponsible, visionary minds in the world become sufficiently
belligerent through a continued reading of Mr. Wells, or even of the New
Testament, who knows but what they may become just practical enough to
take a hand at running things? They couldn't do much worse than the
responsible, practical minds have done, now, could they?

XLIX

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