"
We had an admirable dinner upon a terrace overhanging the Loire, but
the measure of my enjoyment was stinted by Johnson's exasperating
reticence concerning himself. He talked delightfully of the chateaux
in Touraine; he displayed an intimate knowledge of French history and
archaeology, but I was tingling with impatience to transport myself
and him to California. And he knew this--the rogue!
Finally, as the soft silvery twilight encompassed us, he told what I
wanted to know.
"My father was a manufacturer who married a Frenchwoman. My brothers
have trodden carefully and securely in my father's footsteps. They are
all fairly prosperous--smug, respectable fellows. I resemble my
mother. After Eton and Christ Church I was pitchforked into the family
business. For a time it absorbed my attention. I will tell you why
later. Then, having mastered the really interesting part of it, I grew
bored. I wanted to study art. After several scenes with my father, I
was allowed to go my own way--a pleasant way, too, but it led
downhill, you understand. I spent three winters in Venice. Then my
father died, and I came into a small fortune, which I squandered.
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