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The Man On Putney Hill
"What’sthegoodofgoingonwithsuchlies?"saidtheartilleryman. "There’smenwho’ddoitcheerful. Whatnonsensetopretendthereisn’t!"
AndIsuccumbedtohisconviction.
"Iftheycomeafterme,"hesaid; "Lord,iftheycomeafterme!"andsubsidedintoagrimmeditation.
Isatcontemplatingthesethings. Icouldfindnothingtobringagainstthisman’sreasoning. Inthedaysbeforetheinvasionnoonewouldhavequestionedmyintellectualsuperioritytohis—I,aprofessedandrecognisedwriteronphilosophicalthemes,andhe,acommonsoldier; andyethehadalreadyformulatedasituationthatIhadscarcelyrealised.
"Whatareyoudoing?"Isaidpresently."Whatplanshaveyoumade?"
Hehesitated.
"Well,it’slikethis,"hesaid. "Whathavewetodo? Wehavetoinventasortoflifewheremencanliveandbreed,andbesufficientlysecuretobringthechildrenup. Yes—waitabit,andI’llmakeitclearerwhatIthinkoughttobedone. Thetameoneswillgolikealltamebeasts; inafewgenerationsthey’llbebig,beautiful,rich-blooded,stupid—rubbish! Theriskisthatwewhokeepwildwillgosavage—degenerateintoasortofbig,savagerat.... Yousee,howImeantoliveisunderground. I’vebeenthinkingaboutthedrains. Ofcoursethosewhodon’tknowdrainsthinkhorriblethings; butunderthisLondonaremilesandmiles—hundredsofmiles—andafewdaysrainandLondonemptywillleavethemsweetandclean. Themaindrainsarebigenoughandairyenoughforanyone.
