He had in perfection
the art of living for the moment, no art in his case, but a natural
characteristic, for which it never occurred to him to be grateful.
Indeed, it is a common characteristic in the world to which Mr.
Gammon belonged. He and his like take what the heavens send them,
grumbling or rejoicing, but never reflecting upon their place in the
sum of things. To Mr. Gammon life was a wonderfully simple matter.
He had his worries and his desires, but so long as he suffered
neither from headache nor stomach-ache, these things interfered not
at all with his enjoyment of a fine morning.
He was in no hurry to make for Dulwich; as he walked along his
thoughts began to turn in a different direction, and on reaching the
end of Upper Kennington Lane he settled the matter by striking
towards Vauxhall Station. A short railway journey and another
pleasant saunter brought him to a street off Battersea Park Road,
and to a china shop, over which stood the name of Clover.
In the window hung a card with an inscription in bold letters:
"Glass, china, and every kind of fashionable ornament for the table
for hire on moderate terms.
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