"There is a man I know," I said; "you may have met him, a man named
Longrush. He is not exactly a bore. A bore expects you to listen
to him. This man is apparently unaware whether you are listening to
him or not. He is not a fool. A fool is occasionally amusing--
Longrush never. No subject comes amiss to him. Whatever the topic,
he has something uninteresting to say about it. He talks as a
piano-organ grinds out music steadily, strenuously, tirelessly. The
moment you stand or sit him down he begins, to continue ceaselessly
till wheeled away in cab or omnibus to his next halting-place. As
in the case of his prototype, his rollers are changed about once a
month to suit the popular taste. In January he repeats to you Dan
Leno's jokes, and gives you other people's opinions concerning the
Old Masters at the Guild-hall. In June he recounts at length what
is generally thought concerning the Academy, and agrees with most
people on most points connected with the Opera. If forgetful for a
moment--as an Englishman may be excused for being--whether it be
summer or winter, one may assure oneself by waiting to see whether
Longrush is enthusing over cricket or football. He is always up-to-
date. The last new Shakespeare, the latest scandal, the man of the
hour, the next nine days' wonder--by the evening Longrush has his
roller ready. In my early days of journalism I had to write each
evening a column for a provincial daily, headed 'What People are
Saying.' The editor was precise in his instructions. 'I don't want
your opinions; I don't want you to be funny; never mind whether the
thing appears to you to be interesting or not. I want it to be
real, the things people ARE saying.' I tried to be conscientious.
Each paragraph began with 'That.' I wrote the column because I
wanted the thirty shillings. Why anybody ever read it, I fail to
understand to this day; but I believe it was one of the popular