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MR. KNOW-ALL

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 be-
low. 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
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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
English sticking together when we're abroad, if you understand what I
mean."
I blinked.

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