Sentimental Tommy

Sentimental Tommy

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Title: Sentimental Tommy The Story of His Boyhood
Author: J. M. Barrie
Release Date: February 7, 2005 [EBook #14961]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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SENTIMENTAL TOMMY
THE STORY OF HIS BOYHOOD
BY J. M. BARRIE
AUTHOR OF "THE LITTLE MINISTER," "A WINDOW IN
THRUMS," ETC.
1896

SENTIMENTAL TOMMY
THE STORY OF HIS BOYHOOD

CHAPTER I
TOMMY CONTRIVES TO KEEP ONE OUT
The celebrated Tommy first comes into view on a dirty London stair,
and he was in sexless garments, which were all he had, and he was five,
and so though we are looking at him, we must do it sideways, lest he sit
down hurriedly to hide them. That inscrutable face, which made the
clubmen of his later days uneasy and even puzzled the ladies while he
was making love to them, was already his, except when he smiled at
one of his pretty thoughts or stopped at an open door to sniff a potful.
On his way up and down the stair he often paused to sniff, but he never
asked for anything; his mother had warned him against it, and he
carried out her injunction with almost unnecessary spirit, declining
offers before they were made, as when passing a room, whence came
the smell of fried fish, he might call in, "I don't not want none of your
fish," or "My mother says I don't not want the littlest bit," or wistfully,
"I ain't hungry," or more wistfully still, "My mother says I ain't
hungry." His mother heard of this and was angry, crying that he had let
the neighbors know something she was anxious to conceal, but what he
had revealed to them Tommy could not make out, and when he
questioned her artlessly, she took him with sudden passion to her flat
breast, and often after that she looked at him long and woefully and
wrung her hands.
The only other pleasant smell known to Tommy was when the
water-carts passed the mouth of his little street. His street, which ended
in a dead wall, was near the river, but on the doleful south side of it,
opening off a longer street where the cabs of Waterloo station
sometimes found themselves when they took the wrong turning; his
home was at the top of a house of four floors, each with
accommodation for at least two families, and here he had lived with his
mother since his father's death six months ago. There was oil-cloth on
the stair as far as the second floor; there had been oil-cloth between the
second floor and the third--Tommy could point out pieces of it still
adhering to the wood like remnants of a plaster.

This stair was nursery to all the children whose homes opened on it, not
so safe as nurseries in the part of London that is chiefly inhabited by
boys in sailor suits, but preferable as a centre of adventure, and here on
an afternoon sat two. They were very busy boasting, but only the
smaller had imagination, and as he used it recklessly, their positions
soon changed; sexless garments was now prone on a step, breeches
sitting on him.
Shovel, a man of seven, had said, "None on your lip. You weren't never
at Thrums yourself."
Tommy's reply was, "Ain't my mother a Thrums woman?"
Shovel, who had but one eye, and that bloodshot, fixed it on him
threateningly.
"The Thames is in London," he said.
"'Cos they wouldn't not have it in Thrums," replied Tommy.
"'Amstead 'Eath's in London, I tell yer," Shovel said.
"The cemetery is in Thrums," said Tommy.
"There ain't no queens in Thrums, anyhow."
"There's the auld licht minister."
"Well, then, if you jest seed Trafalgar Square!"
"If you jest seed the Thrums town-house!"
"St. Paul's ain't in Thrums."
"It would like to be."
After reflecting, Shovel said in desperation, "Well, then, my father
were once at a hanging."

Tommy replied instantly, "It were my father what was hanged."
There was no possible answer to this save a knock-down blow, but
though Tommy was vanquished in body, his spirit remained stanch; he
raised his head and gasped, "You should see how they knock down in
Thrums!" It was then that Shovel sat on him.
Such was their position when an odd figure in that house, a gentleman,
passed