by H G Wells

Mr Coombes was sick of life He walked away unhappy home, and, sick own existence but of everybody else's, turned aside down Gaswork Lane to avoid the town, and, crossing the wooden bridge that goes over the canal to Starling's Cottages, was presently alone damp pine woods and out of sight and sound of human habitation stand it no longer He repeated aloud with blasphemies unusual to him that stand it no longer

pale-faced little man, with dark eyes and fine and very black moustache He had very stiff, upright collar slightly frayed, that gave him an illusory double chin, overcoat (albeit shabby) was trimmed with astrachan His gloves were bright brown with black stripes over the knuckles, and split finger ends His appearance, his wife had said once dear, dead days beyond recall--before he married her, --was military But now she called him--it seems dreadful thing of between husband and wife, but she called him "a little grub " It wasn't she had called him, either

The row had arisen beastly Jennie again Jennie was his wife's friend, and, by no invitation of Mr Coombes, she came in every blessed Sunday to dinner, and made shindy all the afternoon She was big, noisy girl, with taste for loud colours and strident laugh; and this Sunday she had outdone all her previous intrusions by bringing in fellow with her, chap as showy as herself And Mr Coombes, in starchy, clean collar Sunday frock-coat, had sat dumb and wrathful at his own table, while his wife and her guests talked foolishly and undesirably, and laughed aloud Well, he stood that, and after dinner (which, "as usual," was late), what must Miss Jennie do but go piano and play banjo tunes, for all the world it were week-day ! Flesh and blood endure such goings on hear next door, hear road, public announcement disrepute He had

He had felt himself go pale, and kind of rigour had affected his respiration as he delivered himself He sitting on chairs window--the new guest had taken possession arm-chair He turned his head "Sun Day ! " over the collar, voice of one who warns "Sun Day ! " What people call "nasty" tone,

Jennie had kept on playing, but his wife, who was looking through some music that was piled top piano, had stared at him "What's wrong now ? " she said; "can't people enjoy themselves ? "

"I don't mind rational 'njoyment, at all," said little Coombes, "but I ain't a-going week-day tunes playing on Sunday house "

"What's wrong with my playing now ? " said Jennie, stopping and twirling round music-stool with monstrous rustle of flounces

Coombes saw going row, and opened too vigorously, as is common with your timid, nervous men all the world over "Steady on music-stool ! " said he; "it ain't made for 'eavy-weights "

"Never you mind about weights," said Jennie, incensed " you saying behind my back playing ? "

"Surely you don't 'old with not having bit of music on Sunday, Mr Coombes ? " said the new guest, leaning back arm-chair, blowing cloud of cigarette smoke and smiling in kind of pitying way And simultaneously his wife said something to Jennie about "Never mind 'im You go on, Jinny "

" ," said Mr Coombes, addressing the new guest

"May I arst why ? " said the new guest, evidently enjoying both his cigarette prospect of an argument , by-the-by, lank young man, very stylishly dressed in bright drab, with white cravat and pearl and silver pin It better taste in black coat, Mr Coombes thought

"Because," began Mr Coombes, "it don't suit me I'm business man I 'ave to study my connection Rational 'njoyment--"

"His connection ! " said Mrs Coombes scornfully "That's what he's always a-saying We got to , and we got to --"

" don't mean to study my connection," said Mr Coombes, "what did you marry me for ? "

"I wonder," said Jennie, and turned back piano

"I never saw such man ," said Mrs Coombes

"You've altered all round since we were married Before--"

Then Jennie began turn, turn, turn again

"Look here ! " said Mr Coombes, driven at last to revolt, standing up and raising his voice "I tell you I won't have that " The frock-coat heaved indignation

"No vi'lence, now," said the long young man in drab, sitting up

"Who the juice ? " said Mr Coombes fiercely

Whereupon they all began talking at once The new guest said Jennie's "intended," and meant to protect her, and Mr Coombes said welcome anywhere but ( Mr Coombes') house; and Mrs Coombes said he ashamed of insulting his guests, and (as already mentioned) that getting regular little grub; end was, that Mr Coombes ordered his visitors house, wouldn't go, and so go himself face burning and tears of excitement eyes, he went passage, and as he struggled overcoat--his frock-coat sleeves got concertinaed up his arm--and gave brush at his silk hat, Jennie began again piano, and strummed him insultingly house Turn, turn, turn He slammed the shop door so house quivered That, briefly, immediate making mood perhaps begin to understand his disgust with existence

As he walked along the muddy path under the firs,-- late October, ditches and heaps of fir needles were gorgeous with clumps of fungi,--he recapitulated the melancholy history marriage brief and commonplace enough He now perceived with sufficient clearness that his wife had married him out of natural curiosity and to escape from her worrying, laborious, and uncertain life workroom; and, like the majority of her class, she was far too stupid to realise her duty to co-operate business She was greedy of enjoyment, loquacious, and socially-minded, and evidently disappointed the restraints of poverty still hanging about her His worries exasperated her, slightest attempt to control her proceedings resulted in charge of "grumbling " Why couldn't he be nice-- as he used ? And Coombes was such harmless little man, too, nourished mentally on Self-Help_, and with meagre ambition of self-denial and competition, that was to end in "sufficiency " Then Jennie came in as female Mephistopheles, gabbling chronicle of "fellers," and was always wanting his wife to theatres, and "all that " And were aunts wife, and cousins (male and female) to eat up capital, insult him personally, upset business arrangements, annoy good customers, and generally blight his life not the first occasion by many that Mr Coombes had fled his home in wrath and indignation, and something like fear, vowing furiously and even aloud that he wouldn't stand it, and so frothing away his energy along the line of least resistance But never before had he been quite so sick of life as particular Sunday afternoon The Sunday dinner had its share despair-- greyness sky Perhaps, too, beginning to realise his unendurable frustration as business man consequence marriage Presently bankruptcy, and ---- Perhaps she reason to repent when too late And destiny, as already intimated, had planted the path wood with evil-smelling fungi, thickly and variously planted it, right side, but left

small shopman is melancholy position, if his wife turns out disloyal partner His capital is all tied up business, and to leave her means to join the unemployed in some strange part earth The luxuries of divorce are beyond him altogether So good old tradition of marriage for better or worse holds inexorably for him, and things work tragic culminations Bricklayers kick their wives to death, and dukes betray theirs; but small clerks and shopkeepers nowadays comes most often to cutting of throats Under the circumstances so very remarkable--and take it as charitably -- mind of Mr Coombes ran for while on some such glorious close disappointed hopes, he thought of razors, pistols, bread-knives, and touching letters coroner denouncing his enemies by name, and praying piously for forgiveness After time his fierceness gave way to melancholia He married very overcoat, first and only frock-coat that was buttoned up beneath it He began to recall their courting very walk, his years of penurious saving capital, bright hopefulness marrying days all to work out like this ! Was there no sympathetic ruler anywhere ? He reverted to death as topic

He thought canal he had just crossed, and doubted whether he shouldn't stand head out, even middle, and while drowning was mind purple pileus caught his eye He looked at it mechanically for moment, and stopped and stooped towards it to pick it up, under the impression some such small leather object as purse Then the purple top of fungus, peculiarly poisonous-looking purple: slimy, shiny, and emitting sour odour He hesitated hand an inch or so , thought of poison crossed his mind he picked the thing, and stood up again with it hand

The odour was certainly strong--acrid, but by no means disgusting He broke off piece, fresh surface was creamy white, that changed like magic space of ten seconds to yellowish-green colour even an inviting-looking change He broke off two other pieces it repeated They were wonderful things these fungi, thought Mr Coombes, and all the deadliest poisons, as his father had often told him Deadly poisons !