Tight Corners
In
‘Tight Corners’, E.V. Lucas narrates the story of how he was rescued from
humiliation at an auction house, by a sudden stroke of luck. Let’s read on and
get to know how he got himself in a tight corner and found his way out of that
situation.
The talk was
running on the critical situations in which we had found ourselves — those of
us whose lives were adventurous enough to comprise any.
One man had been
caught by the tide in Brittany and escaped by the skin of his
teeth. Another had been on an elephant when a wounded tiger charged at it. A
third had been on the top storey of a burning house. A fourth was torpedoed in
the War.
“But you all talk,”
said one of the company, “as though tight corners were always physical affairs.
Surely they can be tighter when they are mental. The tightest comer I was ever
in was at Christie’s.”
“Christie’s?”
“Yes. I had been
lunching rather well at a club in St.
James’s Street with an old friend
from abroad, and passing along King
Street afterwards, he
persuaded me to look in at the sale-room. The place
was full.
They were selling
Barbizon pictures, and getting tremendous sums for each: two thousand, three
thousand, for little bits of things — forest scenes, pools at evening,
shepherdesses, the regular subjects.
Nothing went for
three figures at all.
Well, we watched
for a little while and then
I found myself
bidding too just for fun.
I had exactly
sixty-three pounds in the bank and not enough securities to borrow five hundred
on, and here I was nodding away to the auctioneer like a bloatocrat.
a) Describe the
activity that was going on in the sale-room at King Street.
b) What can you say
about the author’s attitude when he high-handedly participated in the auction?
‘You’ll get
caught,’ my friend said to me.
“No, I shan’t,” I
said. “I’m not going to run any risks.”
c) Why was the
author sure he would not be caught?
d) What made the
author ignore his friend’s warning?
“And for a long
time I didn’t. And then a picture was put up and a short red- faced man in a
new top-hat — some well-known dealer — who had bought quite a number, electrified the room by starting the bidding at a figure a little higher than any that he had
yet given or that anything had reached.
Although the
previous lots had run into four figures they had all been modestly started at
fifty guineas or a hundred guineas, with a gradual crescendo to which I had often been safely contributing. But no sooner
was the new picture displayed than the dealer made his sensational bid, “Four
thousand guineas,” he said.
e) How had the
author managed the auction without getting involved in the deal?
There was a rustle
of excitement, and at the end of it I heard my own voice saying, “And fifty!” A
terrible silence followed, during which the auctioneer looked inquiringly first
at the opener and then at the company generally.
To my surprise and
horror the red-faced dealer gave no sign of life. I realized now, as I ought to
have done at first, that he had shot his bolt.
f) What came as a
shock to the author?
“Four thousand and
fifty guineas offered”, said the auctioneer, again searching the room.
My heart stopped;
my blood congealed. There was no sound but a curious smothered noise from my friend.
Four thousand and
fifty guineas. Any advance on four thousand and fifty guineas? — and the hammer
fell.
g) What did the
falling of the hammer indicate?
That was a nice
pickle to be in! Here was I, with sixty-three pounds in the world and not five
hundred pounds’ worth of securities, the purchaser of a picture which I didn’t
want, for four thousand and fifty guineas, the top price of the day.
Turning for some kindly
support to my friend I found that he had left me; but not, as I feared at the
moment, from baseness, but, as I afterwards discovered, in order to find a
remote place in which to lean against the hall and laugh.
h) What made the
friend laugh heartily?
Stunned and dazed
as I was, I pulled myself together sufficiently to hand my card, nonchalantly (I hope) to the clerk who came for
the millionaire collector’s name, and then I set to pondering on the problem
what to do next. Picture after picture was put up and sold, but I saw none of
them. I was running over the names of uncles and other persons from whom it
might be possible to borrow, but wasn’t; wondering if the moneylenders who talk
so glibly about ‘note of hand only’ really mean it; speculating on the possibility of
confessing my poverty to one of Christie’s staff and having the picture put up
again. That was the best way — and yet how could I do it after all the other
bids I had made? The staff looked so prosperous and unsympathetic, and no one
would believe it was a mistake. A genuine mistake of such a kind would have
been rectified at once.
i) What kind of
excuses did the narrator think he could make?
Meanwhile the sale
came to an end and I stood on the outskirts of the little knot of buyers round
the desk who were writing cheques and giving instructions. Naturally I
preferred to be the last. It was there that I was joined by my friend; but only
for a moment, for on a look at my face he rammed his handkerchief in his mouth
and again disappeared. Alone I was to *dree this awful weird. I have never felt such a fool or had colder feet in all
my life. I believe I should have welcomed a firing party.
j) Why did the
friend desert the narrator, a second time?
And then the
unexpected happened, and I realized that a career of rectitude sometimes has rewards beyond the
mere consciousness of virtue. A voice at my ear suddenly said, ‘Beg pardon.
Sir, but was you the gent that bought the big Daubigny?”
I admitted it.
“Well, the gent who
offered four thousand guineas wants to know if you’ll take fifty guineas for
your bid.”
If ever a messenger
of the high gods wore a green baize apron and spoke in husky Cockney
tones this was he. I could have embraced him and wept for joy. Would I take
fifty guineas. Why, I would have taken fifty farthings.
k) How does the
narrator describe the man who approached him?
But how near the
surface and ready, even in the best of us, is worldly guile! “Is that the most he would offer?” I had the presence of
mind to ask.
“It’s not for me to
say,” he replied. “No ‘arm in trying for a bit more, is there?”
“Tell him I’ll take
a hundred,” I said.
And I got it.
l) How does the
Narrator show presence of mind in the sudden turn of events?
When I found my
friend I was laughing too, but he became grave at once on seeing the cheque.
“Well, I’m hanged!” he said. “Of all the luck! Well, I’m hanged!”
Then he said,
“Don’t forget that if it hadn’t been for me, you wouldn’t have come into
Christie’s at all.” “I shall never forget it,” I said. “It is indelibly branded in letters of fire on my
heart. My hair hasn’t gone white, has it?”
m) The narrator
would not forget two things about his friend. What are they?
Edward Verrall
Lucas, (1868 – 1938) was an English humourist, essayist, playwright,
biographer, publisher, poet, novelist, short story writer and editor. Born to a
Quaker family on the fringes of London, Lucas began work at the age of sixteen,
apprenticed to a bookseller. After that he turned to journalism, and worked on
a local paper in Brighton and then on a London evening paper. He was
commissioned to write a biography of Bernard Barton, the Quaker poet. This led
to further commissions, including the editing of the works of Charles Lamb.
Lucas joined the staff of the humorous magazine Punch in 1904, and remained
there for the rest of his life. He was a prolific writer, most celebrated for
his short essays, but he also produced verses, novels and plays.
Warm Up:
Many of us have unused, old but valuable items at home. If we wish to get rid of them, we can sell them at an auction. Items like paintings, jewels, household articles, vehicles, even houses can be auctioned.
The flowchart below will help you understand how an auction is conducted.
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