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five minutes there was not a button on him that I could not have passed an
examination in； and the wearer himself of that homespun suit was
probably less familiar with its pattern and texture than I was。 Once he
looked up； nodded； half held out his tobacco pouch；mechanically； as it
were；then； returning it to his pocket； resumed his work； and I my mental
photography。
After another five minutes or so had passed he remarked； without
looking my way： 〃Fine afternoon we're having： going far to…day？〃
〃No； I'm not going any farther than this；〃 I replied； 〃I WAS thinking of
going on to Rome but I've put it off。〃
〃Pleasant place； Rome；〃 he murmured； 〃you'll like it。〃 It was some
minutes later that he added： 〃But I wouldn't go just now； if I were you；
too jolly hot。〃
〃YOU haven't been to Rome； have you？〃 I inquired。
〃Rather；〃 he replied； briefly； 〃I live there。〃
This was too much； and my jaw dropped as I struggled to grasp the
fact that I was sitting there talking to a fellow who lived in Rome。
Speech was out of the question： besides； I had other things to do。 Ten
solid minutes had I already spent in an examination of him as a mere
stranger and artist； and now the whole thing had to be done over again；
from the changed point of view。 So I began afresh； at the crown of his
soft hat； and worked down to his solid British shoes； this time investing
everything with the new Roman halo； and at last I managed to get out：
〃But you don't really live there； do you？〃 never doubting the fact； but
wanting to hear it repeated。
〃Well；〃 he said； good…naturedly overlooking the slight rudeness of my
query； 〃I live there as much as l live anywhere；about half the year
sometimes。 I've got a sort of a shanty there。 You must come and see it
some day。〃
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〃But do you live anywhere else as well？〃 I went on； feeling the
forbidden tide of questions surging up within me。
〃O yes； all over the place；〃 was his vague reply。 〃And I've got a
diggings somewhere off Piccadilly。〃
〃Where's that？〃 I inquired。
〃Where's what？〃 said he。 〃Oh； Piccadilly！ It's in London。〃
〃Have you a large garden？〃 I asked； 〃and how many pigs have you
got？〃
〃I've no garden at all；〃 he replied； sadly； 〃and they don't allow me to
keep pigs； though I'd like to； awfully。 It's very hard。〃
〃But what do you do all day； then；〃 I cried； 〃and where do you go and
play； without any garden； or pigs； or things？〃
〃When I want to play；〃 he said； gravely； 〃I have to go and play in the
street； but it's poor fun； I grant you。 There's a goat； though； not far off；
and sometimes I talk to him when I'm feeling lonely； but he's very proud。〃
〃Goats ARE proud；〃 I admitted。 〃There's one lives near here； and if
you say anything to him at all； he hits you in the wind with his head。 You
know what it feels like when a fellow hits you in the wind？〃
〃I do； well；〃 he replied； in a tone of proper melancholy； and painted on。
〃And have you been to any other places；〃 I began again； presently；
〃besides Rome and Piccy…what's…his…name？〃
〃Heaps；〃 he said。 〃I'm a sort of Ulyssesseen men and cities； you
know。 In fact； about the only place I never got to was the Fortunate
Island。〃
I began to like this man。 He answered your questions briefly and to
the point； and never tried to be funny。 I felt I could be confidential with
him。
〃Wouldn't you like；〃 I inquired； 〃to find a city without any people in it
at all？〃
He looked puzzled。 〃I'm afraid I don't quite understand；〃 said he。
〃I mean；〃 I went on eagerly； 〃a city where you walk in at the gates； and
the shops are all full of beautiful things； and the houses furnished as grand
as can be； and there isn't anybody there whatever！ And you go into the
shops； and take anything you wantchocolates and magic lanterns and
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injirubber ballsand there's nothing to pay； and you choose your own
house and live there and do just as you like； and never go to bed unless
you want to！〃
The artist laid down his brush。 〃That WOULD be a nice city；〃 he
said。 〃Better than Rome。 You can't do that sort of thing in Rome；or in
Piccadilly either。 But I fear it's one of the places I've never been to。〃
〃And you'd ask your friends；〃 I went on； warming to my subject；
〃only those you really like； of course；and they'd each have a house to
themselves；there'd be lots of houses；and no relations at all； unless they
promised they'd be pleasant； and if they weren't they'd have to go。〃
〃So you wouldn't have any relations？〃 said the artist。 〃Well； perhaps
you're right。 We have tastes in common； I see。〃
〃I'd have Harold；〃 I said； reflectively； 〃and Charlotte。 They'd like it
awfully。 The others are getting too old。 Oh； and MarthaI'd have
Martha； to cook and wash up and do things。 You'd like Martha。 She's
ever so much nicer than Aunt Eliza。 She's my idea of a real lady。〃
〃Then I'm sure I should like her；〃 he replied； heartily； 〃and when I
come towhat do you call this city of yours？ Nephelo something； did
you say？〃
〃II don't know；〃 I replied； timidly。 〃I'm afraid it hasn't got a name
yet。〃
The artist gazed out over the downs。 〃‘The poet says； dear city of
Cecrops；'〃 he said； softly； to himself； 〃‘and wilt not thou say； dear city of
Zeus？' That's from Marcus Aurelius；〃 he went on； turning again to his
work。 〃You don't know him； I suppose； you will some day。〃
〃Who's he？〃 I inquired。
〃Oh； just another fellow who lived in Rome；〃 he replied； dabbing
away。
〃O dear！〃 I cried； disconsolately。 〃What a lot of people seem to live
at Rome； and I've never even been there！ But I think I'd like MY city
best。〃
〃And so would