He had become our central figure, we expected him to
lead the conversation, we liked listening to him, his jokes were good.
With those twelve sausage-rolls I could have dominated my fellows for
a while. But I had not a dominant nature. I never trusted myself as a
leader. Leading abashed me. I was happiest in the comity of the crowd.
Having received a hamper, I was always glad when it was finished, glad
to fall back into the ranks. Humility is a virtue, and it is a virtue
innate in guests.
Boys (as will have been surmised from my record of the effect of
hampers) are all of them potential guests. It is only as they grow up
that some of them harden into hosts. It is likely enough that if I,
when I grew up, had been rich, my natural bent to guestship would have
been diverted, and I too have become a (sort of) host. And perhaps I
should have passed muster. I suppose I did pass muster whenever, in
the course of my long residence in London, I did entertain friends.
But the memory of those occasions is not dear to me--especially not
the memory of those that were in the more distinguished restaurants.
Somewhere in the back of my brain, while I tried to lead the
conversation brightly, was always the haunting fear that I had not
brought enough money in my pocket. I never let this fear master me.
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