Page 152 - down-and-out-in-paris-and-london

praised England; the climate, the scenery, the art, the litera-
ture, the laws—everything in England was perfect.
Was the architecture in England good? the Rouma-
nians asked. ‘Splendid!’ I said. ‘And you should just see the
London statues! Paris is vulgar—half grandiosity and half
slums. But London—’
Then the boat drew alongside Tilbury pier. The first
building we saw on the waterside was one of those huge
hotels, all stucco and pinnacles, which stare from the Eng-
lish coast like idiots staring over an asylum wall. I saw the
Roumanians, too polite to say anything, cocking their eyes
at the hotel. ‘Built by French architects,’ I assured them;
and even later, when the train was crawling into London
through the eastern slums, I still kept it up about the beau-
ties of English architecture. Nothing seemed too good to
say about England, now that I was coming home and was
not hard up any more.
I went to B.’s office, and his first words knocked every-
thing to ruins. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said; ‘your employers have
gone abroad, patient and all. However, they’ll be back in a
month. I suppose you can hang on till then?’
I was outside in the street before it even occurred to me
to borrow some more money. There was a month to wait,
and I had exactly nineteen and sixpence in hand. The news
had taken my breath away. For a long time I could not make
up my mind what to do. I loafed the day in the streets, and at
night, not having the slightest notion of how to get a cheap
bed in London, I went to a ‘family’ hotel, where the charge
was seven and sixpence. After paying the bill I had ten and

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