GK Chesterton Man Knew Too Much

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THE MAN WHOKNEW TOO MUCH

By

Gilbert K. Chesterton

A P

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TATE

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LECTRONIC

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UBLICATION

The Man Who Knew Too Much

by G. K. Chesterton

is a publication of the Pennsylvania State Univer-sity. This Portable Document file is furnished free and without any charge of any kind. Any person usingthis document file, for any purpose, and in any way does so at his or her own risk. Neither the Pennsyl-vania State University nor Jim Manis, Faculty Editor, nor anyone associated with the Pennsylvania StateUniversity assumes any responsibility for the material contained within the document or for the file asan electronic transmission, in any way.

The Man Who Knew Too Much

by G. K. Chesterton

,

the Pennsylvania State University,

Electronic Classics Series

, Jim Manis, Faculty Editor, Hazleton, PA 18202 is a Portable Document File produced as part of an ongoing student publication project to bring classical works of literature, in English, to free and easy access of those wishing to make use of them.Cover Design: Jim ManisCopyright © 2005 The Pennsylvania State University

The Pennsylvania State University is an equal opportunity university.

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G. K. Chesterton

THE MAN WHOKNEW TOOMUCH

By

Gilbert K. Chesterton

I.I.I.I.I.THE FTHE FTHE FTHE FTHE F A A A A A CE INCE INCE INCE INCE INTHETHETHETHETHETTTTT AR AR AR AR AR GETGETGETGETGET

H

AROLD

M

ARCH

, the rising reviewer and social critic, was walking vigorously across a great tableland of moors and com-mons, the horizon of which was fringed with the far-off woodsof the famous estate of Torwood Park. He was a good-look-ing young man in tweeds, with very pale curly hair and paleclear eyes. Walking in wind and sun in the very landscape of liberty, he was still young enough to remember his politicsand not merely try to forget them. For his errand at TorwoodPark was a political one; it was the place of appointmentnamed by no less a person than the Chancellor of the Exche-quer, Sir Howard Horne, then introducing his so-called So-cialist budget, and prepared to expound it in an interview with so promising a penman. Harold March was the sort of man who knows everything about politics, and nothing aboutpoliticians. He also knew a great deal about art, letters, phi-losophy, and general culture; about almost everything, in-deed, except the world he was living in. Abruptly, in the middle of those sunny and windy flats, hecame upon a sort of cleft almost narrow enough to be calleda crack in the land. It was just large enough to be the water-course for a small stream which vanished at intervals undergreen tunnels of undergrowth, as if in a dwarfish forest. In-deed, he had an odd feeling as if he were a giant looking overthe valley of the pygmies. When he dropped into the hollow,however, the impression was lost; the rocky banks, thoughhardly above the height of a cottage, hung over and had theprofile of a precipice. As he began to wander down the course

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