succeedingMr. Know-all

Mr. Know All

By W. Somerset Maugham

I was prepared to dislike Max Kelada even before I knew him. The war had just

finished

and

the

passenger

traffic

in

the

ocean- going

liners

was

heavy.

Accommodation was very hard to get and you had to put up with whatever the agents

chose to offer you. You could not hope for a cabin to yourself and I was thankful to

be given one in which there were only two berths. But when I was told the name of

my companion my heart sank. It suggested closed portholes and the night air rigidly

excluded.

It

was

bad enough to

share a cabin

for fourteen days with

anyone (I was

going from San Francisco to Yokohama, but I should have looked upon it with less

dismay if my fellow passenger

’

s name had been Smith or Brown.

When I went on board I found Mr Kelada

’

s luggage already below. I did not like

the look of it; there were too many labels on the suit- cases, and the wardrobe trunk

was too big. He had unpacked his toilet things, and I observed that he was a patron of

the excellent Monsieur Coty; for I saw on the washing- stand his scent, his hair-wash

and his brilliantine. Mr Kelada

’

s brushes, ebony with his monogram in gold, would

have been all the better for a scrub. I did not at all like Mr Kelada. I made my way

into the smoking-room. I called for a pack of cards and began to play patience. I had

scarcely started before a man came up to me and asked me if he was right in thinking

my name was so and so.

“

I am Mr Kelada,

”

he added, with a smile that showed a row of flashing teeth,

and sat down.

“

Oh, yes, we

’

re sharing a cabin, I think.

”

“

Bit of luck, I call it. You never know who you

’

re going to be put in with. I was

jolly

glad

when

I

heard

you

were

English.

I

’

m

all

for

us

English

slicking

together

when we

’

re abroad, if you understand what I mean.

”

I blinked.

“

Are you English?

”

I asked, perhaps tactlessly.

“

Rather.

You

don

’

t

think

I

look

like

an

American,

do

you?

British

to

the

backbone, that

’

s what I am.

”

To

prove

it,

Mr

Kelada

took

out

of

his

pocket

a

passport

and

airily

waved

it

under my nose.

King

George

has

many

strange

subjects.

Mr

Kelada

was

short

and

of

a

sturdy

build,

clean-shaven

and

dark-skinned,

with

a

fleshy

hooked

nose

and

very

large,

lustrous

and

liquid

eyes.

His

long

black

hair

was

sleek

and

curly.

He

spoke

with

a

fluency

in

which

there

was

nothing

English

and

his

gestures

were

exuberant.

I

fell

pretty sure that a closer inspection of that British passport would have betrayed the

fact that Mr Kelada was born under a bluer sky than is generally seen in England.

“

What will you have?

”

he asked me.

1

I

looked

at

him

doubtfully.

Prohibition

was

in

force

and

to

all

appearance

the

ship was bone-dry. When I am not thirsty I do not know which I dislike more, ginger

ale or lemon squash. But Mr Kelada flashed an oriental smile at me.

“

Whisky and soda or a dry martini, you have only to say the word.

”

From each of his hip pockets he fished a flask and laid it on the table before me.

I chose the martini, and calling the steward he ordered a tumbler of ice and a couple

of glasses.

“

A very good cocktail,

”

I said.

“

Well, there are plenty more where that came from, and if you

’

ve got any friends

on board, you tell them you

’

ve got a pal who

’

s got all the liquor in the world.

”

Mr

Kelada

was

chatty.

He

talked

of

New

York

and

of

San

Francisco.

He

discussed

plays,

pictures,

and

politics.

He

was

patriotic.

The

Union

Jack

is

an

impressive piece of drapery, but when it is nourished by a gentleman from Alexandria

or Beirut, I cannot but feel that it loses somewhat in dignity. Mr Kelada was familiar.

”

I

do

not

wish

to

put

on

airs,

but

I

cannot

help

feeling

that

it

is

seemly

in

a

total

stranger to put

“

mister

”

before my name when he addresses me. Mr Kelada, doubtless

to set me at my case, used no such formality. I did not like Mr Kelada. I had put aside

the

cards

when

he

sat

down,

but

now,

thinking

that

for

this

first

occasion

our

conversation had lasted long enough, I went on with my game.

“

The three on the four,

”

said Mr Kelada.

There

is

nothing

more

exasperating

when

you

are

playing

patience

than

to

be

told where to put the card you have turned up before you have had a chance to look

for yourself.

“

It

’

s coming out, it

’

s coming out,

”

he cried.

“

The ten on the knave.

”

With rage and hatred in my heart I finished.

Then he seized the pack.

“

Do you like card tricks?

”

“

No, I hate card tricks,

”

I answered.

“

Well, I

’

ll just show you this one.

”

He showed me three. Then I said I would go down to the dining-room and get

my seat at table.

“

Oh, that

’

s all right,

”

he said.

“

I

’

ve already taken a seat for you. I thought that as

we were in the same state-room we might just as well sit at the same table.

”

I did not like Mr Kelada.

I not only shared a cabin with him and ate three meals a day at the same table,

but I could not walk round the deck without his joining me. It was impossible to snub

him. It never occurred to him that he was not wanted. He was certain that you were as

glad to see him as he was to see you. In your own house you might have kicked him

downstairs and slammed the door in his face without the suspicion dawning on him

2