When I was a very small boy I was made to learn by heart certain of the fables-of La Fontaine, and the moral of each was carefully explained to me. Among those I learnt was \"The Ant and the Grasshopper\", which is devised to bring home to the young the useful lesson that in an imperfect world industry is rewarded and giddiness punished. In this admirable fable (I apologise for telling something which everyone is politely, but inexactly, supposed to know) the ant spends a laborious summer gathering its winter store; while the grasshopper sits on a blade of grass singing to the sun. Winter comes and the ant is comfortably provided for, but the grasshopper has an empty larder: he goes to the ant and begs for a little food. Then the ant gives him her classic answer:
\"What were you doing in the summer time?\"
\"Saving your presence, I sang, I sang all day, all night.\"
\"You sang. Why, then go and dance.\"
I do not ascribe it to perversity on my part, but rather to the inconsequence of childhood, which is deficient in moral sense, that I could never quite reconcile myself to the lesson. My sympathies were with the grasshopper and for some time I never saw an ant without putting my foot on it. In this summary (and, as I have discovered since, entirely human) fashion I sought to express my disapproval of prudence and common sense.
I could not help thinking of this fable when the other day I saw George Ramsay lunching by himself in a restaurant. I never saw anyone wear an expression of such deep gloom. He was staring into space. He looked as though the burden of the whole world sat on his shoulders. I was sorry for him: I suspected at once that his unfortunate brother had been causing trouble again. I went up to him and held out my hand.
\"How are you?\" I asked.
\"I'm not in hilarious spirits,\" he answered.
\"Is it Tom again?\"
He sighed.
\"Yes, it's Tom again.\"
\"Why don't you chuck him? You've done everything in the world for him. You must know by now that he's quite hopeless.\"