The gentlest of tales by the late author of Gentle Greaves, this one from 1958, about a little clerk who makes it big. ""Ferry"" Betterkin cares for his fortyish sister Pearl, a nice kleptomaniac, thrice jailed, in tacky lodgings where a jolly pair of retired actors also live, along with a massive landlady and her oafish husband. Upwardly-mobile brother Godfrey disdains to help Ferry, and Ferry's intended, plain typist Sally, worries about their carrying on without marrying. But Ferry writes a romantic novel, which doesn't sell, and another which miraculously does. It all ends in fame, and a party with just deserts. Raymond's version of a critical response to Ferry's oeuvre is a kind of sly guideline to Raymond at his best (which this is not): "". . . a rich sense of fun, an instant perception of human absurdity. . . a quiet melancholy. . . ."" Sweet and very simple, but it will be dear to the hearts of the following.