He gave no thought to the future; a truly selfish man never does, for
the simple reason that the future belongs to him for no longer than
twenty or thirty years at the most.
And thus his days passed.
* * * * *
Midsummer morning dawned--radiant and sunny as mid-summer morning
should be. The schoolmaster was still in bed, reading a book on the
Art of Warfare in ancient Egypt, when Miss Augusta came into his room
with his breakfast. She had put on his tray some slices of saffron
bread, in honour of the festival, and on his dinner-napkin lay a spray
of elder blossoms. On the previous night she had decorated his room
with branches of the birch-tree, put clean sand and some cowslips in
the spittoon, and a bunch of lilies-of-the-valley on the dressing
table.
"Aren't you going to make an excursion to-day, sir?" she asked, glancing
at the decorations, anxious for a word of thanks or approval.
But Mr. Blom had not even noticed the decorations, and therefore he
answered dryly:
"Haven't you realised yet that I never make excursions? I hate elbowing
my way through a crowd, and the noise of the children gets on my nerves."
"But surely you won't stay in town on such a lovely day! You'll at least
go to the Deer Park?"
"That would be the very last place I should go to, especially to-day,
when it will be crowded.
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