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                <title>The Yellow Book: An Illustrated Quarterly, Volume 4 January 1895</title>
                <title type="YBV4_grahame_out"/>
                <editor>Lorraine Janzen Kooistra</editor>
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                    <date>2019</date>
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                            <persName>Henry Harland &amp; Aubrey Beardsley</persName>
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                        <author>Kenneth Grahame</author>
                        <title>A Falling Out</title>
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                            <publisher>John Lane</publisher>
                            <pubPlace> London </pubPlace>
                            <publisher>Copeland &amp; Day</publisher>
                            <pubPlace>Boston</pubPlace>
                            <date>January 1895</date>
                            <biblScope>Grahame, Kenneth. "A Falling Out." <emph rend="italic">The
                                    Yellow Book</emph>, vol. 4, January 1895, pp. 195-201. <emph rend="italic"
                                    >Yellow Book Digital Edition</emph>, edited by Dennis Denisoff and
                                Lorraine Janzen Kooistra, 2010-2014. <emph rend="italic">Yellow Nineties 2.0</emph>,
                                Ryerson University Centre for Digital Humanities, 2019. 
                                https://1890s.ca/YBV4_grahame_out/
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                <date>1895</date>
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                <pb n="219"/>
                <head>
                    <title level="a">A Falling Out</title>
                </head>
                <byline>By <docAuthor><ref target="#KGR">Kenneth Grahame</ref></docAuthor></byline>

                <p>HAROLD told me the main facts of this episode, some time<lb/> later&#x2014;in
                    bits, and with reluctance. It was not a recollec-<lb/> tion he cared to talk
                    about. The crude blank misery of a moment<lb/> is apt to leave a dull bruise
                    which is slow to depart, if indeed it ever<lb/> does so entirely ; and Harold
                    confesses to a twinge or two, still, at<lb/> times, like the veteran who brings
                    home a bullet inside him from<lb/> martial plains over sea.</p>

                <p>He knew he was a brute the moment after he had done it ; Selina<lb/> had not
                    meant to worry, only to comfort and assist. But his<lb/> soul was one raw sore
                    within him, when he found himself shut up<lb/> in the schoolroom after hours,
                    merely for insisting that 7 times 7<lb/> amounted to 47. The injustice of it
                    seemed so flagrant. Why<lb/> not 47 as much as 49 ? One number was no prettier
                    than the<lb/> other to look at, and it was evidently only a matter of
                    arbitrary<lb/> taste and preference, and, anyhow, it had always been 47 to
                    him,<lb/> and would be to the end of time. So when Selina came in out of<lb/>
                    the sun, leaving the Trappers of the Far West behind her, and<lb/> putting off
                    the glory of being an Apache squaw in order to hear<lb/> him his tables and win
                    his release, Harold turned on her venom-<lb/> ously, rejected her kindly
                    overtures, and even drove his elbow into<lb/> her sympathetic ribs, in his
                    determination to be left alone in the</p>
                <fw type="catchword">glory</fw>
                <fw type="footer">The Yellow Book.&#x2014;Vol. IV. <emph>M</emph></fw>
                <pb n="220"/>



                <fw type="runningHead"><fw type="pageNum">196</fw> A Falling Out</fw>

                <p>glory of sulks. The fit passed directly, his eyes were opened, and<lb/> his soul
                    sat in the dust as he sorrowfully began to cast about for<lb/> some atonement
                    heroic enough to salve the wrong.</p>

                <p>Needless to say, Selina demanded no sacrifice nor heroics what-<lb/> ever ; she
                    didn't even want him to say he was sorry. If he<lb/> would only make it up, she
                    would have done the apologising part<lb/> herself. But that was not a boy's way.
                    Something solid, Harold<lb/> felt, was due from him ; and until that was
                    achieved, making up<lb/> must not be thought of, in order that the final effect
                    might not be<lb/> spoilt. Accordingly, when his release came, and poor Selina
                    hung<lb/> about, trying to catch his eye, Harold, possessed by the demon of<lb/>
                    a distorted motive, avoided her steadily&#x2014;though he was bleeding<lb/>
                    inwardly at every minute of delay&#x2014;and came to me instead.</p>

                <p>Of course I approved his plan highly; it was so much better<lb/> than just going
                    and making it up tamely, which any one could do ;<lb/> and a girl who had been
                    jobbed in the ribs by a hostile elbow<lb/> could not be expected for a moment to
                    overlook it, without the<lb/> liniment of an offering to soothe her injured
                    feelings.</p>

                <p>" I know what she wants most," said Harold. " She wants that<lb/> set of
                    tea-things in the toy-shop window, with the red and blue<lb/> flowers on 'em ;
                    she's wanted it for months, 'cos her dolls are<lb/> getting big enough to have
                    real afternoon tea ; and she wants it<lb/> so badly that she won't walk that
                    side of the street when we go<lb/> into the town. But it costs five shillings !
                    "</p>

                <p>Then we set to work seriously, and devoted the afternoon to a<lb/> realisation of
                    assets and the composition of a Budget that might<lb/> have been dated without
                    shame from Whitehall. The result<lb/> worked out as follows :</p>



                <fw type="catchword">By</fw>
                <pb n="221"/>



                <fw type="runningHead">By Kenneth Grahame 197</fw>

                <p><emph rend="indent"/><emph rend="indent"/><emph rend="indent"/><emph
                        rend="italic">s</emph>. <emph rend="italic">d</emph>.</p>

                <p>By one uncle, unspent through having been lost for nearly<lb/>
                    <emph rend="indent"/>a week&#x2014;turned up at last in the straw of the dog-<lb/>
                    <emph rend="indent"/>kennel . . . . . . . . 2 6</p>

                <p>By advance from me on security of next uncle, and failing<lb/>
                    <emph rend="indent"/>that, to be called in at Christmas . . . . 1 0</p>

                <p>By shaken out of missionary-box with the help of a knife-<lb/>
                    <emph rend="indent"/>blade. (They were our own pennies and a forced<lb/>
                    <emph rend="indent"/>levy) . . . . . . . . . 4</p>

                <p>By bet due from Edward, for walking across the field where<lb/>
                    <emph rend="indent"/>Farmer Larkin's bull was, and Edward bet him<lb/>
                    <emph rend="indent"/>twopence he wouldn't&#x2014;called in with difficulty .
                    2</p>

                <p>By advance from Martha, on no security at all, only you<lb/>
                    <emph rend="indent"/>mustn't tell your aunt . . . . . 1 0</p>


                <p><emph rend="indent"/><emph rend="indent"/><emph rend="indent"/>&#x2014;</p>
                <p><emph rend="indent"/><emph rend="indent"/><emph rend="indent"/>Total 5 0</p>
                <p>and at last we breathed again.</p>

                <p>The rest promised to be easy. Selina had a tea-party at five on<lb/> the morrow,
                    with the chipped old wooden tea-things that had<lb/> served her successive dolls
                    from babyhood. Harold would slip<lb/> off directly after dinner, going alone, so
                    as not to arouse<lb/> suspicion, as we were not allowed to go into the town by
                    our-<lb/> selves. It was nearly two miles to our small metropolis, but<lb/>
                    there would be plenty of time for him to go and return, even<lb/> laden with the
                    olive-branch neatly packed in shavings ; besides, he<lb/> might meet the
                    butcher, who was his friend and would give him<lb/> a lift. Then, finally, at
                    five, the rapture of the new tea-service,<lb/> descended from the skies ; and
                    then, retribution made, making<lb/> up at last, without loss of dignity. With
                    the event before us,<lb/> we thought it a small thing that twenty-four hours
                    more of<lb/> alienation and pretended sulks must be kept up on Harold's part
                    ;<lb/> but Selina, who naturally knew nothing of the treat in store for</p>

                <fw type="catchword">her,</fw>
                <pb n="222"/>



                <fw type="runningHead"><fw type="pageNum">198</fw> A Falling Out</fw>

                <p>her, moped for the rest of the evening, and took a very heavy<lb/> heart to
                    bed.</p>

                <p>When next day the hour for action arrived, Harold evaded<lb/> Olympian attention
                    with an easy modesty born of long practice,<lb/> and made off for the front
                    gate. Selina, who had been keeping<lb/> her eye upon him, thought he was going
                    down to the pond to catch<lb/> frogs, a joy they had planned to share together,
                    and slipped out<lb/> after him ; but Harold, though he heard her footsteps,
                    continued<lb/> sternly on his high mission, without even looking back ; and<lb/>
                    Selina was left to wander disconsolately among flower-beds that<lb/> had
                    lost&#x2014;for her&#x2014;all scent and colour. I saw it all, and,
                    although<lb/> cold reason approved our line of action, instinct told me we
                    were<lb/> brutes.</p>

                <p>Harold reached the town&#x2014;so he recounted afterwards&#x2014;in<lb/> record
                    time, having run most of the way for fear lest the tea-<lb/> things, which had
                    reposed six months in the window, should be<lb/> snapped up by some other
                    conscience-stricken lacerator of a<lb/> sister's feelings ; and it seemed hardly
                    credible to find them still<lb/> there, and their owner willing to part with
                    them for the price<lb/> marked on the ticket. He paid his money down at once,
                    that<lb/> there should be no drawing back from the bargain ; and then, as<lb/>
                    the things had to be taken out of the window and packed, and<lb/> the afternoon
                    was yet young, he thought he might treat himself<lb/> to a taste of urban joys
                    and <emph rend="italic">la vie de Bohème</emph>. Shops came first,<lb/> of
                    course, and he flattened his nose successively against the<lb/> window with the
                    india-rubber balls in it, and the clock-work<lb/> locomotive : and against the
                    barber s window, with wigs on<lb/> blocks, reminding him of uncles, and
                    shaving-cream that looked<lb/> so good to eat ; and the grocer's window,
                    displaying more currants<lb/> than the whole British population could possibly
                    consume with-<lb/> out a special effort ; and the window of the bank, wherein
                    gold</p>

                <fw type="catchword">was</fw>
                <pb n="223"/>



                <fw type="runningHead">By Kenneth Grahame <fw type="pageNum">199</fw></fw>

                <p>was thought so little of that it was dealt about in shovels. Next<lb/> there was
                    the market-place, with all its clamorous joys ; and<lb/> when a runaway calf
                    came down the street like a cannon-ball,<lb/> Harold felt that he had not lived
                    in vain. The whole place was<lb/> so brimful of excitement that he had quite
                    forgotten the why and<lb/> the wherefore of his being there, when a sight of the
                    church<lb/> clock recalled him to his better self, and sent him flying out
                    of<lb/> the town, as he realized he had only just time enough left to get<lb/>
                    back in. If he were after his appointed hour, he would not only<lb/> miss his
                    high triumph, but probably would be detected as a<lb/> transgressor of
                    bounds&#x2014;a crime before which a private opinion on<lb/> multiplication sank
                    to nothingness. So he jogged along on his<lb/> homeward way, thinking of many
                    things, and probably talking to<lb/> himself a good deal, as his habit was. He
                    must have covered nearly<lb/> half the distance, when suddenly&#x2014;a deadly
                    sinking in the pit of the<lb/> stomach&#x2014;a paralysis of every
                    limb&#x2014;around him a world extinct<lb/> of light and music&#x2014;a black
                    sun and a reeling sky&#x2014;he had for-<lb/> gotten the tea-things !</p>

                <p>It was useless, it was hopeless, all was over, and nothing could<lb/> now be done
                    ; nevertheless he turned and ran back wildly, blindly,<lb/> choking with the big
                    sobs that evoked neither pity nor comfort<lb/> from a merciless, mocking world
                    around ; a stitch in his side, dust<lb/> in his eyes, and black despair
                    clutching at his heart. So he<lb/> stumbled on, with leaden legs and bursting
                    sides, till&#x2014;as if Fate<lb/> had not yet dealt him her last worst
                    buffet&#x2014;on turning a corner<lb/> in the road he almost ran under the
                    wheels of a dog-cart, in which,<lb/> as it pulled up, was apparent the portly
                    form of Farmer Larkin,<lb/> the arch-enemy whose ducks he had been shying stones
                    at that<lb/> very morning !</p>

                <p>Had Harold been in his right and unclouded senses, he would<lb/> have vanished
                    through the hedge some seconds earlier, rather than</p>

                <fw type="catchword">pain</fw>
                <pb n="224"/>



                <fw type="runningHead"><fw type="pageNum">200</fw> A Falling Out</fw>

                <p>pain the farmer by any unpleasant reminiscences which his appear-<lb/> ance might
                    call up ; but as things were he could only stand and<lb/> blubber hopelessly,
                    caring, indeed, little now what further ill might<lb/> befall him. The farmer,
                    for his part, surveyed the desolate figure<lb/> with some astonishment, calling
                    out in no unfriendly accents,<lb/> " What, Master Harold ! whatever be the
                    matter ? Baint runnin'<lb/> away, be ee ? "</p>

                <p>Then Harold, with the unnatural courage born of desperation,<lb/> flung himself
                    on the step, and, climbing into the cart, fell in the<lb/> straw at the bottom
                    of it, sobbing out that he wanted to go back,<lb/> go back ! The situation had a
                    vagueness ; but the farmer, a man<lb/> of action rather than words, swung his
                    horse round smartly, and<lb/> they were in the town again by the time Harold had
                    recovered<lb/> himself sufficiently to furnish some details. As they drove up
                    to<lb/> the shop, the woman was waiting at the door with the parcel ;<lb/> and
                    hardly a minute seemed to have elapsed since the black crisis,<lb/> ere they
                    were bowling along swiftly home, the precious parcel<lb/> hugged in a close
                    embrace.</p>

                <p>And now the farmer came out in quite a new and unexpected<lb/> light. Never a
                    word did he say of broken fences and hurdles,<lb/> trampled crops and harried
                    flocks and herds. One would have<lb/> thought the man had never possessed a head
                    of live stock in his<lb/> life. Instead, he was deeply interested in the whole
                    dolorous<lb/> quest of the tea-things, and sympathised with Harold on the<lb/>
                    disputed point in mathematics as if he had been himself at the<lb/> same stage
                    of education. As they neared home, Harold found<lb/> himself, to his surprise,
                    sitting up and chatting to his new friend<lb/> like man to man ; and before he
                    was dropped at a convenient gap<lb/> in the garden hedge, he had promised that
                    when Selina gave her<lb/> first public tea-party, little Miss Larkin should be
                    invited to come<lb/> and bring her whole sawdust family along with her, and
                    the</p>

                <fw type="catchword">farmer</fw>
                <pb n="225"/>



                <fw type="runningHead">By Kenneth Grahame <fw type="pageNum">201</fw></fw>

                <p>farmer appeared as pleased and proud as if he had been asked to a<lb/>
                    garden-party at Marlborough House. Really those Olympians<lb/> have certain good
                    points, far down in them. I shall leave off<lb/> abusing them some day.</p>

                <p>At the hour of five, Selina, having spent the afternoon searching<lb/> for Harold
                    in all his accustomed haunts, sat down disconsolately<lb/> to tea with her
                    dolls, who ungenerously refused to wait beyond<lb/> the appointed hour. The
                    wooden tea-things seemed more chipped<lb/> than usual ; and the dolls themselves
                    had more of wax and saw-<lb/> dust, and less of human colour and intelligence
                    about them, than<lb/> she ever remembered before. It was then that Harold burst
                    in,<lb/> very dusty, his stockings at his heels, and the channels ploughed<lb/>
                    by tears still showing on his grimy cheeks ; and Selina was at last<lb/>
                    permitted to know that he had been thinking of her ever since<lb/> his
                    ill-judged exhibition of temper, and that his sulks had not been<lb/> the
                    genuine article, nor had he gone frogging by himself. It<lb/> was a very happy
                    hostess who dispensed hospitality that evening to<lb/> a glassy-eyed stiff-kneed
                    circle ; and many a dollish <emph rend="italic">gaucherie</emph>, that<lb/>
                    would have been severely checked on ordinary occasions, was as<lb/> much
                    overlooked as if it had been a birthday.</p>

                <p>But Harold and I, in our stupid masculine way, thought all<lb/> her happiness
                    sprang from possession of the long-coveted tea-<lb/> service.</p>




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