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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13441 ***
+
+                             THE SUNNY SIDE
+
+                             BY A. A. MILNE
+
+    Author of "If I May," "The Dover Road," "Mr. Pim Passes By," etc.
+
+                                  1922
+
+
+
+
+TO OWEN SEAMAN
+
+AFFECTIONATELY IN MEMORY OF NINE HAPPY YEARS AT THE "PUNCH" OFFICE
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+CHAPTER
+
+
+     INTRODUCTION TO THE AMERICAN EDITION
+
+  I. ORANGES AND LEMONS
+
+ II. MEN OF LETTERS
+
+III. SUMMER DAYS
+
+ IV. WAR-TIME
+
+  V. HOME NOTES
+
+ VI. A FEW GUESTS
+
+VII. AND OTHERS
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+My publisher wants me to apologize for--"introduce" was the kindly word
+he used--this collection of articles and verses from _Punch_. I do so
+with pleasure.
+
+_Among the many interests of a long and varied career_--
+
+No, I don't think I shall begin like that.
+
+_It was early in 1871_--
+
+Nor like that.
+
+Really it is very difficult, you know. I wrote these things for a number
+of years, and--well, here they are. But just to say "Here they are" is to
+be too informal for my publisher. He wants, not a casual introduction,
+but a presentation. Let me tell you a little story instead.
+
+When war broke out, I had published three of these books in England, the
+gleanings of nine years' regular work for _Punch_. There are, I
+understand, a few Americans who read _Punch_, and it was suggested to me
+that a suitable collection of articles from these three books might have
+some sort of American sale. So I made such a collection, leaving out the
+more topical and allusive sketches, and including those with a more
+general appeal. I called the result "Happy Days"--an attractive title,
+you will agree--and in 1915 a New York publisher was found for it.
+
+This is a funny story; at least it appeals to _me_; so I won't remind
+myself of the number of copies which we sold. That was tragedy, not
+comedy. The joke lay in one of the few notices which the book received
+from the press. For a New York critic ended his review of "Happy Days"
+with these immortal words:
+
+"_Mr. Milne is at present in the trenches facing the German bullets, so
+this will probably be his last book_."
+
+You see now why an apology is necessary. Here we are, seven years later,
+and I am still at it.
+
+But at any rate, it is the last of this sort of book. As I said in a
+foreword to the English edition: "It is the last time because this sort
+of writing depends largely upon the irresponsibility and high spirits of
+youth for its success, and I want to stop before (may I say 'before'?)
+the high spirits become mechanical and the irresponsibility a trick.
+Perhaps the fact that this collection is final will excuse its air of
+scrappiness. Odd Verses have crept in on the unanswerable plea that, if
+they didn't do it now, they never would; War Sketches protested that I
+shouldn't have a book at all if I left them out; an Early Article,
+omitted from three previous volumes, paraded for the fourth time with
+such a pathetic 'I suppose you don't want _me_' in its eye that it could
+not decently be rejected. So here they all are."
+
+One further word of explanation. You may find the first section of this
+book--"Oranges and Lemons"--a little difficult. The characters of it are
+old friends to that limited public which reads my books in England; their
+earlier adventures have been told in those previous volumes (and
+purposely omitted from "Happy Days" as being a little too insular). I
+feel somehow that strangers will not be on such easy terms with them, and
+I would recommend that you approach them last. By that time you will have
+discovered whether you are in a mood to stop and listen to their chatter,
+or prefer to pass them by with a nod.
+
+A.A. M.
+
+
+
+
+THE SUNNY SIDE
+
+
+
+
+I. ORANGES AND LEMONS
+
+
+
+I.
+
+THE INVITATION
+
+
+"Dear Myra," wrote Simpson at the beginning of the year--"I have an
+important suggestion to make to you both, and I am coming round to-morrow
+night after dinner about nine o'clock. As time is so short I have asked
+Dahlia and Archie to meet me there, and if by any chance you have gone
+out we shall wait till you come back.
+
+"Yours ever,
+
+"SAMUEL
+
+"P.S.--I have asked Thomas too."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Well?" said Myra eagerly, as I gave her back the letter.
+
+In deep thought I buttered a piece of toast.
+
+"We could stop Thomas," I said. "We might ring up the Admiralty and ask
+them to give him something to do this evening. I don't know about Archie.
+Is he--"
+
+"Oh, what do you think it is? Aren't you excited?" She sighed and added,
+"Of course I know what Samuel _is_."
+
+"Yes. Probably he wants us all to go to the Zoo together ... or he's
+discovered a new way of putting, or--I say, I didn't know Archie and
+Dahlia were in town."
+
+"They aren't. But I expect Samuel telegraphed to them to meet him under
+the clock at Charing Cross disguised, when they would hear of something
+to their advantage. Oh, I wonder what it is. It _must_ be something real
+this time."
+
+Since the day when Simpson woke me up at six o'clock in the morning to
+show me his stance-for-a-full-wooden-club shot I have distrusted his
+enthusiasms; but Myra loves him as a mother; and I--I couldn't do without
+him; and when a man like that invites a whole crowd of people to come to
+your flat just about the time when you are wondering what has happened to
+the sardines on toast--well, it isn't polite to put the chain on the door
+and explain through the letter-box that you have gone away for a week.
+
+"We'd better have dinner a bit earlier to be on the safe side," I said,
+as Myra gave me a parting brush down in the hall. "If any further
+developments occur in the course of the day, ring me up at the office. By
+the way, Simpson doesn't seem to have invited Peter. I wonder why not.
+He's nearly two, and he ought to be in it. Myra, I'm sure I'm tidy now."
+
+"Pipe, tobacco, matches, keys, money?"
+
+"Everything," I said. "Bless you. Goodbye."
+
+"Good-bye," said Myra lingeringly. "What do you think he meant by 'as
+time is so short'?"
+
+"I don't know. At least," I added, looking at my watch, "I do know. I
+shall be horribly late. Good-bye."
+
+I fled down the stairs into the street, waved to Myra at the
+window ... and then came cautiously up again for my pipe. Life is very
+difficult on the mornings when you are in a hurry.
+
+At dinner that night Myra could hardly eat for excitement.
+
+"You'll be sorry afterwards," I warned her, "when it turns out to be
+nothing more than that he has had his hair cut."
+
+"But even if it is, I don't see why I shouldn't be excited at seeing my
+only brother again--not to mention sister-in-law."
+
+"Then let's move," I said. "They'll be here directly."
+
+Archie and Dahlia came first. We besieged them with questions as soon as
+they appeared.
+
+"Haven't an idea," said Archie, "I wanted to bring a revolver in case it
+was anything really desperate, but Dahlia wouldn't let me."
+
+"It would have been useful too," I said, "if it turned out to be
+something merely futile."
+
+"You're not going to hurt my Samuel, however futile it is," said Myra.
+"Dahlia, how's Peter, and will you have some coffee?"
+
+"Peter's lovely. You've had coffee, haven't you, Archie?"
+
+"Better have some more," I suggested, "in case Simpson is merely
+soporific. We anticipate a slumbering audience, and Samuel explaining a
+new kind of googlie he's invented."
+
+Entered Thomas lazily.
+
+"Hallo," he said in his slow voice. "What's it all about?"
+
+"It's a raid on the Begum's palace," explained Archie rapidly. "Dahlia
+decoys the Chief Mucilage; you, Thomas, drive the submarine; Myra has
+charge of the clockwork mouse, and we others hang about and sing. To say
+more at this stage would be to bring about a European conflict."
+
+"Coffee, Thomas?" said Myra.
+
+"I bet he's having us on," said Thomas gloomily, as he stirred his
+coffee.
+
+There was a hurricane in the hall. Chairs were swept over; coats and hats
+fell to the ground; a high voice offered continuous apologies--and
+Simpson came in.
+
+"Hallo, Myra!" he said eagerly. "Hallo, old chap! Hallo, Dahlia! Hallo,
+Archie! Hallo, Thomas, old boy!" He fixed his spectacles firmly on his
+nose and beamed round the room.
+
+"We're all here--thanking you very much for inviting us," I said. "Have a
+cigar--if you've brought any with you."
+
+Fortunately he had brought several with him.
+
+"Now then, I'll give any of you three guesses what it's all about."
+
+"No, you don't. We're all waiting, and you can begin your apology right
+away."
+
+Simpson took a deep breath and began.
+
+"I've been lent a villa," he said.
+
+There was a moment's silence ... and then Archie got up.
+
+"Good-bye," he said to Myra, holding out his hand. "Thanks for a very
+jolly evening. Come along Dahlia."
+
+"But I say, old chap," protested Simpson.
+
+"I'm sorry, Simpson, but the fact that you're moving from the Temple to
+Cricklewood, or wherever it is, and that somebody else is paying the
+thirty pounds a year, is jolly interesting, but it wasn't good enough to
+drag us up from the country to tell us about it. You could have written.
+However, thank you for the cigar."
+
+"My dear fellow, it isn't Cricklewood. It's the Riviera!"
+
+Archie sat down again.
+
+"Samuel!" cried Myra. "How she must love you!"
+
+"I should never lend Simpson a villa of mine," I said. "He'd only lose
+it."
+
+"They're some very old friends who live there, and they're going away for
+a month, and the servants are staying on, and they suggested that if I
+was going abroad again this year--"
+
+"How did the servants know you'd been abroad last year?" asked Archie.
+
+"Don't interrupt, dear," said Dahlia. "I see what he means. How very
+jolly for you, Samuel."
+
+"For all of us, Dahlia!"
+
+"You aren't suggesting we shall all crowd in?" growled Thomas.
+
+"Of course, my dear old chap! I told them, and they're delighted. We can
+share housekeeping expenses, and it will be as cheap as anything."
+
+"But to go into a stranger's house," said Dahlia anxiously.
+
+"It's _my_ house, Dahlia, for the time. I invite you!" He threw out his
+hands in a large gesture of welcome and knocked his coffee-cup on to the
+carpet; begged Myra's pardon several times; and then sat down again and
+wiped his spectacles vigorously.
+
+Archie looked doubtfully at Thomas.
+
+"Duty, Thomas, duty," he said, thumping his chest. "You can't desert the
+Navy at this moment of crisis."
+
+"Might," said Thomas, puffing at his pipe.
+
+Archie looked at me. I looked hopefully at Myra.
+
+"Oh-h-h!" said Myra, entranced.
+
+Archie looked at Dahlia. Dahlia frowned.
+
+"It isn't till February," said Simpson eagerly.
+
+"It's very kind of you, Samuel," said Dahlia, "but I don't think--"
+
+Archie nodded to Simpson.
+
+"You leave this to me," he said confidentially. "We're going."
+
+
+
+II.
+
+ON THE WAY
+
+
+"Toulon," announced Archie, as the train came to a stop and gave out its
+plaintive, dying whistle. "Naval port of our dear allies, the French.
+This would interest Thomas."
+
+"If he weren't asleep," I said.
+
+"He'll be here directly," said Simpson from the little table for two on
+the other side of the gangway. "I'm afraid he had a bad night. Here,
+_garçon_--er--_donnez-moi du café et_--er-" But the waiter had slipped
+past him again--the fifth time.
+
+"Have some of ours," said Myra kindly, holding out the pot.
+
+"Thanks very much, Myra, but I may as well wait for Thomas, and--_garçon,
+du café pour_--I don't think he'll be--_deux cafés, garçon, s'il
+vous_--it's going to be a lovely day."
+
+Thomas came in quietly, sat down opposite Simpson, and ordered breakfast.
+
+"Samuel wants some too," said Myra.
+
+Thomas looked surprised, grunted and ordered another breakfast.
+
+"You see how easy it is," said Archie. "Thomas, we're at Toulon, where
+the _ententes cordiales_ come from. You ought to have been up long ago
+taking notes for the Admiralty."
+
+"I had a rotten night," said Thomas. "Simpson fell out of bed in the
+middle of it."
+
+"Oh, poor Samuel!"
+
+"You don't mean to say you gave him the top berth?" I asked in surprise.
+"You must have known he'd fall out."
+
+"But, Thomas dear, surely Samuel's just falling-out-of-bed noise wouldn't
+wake you up," said Myra. "I always thought you slept so well."
+
+"He tried to get back into _my_ bed."
+
+"I was a little dazed," explained Simpson hastily, "and I hadn't got my
+spectacles."
+
+"Still you ought to have been able to see Thomas there."
+
+"Of course I did see him as soon as I got in, and then I remembered I was
+up above. So I climbed up."
+
+"It must be rather difficult climbing up at night," thought Dahlia.
+
+"Not if you get a good take-off, Dahlia," said Simpson earnestly.
+
+"Simpson got a good one off my face," explained Thomas.
+
+"My dear old chap, I was frightfully sorry. I did come down at once and
+tell you how sorry I was, didn't I?"
+
+"You stepped back on to it," said Thomas shortly, and he turned his
+attention to the coffee.
+
+Our table had finished breakfast. Dahlia and Myra got up slowly, and
+Archie and I filled our pipes and followed them out.
+
+"Well, we'll leave you to it," said Archie to the other table.
+"Personally, I think it's Thomas's turn to step on Simpson. But don't be
+long, because there's a good view coming."
+
+The good view came, and then another and another, and they merged
+together and became one long, moving panorama of beauty. We stood in
+the corridor and drank it in ... and at intervals we said "Oh-h!" and
+"Oh, I say!" and "Oh, I say, _really_!" And there was one particular
+spot I wish I could remember where, so that it might be marked by a
+suitable tablet--at the sight of which Simpson was overheard to say,
+"_Mon Dieu_!" for (probably) the first time in his life.
+
+"You know, all these are olive trees, you chaps," he said every five
+minutes. "I wonder if there are any olives growing on them?"
+
+"Too early," said Archie. "It's the sardine season now."
+
+It was at Cannes that we saw the first oranges.
+
+"That does it," I said to Myra. "We're really here. And look, there's a
+lemon tree. Give me the oranges and lemons, and you can have all the
+palms and the cactuses and the olives."
+
+"Like polar bears in the arctic regions," said Myra.
+
+I thought for a moment. Superficially there is very little resemblance
+between an orange and a polar bear.
+
+"Like polar bears," I said hopefully.
+
+"I mean," luckily she went on, "polar bears do it for you in the polar
+regions. You really know you're there then. Give me the polar bears, I
+always say, and you can keep the seals and the walruses and the penguins.
+It's the hallmark."
+
+"Right. I knew you meant something. In London," I went on, "it is
+raining. Looking out of my window I see a lamp-post (not in flower)
+beneath a low, grey sky. Here we see oranges against a blue sky a million
+miles deep. What a blend! Myra, let's go to a fancy-dress ball when we
+get back. You go as an orange and I'll go as a very blue, blue sky, and
+you shall lean against me."
+
+"And we'll dance the tangerine," said Myra.
+
+But now observe us approaching Monte Carlo. For an hour past Simpson has
+been collecting his belongings. Two bags, two coats, a camera, a rug,
+Thomas, golf-clubs, books--his compartment is full of things which have
+to be kept under his eye lest they should evade him at the last moment.
+As the train leaves Monaco his excitement is intense.
+
+"I think, old chap," he says to Thomas, "I'll wear the coats after all."
+
+"And the bags," says Thomas, "and then you'll have a suit."
+
+Simpson puts on the two coats and appears very big and hot.
+
+"I'd better have my hands free," he says, and straps the camera and the
+golf-clubs on to himself. "Then if you nip out and get a porter I can
+hand the bags out to him through the window."
+
+"All right," says Thomas. He is deep in his book and looks as if he were
+settled in his corner of the carriage for the day.
+
+The train stops. There is bustle, noise, confusion. Thomas in some
+magical way has disappeared. A porter appears at the open window and
+speaks voluble French to Simpson. Simpson looks round wildly for Thomas.
+"Thomas!" he cries. "_Un moment_," he says to the porter. "Thomas! _Mon
+ami, it n'est pas_--I say, Thomas, old chap, where are you? _Attendez un
+moment. Mon ami_--er--_reviendra_--" He is very hot. He is wearing, in
+addition to what one doesn't mention, an ordinary waistcoat, a woolly
+waistcoat for steamer use, a tweed coat, an aquascutum, an ulster, a
+camera and a bag of golfclubs. The porter, with many gesticulations, is
+still hurling French at him.
+
+It is too much for Simpson. He puts his head out of the window and,
+observing in the distance a figure of such immense dignity that it can
+only belong to the station-master, utters to him across the hurly-burly a
+wild call for help.
+
+"_Ou est_ Cooks's _homme_?" he cries.
+
+
+
+III.
+
+SETTLING DOWN
+
+
+The villa was high up on the hill, having (as Simpson was to point out
+several times later) Mentone on its left hand and Monte Carlo on its
+right. A long winding path led up through its garden of olives to the
+front door, and through the mimosa trees which flanked this door we could
+see already a flutter of white aprons. The staff was on the loggia
+waiting to greet us.
+
+We halted a moment out of sight of the ladies above and considered
+ourselves. It came to us with a sudden shock that we were a very large
+party.
+
+"I suppose," said Archie to Simpson, "they do expect all of us and not
+only you? You told them that about half London was coming?"
+
+"We're only six," said Myra, "because I've just counted again, but we
+seem about twenty."
+
+"It's quite all right," said Simpson cheerfully. "I said we'd be six."
+
+"But six in a letter is much smaller than six of us like this; and when
+they see our luggage--"
+
+"Let's go back," I suggested, suddenly nervous. To be five guests of the
+guest of a man you have never met is delicate work.
+
+At this critical moment Archie assumed command. He is a Captain in the
+Yeomanry and has tackled bigger jobs than this in his time.
+
+"We must get ourselves into proper order," he said. "Simpson, the villa
+has been lent to _you_; you must go first. Dahlia and I come next. When
+we arrive you will introduce us as your friends, Mr. and Mrs. Mannering.
+Then turning to Myra you say, 'Mr. Mannering's sister; and this,' you
+add, 'is her husband.' Then--er--Thomas--"
+
+"It will be difficult to account for Thomas," I said. "Thomas comes at
+the end. He hangs back a little at first; and then if he sees that there
+is going to be any awkwardness about him, he can pretend he's come on the
+wrong night, and apologize and go home again."
+
+"If Thomas goes, I go," said Myra dramatically.
+
+"I have another idea," I said. "Thomas hides here for a bit. We introduce
+ourselves and settle in, and have lunch; and after lunch we take a stroll
+in the garden, and to our great surprise discover Thomas. 'Thomas,' we
+say, '_you_ here? Dear old chap, we thought you were in England. How
+splendid! Where are you staying? Oh, but you must stop with _us_; we can
+easily have a bed put up for you in the garage.' And then--"
+
+"Not after lunch," said Thomas; "before lunch."
+
+"Don't all be so silly," smiled Dahlia. "They'll wonder what has happened
+to us if we wait any longer. Besides, the men will be here with the
+luggage directly. Come along."
+
+"Samuel," said Archie, "forward."
+
+In our new formation we marched up, Simpson excited and rehearsing to
+himself the words of introduction, we others outwardly calm. At a range
+of ten yards he opened fire. "How do you do?" he beamed. "Here we all
+are! Isn't it a lovely--"
+
+The cook-housekeeper, majestic but kindly, came forward with outstretched
+hand and welcomed him volubly--in French. The other three ladies added
+their French to hers. There was only one English body on the loggia. It
+belonged to a bull-dog. The bull-dog barked loudly at Simpson in English.
+
+There was no "Cook's homme" to save Simpson this time. But he rose to the
+occasion nobly. The scent of the mimosa inspired him.
+
+"_Merci,"_ he said, "_merci. Oui, n'est ce pas_! Delightful. Er--these
+are--_ces sont mes amis_. Er--Dahlia, come along--er, _Monsieur et Madame
+Mannering_--er--Myra, _la soeur de Monsieur_--er--where are you, old
+chap?--_le mari de la soeur de Monsieur._ Er--Thomas--er--" (he was
+carried away by memories of his schoolboy French), "_le frère du
+jardinier_--er--" He wheeled round and saw me; introduced me again;
+introduced Myra as my wife, Archie as her brother, and Dahlia as Archie's
+wife; and then with a sudden inspiration presented Thomas grandly as "_le
+beau-père du petit fils de mes amis Monsieur et Madame Mannering_."
+Thomas seemed more assured of his place as Peter's godfather than as the
+brother of the gardener.
+
+There were four ladies; we shook hands with all of them. It took us a
+long time, and I doubt if we got it all in even so, for twice I found
+myself shaking hands with Simpson. But these may have been additional
+ones thrown in. It was over at last, and we followed the staff indoors.
+
+And then we had another surprise. It was broken to us by Dahlia, who, at
+Simpson's urgent request, took up the position of lady of the house, and
+forthwith received the flowing confidences of the housekeeper.
+
+"Two of us have to sleep outside," she said.
+
+"Where?" we all asked blankly.
+
+We went on to the loggia again, and she pointed to a little house almost
+hidden by olive-trees in a corner of the garden below us.
+
+"Oh, well, that's all right," said Archie. "It's on the estate. Thomas,
+you and Simpson won't mind that a bit, will you?"
+
+"We can't turn Samuel out of his own house," said Myra indignantly.
+
+"We aren't turning him; he wants to go. But, of course, if you and your
+young man would like to live there instead--"
+
+Myra looked at me eagerly.
+
+"It would be rather fun," she said. "We'd have another little honeymoon
+all to ourselves."
+
+"It wouldn't really be a honeymoon," I objected. "We should always be
+knocking up against trippers in the garden, Archies and Samuels and
+Thomases and what not. They'd be all over the place."
+
+Dahlia explained the domestic arrangements. The honeymooners had their
+little breakfast in their own little house, and then joined the others
+for the day at about ten.
+
+"Or eleven," said Thomas.
+
+"It would be rather lovely," said Myra thoughtfully.
+
+"Yes," I agreed; "but have you considered that--Come over this way a
+moment, where Thomas and Simpson can't hear, while I tell you some of the
+disadvantages."
+
+I led her into a quiet corner and suggested a few things to her which I
+hoped would not occur to the other two.
+
+_Item_: That if it was raining hard at night, it would be beastly.
+_Item_: That if you suddenly found you'd left your pipe behind, it would
+be rotten. _Item_: That if, as was probable, there wasn't a proper
+bathroom in the little house, it would be sickening. _Item_: That if she
+had to walk on muddy paths in her evening shoes, it would be--
+
+At this point Myra suddenly caught the thread of the argument. We went
+back to the others.
+
+"We think," said Myra, "it would be perfectly heavenly in the little
+house; but--" She hesitated.
+
+"But at the same time," I said, "we think it's up to Simpson and Thomas
+to be English gentlemen. Samuel, it's your honour."
+
+There was a moment's silence.
+
+"Come along," said Thomas to Simpson, "let's go and look at it."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+After lunch, clean and well-fed and happy, we lay in deck-chairs on the
+loggia and looked lazily down at the Mediterranean.
+
+"Thank you, Samuel, for bringing us," said Dahlia gently. "Your friends
+must be very fond of you to have lent you this lovely place."
+
+"Not fonder than we are," said Myra, smiling at him.
+
+
+
+IV.
+
+BEFORE LUNCH
+
+
+I found Myra in the hammock at the end of the loggia.
+
+"Hallo," I said.
+
+"Hallo." She looked up from her book and waved her hand. "Mentone on the
+left, Monte Carlo on the right," she said, and returned to her book
+again. Simpson had mentioned the situation so many times that it had
+become a catch-phrase with us.
+
+"Fancy reading on a lovely morning like this," I complained.
+
+"But that's why. It's a very gloomy play by Ibsen, and whenever it's
+simply more than I can bear, I look up and see Mentone on the left, Monte
+Carlo on the right--I mean, I see all the loveliness round me, and then I
+know the world isn't so bad after all." She put her book down. "Are you
+alone?"
+
+I gripped her wrist suddenly and put the paper-knife to her throat.
+
+"_We_ are alone," I hissed--or whatever you do to a sentence without any
+"s's" in it to make it dramatic. "Your friends cannot save you now.
+Prepare to--er--come a walk up the hill with me."
+
+"Help! Help!" Whispered Myra. She hesitated a moment; then swung herself
+out of the hammock and went in for her hat.
+
+We climbed up a steep path which led to the rock-village above us.
+Simpson had told us that we must see the village; still more earnestly he
+had begged us to see Corsica. The view of Corsica was to be obtained from
+a point some miles up--too far to go before lunch.
+
+"However, we can always say we saw it," I reassured Myra. "From this
+distance you can't be certain of recognizing an island you don't know.
+Any small cloud on the horizon will do."
+
+"I know it on the map."
+
+"Yes, but it looks quite different in real life. The great thing is to be
+able to assure Simpson at lunch that the Corsican question is now closed.
+When we're a little higher up, I shall say, 'Surely that's Corsica?' and
+you'll say, 'Not _Corsica_?' as though you'd rather expected the Isle of
+Wight; and then it'll be all over. Hallo!"
+
+We had just passed the narrow archway leading into the courtyard of the
+village and were following the path up the hill. But in that moment of
+passing we had been observed. Behind us a dozen village children now
+trailed eagerly.
+
+"Oh, the dears!" cried Myra.
+
+"But I think we made a mistake to bring them," I said severely. "No one
+is fonder of our--one, two, three ... I make it eleven--our eleven
+children than I am, but there are times when Father and Mother want to be
+alone."
+
+"I'm sorry, dear. I thought you'd be so proud to have them all with you."
+
+"I _am_ proud of them. To reflect that all the--one, two ... I make it
+thirteen--all these thirteen are ours, is very inspiring. But I don't
+like people to think that we cannot afford our youngest, our little
+Philomene, shoes and stockings. And Giuseppe should have washed his face
+since last Friday. These are small matters, but they are very trying to a
+father."
+
+"Have you any coppers?" asked Myra suddenly. "You forget their
+pocket-money last week."
+
+"One, two, three--I cannot possibly afford--one, two, three, four--Myra,
+I do wish you'd count them definitely and tell me how many we have. One
+likes to know. I cannot afford pocket-money for more than a dozen."
+
+"Ten." She took a franc from me and gave it to the biggest girl.
+(Anne-Marie, our first, and getting on so nicely with her French.)
+Rapidly she explained what was to be done with it, Anne-Marie's look of
+intense rapture slowly straightening itself to one of ordinary gratitude
+as the financial standing of the other nine in the business became clear.
+Then we waved farewell to our family and went on.
+
+High above the village, a thousand feet above the sea, we rested, and
+looked down upon the silvery olives stretching into the blue ... and more
+particularly upon one red roof which stood up amid the grey-green trees.
+
+"That's the Cardews' villa," I said.
+
+Myra was silent.
+
+When Myra married me she promised to love, honour and write all my
+thank-you-very-much letters for me, for we agreed before the ceremony
+that the word "obey" should mean nothing more than that. There are two
+sorts of T.Y.V.M. letters--the "Thank you very much for asking us, we
+shall be delighted to come," and the "Thank you very much for having us,
+we enjoyed it immensely." With these off my mind I could really
+concentrate on my work, or my short mashie shots, or whatever was of
+importance. But there was now a new kind of letter to write, and one
+rather outside the terms of our original understanding. A friend of mine
+had told his friends the Cardews that we were going out to the Riviera
+and would let them know when we arrived ... and we had arrived a week
+ago.
+
+"It isn't at all an easy letter to write," said Myra. "It's practically
+asking a stranger for hospitality."
+
+"Let us say 'indicating our readiness to accept it.' It sounds better."
+
+Myra smiled slowly to herself.
+
+"'Dear Mrs. Cardew,'" she said, "'we are ready for lunch when you are.
+Yours sincerely.'"
+
+"Well, that's the idea."
+
+"And then what about the others? If the Cardews are going to be nice we
+don't want to leave Dahlia and all of them out of it."
+
+I thought it over carefully for a little.
+
+"What you want to do," I said at last, "is to write a really long letter
+to Mrs. Cardew, acquainting her with all the facts. Keep nothing back
+from her. I should begin by dwelling on the personnel of our little
+company. 'My husband and I,' you should say, 'are not alone. We have also
+with us Mr. and Mrs. Archibald Mannering, a delightful couple. Mr. A.
+Mannering is something in the Territorials when he is not looking after
+his estate. His wife is a great favourite in the county. Next I have to
+introduce to you Mr. Thomas Todd, an agreeable young bachelor. Mr. Thomas
+Todd is in the Sucking-a-ruler-and-looking-out-of-the-window Department
+of the Admiralty, by whose exertions, so long as we preserve the 2 Todds
+to 1 formula--or, excluding Canadian Todds, 16 to 10--Britannia rules the
+waves. Lastly, there is Mr. Samuel Simpson. Short of sight but warm of
+heart, and with (on a bad pitch) a nasty break from the off, Mr. S.
+Simpson is a _littérateur_ of some eminence but little circulation,
+combining on the cornet intense wind-power with no execution, and on the
+golf course an endless enthusiasm with only an occasional contact. This,
+dear Mrs. Cardew, is our little party. I say nothing of my husband.'"
+
+"Go on," smiled Myra. "You have still to explain how we invite ourselves
+to lunch."
+
+"We don't; we leave that to her. All we do is to give a list of the meals
+in which, in the ordinary course, we are wont to indulge, together with a
+few notes on our relative capacities at each. 'Perhaps,' you wind up, 'it
+is at luncheon time that as a party we show to the best advantage. Some
+day, my dear Mrs. Cardew, we must all meet at lunch. You will then see
+that I have exaggerated neither my husband's appetite, nor the light
+conversation of my brother, nor the power of apology, should any little
+_contretemps_ occur, of Mr. Samuel Simpson. Let us, I say, meet at lunch.
+Let us--'" I took out my watch suddenly.
+
+"Come on," I said, getting up and giving a hand to Myra; "we shall only
+just be in time for it."
+
+
+
+V.
+
+THE GAMESTERS
+
+
+"It's about time," said Simpson one evening, "that we went to the tables
+and--er--" (he adjusted his spectacles)--"had a little flutter."
+
+We all looked at him in silent admiration.
+
+"Oh, Samuel," sighed Myra, "and I promised your aunt that you shouldn't
+gamble while you were away."
+
+"But, my dear Myra, it's the first thing the fellows at the club ask you
+when you've been to the Riviera--if you've had any luck."
+
+"Well, you've had a lot of luck," said Archie. "Several times when you've
+been standing on the heights and calling attention to the beautiful view
+below, I've said to myself, 'One push, and he's a deader,' but something,
+some mysterious agency within, has kept me back."
+
+"All the fellows at the club--"
+
+Simpson is popularly supposed to belong to a Fleet Street Toilet and
+Hairdressing Club, where for three guineas a year he gets shaved every
+day, and has his hair cut whenever Myra insists. On the many occasions
+when he authorizes a startling story of some well-known statesman with
+the words: "My dear old chap, I know it for a fact. I heard it at the
+club to-day from a friend of his," then we know that once again the
+barber's assistant has been gossiping over the lather.
+
+"Do think, Samuel," I interrupted, "how much more splendid if you could
+be the only man who had seen Monte Carlo without going inside the rooms.
+And then when the hairdresser--when your friends at the club ask if
+you've had any luck at the tables, you just say coldly, 'What tables?'"
+
+"Preferably in Latin," said Archie. "_Quae mensae_?"
+
+But it was obviously no good arguing with him. Besides, we were all keen
+enough to go.
+
+"We needn't lose," said Myra. "We might win."
+
+"Good idea," said Thomas. He lit his pipe and added, "Simpson was telling
+me about his system last night. At least, he was just beginning when I
+went to sleep." He applied another match to his pipe and went on, as if
+the idea had suddenly struck him, "Perhaps it was only his internal
+system he meant. I didn't wait."
+
+"Samuel, you _are_ quite well inside, aren't you?"
+
+"Quite, Myra. But, I _have_ invented a sort of system for _roulette_,
+which we might--"
+
+"There's only one system which is any good," pronounced Archie. "It's the
+system by which, when you've lost all your own money, you turn to the man
+next to you and say, 'Lend me a louis, dear old chap, till Christmas;
+I've forgotten my purse.'"
+
+"No systems," said Dahlia. "Let's make a collection and put it all on one
+number and hope it will win."
+
+Dahlia had obviously been reading novels about people who break the bank.
+
+"It's as good a way of losing as any other," said Archie. "Let's do it
+for our first gamble, anyway. Simpson, as our host, shall put the money
+on. I, as his oldest friend, shall watch him to see that he does it.
+What's the number to be?"
+
+We all thought hard for several moments.
+
+"Samuel, what's your age?" asked Myra, at last.
+
+"Right off the board," said Thomas.
+
+"You're not really more than thirty-six?" Myra whispered to him. "Tell me
+as a secret."
+
+"Peter's nearly two," said Dahlia.
+
+"Do you think you could nearly put our money on 'two'?" asked Archie.
+
+"I once made seventeen," I said. "On that never-to-be-forgotten day when
+I went in first with Archie--"
+
+"That settles it. Here's to the highest score of The Rabbits'
+wicket-keeper. To-morrow afternoon we put our money on seventeen.
+Simpson, you have between now and 3.30 to-morrow to perfect your French
+delivery of the magic word _dix-sept_."
+
+I went to bed a proud but anxious man that night. It was _my_ famous
+score which had decided the figure that was to bring us fortune ... and
+yet ... and yet....
+
+Suppose eighteen turned up? The remorse, the bitterness! "If only," I
+should tell myself--"if only we had run three instead of two for that cut
+to square-leg!" Suppose it were sixteen! "Why, oh why," I should groan,
+"did I make the scorer put that bye down as a hit?" Suppose it were
+thirty-four! But there my responsibility ended. If it were going to be
+thirty-four, they should have used one of Archie's scores, and made a
+good job of it.
+
+At 3.30 next day we were in the fatal building. I should like to pause
+here and describe my costume to you, which was a quiet grey in the best
+of taste, but Myra says that if I do this I must describe hers too, a
+feat beyond me. Sufficient that she looked dazzling, that as a party we
+were remarkably well-dressed, and that Simpson--murmuring "_dix-sept"_ to
+himself at intervals--led the way through the rooms till he found a table
+to his liking.
+
+"Aren't you excited?" whispered Myra to me.
+
+"Frightfully," I said, and left my mouth well open. I don't quite know
+what picture of the event Myra and I had conjured up in our minds, but I
+fancy it was one something like this. At the entrance into the rooms of
+such a large and obviously distinguished party there would be a slight
+sensation among the crowd, and way would be made for us at the most
+important table. It would then leak out that Chevalier Simpson--the tall
+poetical-looking gentleman in the middle, my dear--had brought with him
+no less a sum than thirty francs with which to break the bank, and that
+he proposed to do this in one daring _coup_. At this news the players at
+the other tables would hastily leave their winnings (or losings) and
+crowd round us. Chevalier Simpson, pale but controlled, would then place
+his money on seventeen--"_dix-sept_," he would say to the croupier to
+make it quite clear--and the ball would be spun. As it slowed down, the
+tension in the crowd would increase. "_Mon Dieu_!" a woman would cry in a
+shrill voice; there would be guttural exclamations from Germans; at the
+edge of the crowd strong men would swoon. At last a sudden shriek ... and
+the croupier's voice, trembling for the first time for thirty years,
+"_Dix-sept_!" Then gold and notes would be pushed at the Chevalier. He
+would stuff his pockets with them; he would fill his hat with them; we
+others, we would stuff our pockets too. The bank would send out for more
+money. There would be loud cheers from all the company (with the
+exception of one man, who had put five francs on sixteen and had shot
+himself) and we should be carried--that is to say, we four men--shoulder
+high to the door, while by the deserted table Myra and Dahlia clung to
+each other, weeping tears of happiness....
+
+Something like that.
+
+What happened was different. As far as I could follow, it was this. Over
+the heads of an enormous, badly-dressed and utterly indifferent crowd
+Simpson handed his thirty francs to the croupier.
+
+"_Dix-sept_," he said.
+
+The croupier with his rake pushed the money on to seventeen.
+
+Another croupier with his rake pulled it off again ... and stuck to it.
+
+The day's fun was over.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"What _did_ win?" asked Myra some minutes later, when the fact that we
+should never see our money again had been brought home to her.
+
+"Zero," said Archie.
+
+I sighed heavily.
+
+"My usual score," I said, "not my highest."
+
+
+
+VI.
+
+THE RECORD OF IT
+
+
+"I shall be glad to see Peter again," said Dahlia, as she folded up her
+letter from home.
+
+Peter's previous letter, dictated to his nurse-secretary, had, according
+to Archie, been full of good things. Cross-examination of the proud
+father, however, had failed to reveal anything more stirring than "I love
+mummy," and--er--so on.
+
+We were sitting in the loggia after what I don't call breakfast--all of
+us except Simpson, who was busy with a mysterious package. We had not
+many days left; and I was beginning to feel that, personally, I should
+not be sorry to see things like porridge again. Each to his taste.
+
+"The time has passed absurdly quickly," said Myra. "We don't seem to have
+done _anything_--except enjoy ourselves. I mean anything specially
+Rivierish. But it's been heavenly."
+
+"We've done lots of Rivierish things," I protested. "If you'll be quiet a
+moment I'll tell you some."
+
+These were some of the things:
+
+(1) We had been to the Riviera. (Nothing could take away from that. We
+had the labels on our luggage.)
+
+(2) We had lost heavily (thirty francs) at the Tables. (This alone
+justified the journey.)
+
+(3) Myra had sat next to a Prince at lunch. (Of course she might have
+done this in London, but so far there has been no great rush of Princes
+to our little flat. Dukes, Mayors, Companions of St. Michael and St.
+George, certainly; but, somehow, not Princes.)
+
+(4) Simpson had done the short third hole at Mt. Agel in three. (His
+first had cleverly dislodged the ball from the piled-up tee; his second,
+a sudden nick, had set it rolling down the hill to the green; and the
+third, an accidental putt, had sunk it.)
+
+(5) Myra and I had seen Corsica. (Question.)
+
+(6) And finally, and best of all, we had sat in the sun, under a blue sky
+above a blue sea, and watched the oranges and lemons grow.
+
+So, though we had been to but few of the famous beauty spots around, we
+had had a delightfully lazy time; and as proof that we had not really
+been at Brighton there were, as I have said, the luggage labels. But we
+were to be able to show further proof. At this moment Simpson came out of
+the house, his face beaming with excitement, his hands carefully
+concealing something behind his back.
+
+"Guess what I've got," he said eagerly.
+
+"The sack," said Thomas.
+
+"Your new bests," said Archie.
+
+"Something that will interest us all," helped Simpson.
+
+"I withdraw my suggestion," said Archie.
+
+"Something we ought to have brought with us all along."
+
+"More money," said Myra.
+
+The tension was extreme. It was obvious that our consuming anxiety would
+have to be relieved very speedily. To avoid a riot, Thomas went behind
+Simpson's back and took his surprise away from him.
+
+"A camera," he said. "Good idea."
+
+Simpson was all over himself with bon-hommy.
+
+"I suddenly thought of it the other night," he said, smiling round at all
+of us in his happiness, "and I was just going to wake Thomas up to tell
+him, when I thought I'd keep it a secret. So I wrote to a friend of mine
+and asked him to send me out one, and some films and things, just as a
+surprise for you."
+
+"Samuel, you _are_ a dear," said Myra, looking at him lovingly.
+
+"You see, I thought, Myra, you'd like to have some records of the place,
+because they're so jolly to look back on, and--er, I'm not quite sure how
+you work it, but I expect some of you know and--er--"
+
+"Come on," said Myra, "I'll show you." She retired with Simpson to a
+secluded part of the loggia and helped him put the films in.
+
+"Nothing can save us," said Archie. "We are going to be taken together in
+a group. Simpson will send it to one of the picture papers, and we shall
+appear as 'Another Merry Little Party of Well-known Sun-seekers. Names
+from left to right: Blank, blank, Mr. Archibald Mannering, blank, blank.'
+I'd better go and brush my hair."
+
+Simpson returned to us, nervous and fully charged with advice.
+
+"Right, Myra, I see. That'll be all right. Oh, look here, do you--oh yes,
+I see. Right. Now then--wait a bit--oh yes, I've got it. Now then, what
+shall we have first? A group?"
+
+"Take the house and the garden and the village," said Thomas. "You'll see
+plenty of _us_ afterwards."
+
+"The first one is bound to be a failure," I pointed out. "Rather let him
+fail at us, who are known to be beautiful, than at the garden, which has
+its reputation yet to make. Afterwards, when he has got the knack, he
+will be able to do justice to the scenery."
+
+Archie joined us again, followed by the bull-dog. We grouped ourselves
+picturesquely.
+
+"That looks ripping," said Simpson. "Oh, look here, Myra, do you--No,
+don't come; you'll spoil the picture. I suppose you have to--oh, it's all
+right, I think I've got it."
+
+"I shan't try to look handsome this time," said Archie; "it's not worth
+it. I shall just put an ordinary blurred expression on."
+
+"Now, are you ready? Don't move. Quite still, please; quite--"
+
+"It's instantaneous, you know," said Myra gently.
+
+This so unnerved Simpson that he let the thing off without any further
+warning, before we had time to get our expressions natural.
+
+"That was all right, Myra, wasn't it?" he said proudly.
+
+"I'm--I'm afraid you had your hand over the lens, Samuel dear."
+
+"Our new photographic series: 'Palms of the Great.' No. 1, Mr. S.
+Simpson's," murmured Archie.
+
+"It wouldn't have been a very good one anyhow," I said encouragingly. "It
+wasn't typical. Dahlia should have had an orange in her hand, and Myra
+might have been resting her cheek against a cactus. Try it again,
+Simpson, and get a little more colour into it."
+
+He tried again and got a lot more colour into it.
+
+"Strictly speaking," said Myra sadly, "you ought to have got it on to a
+new film."
+
+Simpson looked in horror at the back of his camera, found that he had
+forgotten to turn the handle, apologized profusely, and wound up very
+gingerly till the number "2" approached. "Now then," he said, looking
+up ... and found himself alone.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+As I write this in London I have Simpson's album in front of me. Should
+you ever do us the honour of dining with us (as I hope you will), and
+(which seems impossible) should there ever come a moment when the
+conversation runs low, and you are revolving in your mind whether it is
+worth while asking us if we have been to any theatres lately, then I
+shall produce the album, and you will be left in no doubt that we are
+just back from the Riviera. You will see oranges and lemons and olives
+and cactuses and palms; blue sky (if you have enough imagination) and
+still bluer sea; picturesque villas, curious effects of rocks, distant
+backgrounds of mountain ... and on the last page the clever kindly face
+of Simpson.
+
+The whole affair will probably bore you to tears.
+
+But with Myra and me the case of course is different. We find these
+things, as Simpson said, very jolly to look back on.
+
+
+
+
+II. MEN OF LETTERS
+
+
+
+MEN OF LETTERS
+
+JOHN PENQUARTO
+
+A TALE OF LITERARY LIFE IN LONDON
+
+(_Modelled on the hundred best Authors_.)
+
+I
+
+
+John Penquarto looked round his diminutive bed-sitting-room with a
+feeling of excitement not unmixed with awe. So this was London! The new
+life had begun. With a beating heart he unpacked his bag and set out his
+simple belongings.
+
+First his books, his treasured books; where should he put them? It was
+comforting to think that, wherever they stood, they would be within reach
+of his hand as he lay in bed. He placed them on the window-sill and read
+their titles again reverently: "Half-Hours with our Water-Beetles," "The
+Fretworker's Companion" and "Strenuous Days in Simla." He owed everything
+to them. And what an air they gave the room!
+
+But not such an air as was given by his other treasure--the photograph of
+Mary.
+
+Mary! He had only met her once, and that was twenty years ago, at his
+native Polwollop. He had gone to the big house with a message for Mr.
+Trevena, her ladyship's butler: "Mother's respects, and she has found the
+other shirt-front and will send it up as soon as it is dry." He had often
+taken a similar message, for Mrs. Penquarto did the washing for the upper
+servants at the Hall, but somehow he had known that to-day was going to
+be different.
+
+There, just inside the gates, was Mary. He was only six, but even then he
+knew that never would he see again anything so beautiful. She was five;
+but there was something in her manner of holding herself and the
+imperious tilt of her head which made her seem almost five-and-a-half.
+
+"I'm Mary," she said.
+
+He wanted to say that he was John, but could not. He stood there
+tongue-tied.
+
+"I love you," she went on.
+
+His heart beat tumultuously. He felt suffocated. He longed to say, "So do
+I," but was afraid that it was not good English. Even then he knew that
+he must be a writer when he grew up.
+
+She leant forward and kissed him. He realized suddenly that he was in
+love. The need for self-expression was strong upon him. Shyly he brought
+out his last acid-drop and shared it with her. He had never seen her
+since, but even now, twenty years after, he could not eat an acid-drop
+without emotion, and a whole bag of them brought the scene back so
+visibly as to be almost a pain.
+
+Yes, he was to be a writer; there could be no doubt about that. Everybody
+had noticed it. The Vicar had said, "Johnny will never do any good at
+Polwollop, I fear"; and the farmer for whom John scared rooks had said,
+"Thiccy la-ad seems daft-like," and one after another of Mrs. Penquarto's
+friends had given similar testimony. And now here he was, at twenty-six,
+in the little bed-sitting-room in Bloomsbury, ready to write the great
+novel which should take London by storm. Polwollop seemed a hundred years
+away.
+
+Feverishly he seized pen and paper and began
+to wonder what to write.
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+It was near the Albert Memorial that the great inspiration came to him
+some weeks later. Those had been weeks of mingled hope and despair; of
+hope as he had fondled again his treasured books and read their titles,
+or gazed at the photograph of Mary; of despair as he had taken off his
+belt and counted out his rapidly-decreasing stock of money, or reflected
+that he was as far from completing his novel as ever. Sometimes in the
+search for an idea he had frequented the restaurants where the great
+Samuel Johnson himself had eaten, and sometimes he had frequented other
+restaurants where even the great Samuel Johnson himself had been unable
+to eat. Often he had gone into the British Museum and leant against a
+mummy-case, or taken a 'bus to Chelsea and pressed his forehead against
+the brass-plate which marked Carlyle's house, but no inspiration had
+come. And then suddenly, quite close to the Albert Memorial, he knew.
+
+He would write a novel about a boy called William who had lived in
+Cornwall, and who came to London and wrote a novel, a novel of which "The
+Westminster Gazette" said: "This novel undoubtedly places the author in
+the front rank of living novelists." William's novel would be a realistic
+account of--yes, that was it--of a boy called Henry, who had lived in
+Cornwall, and who came to London and wrote a novel, a novel of which "The
+Morning Post" said: "By this novel the author has indubitably established
+his claim to be reckoned among the few living novelists who count." But
+stay! What should this novel of Henry's be about? It would be necessary
+to describe it. For an hour he wrestled with the problem, and then he had
+another inspiration. Henry's novel would be about a boy called Thomas who
+had lived in Cornwall and who came to London and wrote a novel {about a
+boy called Stephen who had lived in Cornwall, and who came to London and
+wrote a novel (about a boy called Michael who had lived in Cornwall, and
+who came to London and wrote a novel (about a boy called Peter, who had
+lived in Cornwall, and ...) ...
+
+And so on.
+
+And every one of the novels would establish the author's right to be
+reckoned, etc., and place him undoubtedly in the very front rank.
+
+It was a stupendous idea. For a moment John was almost paralysed at
+contemplation of it. There seemed to be no end to his novel as he had
+planned it. Was it too much for his powers?
+
+There was only one way to find out. He hurried back to his
+bed-sitting-room, seized a pen and began to write.
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+It was two years later. For the last fortnight John Penquarto had stopped
+counting the money in his belt. There was none left. For a fortnight now
+he had been living on the belt itself.
+
+But a great hope had always sustained him. One day he would hear from the
+publisher to whom he had sent his novel a year ago.
+
+And now at last the letter had come, and he was seated in the office of
+the great Mr. Pump himself. His heart beat rapidly. He felt suffocated.
+
+"Well, Mr. Penquarto," said the smiling publisher, "I may say at once
+that we like your novel. We should have written before, but we have only
+just finished reading it. It is a little long--about two million eight
+hundred thousand words, I reckon it--but I have a suggestion to make
+which will meet that difficulty. I suggest that we publish it in half a
+dozen volumes, stopping, for the first volume, at the Press notices of
+(say) Peter's novel. We find that the public likes these continuous
+books. About terms. We will send an agreement along to-morrow. Naturally,
+as this is a first book, we can only pay a nominal sum on account of
+royalties. Say ten thousand pounds. How will that suit you?"
+
+With a heart still beating John left the office five minutes later and
+bought a new belt. Then he went to a restaurant where Goldsmith had never
+been and ordered a joint and two veg. Success had come!
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+I should like to dwell upon the weeks which followed. I should like to
+tell of John's emotion when he saw his first proofs and of the printer's
+emotion when he saw what a mess John had made of them. I should like to
+describe how my hero's heart beat during the anxious days of waiting; to
+picture to you his pride at the arrival of his six free copies, and his
+landlady's surprise when he presented her with one. Above all, I should
+like to bring home to you the eagerness with which he bought and opened
+"The Times Literary Supplement" and read his first review:
+
+"'William Trewulliam--The First Phase.' By John Penquarto, 7-1/2 by
+5-1/4, 896 pp., Albert Pump. 9s. n."
+
+I have no time to go into these matters, nor have I time in which to give
+at length his later Press cuttings, in which there was displayed a
+unanimity of opinion that John Penquarto was now in the front rank of
+living novelists, one of the limited number whose work really counted. I
+must hurry on.
+
+It was a week after the publication of "William Trewulliam," the novel
+which had taken all London by storm. In all the drawing-rooms of Mayfair,
+in all the clubs of Pall Mall, people were asking each other, "Who is
+John Penquarto?" Nobody knew--save one.
+
+Lady Mary knew. It was not the name Penquarto which had told her; it
+was--yes, you have guessed--the scene at the beginning of the book,
+when William Trewulliam meets the little Anne and shares his last
+raspberry-drop with her. Even under this disguise she recognized that
+early meeting. She pierced beneath the imagination of the novelist to the
+recollection of the man. John Penquarto--of course! Now she remembered
+the name.
+
+It had always been a mystery to her friends why Lady Mary had never
+married. No girl in Society had been more eagerly courted. It was
+whispered that already she had refused more than one Archbishop, three
+Newspaper Proprietors and a couple of Dukes. Something, she scarcely knew
+what, told her that this was not love. She must wait. As she dressed to
+go to the Duchess of Bilberry's "At Home," she wondered if she would ever
+meet John Penquarto again, and if he had altered.
+
+"Mary!"
+
+It was John speaking. He had seen her the moment she came in at the door.
+Something--was it the Duchess's champagne at dinner?--had reminded him of
+the acid-drop they had eaten together and this had brought back his
+memories in a flood. To-night he would meet her again. He knew it
+instinctively. Besides, it was like this that William Trewulliam had met
+Anne again, and Henry Polhenery had met Sarah, and Thomas Pentummas had
+met Alice, and--well, anyhow he knew.
+
+"John!"
+
+It was Mary speaking. Perhaps you had guessed.
+
+"You knew me?" (This is John. It was his turn.)
+
+"I knew you." (Said Mary.)
+
+"Do you remember--"
+
+Mary blushed, and John did not deviate from the healthy red colour which
+he had maintained throughout the conversation. In spite of his success he
+was never quite at ease in society at this period of his life. Nor were
+Henry Polhenery and Thomas Pentummas. They remained handsome but awkward,
+which was why women loved them so.
+
+"I love you," (John speaking.)
+
+"I think I must have always loved you." (Mary going it.)
+
+He took her hand in his.
+
+Nobody noticed them. They were as much alone as if they had been at the
+National Gallery together. Many of the guests were going through similar
+scenes of recognition and love-making; others were asking each other if
+they had read "William Trewulliam" yet, and lying about it others again
+were making for the buffet. John and Mary had the world to themselves....
+
+
+
+V
+
+
+They were married a month later. John, who did not look his best in a
+frock-coat, had pleaded for a quiet wedding, and only the Duchess of
+Bilberry and Mr. Pump were present at the simple ceremony which took
+place at the Bloomsbury registry-office. Then the happy couple drove
+away.
+
+And where are they spending the honeymoon?
+
+Ah, do you need to ask?
+
+"At Greenwich?" No, fathead, not at Greenwich.
+
+"At Clacton-on-Sea?" Look here, I don't believe you're trying. Have
+another shot....
+
+Yes, dear reader, you are right. They are going back to Polwollop.
+
+It might be a good plan to leave them there.
+
+
+
+THE COMPLETE DRAMATIST
+
+
+I take it that every able-bodied man and woman in this country wants to
+write a play. Since the news first got about that Orlando What's-his-name
+made £50,000 out of "The Crimson Sponge," there has been a feeling that
+only through the medium of the stage can literary art find its true
+expression. The successful playwright is indeed a man to be envied.
+Leaving aside for the moment the question of super-tax, the prizes which
+fall to his lot are worth something of an effort. He sees his name
+(correctly spelt) on 'buses which go to such different spots as
+Hammersmith and West Norwood, and his name (spelt incorrectly) beneath
+the photograph of somebody else in "The Illustrated Butler." He is a
+welcome figure at the garden-parties of the elect, who are always ready
+to encourage him by accepting free seats for his play; actor-managers nod
+to him; editors allow him to contribute without charge to a symposium on
+the price of golf balls. In short he becomes a "prominent figure in
+London Society"--and, if he is not careful, somebody will say so.
+
+But even the unsuccessful dramatist has his moments. I knew a young man
+who married somebody else's mother, and was allowed by her fourteen
+gardeners to amuse himself sometimes by rolling the tennis-court. It was
+an unsatisfying life; and when rash acquaintances asked him what he did,
+he used to say that he was for the Bar. Now he says he is writing a
+play--and we look round the spacious lawns and terraces and marvel at the
+run his last one must have had.
+
+However, I assume that you who read this are actually in need of the
+dibs. Your play must be not merely a good play, but a successful one. How
+shall this success be achieved?
+
+Frankly I cannot always say. If you came to me and said, "I am on the
+Stock Exchange, and bulls are going down," or up, or sideways, or
+whatever it might be; "there's no money to be made in the City nowadays,
+and I want to write a play instead. How shall I do it?"--well, I couldn't
+help you. But suppose you said, "I'm fond of writing; my people always
+say my letters home are good enough for 'Punch.' I've got a little idea
+for a play about a man and a woman and another woman, and--but perhaps
+I'd better keep the plot a secret for the moment. Anyhow it's jolly
+exciting, and I can do the dialogue all right. The only thing is, I don't
+know anything about technique and stagecraft and the three unities and
+that sort of rot. Can you give me a few hints?"--suppose you spoke to me
+like this, then I could do something for you. "My dear Sir," I should
+reply (or Madam), "you have come to the right shop. Lend me your ear for
+ten minutes, and you shall learn just what stagecraft is." And I should
+begin with a short homily on
+
+
+SOLILOQUY
+
+If you ever read your "Shakespeare"--and no dramatist should despise the
+works of another dramatist; he may always pick up something in them which
+may be useful for his next play--if you ever read your "Shakespeare," it
+is possible that you have come across this passage:
+
+"_Enter_ Hamlet.
+
+_Ham._ To be, or not to be--"
+
+And, so on in the same vein for some thirty lines.
+
+These few remarks are called a soliloquy, being addressed rather to the
+world in general than to any particular person on the stage. Now the
+object of this soliloquy is plain. The dramatist wished us to know the
+thoughts which were passing through Hamlet's mind, and it was the only
+way he could think of in which to do it. Of course, a really good actor
+can often give a clue to the feelings of a character simply by facial
+expression. There are ways of shifting the eyebrows, distending the
+nostrils, and exploring the lower molars with the tongue by which it is
+possible to denote respectively Surprise, Defiance and Doubt. Indeed,
+irresolution being the keynote of Hamlet's soliloquy, a clever player
+could to some extent indicate the whole thirty lines by a silent working
+of the jaw. But at the same time it would be idle to deny that he would
+miss the finer shades of the dramatist's meaning. "The insolence of
+office, and the spurns"--to take only one line--would tax the most
+elastic face.
+
+So the soliloquy came into being. We moderns, however, see the
+absurdity of it. In real life no one thinks aloud or in an empty room.
+The up-to-date dramatist must certainly avoid this hallmark of the
+old-fashioned play.
+
+What, then, is to be done? If it be granted, first, that the thoughts of
+a certain character should be known to the audience, and, secondly, that
+soliloquy, or the habit of thinking aloud, is in opposition to modern
+stage technique, how shall a soliloquy be avoided without damage to the
+play?
+
+Well, there are more ways than one; and now we come to what is meant by
+stagecraft. Stagecraft is the art of getting over these and other
+difficulties, and (if possible) getting over them in a showy manner, so
+that people will say, "How remarkable his stagecraft is for so young a
+writer," when otherwise they mightn't have noticed it at all. Thus, in
+this play we have been talking about, an easy way of avoiding Hamlet's
+soliloquy would be for Ophelia to speak first.
+
+_Oph._ What are you thinking about, my lord?
+
+_Ham._ I am wondering whether to be or not to be, whether 'tis nobler in
+the mind to suffer--
+
+And so on, till you get to the end, when Ophelia might say, "Ah, yes," or
+something non-committal of that sort. This would be an easy way of doing
+it, but it would not be the best way, for the reason that it is too easy
+to call attention to itself. What you want is to make it clear that you
+are conveying Hamlet's thoughts to the audience in rather a clever
+manner.
+
+That this can now be done we have to thank the well-known inventor of the
+telephone. (I forget his name.) The telephone has revolutionized the
+stage; with its aid you can convey anything you like across the
+footlights. In the old badly-made play it was frequently necessary for
+one of the characters to take the audience into his confidence. "Having
+disposed of my uncle's body," he would say to the stout lady in the third
+row of the stalls, "I now have leisure in which to search for the will.
+But first to lock the door lest I should be interrupted by Harold
+Wotnott." In the modern well-constructed play he simply rings up an
+imaginary confederate and tells him what he is going to do. Could
+anything be more natural?
+
+Let us, to give an example of how this method works, go back again to the
+play we have been discussing.
+
+_Enter_ Hamlet. _He walks quickly across the room to the telephone, and
+takes up the receiver impatiently._
+
+_Ham_. Hallo! Hallo! I want double-nine--hal-_lo_! I want double-nine
+two--hal-_lo_! Double-nine two three, Elsinore.... Double-_nine_,
+yes.... Hallo, is that you, Horatio? Hamlet speaking. I say, I've been
+wondering about this business. To be or not to be, that is the question;
+whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows--What?
+No, Hamlet speaking. _What_? Aren't you Horatio? I want double-nine two
+three--sorry.... Is that you, Exchange? You gave me double-_five_, I
+want double-_nine_....  Hallo, is that you, Horatio? Hamlet speaking.
+I've been wondering about this business. To be or not to be, that is
+the--What? No, I said, To _be_ or _not_ to be.... No, "be"--b-e. Yes,
+that's right. To be or not to be, that is the question; whether 'tis
+nobler--
+
+And so on. You see how effective it is.
+
+But there is still another way of avoiding the soliloquy, which is
+sometimes used with good results. It is to let Hamlet, if that happen to
+be the name of your character, enter with a small dog, pet falcon,
+mongoose, tame bear or whatever animal is most in keeping with the part,
+and confide in this animal such sorrows, hopes or secret history as the
+audience has got to know. This has the additional advantage of putting
+the audience immediately in sympathy with your hero. "How _sweet_ of
+him," all the ladies say, "to tell his little bantam about it!"
+
+If you are not yet tired (as I am) of the Prince of Denmark, I will
+explain (for the last time) how a modern author might re-write his
+speech.
+
+_Enter_ Hamlet _with his favourite_ boar-hound.
+
+_Ham. (to B.-H.)_. To be or not to be--ah, Fido, Fido! That is the
+question--eh, old Fido, boy? Whether 'tis nobler in--how now, a rat!
+Rats, Fido, _fetch_ 'em--in the mind to suffer the slings and--_down_,
+Sir!--arrows--put it down! Arrows of--_drop_ it, Fido; good old dog--
+
+And so on. Which strikes me as rather sweet and natural.
+
+Let us now pass on to the very important question of
+
+
+EXITS AND ENTRANCES
+
+To the young playwright, the difficulty of getting his characters on to
+the stage would seem much less than the difficulty of finding them
+something to say when they are there. He writes gaily and without
+hesitation "_Enter_ Lord Arthur Fluffinose," and only then begins to bite
+the end of his penholder and gaze round his library for inspiration. Yet
+it is on that one word "Enter" that his reputation for dramatic technique
+will hang. Why did Lord Arthur Fluffinose enter? The obvious answer, that
+the firm which is mentioned in the programme as supplying his trousers
+would be annoyed if he didn't, is not enough; nor is it enough to say
+that the whole plot of the piece hinges on him, and that without him the
+drama would languish. What the critic wants to know is why Lord Arthur
+chose that very moment to come in--the very moment when Lady Larkspur was
+left alone in the oak-beamed hall of Larkspur Towers. Was it only a
+coincidence? And if the young dramatist answers callously, "Yes," it
+simply shows that he has no feeling for the stage whatever. In that case
+I needn't go on with this article.
+
+However, it will be more convenient to assume, dear reader, that in your
+play Lord Arthur had a good reason for coming in. If that be so, he must
+explain it. It won't do to write like this:---
+
+_Enter_ Lord Arthur. Lady Larkspur _starts suddenly and turns towards
+him._
+
+_Lady Larkspur_. Arthur! _You_ here? (_He gives a nod of confirmation.
+She pauses a moment, and then with a sudden passionate movement flings
+herself into his arms_.) Take me away, Arthur. I can't bear this life any
+longer. Larkspur bit me again this morning for the _third_ time. I want
+to get away from it all. [_Swoons_.]
+
+The subsequent scene may be so pathetic that on the hundredth night it is
+still bringing tears to the eyes of the fireman, but you must not expect
+to be treated as a serious dramatist. You will see this for yourself if
+you consider the passage as it should properly have been written:--
+
+_Enter_ Lord Arthur Fluffinose. Lady Larkspur _looks at him with
+amazement_.
+
+_Lady Larkspur_. Arthur, what are _you_ doing here?
+
+_Lord Arthur_. I caught the 2.3 from town. It gets in at 3.37, and I
+walked over from the station. It's only a mile. _(At this point he looks
+at the grandfather clock in the corner, and the audience, following his
+eyes, sees that it is seven minutes to four, which appears delightfully
+natural.)_ I came to tell Larkspur to sell Bungoes. They are going
+down.
+
+_Lady Larkspur (folding her hands over her chest and gazing broodingly at
+the footlights)_. Larkspur!
+
+_Lord Arthur (anxiously)_. What is it? _(Suddenly.)_ Has he been
+ill-treating you again?
+
+_Lady Larkspur (flinging herself into his arms)_. Oh, Arthur, Arthur,
+take me away!
+
+And so on.
+
+But it may well be that Lord Larkspur has an intrigue of his own with his
+secretary, Miss Devereux, and, if their big scene is to take place on the
+stage too, the hall has got to be cleared for them in some way. Your
+natural instinct will be to say, "_Exeunt_ Fluffinose _and_ Lady
+Larkspur, _R. Enter_ Lord Larkspur _and_ Miss Devereux, _L_." This is
+very immature, even if you are quite clear as to which side of the stage
+is L. and which is R. You _must_ make the evolutions seem natural.
+Thus:--
+
+_Enter from the left_ Miss Devereux. _She stops in surprise at seeing_
+Lord Arthur _and holds out her hand_.
+
+_Miss D_. Why, Lord Arthur! Whatever--
+
+_Lord A_. How d'you do? I've just run down to tell Lord Larkspur to--
+
+_Miss D_. He's in the library. At least he--
+
+_Lord A. (taking out his watch_.) Ah, then perhaps I'd better--
+
+[_Exit by door on left._]
+
+_Miss D._ (_to_ Lady L.). Have you seen "The Times" about here? There is
+a set of verses in the Financial Supplement which Lord Larkspur wanted
+to--(_She wanders vaguely round the room. Enter_ Lord Larkspur _by door
+at back._) Why, here you are! I've just sent Lord Arthur into the library
+to--
+
+_Lord L_. I went out to speak to the gardener about--
+
+_Lady L_. Ah, then I'll go and tell Arthur--_[Exit to library, leaving_
+Miss Devereux _and_ Lord Larkspur _alone_.
+
+And there you are. You will, of course, appreciate that the unfinished
+sentences not only save time, but also make the manoeuvring very much
+more natural.
+
+So far I have been writing as if you were already in the thick of your
+play; but it may well be that the enormous difficulty of getting the
+first character on has been too much for you. How, you may be wondering,
+are you to begin your masterpiece?
+
+The answer to this will depend upon the length of the play, for upon the
+length depends the hour at which the curtain rises. If yours is an 8.15
+play you may be sure that the stalls will not fill up till 8.30, and you
+should therefore let loose the lesser-paid members of the cast on the
+opening scene, keeping your fifty-pounders in reserve. In an 8.45 play
+the audience may be plunged into the drama at once. But this is much the
+more difficult thing to do, and for the beginner I should certainly
+recommend the 8.15 play, for which the recipe is simple.
+
+As soon as the lights go down, and while the bald, stout gentleman is
+kicking our top-hat out of his way, treading heavily on our toes and
+wheezing, "Sorry, sorry," as he struggles to his seat, a buzz begins
+behind the curtain. What the players are saying is not distinguishable,
+but a merry girlish laugh rings out now and then, followed by the short
+sardonic chuckle of an obvious man of the world. Then the curtain rises,
+and it is apparent that we are assisting at an At Home of considerable
+splendour. Most of the characters seem to be on the stage, and for once
+we do not ask how they got there. We presume they have all been invited.
+Thus you have had no difficulty with your entrances.
+
+_As the chatter dies down a chord is struck on the piano_.
+
+_The Bishop of Sploshington_. Charming. Quite one of my favourites. Do
+play it again. _(Relapses into silence for the rest of the evening.)_
+
+_The Duchess of Southbridge (to_ Lord Reggie). Oh, Reggie, what _did_ you
+say?
+
+_Lord Reggie (putting up his eyeglass)_. Said I'd bally
+well--top-hole--what?--don'cherknow.
+
+_Lady Evangeline (to_ Lady Violet, as _they walk across the stage)_. Oh,
+I _must_ tell you what that funny Mr. Danby said. (_Doesn't._ Lady
+Violet, _none the less, trills with happy laughter.)_
+
+_Prince von Ichdien, the well-known Ambassador (loudly, to an unnamed
+gentleman)_. What your country ought to do--_(He finishes his remarks
+in the lip-language, which the unnamed gentleman seems to understand. At
+any rate he nods several times.)_
+
+_There is more girlish laughter, more buzz and more deaf-and-dumb
+language. Then_
+
+_Lord Tuppeny_. Well, what about auction?
+
+_Amid murmurs of_ "You'll play, Field-Marshal?" _and_ "Auction,
+Archbishop?" _the crowd drifts off, leaving the hero and heroine alone in
+the middle of the stage_.
+
+And then you can begin.
+
+But now I must give you a warning. You will never be a dramatist until
+you have learnt the technique of
+
+
+MEALS
+
+In spite of all you can do in the way of avoiding soililoquies and
+getting your characters on and off the stage in a dramatic manner, a time
+will come when you realize sadly that your play is not a bit like life
+after all. Then is the time to introduce a meal on the stage. A stage
+meal is popular, because it proves to the audience that the actors, even
+when called Charles Hawtrey or Owen Nares, are real people just like you
+and me. "Look at Mr. Bourchier eating," we say excitedly to each other in
+the pit, having had a vague idea up till then that an actor lived like a
+god on praise and greasepaint and his photograph in the papers. "Another
+cup, won't you?" says Miss Gladys Cooper; "No, thank you," says Mr.
+Dennis Eadie--dash it, it's exactly what we do at home ourselves. And
+when, to clinch matters, the dramatist makes Mr. Gerald du Maurier light
+a real cigarette in the Third Act, then he can flatter himself that he
+has indeed achieved the ambition of every stage writer, and "brought the
+actual scent of the hay across the footlights."
+
+But there is a technique to be acquired in this matter as in everything
+else within the theatre. The great art of the stage-craftsman, as I have
+already shown, is to seem natural rather than to be natural. Let your
+actors have tea by all means, but see that it is a properly histrionic
+tea. This is how it should go:--
+
+_Hostess_. How do you do? You'll have some tea, won't you? _[Rings
+bell]_.
+
+_Guest_. Thank you.
+
+_Enter_ Butler.
+
+_Hostess_. Tea, please, Matthews.
+
+_Butler (impassively)_. Yes, m'lady. _(This is all he says during the
+play, so he must try and get a little character into it, in order that_
+"The Era" _may remark, "Mr. Thompson was excellent as_ Matthews."
+_However, his part is not over yet, for he returns immediately, followed
+by three footmen--just as it happened when you last called on the_
+Duchess--_and sets out the tea.)_
+
+_Hostess (holding up the property lump of sugar in the tongs)_. Sugar?
+
+_Guest (luckily)_. No, thanks.
+
+_Hostess replaces lump and inclines empty teapot over tray for a moment;
+then hands him a cup painted brown inside--thus deceiving the gentleman
+with the telescope in the upper circle_.
+
+_Guest (touching his lips with the cup and then returning it to its
+saucer)_. Well, I must be going.
+
+_Re-enter_ Butler _and three_ Footmen, _who remove the tea-things_.
+
+_Hostess (to_ Guest). Good-bye; so glad you could come. [_Exit_ Guest.]
+
+His visit has been short, but it has been very thrilling while it lasted.
+
+Tea is the most usual meal on the stage, for the reason that it is the
+least expensive, the property lump of sugar being dusted and used again
+on the next night. For a stage dinner a certain amount of genuine
+sponge-cake has to be made up to look like fish, chicken or cutlet. In
+novels the hero has often "pushed his meals away untasted," but no stage
+hero would do anything so unnatural as this. The etiquette is to have two
+bites before the butler and the three footmen whisk away the plate. Two
+bites are made, and the bread is crumbled, with an air of great
+eagerness; indeed, one feels that in real life the guest would clutch
+hold of the footman and say, "Half a mo', old chap, I haven't _nearly_
+finished"; but the actor is better schooled than this. Besides, the thing
+is coming back again as chicken directly.
+
+But it is the cigarette which chiefly has brought the modern drama to its
+present state of perfection. Without the stage cigarette many an epigram
+would pass unnoticed, many an actor's hands would be much more
+noticeable; and the man who works the fireproof safety curtain would lose
+even the small amount of excitement which at present attaches to his job.
+
+Now although it is possible, in the case of a few men at the top of the
+profession, to leave the conduct of the cigarette entirely to the actor,
+you will find it much more satisfactory to insert in the stage directions
+the particular movements (with match and so forth) that you wish carried
+out. Let us assume that Lord Arthur asks Lord John what a cynic is--the
+question of what a cynic is having arisen quite naturally in the course
+of the plot. Let us assume further that you wish Lord John to reply, "A
+cynic is a man who knows the price of everything and the value of
+nothing." It has been said before, but you may feel that it is quite time
+it was said again; besides, for all the audience knows, Lord John may
+simply be quoting. Now this answer, even if it comes quite fresh to the
+stalls, will lose much of its effect if it is said without the assistance
+of a cigarette. Try it for yourself.
+
+_Lord John_. A cynic is a man who, etc....
+
+Rotten. Now try again.
+
+_Lord John_. A cynic is a man who, etc.... _[Lights cigarette.]_
+
+No, even that is not good. Once more:---
+
+_Lord John (lighting cigarette)_. A cynic is a man who, etc.
+
+Better, but leaves too much to the actor.
+
+Well, I see I must tell you.
+
+_Lord John (taking out gold cigarette case from his left-hand upper
+waistcoat pocket)_. A cynic, my dear Arthur (_he opens case
+deliberately, puts cigarette in mouth, and extracts gold match-box
+from right-hand trouser_) is a man who (_strikes match_) knows the
+price of (_lights cigarette_)--everything, and (_standing with match in
+one hand and cigarette in the other_) the value of---pff (_blows out
+match_) of (_inhales deeply from cigarette and blows out a cloud of
+smoke_)--nothing.
+
+It makes a different thing of it altogether. Of course on the actual
+night the match may refuse to strike, and Lord John may have to go on
+saying "a man who--a man who--a man who" until the ignition occurs, but
+even so it will still seem delightfully natural to the audience (as if he
+were making up the epigram as he went along); while as for blowing the
+match out, he can hardly fail to do _that_ in one.
+
+The cigarette, of course, will be smoked at other moments than
+epigrammatic ones, but on these other occasions you will not need to deal
+so fully with it in the stage directions. "_Duke (lighting cigarette_). I
+trust, Perkins, that..." is enough. You do not want to say, "_Duke
+(dropping ash on trousers_). It seems to me, my love..." or, "_Duke
+(removing stray piece of tobacco from tongue_). What Ireland needs
+is..."; still less "_Duke (throwing away end of  cigarette_). Show him
+in." For this must remain one of the mysteries of the stage--What happens
+to the stage cigarette when it has been puffed four times? The stage tea,
+of which a second cup is always refused; the stage cutlet, which is
+removed with the connivance of the guest after two mouthfuls; the stage
+cigarette, which nobody ever seems to want to smoke to the end--thinking
+of these as they make their appearances in the houses of the titled, one
+would say that the hospitality of the peerage was not a thing to make any
+great rush for....
+
+But that would be to forget the butler and the three footmen. Even a Duke
+cannot have everything. And what his _chef_ may lack in skill his butler
+more than makes up for in impassivity.
+
+
+
+A POETRY RECITAL
+
+
+It has always been the privilege of Art to be patronized by Wealth and
+Rank. Indeed, if we literary and artistic strugglers were not asked out
+to afternoon tea sometimes by our millionaire acquaintances, it is
+doubtful if we should be able to continue the struggle. Recently a new
+(and less expensive) method of entertaining Genius has become fashionable
+in the best circles, and the aspiring poet is now invited to the house of
+the Great, not for the purpose of partaking of bodily refreshment
+himself, but in order that he may afford spiritual refreshment to others.
+In short, he is given an opportunity of reciting his own works in front
+of the Fair, the Rich and the Highly Born, and making what he can out of
+it in the way of advertisement.
+
+Let us imagine that we have been lucky enough to secure an invitation to
+one of Lady Poldoodle's Poetry At-Homes, at her charming little house in
+Berkeley Square.
+
+The guests are all waiting, their eyes fixed in eager anticipation on the
+black-covered throne at the farther end of the room, whereon each poet
+will sit to declaim his masterpiece, when suddenly Lord Poldoodle is
+observed to be making his way cautiously towards a side-door. Fortunately
+he is stopped in time, and dragged back to his seat next to the throne,
+from which he rises a moment later to open the proceeding.
+
+"Ladies and gentlemen," he says, "we are met here this afternoon in order
+to listen to some of our younger poets who will recite from their own
+works. So far, I have always managed to avoid--so far, I have been
+unavoidably prevented from attending on these occasions, but I understand
+that the procedure is as follows. Each poet will recite a short sample of
+his poetry, after which, no doubt, you will go home and order from your
+bookseller a complete set of his works."
+
+Lady Poldoodle goes quickly over to him and whispers vigorously.
+
+"I find I am wrong," says our host. "Full sets of the author's
+works can be obtained on the way out. There is, however, no
+compulsion in the matter, and, if you take my advice--well, well,
+let us get on. Our first poet"--here he puts on his glasses, and reads
+from a paper on the table in front of him--"is Mr. Sydney Worple, of
+whom you--er--have--er--doubtless all heard. At any rate you will hear
+him now."
+
+Mr. Sydney Worple, tall and thin, wearing the sort of tie which makes you
+think you must have seen him before, steps forward amidst applause. He
+falls back into the throne as if deep in thought, and passes a hand
+across his hair.
+
+Mr. Worple (_very suddenly_) "Dawn at Surbiton."
+
+"Where?" says a frightened voice at the back.
+
+"H'sh!" says Lady Poldoodle in a whisper. "Surbiton."
+
+"Surbiton" is passed round the back seats. Not that it is going to matter
+in the least.
+
+Mr. Worple repeats the title, and then recites in an intense voice these
+lines:
+
+Out of the nethermost bonds of night,
+  Out of the gloom where the bats' wings brush me,
+  Free from the crepitous doubts which crush me,
+Forth I fare to the cool sunlight;
+
+Forth to a world where the wind sweeps clean,
+  Where the smooth-limbed ash to the blue stands bare,
+  And the gossamer spreads her opalled ware--
+And Jones is catching the 8.15.
+
+After several more verses like this he bows and retires. Lady Poldoodle,
+still mechanically clapping, says to her neighbour:
+
+"How beautiful! Dawn at Surbiton! Such a beautiful idea, I think."
+
+"Wasn't it sublime?" answers the neighbour. "The wonderful contrast
+between the great pageant of nature and poor Mr. Jones, catching--always
+catching--the 8.15."
+
+But Lord Poldoodle is rising again. "Our next poet," he says,
+"is Miss Miranda Herrick, whose work is so distinguished for
+its--er--its--er--distinction."
+
+Miss Herrick, dressed in pale green and wearing pincenez, flutters in
+girlishly. She gives a nervous little giggle, pushes out her foot,
+withdraws it and begins:
+
+When I take my bath in the morning--
+
+The audience wakes up with a start. "When you take your _what_!" says
+Lord Poldoodle.
+
+Miss Herrick begins again, starting this time with the title.
+
+LIFE
+
+When I take my bath in the morning,
+When I strip for the cool delight,
+  And the housemaid brings
+  Me towels and things,
+Do I reck of the coming night?
+
+A materially-minded man whispers to his neighbour that _he_ always
+wonders what's for breakfast. "H'sh!" she says, for there is another
+verse to come.
+
+When my hair comes down in the evening,
+And my tired clothes swoon to the ground,
+  Do I bother my head,
+  As I leap in bed,
+Of the truth which the dawn brings round?
+
+In the uncomfortable pause which follows, a voice is heard saying, "Does
+she?" and Lady Poldoodle asks kindly, "Is that all, dear?"
+
+"What more could there be?" says Miss Herrick with a sigh. "What more is
+there to say? It is Life."
+
+"Life! How true!" says the hostess. "But won't you give us something
+else? That one ended so very suddenly."
+
+After much inward (and outward) wrestling Miss Herrick announces:
+
+A THOUGHT
+
+The music falls across the vale
+From nightingale to nightingale;
+The owl within the ivied tree
+Makes love to me, makes love to me;
+But all the tadpoles in the pond
+Are dumb--however fond.
+
+"I begin to think that there is something in a tadpole after all,"
+murmurs Lord Poldoodle to himself, as the author wriggles her way out.
+
+"After all," says one guest to another, "why shouldn't a tadpole make
+love as much as anybody else?"
+
+"I think," says her neighbour, "that the idea is of youth trying vainly
+to express itself--or am I thinking of caterpillars? Lord Poldoodle, what
+is a tadpole exactly?"
+
+"A tadpole," he answers decisively, "is an extremely immature wriggling
+creature, which is, quite rightly, dumb."
+
+Now steps forward Mr. Horatio Bullfinch, full of simple enthusiasm, one
+of the London school. He gives us his famous poem, "Berkeley Square."
+
+The men who come from the north country
+  Are tall and very fair,
+The men who come from the south country
+  Have hardly any hair,
+But the only men in the world for me
+  Are the men of Berkeley Square.
+
+The sun may shine at Colchester,
+  The rain may rain at Penge;
+From low-hung skies the dawn may rise
+  Broodingly on Stonehenge.
+Knee-deep in clover the lambs at Dover
+  Nibble awhile and stare;
+But there's only one place in the world for me,
+  Berkeley--Berkeley Square.
+
+And so on, down to that magnificent last verse:
+
+The skylark triumphs from the blue,
+  Above the barley fields at Loo,
+The blackbird whistles loud and clear
+  Upon the hills at Windermere;
+But oh, I simply LOVE the way
+  Our organ-grinder plays all day!
+
+Lord Poldoodle rises to introduce Mr. Montagu Mott.
+
+"Mr. Mott," he says, "is, I am told, our leading exponent of what is
+called _vers libre_, which means--well, you will see what it means
+directly."
+
+Mr. Mott, a very ugly little man, who tries to give you the impression
+that he is being ugly on purpose, and could easily be beautiful if he
+were not above all that sort of thing, announces the title of his
+masterpiece. It is called "Why Is the Fat Woman's Face So Red?" Well,
+what else _could_ you call it?
+
+Why is the fat woman's face so red?
+Is it because her stays are too tight?
+Or because she wants to sneeze and has lost her pocket handkerchief?
+Or only because her second son
+(The engineer)
+Is dying of cancer.
+I cannot be certain.
+Yet I sit here and ask myself
+Wonderingly
+Why is the fat woman's face so red?
+
+It is generally recognized that, in Mr. Mott, we have a real poet. There
+are loud cries of "Encore!" Mr. Mott shakes his head.
+
+"I have written no more," he says in a deep voice. "I have given you the
+result of three years' work. Perhaps--in another three years--" He shrugs
+his shoulders and walks gloomingly out.
+
+"Such a sweet idea," says Lady Poldoodle. "I sit here and ask
+myself--wonderingly! How true! How very true!"
+
+"I couldn't quite follow it, dear," says her neighbour frankly. "Did he
+marry her after all?"
+
+Lord Poldoodle, looking slightly more cheerful, gets once more on to his
+legs.
+
+"You will all be very glad to hear--ah--you will all be sorry to hear
+that we have only one more poet on our list this afternoon. Mr. Cecil
+Willow, the well-known--er--poet."
+
+Mr. Willow, a well-dressed young man, fair and rather stout, and a credit
+to any drawing-room, announces the subject of his poem--Liberty.
+
+"Liberty, what crimes have been committed in thy name!" murmurs Lord
+Poldoodle to himself.
+
+LIBERTY
+
+There were two thrushes in a tree,
+The one was tamed, the other free.
+Because his wings were clipped so small
+The tame one did not fly at all,
+But sang to Heaven all the day--
+The other (shortly after) flew away.
+
+There were two women in a town,
+The one was blonde, the other brown.
+The brown one pleased a Viscount's son
+(Not Richard, but the other one)
+He gave her a delightful flat--
+The blonde one loved a man called Alfred Spratt.
+
+There were two Kings on thrones of gold,
+The one was young, the other old.
+The young one's laws were wisely made
+Till someone took a hand-grenade
+And threw it, shouting, "Down with Kings!"--
+The old one laid foundation stones and things.
+
+"How delightful," says everybody. "How very delightful. Thank you, Lady
+Poldoodle, for such a delightful afternoon."
+
+
+
+THE PERILS OF REVIEWING
+
+
+A most unfortunate thing has happened to a friend of mine called ---- to
+a friend of ---- to a ----. Well, I suppose the truth will have to come
+out. It happened to me. Only don't tell anybody.
+
+I reviewed a book the other day. It is not often I do this, because
+before one can review a book one has to, or is supposed to, read it,
+which wastes a good deal of time. Even that isn't an end of the trouble.
+The article which follows is not really one's own, for the wretched
+fellow who wrote the book is always trying to push his way in with his
+views on matrimony, or the Sussex downs, or whatever his ridiculous
+subject is. He expects one to say, "Mr. Blank's treatment of Hilda's
+relations with her husband is masterly," whereas what one wants to say
+is, "Putting Mr. Blank's book on one side, we may consider the larger
+question, whether--" and so consider it (alone) to the end of the column.
+
+Well, I reviewed Mr. Blank's book, "Rotundity." As I expected, the first
+draft had to be re-headed "A Corner of old London," and used elsewhere;
+Mr. Blank didn't get into it at all. I kept promising myself a sentence:
+"Take 'Rotundity,' for instance, the new novel by William Blank, which,
+etc." but before I was ready for it the article was finished. In my
+second draft, realizing the dangers of delay, I began at once, "This
+remarkable novel," and continued so for a couple of sentences. But on
+reading it through afterwards I saw at once that the first two sentences
+were out of place in an article that obviously ought to be called "The
+Last Swallow"; so I cut them out, sent "The Last Swallow: A Reverie" to
+another Editor, and began again. The third time I was successful.
+
+Of course in my review I said all the usual things. I said that Mr.
+Blank's attitude to life was "subjective rather than objective" ... and
+a little lower down that it was "objective rather than subjective." I
+pointed out that in his treatment of the major theme he was a
+neo-romanticist, but I suggested that, on the other hand, he had nothing
+to learn from the Russians--or the Russians had nothing to learn from
+him; I forget which. And finally I said (and this is the cause of the
+whole trouble) that Antoine Vaurelle's world-famous classic--and I looked
+it up in the encyclopedia--world-renowned classic, "Je Comprends Tout,"
+had been not without its influence on Mr. Blank. It was a good review,
+and the editor was pleased about it.
+
+A few days later Mr. Blank wrote to say that, curiously enough, he had
+never read "Je Comprends Tout." It didn't seem to me very curious,
+because I had never read it either, but I thought it rather odd of him to
+confess as much to a stranger. The only book of Vaurelle's which I had
+read was "Consolatrice," in an English translation. However, one doesn't
+say these things in a review.
+
+Now I have a French friend, Henri, one of those annoying Frenchmen who
+talk English much better than I do, and Henri, for some extraordinary
+reason, had seen my review. He has to live in London now, but his heart
+is in Paris; and I imagine that every word of his beloved language which
+appears, however casually, in an English paper mysteriously catches his
+eye and brings the scent and sounds of the boulevards to him across the
+coffee-cups. So, the next time I met him, he shook me warmly by the hand,
+and told me how glad he was that I was an admirer of Antoine Vaurelle's
+novels.
+
+"Who isn't?" I said with a shrug, and, to get the conversation on to
+safer ground, I added hastily that in some ways I almost liked
+"Consolatrice" best.
+
+He shook my hand again. So did he. A great book.
+
+"But of course," he said, "one must read it in the original French. It is
+the book of all others which loses by translation."
+
+"Of course," I agreed. Really, I don't see what else I could have done.
+
+"Do you remember that wonderful phrase--" and he rattled it off.
+"Magnificent, is it not?"
+
+"Magnificent," I said, remembering an appointment instead. "Well, I must
+be getting on. Good-bye." And, as I walked off, I patted my forehead with
+my handkerchief and wondered why the day had grown so warm suddenly.
+
+However the next day was even warmer. Henri came to see me with a book
+under his arm. We all have one special book of our own which we recommend
+to our acquaintances, regarding the love of it as perhaps the best
+passport to our friendship. This was Henri's. He was about to test me. I
+had read and admired his favourite Vaurelle--in the original French.
+Would I love his darling Laforgue? My reputation as a man, as a writer,
+as a critic, depended on it. He handed me the book--in French.
+
+"It is all there," he said reverently, as he gave it to me. "All
+your English masters, they all come from him. Perhaps, most of all,
+your ---- But you shall tell me when you have read it. You shall tell me
+whom most you seem to see there. Your Meredith? Your Shaw? Your ---- But
+you shall tell me."
+
+"I will tell you," I said faintly.
+
+And I've got to tell him.
+
+Don't think that I shall have any difficulty in reading the book.
+Glancing through it just now I came across this:--
+
+"'_Kate, avez-vous soupé avant le spectacle_?'
+
+'_Non, je n'avais guère le coeur à manger_.'"
+
+Well, that's easy enough. But I doubt if it is one of the most
+characteristic passages. It doesn't give you a clue to Laforgue's manner,
+any more than "'Must I sit here, mother?' 'Yes, without a doubt you
+must,'" tells you all that you want to know about Meredith. There's more
+in it than that.
+
+And I've got to tell him.
+
+But fancy holding forth on an author's style after reading him
+laboriously with a dictionary!
+
+However, I must do my best; and in my more hopeful moments I see the
+conversation going like this:--
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Oh, wonderful." (_With emotion_) "Really wonderful."
+
+"You see them all there?"
+
+"Yes, yes. It's really--wonderful. Meredith--I mean--well, it's
+simply--(_after a pause_) wonderful."
+
+"You see Meredith there most?"
+
+"Y-yes. Sometimes. And then (_with truth_) sometimes I--I don't. It's
+difficult to say. Sometimes I--er--Shaw--er--well, it's--" (_with a
+gesture somewhat Gallic_) "How can I put it?"
+
+"Not Thackeray at all?" he says, watching me eagerly.
+
+I decide to risk it.
+
+"Oh, but of course! I mean--Thackeray! When I said Meredith
+I was thinking of the _others_. But Thackeray--I mean Thackeray
+_is_--er--" (_I've forgotten the author's name for the moment and
+go on hastily_) "I mean--er--Thackeray, obviously."
+
+He shakes me by the hand. I am his friend.
+
+But this conversation only takes place in my more hopeful moments. In my
+less hopeful ones I see myself going into the country for quite a long
+time.
+
+
+
+
+III. SUMMER DAYS
+
+
+
+A SONG FOR THE SUMMER
+
+
+_Is it raining_? Never mind--
+  Think how much the birdies love it!
+See them in their dozens drawn,
+Dancing, to the croquet lawn--
+Could our little friends have dined
+  If there'd been no worms above it?
+
+_Is it murky_? What of that,
+  If the Owls are fairly perky?
+Just imagine you were one--
+Wouldn't you _detest_ the sun?
+I'm pretending I'm a Bat,
+  And I know I _like_ it murky.
+
+_Is it chilly_? After all,
+  We must not forget the Poodle.
+If the days were really hot,
+Could he wear _one_ woolly spot?
+Could he even keep his shawl?
+  No, he'd shave the whole caboodle.
+
+
+
+THE SEASON'S PROSPECTS
+
+
+The great question in the Mallory family just now is whether Dick will
+get into the eleven this year. Confident as he is himself, he is taking
+no risks.
+
+"We're going to put the net up to-morrow," he said to me as soon as I
+arrived, "and then you'll be able to bowl to me. How long are you
+staying?"
+
+"Till to-night," I said quickly.
+
+"Rot! You're fixed up here till Tuesday any how."
+
+"My dear Dick, I've come down for a few days' rest. If the weather
+permits, I may have the croquet things out one afternoon and try a round,
+or possibly--"
+
+"I don't believe you _can_ bowl," said Bobby rudely. Bobby is
+twelve--five years younger than Dick. It is not my place to smack Bobby's
+head, but _somebody_ might do it for him.
+
+"Then that just shows how little you know about it," I retorted. "In a
+match last September I went on to bowl--"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"I knew the captain," I explained. "Well, as I say, he asked me to go on
+to bowl, and I took four wickets for thirteen runs. There!"
+
+"Good man," said Dick.
+
+"Was it against a girls' school?" said Bobby. (You know, Bobby is simply
+_asking_ for it.)
+
+"It was not. Nor were children of twelve allowed in without their
+perambulators."
+
+"Well, anyhow," said Bobby, "I bet Phyllis can bowl better than you."
+
+"Is this true?" I said to Phyllis. I asked her, because in a general way
+my bowling is held to be superior to that of girls of fifteen. Of course,
+she might be something special.
+
+"I can bowl Bobby out," she said modestly.
+
+I looked at Bobby in surprise and then shook my head sadly.
+
+"You jolly well shut up," he said, turning indignantly to his sister.
+"Just because you did it once when the sun was in my eyes--"
+
+"Bobby, Bobby," I said, "this is painful hearing. Let us be thankful that
+we don't have to play against girls' schools. Let us--"
+
+But Bobby was gone. Goaded to anger, he had put his hands in his pockets
+and made the general observation "Rice-pudding"--an observation
+inoffensive enough to a stranger, but evidently of such deep, private
+significance to Phyllis that it was necessary for him to head a pursuit
+into the shrubbery without further delay.
+
+"The children are gone," I said to Dick. "Now we can discuss the
+prospects for the season in peace." I took up "The Sportsman" again. "I
+see that Kent is going to--"
+
+"The prospects are all right," said Dick, "if only I can get into form
+soon enough. Last year I didn't get going till the end of June. By the
+way, what sort of stuff do you bowl?"
+
+"Ordinary sort of stuff," I said, "with one or two bounces in it. Do you
+see that Surrey--"
+
+"Fast or slow?"
+
+"Slow--that is, you know, when I _do_ bowl at all. I'm not quite sure
+this season whether I hadn't better--"
+
+"Slow," said Dick thoughtfully; "that's really what I want. I want lots
+of that."
+
+"You must get Phyllis to bowl to you," I said with detachment. "You know,
+I shouldn't be surprised if Lancashire--"
+
+"My dear man, girls can't bowl. She fields jolly well, though."
+
+"What about your father?"
+
+"His bowling days are rather over. He was in the eleven, you know, thirty
+years ago. So there's really nobody but--"
+
+"One's bowling days soon get over," I hastened to agree.
+
+But I know now exactly what the prospects of the season--or, at any rate,
+of the first week of it--are.
+
+
+MR. MALLORY
+
+The prospects here are on the whole encouraging. To dwell upon the bright
+side first, there will be half-an-hour's casual bowling, and an hour and
+a half's miscellaneous coaching, every day. On the other hand, some of
+his best plants will be disturbed, while there is more than a chance that
+he may lose the services of a library window.
+
+
+MRS. MALLORY
+
+The prospects here are much as last year, except that her youngest born,
+Joan, is now five, and consequently rather more likely to wander in the
+way of a cricket ball or fall down in front of the roller than she was
+twelve months ago. Otherwise Mrs. Mallory faces the approaching season
+with calm, if not with complete appreciation.
+
+
+DICK
+
+Of Dick's prospects there is no need to speak at length. He will have two
+hours' batting every day against, from a batsman's point of view, ideal
+bowling, and in addition the whole-hearted admiration of all of us. In
+short, the outlook here is distinctly hopeful.
+
+
+PHYLLIS
+
+The prospects of this player are, from her own point of view, bright, as
+she will be allowed to field for two hours a day to the beloved Dick. She
+is also fully qualified now to help with the heavy roller. A new
+experiment is to be tried this season, and she will be allowed to bowl
+for an odd five-minutes at the end of Dick's innings to _me_.
+
+
+BOBBY
+
+enters upon the coming season with confidence, as he thinks there is a
+chance of my bowling to him too; but he is mistaken. As before, he will
+be in charge of the heavy roller, and he will also be required to slacken
+the ropes of the net at the end of the day. His prospects, however, are
+certainly improved this season, as he will be qualified to bowl for the
+whole two hours, but only on the distinct understanding (with Phyllis)
+that he does his own fielding for himself.
+
+Of the prospects of
+
+
+JOAN
+
+I have already spoken above. There remain only the prospects of
+
+
+MYSELF
+
+which are frankly rotten. They consist chiefly of two hours' bowling to
+the batting of Dick (who hits them back very hard), and ten minutes'
+batting to the bowling of Phyllis (slow, mild) and Bobby (fast wides);
+for Dick, having been ordered by the captain not to strain himself by
+trying to bowl, is not going to try. It is extremely doubtful whether
+Bobby will approve of my action, while if he or Phyllis should, by an
+unlucky accident, get me out, I should never hear the last of it. In this
+case, however, there must be added to Bobby's prospects the possibility
+of getting his head definitely smacked.
+
+Fortunately--it is my only consolation--the season will be a short one.
+It ends on Tuesday.
+
+
+
+THE FIRST GAME
+
+
+  There comes a Day (I can hear it coming),
+    One of those glorious deep blue days,
+  When larks are singing and bees are humming,
+    And Earth gives voice in a thousand ways--
+      Then I, my friends, I too shall sing,
+      And hum a foolish little thing,
+And whistle like (but not too like) a blackbird in the Spring.
+
+  There looms a Day (I can feel it looming;
+    Yes, it will be in a month or less),
+  When all the flowers in the world are blooming
+    And Nature flutters her fairest dress--
+      Then I, my friends, I too shall wear
+      A blazer that will make them stare,
+And brush--this is official: I shall also brush my hair.
+
+  It is the day that I watch for yearly,
+    Never before has it come so late;
+  But now I've only a month--no, merely
+    A couple of fortnights left to wait;
+      And then (to make the matter plain)
+      I hold--at last!--a bat again:
+Dear Hobbs! the weeks this summer--think! the _weeks_
+      I've lived in vain!
+
+  I see already the first ball twisting
+    Over the green as I take my stand,
+  I hear already long-on insisting
+    It wasn't a chance that came to hand--
+      Or no; I see it miss the bat
+      And strike me on the knee, whereat
+Some fool, some silly fool at point, says blandly,
+        "How was that?"
+
+  Then, scouting later, I hold a hot-un
+    At deep square-leg from the local Fry,
+  And at short mid-on to the village Scotton
+    I snap a skimmer some six foot high--
+      Or else, perhaps, I get the ball,
+      Upon the thumb, or not at all,
+Or right into the hands, and then, lorblessme, let it fall.
+
+  But what care I? It's the game that calls me--
+    Simply to be on the field of play;
+  How can it matter what fate befalls me,
+    With ten good fellows and one good day?
+             ... But still,
+      I rather hope spectators will,
+      Observing any lack or skill,
+Remark, "This is his first appearance." Yes, I _hope_ they will.
+
+
+
+THE COMPETITION SPIRIT
+
+
+About six weeks ago a Canadian gentleman named Smith arrived in the Old
+Country (England). He knew a man who knew a man who knew a man ... and so
+on for a bit ... who knew a man who knew a man who knew me. Letters
+passed; negotiations ensued; and about a week after he had first set foot
+in the Mother City (London) Smith and I met at my Club for lunch.
+
+I may confess now that I was nervous. I think I expected a man in a brown
+shirt and leggings, who would ask me to put it "right there," and tell me
+I was "some Englishman." However, he turned out to be exactly like
+anybody else in London. Whether he found me exactly like anybody else in
+Canada I don't know. Anyway, we had a very pleasant lunch, and arranged
+to play golf together on the next day.
+
+Whatever else is true of Canada there can be no doubt that it turns out
+delightful golfers. Smith proved to be just the best golfer I had ever
+met, being, when at the top of his form, almost exactly as good as I was.
+Hole after hole we halved in a mechanical eight. If by means of a raking
+drive and four perfect brassies at the sixth he managed to get one up for
+a moment, then at the short seventh a screaming iron and three consummate
+approaches would make me square again. Occasionally he would, by
+superhuman play, do a hole in bogey; but only to crack at the next, and
+leave me, at the edge of the green, to play "one off eleven." It was, in
+fact, a ding-dong struggle all the way; and for his one-hole victory in
+the morning I had my revenge with a one-hole victory in the afternoon.
+
+By the end of a month we must have played a dozen rounds of this nature.
+I always had a feeling that I was really a better golfer than he, and
+this made me friendly towards his game. I would concede him short putts
+which I should have had no difficulty in missing myself; if he lost his
+ball I would beg him to drop another and go on with the hole; if he got
+into a bad place in a bunker I would assure him it was ground under
+repair. He was just as friendly in refusing to take these advantages,
+just as pleasant in offering similar indulgences to me. I thought at
+first it was part of his sporting way, but it turned out that (absurdly
+enough) he also was convinced that he was really the better golfer of the
+two, and could afford these amenities.
+
+One day he announced that he was going back to Canada.
+
+"We must have a last game," he said, "and this one must be decisive."
+
+"For the championship of the Empire," I agreed. "Let's buy a little cup
+and play for it. I've never won anything at golf yet, and I should love
+to see a little cup on the dinner-table every night."
+
+"You can't come to dinner in Canada _every_ night," he pointed out. "It
+would be so expensive for you."
+
+Well, the cup was bought, engraved "The Empire Challenge Cup," and played
+for last Monday.
+
+"This," said Smith, "is a serious game, and we must play all out. No
+giving away anything, no waiving the rules. The Empire is at stake. The
+effeteness of the Mother Country is about to be put to the proof.
+Proceed."
+
+It wasn't the most pleasant of our games. The spirit of the cup hung over
+it and depressed us. At the third hole I had an eighteen-inch putt for a
+half. "That's all right," said Smith forgetfully; and then added,
+"Perhaps you'd better put it in, though." Of course I missed. On the
+fifth green he was about to brush away a leaf. "That's illegal," I said
+sharply, "you must pick it up; you mayn't brush it away," and after a
+fierce argument on the point he putted hastily--and badly. At the
+eighteenth tee we were all square and hardly on speaking terms. The fate
+of the Mother Country depended upon the result of this hole.
+
+I drove a long one, the longest of the day, slightly hooked.
+
+"Good shot," said Smith with an effort. He pressed and foozled badly. I
+tried not to look pleased.
+
+We found his ball in a thick clump of heather. With a grim look on his
+face, he took out his niblick....
+
+I stayed by him and helped him count up to eight.
+
+"Where's your ball?" he growled.
+
+"A long way on," I said reproachfully. "I wish you'd hurry up. The poor
+thing will be getting cold."
+
+He got to work again. We had another count together up to fifteen.
+Sometimes there would be a gleam of white at the top of the heather for a
+moment and then it would fade away.
+
+"How many?" I asked some minutes later.
+
+"About thirty. But I don't care, I'm going to get the little beast into
+the hole if it takes me all night." He went on hacking.
+
+I had lost interest in the performance, for the cup was mine, but I did
+admire his Colonial grit.
+
+"Got it," he cried suddenly, and the ball sailed out on to the pretty.
+Another shot put him level with me.
+
+"Thirty-two?" I asked.
+
+"About," he said coldly.
+
+I began to look for my ball. It had got tired of waiting and had hidden
+itself. Smith joined gloomily in the search.
+
+"This is absurd," I said, after three or four minutes.
+
+"By jove!" said Smith, suddenly brightening up. "If your ball's lost I
+win after all."
+
+"Nonsense; you've given the hole up," I protested. "You don't know how
+many you've played. According to the rules, if I ask you how many, and
+you give wrong information--"
+
+"It's thirty-five," he said promptly.
+
+"I don't believe you counted."
+
+"Call it forty-five then. There's nothing to prevent my calling it more
+than it really is. If it was really only forty, then I'm counting five
+occasions when the ball rolled over as I was addressing it. That's very
+generous of me. Actually I'm doubtful if the ball did roll over five
+times, but I say it did in order to be on the safe side." He looked at
+his watch. "And if you don't find your ball in thirty seconds, you lose
+the hole."
+
+It was ingenious, but the Mother Country can be ingenious too.
+
+"How many have you played exactly?" I asked. "Be careful."
+
+"Forty-five," he said. "Exactly."
+
+"Right." I took my niblick and swung at the heather. "Bother," I said.
+"Missed it. Two."
+
+"Hallo! Have you found it?"
+
+"I have. It's somewhere in this field. There's no rule which insists that
+you shall hit the ball, or even that you shall hit near the ball, or even
+that you shall see the ball when you hit at it. Lots of old gentlemen
+shut their eyes and miss the sphere. I've missed. In five minutes I shall
+miss again."
+
+"But what's the point?"
+
+"The point, dear friend," I smiled, "is that after each stroke one is
+allowed five minutes in which to find the ball. I have forty-three
+strokes in hand; that gives me three hours and thirty-five minutes in
+which to look for it. At regular intervals of five minutes I shall swing
+my club and probably miss. It's four-thirty now; at eight o'clock, unless
+I find my ball before, I shall be playing the like. And if you are a
+sportsman," I added, "you will bring me out some tea in half an hour."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At six-thirty I was still looking--and swinging. Smith then came to terms
+and agreed to share the cup with me for the first year. He goes back to
+Canada to-morrow, and will spread the good news there that the Old
+Country can still hold its own in resource, determination and staying
+power. But next year we are going to play friendly golf again.
+
+
+
+THE FIRST TEE
+
+(MULLION)
+
+
+  It is the place, it is the place, my soul!
+    (Blow, bugle, blow; sing, triangle; toot, fife!)
+  Down to the sea the close-cropped pastures roll,
+  Couches behind yon sandy hill the goal
+    Whereat, it may be, after ceaseless strife
+The "Colonel" shall find peace, and Henry say,
+        "Your hole" ...
+
+  Caddie, give me my driver, caddie,
+    The sun shines hot, but there's half a breeze,
+  Enough to rustle the tree-tops, laddie,
+    Only supposing there were some trees;
+The year's at the full and the morn's at eleven,
+It's a wonderful day just straight from Heaven,
+And this is a hole I can do in seven--
+         Caddie, my driver, please.
+
+Three times a day from now till Monday week
+  (Ten peerless days in all) I take my stand
+Vested in some _dégagé_ mode of breek
+(The chess-board touch, with squares that almost speak),
+  And lightly sketch my Slice into the Sand,
+As based on bigger men, but much of it unique....
+
+  Caddie, give me my driver, caddie,
+    Note my style on the first few tees;
+  Duncan fashioned my wrist-work, laddie,
+    Taylor taught me to twist my knees;
+I've a beautiful swing that I learnt from Vardon
+(I practise it sometimes down the garden--
+"My fault! Sorry! I _beg_ your pardon!")--
+      Caddie, my driver, please.
+
+  Only ten little days, in which to do
+    So much! e.g., the twelfth: ah, it was there
+  The Secretary met his Waterloo,
+  But perished gamely, playing twenty-two;
+    His clubs _(ten little days_!) lie bleaching where
+Sea-poppies blow _(ten days_) and wheeling sea-birds mew....
+
+  Caddie, give me my driver, caddie,
+    Let us away with thoughts like these;
+  A week and a half is a lifetime, laddie,
+    The day that's here is the day to seize;
+_Carpe diem_--yes, that's the motto,
+"Work be jiggered!" and likewise "What ho!"
+I'M NOT GOING BACK TILL I'VE JOLLY WELL GOT TO!
+      Caddie, my driver, please.
+
+
+
+THE ENCHANTED CASTLE
+
+
+There are warm days in London when even a window-box fails to charm, and
+one longs for the more open spaces of the country. Besides, one wants to
+see how the other flowers are getting on. It is on these days that we
+travel to our Castle of Stopes; as the crow flies, fifteen miles away.
+Indeed, that is the way we get to it, for it is a castle in the air. And
+when we are come to it, Celia is always in a pink sunbonnet gathering
+roses lovingly, and I, not very far off, am speaking strongly to somebody
+or other about something I want done. By-and-by I shall go into the
+library and work ... with an occasional glance through the open window at
+Celia.
+
+To think that a month ago we were quite happy with a few pink geraniums!
+
+Sunday, a month ago, was hot. "Let's take train somewhere," said Celia,
+"and have lunch under a hedge."
+
+"I know a lovely place for hedges," I said.
+
+"I know a lovely tin of potted grouse," said Celia, and she went off to
+cut some sandwiches. By twelve o'clock we were getting out of the train.
+
+The first thing we came to was a golf course, and Celia had to drag me
+past it. Then we came to a wood, and I had to drag her through it.
+Another mile along a lane, and then we both stopped together.
+
+"Oh!" we said.
+
+It was a cottage, the cottage of a dream. And by a cottage I mean, not
+four plain rooms and a kitchen, but one surprising room opening into
+another; rooms all on different levels and of different shapes, with
+delightful places to bump your head on; open fireplaces; a large square
+hall, oak-beamed, where your guests can hang about after breakfast, while
+deciding whether to play golf or sit in the garden. Yet all so cunningly
+disposed that from outside it looks only a cottage or, at most, two
+cottages persuaded into one.
+
+And, of course, we only saw it from outside. The little drive, determined
+to get there as soon as possible, pushed its way straight through an
+old barn, and arrived at the door simultaneously with the flagged
+lavender walk for the humble who came on foot. The rhododendrons were
+ablaze beneath the south windows; a little orchard was running wild on
+the west; there was a hint at the back of a clean-cut lawn. Also, you
+remember, there was a golf course, less than two miles away.
+
+"Oh," said Celia with a deep sigh, "but we must live here."
+
+An Irish terrier ran out to inspect us. I bent down and patted it. "With
+a dog," I added.
+
+"Isn't it all lovely? I wonder who it belongs to, and if--"
+
+"If he'd like to give it to us."
+
+"Perhaps he would if he saw us and admired us very much," said Celia
+hopefully.
+
+"I don't think Mr. Barlow is that sort of man," I said. "An excellent
+fellow, but not one to take these sudden fancies."
+
+"Mr. Barlow? How do you know his name?"
+
+"I have these surprising intuitions," I said modestly. "The way the
+chimneys stand up--"
+
+"I know," cried Celia. "The dog's collar."
+
+"Right, Watson. And the name of the house is Stopes."
+
+She repeated it to herself with a frown.
+
+"What a disappointing name," she said. "Just Stopes."
+
+"Stopes," I said. "Stopes, Stopes. If you keep on saying it, a certain
+old-world charm seems to gather round it. Stopes."
+
+"Stopes," said Celia. "It _is_ rather jolly."
+
+We said it ten more times each, and it seemed the only possible name for
+it. Stopes--of course.
+
+"Well!" I asked.
+
+"We must write to Mr. Barlow," said Celia decisively. "'Dear Mr. Barlow,
+er--Dear Mr. Barlow--we--' Yes, it will be rather difficult. What do we
+want to say exactly?"
+
+"'Dear Mr. Barlow--May we have your house?'"
+
+"Yes," smiled Celia, "but I'm afraid we can hardly ask for it. But we
+might rent it when--when he doesn't want it any more."
+
+"'Dear Mr. Barlow,'" I amended, "'have you any idea when you're going to
+die?' No, that wouldn't do either. And there's another thing--we don't
+know his initials, or even if he's a 'Mr.' Perhaps he's a knight or a--a
+duke. Think how offended Duke Barlow would be if we put '---- Barlow,
+Esq.' on the envelope."
+
+"We could telegraph. 'Barlow. After you with Stopes.'"
+
+"Perhaps there's a young Barlow, a Barlowette or two with expectations.
+It may have been in the family for years."
+
+"Then we--Oh, let's have lunch." She sat down and began to undo the
+sandwiches. "Dear o' Stopes," she said with her mouth full.
+
+We lunched outside Stopes. Surely if Earl Barlow had seen us he would
+have asked us in. But no doubt his dining-room looked the other way;
+towards the east and north, as I pointed out to Celia, thus being
+pleasantly cool at lunch-time.
+
+"Ha, Barlow," I said dramatically, "a time will come when _we_ shall be
+lunching in there, and _you_--bah!" And I tossed a potted-grouse sandwich
+to his dog.
+
+However, that didn't get us any nearer.
+
+"Will you _promise,"_ said Celia, "that we shall have lunch in there one
+day?"
+
+"I promise," I said readily. That gave me about sixty years to do
+something in.
+
+"I'm like--who was it who saw something of another man's and wouldn't be
+happy till he got it?"
+
+"The baby in the soap advertisement."
+
+"No, no, some king in history."
+
+"I believe you are thinking of Ahab, but you aren't a bit like him,
+really. Besides, we're not coveting Stopes. All we want to know is, does
+Barlow ever let it in the summer?"
+
+"That's it," said Celia eagerly.
+
+"And, if so," I went on, "will he lend us the money to pay the rent
+with?"
+
+"Er--yes," said Celia. "That's it."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+So for a month we have lived in our Castle of Stopes. I see Celia there
+in her pink sun-bonnet, gathering the flowers lovingly, bringing an
+armful of them into the hall, disturbing me sometimes in the library with
+"_Aren't_ they beauties? No, I only just looked in--good luck to you."
+And she sees me ordering a man about importantly, or waving my hand to
+her as I ride through the old barn on my road to the golf course.
+
+But this morning she had an idea.
+
+"Suppose," she said timidly, "you _wrote_ about Stopes, and Mr. Barlow
+happened to see it, and knew how much we wanted it, and--"
+
+"Well!"
+
+"Then," said Celia firmly, "if he were a gentleman he would give it to
+us."
+
+Very well. Now we shall see if Mr. Barlow is a gentleman.
+
+
+
+THE SANDS OF PLEASURE
+
+
+Ladies first, so we will start with Jenny. Jenny is only nine, but she
+has been to the seaside before and knows all about it. She wears the
+fashionable _costume de plage_, which consists of a white linen hat, a
+jersey and an overcrowded pair of bathing-drawers, into which not only
+Jenny, but the rest of her wardrobe, has had to fit itself. Two slim
+brown legs emerge to bear the burden, and one feels that if she fell over
+she would have to stay there until somebody picked her up.
+
+She is holding Richard Henry by the hand. Richard Henry is four, and this
+is the first time he has seen the sea. Jenny is showing it to him.
+Privately he thinks that it has been over-rated. There was a good deal of
+talk about it in his suburb (particularly from Jenny, who had been there
+before) and naturally one expected something rather--well, rather more
+like what they had been saying it was like. However, perhaps it would be
+as well to keep in with Jenny and not to let her see that he is
+disappointed, so every time she says, "Isn't the sea lovely?" he echoes,
+"Lovely," and now and then he adds (just to humour her), "Is 'at the
+sea?" and then she has the chance to say again, "Yes, that's the sea,
+darling. Isn't it lovely?" It is obvious that she is proud of it.
+Apparently she put it there. Anyway, it seems to be hers now.
+
+Jenny has brought Father and Mother as well as Richard Henry. There they
+are, over there. When she came before she had to leave them behind, much
+to their disappointment. Father was saying, "Form fours, left," before
+going off to France again, and Mother was buying wool to make him some
+more socks. It was a great relief to them to know that they were being
+taken this time, and that they would have Jenny to tell them all about
+it.
+
+Father is lying in a deck-chair, smoking his pipe. There has been an
+interesting discussion this afternoon as to whether he is a coward or
+not. Father thought he wasn't, but Mother wasn't quite so sure. Jenny
+said that of course he couldn't really be, because the King gave him a
+medal for not being one, but Mother explained that it was only a medal he
+had over, and Father happened to be passing by the window.
+
+"I don't see what this has to do with it," said Father. "I simply prefer
+bathing in the morning."
+
+"Oo, you said this morning you preferred bathing in the afternoon," says
+Jenny like a flash.
+
+"I know; but since then I've had time to think it over, and I see that I
+was hasty. The morning is the best time."
+
+"I'm afraid he _is_ a coward," said Mother sadly, wondering why she had
+married him.
+
+"The whole point is, why did Jenny bring me here?"
+
+"To enjoy yourself," said Jenny promptly.
+
+"Well, I am," said Father, closing his eyes.
+
+But we do not feel so sure that Mother is enjoying herself. She has just
+read in the paper about a mine that floated ashore and exploded. Nobody
+was near at the time, but supposing one of the children had been playing
+with it.
+
+"Which one?" said Father lazily.
+
+"Jenny."
+
+"Then we should have lost Jenny."
+
+This being so, Jenny promises solemnly not to play with any mine that
+comes ashore, nor to let Richard Henry play with it, nor to allow it to
+play with Richard Henry, nor--
+
+"I suppose I may just point it out to him and say, 'Look, that's a
+mine'?" says Jenny wistfully. If she can't do this, it doesn't seem to be
+much use coming to the seaside at all.
+
+"I don't think there would be any harm in that," says Father. "But don't
+engage it in conversation."
+
+"Thank you very much," says Jenny, and she and Richard Henry go off
+together.
+
+Mother watches them anxiously. Father closes his eyes.
+
+"Now," says Jenny eagerly, "I'm going to show you a darling little crab.
+Won't that be lovely?"
+
+Richard Henry, having been deceived, as he feels, about the sea, is not
+too hopeful about that crab. However, he asks politely, "What's a crab?"
+
+"You'll see directly, darling," says Jenny; and he has to be content with
+that.
+
+"Crab," he murmurs to himself.
+
+Suddenly an idea occurs to him. He lets go of Jenny's hand and trots up
+to an old gentleman with white whiskers.
+
+"Going to see a crab," he announces.
+
+"Going to see a crab, are you, my little man?" says the old gentleman
+kindly.
+
+"Going to see a crab," says Richard Henry, determined to keep up his end
+of the conversation.
+
+"Well, I never! So you're going to see a crab!" says the old gentleman,
+doing his best with it.
+
+Richard Henry nods two or three times. "Going to see a crab," he says
+firmly.
+
+Luckily Jenny comes up and rescues him, otherwise they would still be at
+it. "Come along, darling, and see the crab," she says, picking up his
+hand; and Richard Henry looks triumphantly at the old gentleman. There
+you are. Perhaps he will believe a fellow another time.
+
+Jenny has evidently made an arrangement with a particular crab for this
+afternoon. It is to be hoped that the appointment will be kept, for she
+has hurried Richard Henry past all sorts of wonderful things which he
+wanted to stop with for a little. But the thought of this lovely crab,
+which Jenny thinks so much of, forbids protest. Quite right not to keep
+it waiting. What will it be like? Will it be bigger than the sea?
+
+We have reached the rendezvous. We see now that we need not have been in
+such a hurry.
+
+"There!" says Jenny excitedly. "Isn't he a darling little crab? He's
+asleep." (That's why we need not have hurried.)
+
+Richard Henry says nothing. He can't think of the words for what he is
+feeling. What he wants to say is that Jenny has let him down again. They
+passed a lot of these funny little things on their way here, but Jenny
+wouldn't stop because she was going to show him a Crab, a great, big,
+enormous darling little Crab--which might have been anything--and now
+it's only just this. No wonder the old gentleman didn't believe him.
+
+Swindled--that's the word he wants. However, he can't think of it for the
+moment, so he tries something else.
+
+"Darling little crab," he says.
+
+They leave the dead crab there and hurry back.
+
+"What shall I show you _now_?" says Jenny.
+
+
+
+GOLDEN MEMORIES
+
+
+When Memory with its scorn of ages,
+  Its predilection for the past,
+Turns back about a billion pages
+  And lands us by the Cam at last;
+Is it the thought of "Granta" (once our daughter),
+  The Freshers' Match, the Second in our Mays
+That makes our mouth, our very soul to water?
+  Ah no! Ah no! It is the Salmon Mayonnaise!
+
+The work we did was rarely reckoned
+  Worthy a tutor's kindly word--
+(For when I said we got a Second
+  I really meant we got a Third)--
+The games we played were often tinged with bitter,
+  Amidst the damns no faintest hint of praise
+Greeted us when we missed the authentic "sitter"--
+  But thou wert always kind, O Salmon Mayonnaise!
+
+Even our nights with "Granta," even
+  The style that, week by blessed week,
+Mixed Calverley and J.K. Stephen
+  With much that was (I hold) unique,
+Even our parodies of the Rubáiyát
+  Were disappointing--yes, in certain ways:
+What genius loves (I mean) the people shy at--
+  Yet no one ever shied at Salmon Mayonnaise!
+
+Alas! no restaurant in London
+  Can make us feel that thrill again;
+Though what they do or what leave undone
+  I often ask, and ask in vain.
+Is it the sauce which puts the brand of Cam on
+  Each maddening dish? The egg? The yellow
+           glaze?
+  The cucumber? The special breed of salmon?--
+  I only know we loved, we _loved_ that Mayonnaise!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Did Beauty," some may ask severely,
+  "Visit him in no other guise?
+It cannot be that salmon merely
+  Should bring the mist before his eyes!
+What of the river there where Byron's Pool lay,
+  The warm blue morning shimmering in the
+           haze?"
+Not this (I say) ... Yet something else ...
+         _Creme Brûlée_!
+  Ye gods! to think of that _and_ Salmon Mayonnaise!
+
+
+
+THE PROBLEM OF LIFE
+
+
+The noise of the retreating sea came pleasantly to us from a distance.
+Celia was lying on her--I never know how to put this nicely--well, she
+was lying face downwards on a rock and gazing into a little pool which
+the tide had forgotten about and left behind. I sat beside her and
+annoyed a limpet. Three minutes ago I had taken it suddenly by surprise
+and with an Herculean effort moved it an eighteenth of a millimetre
+westwards. My silence since then was lulling it into a false security,
+and in another two minutes I hoped to get a move on it again.
+
+"Do you know," said Celia with a puzzled look on her face, "sometimes I
+think I'm quite an ordinary person after all."
+
+"You aren't a little bit," I said lazily; "you're just like nobody else
+in the world."
+
+"Well, of course, you had to say that."
+
+"No, I hadn't. Lots of husbands would merely have yawned." I felt one
+coming and stopped it just in time. Waiting for limpets to go to sleep
+is drowsy work. "But why are you so morbid about yourself suddenly?"
+
+"I don't know," she said. "Only every now and then I find myself thinking
+the most _obvious_ thoughts."
+
+"We all do," I answered, as I stroked my limpet gently. The noise of our
+conversation had roused it, but a gentle stroking motion (I am told by
+those to whom it has confided) will frequently cause its muscles to
+relax. "The great thing is not to speak them. Still, you'd better tell me
+now. What is it?"
+
+"Well," she said, her cheeks perhaps a little pinker than usual, "I was
+just thinking that life was very wonderful. But it's a _silly_ thing to
+say."
+
+"It's holiday time," I reminded her. "The need for sprinkling our remarks
+with thoughtful words like 'economic' and 'sporadic' is over for a bit.
+Let us be silly." I scratched in the rock the goal to which I was urging
+my limpet and took out my watch. "Three thirty-five. I shall get him
+there by four."
+
+Celia was gazing at two baby fishes who played in and out a bunch of
+sea-weed. Above the seaweed an anemone sat fatly.
+
+"I suppose they're all just as much alive as we are," she said
+thoughtfully. "They marry"--I looked at my limpet with a new
+interest--"and bring up families and go about their business, and it
+all means just as much to them as it does to us."
+
+"My limpet's business affairs mean nothing to me," I said firmly. "I am
+only wrapped up in him as a sprinter."
+
+"Aren't you going to try to move him again?"
+
+"He's not quite ready yet. He still has his suspicions."
+
+Celia dropped into silence. Her next question showed that she had left
+the pool for a moment.
+
+"Are there any people in Mars?" she asked.
+
+"People down here say that there aren't. A man told me the other day that
+he knew this for a fact. On the other hand, people in Mars know for a
+fact that there isn't anybody on the Earth. Probably they are both
+wrong."
+
+"I should like to know a lot about things," sighed Celia. "Do you know
+anything about limpets?"
+
+"Only that they stick like billy-o."
+
+"I suppose more about them _is_ known than that?"
+
+"I suppose so. By people who have made a specialty of them. For one who
+has preferred to amass general knowledge rather than to specialize, it is
+considered enough to know that they stick like billy-o."
+
+"You haven't specialized in anything, have you?"
+
+"Only in wives."
+
+Celia smiled and went on. "How do you make a specialty of limpets?"
+
+"Well, I suppose you--er--study them. You sit down and--and watch them.
+Probably after dark they get up and do something. And of course, in any
+case, you can always dissect one and see what he's had for breakfast. One
+way and another you get to know things about them."
+
+"They must have a lot of time for thinking," said Celia, regarding my
+limpet with her head on one side. "Tell me, how do they know that there
+are no men in Mars?"
+
+I sat up with a sigh.
+
+"Celia, you do dodge about so. I have barely brought together and
+classified my array of facts about things in this world, when you've
+dashed up to another one. What is the connexion between Mars and limpets?
+If there are any limpets in Mars they are freshwater ones. In the
+canals."
+
+"Oh, I just wondered," she said. "I mean"--she wrinkled her forehead in
+the effort to find words for her thoughts--"I'm wondering what everything
+means, and why we're all here, and what limpets are for, and, supposing
+there are people in Mars, if we're the real people whom the world was
+made for, or if _they_ are." She stopped and added, "One evening after
+dinner, when we get home, you must tell me all about _everything_"
+
+Celia has a beautiful idea that I can explain everything to her. I
+suppose I must have explained a stymie or a no-ball very cleverly once.
+
+"Well," I said, "I can tell you what limpets are for now. They're like
+sheep and cows and horses and pheasants and--and any other animal.
+They're just for _us_. At least so the wise people say."
+
+"But we don't eat limpets."
+
+"No, but they can amuse us. This one"--and with a sudden leap I was
+behind him as he dozed, and I had dashed him forward another eighteenth
+of a millimetre--"this one has amused _me_."
+
+"Perhaps," said Celia thoughtfully, and I don't think it was quite a nice
+thing for a young woman to say, "perhaps we're only meant to amuse the
+people in Mars."
+
+"Then," I said lazily, "let's hope that they _are_ amused."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ten days later the Great War began. Celia said no more on the subject,
+but she used to look at me curiously sometimes, and I fear that the
+problem of life left her more puzzled than ever. At the risk of betraying
+myself to her as "quite an ordinary person after all" I confess that
+there are times when it leaves me puzzled too.
+
+
+
+
+IV. WAR-TIME
+
+
+
+O.B.E.
+
+
+I know a Captain of Industry,
+Who made big bombs for the R.F.C.,
+And collared a lot of £ s. d.--
+And he--thank God!--has the O.B.E.
+
+I know a Lady of Pedigree,
+Who asked some soldiers out to tea,
+And said "Dear me!" and "Yes, I see"--
+And she--thank God!--has the O.B.E.
+
+I know a fellow of twenty-three,
+Who got a job with a fat M.P.--
+(Not caring much for the Infantry.)
+And he--thank God!--has the O.B.E.
+
+I had a friend; a friend, and he
+Just held the line for you and me,
+And kept the Germans from the sea,
+And died--without the O.B.E.
+                      Thank God!
+He died without the O.B.E.
+
+
+
+ARMAGEDDON
+
+
+The conversation had turned, as it always does in the smoking-rooms of
+golf clubs, to the state of poor old England, and Porkins had summed the
+matter up. He had marched round in ninety-seven that morning, followed by
+a small child with an umbrella and an arsenal of weapons, and he felt in
+form with himself.
+
+"What England wants," he said, leaning back and puffing at his
+cigar,--"what England wants is a war. (Another whisky and soda, waiter.)
+We're getting flabby. All this pampering of the poor is playing the very
+deuce with the country. A bit of a scrap with a foreign power would do us
+all the good in the world." He disposed of his whisky at a draught.
+"We're flabby," he repeated. "The lower classes seem to have no
+sense of discipline nowadays. We want a war to brace us up."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It is well understood in Olympus that Porkins must not be disappointed.
+What will happen to him in the next world I do not know, but it will be
+something extremely humorous; in this world, however, he is to have all
+that he wants. Accordingly the gods got to work.
+
+In the little village of Ospovat, which is in the southeastern corner of
+Ruritania, there lived a maiden called Maria Strultz, who was engaged to
+marry Captain Tomsk.
+
+"I fancy," said one of the gods, "that it might be rather funny if Maria
+jilted the Captain. I have an idea that it would please Porkins."
+
+"Whatever has Maria--" began a very young god, but he was immediately
+suppressed.
+
+"Really," said the other, "I should have thought it was sufficiently
+obvious. You know what these mortals are." He looked round to them all.
+"Is it agreed then?"
+
+It was agreed.
+
+So Maria Strultz jilted the Captain.
+
+Now this, as you may imagine, annoyed Captain Tomsk. He commanded a
+frontier fort on the boundary between Ruritania and Essenland, and his
+chief amusement in a dull life was to play cards with the Essenland
+captain, who commanded the fort on the other side of the river. When
+Maria's letter came, he felt that the only thing to do was to drown
+himself; on second thoughts he decided to drown his sorrows first. He did
+this so successfully that at the end of the evening he was convinced that
+it was not Maria who had jilted him, but the Essenland captain who had
+jilted Maria; whereupon he rowed across the river and poured his revolver
+into the Essenland flag which was flying over the fort. Maria thus
+revenged, he went home to bed, and woke next morning with a bad headache.
+
+("_Now we're off," said the gods in Olympus_.)
+
+In Diedeldorf, the capital of Essenland, the leader-writers proceeded to
+remove their coats.
+
+"The blood of every true Essenlander," said the leader-writer of the
+"Diedeldorf Patriot", after sending out for another pot of beer, "will
+boil when it hears of this fresh insult to our beloved flag, an insult
+which can only be wiped out with blood." Then seeing that he had two
+"bloods" in one sentence, he crossed the second One out, substituted "the
+sword," and lit a fresh cigarette. "For years Essenland has writhed under
+the provocations of Ruritania, but has preserved a dignified silence;
+this last insult is more than flesh and blood can stand." Another "blood"
+had got in, but it was a new sentence and he thought it might be allowed
+to remain. "We shall not be accused of exaggeration if we say that
+Essenland would lose, and rightly lose, her prestige in the eyes of
+Europe if she let this affront pass unnoticed. In a day she would sink
+from a first-rate to a fifth-rate power." But he didn't say how.
+
+The Chancellor of Essenland, in a speech gravely applauded by both sides
+of the House, announced the steps he had taken. An ultimatum had been
+sent to Ruritania demanding an apology, an indemnity of a hundred
+thousand marks, and the public degradation of Captain Tomsk, whose
+epaulettes were to be torn off by the Commander-in-Chief of the Essenland
+Army in the presence of a full corps of cinematograph artists. Failing
+this, war would be declared.
+
+Ruritania offered the apology, the indemnity, and the public degradation
+of Captain Tomsk, but urged that this last ceremony would be better
+performed by the Commander-in-Chief of the Ruritanian Army; otherwise
+Ruritania might as well cease to be a sovereign state, for she would
+lose her prestige in the eyes of Europe, and sink to the level of a
+fifth-rate power.
+
+There was only one possible reply to this, and Essenland made it. She
+invaded Ruritania.
+
+_("Aren't they wonderful?" said the gods in Olympus to each other_.
+
+"_But haven't you made a mistake?" asked the very young god. "Porkins
+lives in England, not Essenland_."
+
+"_Wait a moment," said the others.)_
+
+       *       *       *        *       *
+
+In the capital of Borovia the leader-writer of the "Borovian Patriot" got
+to work. "How does Borovia stand?" he asked. "If Essenland occupies
+Ruritania, can any thinking man in Borovia feel safe with the enemy at
+his gates?" (The Borovian peasant, earning five marks a week, would have
+felt no less safe than usual, but then he could hardly be described as a
+thinking man.) "It is vital to the prestige of Borovia that the integrity
+of Ruritania should be preserved. Otherwise we may resign ourselves at
+once to the prospect of becoming a fifth-rate power in the eyes of
+Europe." And in a speech, gravely applauded by all parties, the Borovian
+Chancellor said the same thing. So the Imperial Army was mobilized and,
+amidst a wonderful display of patriotic enthusiasm by those who were
+remaining behind, the Borovian troops marched to the front....
+
+_("And there you are," said the gods in Olympus.
+
+"But even now--" began the very young god doubtfully.
+
+"Silly, isn't Felicia the ally of Essenland; isn't Marksland the ally of
+Borovia; isn't England the ally of the ally of the ally of the Country
+which holds the balance of power between Marksland and Felicia?"
+
+"But if any of them thought the whole thing stupid or unjust or--"
+
+"Their prestige," said the gods gravely, trying not to laugh.
+
+"Oh, I see," said the very young god.)_
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+And when a year later the hundred-thousandth English mother woke up to
+read that her boy had been shot, I am afraid she shed foolish tears and
+thought that the world had come to an end.
+
+Poor short-sighted creature! She didn't realize that Porkins, who had
+marched round in ninety-six the day before, was now thoroughly braced up.
+
+_("What babies they all are," said the very young god.)_
+
+
+
+GOLD BRAID
+
+
+Same old crossing, same old boat,
+  Same old dust round Rouen way,
+Same old narsty one-franc note,
+  Same old "Mercy, sivvoo play";
+Same old scramble up the line,
+  Same old 'orse-box, same old stror,
+Same old weather, wet or fine,
+Same old blooming War.
+
+_Ho Lor, it isn't a dream,
+  It's just as it used to be, every bit;
+Same old whistle and same old bang,
+  And me out again to be 'it._
+
+'Twas up by Loos I got me first;
+  I just dropped gently, crawled a yard
+And rested sickish, with a thirst--
+  The 'eat, I thought, and smoking 'ard....
+Then someone 'ands me out a drink,
+  What poets call "the cooling draft,"
+And seeing 'im I done a think:
+  "_Blighty,"_ I thinks--and laughed.
+
+I'm not a soldier nacheral,
+  No more than most of us to-day;
+I runs a business with a pal
+  (Meaning the Missis) Fulham way;
+Greengrocery--the cabbages
+  And fruit and things I take meself,
+And she has dafts and crocuses
+  A-smiling on a shelf.
+
+"Blighty," I thinks. The doctor knows;
+  'E talks of punctured damn-the-things.
+It's me for Blighty. Down I goes;
+  I ain't a singer, but I sings.
+"Oh, 'oo goes 'ome?" I sort of 'ums;
+  "Oh, 'oo's for dear old England's shores?"
+And by-and-by Southampton comes--
+  "Blighty!" I says, and roars.
+
+I s'pose I thort I done my bit;
+  I s'pose I thort the War would stop;
+I saw meself a-getting fit
+  With Missis at the little shop;
+The same like as it used to be,
+  The same old markets, same old crowd,
+The same old marrers, same old me,
+But 'er as proud as proud....
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The regiment is where it was,
+  I'm in the same old ninth platoon;
+New faces most, and keen becos
+  They thinks the thing is ending soon;
+I ain't complaining, mind, but still,
+  When later on some newish bloke
+Stops one and laughs, "A blighty, Bill,"
+  I'll wonder, "Where's the joke?"
+
+Same old trenches, same old view,
+  Same old rats as blooming tame,
+Same old dug-outs, nothing new,
+  Same old smell, the very same,
+Same old bodies out in front,
+  Same old _strafe_ from 2 till 4,
+Same old scratching, same old 'unt.
+  Same old bloody War.
+
+_Ho Lor, it isn't a dream,
+  It's just as it used to be, every bit;
+Same old whistle and same old bang.
+  And me to stay 'ere till I'm 'it._
+
+
+
+TOBY
+
+
+It will save trouble if I say at once that I know nothing about horses.
+This will be quite apparent to you, of course, before I have finished,
+but I don't want you to suppose that it is not also quite apparent to me.
+I have no illusions on the subject; neither, I imagine, has Toby.
+
+To me there are only two kinds of horse. Chestnuts, roans, bay rums--I
+know nothing of all these; I can only describe a horse simply as a nice
+horse or a nasty horse. Toby is a nice horse.
+
+Toby, of course, knows much more about men than I do about horses, and no
+doubt he describes me professionally to his colleagues as a "flea-bitten
+fellow standing about eighteen hoofs"; but when he is not being technical
+I like to think that he sums me up to himself as a nice man. At any rate
+I am not allowed to wear spurs, and that must weigh with a horse a good
+deal.
+
+I have no real right to Toby. The Signalling Officer's official mount is
+a bicycle, but a bicycle in this weather--! And there _is_ Toby, and
+somebody must ride him, and, as I point out to the other subalterns, it
+would only cause jealousy if one of _them_ rode him, and--"
+
+"Why would it create more jealousy than if _you_ do?" asked one of them.
+
+"Well," I said, "you're the officer commanding platoon number--"
+
+"Fifteen."
+
+"Fifteen. Now, why should the officer commanding the fifteenth platoon
+ride a horse when the officer commanding the nineteenth--"
+
+He reminded me that there were only sixteen platoons in a battalion. It's
+such a long time since I had anything to do with platoons that I forget.
+
+"All right, we'll say the sixteenth. Why shouldn't _he_ have a horse? Of
+all the unjust--Well, you see what recriminations it would lead to. Now I
+don't say I'm more valuable than a platoon-commander or more effective on
+a horse, but, at any rate, there aren't sixteen of me. There's only one
+Signalling Officer, and if there _is_ a spare horse over--"
+
+"What about the Bombing Officer?" said O.C. Platoon 15 carelessly.
+
+I had quite forgotten the Bombing Officer. Of course he is a specialist
+too.
+
+"Yes, quite so, but if you would only think a little," I said, thinking
+hard all the time, "you would--well, put it this way. The range of a
+Mills bomb is about fifty yards; the range of a field telephone is
+several miles. Which of us is more likely to require a horse?"
+
+"_And_ the Sniping officer?" he went on dreamily.
+
+This annoyed me.
+
+"You don't shoot snipe from horseback," I said sharply. "You're mixing up
+shooting and hunting, my lad. And in any case there are reasons, special
+reasons, why I ride Toby--reasons of which you know nothing."
+
+Here are the reasons:--
+
+1. I think I have more claim to a horse called Toby than has a
+contributor to "Our Feathered Friends" or whatever paper the Sniping
+Officer writes for.
+
+2. When I joined the Army, Celia was inconsolable. I begged her to keep a
+stiff upper lip, to which she replied that she could do it better if I
+promised not to keep a bristly one. I pointed out that the country wanted
+bristles; and though, between ourselves, we might regard it as a
+promising face spoilt for a tradition, still discipline was discipline.
+And so the bristles came, and remained until the happy day when the War
+Office, at the risk of losing the war, made them optional. Immediately
+they were uprooted.
+
+Now the Colonel has only one fault (I have been definitely promised my
+second star in 1927, so he won't think I am flattering him with a
+purpose): he likes moustaches. His own is admirable, and I have no wish
+for him to remove it, but I think he should be equally broad-minded about
+mine.
+
+"You aren't really more beautiful without it," he said. "A moustache
+suits you."
+
+"My wife doesn't think so," I said firmly. I had the War Office on my
+side, so I could afford to be firm.
+
+The Colonel looked at me, and then he looked out of the window, and made
+the following remarkable statement.
+
+"Toby," he said gently to himself, "doesn't like clean-shaven officers."
+
+This hadn't occurred to me; I let it sink in.
+
+"Of course," I said at last, "one must consider one's horse. I quite see
+that."
+
+"With a bicycle," he said, "it's different."
+
+And so there you have the second reason. If the Bombing Officer rode
+Toby, I should shave again to-morrow, and then where would the Battalion
+be? Ruined.
+
+So Toby and I go off together. Up till now he has been good to me. He has
+bitten one Company Commander, removed another, and led the Colonel a
+three-mile chase across country after him, so if any misunderstanding
+occurs between us there will be good precedent for it. So far my only
+real trouble has been once when billeting.
+
+Billeting is delightful fun. You start three hours in advance of the
+battalion, which means that if the battalion leaves at eight in the
+morning, you are up in the fresh of the day, when the birds are singing.
+You arrive at the village and get from the Mayor or the Town Major a list
+of possible hostesses. Entering the first house (labeled "Officers 5")
+you say, "_Vous avez un lit pour un Officier ici, n'est-ce pas? Vive la
+France_!" She answers, "_Pas un lit_," and you go to the next house.
+"_Vous avez place pour cent hommes--oui?" "Non_," says she--and so on.
+By-and-by the battalion arrives, and everybody surrounds you. "Where are
+_my_ men going?" "Where is _my_ billet?" "Where's 'C' Company's mess?"
+"Have you found anything for the Pioneers?" And so one knows what it is
+to be popular.
+
+Well, the other day the Major thought he'd come with me, just to give me
+an idea how it ought to be done. I say nothing of the result; but for
+reasons connected with Toby I hope he won't come again. For in the middle
+of a narrow street crowded with lorries, he jumped off his horse, flung
+(I think that's the expression)--flung me the reins and said, "Just wait
+here while I see the Mayor a moment."
+
+The Major's horse I can describe quite shortly--a nasty big black horse.
+
+Toby I have already described as a nice horse, but he had been knee-deep
+in mud, inspecting huts, for nearly half an hour, and was sick of
+billeting.
+
+I need not describe two-hundred-lorries-on-a-dark-evening to you.
+
+And so, seeing that you know the constituents, I must let you imagine how
+they all mixed....
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+This is a beastly war. But it has its times; and when our own particular
+bit of the battle is over, and what is left of the battalion is marching
+back to rest, I doubt if, even in England (which seems very far off), you
+will find two people more contented with the morning than Toby and I, as
+we jog along together.
+
+
+
+COMMON
+
+
+Seated in your comfortable club, my very dear sir, or in your delightful
+drawing-room, madam, you may smile pityingly at the idea of a mascot
+saving anybody's life. "What will be, will be," you say to yourself (or
+in Italian to your friends), "and to suppose that a charm round the neck
+of a soldier will divert a German shell is ridiculous." But out there,
+through the crumps, things look otherwise.
+
+Common had sat on the mantelpiece at home. An ugly little ginger dog,
+with a bit of red tape for his tongue and two black beads for his eyes,
+he viewed his limited world with an air of innocent impertinence very
+attractive to visitors. Common he looked and Common he was called,
+with a Christian name of Howard for registration. For six months he sat
+there, and no doubt he thought that he had seen all that there was to see
+of the world when the summons came which was to give him so different an
+outlook on life.
+
+For that summons meant the breaking up of his home. Master was going
+wandering from trench to trench, Mistress from one person's house to
+another person's house. She no doubt would take Common with her; or
+perhaps she couldn't be bothered with an ugly little ginger dog, and he
+would be stored in some repository, boarded out in some Olympic kennel.
+"Or do you _possibly_ think Master might--"
+
+He looked very wistful that last morning, so wistful that Mistress
+couldn't bear it, and she slipped him in hastily between the revolver and
+the boracic powder, "Just to look after you," she said. So Common came
+with me to France.
+
+His first view of the country was at Rouen, when he sat at the entrance
+to my tent and hooshed the early morning flies away. His next at a
+village behind the lines, where he met stout fellows of "D" Company and
+took the centre of the table at mess in the apple orchard; and moreover
+was introduced to a French maiden of two, with whom, at the instigation
+of the seconds in the business--her mother and myself--a prolonged but
+monotonous conversation in the French tongue ensued, Common, under
+suitable pressure, barking idiomatically, and the maiden, carefully
+prompted, replying with the native for "Bow-wow." A pretty greenwood
+scene beneath the apple-trees, and in any decent civilization the great
+adventure would have ended there. But Common knew that it was not only
+for this that he had been brought out, and that there was more arduous
+work to come.
+
+Once more he retired to the valise, for we were making now for a
+vill--for a heap of bricks near the river; you may guess the river. It
+was about this time that I made a little rhyme for him:
+
+There was a young puppy called Howard,
+Who at fighting was rather a coward;
+     He never quite ran
+     When the battle began,
+But he started at once to bow-wow hard.
+
+A good poet is supposed to be superior to the exigencies of rhyme, but I
+am afraid that in any case Common's reputation had to be sacrificed to
+them. To be lyrical over anybody called Howard Common without hinting
+that he--well, try for yourself. Anyhow it was a lie, as so much good
+poetry is.
+
+There came a time when valises were left behind and life for a fortnight
+had to be sustained on a pack. One seems to want very many things, but
+there was no hesitation about Common's right to a place. So he came to
+see his first German dug-out, and to get a proper understanding of this
+dead bleached land and the great work which awaited him there. It was to
+blow away shells and bullets when they came too near the master in whose
+pocket he sat.
+
+In this he was successful; but I think that the feat in which he takes
+most pride was performed one very early summer morning. A telephone line
+had to be laid, and, for reasons obvious to Common, rather rapidly. It
+was laid safely--a mere nothing to him by this time. But when it was
+joined up to the telephone in the front line, then he realized that he
+was called upon to be not only a personal mascot, but a mascot to the
+battalion, and he sat himself upon the telephone and called down a
+blessing on that cable, so that it remained whole for two days and a
+night when by all the rules it should have been in a thousand pieces.
+"And even if I didn't _really_ do it all myself," he said, "anyhow I
+_did_ make some of the men in the trench smile a little that morning, and
+there wasn't so _very_ much smiling going on just then, you know."
+
+After that morning he lived in my pocket, sometimes sniffing at an empty
+pipe, sometimes trying to read letters from Mistress which joined him
+every day. We had gone North to a more gentlemanly part of the line, and
+his duties took but little of his time, so that anything novel, like a
+pair of pliers or an order from the Director of Army Signals, was always
+welcome. To begin with he took up rather more than his fair share of the
+pocket, but he rapidly thinned down. Alas! in the rigours of the campaign
+he also lost his voice; and his little black collar, his only kit,
+disappeared.
+
+Then, just when we seemed settled for the winter, we were ordered South
+again. Common knew what that meant, a busy time for him. We moved down
+slowly, and he sampled billet after billet, but we arrived at last and
+sat down to wait for the day.
+
+And then he began to get nervous. Always he was present when the
+operations were discussed; he had seen all the maps; he knew exactly what
+was expected of us. And he didn't like it.
+
+"It's more than a fellow can do," he said; "at least to be certain of. I
+can blow away the shells in front and the shells from the right, but if
+Master's map is correct we're going to get enfiladed from the left as
+well, and one can't be _everywhere_. This wants thinking about."
+
+So he dived head downwards into the deepest recesses of my pocket and
+abandoned himself to thought. A little later he came up with a smile....
+
+Next morning I stayed in bed and the doctor came. Common looked over his
+shoulder as he read the thermometer.
+
+"A hundred and four," said Common. "Golly! I hope I haven't over-done
+it."
+
+He came with me to the clearing station.
+
+"I only just blowed a germ at him," he said wistfully--"one I found in
+his pocket. I only just blowed it at him."
+
+We went down to the base hospital together; we went back to England. And
+in the hospital in England Common suddenly saw his mistress again.
+
+"I've brought him back, Missis," he said. "Here he is. Have I done well?"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He sits now in a little basket lined with flannel, a hero returned from
+the War. Round his neck he wears the regimental colours, and on his chest
+will be sewn whatever medal is given to those who have served faithfully
+on the Western Front. Seated in your comfortable club, my very dear sir,
+or in your delightful drawing-room, madam, you smile pityingly....
+
+Or perhaps you don't.
+
+
+
+GEORGE'S V.C.
+
+(THE LAST OF THE WAR STORIES)
+
+
+I
+
+The Colonel of the Nth Blankshires was seated in his office. It was not
+an imposing room to look at. Furnished simply but tastefully with a
+table, officers, for use of, one, and a chair, ditto, one, it gave little
+evidence of the distressing scenes which had been enacted in it, and
+still less evidence of the terrible scene which was to come. Within these
+walls the Colonel was accustomed to deal out stern justice to offenders,
+and many a hardened criminal had been carried out fainting upon hearing
+the terrible verdict, "One day's C.B."
+
+But the Colonel was not holding the scales of justice now, for it was
+late afternoon. With an expression of the utmost anxiety upon his face
+he read and re-read the official-looking document which he held in his
+hand. Even the photograph of the Sergeant-Major (signed, "Yours ever,
+Henry"), which stood upon his desk, brought him no comfort.
+
+The door opened and Major Murgatroyd, second in command of the famous
+Blankshires, came in.
+
+"Come in," said Colonel Blowhard.
+
+The Major saluted impressively, and the Colonel rose and returned his
+salute with the politeness typical of the British Army.
+
+"You wished to see me, Colonel?"
+
+"I did, Major." They saluted each other again. "A secret document of
+enormous importance," went on the Colonel, "has just reached me from the
+War Office. It concerns the Regiment, the dear old Regiment." Both men
+saluted, and the Colonel went on hoarsely, "Were the news in this
+document to become public property before its time, nothing could avert
+the defeat of England in the present world-wide cataclysm."
+
+"Is it as important as that, Colonel?" said the Major, even more hoarsely
+if anything.
+
+"It is, Major."
+
+The Major's voice sank to a whisper.
+
+"What would not Hindenburg give to see it," he muttered.
+
+"Ay," said the Colonel. "I say that to myself day and night: 'What not
+what--what would what--' Well, I say it to myself day and night. For this
+reason, Major, I have decided to entrust the news to no one but yourself.
+Our Officers are good lads and a credit to the dear old Regiment"--they
+saluted as before--"but in a matter of this sort one cannot be too
+discreet."
+
+"You are right, Colonel."
+
+The Colonel looked round the room apprehensively and brought his chair a
+little closer to the Major.
+
+"The secret contained in this document--Are we alone?"
+
+"Except for each other, Colonel."
+
+"The secret," went on the Colonel, "is this: that, on and after the 23rd
+of the month, men in category X3 are to be included in category X2."
+
+"My God," gasped the Major, "if Hindenburg knew!"
+
+"He must not know, Major," said the Colonel simply. "I can trust you not
+to disclose this until the time is ripe?"
+
+"You can trust me, Colonel."
+
+They grasped hands and saluted.
+
+At this moment the door opened and an orderly came in.
+
+"You're wanted by the Sergeant-Major, sir," he told the Colonel.
+
+"Ah, excuse me a moment," said the latter to his second in command,
+knowing how much it annoys a sergeant-major to be kept waiting. He
+saluted and hurried out.
+
+"Just a moment, orderly," said the Major.
+
+The orderly came back. "Yes, sir," he said.
+
+"Did you give that message to Miss Blowhard?"
+
+"Yes, sir. She says she cannot play golf with
+you to-morrow because she is playing with Second-Lieutenant
+Lord Smith." He saluted and withdrew.
+
+Left alone the Major gave vent to his rage. "Lord Smith!" he stormed.
+"Curse him! What can she see in that puppy? Thrice have I used my
+influence to send him away on a musketry course, and thrice has he
+returned. Could I but turn him out of the Regiment for good, I might win
+the love of the fair Miss Blowhard, the Colonel's daughter." In a sudden
+passion he picked up the "Manual of Military Law" and flung it to the
+ground.
+
+All at once an idea struck him and a crafty look came into his eyes.
+
+"By jove," he cried, "the secret document! The very thing."
+
+To put the document into an envelope was the work of a moment. Taking up
+a pen he printed on the outside in large capitals these words:
+
+FOR HINDENBURG,
+GERMANY
+
+With a diabolical smile he sealed the envelope up, rang the bell, and
+ordered Second-Lieutenant Lord Smith to be brought before him.
+
+"You wanted me, sir?" said Lord Smith on his arrival.
+
+Of all the distinguished officers in the Nth Battalion, Lord Smith was
+perhaps the most brilliant. Although he had held his commission for three
+years he had only been arrested twice by the Provost-Marshal--the first
+time for wearing a soft cap when, as an officer and gentleman, he
+should have worn a hard one, and the second time, three months later, for
+wearing a hard cap when, as an officer and gentleman, he should have worn
+a soft one. Nobody can deny that these were serious blots on his career,
+but it was felt in the trenches that his skill with the rifle partially
+atoned for them.
+
+"Ah, Smith, my boy," said the Major genially, "I just wanted to know the
+address of your tailor. Wonderfully well-cut tunic this of yours." He
+went over to him and, under pretence of examining the cut of his tunic,
+dropped the envelope cautiously into one of the pockets.
+
+Somewhat surprised at the compliment paid to his tailor, but entirely
+unsuspicious, Lord Smith gave him the required address.
+
+"Thanks," said the Major. "By the way, I've got to go out now; would you
+mind waiting here till the Colonel comes back? He has left an extremely
+important document on his table and I do not like to leave the room
+unoccupied."
+
+"Certainly, sir," said Lord Smith.
+
+Left alone, our hero gave himself up to thought. For some reason he
+distrusted the Major; he felt that they were rivals for the hand of
+Rosamund Blowhard. On ten Sundays in succession he had been forced to
+attend Church Parade, what time the Major and Rosamund were disporting
+themselves on the golf links. It was only on Saturday afternoons that he
+had a chance of seeing her alone, and yet he felt somehow that she loved
+him.
+
+"Ah, Smith, my boy," said the Colonel as he bustled in. "Always glad to
+see you. My favourite subaltern," he went on, with his hand on the young
+man's shoulder; "the best officer who ever formed a four at bridge--I
+mean, who ever formed fours; and a holder of no fewer than three musketry
+certificates."
+
+Lord Smith smiled modestly.
+
+"There, I must get on with my work," went on the Colonel, sitting down
+at his table and turning over his papers. "You find me very--you find
+me--you find--good Heavens!"
+
+"What is it, sir?"
+
+"I _don't_ find it--I've lost it; the secret document!"
+
+"Was it very important, sir?"
+
+"Important!" cried the Colonel. "If Hindenburg--but we must get to work.
+Summon the guard, blow the fire-alarm, send for the Orderly Sergeant."
+
+In less than a minute the room was full of armed men, including the
+Major.
+
+"Men of the Nth Blankshires," said the Colonel, addressing them, "a
+document of enormous importance has been stolen from this room. Unless
+that document is recovered the fair name of the Regiment will be
+irretrievably tarnished."
+
+"Never!" cried a Corporal of the Signalling Section, and there was a deep
+murmur of applause.
+
+"May I suggest, sir," said the Major, "that the pockets of all should be
+searched? I myself am quite ready to set the example," and as he spoke
+he drew out three receipted bills and a price list of tomatoes, and
+placed them before the Colonel.
+
+One by one they followed his example.
+
+Suddenly all eyes were fixed on Second-Lieutenant Lord Smith, as
+with horror and amazement upon his face he drew from his pocket the
+official-looking envelope.
+
+"I swear I never put it there, sir," he gasped.
+
+"Perhaps I ought to tell you, sir," said the Major, "that I asked Lord
+Smith to keep an eye upon the document during my absence. No doubt he
+placed it in his pocket for safety."
+
+Several men applauded this suggestion, for Lord Smith was a general
+favourite.
+
+The Colonel gave one glance at the envelope, and then, with fire flashing
+from his eyes, held it up for all to see.
+
+"How do you account for _this_?" he cried in a voice of thunder, and with
+a gasp of horror they read the fatal words:
+
+FOR HINDENBURG,
+GERMANY
+
+The Colonel and the other officers drew their swords, the rank and file
+fixed bayonets; they hacked the buttons off Lord Smith's tunic, they dug
+the stars out of his sleeves, they tore the regimental badge from his
+cap; they tore his collar, they tore his tie, they took his gold
+cigarette-case; and still he stood there, saying proudly, "I am
+innocent."
+
+"Go!" said the Colonel, pointing with his sword to the door.
+
+Suddenly there was a commotion outside and a breathless figure pushed its
+way into the room.
+
+"Father," cried Rosamund Blowhard, "spare him. He is innocent."
+
+"Rosamund," said George, for so we must call him now, "I am innocent.
+Some day the truth will be known." Then he took a tender farewell of her
+and, casting a glance of mingled suspicion and hatred at the Major, he
+strode from the room.
+
+
+II
+
+The patient in the Xth bed at the Yth Base Hospital stirred restlessly.
+
+"Water," he murmured, "water."
+
+A soft-footed nurse rose and poured some over him. "Rosamund," he
+breathed, and with a smile of content dropped peacefully asleep again.
+
+Who was he, this mysterious patient in Number X bed? Obviously a
+gentleman from the colour of his pyjamas, his identity disc proclaimed
+him to be Private Smithlord of the Qth Blankshires. There was something
+strange about him. Only that morning he had received the V.C. from Sir
+Douglas Haig, the R.S.V.P. from General Pétain, the Order of the Golden
+Elephant from our Japanese Allies, the Order of the Split Haddock from
+the President of Nicaragua, and the Order of the Neutral Nut from Brazil.
+Yet he cared for none of these things; he only murmured, "Rosamund!" Who
+was Private Smithlord?
+
+Though so little was known of him, the story of his prowess was on every
+lip. An officer from his regiment who had gone out alone to an
+observation post had been surrounded and cut off by the enemy. Threatened
+on all sides by guns and bombs of every calibre, he had prepared to sell
+his life dearly. To attempt a rescue would have been madness; even the
+most reckless Town Major would have blenched at the idea; and the
+Regiment, in the comparative safety of their trench, could only look on
+helplessly.
+
+All but Private Smithlord. Hastily borrowing the Colonel's horse, he
+urged the gallant animal up the trench and away over the top. And then
+began a race such as had never been seen at Epsom or Melton Mowbray.
+
+"Gad," said a sporting subaltern, who in peace days had frequently
+entered for a Derby sweepstake at the National Liberal Club, "the beggar
+can ride--what?"
+
+An answering cheer rang out from all ranks.
+
+Over wire entanglements and across shell holes dashed Private Smithlord,
+firing rapidly with his revolver all the while. Nearer to the ill-fated
+officer he drew, and then suddenly he was in the midst of the enemy.
+Lashing out right and left, he fought his way to the man he had come to
+rescue, pulled him up behind him and, amidst a hurricane of bullets,
+charged back to the British lines. Nor did he pause till he arrived at
+the Colonel's dug-out.
+
+"I have brought him back, sir," he said, and fainted. When he awoke it
+was to find himself in the Xth bed of the Yth Base Hospital.
+
+And who is it in the next bed? It is the officer whom he rescued. Do we
+recognize him? Alas, no. Although unwounded by the enemy, the exposure of
+that terrible day had brought on a severe attack of mumps. We cannot
+recognize him. But the nurse assures us that it is our old friend, Major
+Murgatroyd.
+
+"A visitor to see you," said the nurse, coming in and waking Private
+Smithlord up.
+
+"Can't you say I'm out?" said Smithlord, expecting it was another foreign
+decoration and wondering what language he would have to speak this time.
+
+"It's an English Colonel," said the nurse.
+
+Smithlord saluted and begged the nurse to show him up at once. In another
+minute Colonel Blowhard had entered.
+
+"I want to thank you," said the Colonel, "for so gallantly rescuing an
+old friend of mine--Major Murgatroyd, belonging to the Nth Battalion
+Blankshires, but now attached to the Qth."
+
+Smithlord could hardly repress a start. In the excitement of the moment
+he had not recognized the features of the man he had saved. It was his
+old rival.
+
+"It is curious," went on the Colonel, "that in features you resemble
+another old friend of mine, Lord Smith."
+
+"My name is Smithlord, sir."
+
+"Ah! Any relation?"
+
+"None," said Smithlord, crossing his thumbs under the bedclothes.
+
+"Do you mind ringing the bell?" he went on, feeling that at all costs he
+must turn the conversation. "I think it is time for my medicine."
+
+In answer to the Colonel's ring a nurse appeared.
+
+"Nurse Brown has just gone out," she said. "Can I do anything for you?"
+
+"Good Heavens! Rosamund!" cried the Colonel.
+
+"Yes, father, it is I," she replied simply. "I have come to France to
+find the man I love."
+
+"Murgatroyd?" said the Colonel. "But this gallant fellow was the man
+who--By the way, let me introduce you. Private Smithlord, my daughter,
+Rosamund."
+
+The two looked at each other face to face. The intuition and ready wit of
+the woman pierced the disguise which had baffled the soldier.
+
+"Father," she cried, "it's not Smithlord, it's Lord Smith. George!"
+
+"Rosamund!" cried George. We cannot keep the secret any longer from our
+readers; it _was_ Lord Smith.
+
+"Tut, tut, sir, what is this?" said the Colonel. "I turned you out of the
+Regiment three weeks ago. What the deuce," he said, for, like all
+military men, he was addicted to strong language--"what the deuce does
+this mean?"
+
+"I was innocent, sir."
+
+"Father, he was innocent."
+
+"He was innocent," said a hollow voice from the next bed.
+
+In amazement they all looked at the officer lying there.
+
+"Rosamund," he cried, "am I so greatly changed?"
+
+The Colonel handed him his pocket mirror.
+
+"Yes," sighed the Major, "I understand. But I am Major Murgatroyd."
+
+"Major Murgatroyd!" they all cried.
+
+"This gallant fellow here, whom I now know to be Lord Smith, saved my
+life; I cannot let him suffer any longer. It was I who hid the secret
+document in his pocket. I did it for love of you, Rosamund." He held out
+his hand. "Say you forgive me, my dear Lord Smith."
+
+Lord Smith shook his hand warmly.
+
+But little more remains to tell. A month later our hero was back in
+England. Fortunately the Quartermaster had kept his buttons; and in a
+very short time he was back in the dear old uniform, and the wedding of
+Second-Lieutenant Lord Smith to Rosamund Blowhard was one of the events
+of the season.
+
+And what of Major Murgatroyd? He has learnt his lesson; and as commandant
+of a rest camp on the French coast he is the soul of geniality to all
+who meet him.
+
+
+
+THE BALLAD OF PRIVATE CHADD
+
+
+I sing of George Augustus Chadd,
+Who'd always from a baby had
+A deep affection for his Dad--
+  In other words, his Father;
+Contrariwise, the father's one
+And only treasure was his son,
+Yes, even when he'd gone and done
+  Things which annoyed him rather.
+
+For instance, if at Christmas (say)
+Or on his parent's natal day
+The thoughtless lad forgot to pay
+The customary greeting,
+  His father's visage only took
+That dignified reproachful look
+Which dying beetles give the cook
+  Above the clouds of Keating.
+
+As years went on such looks were rare;
+The younger Chadd was always there
+To greet his father and to share
+  His father's birthday party;
+The pink "For auld acquaintance sake"
+Engraved in sugar on the cake
+Was his. The speech he used to make
+  Was reverent but hearty.
+
+The younger Chadd was twentyish
+When War broke out, but did not wish
+To get an A.S.C. commish
+  Or be a rag-time sailor;
+Just Private Chadd he was, and went
+To join his Dad's old regiment,
+While Dad (the dear old dug-out) sent
+  For red tabs from the tailor.
+
+To those inured to war's alarms
+I need not dwell upon the charms
+Of raw recruits when sloping arms,
+  Nor tell why Chadd was hoping
+That, if his sloping-powers increased,
+They'd give him two days' leave at least
+To join his Father's birthday feast ...
+  And so resumed his sloping.
+
+One morning on the training ground,
+When fixing bayonets, he found
+The fatal day already round,
+  And, even as he fixed, he
+Decided then and there to state
+To Sergeant Brown (at any rate)
+His longing to congratulate
+  His sire on being sixty.
+
+"Sergeant," he said, "we're on the eve
+Of Father's birthday; grant me leave"
+(And here his bosom gave a heave)
+  "To offer him my blessing;
+And, if a Private's tender thanks--
+Nay, do not blank my blanky blanks!
+I could not help but leave the ranks;
+  Birthdays are more than dressing."
+
+The Sergeant was a kindly soul,
+He loved his men upon the whole,
+He'd also had a father's _rôle_
+  Pressed on him fairly lately.
+"Brave Chadd," he said, "thou speakest sooth!
+O happy day! O pious youth!
+Great," he extemporized, "is Truth,
+  And it shall flourish greatly."
+
+The Sergeant took him by the hand
+And led him to the Captain, and
+The Captain tried to understand,
+  And (more or less) succeeded;
+"Correct me if you don't agree,
+But one of you wants _what_?" said he,
+And George Augustus Chadd said, "Me!"
+  Meaning of course that _he_ did.
+
+The Captain took him by the ear
+And gradually brought him near
+The Colonel, who was far from clear,
+  But heard it all politely,
+And asked him twice, "You want a _what_?"
+The Captain said that _he_ did not,
+And Chadd saluted quite a lot
+  And put the matter rightly.
+
+The Colonel took him by the hair
+And furtively conveyed him where
+The General inhaled the air,
+  Immaculately booted;
+Then said, "Unless I greatly err
+This Private wishes to prefer
+A small petition to you, Sir,"
+  And so again saluted.
+
+The General inclined his head
+Towards the two of them and said,
+"Speak slowly, please, or shout instead;
+  I'm hard of hearing, rather."
+So Chadd, that promising recruit,
+Stood to attention, clicked his boot,
+And bellowed, with his best salute,
+  "_A happy birthday, Father_!"
+
+
+
+THE VISITORS' BOOK
+
+
+"As man of the world," said Blake, stretching himself to his full height
+of five foot three, and speaking with the wisdom of nineteen years, "I
+say that it can't be done. In any other company, certainly; at
+headquarters, possibly; but not in D Company. D Company has a
+reputation."
+
+"All I say," said Rogers, "is that, if you can't run any mess in the
+trenches on four francs a day, you're a rotten mess president."
+
+Blake turned dramatically to his company commander.
+
+"Did you hear that, Billy?" he asked.
+
+"Yes," said Billy. "I was just going to say it myself."
+
+"Then, in that case, I have the honour to resign the mess presidency."
+
+"Nothing doing, old boy. You're detailed."
+
+"You can't be detailed to be a president. Presidents are elected by
+popular acclamation. They resign--they resign--"
+
+"To avoid being shot."
+
+"Well, anyhow, they resign. I shall send my resignation in to the Army
+Council to-night. It will appear in 'The Gazette' in due course. '2nd
+Lieut. Blake resigns his mess presidency owing to the enormous price of
+sardines per thousand and the amount of lime juice consumed by casual
+visitors.' I'll tell you what--I'll run the mess on four francs, if
+you'll bar guests."
+
+"Rot, it's nothing to do with guests. We never have any."
+
+"Never have any!" said Blake indignantly. "Then I shall keep a visitors'
+book just to show you."
+
+So that was how the D Company Visitors' Book was inaugurated. I had the
+honour of opening it. I happened to be mending a telephone line in this
+particular trench one thirsty day, and there was the dug-out, and--well,
+there was I. I dropped in.
+
+"Hallo," said Blake, "have a drink."
+
+I had a lime juice. Then I had another. And then, very reluctantly, I got
+up to go. Army Form Book 136 was handed to me.
+
+"The visitors' book," said Blake. "You can just write your name in it, or
+you can be funny, whichever you like."
+
+"What do they usually do?" I asked.
+
+"Well, you're the first, so you'll set the tone. For God's sake don't be
+too funny."
+
+It was an alarming responsibility. However, as it happened, I had
+something which I wanted to say.
+
+"Thursday, 12.45 p.m.," I wrote. "Pleasantly entertained as usual by D
+Company. Refused a pressing invitation to stay to lunch, although
+it was a hot day and I had a long walk back to my own mess."
+
+I handed the book back to Blake. He read it; and with one foot on the
+bottom step of the dugout I waited anxiously.
+
+"Oh, I say, do stay to lunch," he said.
+
+I gave a start of surprise.
+
+"Oh, thanks very much," I said, and I took my foot off the step. "It
+would be rather--I think, perhaps--well, thanks very much."
+
+Once begun, the book filled up rapidly. Subalterns from other companies
+used to call round for the purpose of being funny; I suppose that
+unconsciously I had been too humorous--anyway, the tone had been set. The
+bombing officer, I remember, vowed that Mrs. Blake's hospitality was so
+charming that he would bring his wife and family next time. A gunner
+officer broke into verse--a painful business. One way and another it was
+not long before the last page was reached.
+
+"We must get the General for the last page," said Blake.
+
+"Don't be an ass," said Rogers.
+
+"Whatever's the matter? Don't you think he'd do it?"
+
+"You wouldn't have the cheek to ask him."
+
+"Good lord, you don't stop being a human being, because you command a
+brigade. Why on earth shouldn't I ask him?"
+
+I happened to turn up just then. The telephone line from headquarters to
+D Company always seemed to want attention, whatever part of the line we
+were in.
+
+"Hallo," said Blake, "have a drink."
+
+"Well, I am rather thirsty," I said, and I took out a pencil. "Pass the
+visitors' book and let's get it over."
+
+"No, you don't," said Blake, snatching it away from me, "that's for the
+General."
+
+"This way, sir," said a voice above, and down came Billy, followed by the
+Brigadier. We jumped up.
+
+"You'll have a drink, sir?" said Billy.
+
+"Oh, thanks very much."
+
+"What will you have, sir?" asked Blake, looking round wildly. "Lime juice
+or--or lime juice?"
+
+"I'll have lime juice, thank you," said the General after consideration.
+
+Blake produced the book nervously.
+
+"I wonder if you'd mind," he began.
+
+The General looked inquiring, and started feeling for his glasses. He was
+just feeling in his fifth pocket when Billy came to the rescue.
+
+"It's only some nonsense of Blake's, sir," he said. "He keeps a visitors'
+book."
+
+"Ah, well," said the General, getting up, "another day, perhaps."
+
+When we were alone again Blake turned on Billy.
+
+"You are a silly ass," he said. "If you hadn't interfered, he'd have done
+it. Well, I shall fill it in myself now."
+
+He took a pencil and wrote:
+
+"Monday--Hospitably received by 'D' Company and much enjoyed the mess
+president's amusing conversation. The company commander and a subaltern
+named Rogers struck me as rather lacking in intelligence. R. Blake,
+D.S.O., Brig.-Gen."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I had been out of it for a long time, and when quite accidentally I met
+an officer of the battalion in London I was nearly a year behind the
+news.
+
+"And Blake," I said, after he'd told me some of it, "that nice child in
+'D' Company; what happened to him?"
+
+"Didn't you hear? He had rather a funny experience. He went into that
+last show as senior subaltern of 'D.' Billy was knocked out pretty early
+and Blake took on. After that we had a lot of casualties, and finally we
+were cut off from headquarters altogether and had to carry on on our own.
+Billy was the senior company commander and took charge of the battalion.
+I don't quite know how it happened after that. We all got rather mixed
+up, I suppose. Anyway, at one time Blake was actually commanding the
+brigade. He was splendid; simply all over the place. He got the D.S.O.
+He's rather bucked with himself. Young Blake as a Brigadier--funny, isn't
+it?"
+
+"Not so very," I said.
+
+
+
+FROM A FULL HEART
+
+
+  In days of peace my fellow-men
+    Rightly regarded me as more like
+  A Bishop than a Major-Gen.,
+    And nothing since has made me warlike;
+  But when this age-long struggle ends
+    And I have seen the Allies dish up
+  The goose of Hindenburg--oh, friends!
+    I shall out-bish the mildest Bishop.
+
+_When the War is over and the Kaiser's out of print,
+I'm going to buy some tortoises and watch the beggars sprint;
+When the War is over and the sword at last we sheathe,
+I'm going to keep a jelly-fish and listen to it breathe_.
+
+  I never really longed for gore,
+    And any taste for red corpuscles
+  That lingered with me left before
+    The German troops had entered Brussels.
+  In early days the Colonel's "Shun!"
+    Froze me; and, as the War grew older,
+  The noise of someone else's gun
+    Left me considerably colder.
+
+_When the War is over and the battle has been won,
+I'm going to buy a barnacle and take it for a run;
+When the War is over and the German Fleet we sink,
+I'm going to keep a silk-worm's egg and listen to it think._
+
+  The Captains and the Kings depart--
+    It may be so, but not lieutenants;
+  Dawn after weary dawn I start
+    The never-ending round of penance;
+  One rock amid the welter stands
+    On which my gaze is fixed intently--
+  An after-life in quiet lands
+    Lived very lazily and gently.
+
+_When the War is over and we've done the Belgians proud,
+I'm going to keep a chrysalis and read to it aloud;
+When the War is over and we've finished up the show,
+I'm going to plant a lemon-pip and listen to it grow._
+
+  Oh, I'm tired of the noise and the turmoil of battle,
+  And I'm even upset by the lowing of cattle,
+  And the clang of the bluebells is death to my liver,
+  And the roar of the dandelion gives me a shiver,
+  And a glacier, in movement, is much too exciting,
+  And I'm nervous, when standing on one, of alighting--
+  Give me Peace; that is all, that is all that I seek ...
+      Say, starting on Saturday week.
+
+
+
+ONE STAR
+
+
+Occasionally I receive letters from friends, whom I have not seen lately,
+addressed to Lieutenant M ---- and apologizing prettily inside in case I
+am by now a colonel; in drawing-rooms I am sometimes called "Captain-er";
+and up at the Fort the other day a sentry of the Royal Defence Corps,
+wearing the Créçy medal, mistook me for a Major, and presented crossbows
+to me. This is all wrong. As Mr. Garvin well points out, it is important
+that we should not have a false perspective of the War. Let me, then,
+make it perfectly plain--I am a Second Lieutenant.
+
+When I first became a Second Lieutenant I was rather proud. I was a
+Second Lieutenant "on probation." On my right sleeve I wore a single
+star. So:
+
+*
+
+(on probation, of course). On my left sleeve I wore another star. So:
+
+*
+
+(also on probation).
+
+They were good stars, none better in the service; and as we didn't like
+the sound of "on probation" Celia put a few stitches in them to make them
+more permanent. This proved effective. Six months later I had a very
+pleasant note from the King telling me that the days of probation were
+now over, and making it clear that he and I were friends.
+
+I was now a real Second Lieutenant. On my right sleeve I had a single
+star. Thus:
+
+*
+(not on probation).
+
+On my left sleeve I also had a single star. In this manner:
+
+*
+
+This star also was now a fixed one.
+
+From that time forward my thoughts dwelt naturally on promotion. There
+were exalted persons in the regiment called Lieutenants. They had two
+stars on each sleeve. So:
+
+**
+
+I decided to become a Lieutenant.
+
+Promotion in our regiment was difficult. After giving the matter every
+consideration I came to the conclusion that the only way to win my second
+star was to save the Colonel's life. I used to follow him about
+affectionately in the hope that he would fall into the sea. He was a big
+strong man and a powerful swimmer, but once in the water it would not be
+difficult to cling round his neck and give an impression that I was
+rescuing him. However, he refused to fall in. I fancy that he wore
+somebody's Military Soles which prevent slipping.
+
+Years rolled on. I used to look at my stars sometimes, one on each
+sleeve; they seemed very lonely. At times they came close together;
+but at other times as, for instance, when I was semaphoring, they were
+very far apart. To prevent these occasional separations Celia took them
+off my sleeves and put them on my shoulders. One on each shoulder. So:
+
+*
+
+And so:
+
+*
+
+There they stayed.
+
+And more years rolled on.
+
+One day Celia came to me in great excitement.
+
+"Have you seen this in the paper about promotion?" she said eagerly.
+
+"No; what is it?" I asked. "Are they making more generals?"
+
+"I don't know about generals; it's Second Lieutenants being Lieutenants."
+
+"You're joking on a very grave subject," I said seriously. "You can't
+expect to win the War if you go on like that."
+
+"Well, you read it," she said, handing me the paper.
+
+I took the paper with a trembling hand, and read. She was right! If the
+paper was to be believed, all Second Lieutenants were to become
+Lieutenants after eighteen years' service. At last my chance had come.
+
+"My dear, this is wonderful," I said. "In another fifteen years we shall
+be there. You might buy two more stars this afternoon and practise sewing
+them on, in order to be ready. You mustn't be taken by surprise when the
+actual moment comes."
+
+"But you're a Lieutenant _now_," she said, "if that's true. It says that
+'after eighteen months--'"
+
+I snatched up the paper again. Good Heavens! it was eighteen
+_months_--not years.
+
+"Then I _am_ a Lieutenant," I said.
+
+We had a bottle of champagne for dinner that night, and Celia got the
+paper and read it aloud to my tunic. And just for practice she took the
+two stars off my other tunic and sewed them on this one--thus:
+
+**      **
+
+And we had a very happy evening.
+
+"I suppose it will be a few days before it's officially announced," I
+said.
+
+"Bother, I suppose it will," said Celia, and very reluctantly she took
+one star off each shoulder,
+
+leaving the matter--so:
+
+*        *
+
+And the years rolled on....
+
+And I am still a Second Lieutenant....
+
+I do not complain; indeed I am even rather proud of it. If I am not
+gaining on my original one star, at least I am keeping pace with it. I
+might so easily have been a corporal by now.
+
+But I should like to have seen a little more notice taken of me in the
+"Gazette." I scan it every day, hoping for some such announcement
+as this:
+
+"_Second Lieutenant M_ ---- _to remain a Second Lieutenant_."
+
+Or this:
+
+"_Second Lieutenant M_ ---- _to be seconded and to retain his present
+rank of Second Lieutenant_."
+
+Or even this:
+
+"_Second Lieutenant M_ ---- _relinquishes the rank of Acting Second
+Lieutenant on ceasing to command a Battalion, and reverts to the rank of
+Second Lieutenant_."
+
+Failing this, I have thought sometimes of making an announcement in the
+Personal Column of "The Times":
+
+"Second Lieutenant M ---- regrets that his duties as a Second Lieutenant
+prevent him from replying personally to the many kind inquiries he has
+received, and begs to take this opportunity of announcing that he still
+retains a star on each shoulder. Both doing well."
+
+But perhaps that is unnecessary now. I think that by this time I have
+made it clear just how many stars I possess.
+
+One on the right shoulder. So:
+
+*
+
+And one on the left shoulder. So:
+
+*
+
+That is all.
+
+
+
+THE JOKE: A TRAGEDY
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+The Joke was born one October day in the trench called Mechanics, not so
+far from Loos. We had just come back into the line after six days in
+reserve, and, the afternoon being quiet, I was writing my daily letter to
+Celia. I was telling her about our cat, imported into our dug-out in the
+hope that it would keep the rats down, when suddenly the Joke came. I was
+so surprised by it that I added in brackets, "This is quite my own. I've
+only just thought of it." Later on the Post-Corporal came, and the Joke
+started on its way to England.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+Chapter II finds me some months later at home again.
+
+"Do you remember that joke about the rats in one of your letters?" said
+Celia one evening.
+
+"Yes. You never told me if you liked it."
+
+"I simply loved it. You aren't going to waste it, are you?"
+
+"If you simply loved it, it wasn't wasted."
+
+"But I want everybody else--Couldn't you use it in the Revue?"
+
+I was supposed to be writing a Revue at this time for a certain
+impresario. I wasn't getting on very fast, because whenever I suggested a
+scene to him, he either said, "Oh, that's been done," which killed it, or
+else he said, "Oh, but that's never been done," which killed it even more
+completely.
+
+"Good idea," I said to Celia. "We'll have a Trench Scene."
+
+I suggested it to the impresario when next I saw him.
+
+"Oh, that's been done," he said.
+
+"Mine will be quite different from anybody else's," I said firmly.
+
+He brightened up a little.
+
+"All right, try it," he said.
+
+I seemed to have discovered the secret of successful revue-writing.
+
+The Trench Scene was written. It was written round the Joke, whose bright
+beams, like a perfect jewel in a perfect setting--However, I said all
+that to Celia at the time. She was just going to have said it herself,
+she told me.
+
+So far, so good. But a month later the Revue collapsed. The impresario
+and I agreed upon many things--as, for instance, that the War would be a
+long one, and that Hindenburg was no fool--but there were two points upon
+which we could never quite agree: (1) What was funny, and (2) which of us
+was writing the Revue. So, with mutual expressions of goodwill, and hopes
+that one day we might write a tragedy together, we parted.
+
+That ended the Revue; it ended the Trench Scene; and, for the moment, it
+ended the Joke.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+Chapter III finds the war over and Celia still at it.
+
+"You haven't got that Joke in yet."
+
+She had just read an article of mine called "Autumn in a Country
+Vicarage."
+
+"It wouldn't go in there very well," I said.
+
+"It would go in anywhere where there were rats. There might easily be
+rats in a vicarage."
+
+"Not in this one."
+
+"You talk about 'poor as a church mouse.'"
+
+"I am an artist," I said, thumping my heart and forehead and other seats
+of the emotions. "I don't happen to _see_ rats there, and if I don't see
+them I can't write about them. Anyhow, they wouldn't be secular rats,
+like the ones I made my joke about."
+
+"I don't mind whether the rats are secular or circular," said Celia, "but
+do get them in soon."
+
+Well, I tried. I really did try, but for months I couldn't get those rats
+in. It was a near thing sometimes, and I would think that I had them,
+but at the last moment they would whisk off and back into their holes
+again. I even wrote an article about "Cooking in the Great War," feeling
+that that would surely tempt them, but they were not to be drawn....
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+But at last the perfect opportunity came. I received a letter from a
+botanical paper asking for an article on the Flora of Trench Life.
+
+"Horray!" said Celia. "There you are."
+
+I sat down and wrote the article. Working up gradually to the subject of
+rats, and even more gradually intertwining it, so to speak, with the
+subject of cats, I brought off in one perfect climax the great Joke.
+
+"Lovely!" said Celia excitedly.
+
+"There is one small point which has occurred to me. Rats are _fauna_, not
+_flora_; I've just remembered."
+
+"Oh, does it matter?"
+
+"For a botanical paper, yes."
+
+And then Celia had a brilliant inspiration.
+
+"Send it to another paper," she said.
+
+I did. Two days later it appeared. Considering that I hadn't had a proof,
+it came out extraordinarily well. There was only one misprint. It was at
+the critical word of the Joke.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+"That's torn it," I said to Celia.
+
+"I suppose it has," she said sadly.
+
+"The world will never hear the Joke now. It's had it wrong, but still
+it's had it, and I can't repeat it."
+
+Celia began to smile.
+
+"It's sickening," she said; "but it's really rather funny, you know."
+
+And then she had another brilliant inspiration.
+
+"In fact you might write an article about it."
+
+And, as you see, I have.
+
+
+
+EPILOGUE
+
+
+Having read thus far, Celia says, "But you still haven't got the Joke
+in."
+
+Oh, well, here goes.
+
+_Extract from letter_: "We came back to the line to-day to find that the
+cat had kittened. However, as all the rats seem to have rottened we are
+much as we were."
+
+"Rottened" was misprinted "rattened," which seems to me to spoil the
+Joke....
+
+Yet I must confess that there are times now when I feel that perhaps
+after all I may have overrated it....
+
+But it was a pleasant joke in its day.
+
+
+
+THE LAST POT
+
+
+Let others hymn the weariness and pain
+  (Or, if they will, the glory and the glamour)
+Of holding fast, from Flanders to Lorraine,
+  The thin brown line at which the Germans hammer;
+My Muse, a more domesticated maid,
+Aspires to sing a song of Marmalade.
+
+O Marmalade!--I do not mean the sort,
+  Sweet marrow-pulp, for babes and maidens fitter,
+But that wherein the golden fishes sport
+  On oranges seas (with just a dash of bitter),
+Not falsely coy, but eager to parade
+Their Southern birth--in short, O Marmalade!
+
+Much have I sacrificed: my happy home,
+  My faith in experts' figures, half my money,
+The fortnight that I meant to spend in Rome,
+  My weekly effort to be fairly funny;
+But these are trifles, light as air when weighed
+Against this other--Breakfast Marmalade.
+
+Fair was the porridge in the days of peace,
+  And still more fair the cream and sugar taken;
+Plump were the twin poached eggs, yet not obese,
+  Upon their thrones of toast, and crisp the bacon--
+I face their loss undaunted, unafraid,
+If only I may keep my Marmalade.
+
+An evening press without Callisthenes;
+  A tables Staff; an immobile spaghetti;
+A Shaw with whom the Common Man agrees;
+  A Zambra searching vainly for Negretti;
+When spades are trumps, a hand without a spade--
+So is my breakfast lacking Marmalade.
+
+O Northcliffe (Lord)! O Keiller! O Dundee!
+  O Crosse and Blackwell, Limited! O Seville!
+O orange groves along the Middle Sea!
+  (O Jaffa, for example) O the devil--
+Let Beef and Butter, Rolls and Rabbits fade,
+But give me back my love, my Marmalade.
+
+
+
+THE STORY THAT WENT WEST
+
+
+"Why don't you write a war story?" said Celia one autumn day when that
+sort of story was popular.
+
+"Because everybody else does," I said. "I forget how many bayonets we
+have on the Western Front, but there must be at least twice as many
+fountain-pens."
+
+"It needn't be about the Western Front."
+
+"Unfortunately that's the only front I know anything about."
+
+"I thought writers used their imagination sometimes," said Celia to
+anybody who might happen to be listening.
+
+"Oh, well, if you put it like that," I said, "I suppose I must."
+
+So I settled down to a story about the Salonica Front.
+
+The scene of my story was laid in an old clay hut amid the wattles.
+
+"What are wattles?" asked Celia, when I told her the good news.
+
+"Local colour," I explained. "They grow in Bulgaria."
+
+"Are you sure?"
+
+"I'm sure that these ones did; I don't know about any others."
+
+Of course more local colour was wanted than a mere wattle or two. It was
+necessary therefore for my Bulgarians always to go about in _comitadjis_.
+Celia thought that these were a kind of native trouser laced at the knee.
+She may be right. My own impression is that they are a species of
+platoon. Anyhow the Bulgars always went about in them.
+
+There was a fierce fight which raged round the old clay hut in the
+wattles. The Greeks shouted "[Greek: Tuptô tuptomai]" The Serbs, for
+reasons into which I need not enter, were inarticulate with rage.
+With the French and British I had, of course, no difficulty, and the
+Bulgars (fortunately) were content with hoarse guttural noises. It was a
+fierce fight while it lasted, and I was sorry when it was over, because
+for the first time I began to feel at home with my story. I need not say
+that many a Bulgar had licked the wattles before I had finished.
+
+Unfortunately something else happened before I had finished.
+
+"What do you think?" cried Celia, bursting into my room one evening, just
+when I was wondering whether my readers would expect to know more of the
+heroine's native costume than that it was "simple yet becoming."
+
+"Wait a moment," I said.
+
+"It's too good to wait," said Celia excitedly. "Bulgaria has
+surrendered."
+
+Celia may be a good patriot, but she lacks the artistic temperament.
+
+"Oh, has she?" I said bitterly. "Then she's jolly well spoilt my story."
+
+"The one about the wattles?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Tut-tuttles," said Celia frivolously.
+
+Well, I wasn't going to waste my wattles. With great presence of mind I
+decided to transfer my story to the Palestine Front.
+
+Under a hard blue sky of intense brilliance the old clay hut stood among
+the wattles. A _wadi_ ran by the side of it; not a small Turkish dog, as
+Celia thought, but--well, everybody knows what a _wadi_ is. The battle
+went on much as before, except that the Turks were naturally more
+outspoken than the Bulgars, calling freely upon Allah at the beginning of
+the fight, and reconciling themselves to the end of it with "Kismet."
+I also turned some of the horses into camels, and (for the sake of the
+Indian troops) several pairs of puttees into _chupaties_. It was a good
+story while it lasted.
+
+However, nobody seems to care about art nowadays.
+
+"What do you think?" cried Celia, bursting into my room.
+
+I held up a delaying hand. I had suddenly thought of the word "adobe." My
+story seemed to need it somewhere. If possible, among the wattles.
+
+"But listen!" She read out the headline: "'Turkey Surrenders at
+Discretion.'"
+
+"Discretion!" I said indignantly. "I have never heard of anything so
+tactless. And it isn't as though I could even move on to Mesopotamia."
+
+"Couldn't there be a little local rising in Persia?" suggested Celia.
+
+"I doubt it, I doubt it," I said thoughtfully. "You can't do much with
+just wattles and a little sherbet--I mean you can't expect the public to
+be interested in Persia at such a moment as this. No, we shall have to
+step westward. We must see what we can do with the Italian Front."
+
+But I had very little hope. A curious foreboding of evil came over me as
+I placed those wattles tenderly along the west bank of the Piave. The old
+clay hut still stood proudly amid them; the Bersaglieri advanced
+impetuously with cries of "_En avant_!"--no, that's wrong--with cries
+of--well, anyhow they advanced.
+
+They advanced....
+
+And as I shut my eyes I seemed to see--no, not that old clay hut amid the
+wattles, nor yet the adobe edifice on the heights of Asiago, but Celia
+coming into the library with another paper announcing that yet another
+country was deaf to the call of art.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+If anybody wants a really good story about the Peninsular War and will
+drop me a line, I shall be glad to enter into negotiations with him. The
+scene is laid in the neighbourhood of Badajoz, and the chief interest
+centres round an old--yes, you have guessed it--an old clay hut in the
+wattles.
+
+
+
+THE TWO VISITS,
+
+1888, 1919
+
+("_Dispersal Areas, 10a, 10b, 10c--Crystal Palace_.")
+
+
+It was, I think, in '88
+That Luck or Providence or Fate
+Assumed the more material state
+   Of Aunt (or Great-Aunt) Alice,
+And took (the weather being fine,
+And Bill, the eldest, only nine)
+Three of us by the Brighton line
+   To see the Crystal Palace.
+
+Observe us, then, an eager four
+Advancing on the Western Door,
+Or possibly the Northern, or--
+   Well, anyhow, advancing;
+Aunt Alice bending from the hips,
+And Bill in little runs and trips,
+And John with frequent hops and skips,
+   While I was fairly dancing.
+
+Aunt Alice pays; the turnstile clicks,
+And with the happy crowds we mix
+To gaze upon--well, I was six,
+   Say, getting on for seven;
+And, looking back on it to-day,
+The memories have passed away--
+I find that I can only say
+  (Roughly) to gaze on heaven.
+
+Heaven it was which came to pass
+Within those magic walls of glass
+(Though William, like a silly ass,
+  Had lost my bag of bull's-eyes).
+The wonders of that wonder-hall!
+The--all the things I can't recall,
+And, dominating over all,
+  The statues, more than full-size.
+
+Adam and Niobe were there,
+Disraeli much the worse for wear,
+Samson before he'd cut his hair,
+  Lord Byron and Apollo;
+A female group surrounded by
+A camel (though I don't know why)--
+And all of them were ten feet high
+  And all, I think, were hollow.
+
+These gods looked down on us and smiled
+To see how utterly a child
+By simple things may be beguiled
+  To happiness and laughter;
+It warmed their kindly hearts to see
+The joy of Bill and John and me
+From ten to lunch, from lunch to tea,
+  From tea to six or after.
+
+That evening, when the day was dead,
+They tucked a babe of six in bed,
+Arranged the pillows for his head,
+  And saw the lights were shaded;
+Too sleepy for the Good-night kiss
+His only conscious thought was this:
+"No man shall ever taste the bliss
+  That I this blessed day did."
+
+When one is six one cannot tell;
+And John, who at the Palace fell
+A victim to the Blondin Belle,
+  Is wedded to another;
+And I, my intimates allow,
+Have lost the taste for bull's-eyes now,
+And baldness decorates the brow
+  Of Bill, our elder brother.
+
+Well, more than thirty years have passed...
+But all the same on Thursday last
+My heart was beating just as fast
+  Within that Hall of Wonder;
+My bliss was every bit as great
+As what it was in '88--
+Impossible to look sedate
+  Or keep my feelings under.
+
+The gods of old still gazed upon
+The scene where, thirty years agone,
+The lines of Bill and me and John
+  Were cast in pleasant places;
+And "Friends," I murmured, "what's the odds
+If you are rather battered gods?
+This is no time for Ichabods
+  And _eheu_--er--_fugaces_."
+
+Ah, no; I did not mourn the years'
+Fell work upon those poor old dears,
+Nor Pitt nor Venus drew my tears
+  And set me slowly sobbing;
+I hailed them with a happy laugh
+And slapped old Samson on the calf,
+And asked a member of the staff
+  For "Officers Demobbing."
+
+That evening, being then dispersed
+I swore (as I had sworn it first
+When three of us went on the burst
+  With Aunt, or Great-Aunt, Alice),
+"Although one finds, as man or boy,
+A thousand pleasures to enjoy,
+For happiness without alloy
+  Give me the Crystal Palace!"
+
+
+
+
+V. HOME NOTES
+
+
+
+THE WAY DOWN
+
+
+Sydney Smith, or Napoleon or Marcus Aurelius (somebody about that time)
+said that after ten days any letter would answer itself. You see what he
+meant. Left to itself your invitation from the Duchess to lunch next
+Tuesday is no longer a matter to worry about by Wednesday morning. You
+were either there or not there; it is unnecessary to write now and say
+that a previous invitation from the Prime Minister--and so on. It was
+Napoleon's idea (or Dr. Johnson's or Mark Antony's--one of that circle)
+that all correspondence can be treated in this manner.
+
+I have followed these early Masters (or whichever one it was) to the best
+of my ability. At any given moment in the last few years there have been
+ten letters that I absolutely _must_ write, thirty which I _ought_ to
+write, and fifty which any other person in my position _would_ have
+written. Probably I have written two. After all, when your profession is
+writing, you have some excuse for demanding a change of occupation in
+your leisure hours. No doubt if I were a coal-heaver by day, my wife
+would see to the fire after dinner while I wrote letters. As it is, she
+does the correspondence, while I gaze into the fire and think about
+things.
+
+You will say, no doubt, that this was all very well before the War, but
+that in the Army a little writing would be a pleasant change after the
+day's duties. Allow me to disillusion you. If, years ago, I had ever
+conceived a glorious future in which my autograph might be of value to
+the more promiscuous collectors, that conception has now been shattered.
+Four years in the Army has absolutely spoilt the market. Even were I
+revered in the year 2000 A.D. as Shakespeare is revered now, my
+half-million autographs, scattered so lavishly on charge-sheets, passes,
+chits, requisitions, indents and applications would keep the price at a
+dead level of about ten a penny. No, I have had enough of writing in the
+Army and I never want to sign my own name again. "Yours sincerely,
+Herbert Asquith," "Faithfully yours, J. Jellicoe"--these by all means;
+but not my own.
+
+However, I wrote a letter in the third year of the war; it was to the
+bank. It informed the Manager that I had arrived in London from France
+and should be troubling them again shortly, London being to all
+appearances an expensive place. It also called attention to my new
+address--a small furnished flat in which Celia and I could just turn
+round if we did it separately. When it was written, then came the
+question of posting it. I was all for waiting till the next morning, but
+Celia explained that there was actually a letterbox on our own floor,
+twenty yards down the passage. I took the letter along and dropped it
+into the slit.
+
+Then a wonderful thing happened. It went
+
+_Flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--
+flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--FLOP._
+
+I listened intently, hoping for more ... but that was all. Deeply
+disappointed that it was over, but absolutely thrilled with my discovery,
+I hurried back to Celia.
+
+"Any letters you want posted?" I said in an off-hand way.
+
+"No, thank you," she said.
+
+"Have you written any while we've been here?"
+
+"I don't think I've had anything to write."
+
+"I think," I said reproachfully, "it's quite time you wrote to your--your
+bank or your mother or somebody."
+
+She looked at me and seemed to be struggling for words.
+
+"I know exactly what you're going to say," I said, "but don't say it;
+write a little letter instead."
+
+"Well, as a matter of fact I _must_ just write a note to the laundress."
+
+"To the laundress," I said. "Of course, just a note."
+
+When it was written I insisted on her coming with me to post it. With
+great generosity I allowed her to place it in the slit. A delightful
+thing happened. It went _Flipperty--flipperty--flipperty
+flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty
+flipperty--flipperty--FLOP_.
+
+Right down to the letter-box in the hall. Two flipperties a floor. (A
+simple calculation shows that we are perched on the fifth floor. I am
+glad now that we live so high. It must be very dull to be on the fourth
+floor with only eight flipperties, unbearable to be on the first with
+only two.)
+
+"_O-oh!_ How _fas_-cinating!" said Celia.
+
+"Now don't you think you ought to write to your mother?"
+
+"Oh, I _must_."
+
+She wrote. We posted it. It went.
+
+_Flipperty--flipperty_--However, you know all about that now.
+
+Since this great discovery of mine, life has been a more
+pleasurable business. We feel now that there are romantic
+possibilities about Letters setting forth on their journey from our
+floor. To start life with so many flipperties might lead to anything.
+Each time that we send a letter off we listen in a tremble of excitement
+for the final FLOP, and when it comes I think we both feel vaguely that
+we are still waiting for something. We are waiting to hear some magic
+letter go _flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty_ ... and
+behold! there is no FLOP ... and still it goes
+on--_flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty_--growing fainter in the
+distance ... until it arrives at some wonderland of its own. One day it
+must happen so. For we cannot listen always for that FLOP, and hear it
+always; nothing in this world is as inevitable as that. One day we shall
+look at each other with awe in our faces and say, "But it's still
+flipperting!" and from that time forward the Hill of Campden will be a
+place holy and enchanted. Perhaps on Midsummer Eve--
+
+At any rate I am sure that it is the only way in which to post a letter
+to Father Christmas.
+
+Well, what I want to say is this: if I have been a bad correspondent in
+the past I am a good one now; and Celia, who was always a good one, is a
+better one. It takes at least ten letters a day to satisfy us, and we
+prefer to catch ten different posts. With the ten in your hand together
+there is always a temptation to waste them in one wild rush of
+flipperties, all catching each other up. It would be a great moment, but
+I do not think we can afford it yet; we must wait until we get more
+practised at letter-writing. And even then I am doubtful; for it might be
+that, lost in the confusion of that one wild rush, the magic letter would
+start on its way--_flipperty--flipperty_--to the never-land, and we
+should forever have missed it.
+
+So, friends, acquaintances, yes, and even strangers, I beg you now to
+give me another chance. I will answer your letters, how gladly. I still
+think that Napoleon (or Canute or the younger Pliny--one of the
+pre-Raphaelites) took a perfectly correct view of his correspondence ...
+but then _he_ never had a letter-box which went
+
+_Flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty
+flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty
+flipperty--FLOP._
+
+
+
+HEAVY WORK
+
+
+Every now and then doctors slap me about and ask me if I was always as
+thin as this.
+
+"As thin as what?" I say with as much dignity as is possible to a man who
+has had his shirt taken away from him.
+
+"As thin as this," says the doctor, hooking his stethoscope on to one of
+my ribs, and then going round to the other side to see how I am getting
+on there.
+
+I am slightly better on the other side, but he runs his pencil up and
+down me and produces that pleasing noise which small boys get by dragging
+a stick along railings.
+
+I explain that I was always delicately slender, but that latterly my ribs
+have been overdoing it.
+
+"You must put on more flesh," he says sternly, running his pencil up and
+down them again. (He must have been a great nuisance as a small boy.)
+
+"I will," I say fervently, "I will."
+
+Satisfied by my promise he gives me back my shirt.
+
+But it is not only the doctor who complains; Celia is even more upset by
+it. She says tearfully that I remind her of a herring. Unfortunately she
+does not like herrings. It is my hope some day to remind her of a turbot
+and make her happy. She, too, has my promise that I will put on flesh.
+
+We had a fortnight's leave a little while ago, which seemed to give me a
+good opportunity of putting some on. So we retired to a house in the
+country where there is a weighing-machine in the bathroom. We felt that
+the mere sight of this weighing-machine twice daily would stimulate the
+gaps between my ribs. They would realize that they had been brought down
+there on business.
+
+The first morning I weighed myself just before stepping into the water.
+When I got down to breakfast I told Celia the result.
+
+"You _are_ a herring," she said sadly.
+
+"But think what an opportunity it gives me. If I started the right
+weight, the rest of the fortnight would be practically wasted. By the
+way, the doctor talks about putting on flesh, but he didn't say how much
+he wanted. What do you think would be a nice amount?"
+
+"About another stone," said Celia. "You were just a nice size before the
+War."
+
+"All right. Perhaps I had better tell the weighing-machine. This is a
+co-operative job; I can't do it all myself."
+
+The next morning I was the same as before, and the next, and the next,
+and the next.
+
+"Really," said Celia, pathetically, "we might just as well have gone to a
+house where there wasn't a weighing-machine at all. I don't believe it's
+trying. Are you sure you stand on it long enough?"
+
+"Long enough for me. It's a bit cold, you know."
+
+"Well, make quite sure to-morrow. I must have you not quite so herringy."
+
+I made quite sure the next morning. I had eight stone and a half on the
+weight part, and the-little-thing-you-move-up-and-down was on the "4"
+notch, and the bar balanced midway between the top and the bottom. To
+have had a crowd in to see would have been quite unnecessary; the whole
+machine was shouting eight-stone-eleven as loudly as it could.
+
+"I expect it's got used to you," said Celia when I told her the sad state
+of affairs. "It likes eight-stone-eleven people."
+
+"We will give it," I said, "one more chance."
+
+Next morning the weights were as I had left them, and I stepped on
+without much hope, expecting that the bar would come slowly up to its
+midway position of rest. To my immense delight, however, it never
+hesitated but went straight up to the top. At last I had put on flesh!
+
+Very delicately I moved the-thing-you-move-up-and-down to its next notch.
+Still the bar stayed at the top. I had put on at least another ounce of
+flesh!
+
+I continued to put on more ounces. Still the bar remained up! I was
+eight-stone-thirteen.... Good heavens, I was eight-stone-fourteen!
+
+I pushed the-thing-you-move-up-and-down back to the zero position, and
+exchanged the half-stone weight for a stone one. Excited but a trifle
+cold, for it was a fresh morning, and the upper part of the window was
+wide open, I went up from nine stone ounce by ounce....
+
+At nine-stone-twelve I jumped off for a moment and shut the window....
+
+At eleven-stone-eight I had to get off again in order to attend to the
+bath, which was in danger of overflowing....
+
+At fifteen-stone-eleven the breakfast gong went....
+
+At nineteen-stone-nine I realized that I had overdone it. However I
+decided to know the worst. The worst that the machine could tell me was
+twenty-stone-seven. At twenty-stone-seven I left it.
+
+Celia, who had nearly finished breakfast, looked up eagerly as I came in.
+
+"Well?" she said.
+
+"I am sorry I am late," I apologized, "but I have been putting on flesh."
+
+"Have you really gone up?" she asked excitedly.
+
+"Yes." I began mechanically to help myself to porridge, and then stopped.
+"No, perhaps not," I said thoughtfully.
+
+"Have you gone up much?"
+
+"Much," I said. "Quite much."
+
+"How much? Quick!"
+
+"Celia," I said sadly, "I am twenty-stone-seven. I may be more; the
+weighing-machine gave out then."
+
+"Oh, but, darling, that's much too much."
+
+"Still, it's what we came here for," I pointed out. "No, no bacon,
+thanks; a small piece of dry toast."
+
+"I suppose the machine couldn't have made a mistake?"
+
+"It seemed very decided about it. It didn't hesitate at all."
+
+"Just try again after breakfast to make sure."
+
+"Perhaps I'd better try now," I said, getting up, "because if I turned
+out to be only twenty-stone-six I might venture on a little porridge
+after all. I shan't be long."
+
+I went upstairs. I didn't dare face that weighing-machine in my clothes
+after the way in which I had already strained it without them. I took
+them off hurriedly and stepped on. To my joy the bar stayed in its
+downward position. I took off an ounce ... then another ounce. The bar
+remained down....
+
+At eighteen-stone-two I jumped off for a moment in order to shut the
+window, which some careless housemaid had opened again....
+
+At twelve-stone-seven I shouted through the door to Celia that I
+shouldn't be long, and that I should want the porridge after all....
+
+At four-stone-six I said that I had better have an egg or two as well.
+
+At three ounces I stepped off, feeling rather shaken.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I have not used the weighing-machine since; partly because I do not
+believe it is trustworthy, partly because I spent the rest of my leave in
+bed with a severe cold. We are now in London again, where I am putting on
+flesh. At least the doctor who slapped me about yesterday said that I
+must, and I promised him that I would.
+
+
+
+THE PATRIOT
+
+
+This is a true story. Unless you promise to believe me, it is not much
+good my going on ... You promise? Very well.
+
+Years ago I bought a pianola. I went into the shop to buy a gramophone
+record, and I came out with a pianola--so golden-tongued was the manager.
+You would think that one could then retire into private life for a
+little, but it is only the beginning. There is the music-stool to be
+purchased, the library subscription, the tuner's fee (four visits a year,
+if you please), the cabinet for the rolls, the man to oil the pedals,
+the--However, one gets out of the shop at last. Nor do I regret my
+venture. It is common talk that my pianola was the chief thing about
+me which attracted Celia. "I _must_ marry a man with a pianola," she
+said ... and there was I ... and here, in fact, we are. My blessings,
+then, on the golden tongue of the manager.
+
+Now there is something very charming in a proper modesty about one's
+attainments, but it is necessary that the attainments should be generally
+recognized first. It was admirable in Stephenson to have said (as I am
+sure he did), when they congratulated him on his first steam-engine,
+"Tut-tut, it's nothing"; but he could only say this so long as the others
+were in a position to offer the congratulations. In order to place you in
+that position I must let you know how extraordinarily well I played the
+pianola. I brought to my interpretation of different Ops an _élan_, a
+_verve_, a _je ne sais quoi_--and several other French words--which were
+the astonishment of all who listened to me. But chiefly I was famous for
+my playing of one piece: "The Charge of the Uhlans," by Karl Bohm. Others
+may have seen Venice by moonlight, or heard the Vicar's daughter recite
+"Little Jim," but the favoured few who have been present when Bohm and I
+were collaborating are the ones who have really lived. Indeed, even the
+coldest professional critic would have spoken of it as "a noteworthy
+rendition."
+
+"The Charge of the Uhlans." If you came to see me, you had to hear it. As
+arranged for the pianola, it was marked to be played throughout at a
+lightning pace and with the loudest pedal on. So one would play it if one
+wished to annoy the man in the flat below; but a true musician has, I
+take it, a higher aim. I disregarded the "FF.'s" and the other sign-posts
+on the way, and gave it my own interpretation. As played by me, "The
+Charge of the Uhlans" became a whole battle scene. Indeed, it was
+necessary, before I began, that I should turn to my audience and describe
+the scene to them--in the manner, but not in the words, of a Queen's Hall
+programme:--
+
+"Er--first of all you hear the cavalry galloping past, and then there's a
+short hymn before action while they form up, and then comes the charge,
+and then there's a slow bit while they--er--pick up the wounded, and then
+they trot slowly back again. And if you listen carefully to the last bit
+you'll actually hear the horses limping."
+
+Something like that I would say; and it might happen that an insufferable
+guest (who never got asked again) would object that the hymn part was
+unusual in real warfare.
+
+"They sang it in this piece, anyhow," I would say stiffly, and turn my
+back on him and begin.
+
+But the war put a stop to music, as to many other things. For years the
+pianola was not played by either of us. We had other things to do. And in
+our case, curiously enough, absence from the pianola did not make the
+heart grow fonder. On the contrary, we seemed to lose our taste for
+music, and when at last we were restored to our pianola, we found that we
+had grown out of it.
+
+"It's very ugly," announced Celia.
+
+"We can't help our looks," I said in my grandmother's voice.
+
+"A book-case would be much prettier there."
+
+"But not so tuneful."
+
+"A pianola isn't tuneful if you never play it."
+
+"True," I said.
+
+Celia then became very alluring, and suggested that I might find somebody
+who would like to be lent a delightful pianola by somebody whose 
+delightful wife had her eye on a delightful bookcase.
+
+"I might," I said.
+
+"Somebody," said Celia, "who isn't supplied with music from below."
+
+I found John. He was quite pleased with the idea, and promised to
+return the pianola when he got sick of it.
+
+So on Wednesday it went. I was not sorry, because in its silence it was
+far from beautiful, and we wanted another book-case badly. But on
+Tuesday evening--its last hours with us--I had to confess to a certain
+melancholy. It is sad to part with an old and well-tried friend,
+particularly when that friend is almost entirely responsible for your
+marriage. I looked at the pianola and then I said to Celia, "I must
+play it once again."
+
+"Please," said Celia.
+
+"The old masterpiece, I suppose?"  I said, as I got it out.
+
+"Do you think you ought to--now?   I don't think I want to hear a
+charge of the Uhlans--beasts; I want a charge of our own men."
+
+"Art," I said grandly, "knows no frontiers." I suppose this has been
+said by several people several times already, but for the moment both
+Celia and I thought it was rather clever.
+
+So I placed the roll in the pianola, sat down and began to play....
+
+Ah, the dear old tune....
+
+Dash it all!
+
+"What's happened?" said Celia, breaking a silence which had become
+alarming.
+
+"I must have put it in wrong," I said.
+
+I wound the roll off, put it in again, and tried a second time,
+pedalling vigorously.
+
+Dead silence....
+
+Hush! A note ... another silence ... and then another note....
+
+I pedalled through to the end. About five notes sounded.
+
+"Celia," I said, "this is wonderful."
+
+It really was wonderful. For the first time in its life my pianola
+refused to play "The Charge of the Uhlans." It had played it a hundred
+times before the War, but now--no!
+
+We had to have a farewell piece. I put in a waltz, and it played it
+perfectly. Then we said good-bye to our pianola, feeling a reverence
+for it which we had never felt before.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+You don't believe this? Yet you promised you would ... and I still
+assure you that it is true. But I admit that the truth is sometimes
+hard to believe, and the first six persons to whom I told the story
+assured me frankly that I was a liar. If one is to be called a liar,
+one may as well make an effort to deserve the name. I made an effort,
+therefore, with the seventh person.
+
+"I put in 'The Charge of the Uhlans,'" I said, "and it played 'God
+Save the King.'"
+
+Unfortunately he was a very patriotic man, and he believed it. So that is
+how the story is now going about. But you who read this know the real
+truth of the matter.
+
+
+
+A QUESTION OF LIGHT
+
+
+As soon as Celia had got a cheque-book of her own (and I had explained
+the mysteries of "---- & Co." to her), she looked round for a safe
+investment of her balance, which amounted to several pounds. My offers,
+first of an old stocking and afterwards of mines, mortgages and aerated
+breads, were rejected at once.
+
+"I'll leave a little in the bank in case of accidents," she said, "and
+the rest must go somewhere absolutely safe and earn me five per cent.
+Otherwise they shan't have it."
+
+We did what we could for her; we offered the money to archdeacons and
+other men of pronounced probity; and finally we invested it in the
+Blanktown Electric Light Company. Blanktown is not its real name, of
+course; but I do not like to let out any information which may be of
+value to Celia's enemies--the wicked ones who are trying to snatch her
+little fortune from her. The world, we feel, is a dangerous place for a
+young woman with money.
+
+"Can't I _possibly_ lose it now?" she asked.
+
+"Only in two ways," I said. "Blanktown might disappear in the night, or
+the inhabitants might give up using electric light."
+
+It seemed safe enough. At the same time we watched the newspapers
+anxiously for details of the latest inventions; and anybody who happened
+to mention when dining with us that he was experimenting with a new and
+powerful illuminant was handed his hat at once.
+
+You have Blanktown, then, as the depository of Celia's fortune. Now it
+comes on the scene in another guise. I made the announcement with some
+pride at breakfast yesterday.
+
+"My dear," I said, "I have been asked to deliver a lecture."
+
+"Whatever on?" asked Celia.
+
+"Anything I like. The last person lectured on 'The Minor Satellites of
+Jupiter,' and the one who comes after me is doing 'The Architecture of
+the Byzantine Period,' so I can take something in between."
+
+"Like 'Frostbites,'" said Celia helpfully. "But I don't quite understand.
+Where is it, and why?"
+
+"The Blanktown Literary and Philosophical Society ask me to lecture to
+them at Blanktown. The man who was coming is ill."
+
+"But why _you_ particularly?"
+
+"One comes down to me in the end," I said modestly.
+
+"I expect it's because of my electric lights. Do they give you any money
+for it?"
+
+"They ask me to name my fee."
+
+"Then say a thousand pounds, and lecture on the need for more electric
+light. Fancy if I got six per cent!"
+
+"This is a very sordid conversation," I said. "If I agree to lecture
+at all, it will be simply because I feel that I have a message to
+deliver ... I will now retire into the library and consider what that
+message is to be."
+
+I placed the encyclopaedia handy and sat down at my desk. I had already
+grasped the fact that the title of my discourse was the important thing.
+In the list of the Society's lectures sent to me there was hardly one
+whose title did not impress the imagination in advance. I must be equally
+impressive ...
+
+After a little thought I began to write.
+
+"WASPS AND THEIR YOUNG
+
+"_Lecture delivered before the Blanktown Literary and Philosophical
+Society, Tuesday, December 8th._
+
+"_Ladies and Gentlemen_--"
+
+"Well," said Celia, drifting in, "how's it going?"
+
+I showed her how far I had got.
+
+"I thought you always began, 'My Lord Mayor, Ladies and Gentlemen,'" she
+said.
+
+"Only if the Lord Mayor's there."
+
+"But how will you know?"
+
+"Yes, that's rather awkward. I shall have to ask the Secretary
+beforehand."
+
+I began again.
+
+"WASPS AND THEIR YOUNG
+
+"_Lecture delivered, etc_....
+
+"_My Lord Mayor, my Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen_--"
+
+It looked much better.
+
+"What about Baronets?" said Celia. "There's sure to be lots."
+
+"Yes, this is going to be difficult. I shall have to have a long talk
+with the Secretary ... How's this?--'My Lord Mayor, Lords, Baronets,
+Ladies and Gentlemen and Sundries.' That's got in everybody."
+
+"That's all right. And I wanted to ask you: Have you got any lantern
+slides?"
+
+"They're not necessary."
+
+"But they're much more fun. Perhaps they'll have some old ones of
+Vesuvius you can work in. Well, good-bye." And she drifted out.
+
+I went on thinking.
+
+"No," I said to myself, "I'm on the wrong tack." So I began again:--
+
+"SOME YORKSHIRE POT-HOLES
+
+"_Lecture delivered before the Blanktown Literary and Philosophical
+Society, Tuesday, December 8th_.
+
+"_My Lord Mayor, my Lords_--"
+
+"I don't want to interrupt," said Celia coming in suddenly, "but--oh,
+what's a pot-hole?"
+
+"A curious underground cavern sometimes found in the North."
+
+"Aren't caverns always underground? But you're busy. Will you be in for
+lunch?"
+
+"I shall be writing my lecture all day," I said busily.
+
+At lunch I decided to have a little financial talk with Celia.
+
+"What I feel is this," I said. "At most I can ask ten guineas for my
+lecture. Now my expense all the way to the North, with a night at an
+hotel, will be at least five pounds."
+
+"Five-pounds-ten profit," said Celia. "Not bad."
+
+"Ah, but wait. I have never spoken in public before. In an immense hall,
+whose acoustics--"
+
+"Who are they?"
+
+"Well, never mind. What I mean is that I shall want some elocution
+lessons. Say five, at a guinea each."
+
+"That still leaves five shillings."
+
+"If only it left that, it might be worth it. But there's a new white
+waistcoat. An audience soon gets tired of a lecture, and then there's
+nothing for the wakeful ones to concentrate on but the white waistcoat of
+the lecturer. It must be of a virgin whiteness. Say thirty-five
+shillings. So I lose thirty shillings by it. Can I afford so much?"
+
+"But you gain the acoustics and the waistcoat."
+
+"True. Of course, if you insist--"
+
+"Oh, you _must_," said Celia.
+
+So I returned to the library. By tea-time I had got as far as this:--
+
+"ADVENTURES WITH A CAMERA IN SOMALILAND
+
+"_Lecture delivered before the Blanktown Literary and Philo_--"
+
+And then I had an idea. This time a brilliant one.
+
+"Celia," I said at tea, "I have been wondering whether I ought to take
+advantage of your generosity."
+
+"What generosity?"
+
+"In letting me deliver this lecture."
+
+"It isn't generosity, it's swank. I want to be able to tell everybody."
+
+"Ah, but the sacrifices you are making."
+
+"Am I?" said Celia, with interest.
+
+"Of course you are. Consider. I ask a fee of ten guineas. They cannot
+possibly charge more than a shilling a head to listen to me. It would
+be robbery. So that if there is to be a profit at all, as presumably they
+anticipate, I shall have a gate of at least two hundred and fifty."
+
+"I should _hope_ so."
+
+"Two hundred and fifty. And what does that mean? It means that at
+seven-thirty o'clock on the night of December the 8th two hundred and
+fifty residents of Blanktown will _turn out the electric lights in their
+drawing-rooms ..._ PERHAPS EVEN IN THEIR HALLS ... and proceed to
+the lecture-room. True, the lecture-room will be lit up--a small
+compensation--but not for long. When the slides of Vesuvius are thrown
+upon the screen--"
+
+Celia was going pale.
+
+"But if it's not you," she faltered, "it will be somebody else."
+
+"No; if I refuse, it will be too late then to get a substitute. Besides,
+they must have tried everybody else before they got down to me... Celia
+it is noble of you to sacrifice--"
+
+"Don't go!" she cried in anguish.
+
+I gave a deep sigh.
+
+"For your sake," I said, "I won't."
+
+So that settles it. If my lecture on "First Principles in Homoeopathy" is
+ever to be delivered, it must be delivered elsewhere.
+
+
+
+ENTER BINGO
+
+
+Before I introduce Bingo I must say a word for Humphrey, his sparring
+partner. Humphrey found himself on the top of my stocking last December,
+put there, I fancy, by Celia, though she says it was Father Christmas.
+He is a small yellow dog, with glass optics, and the label round his neck
+said, "His eyes move." When I had finished the oranges and sweets and
+nuts, when Celia and I had pulled the crackers, Humphrey remained over to
+sit on the music-stool, with the air of one playing the pianola. In this
+position he found his uses. There are times when a husband may
+legitimately be annoyed; at these times it was pleasant to kick Humphrey
+off his stool on to the divan, to stand on the divan and kick him on to
+the sofa, to stand on the sofa and kick him on to the bookcase; and then,
+feeling another man, to replace him on the music-stool and apologize to
+Celia. It was thus that he lost his tail.
+
+Here we say good-bye to Humphrey for the present; Bingo claims our
+attention. Bingo arrived as an absurd little black tub of puppiness,
+warranted (by a pedigree as long as your arm) to grow into a Pekinese. It
+was Celia's idea to call him Bingo; because (a ridiculous reason) as
+a child she had had a poodle called Bingo. The less said about poodles
+the better; why rake up the past?
+
+"If there is the slightest chance of Bingo--of this animal growing up
+into a poodle," I said, "he leaves my house at once."
+
+"_My_ poodle," said Celia, "was a lovely dog."
+
+(Of course she was only a child then. She wouldn't know.)
+
+"The point is this," I said firmly, "our puppy is meant for a
+Pekinese--the pedigree says so. From the look of him it will be touch and
+go whether he pulls it off. To call him by the name of a late poodle may
+just be the deciding factor. Now I hate poodles; I hate pet dogs. A
+Pekinese is not a pet dog; he is an undersized lion. Our puppy may grow
+into a small lion, or a mastiff, or anything like that; but I will _not_
+have him a poodle. If we call him Bingo, will you promise never to
+mention in his presence that you once had a--a--you know what I
+mean--called Bingo?"
+
+She promised. I have forgiven her for having once loved a poodle. I beg
+you to forget about it. There is now only one Bingo, and he is a Pekinese
+puppy.
+
+However, after we had decided to call him Bingo, a difficulty arose.
+Bingo's pedigree is full of names like Li Hung Chang and Sun Yat Sen; had
+we chosen a sufficiently Chinese name for him? Apart from what was due to
+his ancestors, were we encouraging him enough to grow into a Pekinese?
+What was there Oriental about "Bingo"?
+
+In itself, apparently, little. And Bingo himself must have felt this; for
+his tail continued to be nothing but a rat's tail, and his body to be
+nothing but a fat tub, and his head to be almost the head of any little
+puppy in the world. He felt it deeply. When I ragged him about it he
+tried to eat my ankles. I had only to go into the room in which he was,
+and murmur, "Rat's tail," to myself, or (more offensive still) "Chewed
+string," for him to rush at me. "Where, O Bingo, is that delicate
+feather curling gracefully over the back, which was the pride and glory
+of thy great-grandfather? Is the caudal affix of the rodent thy apology
+for it?" And Bingo would whimper with shame.
+
+Then we began to look him up in the map.
+
+I found a Chinese town called "Ning-po," which strikes me as very much
+like "Bing-go," and Celia found another one called "Yung-Ping," which
+might just as well be "Yung-Bing," the obvious name of Bingo's heir when
+he has one. These facts being communicated to Bingo, his nose immediately
+began to go back a little and his tub to develop something of a waist.
+But what finally decided him was a discovery of mine made only yesterday.
+_There is a Japanese province called Bingo_. Japanese, not Chinese, it is
+true; but at least it is Oriental. In any case conceive one's pride in
+realizing suddenly that one has been called after a province and not
+after a poodle. It has determined Bingo unalterably to grow up in the
+right way.
+
+You have Bingo now definitely a Pekinese. That being so, I may refer to
+his ancestors, always an object of veneration among these Easterns. I
+speak of (hats off, please!) Ch. Goodwood Lo.
+
+Of course you know (I didn't myself till last week) that "Ch."
+stands for "Champion." On the male side Champion Goodwood Lo is Bingo's
+great-great-grandfather. On the female side the same animal is Bingo's
+great-grandfather. One couldn't be a poodle after that. A fortnight after
+Bingo came to us we found in a Pekinese book a photograph of Goodwood Lo.
+How proud we all were! Then we saw above it, "Celebrities of the
+Past. The Late--"
+
+Champion Goodwood Lo was no more! In one moment Bingo had lost both his
+great-grandfather and his great-great-grandfather!
+
+We broke it to him as gently as possible, but the double shock was too
+much, and he passed the evening in acute depression. Annoyed with my
+tactlessness in letting him know anything about it, I kicked Humphrey off
+his stool. Humphrey, I forgot to say, has a squeak if kicked in the right
+place. He squeaked.
+
+Bingo, at that time still uncertain of his destiny, had at least the
+courage of the lion. Just for a moment he hesitated. Then with a pounce
+he was upon Humphrey.
+
+Till then I had regarded Humphrey--save for his power of rolling the eyes
+and his habit of taking long jumps from the music-stool to the
+book-case--as rather a sedentary character. But in the fight which
+followed he put up an amazingly good resistance. At one time he was
+underneath Bingo; the next moment he had Bingo down; first one, then the
+other, seemed to gain the advantage. But blood will tell. Humphrey's
+ancestry is unknown; I blush to say that it may possibly be German. Bingo
+had Goodwood Lo to support him--in two places. Gradually he got the upper
+hand; and at last, taking the reluctant Humphrey by the ear, he dragged
+him laboriously beneath the sofa. He emerged alone, with tail wagging,
+and was taken on to his mistress's lap. There he slept, his grief
+forgotten.
+
+So Humphrey was found a job. Whenever Bingo wants exercise, Humphrey
+plants himself in the middle of the room, his eyes cast upwards in an
+affectation of innocence. "I'm just sitting here," says Humphrey; "I
+believe there's a fly on the ceiling." It is a challenge which no
+great-grandson of Goodwood Lo could resist. With a rush Bingo is at him.
+"I'll learn you to stand in my way," he splutters. And the great dust-up
+begins....
+
+Brave little Bingo! I don't wonder that so warlike a race as the Japanese
+has called a province after him.
+
+
+
+A WARM HALF-HOUR
+
+
+Whatever the papers say, it was the hottest afternoon of the year. At
+six-thirty I had just finished dressing after my third cold bath since
+lunch, when Celia tapped on the door.
+
+"I want you to do something for me," she said. "It's a shame to ask you
+on a day like this."
+
+"It _is_ rather a shame," I agreed, "but I can always refuse."
+
+"Oh, but you mustn't. We haven't got any ice, and the Thompsons are
+coming to dinner. Do you think you could go and buy threepennyworth?
+Jane's busy, and I'm busy, and--"
+
+"And I'm busy," I said, opening and shutting a drawer with great
+rapidity.
+
+"Just threepennyworth," she pleaded. "Nice cool ice. Think of sliding
+home on it."
+
+Well, of course it had to be done. I took my hat and staggered out. On an
+ordinary cool day it is about half a mile to the fishmonger; to-day
+it was about two miles and a quarter. I arrived exhausted, and with only
+just strength enough to kneel down and press my forehead against the
+large block of ice in the middle of the shop, round which the lobsters
+nestled.
+
+"Here, you mustn't do that," said the fishmonger, waving me away.
+
+I got up, slightly refreshed.
+
+"I want," I said, "some--" and then a thought occurred to me.
+
+After all, _did_ fishmongers sell ice? Probably the large block in front
+of me was just a trade sign like the coloured bottles at the chemist's.
+Suppose I said to a fellow of the Pharmaceutical Society, "I want some of
+that green stuff in the window," he would only laugh. The tactful thing
+to do would be to buy a pint or two of laudanum first, and _then_, having
+established pleasant relations, ask him as a friend to lend me his green
+bottle for a bit.
+
+So I said to the fishmonger, "I want some--some nice lobsters."
+
+"How many would you like?"
+
+"One," I said.
+
+We selected a nice one between us, and he wrapped a piece of "Daily Mail"
+round it, leaving only the whiskers visible, and gave it to me. The
+ice being now broken--I mean the ice being now--well, you see what I
+mean--I was now in a position to ask for some of his ice.
+
+"I wonder if you could let me have a little piece of your ice," I
+ventured.
+
+"How much ice do you want?" he said promptly.
+
+"Sixpennyworth," I said, feeling suddenly that Celia's threepennyworth
+sounded rather paltry.
+
+"Six of ice, Bill," he shouted to an inferior at the back, and Bill
+tottered up with a block about the size of one of the lions in Trafalgar
+Square. He wrapped a piece of "Daily News" round it and gave it to me.
+
+"Is that all?" asked the fishmonger.
+
+"That is all," I said faintly; and, with Algernon, the overwhiskered
+crustacean, firmly clutched in the right hand and Stonehenge supported on
+the palm of the left hand, I retired.
+
+The flat seemed a very long way away, but having bought twice as much ice
+as I wanted, and an entirely unnecessary lobster, I was not going to
+waste still more money in taxis. Hot though it was, I would walk.
+
+For some miles all went well. Then the ice began to drip through the
+paper, and in a little while, the underneath part of "The Daily News"
+had disappeared altogether. Tucking the lobster under my arm I turned the
+block over, so that it rested on another part of the paper. Soon that had
+dissolved too. By the time I had got half-way our Radical contemporary
+had been entirely eaten.
+
+Fortunately "The Daily Mail" remained. But to get it I had to disentangle
+Algernon first, and I had no hand available. There was only one thing
+to do. I put the block of ice down on the pavement, unwrapped the
+lobster, put the lobster next to the ice, spread its "Daily Mail" out,
+lifted the ice on to the paper, and--looked up and saw Mrs. Thompson
+approaching.
+
+She was the last person I wanted at that moment. In an hour and a half
+she would be dining with us. Algernon would not be dining with us. If
+Algernon and Mrs. Thompson were to meet now, would she not be expecting
+him to turn up at every course? Think of the long drawn-out
+disappointment for her; not even lobster sauce!
+
+There was no time to lose. I decided to abandon the ice. Leaving it on
+the pavement I clutched the lobster and walked hastily back the way I had
+come.
+
+By the time I had shaken off Mrs. Thompson I was almost at the
+fishmonger's. That decided me. I would begin all over again, and would
+do it properly this time. "I want three of ice," I said with an air.
+
+"Three of ice, Bill," said the fishmonger, and Bill gave me quite a
+respectable segment in "The Morning Post."
+
+"And I want a taxi," I said, and I waved my lobster at one.
+
+We drove quickly home.
+
+But as we neared the flat I suddenly became nervous about Algernon. I
+could not take him, red and undraped, past the hall-porter, past all the
+other residents who might spring out at me on the stairs. Accordingly, I
+placed the block of ice on the seat, took off some of its "Morning Post,"
+and wrapped Algernon up decently. Then I sprang out, gave the man a coin,
+and hastened into the building.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Bless you," said Celia, "have you got it? How sweet of you!" And she
+took my parcel from me. "Now we shall be able--Why, what's this?"
+
+I looked at it closely.
+
+"It's--it's a lobster," I said. "Didn't you say lobster?"
+
+"I said ice."
+
+"Oh," I said, "oh, I didn't understand. I thought you said lobster."
+
+"You can't put lobster in cider cup," said Celia severely.
+
+Of course I quite see that. It was foolish of me. However, it's pleasant
+to think that the taxi must have been nice and cool for the next man.
+
+
+
+"WRONGLY ATTRIBUTED"
+
+
+You've heard of Willy Ferrero, the Boy Conductor? A musical prodigy,
+seven years old, who will order the fifth oboe out of the Albert Hall as
+soon as look at him. Well, he has a rival.
+
+Willy, as perhaps you know, does not play any instrument himself; he only
+conducts. His rival (Johnny, as I think of him) does not conduct as
+yet; at least, not audibly. His line is the actual manipulation of the
+pianoforte--the Paderewski touch. Johnny lives in the flat below, and I
+hear him touching.
+
+On certain mornings in the week--no need to specify them--I enter my
+library and give myself up to literary composition. On the same
+mornings little Johnny enters his music-room (underneath) and gives
+himself up to musical composition. Thus we are at work together.
+
+The worst of literary composition is this: that when you have got hold of
+what you feel is a really powerful idea, you find suddenly that you have
+been forestalled by some earlier writer--Sophocles or Shakespeare or
+George R. Sims. Then you have to think again. This frequently happens
+to me upstairs; and downstairs poor Johnny will find to his horror one
+day that his great work has already been given to the world by another--a
+certain Dr. John Bull.
+
+Johnny, in fact, is discovering "God Save the King" with one finger.
+
+As I dip my pen in the ink and begin to write, Johnny strikes up. On the
+first day when this happened, some three months ago, I rose from
+my chair and stood stiffly through the performance--an affair of some
+minutes, owing to a little difficulty with "Send him victorious," a line
+which always bothers Johnny. However, he got right through it at last,
+after harking back no more than twice, and I sat down to my work again.
+Generally speaking, "God Save the King" ends a show; it would be disloyal
+to play any other tune after that. Johnny quite saw this ... and so began
+to play "God Save the King" again.
+
+I hope that His Majesty, the Lord Chamberlain, the late Dr. Bull, or
+whoever is most concerned, will sympathize with me when I say that this
+time I remained seated. I have my living to earn.
+
+From that day Johnny has interpreted Dr. John Bull's favourite
+composition nine times every morning. As this has been going on for
+three months, and as the line I mentioned has two special rehearsals
+to itself before coming out right, you can easily work out how many
+send-him-victoriouses Johnny and I have collaborated in. About two
+thousand.
+
+Very well. Now, you ask yourself, why did I not send a polite
+note to Johnny's father asking him to restrain his little boy from
+over-composition, begging him not to force the child's musical genius too
+quickly, imploring him (in short) to lock up the piano and lose the key?
+What kept me from this course? The answer is "Patriotism." Those deep
+feelings for his country which one man will express glibly by rising nine
+times during the morning at the sound of the National Anthem, another
+will direct to more solid uses. It was my duty, I felt, not to discourage
+Johnny. He was showing qualities which could not fail, when he grew up,
+to be of value to the nation. Loyalty, musical genius, determination,
+patience, industry--never before have these qualities been so finely
+united in a child of six. Was I to say a single word to disturb the
+delicate balance of such a boy's mind? At six one is extraordinarily
+susceptible to outside influence. A word from his father to the effect
+that the gentleman above was getting sick of it, and Johnny's whole life
+might be altered.
+
+No, I would bear it grimly.
+
+And then, yesterday, who should write to me but Johnny's father himself.
+This was the letter:
+
+"Dear Sir--I do not wish to interfere unduly in the affairs of the other
+occupants of these flats, but I feel bound to call your attention to the
+fact that for many weeks now there has been a flow of water from your
+bathroom, which has penetrated through the ceiling of my bathroom,
+particularly after you have been using the room in the mornings. May I
+therefore beg you to be more careful in future not to splash or spill
+water on your floor, seeing that it causes inconvenience to the tenants
+beneath you?
+
+"Yours faithfully, Jno. McAndrew."
+
+You can understand how I felt about this. For months I had been suffering
+Johnny in silence; yet, at the first little drop of water from above,
+Johnny's father must break out into violent abuse of me. A fine reward!
+Well, Johnny's future could look after itself now; anyhow, he was doomed
+with a selfish father like that.
+
+"Dear Sir," I answered defiantly, "Now that we are writing to each other
+I wish to call your attention to the fact that for many months past there
+has been a constant flow of one-fingered music from your little boy,
+which penetrates through the floor of my library and makes all work
+impossible. May I beg you, therefore, to see that your child is taught a
+new tune immediately, seeing that the National Anthem has lost its first
+freshness for the tenants above him?"
+
+His reply to this came to-day.
+
+"Dear Sir,--I have no child.
+
+"Yours faithfully, Jno. McAndrew."
+
+I was so staggered that I could only think of one adequate retort.
+
+"DEAR SIR," I wrote,--"I never have a bath."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+So that's the end of Johnny, my boy prodigy, for whom I have suffered so
+long. It is not Johnny but Jno. who struggles with the National Anthem.
+He will give up music now, for he knows I have the bulge on him; I can
+flood his bathroom whenever I like. Probably he will learn something
+quieter--like painting. Anyway, Dr. John Bull's masterpiece will rise no
+more through the ceiling of the flat below.
+
+On referring to my encyclopedia, I see that, according to some
+authorities, "God Save the King" is "wrongly attributed" to Dr. Bull.
+Well, I wrongly attributed it to Johnny. It is easy to make these
+mistakes.
+
+
+
+A HANGING GARDEN IN BABYLON
+
+
+"Are you taking me to the Flower Show this afternoon?" asked Celia at
+breakfast.
+
+"No," I said thoughtfully; "no."
+
+"Well, that's that. What other breakfast conversation have I? Have you
+been to any theatres lately?"
+
+"Do you really want to go to the Flower Show?" I asked. "Because I don't
+believe I could bear it."
+
+"I've saved up two shillings."
+
+"It isn't that--not only that. But there'll be thousands of people there,
+all with gardens of their own, all pointing to things and saying,
+'We've got one of those in the east bed,' or 'Wouldn't that look nice in
+the south orchid house?' and you and I will be quite, quite out
+of it." I sighed, and helped myself from the west toast-rack.
+
+It is very delightful to have a flat in London, but there are times in
+the summer when I long for a garden of my own. I show people round our
+little place, and I point out hopefully the Hot Tap Doultonii in the
+scullery, and the Dorothy Perkins doormat, but it isn't the same thing as
+taking your guest round your garden and telling him that what you really
+want is rain. Until I can do that, the Chelsea Flower Show is no place
+for us.
+
+"Then I haven't told you the good news," said Celia. "We _are_
+gardeners." She paused a moment for effect. "I have ordered a
+window-box."
+
+I dropped the marmalade and jumped up eagerly.
+
+"But this is glorious news! I haven't been so excited since I recognized
+a calceolaria last year, and told my host it was a calceolaria just
+before he told me. A window-box! What's in it?"
+
+"Pink geraniums and--and pink geraniums, and--er--"
+
+"Pink geraniums?" I suggested.
+
+"Yes. They're very pretty, you know."
+
+"I know. But I could have wished for something more difficult. If we had
+something like--well, I don't want to seem to harp on it, but say
+calceolarias, then quite a lot of people mightn't recognize them, and I
+should be able to tell them what they were. I should be able to show them
+the calceolarias; you can't show people the geraniums."
+
+"You can say, 'What do you think of _that_ for a geranium?'" said Celia.
+"Anyhow," she added, "you've got to take me to the Flower Show now."
+
+"Of course I will. It is not only a pleasure, but a duty. As gardeners we
+must keep up with floricultural progress. Even though we start with pink
+geraniums now, we may have--er--calceolarias next year. Rotation of crops
+and--what not."
+
+Accordingly we made our way in the afternoon to the Show.
+
+"I think we're a little over-dressed," I said as we paid our shillings.
+"We ought to look as if we'd just run up from our little window-box in
+the country and were going back by the last train. I should be in
+gaiters, really."
+
+"Our little window-box is not in the country," objected Celia. "It's what
+you might call a _pied de terre_ in town. French joke," she added kindly.
+"Much more difficult than the ordinary sort."
+
+"Don't forget it; we can always use it again on visitors. Now what shall
+we look at first?"
+
+"The flowers first; then the tea."
+
+I had bought a catalogue and was scanning it rapidly.
+
+"We don't want flowers," I said. "Our window-box--our garden is already
+full. It may be that James, the head boxer, has overdone the pink
+geraniums this year, but there it is. We can sack him and promote Thomas,
+but the mischief is done. Luckily there are other things we want. What
+about a dove-cot? I should like to see doves cooing round our geraniums."
+
+"Aren't dove-cots very big for a window-box?"
+
+"We could get a small one--for small doves. Do you have to buy the doves
+too, or do they just come? I never know. Or there," I broke off suddenly;
+"my dear, that's just the thing." And I pointed with my stick.
+
+"We have seven clocks already," said Celia.
+
+"But a sun-dial! How romantic. Particularly as only two of the clocks go.
+Celia, if you'd let me have a sun-dial in my window-box, I would
+meet you by it alone sometimes."
+
+"It sounds lovely," she said doubtfully.
+
+"You do want to make this window-box a success, don't you?" I asked as we
+wandered on. "Well, then, help me to buy something for it. I don't
+suggest one of those," and I pointed to a summer-house, "or even a
+weather-cock; but we must do something now we're here. For instance,
+what about one of these patent extension ladders, in case the geraniums
+grow very tall and you want to climb up and smell them? Or would you
+rather have some mushroom spawn? I would get up early and pick the
+mushrooms for breakfast. What do you think?"
+
+"I think it's too hot for anything, and I must sit down. Is this seat an
+exhibit or is it meant for sitting on?"
+
+"It's an exhibit, but we might easily want to buy one some day, when our
+window-box gets bigger. Let's try it."
+
+It was so hot that I think, if the man in charge of the Rustic Bench
+Section had tried to move us on, we should have bought the seat at once.
+But nobody bothered us. Indeed it was quite obvious that the news that we
+owned a large window-box had not yet got about.
+
+"I shall leave you here," I said, after I had smoked a cigarette and
+dipped into the catalogue again, "and make my purchase. It will be quite
+inexpensive; indeed, it is marked in the catalogue at one-and-six-pence,
+which means that they will probably offer me the nine-shilling size
+first. But I shall be firm. Good-bye."
+
+I went and bought one and returned to her with it.
+
+"No, not now," I said, as she held out her hand eagerly. "Wait till we
+get home."
+
+It was cooler now, and we wandered through the tents, chatting
+patronizingly to the stall-keeper whenever we came to pink geraniums.
+At the orchids we were contemptuously sniffy. "Of course," I said, "for
+those who _like_ orchids--" and led the way back to the geraniums
+again. It was an interesting afternoon.
+
+And to our great joy the window-box was in position when we got home
+again.
+
+"Now!" I said dramatically, and I unwrapped my purchase and placed it in
+the middle of our new-made garden.
+
+"Whatever--"
+
+"A slug-trap," I explained proudly.
+
+"But how could slugs get up here?" asked Celia in surprise.
+
+"How do slugs get anywhere? They climb up the walls, or they come up in
+the lift, or they get blown about by the wind--I don't know. They
+can fly up if they like; but, however it be, when they do come, I mean to
+be ready for them."
+
+Still, though our slug-trap will no doubt come in usefully, it is not
+what we really want. What we gardeners really want is rain.
+
+
+
+SISTERLY ASSISTANCE
+
+
+I was talking to a very stupid man the other day. He was the stupidest
+man I have come across for many years. It is a hard thing to say of any
+man, but he appeared to me to be entirely lacking in intellect.
+
+It was Celia who introduced me to him. She had rung up her brother at the
+flat where he was staying, and, finding that he was out, she gave a
+message for him to the porter. It was simply that he was to ring her up
+as soon as he came in.
+
+"Ring up who?" said the porter. At least I suppose he did, for Celia
+repeated her name (and mine) very slowly and distinctly.
+
+"Mrs. who?" said the porter, "What?" or "I can't hear," or something
+equally foolish.
+
+Celia then repeated our name again.
+
+There followed a long conversation between the two of them, the
+audible part of it (that is Celia's) consisting of my name given
+forth in a variety of intonations, in the manner of one who sings an
+anthem--hopefully, pathetically, dramatically, despairingly.
+
+Up to this moment I had been rather attached to my name. True, it wants a
+little explaining to shopkeepers. There are certain consonants
+in it which require to be elided or swallowed or swivelled round the
+glottis, in order to give the name its proper due. But after five or six
+applications the shopkeeper grasps one's meaning.
+
+Well, as I say, I was attached to my name. But after listening to Celia
+for five minutes I realized that there had been some horrible mistake.
+People weren't called that.
+
+"Just wait a moment," I said to her rather anxiously, and picked up the
+telephone book. To my great relief I found that Celia was right. There
+_was_ a person of that name living at my address.
+
+"You're quite right," I said. "Go on."
+
+"I wish I had married somebody called Jones," said Celia, looking up at
+me rather reproachfully. "No, no, not Jones," she added hastily down the
+telephone, and once more she repeated the unhappy name.
+
+"It isn't my fault," I protested. "You did have a choice; I had none. Try
+spelling it. It spells all right."
+
+Celia tried spelling it.
+
+"I'm going to spell it," she announced very distinctly down the
+telephone. "Are you ready? ... M ... No, _M_. M for mother."
+
+That gave me an idea.
+
+"Come away," I said, seizing the telephone; "leave it to me. Now, then,"
+I called to the porter. "Never mind about the name. Just tell him to ring
+up his _sister_." And I looked at Celia triumphantly.
+
+"Ask him to ring up his mother," said the porter. "Very well, sir."
+
+"No, not the mother. That was something else. Forget all about that
+mother. He's to ring up his sister ... _sister_ ... SISTER."
+
+"You'll have to spell it," said Celia.
+
+"I'm going to spell it," I shouted. "Are you ready? ... _S_ for--for
+sister."
+
+"Now you're going to muddle him," murmured Celia.
+
+"S for sister; have you got that? ... No, _sister_, idiot. I for idiot,"
+I added quickly. "S for sister--this is another sister, of course. T
+for two. Got that? No, _two_. Two anything--two more sisters, if you
+like. E for--E for--" I turned helplessly to Celia: "quick, a word to
+begin with E! I've got him moving now. E for--quick, before his tympanum
+runs down."
+
+"Er--er--" Desperately she tried to think.
+
+"E for er," I shouted. "That'll be another sister, I expect ... Celia, I
+believe we ought to spell it with an 'H.' Can't you think of a better
+word?"
+
+"Enny," said Celia, having quite lost her nerve by this time.
+
+"E for enny," I shouted. "Any anything. Any of the sisters I've been
+telling you about. R for--quick, Celia!"
+
+"Rose," she said hastily.
+
+"R for Rose," I shouted. "Rose the flower--or the sister if you like.
+There you are, that's the whole word. Now then, I'll just spell it to
+you over again.... Celia, I want another word for E. That last was a bad
+one."
+
+"Edith?"
+
+"Good."
+
+I took a deep breath and began.
+
+"S for sister. I for Isabel--Isabel is the name of the sister. S for
+another sister--I'll tell you _her_ name directly. T for two sisters,
+these two that we're talking about. E for Edith, that's the second sister
+whose name I was going to tell you. R for Rose. Perhaps I ought to
+explain Rose. She was the sister whom these two sisters were sisters of.
+Got that?" I turned to Celia. "I'm going to get the sister idea into his
+head if I die for it."
+
+"Just a moment, sir," said the dazed voice of the porter.
+
+"What's the matter? Didn't I make it clear about Rose? She was the sister
+whom the--"
+
+"Just hold the line a moment, sir," implored the porter. "Here's the
+gentleman himself coming in."
+
+I handed the telephone to Celia. "Here he is," I said.
+
+But I was quite sorry to go, for I was getting interested in those
+sisters. Rose, I think, will always be my favourite. Her life, though
+short, was full of incident, and there were many things about her which I
+could have told that porter. But perhaps he would not have appreciated
+them. It is a hard thing to say of any man, but he appeared to me to be
+entirely lacking in intellect.
+
+
+
+THE OBVIOUS
+
+
+Celia had been calling on a newly married friend of hers. They had been
+schoolgirls together; they had looked over the same algebra book (or
+whatever it was that Celia learnt at school--I have never been quite
+certain); they had done their calisthenics side by side; they had
+compared picture post cards of Lewis Waller. Ah, me! the fairy princes
+they had imagined together in those days ... and here am I, and somewhere
+in the City (I believe he is a stockbroker) is Ermyntrude's husband, and
+we play our golf on Saturday afternoons, and go to sleep after dinner,
+and--Well, anyhow, they were both married, and Celia had been calling on
+Ermyntrude.
+
+"I hope you did all the right things," I said. "Asked to see the
+wedding-ring, and admired the charming little house, and gave a few hints
+on the proper way to manage a husband."
+
+"Rather," said Celia. "But it did seem funny, because she used to be
+older than me at school."
+
+"Isn't she still?"
+
+"Oh, _no_! I'm ever so much older now.... Talking about wedding-rings,"
+she went on, as she twisted her own round and round, "she's got all sorts
+of things written inside hers--the date and their initials and I don't
+know what else."
+
+"There can't be much else--unless perhaps she has a very large finger."
+
+"Well, I haven't got _anything_ in mine," said Celia, mournfully. She
+took off the offending ring and gave it to me.
+
+On the day when I first put the ring on her finger, Celia swore an oath
+that nothing but death, extreme poverty or brigands should ever remove
+it. I swore too. Unfortunately it fell off in the course of the
+afternoon, which seemed to break the spell somehow. So now it goes off
+and on just like any other ring. I took it from her and looked inside.
+
+"There are all sorts of things here too," I said. "Really, you don't seem
+to have read your wedding-ring at all. Or, anyhow, you've been skipping."
+
+"There's nothing," said Celia in the same mournful voice. "I do think you
+might have put something."
+
+I went and sat on the arm of her chair, and held the ring up.
+
+"You're an ungrateful wife," I said, "after all the trouble I took. Now
+look there," and I pointed with a pencil, "what's the first thing you
+see?"
+
+"Twenty-two. That's only the--"
+
+"That was your age when you married me. I had it put in at enormous
+expense. If you had been eighteen, the man said, or--or nine, it would
+have come much cheaper. But no, I would have your exact age. You were
+twenty-two and that's what I had engraved on it. Very well. Now what do
+you see next to it?"
+
+"A crown."
+
+"Yes. And what does that mean? In the language of--er--crowns it means
+'You are my queen.' I insisted on a crown. It would have been cheaper to
+have had a lion, which means--er--lions, but I was determined not to
+spare myself. For I thought," I went on pathetically, "I quite thought
+you would like a crown."
+
+"Oh, I do," cried Celia quickly, "if it really means that." She took the
+ring in her hands and looked at it lovingly. "And what's that there? Sort
+of a man's head."
+
+I gazed at her sadly.
+
+"You don't recognize it? Has a year of marriage so greatly changed me?
+Celia, it is your Ronald! I sat for that, hour after hour, day after day,
+for your sake, Celia. It is not a perfect likeness; in the small space
+allotted to him the sculptor has hardly done me justice. And there," I
+added, "is his initial 'r.' Oh, woman, the amount of thought I spent on
+that ring!"
+
+She came a little closer and slipped the ring on my finger.
+
+"Spend a little more," she pleaded. "There's plenty of room. Just have
+something nice written in it--something about you and me."
+
+"Like 'Pisgah'?"
+
+"What does that mean?"
+
+"I don't know. Perhaps it's 'Mizpah,' or 'Ichabod,' or 'Habakkuk.' I'm
+sure there's a word you put on rings--I expect they'd know at the shop."
+
+"But I don't want what they know at shops. It must be something quite
+private and special."
+
+"But the shop has got to know about it when I tell them. And I don't like
+telling strange men in shops private and special things about ourselves.
+I love you, Celia, but--"
+
+"That would be a lovely thing," she said, clasping her hands eagerly.
+
+"What?"
+
+"'I love you, Celia.'"
+
+I looked at her aghast.
+
+"Do you want me to order that in cold blood from the shopman?"
+
+"He wouldn't mind. Besides, if he saw us together he'd probably know. You
+aren't afraid of a goldsmith, are you?"
+
+"I'm not afraid of any goldsmith living--or goldfish either, if it come
+to that. But I should prefer to be sentimental in some other language
+than plain English. I could order '_Cars sposa_,' or--or '_Spaghetti,'_
+or anything like that, without a tremor."
+
+"But of course you shall put just whatever you like. Only--only let it be
+original. Not Mizpahs."
+
+"Right," I said.
+
+For three days I wandered past gold and silversmiths with the ring in my
+pocket ... and for three days Celia went about without a wedding-ring,
+and, for all I know, without even her marriage-lines in her muff. And on
+the fourth day I walked boldly in.
+
+"I want," I said, "a wedding-ring engraved," and I felt in my pockets.
+"Not initials," I said, and I felt in some more pockets, "but--but--"
+I tried the trousers pockets again. "Well, look here, I'll be quite frank
+with you. I--er--want--" I fumbled in my ticket-pocket, "I want 'I love
+you' on it," and I went through the waistcoat pockets a third time.
+"'I--er--love you.'"
+
+"Me?" said the shopman, surprised.
+
+"I love you," I repeated mechanically. "I love you. I love you, I--Well,
+look here, perhaps I'd better go back and get the ring."
+
+On the next day I was there again; but there was a different man behind
+the counter.
+
+"I want this ring engraved," I said.
+
+"Certainly. What shall we put?"
+
+I had felt the question coming. I had a sort of instinct that he would
+ask me that. But I couldn't get the words out again.
+
+"Well," I hesitated, "I--er--well."
+
+"Ladies often like the date put in. When is it to be?"
+
+"When is what to be?"
+
+"The wedding," he smiled.
+
+"It has been," I said. "It's all over. You're too late for it."
+
+I gave myself up to thought. At all costs I must be original. There must
+be something on Celia's wedding-ring that had never been in any
+other's....
+
+There was only one thing I could think of.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The engraved ring arrived as we were at tea a few days later, and I had a
+sudden overwhelming fear that Celia would not be pleased. I saw that I
+must explain it to her. After all, there was a distinguished precedent.
+
+"Come into the bath-room a moment," I said, and I led the way.
+
+She followed, wondering.
+
+"What is that?" I asked, pointing to a blue thing on the floor.
+
+"The bath-mat," she said, surprised.
+
+"And what is written on it?"
+
+"Why--'bath-mat,' of course."
+
+"Of course," I said ... and I handed her the wedding-ring.
+
+
+
+
+VI. A FEW GUESTS
+
+
+
+BAD LORD BLIGHT
+
+_(A Moral Story for the Middle-aged)_
+
+I
+
+
+Seated in the well-appointed library of Blight Hall, John Blighter,
+Seventeenth Earl of Blight, bowed his head in his hands and gave himself
+up to despair. The day of reckoning had come.
+
+Were appearances not so deceptive, one would have said that Lord Blight
+("Blight," as he was known familiarly to his friends) was a man to be
+envied. In a revolving book-case in the middle of the spacious library
+were countless treasured volumes, including a complete edition of
+Thackeray; outside in the well-kept grounds of the estate was a new
+lawn-mower; a bottle of sherry, freshly uncorked, stood upon the
+sideboard in the dining-room. But worldly possessions are not everything.
+An untroubled mind, as Shakespeare knew (even if he didn't actually say
+it), is more to be valued than riches. The seventeenth Earl of Blight's
+mind was not untroubled. His conscience was gnawing him.
+
+Some people would say, no doubt, that his conscience was too sensitive.
+True, there were episodes in his past life of which in later years he
+could not wholly approve; but is not this the case with every one of us?
+Far better, as must often have occurred to Milton, to strive for the
+future than to regret the past. Ten years ago Lord Blight had been plain
+John Blighter, with no prospects in front of him. Realizing that he could
+expect little help from others, he decided to push for himself. He began
+by pushing three cousins over the cliffs at Scarborough, thus becoming
+second heir to the earldom. A week later he pushed an elder brother over
+the same cliff, and was openly referred to in the Press as the next
+bearer of the title. Barely a fortnight had elapsed before a final push
+diverted the last member of the family (a valued uncle) into the
+ever-changing sea, the venue in this case being Whitby, presumably in
+order to avoid suspicion.
+
+But all this had happened ten years ago. The past is the past, as
+Wordsworth probably said to Coleridge more than once. It was time for
+Lord Blight to forget these incidents of his eager and impetuous youth.
+Yet somehow he could not. Within the last few days his conscience had
+begun to gnaw him, and in his despair he told himself that at last the
+day of reckoning had come. Poor Blight! It is difficult to withhold our
+sympathy from him.
+
+The door opened, and his wife, the Countess of Blight, came into the
+library.
+
+"Blight!" she whispered. "My poor Blight! What has happened?"
+
+He looked up haggardly.
+
+"Gertie," he said, for that was her name, "it is all over. My sins have
+found me out."
+
+"Not sins," she said gently. "Mistakes."
+
+"Mistakes, yes--you are right." He stretched out a hand, took a letter
+from the desk in front of him and gave it to her. "Read that." With a
+groan he buried his head in his hands again. She took it and read, slowly
+and wonderingly, these words:--
+
+"To lawn-mower as delivered, £5 17s. 6d."
+
+Lord Blight looked up with an impatient ejaculation "Give it to me," he
+said in some annoyance, snatching it away from her and throwing it into
+the waste-paper basket. "Here, this is the one. Read it; read it quickly;
+for we must decide what to do."
+
+She read it with starting eyes.
+
+"DEAR SIR,--I am prepared to lend you anything from £10 to £10,000 on
+your note-of-hand alone. Should you wish--"
+
+"D--n!" said the seventeenth Earl of Blight. "Here, where is the blessed
+thing?" He felt in his pockets. "I must have--I only had it a--Ah, here
+it is. Perhaps I had better read it to you this time." He put on his
+spectacles--a present from an aunt--and read as follows:--
+
+"MY LORD,--We regret to inform you that a claimant to the title has
+arisen. It seems that, soon after the death of his first wife, the
+sixteenth Earl of Blight contracted a second and secret marriage to Ellen
+Podby, by whom he had eleven sons, the eldest of whom is now asserting
+his right to the earldom and estates. Trusting to be favoured with your
+instructions in the matter, We are, my lord,
+
+"Yours faithfully,
+
+"BILLINGS, BILLINGS & BILLINGS."
+
+Gertie (Countess of Blight) looked at her husband in horror.
+
+"Eleven!" she cried.
+
+"Eleven," said the Earl gloomily.
+
+Then a look of grim determination came into his eyes. With the air of one
+who might have been quoting Keats, but possibly wasn't, he said firmly:
+
+"What man has done, man can do."
+
+That evening the Countess of Blight gave orders for eleven spare bedrooms
+to be got ready.
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+On the morning after the arrival of the eleven Podbys (as they had been
+taught to call themselves) John, seventeenth Earl of Blight, spoke
+quite frankly to Algernon, the eldest.
+
+"After all, my dear Algernon," he said, "we are cousins. There is no need
+for harsh words between us. All I ask is that you should forbear to make
+your claim until I have delivered my speech in the House of Lords on the
+Coast Erosion Bill, upon which I feel deeply. Once the Bill is through, I
+shall be prepared to retire in your favour. Meanwhile let us all enjoy
+together the simple pleasures of Blight Hall."
+
+Algernon, a fair young man with a meaningless expression, replied
+suitably.
+
+So for some days the eleven Podbys gave themselves up to pleasure. Percy,
+the youngest, though hardly of an age to appreciate the mechanism of it,
+was allowed to push the lawn-mower. Lancelot and Herbert, who had
+inherited the Podby intellect, were encouraged to browse around the
+revolving bookcase, from which they frequently extracted one of the works
+of Thackeray, replacing it again after a glance at the title page; while
+on one notable occasion the Earl of Blight took Algernon into the
+dining-room at about 11.31 in the morning and helped him to a glass of
+sherry and a slice of sultana cake. In this way the days passed happily,
+and confidence between the eleven Podbys and their cousin was
+established.
+
+It was on a fair spring morning, just a week after their arrival, that
+the Countess of Blight came into the music-room (where Algernon was
+humming a tune) and said, "Ah, Algernon, my husband was looking for you.
+I think he has some little excursion to propose. What a charming day, is
+it not? You will find him in the library."
+
+As Algernon entered the library, Lord Blight looked up from the map he
+was studying and nodded.
+
+"I thought," he said, coming to the point at once, "that it might amuse
+you to drive over with me to Flamborough Head. The view from the top of
+the cliff is considered well worth a visit. I don't know if your tastes
+lie in that direction at all?"
+
+Algernon was delighted at the idea, and replied that nothing would give
+him greater pleasure than to accompany Lord Blight.
+
+"Excellent. Perhaps we had better take some sandwiches and make a day of
+it."
+
+Greatly elated at the thought of a day by the sea, Lord Blight went out
+and gave instructions to the Countess for sandwiches to be cut.
+
+"In two packets, my love," he added, "in case Algernon and I get
+separated."
+
+Half an hour later they started off together in high spirits.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was dark before the seventeenth Earl of Blight returned to the house
+and joined the others at the dinner-table. His face wore a slightly
+worried expression.
+
+"The fact is, my dear," he said, in answer to a question from the
+Countess, "I am a little upset about Algernon. I fear we have lost him."
+
+"Algernon?" said the Countess in surprise.
+
+"Yes. We were standing at the top of Flamborough Head, looking down into
+the sea, when--" He paused and tapped his glass, "Sherry, Jenkins," he
+said, catching the butler's eye.
+
+"I beg your pardon, my lord."
+
+"--When poor Algernon stumbled and--Do any of you boys know if your
+brother can swim?"
+
+Everard, the ninth, said that Algernon had floated once in the Paddington
+Baths, but couldn't swim.
+
+"Ah! I was hoping--But in any case, coming into the water from that
+height--Well, well, we must face our troubles bravely. Another glass of
+sherry, Jenkins."
+
+As they passed through the hall on their way to the drawing-room, Lord
+Blight stopped a moment at the aneroid barometer and gave it an
+encouraging tap.
+
+"It looks like another fine day to-morrow," he said to Cuthbert, the
+second Podby. "The panorama from the Scalby cliffs is unrivalled.
+We might drive over and have a look at it."
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+Fortunately the weather held up. A week later the Podby family had been
+thinned down to five, and the seventeenth Earl of Blight was beginning
+to regain his usual equanimity. His health too was benefiting by the
+constant sea air and change; for, in order that no melancholy
+associations should cast a gloom over their little outings, he took care
+to visit a different health-resort each time, feeling that no expense or
+trouble should be spared in a matter of this kind. It was wonderful with
+what vigour and alertness of mind he sat down in the evenings to the
+preparation of his speech on the Coast Erosion Bill.
+
+One night after dinner, when all the Podby family (Basil and Percy) had
+retired to bed, Gertie (Countess of Blight) came into her husband's
+library and, twirling the revolving bookcase with restless fingers, asked
+if she could interrupt him for a moment.
+
+"Yes?" he said, looking up at her.
+
+"I am anxious, Blight," she answered. "Anxious about Percy."
+
+"So am I, my love," he responded gravely. "I fear that to-morrow"--he
+consulted a leather pocket-book--"no, the day after to-morrow, something
+may happen to him. I have an uneasy feeling. It may be that I am
+superstitious. Yet something tells me that in the Book of Fate the
+names of Percy and Bridlington"--he consulted his diary again--"yes,
+Bridlington; the names, as I was saying, of--"
+
+She interrupted him with an impatient gesture.
+
+"You misunderstand me," she said. "That is not why I am anxious. I am
+anxious because of something I have just learnt about Percy. I am
+afraid he is going to be--"
+
+"Troublesome?" suggested Lord Blight.
+
+She nodded.
+
+"I have learnt to-day," she explained, "that he has a horror of high
+places."
+
+"You mean that on the cliffs of, as it might be, Bridlington some sudden
+unbridled terror may cause him to hurl himself--"
+
+"You will never get him to the cliffs of Bridlington. He can't even look
+out of a first-floor window. He won't walk up the gentlest slope. That is
+why he is always playing with the lawn-mower."
+
+The Earl frowned and tapped on his desk with a penholder.
+
+"This is very grave news, Gertie," he said. "How is it that the boy comes
+to have this unmanly weakness?"
+
+"It seems he has always had it."
+
+"He should have been taken in hand. Even now perhaps it is not too late.
+It is our duty to wean him from these womanish apprehensions."
+
+"Too late. Unless you carried him up there in a sack--?"
+
+"No, no," protested the Earl vigorously. "My dear, the seventeenth Earl
+of Blight carrying a sack! Impossible!"
+
+For a little while there was silence while they brooded over the tragic
+news.
+
+"Perhaps," said the Countess at last, "there are other ways. It may be
+that Percy is fond of fishing."
+
+Lord Blight shifted uncomfortably in his seat. When he spoke it was with
+a curiously apologetic air.
+
+"I am afraid, my dear," he said, "that you will think me foolish. No
+doubt I am. You must put it down to the artistic temperament. But I tell
+you quite candidly that it is as impossible for me to lose Percy in a
+boating accident as it would be for--shall I say?--Sargent to appear as
+'Hamlet' or a violinist to wish to exhibit at the Royal Academy. One has
+one's art, one's medium of expression. It is at the top of the high cliff
+with an open view of the sea that I express myself best. Also," he added
+with some heat, "I feel strongly that what was good enough for Percy's
+father, ten brothers, three half-brothers, not to mention his cousin,
+should be good enough for Percy."
+
+The Countess of Blight moved sadly from the room.
+
+"Well," she said as she stopped for a moment at the door, "we must hope
+for the best. Perhaps Percy will overcome this aversion in time. You
+might talk seriously to him to-morrow about it."
+
+"To-morrow," said the Earl, referring once more to his diary, "Basil and
+I are visiting the romantic scarps of Filey."
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+On the day following the unfortunate accident at Filey the Earl and
+Countess of Blight reclined together upon the cliffs of Bridlington.
+
+"If we only had had Percy here!" sighed the Earl.
+
+"It was something to have got him as far as the beach," said the Countess
+hopefully. "Perhaps in time--a little higher every day--"
+
+The Earl sighed again.
+
+"The need for self-expression comes strongly upon the artist at a time
+like this," he said. "It is not for me to say that I have genius--"
+
+"It is for me to say it, dear," said his wife.
+
+"Well, well, perhaps in my own line. And at the full height of one's
+powers to be baulked by the morbidity, for I can call it nothing else, of
+a Percy Podby! Gertie," he went on dreamily, "I wish I could make you
+understand something of the fascination which an artist finds in his
+medium. To be lying here, at the top of the world, with the lazy sea
+crawling beneath us so many feet below--"
+
+"Look," said the Countess suddenly. She pointed to the beach.
+
+The Earl rose, stretched his head over the edge and gazed down.
+
+"Percy," he said.
+
+"Yes. Almost exactly beneath us."
+
+"If anything fell upon him from here," said the Earl thoughtfully, "it is
+quite possible that--"
+
+Suddenly the fascination whereof he had spoken to her came irresistibly
+home to the Countess.
+
+"Yes," she said, as if in a trance, "if anything fell upon
+him from here--" and she gave her husband a thoughtful
+push--"it--is--quite--possible--that--"
+
+At the word "that" the Earl reached Percy, and simultaneously the title
+expired.
+
+Poor Blight!--or perhaps, since the title was never really his, we should
+say "Poor Blighter!" It is difficult to withhold our sympathy from him.
+
+
+
+HIGH JINKS AT HAPPY-THOUGHT HALL
+
+
+[_An inevitable article in any decent magazine at Christmas-time. Read it
+carefully, and then have an uproarious time in your own little house_.]
+
+It was a merry party assembled at Happy-Thought Hall for Christmas. The
+Squire liked company, and the friends whom he had asked down for the
+festive season had all stayed at Happy-Thought Hall before, and were
+therefore well acquainted with each other. No wonder, then, that the wit
+flowed fast and furious, and that the guests all agreed afterwards that
+they had never spent such a jolly Christmas, and that the best of all
+possible hosts was Squire Tregarthen!
+
+First we must introduce some of the Squire's guests to our readers. The
+Reverend Arthur Manley, a clever young clergyman with a taste for
+gardening, was talking in one corner to Miss Phipps, a pretty girl of
+some twenty summers. Captain Bolsover, a smart cavalry officer, together
+with Professor and Mrs. Smith-Smythe from Oxford, formed a small party in
+another corner. Handsome Jack Ellison was, as usual, in deep conversation
+with the beautiful Miss Holden, who, it was agreed among the ladies of
+the party, was not altogether indifferent to his fine figure and
+remarkable prospects. There were other guests, but as they chiefly played
+the part of audience in the events which followed their names will not be
+of any special interest to our readers. Suffice it to say that they were
+all intelligent, well-dressed, and ready for any sort of fun.
+
+(_Now, thank heaven, we can begin_.)
+
+A burst of laughter from Captain Bolsover attracted general attention,
+and everybody turned in his direction.
+
+"By Jove, Professor, that's good," he said, as he slapped his knee; "you
+must tell the others that."
+
+"It was just a little incident that happened to me to-day as I was coming
+down here," said the Professor, as he beamed round on the company. "I
+happened to be rather late for my train, and as I bought my ticket I
+asked the clerk what time it was. He replied, 'If it takes six seconds
+for a clock to strike six, how long will it take to strike twelve?' I
+said twelve seconds, but it seems I was wrong."
+
+The others all said twelve seconds too, but they were all wrong. Can
+_you_ guess the right answer?
+
+When the laughter had died down, the Reverend Arthur Manley said:
+
+"That reminds me of an amusing experience which occurred to my
+housekeeper last Friday. She was ordering a little fish for my lunch, and
+the fishmonger, when asked the price of herrings, replied, 'Three
+ha'pence for one and a half,' to which my housekeeper said, 'Then I will
+have twelve.' How much did she pay?" He smiled happily at the company.
+
+"One--and--sixpence, of course," said Miss Phipps.
+
+"No, no; ninepence," cried the Squire with a hearty laugh.
+
+Captain Bolsover made it come to £l 3s. 2-1/2d., and the Professor
+thought fourpence. But once again they were all wrong. What do _you_ make
+it come to?
+
+It was now Captain Bolsover's turn for an amusing puzzle, and the others
+turned eagerly towards him.
+
+"What was that one about a door?" said the Squire. "You were telling me
+when we were out shooting yesterday, Bolsover."
+
+Captain Bolsover looked surprised.
+
+"Ah, no, it was young Reggie Worlock," said the Squire with a hearty
+laugh.
+
+"Oh, do tell us, Squire," said everybody.
+
+"It was just a little riddle, my dear," said the Squire to Miss Phipps,
+always a favourite of his. "When is a door not a door?"
+
+Miss Phipps said when it was a cucumber; but she was wrong. So were the
+others. See if _you_ can be more successful.
+
+"Yes, that's very good," said Captain Bolsover; "it reminds me of
+something which occurred during the Boer War."
+
+Everybody listened eagerly.
+
+"We were just going into action, and I happened to turn round to my men
+and say, 'Now, then, boys, give 'em beans!' To my amusement one of them
+replied smartly, 'How many blue beans make five?' We were all so
+interested in working it out that we never got into action at all."
+
+"But that's easy," said the Professor. "Five."
+
+"Four," said Miss Phipps. (She would. Silly kid!)
+
+"Six," said the Squire.
+
+Which was right?
+
+Jack Ellison had been silent during the laughter and jollity, always such
+a feature of Happy-Thought Hall at Christmas-time, but now he contributed
+an ingenious puzzle to the amusement of the company.
+
+"I met a man in a motor-'bus," he said in a quiet voice, "who told me
+that he had four sons. The eldest son, Abraham, had a dog who used to
+go and visit the three brothers occasionally. The dog, my informant told
+me, was very unwilling to go over the same ground twice, and yet being in
+a hurry wished to take the shortest journey possible. How did he manage
+it?"
+
+For a little while the company was puzzled. Then, after deep thought, the
+Professor said:
+
+"It depends on where they lived."
+
+"Yes," said Ellison. "I forgot to say that my acquaintance drew me a
+map." He produced a paper from his pocket. "Here it is."
+
+The others immediately began to puzzle over the answer, Miss Phipps being
+unusually foolish, even for her. It was some time before they discovered
+the correct route. What do _you_ think it is?
+
+"Well," said the Squire, with a hearty laugh, "it's time for bed."
+
+One by one they filed off, saying what a delightful evening they had had.
+Jack Ellison was particularly emphatic, for the beautiful Miss Holden
+had promised to be his wife. He, for one, will never forget Christmas at
+Happy-Thought Hall.
+
+
+
+THE ARRIVAL OF BLACKMAN'S WARBLER
+
+
+I am become an Authority on Birds. It happened in this way.
+
+The other day we heard the Cuckoo in Hampshire. (The next morning the
+papers announced that the Cuckoo had been heard in Devonshire--possibly a
+different one, but in no way superior to ours except in the matter of its
+Press agent.) Well, everybody in the house said, "Did you hear the
+Cuckoo?" to everybody else, until I began to get rather tired of it; and,
+having told everybody several times that I _had_ heard it, I tried to
+make the conversation more interesting. So, after my tenth "Yes," I added
+quite casually:
+
+"But I haven't heard the Tufted Pipit yet. It's funny why it should be so
+late this year."
+
+"Is that the same as the Tree Pipit?" said my hostess, who seemed to know
+more about birds than I had hoped.
+
+"Oh, no," I said quickly.
+
+"What's the difference exactly?"
+
+"Well, one is tufted," I said, doing my best, "and the other--er--climbs
+trees."
+
+"Oh, I see."
+
+"And of course the eggs are more speckled," I added, gradually acquiring
+confidence.
+
+"I often wish I knew more about birds," she said regretfully. "You must
+tell us something about them now we've got you here."
+
+And all this because of one miserable Cuckoo!
+
+"By all means," I said, wondering how long it would take to get a book
+about birds down from London.
+
+However, it was easier than I thought. We had tea in the garden that
+afternoon, and a bird of some kind struck up in the plane-tree.
+
+"There, now," said my hostess, "what's that?"
+
+I listened with my head on one side. The bird said it again.
+
+"That's the Lesser Bunting," I said hopefully.
+
+"The Lesser Bunting," said an earnest-looking girl; "I shall always
+remember that."
+
+I hoped she wouldn't, but I could hardly say so. Fortunately the bird
+lesser-bunted again, and I seized the opportunity of playing for safety.
+
+"Or is it the Sardinian White-throat?" I wondered. "They have very much
+the same note during the breeding season. But of course the eggs are more
+speckled," I added casually.
+
+And so on for the rest of the evening. You see how easy it is.
+
+However, the next afternoon a more unfortunate occurrence occurred. A
+real Bird Authority came to tea. As soon as the information leaked out, I
+sent up a hasty prayer for bird-silence until we had got him safely out
+of the place; but it was not granted. Our feathered songster in the
+plane-tree broke into his little piece.
+
+"There," said my hostess--"there's that bird again." She turned to me.
+"What did you say it was?"
+
+I hoped that the Authority would speak first, and that the others would
+then accept my assurance that they had misunderstood me the day before;
+but he was entangled at that moment in a watercress sandwich, the loose
+ends of which were still waiting to be tucked away.
+
+I looked anxiously at the girl who had promised to remember, in case she
+wanted to say something, but she also was silent. Everybody was silent
+except that miserable bird.
+
+Well, I had to have another go at it. "Blackman's Warbler," I said
+firmly.
+
+"Oh, yes," said my hostess.
+
+"Blackman's Warbler; I shall always remember that," lied the
+earnest-looking girl.
+
+The Authority, who was free by this time, looked at me indignantly.
+
+"Nonsense," he said; "it's the Chiff-chaff."
+
+Everybody else looked at me reproachfully. I was about to say that
+"Blackman's Warbler" was the local name for the Chiff-chaff in our part
+of Somerset, when the Authority spoke again.
+
+"The Chiff-chaff," he said to our hostess with an insufferable air of
+knowledge.
+
+I wasn't going to stand that.
+
+"So _I_ thought when I heard it first," I said, giving him a gentle
+smile. It was now the Authority's turn to get the reproachful looks.
+
+"Are they very much alike?" my hostess asked me, much impressed.
+
+"Very much. Blackmail's Warbler is often mistaken for the Chiff-chaff,
+even by so-called experts"--and I turned to the Authority and
+added, "Have another sandwich, won't you?"--"particularly so, of course,
+during the breeding season. It is true that the eggs are more speckled,
+but--"
+
+"Bless my soul," said the Authority, but it was easy to see that he was
+shaken, "I should think I know a Chiff-chaff when I hear one."
+
+"Ah, but do you know a Blackman's Warbler? One doesn't often hear them in
+this country. Now in Algiers--"
+
+The bird said "Chiff-chaff" again with an almost indecent plainness of
+speech.
+
+"There you are!" I said triumphantly. "Listen," and I held up a finger.
+"You notice the difference? _Obviously_ a Blackman's Warbler."
+
+Everybody looked at the Authority. He was wondering how long it would
+take to get a book about birds down from London, and deciding that
+it couldn't be done that afternoon. Meanwhile he did not dare to
+repudiate me. For all he had caught of our mumbled introduction I might
+have been Blackman myself.
+
+"Possibly you're right," he said reluctantly.
+
+Another bird said "Chiff-chaff" from another tree and I thought it wise
+to be generous. "There," I said, "now that _was_ a Chiff-chaff."
+
+The earnest-looking girl remarked (silly creature) that it sounded just
+like the other one, but nobody took any notice of her. They were all
+busy admiring me.
+
+Of course I mustn't meet the Authority again, because you may be pretty
+sure that when he got back to his books he looked up Blackman's Warbler
+and found that there was no such animal. But if you mix in the right
+society, and only see the wrong people once, it is really quite easy to
+be an authority on birds--or, I imagine, on anything else.
+
+
+
+THE LAST STRAW
+
+
+It was one of those summer evenings with the chill on, so after dinner we
+lit the smoking-room fire and wondered what to do. There were eight of
+us; just the right number for two bridge tables, or four picquet pairs,
+or eight patience singles.
+
+"Oh, no, not cards," said Celia quickly. "They're so dull."
+
+"Not when you get a grand slam," said our host, thinking of an accident
+which had happened to him the night before.
+
+"Even then I don't suppose anybody laughed."
+
+Peter and I, who were partners on that occasion, admitted that we hadn't
+laughed.
+
+"Well, there you are," said Celia triumphantly. "Let's play proverbs."
+
+"I don't think I know it," said Herbert. (He wouldn't.)
+
+"Oh, it's quite easy. First you think of a proverb."
+
+"Like 'A burnt camel spoils the moss,'" I explained.
+
+"You mean 'A burnt child dreads the fire,'" corrected Herbert.
+
+Celia caught my eye and went on hurriedly, "Well, then somebody goes
+outside, and then he asks questions--"
+
+"From outside?" asked Mrs. Herbert.
+
+"From inside," I assured her. "Generally from very near the fire, because
+he has got so cold waiting in the hall."
+
+"Oh, yes, I see."
+
+"And then he asks questions, and we each have to get one of the words of
+the proverb into our answer, without letting him know what the proverb
+is. It's rather fun."
+
+Peter and his wife, who knew the game, agreed. Mrs. Herbert seemed
+resigned to the worst, but Herbert, though faint, was still pursuing.
+
+"But doesn't he _guess_ what the proverb is?" he asked.
+
+"Sometimes," I admitted. "But sometimes, if we are very, very clever, he
+doesn't. That, in fact, is the game."
+
+Our host got up and went to the door.
+
+"I think I see," he said; "and I want my pipe anyhow. So I'll go out
+first."
+
+"Now then," said Celia, when the door was safely closed, "what shall we
+have?"
+
+Of course you know this game, and you know the difficulty of thinking of
+a proverb which has no moss or stable-doors or glasshouses in it; all
+of them words which it is impossible to include naturally in an answer to
+an ordinary question. The proverbs which Mrs. Herbert suggested were
+full of moss.
+
+"What about 'It's never too late to mend?'" said Mrs. Peter. "The only
+difficult word is 'mend.'"
+
+"We mustn't have less than seven words, one for each of us."
+
+"Can't we get something from Solomon for a change?" said Peter. "'A
+roaring lion is a calamity to its father, but the cautious man cometh
+not again.' That sort of thing."
+
+"We might try it," said Celia doubtfully, not feeling quite sure if it
+were a real proverb; "but 'cometh' would be difficult."
+
+"I don't see why," said Herbert. "One could always work it in somehow."
+
+"Well, of course, if he asked you, 'By what train cometh thou up in the
+mornings?' you could answer, 'I cometh up by the ten-fifteen.' Only you
+don't get that sort of question as a rule."
+
+"Oh, I see," said Herbert. "I didn't quite understand."
+
+"After all, its really much more fun having camels and things," said
+Celia. "'It's the last straw that breaks the camel's back.' Who'll do
+'camels'? You'd better," she added kindly to me.
+
+Everybody but myself seemed to think that this was much more fun.
+
+"I'll do 'straw,'" said Peter generously, whereupon Celia volunteered for
+"breaks." There were seven of us for nine words. We gave Mrs. Herbert the
+second "the," fearing to trust her with anything more alarming and in
+order to keep it in the family we gave the other "the" to Herbert, who
+was also responsible for "back." Our hostess had "last" and Mrs. Peter
+had "that."
+
+All this being settled, our host was admitted into his smoking-room
+again.
+
+"You begin with me," I said, and I was promptly asked, "How many blue
+beans make five?" When I had made a suitable answer into which "it's"
+came without much difficulty, our host turned to Herbert. Herbert's face
+had already assumed a look of strained expectancy.
+
+"Well, Herbert, what do you think of Lloyd George?"
+
+"Yes," said Herbert. "Yes--er--yes." He wiped the perspiration from his
+brow. "He--er--that is to say--er--Lloyd George, yes."
+
+"Is that the answer?" said our host, rather surprised.
+
+Herbert explained hastily that he hadn't really begun yet, and with the
+aid of an anecdote about a cousin of his who had met Winston Churchill
+at Dieppe once, he managed to get "the" in several times before blowing
+his nose vigorously and announcing that he had finished.
+
+"I believe he's playing a different game," murmured Celia to Mrs. Peter.
+
+The next three words were disposed of easily enough, a lucky question to
+Peter about the weather giving him an opportunity to refer to his straw
+hat. It was now Celia's turn for "breaks."
+
+"Nervous?" I asked her.
+
+"All of a twitter," she said.
+
+"Well, Celia," said our host, "how long are you going to stay with us?"
+
+"Oh, a long time yet," said Celia confidently.
+
+"Till Wednesday, anyhow," I interrupted, thinking it a good opportunity
+to clinch the matter.
+
+"We generally stay," explained Celia, "until our host breaks it to us
+that he can't stick us any longer."
+
+"Not that that often happens," I added.
+
+"Look here, which of you is answering the question?"
+
+"I am," said Celia firmly.
+
+"Well, have you answered it yet?"
+
+"To tell the truth I've quite forgotten the word that--Oh, I remember
+now. Yes," she went on very distinctly and slowly, "I hope to remain
+under your roof until next Wednesday morn. Whew!" and she fanned herself
+with her handkerchief.
+
+Mrs. Herbert repeated her husband's triumph with "the," and then it was
+my turn again for these horrible camels. My only hope was that our host
+would ask me if I had been to the Zoo lately, but I didn't see why he
+should. He didn't.
+
+"Would it surprise you to hear," he asked, "that the President of
+Czecho-Slovakia has a very long beard?"
+
+"If it had only been 'goats,'" I murmured to myself. Aloud I said,
+"What?" in the hope of gaining a little more time.
+
+He repeated his question.
+
+"No," I said slowly, "no, it wouldn't," and I telegraphed an appeal to
+Celia for help. She nodded back at me.
+
+"Have you finished?" asked our host.
+
+"Good Lord, no, I shall be half an hour yet. The fact is you've asked the
+wrong question. You see, I've got to get in 'moss.'"
+
+"I thought it was 'camels,'" said Celia carelessly.
+
+"No, 'moss.' Now if you'd only asked me a question about gardening--You
+see, the proverb we wanted to have first of all was 'People who live in
+glass houses shouldn't throw stones,' only 'throw' was so difficult.
+Almost as difficult as--" I turned to Celia. "What was it you said just
+now? Oh yes, camels. Or stable doors, or frying-pans. However, there it
+is." And I enlarged a little more on the difficulty of getting in these
+difficult words.
+
+"Thank you very much," said our host faintly when I had finished.
+
+It was the last straw which broke the camel's back, and it was Herbert
+who stepped forward blithely with the last straw. Our host, as he
+admitted afterwards, was still quite in the dark, and with his last
+question he presented Herbert with an absolute gift.
+
+"When do you go back to Devonshire?" he asked.
+
+"We--er--return next month," answered Herbert. "I should say," he added
+hastily, "we go _back_ next month."
+
+My own private opinion was that the sooner he returned to Devonshire the
+better.
+
+
+
+DISILLUSIONED
+
+
+The card was just an ordinary card,
+The letter just an ordinary letter.
+The letter simply said "Dear Mr. Brown,
+I'm asked by Mrs. Phipp to send you this";
+The card said, "Mrs. Philby Phipp, At Home,"
+And in a corner, "Dancing, 10 p.m.,"
+No more--except a date, a hint in French
+That a reply would not be deemed offensive,
+And, most important, Mrs. Phipp's address.
+
+Destiny, as the poets have observed
+(Or will do shortly) is a mighty thing.
+It takes us by the ear and lugs us firmly
+Down different paths towards one common goal,
+Paths pre-appointed, not of our own choosing;
+Or sometimes throws two travellers together,
+Marches them side by side for half a mile,
+Then snatches them apart and hauls them onward.
+Thus happened it that Mrs. Phipp and I
+Had never met to any great extent,
+Had never met, as far as I remembered,
+At all.... And yet there must have been a time
+When she and I were very near together,
+When some one told her, "_That_ is Mr. Brown,"
+Or introduced us "_This_ is Mr. Brown,"
+Or asked her if she'd heard of Mr. Brown;
+I know not what, I only know that now
+She stood At Home in need of Mr. Brown,
+And I had pledged myself to her assistance.
+
+Behold me on the night, the latest word
+In all that separates the gentleman
+(And waiters) from the evening-dress-less mob,
+And graced, moreover, by the latest word
+In waistcoats such as mark one from the waiters.
+My shirt, I must not speak about my shirt;
+My tie, I cannot dwell upon my tie--
+Enough that all was neat, harmonious,
+And suitable to Mrs. Philby Phipp.
+Behold me, then, complete. A hasty search
+To find the card, and reassure myself
+That this is certainly the day--(It is)--
+And 10 p.m. the hour; "p.m.," not "a.m.,"
+Not after breakfast--good; and then outside,
+To jump into a cab and take the winds,
+The cold east winds of March, with beauty. So.
+
+Let us get on more quickly. Looms ahead
+Tragedy. Let us on and have it over.
+
+I hung with men and women on the stairs
+And watched the tall white footman take the names,
+And heard him shout them out, and there I shaped
+My own name ready for him, "Mr. Brown."
+And Mrs. Philby Phipp, hearing the name,
+Would, I imagined, brighten suddenly
+And smile and say, "How _are_ you, Mr. Brown?"
+And in an instant I'd remember her,
+And where we met, and who was Mr. Phipp,
+And all the jolly time at Grindelwald
+(If that was where it was); and she and I
+Would talk of Art and Politics and things
+As we had talked these many years ago....
+So "Mr. Brown" I murmured to the man,
+And he--the fool!--he took a mighty breath
+And shouted, "Mr. BROWNIE!"--Brownie! Yes,
+He shouted "Mr. BROWNIE" to the roof.
+And Mrs. Philby Phipp, hearing the name,
+Brightened up suddenly and smiled and said,
+"How _are_ you, Mr. Brownie?"--(Brownie! Lord!)
+And, while my mouth was open to protest,
+"_How_ do you do?" to some one at the back.
+So I was passed along into the crowd
+As Brownie!
+
+Who on earth is Mr. Brownie?
+Did he, I wonder, he and Mrs. Phipp
+Talk Art and Politics at Grindelwald,
+Or did one simply point him out to her
+With "_That_ is Mr. Brownie?" Were they friends,
+Dear friends, or casual acquaintances?
+She brightened at his name, some memory
+Came back to her that brought a happy smile--Why
+surely they were friends! But _I_ am Brown,
+A stranger, all unknown to Mrs. Phipp,
+As she to me, a common interloper--I
+see it now--an uninvited guest,
+Whose card was clearly meant for Mr. Brownie.
+Soft music fell, and the kaleidoscope
+Of lovely woman glided, swayed and turned
+Beneath the shaded lights; but Mr. Brownie
+(_Né_ Brown, not Brownie) stood upon one side
+And brooded silently. Some spoke to him;
+Whether to Brown or Brownie mattered not,
+He did not answer, did not notice them,
+Just stood and brooded.... Then went home to bed.
+
+
+
+A FEW TRICKS FOR CHRISTMAS
+
+(_In the manner of many contemporaries_)
+
+
+Now that the "festive season" (_copyright_) is approaching, it behoves
+us all to prepare ourselves in some way to contribute to the gaiety of
+the Christmas house-party. A clever conjurer is welcome anywhere, and
+those of us whose powers of entertainment are limited to the setting of
+booby-traps or the arranging of apple-pie beds must view with envy the
+much greater tribute of laughter and applause which is the lot of the
+prestidigitator with some natural gift for legerdemain. Fortunately there
+are a few simple conjuring tricks which are within the reach of us all.
+With practice even the clumsiest of us can obtain sufficient dexterity in
+the art of illusion to puzzle the most observant of our fellow-guests.
+The few simple tricks which I am about to explain, if studied diligently
+for a few days before Christmas, will make a genuine addition to the
+gaiety of any gathering, and the amateur prestidigitator (if I may use
+that word again) will find that he is amply repaying the hospitality of
+his host and hostess by his contribution to the general festivity.
+
+So much by way of introduction. It is a difficult style of writing to
+keep up, particularly when the number of synonyms for "conjuring" is so
+strictly limited. Let me now get to the tricks. I call the first
+
+
+HOLDING THE LEMON
+
+For this trick you want a lemon and a pack of ordinary playing-cards.
+Cutting the lemon in two, you hand half to one member of your audience
+and half to another, asking them to hold the halves up in full view of
+the company. Then, taking the pack of cards in your own hands, you offer
+it to a third member of the party, requesting him to select a card and
+examine it carefully. When he has done this he puts it back in the pack,
+and you seize this opportunity to look hurriedly at the face of it,
+discovering (let us say) that it is the five of spades. Once more you
+shuffle the pack; and then, going through the cards one by one, you will
+have no difficulty in locating the five of spades, which you will hold up
+to the company with the words "I think this is your card, sir"--whereupon
+the audience will testify by its surprise and appreciation that you have
+guessed correctly.
+
+It will be noticed that, strictly speaking, the lemon is not a necessary
+adjunct of this trick; but the employment of it certainly adds an air of
+mystery to the initial stages of the illusion, and this air of mystery
+is, after all, the chief stock-in-trade of the successful conjurer.
+
+For my next trick, which I call
+
+
+THE ILLUSORY EGG
+
+and which is most complicated, you require a sponge, two tablecloths, a
+handful of nuts, a rabbit, five yards of coloured ribbon, a top-hat with
+a hole in it, a hard-boiled egg, two florins and a gentleman's watch.
+Having obtained all these things, which may take some time, you put the
+two tablecloths aside and separate the other articles into two heaps, the
+rabbit, the top-hat, the hard-boiled egg, and the handful of nuts being
+in one heap, and the ribbon, the sponge, the gentleman's watch and the
+two florins in the other. This being done, you cover each heap with a
+tablecloth, so that none of the objects beneath is in any way visible.
+Then you invite any gentleman in the audience to think of a number. Let
+us suppose he thinks of 38. In that case you ask any lady in the audience
+to think of an odd number, and she suggests (shall we say?) 29. Then,
+asking the company to watch you carefully, you--you--
+
+To tell the truth, I have forgotten just what it is you _do_ do, but I
+know that it is a very good trick, and never fails to create laughter and
+bewilderment. It is distinctly an illusion worth trying, and, if you
+begin it in the manner I have described, quite possibly some way of
+finishing it up will occur to you on the spur of the moment. By
+multiplying the two numbers together and passing the hard-boiled egg
+through the sponge and then taking the ... or is it the--Anyway,
+I'm certain you have to have a piece of elastic up the sleeve ... and I
+know one of the florins has to--No, it's no good, I can't remember it.
+
+But mention of the two numbers reminds me of a trick which I haven't
+forgotten. It is a thought-reading illusion, and always creates the
+_maximum_ of wonderment amongst the audience. It is called
+
+
+THE THREE QUESTIONS
+
+As before, you ask a gentleman in the company to write down a number on a
+piece of paper, and a lady to write down another number. These numbers
+they show to the other guests. You then inform the company that you will
+ask any one of them three questions, and by the way they are answered you
+will guess what the product of the two numbers is. (For instance, if the
+numbers were 13 and 17, then 13 multiplied by 17 is--let's see, thirteen
+sevens are--thirteen sevens--seven threes are twenty-one, seven times one
+is--well, look here, let's suppose the numbers are 10 and 17. Then the
+product is 170, and 170 is the number you have got to guess.)
+
+Well, the company selects a lady to answer your questions, and the first
+thing you ask her is: "When was Magna Charta signed?" Probably she says
+that she doesn't know. Then you say, "What is the capital of Persia?" She
+answers Timbuctoo, or Omar Khayyam, according to how well informed she
+is. Then comes your last question: "What makes lightning?" She is
+practically certain to say, "Oh, the thunder." Then you tell her that the
+two numbers multiplied together come to 170.
+
+How is this remarkable trick performed? It is quite simple. The two
+people whom you asked to think of the numbers are confederates, and you
+arranged with them beforehand that they should write down 10 and 17. Of
+course it would be a much better trick if they weren't confederates;
+but in that case I don't quite know how you would do it.
+
+I shall end up this interesting and instructive article with a rather
+more difficult illusion. For the tricks I have already explained it was
+sufficient that the amateur prestidigitator (I shall only say this once
+more) should know how it was done; for my last trick he will also require
+a certain aptitude for legerdemain in order to do it. But a week's quiet
+practice at home will give him all the skill that is necessary.
+
+
+THE MYSTERIOUS PUDDING
+
+is one of the oldest and most popular illusions. You begin by borrowing a
+gold watch from one of your audience. Having removed the works, you wrap
+the empty case up in a handkerchief and hand it back to him, asking him
+to put it in his waistcoat pocket. The works you place in an ordinary
+pudding basin and proceed to pound up with a hammer. Having reduced them
+to powder, you cover the basin with another handkerchief, which you
+borrow from a member of the company, and announce that you are about to
+make a plum-pudding. Cutting a small hole in the top of the handkerchief,
+you drop a lighted match through the aperture; whereupon the handkerchief
+flares up. When the flames have died down you exhibit the basin, wherein
+(to the surprise of all) is to be seen an excellent Christmas pudding,
+which you may ask your audience to sample. At the same time you tell the
+owner of the watch that if he feels in his pockets he will find his
+property restored to him intact; and to his amazement he discovers that
+the works in some mysterious way have got back into his watch, and that
+the handkerchief in which it was wrapped up has gone!
+
+Now for the explanation of this ingenious illusion. The secret of it is
+that you have a second basin, with a pudding in it, concealed in the palm
+of your right hand. At the critical moment, when the handkerchief flares
+up, you take advantage of the excitement produced to substitute the one
+basin for the other. The watch from which you extract the works is not
+the borrowed one, but one which you have had concealed between the third
+and fourth fingers of the left hand. You show the empty case of this
+watch to the company, before wrapping the watch in the handkerchief
+and handing it back to its owner. Meanwhile with the aid of a little wax
+you have attached an invisible hair to the handkerchief, the other end of
+it being fastened to the palm of your left hand. With a little practice
+it is not difficult to withdraw the handkerchief, by a series of trifling
+jerks, from, the pocket of your fellow-guest to its resting place between
+the first and second finger of your left hand.
+
+One word more. I am afraid that the borrowed handkerchief to which you
+applied the match really did get burnt, and you will probably have to
+offer the owner one of your own instead. That is the only weak spot in
+one of the most baffling tricks ever practised by the amateur
+prestidigitator (to use the word for the last time). It will make a
+fitting climax to your evening's entertainment--an entertainment which
+will ensure you another warm invitation next year when the "festive
+season" (_copyright_) comes upon us once again.
+
+
+
+
+VII. AND OTHERS
+
+
+
+MY FILM SCENARIO
+
+
+[Specially written for Economic Pictures, Limited, whose Manager
+has had the good fortune to pick up for a mere song (or, to be more
+accurate, for a few notes) several thousand miles of discarded cinema
+films from a bankrupt company. The films comprise the well-known
+"Baresark Basil, the Pride of the Ranch" (two miles long), "The Foiler
+Foiled" (one mile, three furlongs, two rods, poles or perches), "The
+Blood-stained Vest" (fragment--eighteen inches), "A Maniac's Revenge"
+(5,000 feet), "The Life of the Common Mosquito" (six legs), and so
+forth.]
+
+Twenty-five years before our film opens, Andrew Bellingham, a young man
+just about to enter his father's business, was spending a holiday in a
+little fishing village in Cornwall. The daughter of the sheep-farmer
+with whom he lodged was a girl of singular beauty, and Andrew's youthful
+blood was quickly stirred to admiration. Carried away by his passion for
+her, he--
+
+[MANAGER. _Just a reminder that Mr. T.P. O'Connor has to pass this before
+it can be produced_.]--he married her--
+
+[MANAGER. _Oh, I beg pardon_.]--and for some weeks they lived happily
+together. One day he informed Jessie that he would have to go back to his
+work in London, and that it might be a year or more before he could
+acknowledge her openly as his wife to his rich and proud parents. Jessie
+was prostrated with grief; and late that afternoon her hat and fringe-net
+were discovered by the edge of the waters. Realizing at once that she
+must have drowned herself in her distress, Andrew took an affecting
+farewell of her father and the sheep, and returned to London. A year
+later he married a distant cousin, and soon rose to a condition of
+prosperity. At the time our film begins to unwind, he was respected by
+everybody in the City, a widower, and the father of a beautiful girl of
+eighteen called Hyacinth.
+
+[MANAGER. _Now we're off. What do we start with?_]
+
+
+
+I
+
+
+On the sunny side of Fenchurch Street--
+
+[MANAGER. _Ah, then I suppose we'd better keep back the Rescue from the
+Alligator and the Plunge down Niagara in a Barrel_.]
+
+--Andrew Bellingham was dozing in his office. Suddenly he awoke to find a
+strange man standing over him.
+
+"Who are you?" asked Mr. Bellingham. "What do you want?"
+
+"My name is Jasper," was the answer, "and I have some information to give
+you." He bent down and hissed, "_Your first wife is still alive_!"
+
+Andrew started up in obvious horror. "My daughter," he gasped, "my little
+Hyacinth! She must never know."
+
+"Listen. Your wife is in Spain--
+
+[MANAGER. _Don't waste her. Make it somewhere where there are sharks_.
+
+AUTHOR. _It's all right, she's dead really_.]--and she will not trouble
+you. Give me a thousand pounds and you shall have these; and he held out
+a packet containing the marriage certificate, a photograph of Jessie's
+father dipping a sheep, a receipted bill for a pair of white gloves,
+size 9-1/2, two letters signed "Your own loving little Andy Pandy," and a
+peppermint with "Jess" on it in pink. Once these are locked up in your
+safe, no one need ever know that you were married in Cornwall twenty-five
+years ago."
+
+Without a moment's hesitation Mr. Bellingham took a handful of bank notes
+from his pocketbook, and the exchange was made. At all costs he must
+preserve his little Hyacinth from shame. Now she need never know. With a
+forced smile he bowed Jasper out, placed the packet in his safe and
+returned to his desk.
+
+But his mysterious visitor was not done with yet. As soon as the door had
+closed behind him Jasper re-entered softly, drugged Andrew hastily, and
+took possession again of the compromising documents. By the time Mr.
+Bellingham had regained his senses the thief was away. A hue-and-cry
+was raised, police whistles were blown, and Richard Harrington, Mr.
+Bellingham's private secretary, was smartly arrested.
+
+At the trial things looked black against Richard. He was poor and he was
+in love with Hyacinth; the chain of evidence was complete. In spite of
+his impassioned protest from the dock, in spite of Hyacinth's dramatic
+swoon in front of the solicitor's table, the judge with great solemnity
+passed sentence of twenty years' penal servitude. A loud "Hear, hear"
+from the gallery rang through the court, and, looking up, Mr. Bellingham
+caught the sardonic eye of the mysterious Jasper.
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+Richard had been in prison a month before the opportunity for his escape
+occurred. For a month he had been hewing stone in Portland, black
+despair at his heart. Then, like lightning, he saw his chance and took
+it. The warders were off guard for a moment. Hastily lifting his
+pickaxe--
+
+[MANAGER. _Sorry, but it's a spade in the only prison film we've got_.]
+
+Hastily borrowing a spade from a comrade who was digging potatoes, he
+struck several of his gaolers down, and, dodging the shots of others
+who hurried to the scene, he climbed the prison wall and dashed for
+freedom.
+
+Reaching Weymouth at nightfall, he made his way to the house which
+Hyacinth had taken in order to be near him, and, suitably disguised,
+travelled up to London with her in the powerful motor which she had kept
+ready. "At last, my love, we are together," he murmured as they
+neared Wimbledon. But he had spoken a moment too soon. An aeroplane
+swooped down upon them, and Hyacinth was snatched from his arms
+and disappeared with her captors into the clouds.
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+Richard's first act on arriving in London was to go to Mr. Bellingham's
+house. Andrew was out, but a note lying on his study carpet, "_Meet me at
+the Old Windmill to-night,"_ gave him a clue. On receipt of this note
+Andrew had gone to the rendezvous, and it was no surprise to him when
+Jasper stepped out and offered to sell him a packet containing a marriage
+certificate, a photograph of an old gentleman dipping a sheep, a
+peppermint lozenge with "Jess" on it, and various other documents for a
+thousand pounds.
+
+"You villain," cried Andrew, "even at the trial I suspected you," and he
+rushed at him fiercely.
+
+A desperate struggle ensued. Breaking free for a moment from the
+vice-like grip of the other, Jasper leapt with the spring of a panther at
+one of the sails of the windmill as it came round, and was whirled
+upwards; with the spring of another panther, Andrew leapt on to the next
+sail and was whirled after him. At that moment the wind dropped, and the
+combatants were suspended in mid-air.
+
+It was upon this terrible scene that Richard arrived. Already a crowd was
+collecting; and, though at present it did not seem greatly alarmed,
+feeling convinced that it was only assisting at another cinematograph
+rehearsal, its suspicions might at any moment be aroused. With a shout
+he dashed into the mill. Seeing him coming Jasper dropped his revolver
+and slid down the sail into the window. In a moment he reappeared at the
+door of the mill with Hyacinth under his arm. "Stop him!" cried Richard
+from underneath a sack of flour. It was no good. Jasper had leapt with
+his fair burden upon the back of his mustang and was gone....
+
+The usual pursuit followed.
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+It was the gala night at the Royal Circus. Ricardo Harringtoni, the
+wonderful new acrobat of whom everybody was talking, stood high above
+the crowd on his platform. His marvellous performance on the swinging
+horizontal bar was about to begin. Richard Harrington (for it was he) was
+troubled. Since he had entered on his new profession--as a disguise from
+the police who were still searching for him--he had had a vague suspicion
+that the lion-tamer was dogging him. _Who was the lion-tamer?_ Could it
+be Jasper?
+
+At that moment the band struck up and Richard leapt lightly on to the
+swinging bar. With a movement full of grace he let go of the bar and
+swung on to the opposite platform. And then, even as he was in mid-air,
+he realized what was happening.
+
+Jasper had let the lion loose!
+
+_It was waiting for him_.
+
+With a gasping cry Ricardo Harringtoni fainted.
+
+
+
+V
+
+
+When he recovered consciousness, Richard found himself on the S.S.
+"Boracic," which was forging her way through the--
+
+[MANAGER. _Somewhere where there are sharks_.]
+
+--the Indian Ocean. Mr. Bellingham was bathing his forehead with cooling
+drinks.
+
+"Forgive me, my boy," said Mr. Bellingham, "for the wrong I did you. It
+was Jasper who stole the compromising documents. He refuses to give them
+back unless I let him marry Hyacinth. What can I do?"
+
+"Where is she?" asked Richard.
+
+"Hidden away no one knows where. Find her, get back the documents for me,
+and she is yours."
+
+At that moment a terrible cry rang through the ship, "Man overboard!"
+Pushing over Mr. Bellingham and running on deck, Richard saw that
+a woman and her baby were battling for life in the shark-infested waters.
+In an instant he had plunged in and rescued them. As they were dragged
+together up the ship's side he heard her murmur, "Is little Jasper safe?"
+
+"Jasper?" cried Richard.
+
+"Yes, called after his daddy."
+
+"Where is daddy now?" asked Richard hoarsely.
+
+"In America."
+
+"Can't you see the likeness?" whispered Richard to Mr. Bellingham. "It
+must be. The villain is married to another. But now I will pursue
+him and get back the papers." And he left the boat at the next port and
+boarded one for America.
+
+The search through North and South America for Jasper was protracted.
+Accompanied sometimes by a band of cowboys, sometimes by a tribe of
+Indians, Richard scoured the continent for his enemy. There were hours
+when he would rest awhile and amuse himself by watching the antics of the
+common mosquito [Manager. _Good_!] or he would lie at full length and
+gaze at a bud bursting into flower. [Manager. _Excellent_!] Then he would
+leap on to his steed and pursue the trail relentlessly once more.
+
+One night he was dozing by his camp-fire, when he was awakened roughly by
+strong arms around his neck and Jasper's hot breath in his ear.
+
+"At last!" cried Jasper, and, knocking Richard heavily on the head with a
+boot, he picked up his unconscious enemy and carried him to a tributary
+of the Amazon noted for its alligators. Once there he tied him to a post
+in mid-stream and rode hastily off to the nearest town, where he spent
+the evening witnessing the first half of "The Merchant of Venice."
+[Manager. _Splendid_!] But in the morning a surprise awaited him. As he
+was proceeding along the top of a lonely cliff he was confronted suddenly
+by the enemy whom he had thought to kill.
+
+"Richard!" he cried, "escaped again!"
+
+"Now, Jasper, I have you."
+
+With a triumphant cry they rushed at each other; a terrible contest
+ensued; and then Jasper, with one blow of his palm, hurled his adversary
+over the precipice.
+
+
+
+VI
+
+
+How many times the two made an end of each other after this the pictures
+will show. Sometimes Jasper sealed Richard in a barrel and pushed him
+over Niagara; sometimes Richard tied Jasper to a stake and set light to
+him; sometimes they would both fall out of a balloon together. But
+the day of reckoning was at hand.
+
+[Manager. _We've only got the Burning House and the 1913 Derby left_.
+
+Author. _Right_.]
+
+It is the evening of the 3rd of June. A cry rends the air suddenly,
+whistles are blowing, there is a rattling of horses' hoofs. "Fire! Fire!"
+Richard, who was passing Soho Square at the time, heard the cry and
+dashed into the burning house. In a room full of smoke he perceived a
+cowering woman. Hyacinth! To pick her up was the work of a moment, but
+how shall he save her? Stay! The telegraph wire! His training at
+the Royal Circus stood him in good stead. Treading lightly on the swaying
+wire he carried Hyacinth across to the house opposite.
+
+"At last, my love," he breathed.
+
+"But the papers," she cried. "You must get them, or father will not let
+you marry me."
+
+Once more he treads the rocking wire; once more he re-crosses, with the
+papers on his back. Then the house behind him crumbles to the ground,
+with the wicked Jasper in its ruins....
+
+"Excellent," said Mr. Bellingham at dinner that evening. "Not only are
+the papers here, but a full confession by Jasper. My first wife was
+drowned all the time; he stole the documents from her father. Richard, my
+boy, when the Home Secretary knows everything he will give you a free
+pardon. And then you can marry my daughter."
+
+At these words Hyacinth and Richard were locked in a close embrace. On
+the next day they all went to the Derby together.
+
+
+
+THE FATAL GIFT
+
+
+People say to me sometimes, "Oh, _you_ know Woolman, don't you?" I
+acknowledge that I do, and, after the silence that always ensues, I add,
+"If you want to say anything against him, please go on." You can almost
+hear the sigh of relief that goes up. "I thought he was a friend of
+yours," they say cheerfully. "But, of course, if--" and then they
+begin.
+
+I think it is time I explained my supposed friendship for Ernest Merrowby
+Woolman--confound him.
+
+The affair began in a taxicab two years ago. Andrew had been dining with
+me that night; we walked out to the cab-rank together; I told the driver
+where to go, and Andrew stepped in, waved good-bye to me from the window,
+and sat down suddenly upon something hard. He drew it from beneath him,
+and found it was an extremely massive (and quite new) silver cigar-case.
+He put it in his pocket with the intention of giving it to the driver
+when he got out, but quite naturally forgot. Next morning he found it on
+his dressing-table. So he put it in his pocket again, meaning to leave it
+at Scotland Yard on his way to the City.
+
+Next morning it was on his dressing-table again.
+
+This went on for some days. After a week or so Andrew saw that it was
+hopeless to try to get a cigar-case back to Scotland Yard in this casual
+sort of way; it must be taken there deliberately by somebody who had a
+morning to spare and was willing to devote it to this special purpose.
+He placed the case, therefore, prominently on a small table in the
+dining-room to await the occasion; calling also the attention of his
+family to it, as an excuse for an outing when they were not otherwise
+engaged.
+
+At times he used to say, "I must really take that cigar-case to Scotland
+Yard to-morrow."
+
+At other times he would say, "Somebody must really take that cigar-case
+to Scotland Yard to-day."
+
+And so the weeks rolled on....
+
+It was about a year later that I first got mixed up with the thing. I
+must have dined with the Andrews several times without noticing the
+cigar-case, but on this occasion it caught my eye as we wandered out to
+join the ladies, and I picked it up carelessly. Well, not exactly
+carelessly; it was too heavy for that.
+
+"Why didn't you tell me," I said, "that you had stood for Parliament and
+that your supporters had consoled you with a large piece of plate? Hallo,
+they've put the wrong initials on it. How unbusiness-like."
+
+"Oh, _that_?" said Andrew. "Is it still there?"
+
+"Why not? It's quite a solid little table. But you haven't explained why
+your constituents, who must have seen your name on hundreds of posters,
+thought your initials were E.M.W."
+
+Andrew explained.
+
+"Then it isn't yours at all?" I said in amazement.
+
+"Of course not."
+
+"But, my dear man, this is theft. Stealing by finding, they call it. You
+could get"--I looked at him almost with admiration--"you could get two
+years for this"; and I weighed the cigar-case in my hand. "I believe
+you're the only one of my friends who could be certain of two years,"
+I went on musingly. "Let's see, there's--"
+
+"Nonsense," said Andrew uneasily. "But still, perhaps I'd better take it
+back to Scotland Yard to-morrow."
+
+"And tell them you've kept it for a year? They'd run you in at once. No,
+what you want to do is to get rid of it without their knowledge. But
+how--that's the question. You can't give it away because of the
+initials."
+
+"It's easy enough. I can leave it in another cab, or drop it in the
+river."
+
+"Andrew, Andrew," I cried, "you're determined to go to prison! Don't you
+know from all the humorous articles you've ever read that, if you _try_
+to lose anything, then you never can? It's one of the stock remarks one
+makes to women in the endeavour to keep them amused. No, you must think
+of some more subtle way of disposing of it."
+
+"I'll pretend it's yours," said Andrew more subtly, and he placed it in
+my pocket.
+
+"No, you don't," I said. "But I tell you what I will do. I'll take it for
+a week and see if I can get rid of it. If I can't, I shall give it you
+back and wash my hands of the whole business--except, of course, for the
+monthly letter or whatever it is they allow you at the Scrubbs. You may
+still count on me for that."
+
+And then the extraordinary thing happened. The next morning I received a
+letter from a stranger, asking for some simple information which I could
+have given him on a post-card. And so I should have done--or possibly, I
+am afraid, have forgotten to answer at all--but for the way that the
+letter ended up.
+
+"Yours very truly,
+ERNEST M. WOOLMAN."
+
+The magic initials! It was a chance not to be missed. I wrote
+enthusiastically back and asked him to lunch.
+
+He came. I gave him all the information he wanted, and more. Whether he
+was a pleasant sort of person or not I hardly noticed; I was so very
+pleasant myself.
+
+He returned my enthusiasm. He asked me to dine with him the following
+week. A little party at the Savoy--his birthday, you know.
+
+I accepted gladly. I rolled up at the party with my little present...a
+massive silver cigar-case...suitably engraved.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+So there you are. He clings to me. He seems to have formed the absurd
+idea that I am fond of him. A few months after that evening at the
+Savoy he was married. I was invited to the wedding--confound him. Of
+course I had to live up to my birthday present; the least I could do was
+an enormous silver cigar-box (not engraved), which bound me to him still
+more strongly.
+
+By that time I realized that I hated him. He was pushing, familiar,
+everything that I disliked. All my friends wondered how I had become so
+intimate with him....
+
+Well, now they know. And the original E.M.W., if he has the sense to read
+this, also knows. If he cares to prosecute Ernest Merrowby Woolman for
+being in possession of stolen goods, I shall be glad to give him any
+information. Woolman is generally to be found leaving my rooms at about
+6.30 in the evening, and a smart detective could easily nab him as he
+steps out.
+
+
+
+A MIDSUMMER MADNESS
+
+
+The girl who shared Herbert's meringue at dinner (a brittle one, which
+exploded just as he was getting into it) was kind and tactful.
+
+"It doesn't matter a bit," she said, removing fragments of shell from her
+lap; and, to put him at his ease again, went on "Are you interested in
+little problems at all?"
+
+Herbert, who would have been interested even in a photograph album just
+then, emerged from his apologies and swore that he was.
+
+"We're all worrying about one which Father saw in a paper. I do wish you
+could solve it for us. It goes like this." And she proceeded to explain
+it. Herbert decided that the small piece of meringue still in her hair
+was not worth mentioning, and he listened to her with interest.
+
+On the next morning I happened to drop in at Herbert's office.... And
+that, in short, is how I was entangled in the business.
+
+"Look here," said Herbert, "you used to be mathematical; here's something
+for you."
+
+"Let the dead past bury its dead," I implored. "I am now quite
+respectable."
+
+"It goes like this," he said, ignoring my appeal.
+
+He then gave me the problem, which I hand on to you.
+
+"A subaltern riding at the rear of a column of soldiers trotted up to the
+captain in front and challenged him to a game of billiards for half a
+crown a side, the loser to pay for the table. Having lost, he played
+another hundred, double or quits, and then rode back, the column by this
+time having travelled twice its own length, and a distance equal to the
+distance it would have travelled if it had been going in the other
+direction. What was the captain's name?"
+
+Perhaps I have not got it quite right, for I have had an eventful week
+since then; or perhaps Herbert didn't get it quite right; or perhaps the
+girl with the meringue in her hair didn't get it quite right; but anyhow,
+that was the idea of it.
+
+"And the answer," said Herbert, "ought to be 'four cows,' but I keep on
+making it 'eight and tuppence.' Just have a shot at it, there's a good
+fellow. I promised the girl, you know."
+
+I sat down, worked it out hastily on the back of an envelope, and made it
+a yard and a half.
+
+"No," said Herbert; "I know it's 'four cows,' but I can't get it."
+
+"Sorry," I said, "how stupid of me; I left out the table-money."
+
+I did it hastily again and made it three minutes twenty-five seconds.
+
+"It _is_ difficult, isn't it?" said Herbert. "I thought, as you used to
+be mathematical and as I'd promised the girl--"
+
+"Wait a moment," I said, still busy with my envelope. "I forgot the
+subaltern. Ah, that's right. The answer is a hundred and twenty-five
+men.... No, that's wrong--I never doubled the half-crown. Er--oh, look
+here, Herbert, I'm rather busy this morning. I'll send it to you."
+
+"Right," said Herbert. "I know I can depend on you, because you're
+mathematical." And he opened the door for me.
+
+I had meant to do a very important piece of work that day, but I couldn't
+get my mind off Herbert's wretched problem. Happening to see Carey at
+teatime, I mentioned it to him.
+
+"Ah," said Carey profoundly. "H'm. Have you tried it with an '_x_'?"
+
+"Of course."
+
+"Yes, it looks as though it wants a bit of an '_x_' somewhere. You
+stick to it with an '_x_' and you ought to do it. Let '_x_' be the
+subaltern--that's the way. I say, I didn't know you were interested in
+problems."
+
+"Well--"
+
+"Because I've got rather a tricky chess problem here I can't do." He
+produced his pocket chess-board. "White mates in four moves."
+
+I looked at it carelessly. Black had only left himself with a Pawn and a
+King, while White had a Queen and a couple of Knights about. Now, I know
+very little about chess, but I do understand the theory of chess
+problems.
+
+"Have you tried letting the Queen be taken by Black's pawn, then
+sacrificing the Knights, and finally mating him with the King alone?"
+
+"Yes," said Carey.
+
+Then I was baffled. If one can't solve a chess problem by starting off
+with the most unlikely-looking thing on the board, one can't solve it at
+all. However, I copied down the position and said I'd glance at it.... At
+eleven that night I rose from my glance, decided that Herbert's problem
+was the more immediately pressing, and took it to bed with me.
+
+I was lunching with William next day, and I told him about the subaltern.
+He dashed at it lightheartedly and made the answer seventeen.
+
+"Seventeen what?" I said.
+
+"Well, whatever we're talking about. I think you'll find it's seventeen
+all right. But look here, my son, here's a golf problem for you. A is
+playing B. At the fifth hole A falls off the tee into a pond--"
+
+I forget how it went on.
+
+When I got home to dinner, after a hard day with the subaltern, I found a
+letter from Norah waiting for me.
+
+"I hear from Mr. Carey," she wrote, "that you're keen on problems. Here's
+one I have cut out of our local paper. Do have a shot at it. The answer
+ought to be eight miles an hour."
+
+Luckily, however, she forgot to enclose the problem. For by this time,
+what with Herbert's subaltern, Carey's pawn, and a cistern left me by an
+uncle who was dining with us that night, I had more than enough to
+distract me.
+
+And so the business has gone on. The news that I am preparing a
+collection of interesting and tricky problems for a new "Encyclopaedia"
+has got about among my friends. Everybody who writes to me tells me of a
+relation of his who has been shearing sheep or rowing against the stream
+or dealing himself four aces. People who come to tea borrow a box of
+wooden matches and beg me to remove one match and leave a perfect square.
+I am asked to do absurd things with pennies....
+
+Meanwhile Herbert has forgotten both the problem and the girl. Three
+evenings later he shared his Hollandaise sauce with somebody in yellow
+(as luck would have it) and she changed the subject by wondering if he
+read Dickens. He is now going manfully through "Bleak House"--a chapter
+a night--and when he came to visit me to-day he asked me if I had ever
+heard of the man.
+
+However, I was not angry with him, for I had just made it come to "three
+cows." It is a cow short, but it is nearer than I have ever been before,
+and I think I shall leave it at that. Indeed, both the doctor and the
+nurse say that I had better leave it at that.
+
+
+
+TO THE DEATH
+
+_(In the Twentieth Century manner_)
+
+
+"Cauliflower!" shrieked Gaspard Volauvent across the little table in the
+_estaminet_. His face bristled with rage.
+
+"Serpent!" replied Jacques Rissole, bristling with equal dexterity.
+
+The two stout little men glared ferociously at each other. Then Jacques
+picked up his glass and poured the wine of the country over his friend's
+head.
+
+"Drown, serpent!" he said magnificently. He beckoned to the waiter.
+"Another bottle," he said. "My friend has drunk all this."
+
+Gaspard removed the wine from his whiskers with the local paper and leant
+over the table towards Jacques.
+
+"This must be wiped out in blood," he said slowly. "You understand?"
+
+"Perfectly," replied the other. "The only question is whose."
+
+"Name your weapons," said Gaspard Volauvent grandly.
+
+"Aeroplanes," replied Jacques Rissole after a moment's thought.
+
+"Bah! I cannot fly."
+
+"Then I win," said Jacques simply.
+
+The other looked at him in astonishment.
+
+"What! You fly?"
+
+"No; but I can learn."
+
+"Then I will learn too," said Gaspard with dignity. "We meet--in six
+months?"
+
+"Good." Jacques pointed to the ceiling. "Say three thousand feet up."
+
+"Three thousand four hundred," said Gaspard for the sake of disagreeing.
+
+"After all, that is for our seconds to arrange. My friend Epinard of the
+Roullens Aerodrome will act for me. He will also instruct me how to
+bring serpents to the ground."
+
+"With the idea of cleansing the sky of cauliflowers," said Gaspard, "I
+shall proceed to the flying-ground at Dormancourt; Blanchaille, the
+instructor there, will receive your friend."
+
+He bowed and walked out.
+
+Details were soon settled. On a date six months ahead the two combatants
+would meet three thousand two hundred feet above the little town in which
+they lived, and fight to the death. In the event of both crashing, the
+one who crashed last would be deemed the victor. It was Gaspard's second
+who insisted on this clause; Gaspard himself felt that it did not matter
+greatly.
+
+The first month of instruction went by. At the end of it Jacques Rissole
+had only one hope. It was that when he crashed he should crash on some of
+Gaspard's family. Gaspard had no hope, but one consolation. It was that
+no crash could involve his stomach, which he invariably left behind him
+as soon as the aeroplane rose.
+
+At the end of the second month Gaspard wrote to Jacques.
+
+"My friend," he wrote, "the hatred of you which I nurse in my bosom, and
+which fills me with the desire to purge you from the sky, is in danger of
+being transferred to my instructor. Let us therefore meet and renew our
+enmity."
+
+Jacques Rissole wrote back to Gaspard.
+
+"My enemy," he wrote, "there is nobody in the whole of the Roullens
+Aerodrome whom I do not detest with a detestation beside which my hatred
+for you seems as maudlin adoration. This is notwithstanding the fact that
+I make the most marvellous progress in the art of flying. It is merely
+something in their faces which annoys me. Let me therefore see yours
+again, in the hope that it will make me think more kindly of theirs."
+
+They met, poured wine over each other and parted. After another month the
+need of a further stimulant was felt. They met again, and agreed to
+insult each other weekly.
+
+On the last day of his training Gaspard spoke seriously to his
+instructor.
+
+"You see that I make nothing of it," he said. "My thoughts are ever with
+the stomach that I leave behind. Not once have I been in a position to
+take control. How then can I fight? My friend, I arrange it all. You
+shall take my place."
+
+"Is that quite fair to Rissole?" asked Blanchaille doubtfully.
+
+"Do not think that I want you to hurt him. That is not necessary. He will
+hurt himself. Keep out of his way until he has finished with himself, and
+then fly back here. It is easy."
+
+It seemed the best way; indeed the only way. Gaspard Volauvent could
+never get to the rendezvous alone, and it would be fatal to his honour
+if Jacques arrived there and found nobody to meet him. Reluctantly
+Blanchaille agreed.
+
+At the appointed hour Gaspard put his head cautiously out of his bedroom
+window and gazed up into the heavens. He saw two aeroplanes straight
+above him. At the thought that he might have been in one of them he
+shuddered violently. Indeed, he felt so unwell that the need for some
+slight restorative became pressing. He tripped off to the _estaminet_.
+
+It was empty save for one table. Gaspard walked towards it, hoping for a
+little conversation. The occupant lowered the newspaper from in front of
+his face and looked up.
+
+It was too much for Gaspard.
+
+"Coward!" he shrieked.
+
+Jacques, who had been going to say the same thing, hastily substituted
+"Serpent!"
+
+"I know you," cried Gaspard. "You send your instructor up in your place.
+Poltroon!"
+
+Jacques picked up his glass and poured the wine of the country over his
+friend's head.
+
+"Drown, serpent," he said magnificently. He beckoned to the waiter.
+"Another bottle," he said. "My friend has drunk all this."
+
+Gaspard removed the wine from his whiskers with Jacques' paper, and leant
+over him.
+
+"This must be wiped out in blood," he said slowly. "Name your weapons."
+
+"Submarines," said Jacques after a moment's thought.
+
+
+
+THE HANDICAP OF SEX
+
+
+I found myself in the same drawing-room with Anne the other day, so I
+offered her one of my favourite sandwiches. (I hadn't seen her for some
+time, and there were plenty in the plate.)
+
+"If you are coming to talk to me," she said, "I think I had better warn
+you that I am a Bolshevist."
+
+"Then you won't want a sandwich," I said gladly, and I withdrew the
+plate.
+
+"I suppose," said Anne, "that what I really want is a vote."
+
+"Haven't you got one? Sorry; I mean, of course you haven't got one."
+
+"But it isn't only that. I want to see the whole position of women
+altered. I want to see--"
+
+I looked round for her mother.
+
+"Tell me," I said gently; "when did this come over you?"
+
+"In the last few weeks," said Anne. "And I don't wonder."
+
+I settled down with the sandwiches to listen.
+
+Anne first noted symptoms of it at a luncheon-party at the beginning of
+the month. She had asked the young man on her right if she could have
+some of his salt, and as he passed it to her he covered up any
+embarrassment she might be feeling by saying genially, "Well, and how
+long is this coal strike going to last?"
+
+"I don't know," said Anne truthfully.
+
+"I suppose you're ready for the Revolution? The billiard-room and all the
+spare bedrooms well stocked?"
+
+Anne saw that this was meant humorously, and she laughed.
+
+"I expect we shall be all right," she said.
+
+"You'll have to give a coal-party, and invite all your friends. 'Fire,
+9--12.'"
+
+"What a lovely idea!" said Anne, smiling from sheer habit. "Mind you
+come." She got her face straight again with a jerk and turned to the
+solemn old gentleman on her other side.
+
+He was ready for her.
+
+"This is a terrible disaster for the country, this coal strike," he said.
+
+"Isn't it?" said Anne; and feeling that that was inadequate, added,
+"Terrible!"
+
+"I don't know what's happening to the country."
+
+Anne crumbled her bread, and having reviewed a succession of possible
+replies, each more fatuous than the last, decided to remain silent.
+
+"Everything will be at a standstill directly," her companion went on.
+"Already trade is leaving the country. America--"
+
+"I suppose so," said Anne gloomily.
+
+"Once stop the supplies of coal, you see, and you drain the life-blood of
+the country."
+
+"Of _course_," said Anne, and looked very serious.
+
+After lunch an extremely brisk little man took her in hand.
+
+"Have you been studying this coal strike question at all?" he began.
+
+"I read the papers," said Anne.
+
+"Ah, but you don't _get_ it there. They don't _tell_ you--they don't
+_tell_ you. Now I know a man who is actually _in_ it, and he _says_--and
+he knows this for a _fact_--that from the _moment_ when the _first man_
+downed tools--from the very moment when he _downed tools_..."
+
+Anne edged away from him nervously. Her face had assumed an expression of
+wild interest which she was certain couldn't last much longer.
+
+"Now, take coal at the pit's mouth," he went on--"at the _pit's
+mouth_"--he shook a forefinger at her--"at the _pit's mouth_--and I know
+this for a _fact_--the _royalties_, the royalties are--"
+
+"It's awful," said Anne. "I _know_."
+
+She went home feeling a little disturbed. There was something in her
+mind, a dim sense of foreboding, which kept casting its shadow across
+her pleasanter thoughts; "Just as you feel," she said, "when you _know_
+you've got to go to the dentist." But they had a big dinner-party that
+evening, and Anne, full of the joy of life, was not going to let anything
+stand in the way of her enjoyment of it.
+
+Her man began on the stairs.
+
+"Well," he said, "what about the coal strike? When are you going to start
+your coal-parties? 'Fire, 10--2.' They say that that's going to be the
+new rage." He smiled reassuringly at her. He was giving the impression
+that he _could_ have been very, very serious over this terrible business,
+but that for her sake he was wearing the mask. In the presence of women a
+man must make light of danger.
+
+Anne understood then what was troubling her; and as, half-way through
+dinner, the man on her other side turned to talk to her, she shot an
+urgent question at him. At any cost she must know the worst.
+
+"_How_ long will the strike last?" she said earnestly. "That's just what
+I was going to ask you," he said. "I fear it may be months."
+
+Anne sighed deeply.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I took the last sandwich and put down the plate.
+
+"And that," said Anne, "was three weeks ago."
+
+"It has been the same ever since?" I asked, beginning on a new plate.
+
+"Every day. I'm tired of it. I shrink from every new man I meet. I wait
+nervously for the word 'coal,' feeling that I shall scream when it
+comes. Oh, I want a vote or something. I don't know what I want, but I
+_hate_ men! Why should they think that everything they say to us
+is funny or clever or important? Why should they talk to us as if we were
+children? Why should they take it for granted that it's our duty to
+_listen_ always?"
+
+I rose with dignity. Dash it all, who had been doing the listening for
+the last half-hour?
+
+"You are run down," I said. "What you want is a tonic."
+
+Quite between ourselves, though, I really think--
+
+But no. We men must stick together.
+
+
+
+THE LEGEND OF HI-YOU
+
+I
+
+
+In the days of Good King Carraway (dead now, poor fellow, but he had a
+pleasant time while he lasted) there lived a certain swineherd commonly
+called Hi-You. It was the duty of Hi-You to bring up one hundred and
+forty-one pigs for his master, and this he did with as much enthusiasm as
+the work permitted. But there were times when his profession failed him.
+In the blue days of summer Princes and Princesses, Lords and Ladies,
+Chamberlains and Enchanters would ride past him and leave him vaguely
+dissatisfied with his company, so that he would remove the straw from his
+mouth and gaze after them, wondering what it would be like to have as
+little regard for a swineherd as they. But when they were out of sight,
+he would replace the straw in his mouth and fall with great diligence to
+the counting of his herd and such other duties as are required of the
+expert pigtender, assuring himself that, if a man could not be lively
+with one hundred and forty-one companions, he must indeed be a
+poor-spirited sort of fellow.
+
+Now there was one little black pig for whom Hi-You had a special
+tenderness. Just so, he often used to think, would he have felt towards
+a brother if this had been granted to him. It was not the colour of the
+little pig nor the curliness of his tail (endearing though this was), nor
+even the melting expression in his eyes which warmed the swineherd's
+heart, but the feeling that intellectually this pig was as solitary among
+the hundred and forty others as Hi-You himself. Frederick (for this was
+the name which he had given to it) shared their food, their sleeping
+apartments, much indeed as did Hi-You, but he lived, or so it seemed to
+the other, an inner life of his own. In short, Frederick was a soulful
+pig.
+
+There could be only one reason for this: Frederick was a Prince in
+disguise. Some enchanter--it was a common enough happening in those
+days--annoyed by Frederick's father, or his uncle, or even by Frederick
+himself, had turned him into a small black pig until such time as the
+feeling between them had passed away. There was a Prince Frederick of
+Milvania who had disappeared suddenly; probably this was he. His
+complexion was darker now, his tail more curly, but the royal bearing was
+unmistakable.
+
+It was natural then that, having little in common with his other hundred
+and forty charges, Hi-You should find himself drawn into ever closer
+companionship with Frederick. They would talk together in the intervals
+of acorn-hunting, Frederick's share of the conversation limited to
+"Humphs," unintelligible at first, but, as the days went on, seeming more
+and more charged with an inner meaning to Hi-You, until at last he could
+interpret every variation of grunt with which his small black friend
+responded. And indeed it was a pretty sight to see them sitting together
+on the top of a hill, the world at their feet, discussing at one time the
+political situation of Milvania, at another the latest ballad of the
+countryside, or even in their more hopeful moments planning what they
+should do when Frederick at last was restored to public life.
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+Now it chanced that one morning when Frederick and Hi-You were arguing
+together in a friendly manner over the new uniforms of the Town Guard
+(to the colours of which Frederick took exception) King Carraway himself
+passed that way, and being in a good humour stood for a moment listening
+to them.
+
+"Well, well," he said at last, "well, well, well."
+
+In great surprise Hi-You looked up, and then, seeing that it was the
+King, jumped to his feet and bowed several times.
+
+"Pardon, Your Majesty," he stammered, "I did not see Your Majesty. I
+was--I was talking."
+
+"To a pig," laughed the King.
+
+"To His Royal Highness Prince Frederick of Milvania," said Hi-You
+proudly.
+
+"I beg your pardon," said the King; "could I trouble you to say that
+again?"
+
+"His Royal Highness Prince Frederick of Milvania."
+
+"Yes, that was what it sounded like last time."
+
+"Frederick," murmured Hi-You in his friend's ear, "this is His Majesty
+King Carraway. He lets me call him Frederick," he added to the King.
+
+"You don't mean to tell me," said His Majesty, pointing to the pig, "that
+_this_ is Prince Frederick?"
+
+"It is indeed, Sire. Such distressing incidents must often have occurred
+within Your Majesty's recollection."
+
+"They have, yes. Dear me, dear me."
+
+"Humph," remarked Frederick, feeling it was time he said something.
+
+"His Royal Highness says that he is very proud to meet so distinguished a
+monarch as Your Majesty."
+
+"Did he say that?" asked the King, surprised.
+
+"Undoubtedly, Your Majesty."
+
+"Very good of him, I'm sure."
+
+"Humph," said Frederick again.
+
+"He adds," explained Hi-You, "that Your Majesty's great valour is only
+excelled by the distinction of Your Majesty's appearance."
+
+"Dear me," said the King, "I thought he was merely repeating himself. It
+seems to me very clever of you to understand so exactly what he is
+saying."
+
+"Humph," said Frederick, feeling that it was about acorn time again.
+
+"His Royal Highness is kind enough to say that we are very old friends."
+
+"Yes, of course, that must make a difference. One soon picks it up, no
+doubt. But we must not be inhospitable to so distinguished a visitor.
+Certainly he must stay with us at the Palace. And you had better come
+along too, my man, for it may well be that without your aid some of His
+Royal Highness's conversation would escape us. Prince Frederick of
+Milvania--dear me, dear me. This will be news for Her Royal Highness."
+
+So, leaving the rest of the herd to look after itself, as it was quite
+capable of doing, Frederick and Hi-You went to the Palace.
+
+Now Her Royal Highness Princess Amaril was of an age to be married. Many
+Princes had sought her hand, but in vain, for she was as proud as she was
+beautiful. Indeed, her beauty was so great that those who looked upon it
+were blinded, as if they had gazed upon the sun at noonday--or so the
+Court Poet said, and he would not be likely to exaggerate. Wherefore
+Hi-You was filled with a great apprehension as he walked to the Palace,
+and Frederick, to whom the matter had been explained, was, it may be
+presumed, equally stirred within, although outwardly impassive. And, as
+they went, Hi-You murmured to his companion that it was quite all right,
+for that in any event she could not eat them, the which assurance
+Frederick, no doubt, was peculiarly glad to receive.
+
+"Ah," said the King, as they were shown into the Royal Library, "that's
+right." He turned to the Princess. "My dear, prepare for a surprise."
+
+"Yes, Father," said Amaril dutifully.
+
+"This," said His Majesty dramatically, throwing out a hand, "is a Prince
+in disguise."
+
+"Which one, Father?" said Amaril.
+
+"The small black one, of course," said the King crossly; "the other is
+merely his attendant. Hi, you, what's your name?"
+
+The swineherd hastened to explain that His Majesty, with His Majesty's
+unfailing memory for names, had graciously mentioned it.
+
+"You don't say anything," said the King to his daughter.
+
+Princess Amaril sighed.
+
+"He is very handsome, Father," she said, looking at Hi-You.
+
+"Y-yes," said the King, regarding Frederick (who was combing himself
+thoughtfully behind the left ear) with considerable doubt. "But the
+real beauty of Prince Frederick's character does not lie upon the
+surface, or anyhow--er--not at the moment."
+
+"No, Father," sighed Amaril, and she looked at Hi-You again.
+
+Now the swineherd, who with instinctive good breeding had taken the straw
+from his mouth on entering the Palace, was a well-set-up young fellow,
+such as might please even a Princess.
+
+For a little while there was silence in the Royal Library, until
+Frederick realized that it was his turn to speak.
+
+"Humph!" said Frederick.
+
+"There!" said the King in great good humour. "Now, my dear, let me tell
+you what that means. That means that His Royal Highness is delighted
+to meet so beautiful and distinguished a Princess." He turned to Hi-You.
+"Isn't that right, my man?"
+
+"Perfectly correct, Your Majesty."
+
+"You see, my dear," said the King complacently, "one soon picks it up.
+Now in a few days--"
+
+"Humph!" said Frederick again.
+
+"What did that one mean, Father?" asked Amaril.
+
+"That meant--er--that meant--well, it's a little hard to put it
+colloquially, but roughly it means"--he made a gesture with his
+hand--"that we have--er--been having very charming weather lately." He
+frowned vigorously at the swineherd.
+
+"Exactly, Your Majesty," said Hi-You.
+
+"Charming weather for the time of year."
+
+"For the time of year, of course," said the King hastily. "One naturally
+assumes that. Well, my dear," he went on to his daughter, "I'm sure you
+will be glad to know that Prince Frederick has consented to stay with us
+for a little. You will give orders that suitable apartments are to be
+prepared."
+
+"Yes, Father. What _are_ suitable apartments?"
+
+The King pulled at his beard and regarded Frederick doubtfully.
+
+"Perhaps it would be better," the Princess went on, looking at Hi-You,
+"if this gentleman--"
+
+"Of course, my dear, of course. Naturally His Royal Highness would wish
+to retain his suite."
+
+"Humph!" said Frederick, meaning, I imagine, that things were looking up.
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+Of all the Princes who from time to time had visited the Court none
+endeared himself so rapidly to the people as did Frederick of Milvania.
+His complete lack of vanity, his thoughtfulness, the intense reserve
+which so obviously indicated a strong character, his power of listening
+placidly to even the most tedious of local dignitaries, all these were
+virtues of which previous royal visitors had given no sign. Moreover on
+set occasions Prince Frederick could make a very pretty speech. True,
+this was read for him, owing to a slight affection of the throat from
+which, as the Chancellor pointed out, His Royal Highness was temporarily
+suffering, but it would be couched in the most perfect taste and seasoned
+at suitable functions (such, for instance, as the opening of the first
+Public Baths) with a pleasantly restrained humour. Nor was there any
+doubt that the words were indeed the Prince's own, as dictated to Hi-You
+and by him put on paper for the Chancellor. But Hi-You himself never left
+the Palace.
+
+"My dear," said the King to his daughter one day, "have you ever thought
+of marriage?"
+
+"Often, Father," said Amaril.
+
+"I understand from the Chancellor that the people are expecting an
+announcement on the subject shortly."
+
+"We haven't got anything to announce, have we?"
+
+"It's a pity that you were so hasty with your other suitors," said the
+King thoughtfully. "There is hardly a Prince left who is in any way
+eligible."
+
+"Except Prince Frederick," said Amaril gently.
+
+The King looked at her suspiciously and then looked away again, pulling
+at his beard.
+
+"Of course," went on Amaril, "I don't know what your loving subjects
+would say about it."
+
+"My loving subjects," said the King grimly, "have been properly brought
+up. They believe--they have my authority for believing--that they
+are suffering from a disability of the eyesight laid upon them by a
+wicked enchanter, under which they see Princes as--er--pigs. That, if you
+remember, was this fellow Hi-You's suggestion. And a very sensible one."
+
+"But do you want Frederick as a son-in-law?"
+
+"Well, that's the question. In his present shape he is perhaps not
+quite--not quite--well, how shall I put it?"
+
+"Not quite," suggested Amaril.
+
+"Exactly. At the same time I think that there could be no harm in the
+announcement of a betrothal. The marriage, of course, would not be
+announced until--"
+
+"Until the enchanter had removed his spell from the eyes of the people?"
+
+"Quite so. You have no objection to that, my dear?"
+
+"I am His Majesty's subject," said Amaril dutifully.
+
+"That's a good girl." He patted the top of her head and dismissed her.
+
+So the betrothal of His Royal Highness Frederick of Milvania to the
+Princess Amaril was announced, to the great joy of the people. And
+in the depths of the Palace Hi-You the swineherd was hard at work
+compounding a potion which, he assured the King, would restore Frederick
+to his own princely form. And sometimes the Princess Amaril would help
+him at his work.
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+A month went by, and then Hi-You came to the King with news. He had
+compounded the magic potion. A few drops sprinkled discriminately on
+Frederick would restore him to his earlier shape, and the wedding could
+then be announced.
+
+"Well, my man," said His Majesty genially, "this is indeed pleasant
+hearing. We will sprinkle Frederick to-morrow. Really, I am very much
+in your debt; remind me after the ceremony to speak to the Lord Treasurer
+about the matter."
+
+"Say no more," begged Hi-You. "All I ask is to be allowed to depart in
+peace. Let me have a few hours alone with His Royal Highness in the form
+in which I have known him so long, and then, when he is himself again,
+let me go. For it is not meet that I should remain here as a perpetual
+reminder to His Royal Highness of what he would fain forget."
+
+"Well, that's very handsome of you, very handsome indeed. I see your
+point. Yes, it is better that you should go. But, before you go, there
+is just one thing. The people are under the impression that--er--an
+enchanter has--er--well, you remember what you yourself suggested."
+
+"I have thought of that," said Hi-You, who seemed to have thought of
+everything. "And I venture to propose that Your Majesty should
+announce that a great alchemist has been compounding a potion to relieve
+their blindness. A few drops of this will be introduced into the water
+of the Public Baths, and all those bathing therein will be healed."
+
+"A striking notion," said the King. "Indeed it was just about to occur to
+me. I will proclaim to-morrow a public holiday, and give orders that it
+be celebrated in the baths. Then in the evening, when they are all
+clean--I should say 'cured'--we will present their Prince to them."
+
+So it happened even as Hi-You had said, and in the evening the Prince, a
+model now of manly beauty, was presented to them, and they acclaimed
+him with cheers. And all noticed how lovingly the Princess regarded him,
+and how he smiled upon her.
+
+But the King gazed upon the Prince as one fascinated. Seven times he
+cleared his throat and seven times he failed to speak. And the eighth
+time he said, "Your face is strangely familiar to me."
+
+"Perchance we met in Milvania," said the Prince pleasantly.
+
+Now the King had never been in Milvania. Wherefore he still gazed at the
+Prince, and at length he said, "What has happened to that Hi-You fellow?"
+
+"You will never hear of him again," said the Prince pleasantly.
+
+"Oh!" said the King. And after that they feasted.
+
+And some say that they feasted upon roast pig, but I say not. And some
+say that Hi-You had planned it all from the beginning, but I say not.
+And some say that it was the Princess Amaril who planned it, from the day
+when first she saw Hi-You, and with them I agree. For indeed I am very
+sure that when Hi-You was a swineherd upon the hills he believed truly
+that the little black pig with the curly tail was a Prince. And, though
+events in the end were too much for him, I like to think that Hi-You
+remained loyal to his friend, and that in his plush-lined sty in a quiet
+corner of the Palace grounds Frederick passed a gentle old age, cheered
+from time to time by the visits of Amaril's children.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Sunny Side, by A. A. Milne
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13441 ***
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+
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+status under the laws that apply to them.
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #13441 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13441)
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Sunny Side, by A. A. Milne
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Sunny Side
+
+Author: A. A. Milne
+
+Release Date: September 12, 2004 [EBook #13441]
+Last updated: January 24, 2012
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SUNNY SIDE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Rick Niles and John Hagerson, Mary Meehan and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                             THE SUNNY SIDE
+
+                             BY A. A. MILNE
+
+    Author of "If I May," "The Dover Road," "Mr. Pim Passes By," etc.
+
+                                  1922
+
+
+
+
+TO OWEN SEAMAN
+
+AFFECTIONATELY IN MEMORY OF NINE HAPPY YEARS AT THE "PUNCH" OFFICE
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+CHAPTER
+
+
+     INTRODUCTION TO THE AMERICAN EDITION
+
+  I. ORANGES AND LEMONS
+
+ II. MEN OF LETTERS
+
+III. SUMMER DAYS
+
+ IV. WAR-TIME
+
+  V. HOME NOTES
+
+ VI. A FEW GUESTS
+
+VII. AND OTHERS
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+My publisher wants me to apologize for--"introduce" was the kindly word
+he used--this collection of articles and verses from _Punch_. I do so
+with pleasure.
+
+_Among the many interests of a long and varied career_--
+
+No, I don't think I shall begin like that.
+
+_It was early in 1871_--
+
+Nor like that.
+
+Really it is very difficult, you know. I wrote these things for a number
+of years, and--well, here they are. But just to say "Here they are" is to
+be too informal for my publisher. He wants, not a casual introduction,
+but a presentation. Let me tell you a little story instead.
+
+When war broke out, I had published three of these books in England, the
+gleanings of nine years' regular work for _Punch_. There are, I
+understand, a few Americans who read _Punch_, and it was suggested to me
+that a suitable collection of articles from these three books might have
+some sort of American sale. So I made such a collection, leaving out the
+more topical and allusive sketches, and including those with a more
+general appeal. I called the result "Happy Days"--an attractive title,
+you will agree--and in 1915 a New York publisher was found for it.
+
+This is a funny story; at least it appeals to _me_; so I won't remind
+myself of the number of copies which we sold. That was tragedy, not
+comedy. The joke lay in one of the few notices which the book received
+from the press. For a New York critic ended his review of "Happy Days"
+with these immortal words:
+
+"_Mr. Milne is at present in the trenches facing the German bullets, so
+this will probably be his last book_."
+
+You see now why an apology is necessary. Here we are, seven years later,
+and I am still at it.
+
+But at any rate, it is the last of this sort of book. As I said in a
+foreword to the English edition: "It is the last time because this sort
+of writing depends largely upon the irresponsibility and high spirits of
+youth for its success, and I want to stop before (may I say 'before'?)
+the high spirits become mechanical and the irresponsibility a trick.
+Perhaps the fact that this collection is final will excuse its air of
+scrappiness. Odd Verses have crept in on the unanswerable plea that, if
+they didn't do it now, they never would; War Sketches protested that I
+shouldn't have a book at all if I left them out; an Early Article,
+omitted from three previous volumes, paraded for the fourth time with
+such a pathetic 'I suppose you don't want _me_' in its eye that it could
+not decently be rejected. So here they all are."
+
+One further word of explanation. You may find the first section of this
+book--"Oranges and Lemons"--a little difficult. The characters of it are
+old friends to that limited public which reads my books in England; their
+earlier adventures have been told in those previous volumes (and
+purposely omitted from "Happy Days" as being a little too insular). I
+feel somehow that strangers will not be on such easy terms with them, and
+I would recommend that you approach them last. By that time you will have
+discovered whether you are in a mood to stop and listen to their chatter,
+or prefer to pass them by with a nod.
+
+A.A. M.
+
+
+
+
+THE SUNNY SIDE
+
+
+
+
+I. ORANGES AND LEMONS
+
+
+
+I.
+
+THE INVITATION
+
+
+"Dear Myra," wrote Simpson at the beginning of the year--"I have an
+important suggestion to make to you both, and I am coming round to-morrow
+night after dinner about nine o'clock. As time is so short I have asked
+Dahlia and Archie to meet me there, and if by any chance you have gone
+out we shall wait till you come back.
+
+"Yours ever,
+
+"SAMUEL
+
+"P.S.--I have asked Thomas too."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Well?" said Myra eagerly, as I gave her back the letter.
+
+In deep thought I buttered a piece of toast.
+
+"We could stop Thomas," I said. "We might ring up the Admiralty and ask
+them to give him something to do this evening. I don't know about Archie.
+Is he--"
+
+"Oh, what do you think it is? Aren't you excited?" She sighed and added,
+"Of course I know what Samuel _is_."
+
+"Yes. Probably he wants us all to go to the Zoo together ... or he's
+discovered a new way of putting, or--I say, I didn't know Archie and
+Dahlia were in town."
+
+"They aren't. But I expect Samuel telegraphed to them to meet him under
+the clock at Charing Cross disguised, when they would hear of something
+to their advantage. Oh, I wonder what it is. It _must_ be something real
+this time."
+
+Since the day when Simpson woke me up at six o'clock in the morning to
+show me his stance-for-a-full-wooden-club shot I have distrusted his
+enthusiasms; but Myra loves him as a mother; and I--I couldn't do without
+him; and when a man like that invites a whole crowd of people to come to
+your flat just about the time when you are wondering what has happened to
+the sardines on toast--well, it isn't polite to put the chain on the door
+and explain through the letter-box that you have gone away for a week.
+
+"We'd better have dinner a bit earlier to be on the safe side," I said,
+as Myra gave me a parting brush down in the hall. "If any further
+developments occur in the course of the day, ring me up at the office. By
+the way, Simpson doesn't seem to have invited Peter. I wonder why not.
+He's nearly two, and he ought to be in it. Myra, I'm sure I'm tidy now."
+
+"Pipe, tobacco, matches, keys, money?"
+
+"Everything," I said. "Bless you. Goodbye."
+
+"Good-bye," said Myra lingeringly. "What do you think he meant by 'as
+time is so short'?"
+
+"I don't know. At least," I added, looking at my watch, "I do know. I
+shall be horribly late. Good-bye."
+
+I fled down the stairs into the street, waved to Myra at the
+window ... and then came cautiously up again for my pipe. Life is very
+difficult on the mornings when you are in a hurry.
+
+At dinner that night Myra could hardly eat for excitement.
+
+"You'll be sorry afterwards," I warned her, "when it turns out to be
+nothing more than that he has had his hair cut."
+
+"But even if it is, I don't see why I shouldn't be excited at seeing my
+only brother again--not to mention sister-in-law."
+
+"Then let's move," I said. "They'll be here directly."
+
+Archie and Dahlia came first. We besieged them with questions as soon as
+they appeared.
+
+"Haven't an idea," said Archie, "I wanted to bring a revolver in case it
+was anything really desperate, but Dahlia wouldn't let me."
+
+"It would have been useful too," I said, "if it turned out to be
+something merely futile."
+
+"You're not going to hurt my Samuel, however futile it is," said Myra.
+"Dahlia, how's Peter, and will you have some coffee?"
+
+"Peter's lovely. You've had coffee, haven't you, Archie?"
+
+"Better have some more," I suggested, "in case Simpson is merely
+soporific. We anticipate a slumbering audience, and Samuel explaining a
+new kind of googlie he's invented."
+
+Entered Thomas lazily.
+
+"Hallo," he said in his slow voice. "What's it all about?"
+
+"It's a raid on the Begum's palace," explained Archie rapidly. "Dahlia
+decoys the Chief Mucilage; you, Thomas, drive the submarine; Myra has
+charge of the clockwork mouse, and we others hang about and sing. To say
+more at this stage would be to bring about a European conflict."
+
+"Coffee, Thomas?" said Myra.
+
+"I bet he's having us on," said Thomas gloomily, as he stirred his
+coffee.
+
+There was a hurricane in the hall. Chairs were swept over; coats and hats
+fell to the ground; a high voice offered continuous apologies--and
+Simpson came in.
+
+"Hallo, Myra!" he said eagerly. "Hallo, old chap! Hallo, Dahlia! Hallo,
+Archie! Hallo, Thomas, old boy!" He fixed his spectacles firmly on his
+nose and beamed round the room.
+
+"We're all here--thanking you very much for inviting us," I said. "Have a
+cigar--if you've brought any with you."
+
+Fortunately he had brought several with him.
+
+"Now then, I'll give any of you three guesses what it's all about."
+
+"No, you don't. We're all waiting, and you can begin your apology right
+away."
+
+Simpson took a deep breath and began.
+
+"I've been lent a villa," he said.
+
+There was a moment's silence ... and then Archie got up.
+
+"Good-bye," he said to Myra, holding out his hand. "Thanks for a very
+jolly evening. Come along Dahlia."
+
+"But I say, old chap," protested Simpson.
+
+"I'm sorry, Simpson, but the fact that you're moving from the Temple to
+Cricklewood, or wherever it is, and that somebody else is paying the
+thirty pounds a year, is jolly interesting, but it wasn't good enough to
+drag us up from the country to tell us about it. You could have written.
+However, thank you for the cigar."
+
+"My dear fellow, it isn't Cricklewood. It's the Riviera!"
+
+Archie sat down again.
+
+"Samuel!" cried Myra. "How she must love you!"
+
+"I should never lend Simpson a villa of mine," I said. "He'd only lose
+it."
+
+"They're some very old friends who live there, and they're going away for
+a month, and the servants are staying on, and they suggested that if I
+was going abroad again this year--"
+
+"How did the servants know you'd been abroad last year?" asked Archie.
+
+"Don't interrupt, dear," said Dahlia. "I see what he means. How very
+jolly for you, Samuel."
+
+"For all of us, Dahlia!"
+
+"You aren't suggesting we shall all crowd in?" growled Thomas.
+
+"Of course, my dear old chap! I told them, and they're delighted. We can
+share housekeeping expenses, and it will be as cheap as anything."
+
+"But to go into a stranger's house," said Dahlia anxiously.
+
+"It's _my_ house, Dahlia, for the time. I invite you!" He threw out his
+hands in a large gesture of welcome and knocked his coffee-cup on to the
+carpet; begged Myra's pardon several times; and then sat down again and
+wiped his spectacles vigorously.
+
+Archie looked doubtfully at Thomas.
+
+"Duty, Thomas, duty," he said, thumping his chest. "You can't desert the
+Navy at this moment of crisis."
+
+"Might," said Thomas, puffing at his pipe.
+
+Archie looked at me. I looked hopefully at Myra.
+
+"Oh-h-h!" said Myra, entranced.
+
+Archie looked at Dahlia. Dahlia frowned.
+
+"It isn't till February," said Simpson eagerly.
+
+"It's very kind of you, Samuel," said Dahlia, "but I don't think--"
+
+Archie nodded to Simpson.
+
+"You leave this to me," he said confidentially. "We're going."
+
+
+
+II.
+
+ON THE WAY
+
+
+"Toulon," announced Archie, as the train came to a stop and gave out its
+plaintive, dying whistle. "Naval port of our dear allies, the French.
+This would interest Thomas."
+
+"If he weren't asleep," I said.
+
+"He'll be here directly," said Simpson from the little table for two on
+the other side of the gangway. "I'm afraid he had a bad night. Here,
+_garçon_--er--_donnez-moi du café et_--er-" But the waiter had slipped
+past him again--the fifth time.
+
+"Have some of ours," said Myra kindly, holding out the pot.
+
+"Thanks very much, Myra, but I may as well wait for Thomas, and--_garçon,
+du café pour_--I don't think he'll be--_deux cafés, garçon, s'il
+vous_--it's going to be a lovely day."
+
+Thomas came in quietly, sat down opposite Simpson, and ordered breakfast.
+
+"Samuel wants some too," said Myra.
+
+Thomas looked surprised, grunted and ordered another breakfast.
+
+"You see how easy it is," said Archie. "Thomas, we're at Toulon, where
+the _ententes cordiales_ come from. You ought to have been up long ago
+taking notes for the Admiralty."
+
+"I had a rotten night," said Thomas. "Simpson fell out of bed in the
+middle of it."
+
+"Oh, poor Samuel!"
+
+"You don't mean to say you gave him the top berth?" I asked in surprise.
+"You must have known he'd fall out."
+
+"But, Thomas dear, surely Samuel's just falling-out-of-bed noise wouldn't
+wake you up," said Myra. "I always thought you slept so well."
+
+"He tried to get back into _my_ bed."
+
+"I was a little dazed," explained Simpson hastily, "and I hadn't got my
+spectacles."
+
+"Still you ought to have been able to see Thomas there."
+
+"Of course I did see him as soon as I got in, and then I remembered I was
+up above. So I climbed up."
+
+"It must be rather difficult climbing up at night," thought Dahlia.
+
+"Not if you get a good take-off, Dahlia," said Simpson earnestly.
+
+"Simpson got a good one off my face," explained Thomas.
+
+"My dear old chap, I was frightfully sorry. I did come down at once and
+tell you how sorry I was, didn't I?"
+
+"You stepped back on to it," said Thomas shortly, and he turned his
+attention to the coffee.
+
+Our table had finished breakfast. Dahlia and Myra got up slowly, and
+Archie and I filled our pipes and followed them out.
+
+"Well, we'll leave you to it," said Archie to the other table.
+"Personally, I think it's Thomas's turn to step on Simpson. But don't be
+long, because there's a good view coming."
+
+The good view came, and then another and another, and they merged
+together and became one long, moving panorama of beauty. We stood in
+the corridor and drank it in ... and at intervals we said "Oh-h!" and
+"Oh, I say!" and "Oh, I say, _really_!" And there was one particular
+spot I wish I could remember where, so that it might be marked by a
+suitable tablet--at the sight of which Simpson was overheard to say,
+"_Mon Dieu_!" for (probably) the first time in his life.
+
+"You know, all these are olive trees, you chaps," he said every five
+minutes. "I wonder if there are any olives growing on them?"
+
+"Too early," said Archie. "It's the sardine season now."
+
+It was at Cannes that we saw the first oranges.
+
+"That does it," I said to Myra. "We're really here. And look, there's a
+lemon tree. Give me the oranges and lemons, and you can have all the
+palms and the cactuses and the olives."
+
+"Like polar bears in the arctic regions," said Myra.
+
+I thought for a moment. Superficially there is very little resemblance
+between an orange and a polar bear.
+
+"Like polar bears," I said hopefully.
+
+"I mean," luckily she went on, "polar bears do it for you in the polar
+regions. You really know you're there then. Give me the polar bears, I
+always say, and you can keep the seals and the walruses and the penguins.
+It's the hallmark."
+
+"Right. I knew you meant something. In London," I went on, "it is
+raining. Looking out of my window I see a lamp-post (not in flower)
+beneath a low, grey sky. Here we see oranges against a blue sky a million
+miles deep. What a blend! Myra, let's go to a fancy-dress ball when we
+get back. You go as an orange and I'll go as a very blue, blue sky, and
+you shall lean against me."
+
+"And we'll dance the tangerine," said Myra.
+
+But now observe us approaching Monte Carlo. For an hour past Simpson has
+been collecting his belongings. Two bags, two coats, a camera, a rug,
+Thomas, golf-clubs, books--his compartment is full of things which have
+to be kept under his eye lest they should evade him at the last moment.
+As the train leaves Monaco his excitement is intense.
+
+"I think, old chap," he says to Thomas, "I'll wear the coats after all."
+
+"And the bags," says Thomas, "and then you'll have a suit."
+
+Simpson puts on the two coats and appears very big and hot.
+
+"I'd better have my hands free," he says, and straps the camera and the
+golf-clubs on to himself. "Then if you nip out and get a porter I can
+hand the bags out to him through the window."
+
+"All right," says Thomas. He is deep in his book and looks as if he were
+settled in his corner of the carriage for the day.
+
+The train stops. There is bustle, noise, confusion. Thomas in some
+magical way has disappeared. A porter appears at the open window and
+speaks voluble French to Simpson. Simpson looks round wildly for Thomas.
+"Thomas!" he cries. "_Un moment_," he says to the porter. "Thomas! _Mon
+ami, it n'est pas_--I say, Thomas, old chap, where are you? _Attendez un
+moment. Mon ami_--er--_reviendra_--" He is very hot. He is wearing, in
+addition to what one doesn't mention, an ordinary waistcoat, a woolly
+waistcoat for steamer use, a tweed coat, an aquascutum, an ulster, a
+camera and a bag of golfclubs. The porter, with many gesticulations, is
+still hurling French at him.
+
+It is too much for Simpson. He puts his head out of the window and,
+observing in the distance a figure of such immense dignity that it can
+only belong to the station-master, utters to him across the hurly-burly a
+wild call for help.
+
+"_Ou est_ Cooks's _homme_?" he cries.
+
+
+
+III.
+
+SETTLING DOWN
+
+
+The villa was high up on the hill, having (as Simpson was to point out
+several times later) Mentone on its left hand and Monte Carlo on its
+right. A long winding path led up through its garden of olives to the
+front door, and through the mimosa trees which flanked this door we could
+see already a flutter of white aprons. The staff was on the loggia
+waiting to greet us.
+
+We halted a moment out of sight of the ladies above and considered
+ourselves. It came to us with a sudden shock that we were a very large
+party.
+
+"I suppose," said Archie to Simpson, "they do expect all of us and not
+only you? You told them that about half London was coming?"
+
+"We're only six," said Myra, "because I've just counted again, but we
+seem about twenty."
+
+"It's quite all right," said Simpson cheerfully. "I said we'd be six."
+
+"But six in a letter is much smaller than six of us like this; and when
+they see our luggage--"
+
+"Let's go back," I suggested, suddenly nervous. To be five guests of the
+guest of a man you have never met is delicate work.
+
+At this critical moment Archie assumed command. He is a Captain in the
+Yeomanry and has tackled bigger jobs than this in his time.
+
+"We must get ourselves into proper order," he said. "Simpson, the villa
+has been lent to _you_; you must go first. Dahlia and I come next. When
+we arrive you will introduce us as your friends, Mr. and Mrs. Mannering.
+Then turning to Myra you say, 'Mr. Mannering's sister; and this,' you
+add, 'is her husband.' Then--er--Thomas--"
+
+"It will be difficult to account for Thomas," I said. "Thomas comes at
+the end. He hangs back a little at first; and then if he sees that there
+is going to be any awkwardness about him, he can pretend he's come on the
+wrong night, and apologize and go home again."
+
+"If Thomas goes, I go," said Myra dramatically.
+
+"I have another idea," I said. "Thomas hides here for a bit. We introduce
+ourselves and settle in, and have lunch; and after lunch we take a stroll
+in the garden, and to our great surprise discover Thomas. 'Thomas,' we
+say, '_you_ here? Dear old chap, we thought you were in England. How
+splendid! Where are you staying? Oh, but you must stop with _us_; we can
+easily have a bed put up for you in the garage.' And then--"
+
+"Not after lunch," said Thomas; "before lunch."
+
+"Don't all be so silly," smiled Dahlia. "They'll wonder what has happened
+to us if we wait any longer. Besides, the men will be here with the
+luggage directly. Come along."
+
+"Samuel," said Archie, "forward."
+
+In our new formation we marched up, Simpson excited and rehearsing to
+himself the words of introduction, we others outwardly calm. At a range
+of ten yards he opened fire. "How do you do?" he beamed. "Here we all
+are! Isn't it a lovely--"
+
+The cook-housekeeper, majestic but kindly, came forward with outstretched
+hand and welcomed him volubly--in French. The other three ladies added
+their French to hers. There was only one English body on the loggia. It
+belonged to a bull-dog. The bull-dog barked loudly at Simpson in English.
+
+There was no "Cook's homme" to save Simpson this time. But he rose to the
+occasion nobly. The scent of the mimosa inspired him.
+
+"_Merci,"_ he said, "_merci. Oui, n'est ce pas_! Delightful. Er--these
+are--_ces sont mes amis_. Er--Dahlia, come along--er, _Monsieur et Madame
+Mannering_--er--Myra, _la soeur de Monsieur_--er--where are you, old
+chap?--_le mari de la soeur de Monsieur._ Er--Thomas--er--" (he was
+carried away by memories of his schoolboy French), "_le frère du
+jardinier_--er--" He wheeled round and saw me; introduced me again;
+introduced Myra as my wife, Archie as her brother, and Dahlia as Archie's
+wife; and then with a sudden inspiration presented Thomas grandly as "_le
+beau-père du petit fils de mes amis Monsieur et Madame Mannering_."
+Thomas seemed more assured of his place as Peter's godfather than as the
+brother of the gardener.
+
+There were four ladies; we shook hands with all of them. It took us a
+long time, and I doubt if we got it all in even so, for twice I found
+myself shaking hands with Simpson. But these may have been additional
+ones thrown in. It was over at last, and we followed the staff indoors.
+
+And then we had another surprise. It was broken to us by Dahlia, who, at
+Simpson's urgent request, took up the position of lady of the house, and
+forthwith received the flowing confidences of the housekeeper.
+
+"Two of us have to sleep outside," she said.
+
+"Where?" we all asked blankly.
+
+We went on to the loggia again, and she pointed to a little house almost
+hidden by olive-trees in a corner of the garden below us.
+
+"Oh, well, that's all right," said Archie. "It's on the estate. Thomas,
+you and Simpson won't mind that a bit, will you?"
+
+"We can't turn Samuel out of his own house," said Myra indignantly.
+
+"We aren't turning him; he wants to go. But, of course, if you and your
+young man would like to live there instead--"
+
+Myra looked at me eagerly.
+
+"It would be rather fun," she said. "We'd have another little honeymoon
+all to ourselves."
+
+"It wouldn't really be a honeymoon," I objected. "We should always be
+knocking up against trippers in the garden, Archies and Samuels and
+Thomases and what not. They'd be all over the place."
+
+Dahlia explained the domestic arrangements. The honeymooners had their
+little breakfast in their own little house, and then joined the others
+for the day at about ten.
+
+"Or eleven," said Thomas.
+
+"It would be rather lovely," said Myra thoughtfully.
+
+"Yes," I agreed; "but have you considered that--Come over this way a
+moment, where Thomas and Simpson can't hear, while I tell you some of the
+disadvantages."
+
+I led her into a quiet corner and suggested a few things to her which I
+hoped would not occur to the other two.
+
+_Item_: That if it was raining hard at night, it would be beastly.
+_Item_: That if you suddenly found you'd left your pipe behind, it would
+be rotten. _Item_: That if, as was probable, there wasn't a proper
+bathroom in the little house, it would be sickening. _Item_: That if she
+had to walk on muddy paths in her evening shoes, it would be--
+
+At this point Myra suddenly caught the thread of the argument. We went
+back to the others.
+
+"We think," said Myra, "it would be perfectly heavenly in the little
+house; but--" She hesitated.
+
+"But at the same time," I said, "we think it's up to Simpson and Thomas
+to be English gentlemen. Samuel, it's your honour."
+
+There was a moment's silence.
+
+"Come along," said Thomas to Simpson, "let's go and look at it."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+After lunch, clean and well-fed and happy, we lay in deck-chairs on the
+loggia and looked lazily down at the Mediterranean.
+
+"Thank you, Samuel, for bringing us," said Dahlia gently. "Your friends
+must be very fond of you to have lent you this lovely place."
+
+"Not fonder than we are," said Myra, smiling at him.
+
+
+
+IV.
+
+BEFORE LUNCH
+
+
+I found Myra in the hammock at the end of the loggia.
+
+"Hallo," I said.
+
+"Hallo." She looked up from her book and waved her hand. "Mentone on the
+left, Monte Carlo on the right," she said, and returned to her book
+again. Simpson had mentioned the situation so many times that it had
+become a catch-phrase with us.
+
+"Fancy reading on a lovely morning like this," I complained.
+
+"But that's why. It's a very gloomy play by Ibsen, and whenever it's
+simply more than I can bear, I look up and see Mentone on the left, Monte
+Carlo on the right--I mean, I see all the loveliness round me, and then I
+know the world isn't so bad after all." She put her book down. "Are you
+alone?"
+
+I gripped her wrist suddenly and put the paper-knife to her throat.
+
+"_We_ are alone," I hissed--or whatever you do to a sentence without any
+"s's" in it to make it dramatic. "Your friends cannot save you now.
+Prepare to--er--come a walk up the hill with me."
+
+"Help! Help!" Whispered Myra. She hesitated a moment; then swung herself
+out of the hammock and went in for her hat.
+
+We climbed up a steep path which led to the rock-village above us.
+Simpson had told us that we must see the village; still more earnestly he
+had begged us to see Corsica. The view of Corsica was to be obtained from
+a point some miles up--too far to go before lunch.
+
+"However, we can always say we saw it," I reassured Myra. "From this
+distance you can't be certain of recognizing an island you don't know.
+Any small cloud on the horizon will do."
+
+"I know it on the map."
+
+"Yes, but it looks quite different in real life. The great thing is to be
+able to assure Simpson at lunch that the Corsican question is now closed.
+When we're a little higher up, I shall say, 'Surely that's Corsica?' and
+you'll say, 'Not _Corsica_?' as though you'd rather expected the Isle of
+Wight; and then it'll be all over. Hallo!"
+
+We had just passed the narrow archway leading into the courtyard of the
+village and were following the path up the hill. But in that moment of
+passing we had been observed. Behind us a dozen village children now
+trailed eagerly.
+
+"Oh, the dears!" cried Myra.
+
+"But I think we made a mistake to bring them," I said severely. "No one
+is fonder of our--one, two, three ... I make it eleven--our eleven
+children than I am, but there are times when Father and Mother want to be
+alone."
+
+"I'm sorry, dear. I thought you'd be so proud to have them all with you."
+
+"I _am_ proud of them. To reflect that all the--one, two ... I make it
+thirteen--all these thirteen are ours, is very inspiring. But I don't
+like people to think that we cannot afford our youngest, our little
+Philomene, shoes and stockings. And Giuseppe should have washed his face
+since last Friday. These are small matters, but they are very trying to a
+father."
+
+"Have you any coppers?" asked Myra suddenly. "You forget their
+pocket-money last week."
+
+"One, two, three--I cannot possibly afford--one, two, three, four--Myra,
+I do wish you'd count them definitely and tell me how many we have. One
+likes to know. I cannot afford pocket-money for more than a dozen."
+
+"Ten." She took a franc from me and gave it to the biggest girl.
+(Anne-Marie, our first, and getting on so nicely with her French.)
+Rapidly she explained what was to be done with it, Anne-Marie's look of
+intense rapture slowly straightening itself to one of ordinary gratitude
+as the financial standing of the other nine in the business became clear.
+Then we waved farewell to our family and went on.
+
+High above the village, a thousand feet above the sea, we rested, and
+looked down upon the silvery olives stretching into the blue ... and more
+particularly upon one red roof which stood up amid the grey-green trees.
+
+"That's the Cardews' villa," I said.
+
+Myra was silent.
+
+When Myra married me she promised to love, honour and write all my
+thank-you-very-much letters for me, for we agreed before the ceremony
+that the word "obey" should mean nothing more than that. There are two
+sorts of T.Y.V.M. letters--the "Thank you very much for asking us, we
+shall be delighted to come," and the "Thank you very much for having us,
+we enjoyed it immensely." With these off my mind I could really
+concentrate on my work, or my short mashie shots, or whatever was of
+importance. But there was now a new kind of letter to write, and one
+rather outside the terms of our original understanding. A friend of mine
+had told his friends the Cardews that we were going out to the Riviera
+and would let them know when we arrived ... and we had arrived a week
+ago.
+
+"It isn't at all an easy letter to write," said Myra. "It's practically
+asking a stranger for hospitality."
+
+"Let us say 'indicating our readiness to accept it.' It sounds better."
+
+Myra smiled slowly to herself.
+
+"'Dear Mrs. Cardew,'" she said, "'we are ready for lunch when you are.
+Yours sincerely.'"
+
+"Well, that's the idea."
+
+"And then what about the others? If the Cardews are going to be nice we
+don't want to leave Dahlia and all of them out of it."
+
+I thought it over carefully for a little.
+
+"What you want to do," I said at last, "is to write a really long letter
+to Mrs. Cardew, acquainting her with all the facts. Keep nothing back
+from her. I should begin by dwelling on the personnel of our little
+company. 'My husband and I,' you should say, 'are not alone. We have also
+with us Mr. and Mrs. Archibald Mannering, a delightful couple. Mr. A.
+Mannering is something in the Territorials when he is not looking after
+his estate. His wife is a great favourite in the county. Next I have to
+introduce to you Mr. Thomas Todd, an agreeable young bachelor. Mr. Thomas
+Todd is in the Sucking-a-ruler-and-looking-out-of-the-window Department
+of the Admiralty, by whose exertions, so long as we preserve the 2 Todds
+to 1 formula--or, excluding Canadian Todds, 16 to 10--Britannia rules the
+waves. Lastly, there is Mr. Samuel Simpson. Short of sight but warm of
+heart, and with (on a bad pitch) a nasty break from the off, Mr. S.
+Simpson is a _littérateur_ of some eminence but little circulation,
+combining on the cornet intense wind-power with no execution, and on the
+golf course an endless enthusiasm with only an occasional contact. This,
+dear Mrs. Cardew, is our little party. I say nothing of my husband.'"
+
+"Go on," smiled Myra. "You have still to explain how we invite ourselves
+to lunch."
+
+"We don't; we leave that to her. All we do is to give a list of the meals
+in which, in the ordinary course, we are wont to indulge, together with a
+few notes on our relative capacities at each. 'Perhaps,' you wind up, 'it
+is at luncheon time that as a party we show to the best advantage. Some
+day, my dear Mrs. Cardew, we must all meet at lunch. You will then see
+that I have exaggerated neither my husband's appetite, nor the light
+conversation of my brother, nor the power of apology, should any little
+_contretemps_ occur, of Mr. Samuel Simpson. Let us, I say, meet at lunch.
+Let us--'" I took out my watch suddenly.
+
+"Come on," I said, getting up and giving a hand to Myra; "we shall only
+just be in time for it."
+
+
+
+V.
+
+THE GAMESTERS
+
+
+"It's about time," said Simpson one evening, "that we went to the tables
+and--er--" (he adjusted his spectacles)--"had a little flutter."
+
+We all looked at him in silent admiration.
+
+"Oh, Samuel," sighed Myra, "and I promised your aunt that you shouldn't
+gamble while you were away."
+
+"But, my dear Myra, it's the first thing the fellows at the club ask you
+when you've been to the Riviera--if you've had any luck."
+
+"Well, you've had a lot of luck," said Archie. "Several times when you've
+been standing on the heights and calling attention to the beautiful view
+below, I've said to myself, 'One push, and he's a deader,' but something,
+some mysterious agency within, has kept me back."
+
+"All the fellows at the club--"
+
+Simpson is popularly supposed to belong to a Fleet Street Toilet and
+Hairdressing Club, where for three guineas a year he gets shaved every
+day, and has his hair cut whenever Myra insists. On the many occasions
+when he authorizes a startling story of some well-known statesman with
+the words: "My dear old chap, I know it for a fact. I heard it at the
+club to-day from a friend of his," then we know that once again the
+barber's assistant has been gossiping over the lather.
+
+"Do think, Samuel," I interrupted, "how much more splendid if you could
+be the only man who had seen Monte Carlo without going inside the rooms.
+And then when the hairdresser--when your friends at the club ask if
+you've had any luck at the tables, you just say coldly, 'What tables?'"
+
+"Preferably in Latin," said Archie. "_Quae mensae_?"
+
+But it was obviously no good arguing with him. Besides, we were all keen
+enough to go.
+
+"We needn't lose," said Myra. "We might win."
+
+"Good idea," said Thomas. He lit his pipe and added, "Simpson was telling
+me about his system last night. At least, he was just beginning when I
+went to sleep." He applied another match to his pipe and went on, as if
+the idea had suddenly struck him, "Perhaps it was only his internal
+system he meant. I didn't wait."
+
+"Samuel, you _are_ quite well inside, aren't you?"
+
+"Quite, Myra. But, I _have_ invented a sort of system for _roulette_,
+which we might--"
+
+"There's only one system which is any good," pronounced Archie. "It's the
+system by which, when you've lost all your own money, you turn to the man
+next to you and say, 'Lend me a louis, dear old chap, till Christmas;
+I've forgotten my purse.'"
+
+"No systems," said Dahlia. "Let's make a collection and put it all on one
+number and hope it will win."
+
+Dahlia had obviously been reading novels about people who break the bank.
+
+"It's as good a way of losing as any other," said Archie. "Let's do it
+for our first gamble, anyway. Simpson, as our host, shall put the money
+on. I, as his oldest friend, shall watch him to see that he does it.
+What's the number to be?"
+
+We all thought hard for several moments.
+
+"Samuel, what's your age?" asked Myra, at last.
+
+"Right off the board," said Thomas.
+
+"You're not really more than thirty-six?" Myra whispered to him. "Tell me
+as a secret."
+
+"Peter's nearly two," said Dahlia.
+
+"Do you think you could nearly put our money on 'two'?" asked Archie.
+
+"I once made seventeen," I said. "On that never-to-be-forgotten day when
+I went in first with Archie--"
+
+"That settles it. Here's to the highest score of The Rabbits'
+wicket-keeper. To-morrow afternoon we put our money on seventeen.
+Simpson, you have between now and 3.30 to-morrow to perfect your French
+delivery of the magic word _dix-sept_."
+
+I went to bed a proud but anxious man that night. It was _my_ famous
+score which had decided the figure that was to bring us fortune ... and
+yet ... and yet....
+
+Suppose eighteen turned up? The remorse, the bitterness! "If only," I
+should tell myself--"if only we had run three instead of two for that cut
+to square-leg!" Suppose it were sixteen! "Why, oh why," I should groan,
+"did I make the scorer put that bye down as a hit?" Suppose it were
+thirty-four! But there my responsibility ended. If it were going to be
+thirty-four, they should have used one of Archie's scores, and made a
+good job of it.
+
+At 3.30 next day we were in the fatal building. I should like to pause
+here and describe my costume to you, which was a quiet grey in the best
+of taste, but Myra says that if I do this I must describe hers too, a
+feat beyond me. Sufficient that she looked dazzling, that as a party we
+were remarkably well-dressed, and that Simpson--murmuring "_dix-sept"_ to
+himself at intervals--led the way through the rooms till he found a table
+to his liking.
+
+"Aren't you excited?" whispered Myra to me.
+
+"Frightfully," I said, and left my mouth well open. I don't quite know
+what picture of the event Myra and I had conjured up in our minds, but I
+fancy it was one something like this. At the entrance into the rooms of
+such a large and obviously distinguished party there would be a slight
+sensation among the crowd, and way would be made for us at the most
+important table. It would then leak out that Chevalier Simpson--the tall
+poetical-looking gentleman in the middle, my dear--had brought with him
+no less a sum than thirty francs with which to break the bank, and that
+he proposed to do this in one daring _coup_. At this news the players at
+the other tables would hastily leave their winnings (or losings) and
+crowd round us. Chevalier Simpson, pale but controlled, would then place
+his money on seventeen--"_dix-sept_," he would say to the croupier to
+make it quite clear--and the ball would be spun. As it slowed down, the
+tension in the crowd would increase. "_Mon Dieu_!" a woman would cry in a
+shrill voice; there would be guttural exclamations from Germans; at the
+edge of the crowd strong men would swoon. At last a sudden shriek ... and
+the croupier's voice, trembling for the first time for thirty years,
+"_Dix-sept_!" Then gold and notes would be pushed at the Chevalier. He
+would stuff his pockets with them; he would fill his hat with them; we
+others, we would stuff our pockets too. The bank would send out for more
+money. There would be loud cheers from all the company (with the
+exception of one man, who had put five francs on sixteen and had shot
+himself) and we should be carried--that is to say, we four men--shoulder
+high to the door, while by the deserted table Myra and Dahlia clung to
+each other, weeping tears of happiness....
+
+Something like that.
+
+What happened was different. As far as I could follow, it was this. Over
+the heads of an enormous, badly-dressed and utterly indifferent crowd
+Simpson handed his thirty francs to the croupier.
+
+"_Dix-sept_," he said.
+
+The croupier with his rake pushed the money on to seventeen.
+
+Another croupier with his rake pulled it off again ... and stuck to it.
+
+The day's fun was over.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"What _did_ win?" asked Myra some minutes later, when the fact that we
+should never see our money again had been brought home to her.
+
+"Zero," said Archie.
+
+I sighed heavily.
+
+"My usual score," I said, "not my highest."
+
+
+
+VI.
+
+THE RECORD OF IT
+
+
+"I shall be glad to see Peter again," said Dahlia, as she folded up her
+letter from home.
+
+Peter's previous letter, dictated to his nurse-secretary, had, according
+to Archie, been full of good things. Cross-examination of the proud
+father, however, had failed to reveal anything more stirring than "I love
+mummy," and--er--so on.
+
+We were sitting in the loggia after what I don't call breakfast--all of
+us except Simpson, who was busy with a mysterious package. We had not
+many days left; and I was beginning to feel that, personally, I should
+not be sorry to see things like porridge again. Each to his taste.
+
+"The time has passed absurdly quickly," said Myra. "We don't seem to have
+done _anything_--except enjoy ourselves. I mean anything specially
+Rivierish. But it's been heavenly."
+
+"We've done lots of Rivierish things," I protested. "If you'll be quiet a
+moment I'll tell you some."
+
+These were some of the things:
+
+(1) We had been to the Riviera. (Nothing could take away from that. We
+had the labels on our luggage.)
+
+(2) We had lost heavily (thirty francs) at the Tables. (This alone
+justified the journey.)
+
+(3) Myra had sat next to a Prince at lunch. (Of course she might have
+done this in London, but so far there has been no great rush of Princes
+to our little flat. Dukes, Mayors, Companions of St. Michael and St.
+George, certainly; but, somehow, not Princes.)
+
+(4) Simpson had done the short third hole at Mt. Agel in three. (His
+first had cleverly dislodged the ball from the piled-up tee; his second,
+a sudden nick, had set it rolling down the hill to the green; and the
+third, an accidental putt, had sunk it.)
+
+(5) Myra and I had seen Corsica. (Question.)
+
+(6) And finally, and best of all, we had sat in the sun, under a blue sky
+above a blue sea, and watched the oranges and lemons grow.
+
+So, though we had been to but few of the famous beauty spots around, we
+had had a delightfully lazy time; and as proof that we had not really
+been at Brighton there were, as I have said, the luggage labels. But we
+were to be able to show further proof. At this moment Simpson came out of
+the house, his face beaming with excitement, his hands carefully
+concealing something behind his back.
+
+"Guess what I've got," he said eagerly.
+
+"The sack," said Thomas.
+
+"Your new bests," said Archie.
+
+"Something that will interest us all," helped Simpson.
+
+"I withdraw my suggestion," said Archie.
+
+"Something we ought to have brought with us all along."
+
+"More money," said Myra.
+
+The tension was extreme. It was obvious that our consuming anxiety would
+have to be relieved very speedily. To avoid a riot, Thomas went behind
+Simpson's back and took his surprise away from him.
+
+"A camera," he said. "Good idea."
+
+Simpson was all over himself with bon-hommy.
+
+"I suddenly thought of it the other night," he said, smiling round at all
+of us in his happiness, "and I was just going to wake Thomas up to tell
+him, when I thought I'd keep it a secret. So I wrote to a friend of mine
+and asked him to send me out one, and some films and things, just as a
+surprise for you."
+
+"Samuel, you _are_ a dear," said Myra, looking at him lovingly.
+
+"You see, I thought, Myra, you'd like to have some records of the place,
+because they're so jolly to look back on, and--er, I'm not quite sure how
+you work it, but I expect some of you know and--er--"
+
+"Come on," said Myra, "I'll show you." She retired with Simpson to a
+secluded part of the loggia and helped him put the films in.
+
+"Nothing can save us," said Archie. "We are going to be taken together in
+a group. Simpson will send it to one of the picture papers, and we shall
+appear as 'Another Merry Little Party of Well-known Sun-seekers. Names
+from left to right: Blank, blank, Mr. Archibald Mannering, blank, blank.'
+I'd better go and brush my hair."
+
+Simpson returned to us, nervous and fully charged with advice.
+
+"Right, Myra, I see. That'll be all right. Oh, look here, do you--oh yes,
+I see. Right. Now then--wait a bit--oh yes, I've got it. Now then, what
+shall we have first? A group?"
+
+"Take the house and the garden and the village," said Thomas. "You'll see
+plenty of _us_ afterwards."
+
+"The first one is bound to be a failure," I pointed out. "Rather let him
+fail at us, who are known to be beautiful, than at the garden, which has
+its reputation yet to make. Afterwards, when he has got the knack, he
+will be able to do justice to the scenery."
+
+Archie joined us again, followed by the bull-dog. We grouped ourselves
+picturesquely.
+
+"That looks ripping," said Simpson. "Oh, look here, Myra, do you--No,
+don't come; you'll spoil the picture. I suppose you have to--oh, it's all
+right, I think I've got it."
+
+"I shan't try to look handsome this time," said Archie; "it's not worth
+it. I shall just put an ordinary blurred expression on."
+
+"Now, are you ready? Don't move. Quite still, please; quite--"
+
+"It's instantaneous, you know," said Myra gently.
+
+This so unnerved Simpson that he let the thing off without any further
+warning, before we had time to get our expressions natural.
+
+"That was all right, Myra, wasn't it?" he said proudly.
+
+"I'm--I'm afraid you had your hand over the lens, Samuel dear."
+
+"Our new photographic series: 'Palms of the Great.' No. 1, Mr. S.
+Simpson's," murmured Archie.
+
+"It wouldn't have been a very good one anyhow," I said encouragingly. "It
+wasn't typical. Dahlia should have had an orange in her hand, and Myra
+might have been resting her cheek against a cactus. Try it again,
+Simpson, and get a little more colour into it."
+
+He tried again and got a lot more colour into it.
+
+"Strictly speaking," said Myra sadly, "you ought to have got it on to a
+new film."
+
+Simpson looked in horror at the back of his camera, found that he had
+forgotten to turn the handle, apologized profusely, and wound up very
+gingerly till the number "2" approached. "Now then," he said, looking
+up ... and found himself alone.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+As I write this in London I have Simpson's album in front of me. Should
+you ever do us the honour of dining with us (as I hope you will), and
+(which seems impossible) should there ever come a moment when the
+conversation runs low, and you are revolving in your mind whether it is
+worth while asking us if we have been to any theatres lately, then I
+shall produce the album, and you will be left in no doubt that we are
+just back from the Riviera. You will see oranges and lemons and olives
+and cactuses and palms; blue sky (if you have enough imagination) and
+still bluer sea; picturesque villas, curious effects of rocks, distant
+backgrounds of mountain ... and on the last page the clever kindly face
+of Simpson.
+
+The whole affair will probably bore you to tears.
+
+But with Myra and me the case of course is different. We find these
+things, as Simpson said, very jolly to look back on.
+
+
+
+
+II. MEN OF LETTERS
+
+
+
+MEN OF LETTERS
+
+JOHN PENQUARTO
+
+A TALE OF LITERARY LIFE IN LONDON
+
+(_Modelled on the hundred best Authors_.)
+
+I
+
+
+John Penquarto looked round his diminutive bed-sitting-room with a
+feeling of excitement not unmixed with awe. So this was London! The new
+life had begun. With a beating heart he unpacked his bag and set out his
+simple belongings.
+
+First his books, his treasured books; where should he put them? It was
+comforting to think that, wherever they stood, they would be within reach
+of his hand as he lay in bed. He placed them on the window-sill and read
+their titles again reverently: "Half-Hours with our Water-Beetles," "The
+Fretworker's Companion" and "Strenuous Days in Simla." He owed everything
+to them. And what an air they gave the room!
+
+But not such an air as was given by his other treasure--the photograph of
+Mary.
+
+Mary! He had only met her once, and that was twenty years ago, at his
+native Polwollop. He had gone to the big house with a message for Mr.
+Trevena, her ladyship's butler: "Mother's respects, and she has found the
+other shirt-front and will send it up as soon as it is dry." He had often
+taken a similar message, for Mrs. Penquarto did the washing for the upper
+servants at the Hall, but somehow he had known that to-day was going to
+be different.
+
+There, just inside the gates, was Mary. He was only six, but even then he
+knew that never would he see again anything so beautiful. She was five;
+but there was something in her manner of holding herself and the
+imperious tilt of her head which made her seem almost five-and-a-half.
+
+"I'm Mary," she said.
+
+He wanted to say that he was John, but could not. He stood there
+tongue-tied.
+
+"I love you," she went on.
+
+His heart beat tumultuously. He felt suffocated. He longed to say, "So do
+I," but was afraid that it was not good English. Even then he knew that
+he must be a writer when he grew up.
+
+She leant forward and kissed him. He realized suddenly that he was in
+love. The need for self-expression was strong upon him. Shyly he brought
+out his last acid-drop and shared it with her. He had never seen her
+since, but even now, twenty years after, he could not eat an acid-drop
+without emotion, and a whole bag of them brought the scene back so
+visibly as to be almost a pain.
+
+Yes, he was to be a writer; there could be no doubt about that. Everybody
+had noticed it. The Vicar had said, "Johnny will never do any good at
+Polwollop, I fear"; and the farmer for whom John scared rooks had said,
+"Thiccy la-ad seems daft-like," and one after another of Mrs. Penquarto's
+friends had given similar testimony. And now here he was, at twenty-six,
+in the little bed-sitting-room in Bloomsbury, ready to write the great
+novel which should take London by storm. Polwollop seemed a hundred years
+away.
+
+Feverishly he seized pen and paper and began
+to wonder what to write.
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+It was near the Albert Memorial that the great inspiration came to him
+some weeks later. Those had been weeks of mingled hope and despair; of
+hope as he had fondled again his treasured books and read their titles,
+or gazed at the photograph of Mary; of despair as he had taken off his
+belt and counted out his rapidly-decreasing stock of money, or reflected
+that he was as far from completing his novel as ever. Sometimes in the
+search for an idea he had frequented the restaurants where the great
+Samuel Johnson himself had eaten, and sometimes he had frequented other
+restaurants where even the great Samuel Johnson himself had been unable
+to eat. Often he had gone into the British Museum and leant against a
+mummy-case, or taken a 'bus to Chelsea and pressed his forehead against
+the brass-plate which marked Carlyle's house, but no inspiration had
+come. And then suddenly, quite close to the Albert Memorial, he knew.
+
+He would write a novel about a boy called William who had lived in
+Cornwall, and who came to London and wrote a novel, a novel of which "The
+Westminster Gazette" said: "This novel undoubtedly places the author in
+the front rank of living novelists." William's novel would be a realistic
+account of--yes, that was it--of a boy called Henry, who had lived in
+Cornwall, and who came to London and wrote a novel, a novel of which "The
+Morning Post" said: "By this novel the author has indubitably established
+his claim to be reckoned among the few living novelists who count." But
+stay! What should this novel of Henry's be about? It would be necessary
+to describe it. For an hour he wrestled with the problem, and then he had
+another inspiration. Henry's novel would be about a boy called Thomas who
+had lived in Cornwall and who came to London and wrote a novel {about a
+boy called Stephen who had lived in Cornwall, and who came to London and
+wrote a novel (about a boy called Michael who had lived in Cornwall, and
+who came to London and wrote a novel (about a boy called Peter, who had
+lived in Cornwall, and ...) ...
+
+And so on.
+
+And every one of the novels would establish the author's right to be
+reckoned, etc., and place him undoubtedly in the very front rank.
+
+It was a stupendous idea. For a moment John was almost paralysed at
+contemplation of it. There seemed to be no end to his novel as he had
+planned it. Was it too much for his powers?
+
+There was only one way to find out. He hurried back to his
+bed-sitting-room, seized a pen and began to write.
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+It was two years later. For the last fortnight John Penquarto had stopped
+counting the money in his belt. There was none left. For a fortnight now
+he had been living on the belt itself.
+
+But a great hope had always sustained him. One day he would hear from the
+publisher to whom he had sent his novel a year ago.
+
+And now at last the letter had come, and he was seated in the office of
+the great Mr. Pump himself. His heart beat rapidly. He felt suffocated.
+
+"Well, Mr. Penquarto," said the smiling publisher, "I may say at once
+that we like your novel. We should have written before, but we have only
+just finished reading it. It is a little long--about two million eight
+hundred thousand words, I reckon it--but I have a suggestion to make
+which will meet that difficulty. I suggest that we publish it in half a
+dozen volumes, stopping, for the first volume, at the Press notices of
+(say) Peter's novel. We find that the public likes these continuous
+books. About terms. We will send an agreement along to-morrow. Naturally,
+as this is a first book, we can only pay a nominal sum on account of
+royalties. Say ten thousand pounds. How will that suit you?"
+
+With a heart still beating John left the office five minutes later and
+bought a new belt. Then he went to a restaurant where Goldsmith had never
+been and ordered a joint and two veg. Success had come!
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+I should like to dwell upon the weeks which followed. I should like to
+tell of John's emotion when he saw his first proofs and of the printer's
+emotion when he saw what a mess John had made of them. I should like to
+describe how my hero's heart beat during the anxious days of waiting; to
+picture to you his pride at the arrival of his six free copies, and his
+landlady's surprise when he presented her with one. Above all, I should
+like to bring home to you the eagerness with which he bought and opened
+"The Times Literary Supplement" and read his first review:
+
+"'William Trewulliam--The First Phase.' By John Penquarto, 7-1/2 by
+5-1/4, 896 pp., Albert Pump. 9s. n."
+
+I have no time to go into these matters, nor have I time in which to give
+at length his later Press cuttings, in which there was displayed a
+unanimity of opinion that John Penquarto was now in the front rank of
+living novelists, one of the limited number whose work really counted. I
+must hurry on.
+
+It was a week after the publication of "William Trewulliam," the novel
+which had taken all London by storm. In all the drawing-rooms of Mayfair,
+in all the clubs of Pall Mall, people were asking each other, "Who is
+John Penquarto?" Nobody knew--save one.
+
+Lady Mary knew. It was not the name Penquarto which had told her; it
+was--yes, you have guessed--the scene at the beginning of the book,
+when William Trewulliam meets the little Anne and shares his last
+raspberry-drop with her. Even under this disguise she recognized that
+early meeting. She pierced beneath the imagination of the novelist to the
+recollection of the man. John Penquarto--of course! Now she remembered
+the name.
+
+It had always been a mystery to her friends why Lady Mary had never
+married. No girl in Society had been more eagerly courted. It was
+whispered that already she had refused more than one Archbishop, three
+Newspaper Proprietors and a couple of Dukes. Something, she scarcely knew
+what, told her that this was not love. She must wait. As she dressed to
+go to the Duchess of Bilberry's "At Home," she wondered if she would ever
+meet John Penquarto again, and if he had altered.
+
+"Mary!"
+
+It was John speaking. He had seen her the moment she came in at the door.
+Something--was it the Duchess's champagne at dinner?--had reminded him of
+the acid-drop they had eaten together and this had brought back his
+memories in a flood. To-night he would meet her again. He knew it
+instinctively. Besides, it was like this that William Trewulliam had met
+Anne again, and Henry Polhenery had met Sarah, and Thomas Pentummas had
+met Alice, and--well, anyhow he knew.
+
+"John!"
+
+It was Mary speaking. Perhaps you had guessed.
+
+"You knew me?" (This is John. It was his turn.)
+
+"I knew you." (Said Mary.)
+
+"Do you remember--"
+
+Mary blushed, and John did not deviate from the healthy red colour which
+he had maintained throughout the conversation. In spite of his success he
+was never quite at ease in society at this period of his life. Nor were
+Henry Polhenery and Thomas Pentummas. They remained handsome but awkward,
+which was why women loved them so.
+
+"I love you," (John speaking.)
+
+"I think I must have always loved you." (Mary going it.)
+
+He took her hand in his.
+
+Nobody noticed them. They were as much alone as if they had been at the
+National Gallery together. Many of the guests were going through similar
+scenes of recognition and love-making; others were asking each other if
+they had read "William Trewulliam" yet, and lying about it others again
+were making for the buffet. John and Mary had the world to themselves....
+
+
+
+V
+
+
+They were married a month later. John, who did not look his best in a
+frock-coat, had pleaded for a quiet wedding, and only the Duchess of
+Bilberry and Mr. Pump were present at the simple ceremony which took
+place at the Bloomsbury registry-office. Then the happy couple drove
+away.
+
+And where are they spending the honeymoon?
+
+Ah, do you need to ask?
+
+"At Greenwich?" No, fathead, not at Greenwich.
+
+"At Clacton-on-Sea?" Look here, I don't believe you're trying. Have
+another shot....
+
+Yes, dear reader, you are right. They are going back to Polwollop.
+
+It might be a good plan to leave them there.
+
+
+
+THE COMPLETE DRAMATIST
+
+
+I take it that every able-bodied man and woman in this country wants to
+write a play. Since the news first got about that Orlando What's-his-name
+made £50,000 out of "The Crimson Sponge," there has been a feeling that
+only through the medium of the stage can literary art find its true
+expression. The successful playwright is indeed a man to be envied.
+Leaving aside for the moment the question of super-tax, the prizes which
+fall to his lot are worth something of an effort. He sees his name
+(correctly spelt) on 'buses which go to such different spots as
+Hammersmith and West Norwood, and his name (spelt incorrectly) beneath
+the photograph of somebody else in "The Illustrated Butler." He is a
+welcome figure at the garden-parties of the elect, who are always ready
+to encourage him by accepting free seats for his play; actor-managers nod
+to him; editors allow him to contribute without charge to a symposium on
+the price of golf balls. In short he becomes a "prominent figure in
+London Society"--and, if he is not careful, somebody will say so.
+
+But even the unsuccessful dramatist has his moments. I knew a young man
+who married somebody else's mother, and was allowed by her fourteen
+gardeners to amuse himself sometimes by rolling the tennis-court. It was
+an unsatisfying life; and when rash acquaintances asked him what he did,
+he used to say that he was for the Bar. Now he says he is writing a
+play--and we look round the spacious lawns and terraces and marvel at the
+run his last one must have had.
+
+However, I assume that you who read this are actually in need of the
+dibs. Your play must be not merely a good play, but a successful one. How
+shall this success be achieved?
+
+Frankly I cannot always say. If you came to me and said, "I am on the
+Stock Exchange, and bulls are going down," or up, or sideways, or
+whatever it might be; "there's no money to be made in the City nowadays,
+and I want to write a play instead. How shall I do it?"--well, I couldn't
+help you. But suppose you said, "I'm fond of writing; my people always
+say my letters home are good enough for 'Punch.' I've got a little idea
+for a play about a man and a woman and another woman, and--but perhaps
+I'd better keep the plot a secret for the moment. Anyhow it's jolly
+exciting, and I can do the dialogue all right. The only thing is, I don't
+know anything about technique and stagecraft and the three unities and
+that sort of rot. Can you give me a few hints?"--suppose you spoke to me
+like this, then I could do something for you. "My dear Sir," I should
+reply (or Madam), "you have come to the right shop. Lend me your ear for
+ten minutes, and you shall learn just what stagecraft is." And I should
+begin with a short homily on
+
+
+SOLILOQUY
+
+If you ever read your "Shakespeare"--and no dramatist should despise the
+works of another dramatist; he may always pick up something in them which
+may be useful for his next play--if you ever read your "Shakespeare," it
+is possible that you have come across this passage:
+
+"_Enter_ Hamlet.
+
+_Ham._ To be, or not to be--"
+
+And, so on in the same vein for some thirty lines.
+
+These few remarks are called a soliloquy, being addressed rather to the
+world in general than to any particular person on the stage. Now the
+object of this soliloquy is plain. The dramatist wished us to know the
+thoughts which were passing through Hamlet's mind, and it was the only
+way he could think of in which to do it. Of course, a really good actor
+can often give a clue to the feelings of a character simply by facial
+expression. There are ways of shifting the eyebrows, distending the
+nostrils, and exploring the lower molars with the tongue by which it is
+possible to denote respectively Surprise, Defiance and Doubt. Indeed,
+irresolution being the keynote of Hamlet's soliloquy, a clever player
+could to some extent indicate the whole thirty lines by a silent working
+of the jaw. But at the same time it would be idle to deny that he would
+miss the finer shades of the dramatist's meaning. "The insolence of
+office, and the spurns"--to take only one line--would tax the most
+elastic face.
+
+So the soliloquy came into being. We moderns, however, see the
+absurdity of it. In real life no one thinks aloud or in an empty room.
+The up-to-date dramatist must certainly avoid this hallmark of the
+old-fashioned play.
+
+What, then, is to be done? If it be granted, first, that the thoughts of
+a certain character should be known to the audience, and, secondly, that
+soliloquy, or the habit of thinking aloud, is in opposition to modern
+stage technique, how shall a soliloquy be avoided without damage to the
+play?
+
+Well, there are more ways than one; and now we come to what is meant by
+stagecraft. Stagecraft is the art of getting over these and other
+difficulties, and (if possible) getting over them in a showy manner, so
+that people will say, "How remarkable his stagecraft is for so young a
+writer," when otherwise they mightn't have noticed it at all. Thus, in
+this play we have been talking about, an easy way of avoiding Hamlet's
+soliloquy would be for Ophelia to speak first.
+
+_Oph._ What are you thinking about, my lord?
+
+_Ham._ I am wondering whether to be or not to be, whether 'tis nobler in
+the mind to suffer--
+
+And so on, till you get to the end, when Ophelia might say, "Ah, yes," or
+something non-committal of that sort. This would be an easy way of doing
+it, but it would not be the best way, for the reason that it is too easy
+to call attention to itself. What you want is to make it clear that you
+are conveying Hamlet's thoughts to the audience in rather a clever
+manner.
+
+That this can now be done we have to thank the well-known inventor of the
+telephone. (I forget his name.) The telephone has revolutionized the
+stage; with its aid you can convey anything you like across the
+footlights. In the old badly-made play it was frequently necessary for
+one of the characters to take the audience into his confidence. "Having
+disposed of my uncle's body," he would say to the stout lady in the third
+row of the stalls, "I now have leisure in which to search for the will.
+But first to lock the door lest I should be interrupted by Harold
+Wotnott." In the modern well-constructed play he simply rings up an
+imaginary confederate and tells him what he is going to do. Could
+anything be more natural?
+
+Let us, to give an example of how this method works, go back again to the
+play we have been discussing.
+
+_Enter_ Hamlet. _He walks quickly across the room to the telephone, and
+takes up the receiver impatiently._
+
+_Ham_. Hallo! Hallo! I want double-nine--hal-_lo_! I want double-nine
+two--hal-_lo_! Double-nine two three, Elsinore.... Double-_nine_,
+yes.... Hallo, is that you, Horatio? Hamlet speaking. I say, I've been
+wondering about this business. To be or not to be, that is the question;
+whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows--What?
+No, Hamlet speaking. _What_? Aren't you Horatio? I want double-nine two
+three--sorry.... Is that you, Exchange? You gave me double-_five_, I
+want double-_nine_....  Hallo, is that you, Horatio? Hamlet speaking.
+I've been wondering about this business. To be or not to be, that is
+the--What? No, I said, To _be_ or _not_ to be.... No, "be"--b-e. Yes,
+that's right. To be or not to be, that is the question; whether 'tis
+nobler--
+
+And so on. You see how effective it is.
+
+But there is still another way of avoiding the soliloquy, which is
+sometimes used with good results. It is to let Hamlet, if that happen to
+be the name of your character, enter with a small dog, pet falcon,
+mongoose, tame bear or whatever animal is most in keeping with the part,
+and confide in this animal such sorrows, hopes or secret history as the
+audience has got to know. This has the additional advantage of putting
+the audience immediately in sympathy with your hero. "How _sweet_ of
+him," all the ladies say, "to tell his little bantam about it!"
+
+If you are not yet tired (as I am) of the Prince of Denmark, I will
+explain (for the last time) how a modern author might re-write his
+speech.
+
+_Enter_ Hamlet _with his favourite_ boar-hound.
+
+_Ham. (to B.-H.)_. To be or not to be--ah, Fido, Fido! That is the
+question--eh, old Fido, boy? Whether 'tis nobler in--how now, a rat!
+Rats, Fido, _fetch_ 'em--in the mind to suffer the slings and--_down_,
+Sir!--arrows--put it down! Arrows of--_drop_ it, Fido; good old dog--
+
+And so on. Which strikes me as rather sweet and natural.
+
+Let us now pass on to the very important question of
+
+
+EXITS AND ENTRANCES
+
+To the young playwright, the difficulty of getting his characters on to
+the stage would seem much less than the difficulty of finding them
+something to say when they are there. He writes gaily and without
+hesitation "_Enter_ Lord Arthur Fluffinose," and only then begins to bite
+the end of his penholder and gaze round his library for inspiration. Yet
+it is on that one word "Enter" that his reputation for dramatic technique
+will hang. Why did Lord Arthur Fluffinose enter? The obvious answer, that
+the firm which is mentioned in the programme as supplying his trousers
+would be annoyed if he didn't, is not enough; nor is it enough to say
+that the whole plot of the piece hinges on him, and that without him the
+drama would languish. What the critic wants to know is why Lord Arthur
+chose that very moment to come in--the very moment when Lady Larkspur was
+left alone in the oak-beamed hall of Larkspur Towers. Was it only a
+coincidence? And if the young dramatist answers callously, "Yes," it
+simply shows that he has no feeling for the stage whatever. In that case
+I needn't go on with this article.
+
+However, it will be more convenient to assume, dear reader, that in your
+play Lord Arthur had a good reason for coming in. If that be so, he must
+explain it. It won't do to write like this:---
+
+_Enter_ Lord Arthur. Lady Larkspur _starts suddenly and turns towards
+him._
+
+_Lady Larkspur_. Arthur! _You_ here? (_He gives a nod of confirmation.
+She pauses a moment, and then with a sudden passionate movement flings
+herself into his arms_.) Take me away, Arthur. I can't bear this life any
+longer. Larkspur bit me again this morning for the _third_ time. I want
+to get away from it all. [_Swoons_.]
+
+The subsequent scene may be so pathetic that on the hundredth night it is
+still bringing tears to the eyes of the fireman, but you must not expect
+to be treated as a serious dramatist. You will see this for yourself if
+you consider the passage as it should properly have been written:--
+
+_Enter_ Lord Arthur Fluffinose. Lady Larkspur _looks at him with
+amazement_.
+
+_Lady Larkspur_. Arthur, what are _you_ doing here?
+
+_Lord Arthur_. I caught the 2.3 from town. It gets in at 3.37, and I
+walked over from the station. It's only a mile. _(At this point he looks
+at the grandfather clock in the corner, and the audience, following his
+eyes, sees that it is seven minutes to four, which appears delightfully
+natural.)_ I came to tell Larkspur to sell Bungoes. They are going
+down.
+
+_Lady Larkspur (folding her hands over her chest and gazing broodingly at
+the footlights)_. Larkspur!
+
+_Lord Arthur (anxiously)_. What is it? _(Suddenly.)_ Has he been
+ill-treating you again?
+
+_Lady Larkspur (flinging herself into his arms)_. Oh, Arthur, Arthur,
+take me away!
+
+And so on.
+
+But it may well be that Lord Larkspur has an intrigue of his own with his
+secretary, Miss Devereux, and, if their big scene is to take place on the
+stage too, the hall has got to be cleared for them in some way. Your
+natural instinct will be to say, "_Exeunt_ Fluffinose _and_ Lady
+Larkspur, _R. Enter_ Lord Larkspur _and_ Miss Devereux, _L_." This is
+very immature, even if you are quite clear as to which side of the stage
+is L. and which is R. You _must_ make the evolutions seem natural.
+Thus:--
+
+_Enter from the left_ Miss Devereux. _She stops in surprise at seeing_
+Lord Arthur _and holds out her hand_.
+
+_Miss D_. Why, Lord Arthur! Whatever--
+
+_Lord A_. How d'you do? I've just run down to tell Lord Larkspur to--
+
+_Miss D_. He's in the library. At least he--
+
+_Lord A. (taking out his watch_.) Ah, then perhaps I'd better--
+
+[_Exit by door on left._]
+
+_Miss D._ (_to_ Lady L.). Have you seen "The Times" about here? There is
+a set of verses in the Financial Supplement which Lord Larkspur wanted
+to--(_She wanders vaguely round the room. Enter_ Lord Larkspur _by door
+at back._) Why, here you are! I've just sent Lord Arthur into the library
+to--
+
+_Lord L_. I went out to speak to the gardener about--
+
+_Lady L_. Ah, then I'll go and tell Arthur--_[Exit to library, leaving_
+Miss Devereux _and_ Lord Larkspur _alone_.
+
+And there you are. You will, of course, appreciate that the unfinished
+sentences not only save time, but also make the manoeuvring very much
+more natural.
+
+So far I have been writing as if you were already in the thick of your
+play; but it may well be that the enormous difficulty of getting the
+first character on has been too much for you. How, you may be wondering,
+are you to begin your masterpiece?
+
+The answer to this will depend upon the length of the play, for upon the
+length depends the hour at which the curtain rises. If yours is an 8.15
+play you may be sure that the stalls will not fill up till 8.30, and you
+should therefore let loose the lesser-paid members of the cast on the
+opening scene, keeping your fifty-pounders in reserve. In an 8.45 play
+the audience may be plunged into the drama at once. But this is much the
+more difficult thing to do, and for the beginner I should certainly
+recommend the 8.15 play, for which the recipe is simple.
+
+As soon as the lights go down, and while the bald, stout gentleman is
+kicking our top-hat out of his way, treading heavily on our toes and
+wheezing, "Sorry, sorry," as he struggles to his seat, a buzz begins
+behind the curtain. What the players are saying is not distinguishable,
+but a merry girlish laugh rings out now and then, followed by the short
+sardonic chuckle of an obvious man of the world. Then the curtain rises,
+and it is apparent that we are assisting at an At Home of considerable
+splendour. Most of the characters seem to be on the stage, and for once
+we do not ask how they got there. We presume they have all been invited.
+Thus you have had no difficulty with your entrances.
+
+_As the chatter dies down a chord is struck on the piano_.
+
+_The Bishop of Sploshington_. Charming. Quite one of my favourites. Do
+play it again. _(Relapses into silence for the rest of the evening.)_
+
+_The Duchess of Southbridge (to_ Lord Reggie). Oh, Reggie, what _did_ you
+say?
+
+_Lord Reggie (putting up his eyeglass)_. Said I'd bally
+well--top-hole--what?--don'cherknow.
+
+_Lady Evangeline (to_ Lady Violet, as _they walk across the stage)_. Oh,
+I _must_ tell you what that funny Mr. Danby said. (_Doesn't._ Lady
+Violet, _none the less, trills with happy laughter.)_
+
+_Prince von Ichdien, the well-known Ambassador (loudly, to an unnamed
+gentleman)_. What your country ought to do--_(He finishes his remarks
+in the lip-language, which the unnamed gentleman seems to understand. At
+any rate he nods several times.)_
+
+_There is more girlish laughter, more buzz and more deaf-and-dumb
+language. Then_
+
+_Lord Tuppeny_. Well, what about auction?
+
+_Amid murmurs of_ "You'll play, Field-Marshal?" _and_ "Auction,
+Archbishop?" _the crowd drifts off, leaving the hero and heroine alone in
+the middle of the stage_.
+
+And then you can begin.
+
+But now I must give you a warning. You will never be a dramatist until
+you have learnt the technique of
+
+
+MEALS
+
+In spite of all you can do in the way of avoiding soililoquies and
+getting your characters on and off the stage in a dramatic manner, a time
+will come when you realize sadly that your play is not a bit like life
+after all. Then is the time to introduce a meal on the stage. A stage
+meal is popular, because it proves to the audience that the actors, even
+when called Charles Hawtrey or Owen Nares, are real people just like you
+and me. "Look at Mr. Bourchier eating," we say excitedly to each other in
+the pit, having had a vague idea up till then that an actor lived like a
+god on praise and greasepaint and his photograph in the papers. "Another
+cup, won't you?" says Miss Gladys Cooper; "No, thank you," says Mr.
+Dennis Eadie--dash it, it's exactly what we do at home ourselves. And
+when, to clinch matters, the dramatist makes Mr. Gerald du Maurier light
+a real cigarette in the Third Act, then he can flatter himself that he
+has indeed achieved the ambition of every stage writer, and "brought the
+actual scent of the hay across the footlights."
+
+But there is a technique to be acquired in this matter as in everything
+else within the theatre. The great art of the stage-craftsman, as I have
+already shown, is to seem natural rather than to be natural. Let your
+actors have tea by all means, but see that it is a properly histrionic
+tea. This is how it should go:--
+
+_Hostess_. How do you do? You'll have some tea, won't you? _[Rings
+bell]_.
+
+_Guest_. Thank you.
+
+_Enter_ Butler.
+
+_Hostess_. Tea, please, Matthews.
+
+_Butler (impassively)_. Yes, m'lady. _(This is all he says during the
+play, so he must try and get a little character into it, in order that_
+"The Era" _may remark, "Mr. Thompson was excellent as_ Matthews."
+_However, his part is not over yet, for he returns immediately, followed
+by three footmen--just as it happened when you last called on the_
+Duchess--_and sets out the tea.)_
+
+_Hostess (holding up the property lump of sugar in the tongs)_. Sugar?
+
+_Guest (luckily)_. No, thanks.
+
+_Hostess replaces lump and inclines empty teapot over tray for a moment;
+then hands him a cup painted brown inside--thus deceiving the gentleman
+with the telescope in the upper circle_.
+
+_Guest (touching his lips with the cup and then returning it to its
+saucer)_. Well, I must be going.
+
+_Re-enter_ Butler _and three_ Footmen, _who remove the tea-things_.
+
+_Hostess (to_ Guest). Good-bye; so glad you could come. [_Exit_ Guest.]
+
+His visit has been short, but it has been very thrilling while it lasted.
+
+Tea is the most usual meal on the stage, for the reason that it is the
+least expensive, the property lump of sugar being dusted and used again
+on the next night. For a stage dinner a certain amount of genuine
+sponge-cake has to be made up to look like fish, chicken or cutlet. In
+novels the hero has often "pushed his meals away untasted," but no stage
+hero would do anything so unnatural as this. The etiquette is to have two
+bites before the butler and the three footmen whisk away the plate. Two
+bites are made, and the bread is crumbled, with an air of great
+eagerness; indeed, one feels that in real life the guest would clutch
+hold of the footman and say, "Half a mo', old chap, I haven't _nearly_
+finished"; but the actor is better schooled than this. Besides, the thing
+is coming back again as chicken directly.
+
+But it is the cigarette which chiefly has brought the modern drama to its
+present state of perfection. Without the stage cigarette many an epigram
+would pass unnoticed, many an actor's hands would be much more
+noticeable; and the man who works the fireproof safety curtain would lose
+even the small amount of excitement which at present attaches to his job.
+
+Now although it is possible, in the case of a few men at the top of the
+profession, to leave the conduct of the cigarette entirely to the actor,
+you will find it much more satisfactory to insert in the stage directions
+the particular movements (with match and so forth) that you wish carried
+out. Let us assume that Lord Arthur asks Lord John what a cynic is--the
+question of what a cynic is having arisen quite naturally in the course
+of the plot. Let us assume further that you wish Lord John to reply, "A
+cynic is a man who knows the price of everything and the value of
+nothing." It has been said before, but you may feel that it is quite time
+it was said again; besides, for all the audience knows, Lord John may
+simply be quoting. Now this answer, even if it comes quite fresh to the
+stalls, will lose much of its effect if it is said without the assistance
+of a cigarette. Try it for yourself.
+
+_Lord John_. A cynic is a man who, etc....
+
+Rotten. Now try again.
+
+_Lord John_. A cynic is a man who, etc.... _[Lights cigarette.]_
+
+No, even that is not good. Once more:---
+
+_Lord John (lighting cigarette)_. A cynic is a man who, etc.
+
+Better, but leaves too much to the actor.
+
+Well, I see I must tell you.
+
+_Lord John (taking out gold cigarette case from his left-hand upper
+waistcoat pocket)_. A cynic, my dear Arthur (_he opens case
+deliberately, puts cigarette in mouth, and extracts gold match-box
+from right-hand trouser_) is a man who (_strikes match_) knows the
+price of (_lights cigarette_)--everything, and (_standing with match in
+one hand and cigarette in the other_) the value of---pff (_blows out
+match_) of (_inhales deeply from cigarette and blows out a cloud of
+smoke_)--nothing.
+
+It makes a different thing of it altogether. Of course on the actual
+night the match may refuse to strike, and Lord John may have to go on
+saying "a man who--a man who--a man who" until the ignition occurs, but
+even so it will still seem delightfully natural to the audience (as if he
+were making up the epigram as he went along); while as for blowing the
+match out, he can hardly fail to do _that_ in one.
+
+The cigarette, of course, will be smoked at other moments than
+epigrammatic ones, but on these other occasions you will not need to deal
+so fully with it in the stage directions. "_Duke (lighting cigarette_). I
+trust, Perkins, that..." is enough. You do not want to say, "_Duke
+(dropping ash on trousers_). It seems to me, my love..." or, "_Duke
+(removing stray piece of tobacco from tongue_). What Ireland needs
+is..."; still less "_Duke (throwing away end of  cigarette_). Show him
+in." For this must remain one of the mysteries of the stage--What happens
+to the stage cigarette when it has been puffed four times? The stage tea,
+of which a second cup is always refused; the stage cutlet, which is
+removed with the connivance of the guest after two mouthfuls; the stage
+cigarette, which nobody ever seems to want to smoke to the end--thinking
+of these as they make their appearances in the houses of the titled, one
+would say that the hospitality of the peerage was not a thing to make any
+great rush for....
+
+But that would be to forget the butler and the three footmen. Even a Duke
+cannot have everything. And what his _chef_ may lack in skill his butler
+more than makes up for in impassivity.
+
+
+
+A POETRY RECITAL
+
+
+It has always been the privilege of Art to be patronized by Wealth and
+Rank. Indeed, if we literary and artistic strugglers were not asked out
+to afternoon tea sometimes by our millionaire acquaintances, it is
+doubtful if we should be able to continue the struggle. Recently a new
+(and less expensive) method of entertaining Genius has become fashionable
+in the best circles, and the aspiring poet is now invited to the house of
+the Great, not for the purpose of partaking of bodily refreshment
+himself, but in order that he may afford spiritual refreshment to others.
+In short, he is given an opportunity of reciting his own works in front
+of the Fair, the Rich and the Highly Born, and making what he can out of
+it in the way of advertisement.
+
+Let us imagine that we have been lucky enough to secure an invitation to
+one of Lady Poldoodle's Poetry At-Homes, at her charming little house in
+Berkeley Square.
+
+The guests are all waiting, their eyes fixed in eager anticipation on the
+black-covered throne at the farther end of the room, whereon each poet
+will sit to declaim his masterpiece, when suddenly Lord Poldoodle is
+observed to be making his way cautiously towards a side-door. Fortunately
+he is stopped in time, and dragged back to his seat next to the throne,
+from which he rises a moment later to open the proceeding.
+
+"Ladies and gentlemen," he says, "we are met here this afternoon in order
+to listen to some of our younger poets who will recite from their own
+works. So far, I have always managed to avoid--so far, I have been
+unavoidably prevented from attending on these occasions, but I understand
+that the procedure is as follows. Each poet will recite a short sample of
+his poetry, after which, no doubt, you will go home and order from your
+bookseller a complete set of his works."
+
+Lady Poldoodle goes quickly over to him and whispers vigorously.
+
+"I find I am wrong," says our host. "Full sets of the author's
+works can be obtained on the way out. There is, however, no
+compulsion in the matter, and, if you take my advice--well, well,
+let us get on. Our first poet"--here he puts on his glasses, and reads
+from a paper on the table in front of him--"is Mr. Sydney Worple, of
+whom you--er--have--er--doubtless all heard. At any rate you will hear
+him now."
+
+Mr. Sydney Worple, tall and thin, wearing the sort of tie which makes you
+think you must have seen him before, steps forward amidst applause. He
+falls back into the throne as if deep in thought, and passes a hand
+across his hair.
+
+Mr. Worple (_very suddenly_) "Dawn at Surbiton."
+
+"Where?" says a frightened voice at the back.
+
+"H'sh!" says Lady Poldoodle in a whisper. "Surbiton."
+
+"Surbiton" is passed round the back seats. Not that it is going to matter
+in the least.
+
+Mr. Worple repeats the title, and then recites in an intense voice these
+lines:
+
+Out of the nethermost bonds of night,
+  Out of the gloom where the bats' wings brush me,
+  Free from the crepitous doubts which crush me,
+Forth I fare to the cool sunlight;
+
+Forth to a world where the wind sweeps clean,
+  Where the smooth-limbed ash to the blue stands bare,
+  And the gossamer spreads her opalled ware--
+And Jones is catching the 8.15.
+
+After several more verses like this he bows and retires. Lady Poldoodle,
+still mechanically clapping, says to her neighbour:
+
+"How beautiful! Dawn at Surbiton! Such a beautiful idea, I think."
+
+"Wasn't it sublime?" answers the neighbour. "The wonderful contrast
+between the great pageant of nature and poor Mr. Jones, catching--always
+catching--the 8.15."
+
+But Lord Poldoodle is rising again. "Our next poet," he says,
+"is Miss Miranda Herrick, whose work is so distinguished for
+its--er--its--er--distinction."
+
+Miss Herrick, dressed in pale green and wearing pincenez, flutters in
+girlishly. She gives a nervous little giggle, pushes out her foot,
+withdraws it and begins:
+
+When I take my bath in the morning--
+
+The audience wakes up with a start. "When you take your _what_!" says
+Lord Poldoodle.
+
+Miss Herrick begins again, starting this time with the title.
+
+LIFE
+
+When I take my bath in the morning,
+When I strip for the cool delight,
+  And the housemaid brings
+  Me towels and things,
+Do I reck of the coming night?
+
+A materially-minded man whispers to his neighbour that _he_ always
+wonders what's for breakfast. "H'sh!" she says, for there is another
+verse to come.
+
+When my hair comes down in the evening,
+And my tired clothes swoon to the ground,
+  Do I bother my head,
+  As I leap in bed,
+Of the truth which the dawn brings round?
+
+In the uncomfortable pause which follows, a voice is heard saying, "Does
+she?" and Lady Poldoodle asks kindly, "Is that all, dear?"
+
+"What more could there be?" says Miss Herrick with a sigh. "What more is
+there to say? It is Life."
+
+"Life! How true!" says the hostess. "But won't you give us something
+else? That one ended so very suddenly."
+
+After much inward (and outward) wrestling Miss Herrick announces:
+
+A THOUGHT
+
+The music falls across the vale
+From nightingale to nightingale;
+The owl within the ivied tree
+Makes love to me, makes love to me;
+But all the tadpoles in the pond
+Are dumb--however fond.
+
+"I begin to think that there is something in a tadpole after all,"
+murmurs Lord Poldoodle to himself, as the author wriggles her way out.
+
+"After all," says one guest to another, "why shouldn't a tadpole make
+love as much as anybody else?"
+
+"I think," says her neighbour, "that the idea is of youth trying vainly
+to express itself--or am I thinking of caterpillars? Lord Poldoodle, what
+is a tadpole exactly?"
+
+"A tadpole," he answers decisively, "is an extremely immature wriggling
+creature, which is, quite rightly, dumb."
+
+Now steps forward Mr. Horatio Bullfinch, full of simple enthusiasm, one
+of the London school. He gives us his famous poem, "Berkeley Square."
+
+The men who come from the north country
+  Are tall and very fair,
+The men who come from the south country
+  Have hardly any hair,
+But the only men in the world for me
+  Are the men of Berkeley Square.
+
+The sun may shine at Colchester,
+  The rain may rain at Penge;
+From low-hung skies the dawn may rise
+  Broodingly on Stonehenge.
+Knee-deep in clover the lambs at Dover
+  Nibble awhile and stare;
+But there's only one place in the world for me,
+  Berkeley--Berkeley Square.
+
+And so on, down to that magnificent last verse:
+
+The skylark triumphs from the blue,
+  Above the barley fields at Loo,
+The blackbird whistles loud and clear
+  Upon the hills at Windermere;
+But oh, I simply LOVE the way
+  Our organ-grinder plays all day!
+
+Lord Poldoodle rises to introduce Mr. Montagu Mott.
+
+"Mr. Mott," he says, "is, I am told, our leading exponent of what is
+called _vers libre_, which means--well, you will see what it means
+directly."
+
+Mr. Mott, a very ugly little man, who tries to give you the impression
+that he is being ugly on purpose, and could easily be beautiful if he
+were not above all that sort of thing, announces the title of his
+masterpiece. It is called "Why Is the Fat Woman's Face So Red?" Well,
+what else _could_ you call it?
+
+Why is the fat woman's face so red?
+Is it because her stays are too tight?
+Or because she wants to sneeze and has lost her pocket handkerchief?
+Or only because her second son
+(The engineer)
+Is dying of cancer.
+I cannot be certain.
+Yet I sit here and ask myself
+Wonderingly
+Why is the fat woman's face so red?
+
+It is generally recognized that, in Mr. Mott, we have a real poet. There
+are loud cries of "Encore!" Mr. Mott shakes his head.
+
+"I have written no more," he says in a deep voice. "I have given you the
+result of three years' work. Perhaps--in another three years--" He shrugs
+his shoulders and walks gloomingly out.
+
+"Such a sweet idea," says Lady Poldoodle. "I sit here and ask
+myself--wonderingly! How true! How very true!"
+
+"I couldn't quite follow it, dear," says her neighbour frankly. "Did he
+marry her after all?"
+
+Lord Poldoodle, looking slightly more cheerful, gets once more on to his
+legs.
+
+"You will all be very glad to hear--ah--you will all be sorry to hear
+that we have only one more poet on our list this afternoon. Mr. Cecil
+Willow, the well-known--er--poet."
+
+Mr. Willow, a well-dressed young man, fair and rather stout, and a credit
+to any drawing-room, announces the subject of his poem--Liberty.
+
+"Liberty, what crimes have been committed in thy name!" murmurs Lord
+Poldoodle to himself.
+
+LIBERTY
+
+There were two thrushes in a tree,
+The one was tamed, the other free.
+Because his wings were clipped so small
+The tame one did not fly at all,
+But sang to Heaven all the day--
+The other (shortly after) flew away.
+
+There were two women in a town,
+The one was blonde, the other brown.
+The brown one pleased a Viscount's son
+(Not Richard, but the other one)
+He gave her a delightful flat--
+The blonde one loved a man called Alfred Spratt.
+
+There were two Kings on thrones of gold,
+The one was young, the other old.
+The young one's laws were wisely made
+Till someone took a hand-grenade
+And threw it, shouting, "Down with Kings!"--
+The old one laid foundation stones and things.
+
+"How delightful," says everybody. "How very delightful. Thank you, Lady
+Poldoodle, for such a delightful afternoon."
+
+
+
+THE PERILS OF REVIEWING
+
+
+A most unfortunate thing has happened to a friend of mine called ---- to
+a friend of ---- to a ----. Well, I suppose the truth will have to come
+out. It happened to me. Only don't tell anybody.
+
+I reviewed a book the other day. It is not often I do this, because
+before one can review a book one has to, or is supposed to, read it,
+which wastes a good deal of time. Even that isn't an end of the trouble.
+The article which follows is not really one's own, for the wretched
+fellow who wrote the book is always trying to push his way in with his
+views on matrimony, or the Sussex downs, or whatever his ridiculous
+subject is. He expects one to say, "Mr. Blank's treatment of Hilda's
+relations with her husband is masterly," whereas what one wants to say
+is, "Putting Mr. Blank's book on one side, we may consider the larger
+question, whether--" and so consider it (alone) to the end of the column.
+
+Well, I reviewed Mr. Blank's book, "Rotundity." As I expected, the first
+draft had to be re-headed "A Corner of old London," and used elsewhere;
+Mr. Blank didn't get into it at all. I kept promising myself a sentence:
+"Take 'Rotundity,' for instance, the new novel by William Blank, which,
+etc." but before I was ready for it the article was finished. In my
+second draft, realizing the dangers of delay, I began at once, "This
+remarkable novel," and continued so for a couple of sentences. But on
+reading it through afterwards I saw at once that the first two sentences
+were out of place in an article that obviously ought to be called "The
+Last Swallow"; so I cut them out, sent "The Last Swallow: A Reverie" to
+another Editor, and began again. The third time I was successful.
+
+Of course in my review I said all the usual things. I said that Mr.
+Blank's attitude to life was "subjective rather than objective" ... and
+a little lower down that it was "objective rather than subjective." I
+pointed out that in his treatment of the major theme he was a
+neo-romanticist, but I suggested that, on the other hand, he had nothing
+to learn from the Russians--or the Russians had nothing to learn from
+him; I forget which. And finally I said (and this is the cause of the
+whole trouble) that Antoine Vaurelle's world-famous classic--and I looked
+it up in the encyclopedia--world-renowned classic, "Je Comprends Tout,"
+had been not without its influence on Mr. Blank. It was a good review,
+and the editor was pleased about it.
+
+A few days later Mr. Blank wrote to say that, curiously enough, he had
+never read "Je Comprends Tout." It didn't seem to me very curious,
+because I had never read it either, but I thought it rather odd of him to
+confess as much to a stranger. The only book of Vaurelle's which I had
+read was "Consolatrice," in an English translation. However, one doesn't
+say these things in a review.
+
+Now I have a French friend, Henri, one of those annoying Frenchmen who
+talk English much better than I do, and Henri, for some extraordinary
+reason, had seen my review. He has to live in London now, but his heart
+is in Paris; and I imagine that every word of his beloved language which
+appears, however casually, in an English paper mysteriously catches his
+eye and brings the scent and sounds of the boulevards to him across the
+coffee-cups. So, the next time I met him, he shook me warmly by the hand,
+and told me how glad he was that I was an admirer of Antoine Vaurelle's
+novels.
+
+"Who isn't?" I said with a shrug, and, to get the conversation on to
+safer ground, I added hastily that in some ways I almost liked
+"Consolatrice" best.
+
+He shook my hand again. So did he. A great book.
+
+"But of course," he said, "one must read it in the original French. It is
+the book of all others which loses by translation."
+
+"Of course," I agreed. Really, I don't see what else I could have done.
+
+"Do you remember that wonderful phrase--" and he rattled it off.
+"Magnificent, is it not?"
+
+"Magnificent," I said, remembering an appointment instead. "Well, I must
+be getting on. Good-bye." And, as I walked off, I patted my forehead with
+my handkerchief and wondered why the day had grown so warm suddenly.
+
+However the next day was even warmer. Henri came to see me with a book
+under his arm. We all have one special book of our own which we recommend
+to our acquaintances, regarding the love of it as perhaps the best
+passport to our friendship. This was Henri's. He was about to test me. I
+had read and admired his favourite Vaurelle--in the original French.
+Would I love his darling Laforgue? My reputation as a man, as a writer,
+as a critic, depended on it. He handed me the book--in French.
+
+"It is all there," he said reverently, as he gave it to me. "All
+your English masters, they all come from him. Perhaps, most of all,
+your ---- But you shall tell me when you have read it. You shall tell me
+whom most you seem to see there. Your Meredith? Your Shaw? Your ---- But
+you shall tell me."
+
+"I will tell you," I said faintly.
+
+And I've got to tell him.
+
+Don't think that I shall have any difficulty in reading the book.
+Glancing through it just now I came across this:--
+
+"'_Kate, avez-vous soupé avant le spectacle_?'
+
+'_Non, je n'avais guère le coeur à manger_.'"
+
+Well, that's easy enough. But I doubt if it is one of the most
+characteristic passages. It doesn't give you a clue to Laforgue's manner,
+any more than "'Must I sit here, mother?' 'Yes, without a doubt you
+must,'" tells you all that you want to know about Meredith. There's more
+in it than that.
+
+And I've got to tell him.
+
+But fancy holding forth on an author's style after reading him
+laboriously with a dictionary!
+
+However, I must do my best; and in my more hopeful moments I see the
+conversation going like this:--
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Oh, wonderful." (_With emotion_) "Really wonderful."
+
+"You see them all there?"
+
+"Yes, yes. It's really--wonderful. Meredith--I mean--well, it's
+simply--(_after a pause_) wonderful."
+
+"You see Meredith there most?"
+
+"Y-yes. Sometimes. And then (_with truth_) sometimes I--I don't. It's
+difficult to say. Sometimes I--er--Shaw--er--well, it's--" (_with a
+gesture somewhat Gallic_) "How can I put it?"
+
+"Not Thackeray at all?" he says, watching me eagerly.
+
+I decide to risk it.
+
+"Oh, but of course! I mean--Thackeray! When I said Meredith
+I was thinking of the _others_. But Thackeray--I mean Thackeray
+_is_--er--" (_I've forgotten the author's name for the moment and
+go on hastily_) "I mean--er--Thackeray, obviously."
+
+He shakes me by the hand. I am his friend.
+
+But this conversation only takes place in my more hopeful moments. In my
+less hopeful ones I see myself going into the country for quite a long
+time.
+
+
+
+
+III. SUMMER DAYS
+
+
+
+A SONG FOR THE SUMMER
+
+
+_Is it raining_? Never mind--
+  Think how much the birdies love it!
+See them in their dozens drawn,
+Dancing, to the croquet lawn--
+Could our little friends have dined
+  If there'd been no worms above it?
+
+_Is it murky_? What of that,
+  If the Owls are fairly perky?
+Just imagine you were one--
+Wouldn't you _detest_ the sun?
+I'm pretending I'm a Bat,
+  And I know I _like_ it murky.
+
+_Is it chilly_? After all,
+  We must not forget the Poodle.
+If the days were really hot,
+Could he wear _one_ woolly spot?
+Could he even keep his shawl?
+  No, he'd shave the whole caboodle.
+
+
+
+THE SEASON'S PROSPECTS
+
+
+The great question in the Mallory family just now is whether Dick will
+get into the eleven this year. Confident as he is himself, he is taking
+no risks.
+
+"We're going to put the net up to-morrow," he said to me as soon as I
+arrived, "and then you'll be able to bowl to me. How long are you
+staying?"
+
+"Till to-night," I said quickly.
+
+"Rot! You're fixed up here till Tuesday any how."
+
+"My dear Dick, I've come down for a few days' rest. If the weather
+permits, I may have the croquet things out one afternoon and try a round,
+or possibly--"
+
+"I don't believe you _can_ bowl," said Bobby rudely. Bobby is
+twelve--five years younger than Dick. It is not my place to smack Bobby's
+head, but _somebody_ might do it for him.
+
+"Then that just shows how little you know about it," I retorted. "In a
+match last September I went on to bowl--"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"I knew the captain," I explained. "Well, as I say, he asked me to go on
+to bowl, and I took four wickets for thirteen runs. There!"
+
+"Good man," said Dick.
+
+"Was it against a girls' school?" said Bobby. (You know, Bobby is simply
+_asking_ for it.)
+
+"It was not. Nor were children of twelve allowed in without their
+perambulators."
+
+"Well, anyhow," said Bobby, "I bet Phyllis can bowl better than you."
+
+"Is this true?" I said to Phyllis. I asked her, because in a general way
+my bowling is held to be superior to that of girls of fifteen. Of course,
+she might be something special.
+
+"I can bowl Bobby out," she said modestly.
+
+I looked at Bobby in surprise and then shook my head sadly.
+
+"You jolly well shut up," he said, turning indignantly to his sister.
+"Just because you did it once when the sun was in my eyes--"
+
+"Bobby, Bobby," I said, "this is painful hearing. Let us be thankful that
+we don't have to play against girls' schools. Let us--"
+
+But Bobby was gone. Goaded to anger, he had put his hands in his pockets
+and made the general observation "Rice-pudding"--an observation
+inoffensive enough to a stranger, but evidently of such deep, private
+significance to Phyllis that it was necessary for him to head a pursuit
+into the shrubbery without further delay.
+
+"The children are gone," I said to Dick. "Now we can discuss the
+prospects for the season in peace." I took up "The Sportsman" again. "I
+see that Kent is going to--"
+
+"The prospects are all right," said Dick, "if only I can get into form
+soon enough. Last year I didn't get going till the end of June. By the
+way, what sort of stuff do you bowl?"
+
+"Ordinary sort of stuff," I said, "with one or two bounces in it. Do you
+see that Surrey--"
+
+"Fast or slow?"
+
+"Slow--that is, you know, when I _do_ bowl at all. I'm not quite sure
+this season whether I hadn't better--"
+
+"Slow," said Dick thoughtfully; "that's really what I want. I want lots
+of that."
+
+"You must get Phyllis to bowl to you," I said with detachment. "You know,
+I shouldn't be surprised if Lancashire--"
+
+"My dear man, girls can't bowl. She fields jolly well, though."
+
+"What about your father?"
+
+"His bowling days are rather over. He was in the eleven, you know, thirty
+years ago. So there's really nobody but--"
+
+"One's bowling days soon get over," I hastened to agree.
+
+But I know now exactly what the prospects of the season--or, at any rate,
+of the first week of it--are.
+
+
+MR. MALLORY
+
+The prospects here are on the whole encouraging. To dwell upon the bright
+side first, there will be half-an-hour's casual bowling, and an hour and
+a half's miscellaneous coaching, every day. On the other hand, some of
+his best plants will be disturbed, while there is more than a chance that
+he may lose the services of a library window.
+
+
+MRS. MALLORY
+
+The prospects here are much as last year, except that her youngest born,
+Joan, is now five, and consequently rather more likely to wander in the
+way of a cricket ball or fall down in front of the roller than she was
+twelve months ago. Otherwise Mrs. Mallory faces the approaching season
+with calm, if not with complete appreciation.
+
+
+DICK
+
+Of Dick's prospects there is no need to speak at length. He will have two
+hours' batting every day against, from a batsman's point of view, ideal
+bowling, and in addition the whole-hearted admiration of all of us. In
+short, the outlook here is distinctly hopeful.
+
+
+PHYLLIS
+
+The prospects of this player are, from her own point of view, bright, as
+she will be allowed to field for two hours a day to the beloved Dick. She
+is also fully qualified now to help with the heavy roller. A new
+experiment is to be tried this season, and she will be allowed to bowl
+for an odd five-minutes at the end of Dick's innings to _me_.
+
+
+BOBBY
+
+enters upon the coming season with confidence, as he thinks there is a
+chance of my bowling to him too; but he is mistaken. As before, he will
+be in charge of the heavy roller, and he will also be required to slacken
+the ropes of the net at the end of the day. His prospects, however, are
+certainly improved this season, as he will be qualified to bowl for the
+whole two hours, but only on the distinct understanding (with Phyllis)
+that he does his own fielding for himself.
+
+Of the prospects of
+
+
+JOAN
+
+I have already spoken above. There remain only the prospects of
+
+
+MYSELF
+
+which are frankly rotten. They consist chiefly of two hours' bowling to
+the batting of Dick (who hits them back very hard), and ten minutes'
+batting to the bowling of Phyllis (slow, mild) and Bobby (fast wides);
+for Dick, having been ordered by the captain not to strain himself by
+trying to bowl, is not going to try. It is extremely doubtful whether
+Bobby will approve of my action, while if he or Phyllis should, by an
+unlucky accident, get me out, I should never hear the last of it. In this
+case, however, there must be added to Bobby's prospects the possibility
+of getting his head definitely smacked.
+
+Fortunately--it is my only consolation--the season will be a short one.
+It ends on Tuesday.
+
+
+
+THE FIRST GAME
+
+
+  There comes a Day (I can hear it coming),
+    One of those glorious deep blue days,
+  When larks are singing and bees are humming,
+    And Earth gives voice in a thousand ways--
+      Then I, my friends, I too shall sing,
+      And hum a foolish little thing,
+And whistle like (but not too like) a blackbird in the Spring.
+
+  There looms a Day (I can feel it looming;
+    Yes, it will be in a month or less),
+  When all the flowers in the world are blooming
+    And Nature flutters her fairest dress--
+      Then I, my friends, I too shall wear
+      A blazer that will make them stare,
+And brush--this is official: I shall also brush my hair.
+
+  It is the day that I watch for yearly,
+    Never before has it come so late;
+  But now I've only a month--no, merely
+    A couple of fortnights left to wait;
+      And then (to make the matter plain)
+      I hold--at last!--a bat again:
+Dear Hobbs! the weeks this summer--think! the _weeks_
+      I've lived in vain!
+
+  I see already the first ball twisting
+    Over the green as I take my stand,
+  I hear already long-on insisting
+    It wasn't a chance that came to hand--
+      Or no; I see it miss the bat
+      And strike me on the knee, whereat
+Some fool, some silly fool at point, says blandly,
+        "How was that?"
+
+  Then, scouting later, I hold a hot-un
+    At deep square-leg from the local Fry,
+  And at short mid-on to the village Scotton
+    I snap a skimmer some six foot high--
+      Or else, perhaps, I get the ball,
+      Upon the thumb, or not at all,
+Or right into the hands, and then, lorblessme, let it fall.
+
+  But what care I? It's the game that calls me--
+    Simply to be on the field of play;
+  How can it matter what fate befalls me,
+    With ten good fellows and one good day?
+             ... But still,
+      I rather hope spectators will,
+      Observing any lack or skill,
+Remark, "This is his first appearance." Yes, I _hope_ they will.
+
+
+
+THE COMPETITION SPIRIT
+
+
+About six weeks ago a Canadian gentleman named Smith arrived in the Old
+Country (England). He knew a man who knew a man who knew a man ... and so
+on for a bit ... who knew a man who knew a man who knew me. Letters
+passed; negotiations ensued; and about a week after he had first set foot
+in the Mother City (London) Smith and I met at my Club for lunch.
+
+I may confess now that I was nervous. I think I expected a man in a brown
+shirt and leggings, who would ask me to put it "right there," and tell me
+I was "some Englishman." However, he turned out to be exactly like
+anybody else in London. Whether he found me exactly like anybody else in
+Canada I don't know. Anyway, we had a very pleasant lunch, and arranged
+to play golf together on the next day.
+
+Whatever else is true of Canada there can be no doubt that it turns out
+delightful golfers. Smith proved to be just the best golfer I had ever
+met, being, when at the top of his form, almost exactly as good as I was.
+Hole after hole we halved in a mechanical eight. If by means of a raking
+drive and four perfect brassies at the sixth he managed to get one up for
+a moment, then at the short seventh a screaming iron and three consummate
+approaches would make me square again. Occasionally he would, by
+superhuman play, do a hole in bogey; but only to crack at the next, and
+leave me, at the edge of the green, to play "one off eleven." It was, in
+fact, a ding-dong struggle all the way; and for his one-hole victory in
+the morning I had my revenge with a one-hole victory in the afternoon.
+
+By the end of a month we must have played a dozen rounds of this nature.
+I always had a feeling that I was really a better golfer than he, and
+this made me friendly towards his game. I would concede him short putts
+which I should have had no difficulty in missing myself; if he lost his
+ball I would beg him to drop another and go on with the hole; if he got
+into a bad place in a bunker I would assure him it was ground under
+repair. He was just as friendly in refusing to take these advantages,
+just as pleasant in offering similar indulgences to me. I thought at
+first it was part of his sporting way, but it turned out that (absurdly
+enough) he also was convinced that he was really the better golfer of the
+two, and could afford these amenities.
+
+One day he announced that he was going back to Canada.
+
+"We must have a last game," he said, "and this one must be decisive."
+
+"For the championship of the Empire," I agreed. "Let's buy a little cup
+and play for it. I've never won anything at golf yet, and I should love
+to see a little cup on the dinner-table every night."
+
+"You can't come to dinner in Canada _every_ night," he pointed out. "It
+would be so expensive for you."
+
+Well, the cup was bought, engraved "The Empire Challenge Cup," and played
+for last Monday.
+
+"This," said Smith, "is a serious game, and we must play all out. No
+giving away anything, no waiving the rules. The Empire is at stake. The
+effeteness of the Mother Country is about to be put to the proof.
+Proceed."
+
+It wasn't the most pleasant of our games. The spirit of the cup hung over
+it and depressed us. At the third hole I had an eighteen-inch putt for a
+half. "That's all right," said Smith forgetfully; and then added,
+"Perhaps you'd better put it in, though." Of course I missed. On the
+fifth green he was about to brush away a leaf. "That's illegal," I said
+sharply, "you must pick it up; you mayn't brush it away," and after a
+fierce argument on the point he putted hastily--and badly. At the
+eighteenth tee we were all square and hardly on speaking terms. The fate
+of the Mother Country depended upon the result of this hole.
+
+I drove a long one, the longest of the day, slightly hooked.
+
+"Good shot," said Smith with an effort. He pressed and foozled badly. I
+tried not to look pleased.
+
+We found his ball in a thick clump of heather. With a grim look on his
+face, he took out his niblick....
+
+I stayed by him and helped him count up to eight.
+
+"Where's your ball?" he growled.
+
+"A long way on," I said reproachfully. "I wish you'd hurry up. The poor
+thing will be getting cold."
+
+He got to work again. We had another count together up to fifteen.
+Sometimes there would be a gleam of white at the top of the heather for a
+moment and then it would fade away.
+
+"How many?" I asked some minutes later.
+
+"About thirty. But I don't care, I'm going to get the little beast into
+the hole if it takes me all night." He went on hacking.
+
+I had lost interest in the performance, for the cup was mine, but I did
+admire his Colonial grit.
+
+"Got it," he cried suddenly, and the ball sailed out on to the pretty.
+Another shot put him level with me.
+
+"Thirty-two?" I asked.
+
+"About," he said coldly.
+
+I began to look for my ball. It had got tired of waiting and had hidden
+itself. Smith joined gloomily in the search.
+
+"This is absurd," I said, after three or four minutes.
+
+"By jove!" said Smith, suddenly brightening up. "If your ball's lost I
+win after all."
+
+"Nonsense; you've given the hole up," I protested. "You don't know how
+many you've played. According to the rules, if I ask you how many, and
+you give wrong information--"
+
+"It's thirty-five," he said promptly.
+
+"I don't believe you counted."
+
+"Call it forty-five then. There's nothing to prevent my calling it more
+than it really is. If it was really only forty, then I'm counting five
+occasions when the ball rolled over as I was addressing it. That's very
+generous of me. Actually I'm doubtful if the ball did roll over five
+times, but I say it did in order to be on the safe side." He looked at
+his watch. "And if you don't find your ball in thirty seconds, you lose
+the hole."
+
+It was ingenious, but the Mother Country can be ingenious too.
+
+"How many have you played exactly?" I asked. "Be careful."
+
+"Forty-five," he said. "Exactly."
+
+"Right." I took my niblick and swung at the heather. "Bother," I said.
+"Missed it. Two."
+
+"Hallo! Have you found it?"
+
+"I have. It's somewhere in this field. There's no rule which insists that
+you shall hit the ball, or even that you shall hit near the ball, or even
+that you shall see the ball when you hit at it. Lots of old gentlemen
+shut their eyes and miss the sphere. I've missed. In five minutes I shall
+miss again."
+
+"But what's the point?"
+
+"The point, dear friend," I smiled, "is that after each stroke one is
+allowed five minutes in which to find the ball. I have forty-three
+strokes in hand; that gives me three hours and thirty-five minutes in
+which to look for it. At regular intervals of five minutes I shall swing
+my club and probably miss. It's four-thirty now; at eight o'clock, unless
+I find my ball before, I shall be playing the like. And if you are a
+sportsman," I added, "you will bring me out some tea in half an hour."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At six-thirty I was still looking--and swinging. Smith then came to terms
+and agreed to share the cup with me for the first year. He goes back to
+Canada to-morrow, and will spread the good news there that the Old
+Country can still hold its own in resource, determination and staying
+power. But next year we are going to play friendly golf again.
+
+
+
+THE FIRST TEE
+
+(MULLION)
+
+
+  It is the place, it is the place, my soul!
+    (Blow, bugle, blow; sing, triangle; toot, fife!)
+  Down to the sea the close-cropped pastures roll,
+  Couches behind yon sandy hill the goal
+    Whereat, it may be, after ceaseless strife
+The "Colonel" shall find peace, and Henry say,
+        "Your hole" ...
+
+  Caddie, give me my driver, caddie,
+    The sun shines hot, but there's half a breeze,
+  Enough to rustle the tree-tops, laddie,
+    Only supposing there were some trees;
+The year's at the full and the morn's at eleven,
+It's a wonderful day just straight from Heaven,
+And this is a hole I can do in seven--
+         Caddie, my driver, please.
+
+Three times a day from now till Monday week
+  (Ten peerless days in all) I take my stand
+Vested in some _dégagé_ mode of breek
+(The chess-board touch, with squares that almost speak),
+  And lightly sketch my Slice into the Sand,
+As based on bigger men, but much of it unique....
+
+  Caddie, give me my driver, caddie,
+    Note my style on the first few tees;
+  Duncan fashioned my wrist-work, laddie,
+    Taylor taught me to twist my knees;
+I've a beautiful swing that I learnt from Vardon
+(I practise it sometimes down the garden--
+"My fault! Sorry! I _beg_ your pardon!")--
+      Caddie, my driver, please.
+
+  Only ten little days, in which to do
+    So much! e.g., the twelfth: ah, it was there
+  The Secretary met his Waterloo,
+  But perished gamely, playing twenty-two;
+    His clubs _(ten little days_!) lie bleaching where
+Sea-poppies blow _(ten days_) and wheeling sea-birds mew....
+
+  Caddie, give me my driver, caddie,
+    Let us away with thoughts like these;
+  A week and a half is a lifetime, laddie,
+    The day that's here is the day to seize;
+_Carpe diem_--yes, that's the motto,
+"Work be jiggered!" and likewise "What ho!"
+I'M NOT GOING BACK TILL I'VE JOLLY WELL GOT TO!
+      Caddie, my driver, please.
+
+
+
+THE ENCHANTED CASTLE
+
+
+There are warm days in London when even a window-box fails to charm, and
+one longs for the more open spaces of the country. Besides, one wants to
+see how the other flowers are getting on. It is on these days that we
+travel to our Castle of Stopes; as the crow flies, fifteen miles away.
+Indeed, that is the way we get to it, for it is a castle in the air. And
+when we are come to it, Celia is always in a pink sunbonnet gathering
+roses lovingly, and I, not very far off, am speaking strongly to somebody
+or other about something I want done. By-and-by I shall go into the
+library and work ... with an occasional glance through the open window at
+Celia.
+
+To think that a month ago we were quite happy with a few pink geraniums!
+
+Sunday, a month ago, was hot. "Let's take train somewhere," said Celia,
+"and have lunch under a hedge."
+
+"I know a lovely place for hedges," I said.
+
+"I know a lovely tin of potted grouse," said Celia, and she went off to
+cut some sandwiches. By twelve o'clock we were getting out of the train.
+
+The first thing we came to was a golf course, and Celia had to drag me
+past it. Then we came to a wood, and I had to drag her through it.
+Another mile along a lane, and then we both stopped together.
+
+"Oh!" we said.
+
+It was a cottage, the cottage of a dream. And by a cottage I mean, not
+four plain rooms and a kitchen, but one surprising room opening into
+another; rooms all on different levels and of different shapes, with
+delightful places to bump your head on; open fireplaces; a large square
+hall, oak-beamed, where your guests can hang about after breakfast, while
+deciding whether to play golf or sit in the garden. Yet all so cunningly
+disposed that from outside it looks only a cottage or, at most, two
+cottages persuaded into one.
+
+And, of course, we only saw it from outside. The little drive, determined
+to get there as soon as possible, pushed its way straight through an
+old barn, and arrived at the door simultaneously with the flagged
+lavender walk for the humble who came on foot. The rhododendrons were
+ablaze beneath the south windows; a little orchard was running wild on
+the west; there was a hint at the back of a clean-cut lawn. Also, you
+remember, there was a golf course, less than two miles away.
+
+"Oh," said Celia with a deep sigh, "but we must live here."
+
+An Irish terrier ran out to inspect us. I bent down and patted it. "With
+a dog," I added.
+
+"Isn't it all lovely? I wonder who it belongs to, and if--"
+
+"If he'd like to give it to us."
+
+"Perhaps he would if he saw us and admired us very much," said Celia
+hopefully.
+
+"I don't think Mr. Barlow is that sort of man," I said. "An excellent
+fellow, but not one to take these sudden fancies."
+
+"Mr. Barlow? How do you know his name?"
+
+"I have these surprising intuitions," I said modestly. "The way the
+chimneys stand up--"
+
+"I know," cried Celia. "The dog's collar."
+
+"Right, Watson. And the name of the house is Stopes."
+
+She repeated it to herself with a frown.
+
+"What a disappointing name," she said. "Just Stopes."
+
+"Stopes," I said. "Stopes, Stopes. If you keep on saying it, a certain
+old-world charm seems to gather round it. Stopes."
+
+"Stopes," said Celia. "It _is_ rather jolly."
+
+We said it ten more times each, and it seemed the only possible name for
+it. Stopes--of course.
+
+"Well!" I asked.
+
+"We must write to Mr. Barlow," said Celia decisively. "'Dear Mr. Barlow,
+er--Dear Mr. Barlow--we--' Yes, it will be rather difficult. What do we
+want to say exactly?"
+
+"'Dear Mr. Barlow--May we have your house?'"
+
+"Yes," smiled Celia, "but I'm afraid we can hardly ask for it. But we
+might rent it when--when he doesn't want it any more."
+
+"'Dear Mr. Barlow,'" I amended, "'have you any idea when you're going to
+die?' No, that wouldn't do either. And there's another thing--we don't
+know his initials, or even if he's a 'Mr.' Perhaps he's a knight or a--a
+duke. Think how offended Duke Barlow would be if we put '---- Barlow,
+Esq.' on the envelope."
+
+"We could telegraph. 'Barlow. After you with Stopes.'"
+
+"Perhaps there's a young Barlow, a Barlowette or two with expectations.
+It may have been in the family for years."
+
+"Then we--Oh, let's have lunch." She sat down and began to undo the
+sandwiches. "Dear o' Stopes," she said with her mouth full.
+
+We lunched outside Stopes. Surely if Earl Barlow had seen us he would
+have asked us in. But no doubt his dining-room looked the other way;
+towards the east and north, as I pointed out to Celia, thus being
+pleasantly cool at lunch-time.
+
+"Ha, Barlow," I said dramatically, "a time will come when _we_ shall be
+lunching in there, and _you_--bah!" And I tossed a potted-grouse sandwich
+to his dog.
+
+However, that didn't get us any nearer.
+
+"Will you _promise,"_ said Celia, "that we shall have lunch in there one
+day?"
+
+"I promise," I said readily. That gave me about sixty years to do
+something in.
+
+"I'm like--who was it who saw something of another man's and wouldn't be
+happy till he got it?"
+
+"The baby in the soap advertisement."
+
+"No, no, some king in history."
+
+"I believe you are thinking of Ahab, but you aren't a bit like him,
+really. Besides, we're not coveting Stopes. All we want to know is, does
+Barlow ever let it in the summer?"
+
+"That's it," said Celia eagerly.
+
+"And, if so," I went on, "will he lend us the money to pay the rent
+with?"
+
+"Er--yes," said Celia. "That's it."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+So for a month we have lived in our Castle of Stopes. I see Celia there
+in her pink sun-bonnet, gathering the flowers lovingly, bringing an
+armful of them into the hall, disturbing me sometimes in the library with
+"_Aren't_ they beauties? No, I only just looked in--good luck to you."
+And she sees me ordering a man about importantly, or waving my hand to
+her as I ride through the old barn on my road to the golf course.
+
+But this morning she had an idea.
+
+"Suppose," she said timidly, "you _wrote_ about Stopes, and Mr. Barlow
+happened to see it, and knew how much we wanted it, and--"
+
+"Well!"
+
+"Then," said Celia firmly, "if he were a gentleman he would give it to
+us."
+
+Very well. Now we shall see if Mr. Barlow is a gentleman.
+
+
+
+THE SANDS OF PLEASURE
+
+
+Ladies first, so we will start with Jenny. Jenny is only nine, but she
+has been to the seaside before and knows all about it. She wears the
+fashionable _costume de plage_, which consists of a white linen hat, a
+jersey and an overcrowded pair of bathing-drawers, into which not only
+Jenny, but the rest of her wardrobe, has had to fit itself. Two slim
+brown legs emerge to bear the burden, and one feels that if she fell over
+she would have to stay there until somebody picked her up.
+
+She is holding Richard Henry by the hand. Richard Henry is four, and this
+is the first time he has seen the sea. Jenny is showing it to him.
+Privately he thinks that it has been over-rated. There was a good deal of
+talk about it in his suburb (particularly from Jenny, who had been there
+before) and naturally one expected something rather--well, rather more
+like what they had been saying it was like. However, perhaps it would be
+as well to keep in with Jenny and not to let her see that he is
+disappointed, so every time she says, "Isn't the sea lovely?" he echoes,
+"Lovely," and now and then he adds (just to humour her), "Is 'at the
+sea?" and then she has the chance to say again, "Yes, that's the sea,
+darling. Isn't it lovely?" It is obvious that she is proud of it.
+Apparently she put it there. Anyway, it seems to be hers now.
+
+Jenny has brought Father and Mother as well as Richard Henry. There they
+are, over there. When she came before she had to leave them behind, much
+to their disappointment. Father was saying, "Form fours, left," before
+going off to France again, and Mother was buying wool to make him some
+more socks. It was a great relief to them to know that they were being
+taken this time, and that they would have Jenny to tell them all about
+it.
+
+Father is lying in a deck-chair, smoking his pipe. There has been an
+interesting discussion this afternoon as to whether he is a coward or
+not. Father thought he wasn't, but Mother wasn't quite so sure. Jenny
+said that of course he couldn't really be, because the King gave him a
+medal for not being one, but Mother explained that it was only a medal he
+had over, and Father happened to be passing by the window.
+
+"I don't see what this has to do with it," said Father. "I simply prefer
+bathing in the morning."
+
+"Oo, you said this morning you preferred bathing in the afternoon," says
+Jenny like a flash.
+
+"I know; but since then I've had time to think it over, and I see that I
+was hasty. The morning is the best time."
+
+"I'm afraid he _is_ a coward," said Mother sadly, wondering why she had
+married him.
+
+"The whole point is, why did Jenny bring me here?"
+
+"To enjoy yourself," said Jenny promptly.
+
+"Well, I am," said Father, closing his eyes.
+
+But we do not feel so sure that Mother is enjoying herself. She has just
+read in the paper about a mine that floated ashore and exploded. Nobody
+was near at the time, but supposing one of the children had been playing
+with it.
+
+"Which one?" said Father lazily.
+
+"Jenny."
+
+"Then we should have lost Jenny."
+
+This being so, Jenny promises solemnly not to play with any mine that
+comes ashore, nor to let Richard Henry play with it, nor to allow it to
+play with Richard Henry, nor--
+
+"I suppose I may just point it out to him and say, 'Look, that's a
+mine'?" says Jenny wistfully. If she can't do this, it doesn't seem to be
+much use coming to the seaside at all.
+
+"I don't think there would be any harm in that," says Father. "But don't
+engage it in conversation."
+
+"Thank you very much," says Jenny, and she and Richard Henry go off
+together.
+
+Mother watches them anxiously. Father closes his eyes.
+
+"Now," says Jenny eagerly, "I'm going to show you a darling little crab.
+Won't that be lovely?"
+
+Richard Henry, having been deceived, as he feels, about the sea, is not
+too hopeful about that crab. However, he asks politely, "What's a crab?"
+
+"You'll see directly, darling," says Jenny; and he has to be content with
+that.
+
+"Crab," he murmurs to himself.
+
+Suddenly an idea occurs to him. He lets go of Jenny's hand and trots up
+to an old gentleman with white whiskers.
+
+"Going to see a crab," he announces.
+
+"Going to see a crab, are you, my little man?" says the old gentleman
+kindly.
+
+"Going to see a crab," says Richard Henry, determined to keep up his end
+of the conversation.
+
+"Well, I never! So you're going to see a crab!" says the old gentleman,
+doing his best with it.
+
+Richard Henry nods two or three times. "Going to see a crab," he says
+firmly.
+
+Luckily Jenny comes up and rescues him, otherwise they would still be at
+it. "Come along, darling, and see the crab," she says, picking up his
+hand; and Richard Henry looks triumphantly at the old gentleman. There
+you are. Perhaps he will believe a fellow another time.
+
+Jenny has evidently made an arrangement with a particular crab for this
+afternoon. It is to be hoped that the appointment will be kept, for she
+has hurried Richard Henry past all sorts of wonderful things which he
+wanted to stop with for a little. But the thought of this lovely crab,
+which Jenny thinks so much of, forbids protest. Quite right not to keep
+it waiting. What will it be like? Will it be bigger than the sea?
+
+We have reached the rendezvous. We see now that we need not have been in
+such a hurry.
+
+"There!" says Jenny excitedly. "Isn't he a darling little crab? He's
+asleep." (That's why we need not have hurried.)
+
+Richard Henry says nothing. He can't think of the words for what he is
+feeling. What he wants to say is that Jenny has let him down again. They
+passed a lot of these funny little things on their way here, but Jenny
+wouldn't stop because she was going to show him a Crab, a great, big,
+enormous darling little Crab--which might have been anything--and now
+it's only just this. No wonder the old gentleman didn't believe him.
+
+Swindled--that's the word he wants. However, he can't think of it for the
+moment, so he tries something else.
+
+"Darling little crab," he says.
+
+They leave the dead crab there and hurry back.
+
+"What shall I show you _now_?" says Jenny.
+
+
+
+GOLDEN MEMORIES
+
+
+When Memory with its scorn of ages,
+  Its predilection for the past,
+Turns back about a billion pages
+  And lands us by the Cam at last;
+Is it the thought of "Granta" (once our daughter),
+  The Freshers' Match, the Second in our Mays
+That makes our mouth, our very soul to water?
+  Ah no! Ah no! It is the Salmon Mayonnaise!
+
+The work we did was rarely reckoned
+  Worthy a tutor's kindly word--
+(For when I said we got a Second
+  I really meant we got a Third)--
+The games we played were often tinged with bitter,
+  Amidst the damns no faintest hint of praise
+Greeted us when we missed the authentic "sitter"--
+  But thou wert always kind, O Salmon Mayonnaise!
+
+Even our nights with "Granta," even
+  The style that, week by blessed week,
+Mixed Calverley and J.K. Stephen
+  With much that was (I hold) unique,
+Even our parodies of the Rubáiyát
+  Were disappointing--yes, in certain ways:
+What genius loves (I mean) the people shy at--
+  Yet no one ever shied at Salmon Mayonnaise!
+
+Alas! no restaurant in London
+  Can make us feel that thrill again;
+Though what they do or what leave undone
+  I often ask, and ask in vain.
+Is it the sauce which puts the brand of Cam on
+  Each maddening dish? The egg? The yellow
+           glaze?
+  The cucumber? The special breed of salmon?--
+  I only know we loved, we _loved_ that Mayonnaise!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Did Beauty," some may ask severely,
+  "Visit him in no other guise?
+It cannot be that salmon merely
+  Should bring the mist before his eyes!
+What of the river there where Byron's Pool lay,
+  The warm blue morning shimmering in the
+           haze?"
+Not this (I say) ... Yet something else ...
+         _Creme Brûlée_!
+  Ye gods! to think of that _and_ Salmon Mayonnaise!
+
+
+
+THE PROBLEM OF LIFE
+
+
+The noise of the retreating sea came pleasantly to us from a distance.
+Celia was lying on her--I never know how to put this nicely--well, she
+was lying face downwards on a rock and gazing into a little pool which
+the tide had forgotten about and left behind. I sat beside her and
+annoyed a limpet. Three minutes ago I had taken it suddenly by surprise
+and with an Herculean effort moved it an eighteenth of a millimetre
+westwards. My silence since then was lulling it into a false security,
+and in another two minutes I hoped to get a move on it again.
+
+"Do you know," said Celia with a puzzled look on her face, "sometimes I
+think I'm quite an ordinary person after all."
+
+"You aren't a little bit," I said lazily; "you're just like nobody else
+in the world."
+
+"Well, of course, you had to say that."
+
+"No, I hadn't. Lots of husbands would merely have yawned." I felt one
+coming and stopped it just in time. Waiting for limpets to go to sleep
+is drowsy work. "But why are you so morbid about yourself suddenly?"
+
+"I don't know," she said. "Only every now and then I find myself thinking
+the most _obvious_ thoughts."
+
+"We all do," I answered, as I stroked my limpet gently. The noise of our
+conversation had roused it, but a gentle stroking motion (I am told by
+those to whom it has confided) will frequently cause its muscles to
+relax. "The great thing is not to speak them. Still, you'd better tell me
+now. What is it?"
+
+"Well," she said, her cheeks perhaps a little pinker than usual, "I was
+just thinking that life was very wonderful. But it's a _silly_ thing to
+say."
+
+"It's holiday time," I reminded her. "The need for sprinkling our remarks
+with thoughtful words like 'economic' and 'sporadic' is over for a bit.
+Let us be silly." I scratched in the rock the goal to which I was urging
+my limpet and took out my watch. "Three thirty-five. I shall get him
+there by four."
+
+Celia was gazing at two baby fishes who played in and out a bunch of
+sea-weed. Above the seaweed an anemone sat fatly.
+
+"I suppose they're all just as much alive as we are," she said
+thoughtfully. "They marry"--I looked at my limpet with a new
+interest--"and bring up families and go about their business, and it
+all means just as much to them as it does to us."
+
+"My limpet's business affairs mean nothing to me," I said firmly. "I am
+only wrapped up in him as a sprinter."
+
+"Aren't you going to try to move him again?"
+
+"He's not quite ready yet. He still has his suspicions."
+
+Celia dropped into silence. Her next question showed that she had left
+the pool for a moment.
+
+"Are there any people in Mars?" she asked.
+
+"People down here say that there aren't. A man told me the other day that
+he knew this for a fact. On the other hand, people in Mars know for a
+fact that there isn't anybody on the Earth. Probably they are both
+wrong."
+
+"I should like to know a lot about things," sighed Celia. "Do you know
+anything about limpets?"
+
+"Only that they stick like billy-o."
+
+"I suppose more about them _is_ known than that?"
+
+"I suppose so. By people who have made a specialty of them. For one who
+has preferred to amass general knowledge rather than to specialize, it is
+considered enough to know that they stick like billy-o."
+
+"You haven't specialized in anything, have you?"
+
+"Only in wives."
+
+Celia smiled and went on. "How do you make a specialty of limpets?"
+
+"Well, I suppose you--er--study them. You sit down and--and watch them.
+Probably after dark they get up and do something. And of course, in any
+case, you can always dissect one and see what he's had for breakfast. One
+way and another you get to know things about them."
+
+"They must have a lot of time for thinking," said Celia, regarding my
+limpet with her head on one side. "Tell me, how do they know that there
+are no men in Mars?"
+
+I sat up with a sigh.
+
+"Celia, you do dodge about so. I have barely brought together and
+classified my array of facts about things in this world, when you've
+dashed up to another one. What is the connexion between Mars and limpets?
+If there are any limpets in Mars they are freshwater ones. In the
+canals."
+
+"Oh, I just wondered," she said. "I mean"--she wrinkled her forehead in
+the effort to find words for her thoughts--"I'm wondering what everything
+means, and why we're all here, and what limpets are for, and, supposing
+there are people in Mars, if we're the real people whom the world was
+made for, or if _they_ are." She stopped and added, "One evening after
+dinner, when we get home, you must tell me all about _everything_"
+
+Celia has a beautiful idea that I can explain everything to her. I
+suppose I must have explained a stymie or a no-ball very cleverly once.
+
+"Well," I said, "I can tell you what limpets are for now. They're like
+sheep and cows and horses and pheasants and--and any other animal.
+They're just for _us_. At least so the wise people say."
+
+"But we don't eat limpets."
+
+"No, but they can amuse us. This one"--and with a sudden leap I was
+behind him as he dozed, and I had dashed him forward another eighteenth
+of a millimetre--"this one has amused _me_."
+
+"Perhaps," said Celia thoughtfully, and I don't think it was quite a nice
+thing for a young woman to say, "perhaps we're only meant to amuse the
+people in Mars."
+
+"Then," I said lazily, "let's hope that they _are_ amused."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ten days later the Great War began. Celia said no more on the subject,
+but she used to look at me curiously sometimes, and I fear that the
+problem of life left her more puzzled than ever. At the risk of betraying
+myself to her as "quite an ordinary person after all" I confess that
+there are times when it leaves me puzzled too.
+
+
+
+
+IV. WAR-TIME
+
+
+
+O.B.E.
+
+
+I know a Captain of Industry,
+Who made big bombs for the R.F.C.,
+And collared a lot of £ s. d.--
+And he--thank God!--has the O.B.E.
+
+I know a Lady of Pedigree,
+Who asked some soldiers out to tea,
+And said "Dear me!" and "Yes, I see"--
+And she--thank God!--has the O.B.E.
+
+I know a fellow of twenty-three,
+Who got a job with a fat M.P.--
+(Not caring much for the Infantry.)
+And he--thank God!--has the O.B.E.
+
+I had a friend; a friend, and he
+Just held the line for you and me,
+And kept the Germans from the sea,
+And died--without the O.B.E.
+                      Thank God!
+He died without the O.B.E.
+
+
+
+ARMAGEDDON
+
+
+The conversation had turned, as it always does in the smoking-rooms of
+golf clubs, to the state of poor old England, and Porkins had summed the
+matter up. He had marched round in ninety-seven that morning, followed by
+a small child with an umbrella and an arsenal of weapons, and he felt in
+form with himself.
+
+"What England wants," he said, leaning back and puffing at his
+cigar,--"what England wants is a war. (Another whisky and soda, waiter.)
+We're getting flabby. All this pampering of the poor is playing the very
+deuce with the country. A bit of a scrap with a foreign power would do us
+all the good in the world." He disposed of his whisky at a draught.
+"We're flabby," he repeated. "The lower classes seem to have no
+sense of discipline nowadays. We want a war to brace us up."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It is well understood in Olympus that Porkins must not be disappointed.
+What will happen to him in the next world I do not know, but it will be
+something extremely humorous; in this world, however, he is to have all
+that he wants. Accordingly the gods got to work.
+
+In the little village of Ospovat, which is in the southeastern corner of
+Ruritania, there lived a maiden called Maria Strultz, who was engaged to
+marry Captain Tomsk.
+
+"I fancy," said one of the gods, "that it might be rather funny if Maria
+jilted the Captain. I have an idea that it would please Porkins."
+
+"Whatever has Maria--" began a very young god, but he was immediately
+suppressed.
+
+"Really," said the other, "I should have thought it was sufficiently
+obvious. You know what these mortals are." He looked round to them all.
+"Is it agreed then?"
+
+It was agreed.
+
+So Maria Strultz jilted the Captain.
+
+Now this, as you may imagine, annoyed Captain Tomsk. He commanded a
+frontier fort on the boundary between Ruritania and Essenland, and his
+chief amusement in a dull life was to play cards with the Essenland
+captain, who commanded the fort on the other side of the river. When
+Maria's letter came, he felt that the only thing to do was to drown
+himself; on second thoughts he decided to drown his sorrows first. He did
+this so successfully that at the end of the evening he was convinced that
+it was not Maria who had jilted him, but the Essenland captain who had
+jilted Maria; whereupon he rowed across the river and poured his revolver
+into the Essenland flag which was flying over the fort. Maria thus
+revenged, he went home to bed, and woke next morning with a bad headache.
+
+("_Now we're off," said the gods in Olympus_.)
+
+In Diedeldorf, the capital of Essenland, the leader-writers proceeded to
+remove their coats.
+
+"The blood of every true Essenlander," said the leader-writer of the
+"Diedeldorf Patriot", after sending out for another pot of beer, "will
+boil when it hears of this fresh insult to our beloved flag, an insult
+which can only be wiped out with blood." Then seeing that he had two
+"bloods" in one sentence, he crossed the second One out, substituted "the
+sword," and lit a fresh cigarette. "For years Essenland has writhed under
+the provocations of Ruritania, but has preserved a dignified silence;
+this last insult is more than flesh and blood can stand." Another "blood"
+had got in, but it was a new sentence and he thought it might be allowed
+to remain. "We shall not be accused of exaggeration if we say that
+Essenland would lose, and rightly lose, her prestige in the eyes of
+Europe if she let this affront pass unnoticed. In a day she would sink
+from a first-rate to a fifth-rate power." But he didn't say how.
+
+The Chancellor of Essenland, in a speech gravely applauded by both sides
+of the House, announced the steps he had taken. An ultimatum had been
+sent to Ruritania demanding an apology, an indemnity of a hundred
+thousand marks, and the public degradation of Captain Tomsk, whose
+epaulettes were to be torn off by the Commander-in-Chief of the Essenland
+Army in the presence of a full corps of cinematograph artists. Failing
+this, war would be declared.
+
+Ruritania offered the apology, the indemnity, and the public degradation
+of Captain Tomsk, but urged that this last ceremony would be better
+performed by the Commander-in-Chief of the Ruritanian Army; otherwise
+Ruritania might as well cease to be a sovereign state, for she would
+lose her prestige in the eyes of Europe, and sink to the level of a
+fifth-rate power.
+
+There was only one possible reply to this, and Essenland made it. She
+invaded Ruritania.
+
+_("Aren't they wonderful?" said the gods in Olympus to each other_.
+
+"_But haven't you made a mistake?" asked the very young god. "Porkins
+lives in England, not Essenland_."
+
+"_Wait a moment," said the others.)_
+
+       *       *       *        *       *
+
+In the capital of Borovia the leader-writer of the "Borovian Patriot" got
+to work. "How does Borovia stand?" he asked. "If Essenland occupies
+Ruritania, can any thinking man in Borovia feel safe with the enemy at
+his gates?" (The Borovian peasant, earning five marks a week, would have
+felt no less safe than usual, but then he could hardly be described as a
+thinking man.) "It is vital to the prestige of Borovia that the integrity
+of Ruritania should be preserved. Otherwise we may resign ourselves at
+once to the prospect of becoming a fifth-rate power in the eyes of
+Europe." And in a speech, gravely applauded by all parties, the Borovian
+Chancellor said the same thing. So the Imperial Army was mobilized and,
+amidst a wonderful display of patriotic enthusiasm by those who were
+remaining behind, the Borovian troops marched to the front....
+
+_("And there you are," said the gods in Olympus.
+
+"But even now--" began the very young god doubtfully.
+
+"Silly, isn't Felicia the ally of Essenland; isn't Marksland the ally of
+Borovia; isn't England the ally of the ally of the ally of the Country
+which holds the balance of power between Marksland and Felicia?"
+
+"But if any of them thought the whole thing stupid or unjust or--"
+
+"Their prestige," said the gods gravely, trying not to laugh.
+
+"Oh, I see," said the very young god.)_
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+And when a year later the hundred-thousandth English mother woke up to
+read that her boy had been shot, I am afraid she shed foolish tears and
+thought that the world had come to an end.
+
+Poor short-sighted creature! She didn't realize that Porkins, who had
+marched round in ninety-six the day before, was now thoroughly braced up.
+
+_("What babies they all are," said the very young god.)_
+
+
+
+GOLD BRAID
+
+
+Same old crossing, same old boat,
+  Same old dust round Rouen way,
+Same old narsty one-franc note,
+  Same old "Mercy, sivvoo play";
+Same old scramble up the line,
+  Same old 'orse-box, same old stror,
+Same old weather, wet or fine,
+Same old blooming War.
+
+_Ho Lor, it isn't a dream,
+  It's just as it used to be, every bit;
+Same old whistle and same old bang,
+  And me out again to be 'it._
+
+'Twas up by Loos I got me first;
+  I just dropped gently, crawled a yard
+And rested sickish, with a thirst--
+  The 'eat, I thought, and smoking 'ard....
+Then someone 'ands me out a drink,
+  What poets call "the cooling draft,"
+And seeing 'im I done a think:
+  "_Blighty,"_ I thinks--and laughed.
+
+I'm not a soldier nacheral,
+  No more than most of us to-day;
+I runs a business with a pal
+  (Meaning the Missis) Fulham way;
+Greengrocery--the cabbages
+  And fruit and things I take meself,
+And she has dafts and crocuses
+  A-smiling on a shelf.
+
+"Blighty," I thinks. The doctor knows;
+  'E talks of punctured damn-the-things.
+It's me for Blighty. Down I goes;
+  I ain't a singer, but I sings.
+"Oh, 'oo goes 'ome?" I sort of 'ums;
+  "Oh, 'oo's for dear old England's shores?"
+And by-and-by Southampton comes--
+  "Blighty!" I says, and roars.
+
+I s'pose I thort I done my bit;
+  I s'pose I thort the War would stop;
+I saw meself a-getting fit
+  With Missis at the little shop;
+The same like as it used to be,
+  The same old markets, same old crowd,
+The same old marrers, same old me,
+But 'er as proud as proud....
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The regiment is where it was,
+  I'm in the same old ninth platoon;
+New faces most, and keen becos
+  They thinks the thing is ending soon;
+I ain't complaining, mind, but still,
+  When later on some newish bloke
+Stops one and laughs, "A blighty, Bill,"
+  I'll wonder, "Where's the joke?"
+
+Same old trenches, same old view,
+  Same old rats as blooming tame,
+Same old dug-outs, nothing new,
+  Same old smell, the very same,
+Same old bodies out in front,
+  Same old _strafe_ from 2 till 4,
+Same old scratching, same old 'unt.
+  Same old bloody War.
+
+_Ho Lor, it isn't a dream,
+  It's just as it used to be, every bit;
+Same old whistle and same old bang.
+  And me to stay 'ere till I'm 'it._
+
+
+
+TOBY
+
+
+It will save trouble if I say at once that I know nothing about horses.
+This will be quite apparent to you, of course, before I have finished,
+but I don't want you to suppose that it is not also quite apparent to me.
+I have no illusions on the subject; neither, I imagine, has Toby.
+
+To me there are only two kinds of horse. Chestnuts, roans, bay rums--I
+know nothing of all these; I can only describe a horse simply as a nice
+horse or a nasty horse. Toby is a nice horse.
+
+Toby, of course, knows much more about men than I do about horses, and no
+doubt he describes me professionally to his colleagues as a "flea-bitten
+fellow standing about eighteen hoofs"; but when he is not being technical
+I like to think that he sums me up to himself as a nice man. At any rate
+I am not allowed to wear spurs, and that must weigh with a horse a good
+deal.
+
+I have no real right to Toby. The Signalling Officer's official mount is
+a bicycle, but a bicycle in this weather--! And there _is_ Toby, and
+somebody must ride him, and, as I point out to the other subalterns, it
+would only cause jealousy if one of _them_ rode him, and--"
+
+"Why would it create more jealousy than if _you_ do?" asked one of them.
+
+"Well," I said, "you're the officer commanding platoon number--"
+
+"Fifteen."
+
+"Fifteen. Now, why should the officer commanding the fifteenth platoon
+ride a horse when the officer commanding the nineteenth--"
+
+He reminded me that there were only sixteen platoons in a battalion. It's
+such a long time since I had anything to do with platoons that I forget.
+
+"All right, we'll say the sixteenth. Why shouldn't _he_ have a horse? Of
+all the unjust--Well, you see what recriminations it would lead to. Now I
+don't say I'm more valuable than a platoon-commander or more effective on
+a horse, but, at any rate, there aren't sixteen of me. There's only one
+Signalling Officer, and if there _is_ a spare horse over--"
+
+"What about the Bombing Officer?" said O.C. Platoon 15 carelessly.
+
+I had quite forgotten the Bombing Officer. Of course he is a specialist
+too.
+
+"Yes, quite so, but if you would only think a little," I said, thinking
+hard all the time, "you would--well, put it this way. The range of a
+Mills bomb is about fifty yards; the range of a field telephone is
+several miles. Which of us is more likely to require a horse?"
+
+"_And_ the Sniping officer?" he went on dreamily.
+
+This annoyed me.
+
+"You don't shoot snipe from horseback," I said sharply. "You're mixing up
+shooting and hunting, my lad. And in any case there are reasons, special
+reasons, why I ride Toby--reasons of which you know nothing."
+
+Here are the reasons:--
+
+1. I think I have more claim to a horse called Toby than has a
+contributor to "Our Feathered Friends" or whatever paper the Sniping
+Officer writes for.
+
+2. When I joined the Army, Celia was inconsolable. I begged her to keep a
+stiff upper lip, to which she replied that she could do it better if I
+promised not to keep a bristly one. I pointed out that the country wanted
+bristles; and though, between ourselves, we might regard it as a
+promising face spoilt for a tradition, still discipline was discipline.
+And so the bristles came, and remained until the happy day when the War
+Office, at the risk of losing the war, made them optional. Immediately
+they were uprooted.
+
+Now the Colonel has only one fault (I have been definitely promised my
+second star in 1927, so he won't think I am flattering him with a
+purpose): he likes moustaches. His own is admirable, and I have no wish
+for him to remove it, but I think he should be equally broad-minded about
+mine.
+
+"You aren't really more beautiful without it," he said. "A moustache
+suits you."
+
+"My wife doesn't think so," I said firmly. I had the War Office on my
+side, so I could afford to be firm.
+
+The Colonel looked at me, and then he looked out of the window, and made
+the following remarkable statement.
+
+"Toby," he said gently to himself, "doesn't like clean-shaven officers."
+
+This hadn't occurred to me; I let it sink in.
+
+"Of course," I said at last, "one must consider one's horse. I quite see
+that."
+
+"With a bicycle," he said, "it's different."
+
+And so there you have the second reason. If the Bombing Officer rode
+Toby, I should shave again to-morrow, and then where would the Battalion
+be? Ruined.
+
+So Toby and I go off together. Up till now he has been good to me. He has
+bitten one Company Commander, removed another, and led the Colonel a
+three-mile chase across country after him, so if any misunderstanding
+occurs between us there will be good precedent for it. So far my only
+real trouble has been once when billeting.
+
+Billeting is delightful fun. You start three hours in advance of the
+battalion, which means that if the battalion leaves at eight in the
+morning, you are up in the fresh of the day, when the birds are singing.
+You arrive at the village and get from the Mayor or the Town Major a list
+of possible hostesses. Entering the first house (labeled "Officers 5")
+you say, "_Vous avez un lit pour un Officier ici, n'est-ce pas? Vive la
+France_!" She answers, "_Pas un lit_," and you go to the next house.
+"_Vous avez place pour cent hommes--oui?" "Non_," says she--and so on.
+By-and-by the battalion arrives, and everybody surrounds you. "Where are
+_my_ men going?" "Where is _my_ billet?" "Where's 'C' Company's mess?"
+"Have you found anything for the Pioneers?" And so one knows what it is
+to be popular.
+
+Well, the other day the Major thought he'd come with me, just to give me
+an idea how it ought to be done. I say nothing of the result; but for
+reasons connected with Toby I hope he won't come again. For in the middle
+of a narrow street crowded with lorries, he jumped off his horse, flung
+(I think that's the expression)--flung me the reins and said, "Just wait
+here while I see the Mayor a moment."
+
+The Major's horse I can describe quite shortly--a nasty big black horse.
+
+Toby I have already described as a nice horse, but he had been knee-deep
+in mud, inspecting huts, for nearly half an hour, and was sick of
+billeting.
+
+I need not describe two-hundred-lorries-on-a-dark-evening to you.
+
+And so, seeing that you know the constituents, I must let you imagine how
+they all mixed....
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+This is a beastly war. But it has its times; and when our own particular
+bit of the battle is over, and what is left of the battalion is marching
+back to rest, I doubt if, even in England (which seems very far off), you
+will find two people more contented with the morning than Toby and I, as
+we jog along together.
+
+
+
+COMMON
+
+
+Seated in your comfortable club, my very dear sir, or in your delightful
+drawing-room, madam, you may smile pityingly at the idea of a mascot
+saving anybody's life. "What will be, will be," you say to yourself (or
+in Italian to your friends), "and to suppose that a charm round the neck
+of a soldier will divert a German shell is ridiculous." But out there,
+through the crumps, things look otherwise.
+
+Common had sat on the mantelpiece at home. An ugly little ginger dog,
+with a bit of red tape for his tongue and two black beads for his eyes,
+he viewed his limited world with an air of innocent impertinence very
+attractive to visitors. Common he looked and Common he was called,
+with a Christian name of Howard for registration. For six months he sat
+there, and no doubt he thought that he had seen all that there was to see
+of the world when the summons came which was to give him so different an
+outlook on life.
+
+For that summons meant the breaking up of his home. Master was going
+wandering from trench to trench, Mistress from one person's house to
+another person's house. She no doubt would take Common with her; or
+perhaps she couldn't be bothered with an ugly little ginger dog, and he
+would be stored in some repository, boarded out in some Olympic kennel.
+"Or do you _possibly_ think Master might--"
+
+He looked very wistful that last morning, so wistful that Mistress
+couldn't bear it, and she slipped him in hastily between the revolver and
+the boracic powder, "Just to look after you," she said. So Common came
+with me to France.
+
+His first view of the country was at Rouen, when he sat at the entrance
+to my tent and hooshed the early morning flies away. His next at a
+village behind the lines, where he met stout fellows of "D" Company and
+took the centre of the table at mess in the apple orchard; and moreover
+was introduced to a French maiden of two, with whom, at the instigation
+of the seconds in the business--her mother and myself--a prolonged but
+monotonous conversation in the French tongue ensued, Common, under
+suitable pressure, barking idiomatically, and the maiden, carefully
+prompted, replying with the native for "Bow-wow." A pretty greenwood
+scene beneath the apple-trees, and in any decent civilization the great
+adventure would have ended there. But Common knew that it was not only
+for this that he had been brought out, and that there was more arduous
+work to come.
+
+Once more he retired to the valise, for we were making now for a
+vill--for a heap of bricks near the river; you may guess the river. It
+was about this time that I made a little rhyme for him:
+
+There was a young puppy called Howard,
+Who at fighting was rather a coward;
+     He never quite ran
+     When the battle began,
+But he started at once to bow-wow hard.
+
+A good poet is supposed to be superior to the exigencies of rhyme, but I
+am afraid that in any case Common's reputation had to be sacrificed to
+them. To be lyrical over anybody called Howard Common without hinting
+that he--well, try for yourself. Anyhow it was a lie, as so much good
+poetry is.
+
+There came a time when valises were left behind and life for a fortnight
+had to be sustained on a pack. One seems to want very many things, but
+there was no hesitation about Common's right to a place. So he came to
+see his first German dug-out, and to get a proper understanding of this
+dead bleached land and the great work which awaited him there. It was to
+blow away shells and bullets when they came too near the master in whose
+pocket he sat.
+
+In this he was successful; but I think that the feat in which he takes
+most pride was performed one very early summer morning. A telephone line
+had to be laid, and, for reasons obvious to Common, rather rapidly. It
+was laid safely--a mere nothing to him by this time. But when it was
+joined up to the telephone in the front line, then he realized that he
+was called upon to be not only a personal mascot, but a mascot to the
+battalion, and he sat himself upon the telephone and called down a
+blessing on that cable, so that it remained whole for two days and a
+night when by all the rules it should have been in a thousand pieces.
+"And even if I didn't _really_ do it all myself," he said, "anyhow I
+_did_ make some of the men in the trench smile a little that morning, and
+there wasn't so _very_ much smiling going on just then, you know."
+
+After that morning he lived in my pocket, sometimes sniffing at an empty
+pipe, sometimes trying to read letters from Mistress which joined him
+every day. We had gone North to a more gentlemanly part of the line, and
+his duties took but little of his time, so that anything novel, like a
+pair of pliers or an order from the Director of Army Signals, was always
+welcome. To begin with he took up rather more than his fair share of the
+pocket, but he rapidly thinned down. Alas! in the rigours of the campaign
+he also lost his voice; and his little black collar, his only kit,
+disappeared.
+
+Then, just when we seemed settled for the winter, we were ordered South
+again. Common knew what that meant, a busy time for him. We moved down
+slowly, and he sampled billet after billet, but we arrived at last and
+sat down to wait for the day.
+
+And then he began to get nervous. Always he was present when the
+operations were discussed; he had seen all the maps; he knew exactly what
+was expected of us. And he didn't like it.
+
+"It's more than a fellow can do," he said; "at least to be certain of. I
+can blow away the shells in front and the shells from the right, but if
+Master's map is correct we're going to get enfiladed from the left as
+well, and one can't be _everywhere_. This wants thinking about."
+
+So he dived head downwards into the deepest recesses of my pocket and
+abandoned himself to thought. A little later he came up with a smile....
+
+Next morning I stayed in bed and the doctor came. Common looked over his
+shoulder as he read the thermometer.
+
+"A hundred and four," said Common. "Golly! I hope I haven't over-done
+it."
+
+He came with me to the clearing station.
+
+"I only just blowed a germ at him," he said wistfully--"one I found in
+his pocket. I only just blowed it at him."
+
+We went down to the base hospital together; we went back to England. And
+in the hospital in England Common suddenly saw his mistress again.
+
+"I've brought him back, Missis," he said. "Here he is. Have I done well?"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He sits now in a little basket lined with flannel, a hero returned from
+the War. Round his neck he wears the regimental colours, and on his chest
+will be sewn whatever medal is given to those who have served faithfully
+on the Western Front. Seated in your comfortable club, my very dear sir,
+or in your delightful drawing-room, madam, you smile pityingly....
+
+Or perhaps you don't.
+
+
+
+GEORGE'S V.C.
+
+(THE LAST OF THE WAR STORIES)
+
+
+I
+
+The Colonel of the Nth Blankshires was seated in his office. It was not
+an imposing room to look at. Furnished simply but tastefully with a
+table, officers, for use of, one, and a chair, ditto, one, it gave little
+evidence of the distressing scenes which had been enacted in it, and
+still less evidence of the terrible scene which was to come. Within these
+walls the Colonel was accustomed to deal out stern justice to offenders,
+and many a hardened criminal had been carried out fainting upon hearing
+the terrible verdict, "One day's C.B."
+
+But the Colonel was not holding the scales of justice now, for it was
+late afternoon. With an expression of the utmost anxiety upon his face
+he read and re-read the official-looking document which he held in his
+hand. Even the photograph of the Sergeant-Major (signed, "Yours ever,
+Henry"), which stood upon his desk, brought him no comfort.
+
+The door opened and Major Murgatroyd, second in command of the famous
+Blankshires, came in.
+
+"Come in," said Colonel Blowhard.
+
+The Major saluted impressively, and the Colonel rose and returned his
+salute with the politeness typical of the British Army.
+
+"You wished to see me, Colonel?"
+
+"I did, Major." They saluted each other again. "A secret document of
+enormous importance," went on the Colonel, "has just reached me from the
+War Office. It concerns the Regiment, the dear old Regiment." Both men
+saluted, and the Colonel went on hoarsely, "Were the news in this
+document to become public property before its time, nothing could avert
+the defeat of England in the present world-wide cataclysm."
+
+"Is it as important as that, Colonel?" said the Major, even more hoarsely
+if anything.
+
+"It is, Major."
+
+The Major's voice sank to a whisper.
+
+"What would not Hindenburg give to see it," he muttered.
+
+"Ay," said the Colonel. "I say that to myself day and night: 'What not
+what--what would what--' Well, I say it to myself day and night. For this
+reason, Major, I have decided to entrust the news to no one but yourself.
+Our Officers are good lads and a credit to the dear old Regiment"--they
+saluted as before--"but in a matter of this sort one cannot be too
+discreet."
+
+"You are right, Colonel."
+
+The Colonel looked round the room apprehensively and brought his chair a
+little closer to the Major.
+
+"The secret contained in this document--Are we alone?"
+
+"Except for each other, Colonel."
+
+"The secret," went on the Colonel, "is this: that, on and after the 23rd
+of the month, men in category X3 are to be included in category X2."
+
+"My God," gasped the Major, "if Hindenburg knew!"
+
+"He must not know, Major," said the Colonel simply. "I can trust you not
+to disclose this until the time is ripe?"
+
+"You can trust me, Colonel."
+
+They grasped hands and saluted.
+
+At this moment the door opened and an orderly came in.
+
+"You're wanted by the Sergeant-Major, sir," he told the Colonel.
+
+"Ah, excuse me a moment," said the latter to his second in command,
+knowing how much it annoys a sergeant-major to be kept waiting. He
+saluted and hurried out.
+
+"Just a moment, orderly," said the Major.
+
+The orderly came back. "Yes, sir," he said.
+
+"Did you give that message to Miss Blowhard?"
+
+"Yes, sir. She says she cannot play golf with
+you to-morrow because she is playing with Second-Lieutenant
+Lord Smith." He saluted and withdrew.
+
+Left alone the Major gave vent to his rage. "Lord Smith!" he stormed.
+"Curse him! What can she see in that puppy? Thrice have I used my
+influence to send him away on a musketry course, and thrice has he
+returned. Could I but turn him out of the Regiment for good, I might win
+the love of the fair Miss Blowhard, the Colonel's daughter." In a sudden
+passion he picked up the "Manual of Military Law" and flung it to the
+ground.
+
+All at once an idea struck him and a crafty look came into his eyes.
+
+"By jove," he cried, "the secret document! The very thing."
+
+To put the document into an envelope was the work of a moment. Taking up
+a pen he printed on the outside in large capitals these words:
+
+FOR HINDENBURG,
+GERMANY
+
+With a diabolical smile he sealed the envelope up, rang the bell, and
+ordered Second-Lieutenant Lord Smith to be brought before him.
+
+"You wanted me, sir?" said Lord Smith on his arrival.
+
+Of all the distinguished officers in the Nth Battalion, Lord Smith was
+perhaps the most brilliant. Although he had held his commission for three
+years he had only been arrested twice by the Provost-Marshal--the first
+time for wearing a soft cap when, as an officer and gentleman, he
+should have worn a hard one, and the second time, three months later, for
+wearing a hard cap when, as an officer and gentleman, he should have worn
+a soft one. Nobody can deny that these were serious blots on his career,
+but it was felt in the trenches that his skill with the rifle partially
+atoned for them.
+
+"Ah, Smith, my boy," said the Major genially, "I just wanted to know the
+address of your tailor. Wonderfully well-cut tunic this of yours." He
+went over to him and, under pretence of examining the cut of his tunic,
+dropped the envelope cautiously into one of the pockets.
+
+Somewhat surprised at the compliment paid to his tailor, but entirely
+unsuspicious, Lord Smith gave him the required address.
+
+"Thanks," said the Major. "By the way, I've got to go out now; would you
+mind waiting here till the Colonel comes back? He has left an extremely
+important document on his table and I do not like to leave the room
+unoccupied."
+
+"Certainly, sir," said Lord Smith.
+
+Left alone, our hero gave himself up to thought. For some reason he
+distrusted the Major; he felt that they were rivals for the hand of
+Rosamund Blowhard. On ten Sundays in succession he had been forced to
+attend Church Parade, what time the Major and Rosamund were disporting
+themselves on the golf links. It was only on Saturday afternoons that he
+had a chance of seeing her alone, and yet he felt somehow that she loved
+him.
+
+"Ah, Smith, my boy," said the Colonel as he bustled in. "Always glad to
+see you. My favourite subaltern," he went on, with his hand on the young
+man's shoulder; "the best officer who ever formed a four at bridge--I
+mean, who ever formed fours; and a holder of no fewer than three musketry
+certificates."
+
+Lord Smith smiled modestly.
+
+"There, I must get on with my work," went on the Colonel, sitting down
+at his table and turning over his papers. "You find me very--you find
+me--you find--good Heavens!"
+
+"What is it, sir?"
+
+"I _don't_ find it--I've lost it; the secret document!"
+
+"Was it very important, sir?"
+
+"Important!" cried the Colonel. "If Hindenburg--but we must get to work.
+Summon the guard, blow the fire-alarm, send for the Orderly Sergeant."
+
+In less than a minute the room was full of armed men, including the
+Major.
+
+"Men of the Nth Blankshires," said the Colonel, addressing them, "a
+document of enormous importance has been stolen from this room. Unless
+that document is recovered the fair name of the Regiment will be
+irretrievably tarnished."
+
+"Never!" cried a Corporal of the Signalling Section, and there was a deep
+murmur of applause.
+
+"May I suggest, sir," said the Major, "that the pockets of all should be
+searched? I myself am quite ready to set the example," and as he spoke
+he drew out three receipted bills and a price list of tomatoes, and
+placed them before the Colonel.
+
+One by one they followed his example.
+
+Suddenly all eyes were fixed on Second-Lieutenant Lord Smith, as
+with horror and amazement upon his face he drew from his pocket the
+official-looking envelope.
+
+"I swear I never put it there, sir," he gasped.
+
+"Perhaps I ought to tell you, sir," said the Major, "that I asked Lord
+Smith to keep an eye upon the document during my absence. No doubt he
+placed it in his pocket for safety."
+
+Several men applauded this suggestion, for Lord Smith was a general
+favourite.
+
+The Colonel gave one glance at the envelope, and then, with fire flashing
+from his eyes, held it up for all to see.
+
+"How do you account for _this_?" he cried in a voice of thunder, and with
+a gasp of horror they read the fatal words:
+
+FOR HINDENBURG,
+GERMANY
+
+The Colonel and the other officers drew their swords, the rank and file
+fixed bayonets; they hacked the buttons off Lord Smith's tunic, they dug
+the stars out of his sleeves, they tore the regimental badge from his
+cap; they tore his collar, they tore his tie, they took his gold
+cigarette-case; and still he stood there, saying proudly, "I am
+innocent."
+
+"Go!" said the Colonel, pointing with his sword to the door.
+
+Suddenly there was a commotion outside and a breathless figure pushed its
+way into the room.
+
+"Father," cried Rosamund Blowhard, "spare him. He is innocent."
+
+"Rosamund," said George, for so we must call him now, "I am innocent.
+Some day the truth will be known." Then he took a tender farewell of her
+and, casting a glance of mingled suspicion and hatred at the Major, he
+strode from the room.
+
+
+II
+
+The patient in the Xth bed at the Yth Base Hospital stirred restlessly.
+
+"Water," he murmured, "water."
+
+A soft-footed nurse rose and poured some over him. "Rosamund," he
+breathed, and with a smile of content dropped peacefully asleep again.
+
+Who was he, this mysterious patient in Number X bed? Obviously a
+gentleman from the colour of his pyjamas, his identity disc proclaimed
+him to be Private Smithlord of the Qth Blankshires. There was something
+strange about him. Only that morning he had received the V.C. from Sir
+Douglas Haig, the R.S.V.P. from General Pétain, the Order of the Golden
+Elephant from our Japanese Allies, the Order of the Split Haddock from
+the President of Nicaragua, and the Order of the Neutral Nut from Brazil.
+Yet he cared for none of these things; he only murmured, "Rosamund!" Who
+was Private Smithlord?
+
+Though so little was known of him, the story of his prowess was on every
+lip. An officer from his regiment who had gone out alone to an
+observation post had been surrounded and cut off by the enemy. Threatened
+on all sides by guns and bombs of every calibre, he had prepared to sell
+his life dearly. To attempt a rescue would have been madness; even the
+most reckless Town Major would have blenched at the idea; and the
+Regiment, in the comparative safety of their trench, could only look on
+helplessly.
+
+All but Private Smithlord. Hastily borrowing the Colonel's horse, he
+urged the gallant animal up the trench and away over the top. And then
+began a race such as had never been seen at Epsom or Melton Mowbray.
+
+"Gad," said a sporting subaltern, who in peace days had frequently
+entered for a Derby sweepstake at the National Liberal Club, "the beggar
+can ride--what?"
+
+An answering cheer rang out from all ranks.
+
+Over wire entanglements and across shell holes dashed Private Smithlord,
+firing rapidly with his revolver all the while. Nearer to the ill-fated
+officer he drew, and then suddenly he was in the midst of the enemy.
+Lashing out right and left, he fought his way to the man he had come to
+rescue, pulled him up behind him and, amidst a hurricane of bullets,
+charged back to the British lines. Nor did he pause till he arrived at
+the Colonel's dug-out.
+
+"I have brought him back, sir," he said, and fainted. When he awoke it
+was to find himself in the Xth bed of the Yth Base Hospital.
+
+And who is it in the next bed? It is the officer whom he rescued. Do we
+recognize him? Alas, no. Although unwounded by the enemy, the exposure of
+that terrible day had brought on a severe attack of mumps. We cannot
+recognize him. But the nurse assures us that it is our old friend, Major
+Murgatroyd.
+
+"A visitor to see you," said the nurse, coming in and waking Private
+Smithlord up.
+
+"Can't you say I'm out?" said Smithlord, expecting it was another foreign
+decoration and wondering what language he would have to speak this time.
+
+"It's an English Colonel," said the nurse.
+
+Smithlord saluted and begged the nurse to show him up at once. In another
+minute Colonel Blowhard had entered.
+
+"I want to thank you," said the Colonel, "for so gallantly rescuing an
+old friend of mine--Major Murgatroyd, belonging to the Nth Battalion
+Blankshires, but now attached to the Qth."
+
+Smithlord could hardly repress a start. In the excitement of the moment
+he had not recognized the features of the man he had saved. It was his
+old rival.
+
+"It is curious," went on the Colonel, "that in features you resemble
+another old friend of mine, Lord Smith."
+
+"My name is Smithlord, sir."
+
+"Ah! Any relation?"
+
+"None," said Smithlord, crossing his thumbs under the bedclothes.
+
+"Do you mind ringing the bell?" he went on, feeling that at all costs he
+must turn the conversation. "I think it is time for my medicine."
+
+In answer to the Colonel's ring a nurse appeared.
+
+"Nurse Brown has just gone out," she said. "Can I do anything for you?"
+
+"Good Heavens! Rosamund!" cried the Colonel.
+
+"Yes, father, it is I," she replied simply. "I have come to France to
+find the man I love."
+
+"Murgatroyd?" said the Colonel. "But this gallant fellow was the man
+who--By the way, let me introduce you. Private Smithlord, my daughter,
+Rosamund."
+
+The two looked at each other face to face. The intuition and ready wit of
+the woman pierced the disguise which had baffled the soldier.
+
+"Father," she cried, "it's not Smithlord, it's Lord Smith. George!"
+
+"Rosamund!" cried George. We cannot keep the secret any longer from our
+readers; it _was_ Lord Smith.
+
+"Tut, tut, sir, what is this?" said the Colonel. "I turned you out of the
+Regiment three weeks ago. What the deuce," he said, for, like all
+military men, he was addicted to strong language--"what the deuce does
+this mean?"
+
+"I was innocent, sir."
+
+"Father, he was innocent."
+
+"He was innocent," said a hollow voice from the next bed.
+
+In amazement they all looked at the officer lying there.
+
+"Rosamund," he cried, "am I so greatly changed?"
+
+The Colonel handed him his pocket mirror.
+
+"Yes," sighed the Major, "I understand. But I am Major Murgatroyd."
+
+"Major Murgatroyd!" they all cried.
+
+"This gallant fellow here, whom I now know to be Lord Smith, saved my
+life; I cannot let him suffer any longer. It was I who hid the secret
+document in his pocket. I did it for love of you, Rosamund." He held out
+his hand. "Say you forgive me, my dear Lord Smith."
+
+Lord Smith shook his hand warmly.
+
+But little more remains to tell. A month later our hero was back in
+England. Fortunately the Quartermaster had kept his buttons; and in a
+very short time he was back in the dear old uniform, and the wedding of
+Second-Lieutenant Lord Smith to Rosamund Blowhard was one of the events
+of the season.
+
+And what of Major Murgatroyd? He has learnt his lesson; and as commandant
+of a rest camp on the French coast he is the soul of geniality to all
+who meet him.
+
+
+
+THE BALLAD OF PRIVATE CHADD
+
+
+I sing of George Augustus Chadd,
+Who'd always from a baby had
+A deep affection for his Dad--
+  In other words, his Father;
+Contrariwise, the father's one
+And only treasure was his son,
+Yes, even when he'd gone and done
+  Things which annoyed him rather.
+
+For instance, if at Christmas (say)
+Or on his parent's natal day
+The thoughtless lad forgot to pay
+The customary greeting,
+  His father's visage only took
+That dignified reproachful look
+Which dying beetles give the cook
+  Above the clouds of Keating.
+
+As years went on such looks were rare;
+The younger Chadd was always there
+To greet his father and to share
+  His father's birthday party;
+The pink "For auld acquaintance sake"
+Engraved in sugar on the cake
+Was his. The speech he used to make
+  Was reverent but hearty.
+
+The younger Chadd was twentyish
+When War broke out, but did not wish
+To get an A.S.C. commish
+  Or be a rag-time sailor;
+Just Private Chadd he was, and went
+To join his Dad's old regiment,
+While Dad (the dear old dug-out) sent
+  For red tabs from the tailor.
+
+To those inured to war's alarms
+I need not dwell upon the charms
+Of raw recruits when sloping arms,
+  Nor tell why Chadd was hoping
+That, if his sloping-powers increased,
+They'd give him two days' leave at least
+To join his Father's birthday feast ...
+  And so resumed his sloping.
+
+One morning on the training ground,
+When fixing bayonets, he found
+The fatal day already round,
+  And, even as he fixed, he
+Decided then and there to state
+To Sergeant Brown (at any rate)
+His longing to congratulate
+  His sire on being sixty.
+
+"Sergeant," he said, "we're on the eve
+Of Father's birthday; grant me leave"
+(And here his bosom gave a heave)
+  "To offer him my blessing;
+And, if a Private's tender thanks--
+Nay, do not blank my blanky blanks!
+I could not help but leave the ranks;
+  Birthdays are more than dressing."
+
+The Sergeant was a kindly soul,
+He loved his men upon the whole,
+He'd also had a father's _rôle_
+  Pressed on him fairly lately.
+"Brave Chadd," he said, "thou speakest sooth!
+O happy day! O pious youth!
+Great," he extemporized, "is Truth,
+  And it shall flourish greatly."
+
+The Sergeant took him by the hand
+And led him to the Captain, and
+The Captain tried to understand,
+  And (more or less) succeeded;
+"Correct me if you don't agree,
+But one of you wants _what_?" said he,
+And George Augustus Chadd said, "Me!"
+  Meaning of course that _he_ did.
+
+The Captain took him by the ear
+And gradually brought him near
+The Colonel, who was far from clear,
+  But heard it all politely,
+And asked him twice, "You want a _what_?"
+The Captain said that _he_ did not,
+And Chadd saluted quite a lot
+  And put the matter rightly.
+
+The Colonel took him by the hair
+And furtively conveyed him where
+The General inhaled the air,
+  Immaculately booted;
+Then said, "Unless I greatly err
+This Private wishes to prefer
+A small petition to you, Sir,"
+  And so again saluted.
+
+The General inclined his head
+Towards the two of them and said,
+"Speak slowly, please, or shout instead;
+  I'm hard of hearing, rather."
+So Chadd, that promising recruit,
+Stood to attention, clicked his boot,
+And bellowed, with his best salute,
+  "_A happy birthday, Father_!"
+
+
+
+THE VISITORS' BOOK
+
+
+"As man of the world," said Blake, stretching himself to his full height
+of five foot three, and speaking with the wisdom of nineteen years, "I
+say that it can't be done. In any other company, certainly; at
+headquarters, possibly; but not in D Company. D Company has a
+reputation."
+
+"All I say," said Rogers, "is that, if you can't run any mess in the
+trenches on four francs a day, you're a rotten mess president."
+
+Blake turned dramatically to his company commander.
+
+"Did you hear that, Billy?" he asked.
+
+"Yes," said Billy. "I was just going to say it myself."
+
+"Then, in that case, I have the honour to resign the mess presidency."
+
+"Nothing doing, old boy. You're detailed."
+
+"You can't be detailed to be a president. Presidents are elected by
+popular acclamation. They resign--they resign--"
+
+"To avoid being shot."
+
+"Well, anyhow, they resign. I shall send my resignation in to the Army
+Council to-night. It will appear in 'The Gazette' in due course. '2nd
+Lieut. Blake resigns his mess presidency owing to the enormous price of
+sardines per thousand and the amount of lime juice consumed by casual
+visitors.' I'll tell you what--I'll run the mess on four francs, if
+you'll bar guests."
+
+"Rot, it's nothing to do with guests. We never have any."
+
+"Never have any!" said Blake indignantly. "Then I shall keep a visitors'
+book just to show you."
+
+So that was how the D Company Visitors' Book was inaugurated. I had the
+honour of opening it. I happened to be mending a telephone line in this
+particular trench one thirsty day, and there was the dug-out, and--well,
+there was I. I dropped in.
+
+"Hallo," said Blake, "have a drink."
+
+I had a lime juice. Then I had another. And then, very reluctantly, I got
+up to go. Army Form Book 136 was handed to me.
+
+"The visitors' book," said Blake. "You can just write your name in it, or
+you can be funny, whichever you like."
+
+"What do they usually do?" I asked.
+
+"Well, you're the first, so you'll set the tone. For God's sake don't be
+too funny."
+
+It was an alarming responsibility. However, as it happened, I had
+something which I wanted to say.
+
+"Thursday, 12.45 p.m.," I wrote. "Pleasantly entertained as usual by D
+Company. Refused a pressing invitation to stay to lunch, although
+it was a hot day and I had a long walk back to my own mess."
+
+I handed the book back to Blake. He read it; and with one foot on the
+bottom step of the dugout I waited anxiously.
+
+"Oh, I say, do stay to lunch," he said.
+
+I gave a start of surprise.
+
+"Oh, thanks very much," I said, and I took my foot off the step. "It
+would be rather--I think, perhaps--well, thanks very much."
+
+Once begun, the book filled up rapidly. Subalterns from other companies
+used to call round for the purpose of being funny; I suppose that
+unconsciously I had been too humorous--anyway, the tone had been set. The
+bombing officer, I remember, vowed that Mrs. Blake's hospitality was so
+charming that he would bring his wife and family next time. A gunner
+officer broke into verse--a painful business. One way and another it was
+not long before the last page was reached.
+
+"We must get the General for the last page," said Blake.
+
+"Don't be an ass," said Rogers.
+
+"Whatever's the matter? Don't you think he'd do it?"
+
+"You wouldn't have the cheek to ask him."
+
+"Good lord, you don't stop being a human being, because you command a
+brigade. Why on earth shouldn't I ask him?"
+
+I happened to turn up just then. The telephone line from headquarters to
+D Company always seemed to want attention, whatever part of the line we
+were in.
+
+"Hallo," said Blake, "have a drink."
+
+"Well, I am rather thirsty," I said, and I took out a pencil. "Pass the
+visitors' book and let's get it over."
+
+"No, you don't," said Blake, snatching it away from me, "that's for the
+General."
+
+"This way, sir," said a voice above, and down came Billy, followed by the
+Brigadier. We jumped up.
+
+"You'll have a drink, sir?" said Billy.
+
+"Oh, thanks very much."
+
+"What will you have, sir?" asked Blake, looking round wildly. "Lime juice
+or--or lime juice?"
+
+"I'll have lime juice, thank you," said the General after consideration.
+
+Blake produced the book nervously.
+
+"I wonder if you'd mind," he began.
+
+The General looked inquiring, and started feeling for his glasses. He was
+just feeling in his fifth pocket when Billy came to the rescue.
+
+"It's only some nonsense of Blake's, sir," he said. "He keeps a visitors'
+book."
+
+"Ah, well," said the General, getting up, "another day, perhaps."
+
+When we were alone again Blake turned on Billy.
+
+"You are a silly ass," he said. "If you hadn't interfered, he'd have done
+it. Well, I shall fill it in myself now."
+
+He took a pencil and wrote:
+
+"Monday--Hospitably received by 'D' Company and much enjoyed the mess
+president's amusing conversation. The company commander and a subaltern
+named Rogers struck me as rather lacking in intelligence. R. Blake,
+D.S.O., Brig.-Gen."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I had been out of it for a long time, and when quite accidentally I met
+an officer of the battalion in London I was nearly a year behind the
+news.
+
+"And Blake," I said, after he'd told me some of it, "that nice child in
+'D' Company; what happened to him?"
+
+"Didn't you hear? He had rather a funny experience. He went into that
+last show as senior subaltern of 'D.' Billy was knocked out pretty early
+and Blake took on. After that we had a lot of casualties, and finally we
+were cut off from headquarters altogether and had to carry on on our own.
+Billy was the senior company commander and took charge of the battalion.
+I don't quite know how it happened after that. We all got rather mixed
+up, I suppose. Anyway, at one time Blake was actually commanding the
+brigade. He was splendid; simply all over the place. He got the D.S.O.
+He's rather bucked with himself. Young Blake as a Brigadier--funny, isn't
+it?"
+
+"Not so very," I said.
+
+
+
+FROM A FULL HEART
+
+
+  In days of peace my fellow-men
+    Rightly regarded me as more like
+  A Bishop than a Major-Gen.,
+    And nothing since has made me warlike;
+  But when this age-long struggle ends
+    And I have seen the Allies dish up
+  The goose of Hindenburg--oh, friends!
+    I shall out-bish the mildest Bishop.
+
+_When the War is over and the Kaiser's out of print,
+I'm going to buy some tortoises and watch the beggars sprint;
+When the War is over and the sword at last we sheathe,
+I'm going to keep a jelly-fish and listen to it breathe_.
+
+  I never really longed for gore,
+    And any taste for red corpuscles
+  That lingered with me left before
+    The German troops had entered Brussels.
+  In early days the Colonel's "Shun!"
+    Froze me; and, as the War grew older,
+  The noise of someone else's gun
+    Left me considerably colder.
+
+_When the War is over and the battle has been won,
+I'm going to buy a barnacle and take it for a run;
+When the War is over and the German Fleet we sink,
+I'm going to keep a silk-worm's egg and listen to it think._
+
+  The Captains and the Kings depart--
+    It may be so, but not lieutenants;
+  Dawn after weary dawn I start
+    The never-ending round of penance;
+  One rock amid the welter stands
+    On which my gaze is fixed intently--
+  An after-life in quiet lands
+    Lived very lazily and gently.
+
+_When the War is over and we've done the Belgians proud,
+I'm going to keep a chrysalis and read to it aloud;
+When the War is over and we've finished up the show,
+I'm going to plant a lemon-pip and listen to it grow._
+
+  Oh, I'm tired of the noise and the turmoil of battle,
+  And I'm even upset by the lowing of cattle,
+  And the clang of the bluebells is death to my liver,
+  And the roar of the dandelion gives me a shiver,
+  And a glacier, in movement, is much too exciting,
+  And I'm nervous, when standing on one, of alighting--
+  Give me Peace; that is all, that is all that I seek ...
+      Say, starting on Saturday week.
+
+
+
+ONE STAR
+
+
+Occasionally I receive letters from friends, whom I have not seen lately,
+addressed to Lieutenant M ---- and apologizing prettily inside in case I
+am by now a colonel; in drawing-rooms I am sometimes called "Captain-er";
+and up at the Fort the other day a sentry of the Royal Defence Corps,
+wearing the Créçy medal, mistook me for a Major, and presented crossbows
+to me. This is all wrong. As Mr. Garvin well points out, it is important
+that we should not have a false perspective of the War. Let me, then,
+make it perfectly plain--I am a Second Lieutenant.
+
+When I first became a Second Lieutenant I was rather proud. I was a
+Second Lieutenant "on probation." On my right sleeve I wore a single
+star. So:
+
+*
+
+(on probation, of course). On my left sleeve I wore another star. So:
+
+*
+
+(also on probation).
+
+They were good stars, none better in the service; and as we didn't like
+the sound of "on probation" Celia put a few stitches in them to make them
+more permanent. This proved effective. Six months later I had a very
+pleasant note from the King telling me that the days of probation were
+now over, and making it clear that he and I were friends.
+
+I was now a real Second Lieutenant. On my right sleeve I had a single
+star. Thus:
+
+*
+(not on probation).
+
+On my left sleeve I also had a single star. In this manner:
+
+*
+
+This star also was now a fixed one.
+
+From that time forward my thoughts dwelt naturally on promotion. There
+were exalted persons in the regiment called Lieutenants. They had two
+stars on each sleeve. So:
+
+**
+
+I decided to become a Lieutenant.
+
+Promotion in our regiment was difficult. After giving the matter every
+consideration I came to the conclusion that the only way to win my second
+star was to save the Colonel's life. I used to follow him about
+affectionately in the hope that he would fall into the sea. He was a big
+strong man and a powerful swimmer, but once in the water it would not be
+difficult to cling round his neck and give an impression that I was
+rescuing him. However, he refused to fall in. I fancy that he wore
+somebody's Military Soles which prevent slipping.
+
+Years rolled on. I used to look at my stars sometimes, one on each
+sleeve; they seemed very lonely. At times they came close together;
+but at other times as, for instance, when I was semaphoring, they were
+very far apart. To prevent these occasional separations Celia took them
+off my sleeves and put them on my shoulders. One on each shoulder. So:
+
+*
+
+And so:
+
+*
+
+There they stayed.
+
+And more years rolled on.
+
+One day Celia came to me in great excitement.
+
+"Have you seen this in the paper about promotion?" she said eagerly.
+
+"No; what is it?" I asked. "Are they making more generals?"
+
+"I don't know about generals; it's Second Lieutenants being Lieutenants."
+
+"You're joking on a very grave subject," I said seriously. "You can't
+expect to win the War if you go on like that."
+
+"Well, you read it," she said, handing me the paper.
+
+I took the paper with a trembling hand, and read. She was right! If the
+paper was to be believed, all Second Lieutenants were to become
+Lieutenants after eighteen years' service. At last my chance had come.
+
+"My dear, this is wonderful," I said. "In another fifteen years we shall
+be there. You might buy two more stars this afternoon and practise sewing
+them on, in order to be ready. You mustn't be taken by surprise when the
+actual moment comes."
+
+"But you're a Lieutenant _now_," she said, "if that's true. It says that
+'after eighteen months--'"
+
+I snatched up the paper again. Good Heavens! it was eighteen
+_months_--not years.
+
+"Then I _am_ a Lieutenant," I said.
+
+We had a bottle of champagne for dinner that night, and Celia got the
+paper and read it aloud to my tunic. And just for practice she took the
+two stars off my other tunic and sewed them on this one--thus:
+
+**      **
+
+And we had a very happy evening.
+
+"I suppose it will be a few days before it's officially announced," I
+said.
+
+"Bother, I suppose it will," said Celia, and very reluctantly she took
+one star off each shoulder,
+
+leaving the matter--so:
+
+*        *
+
+And the years rolled on....
+
+And I am still a Second Lieutenant....
+
+I do not complain; indeed I am even rather proud of it. If I am not
+gaining on my original one star, at least I am keeping pace with it. I
+might so easily have been a corporal by now.
+
+But I should like to have seen a little more notice taken of me in the
+"Gazette." I scan it every day, hoping for some such announcement
+as this:
+
+"_Second Lieutenant M_ ---- _to remain a Second Lieutenant_."
+
+Or this:
+
+"_Second Lieutenant M_ ---- _to be seconded and to retain his present
+rank of Second Lieutenant_."
+
+Or even this:
+
+"_Second Lieutenant M_ ---- _relinquishes the rank of Acting Second
+Lieutenant on ceasing to command a Battalion, and reverts to the rank of
+Second Lieutenant_."
+
+Failing this, I have thought sometimes of making an announcement in the
+Personal Column of "The Times":
+
+"Second Lieutenant M ---- regrets that his duties as a Second Lieutenant
+prevent him from replying personally to the many kind inquiries he has
+received, and begs to take this opportunity of announcing that he still
+retains a star on each shoulder. Both doing well."
+
+But perhaps that is unnecessary now. I think that by this time I have
+made it clear just how many stars I possess.
+
+One on the right shoulder. So:
+
+*
+
+And one on the left shoulder. So:
+
+*
+
+That is all.
+
+
+
+THE JOKE: A TRAGEDY
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+The Joke was born one October day in the trench called Mechanics, not so
+far from Loos. We had just come back into the line after six days in
+reserve, and, the afternoon being quiet, I was writing my daily letter to
+Celia. I was telling her about our cat, imported into our dug-out in the
+hope that it would keep the rats down, when suddenly the Joke came. I was
+so surprised by it that I added in brackets, "This is quite my own. I've
+only just thought of it." Later on the Post-Corporal came, and the Joke
+started on its way to England.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+Chapter II finds me some months later at home again.
+
+"Do you remember that joke about the rats in one of your letters?" said
+Celia one evening.
+
+"Yes. You never told me if you liked it."
+
+"I simply loved it. You aren't going to waste it, are you?"
+
+"If you simply loved it, it wasn't wasted."
+
+"But I want everybody else--Couldn't you use it in the Revue?"
+
+I was supposed to be writing a Revue at this time for a certain
+impresario. I wasn't getting on very fast, because whenever I suggested a
+scene to him, he either said, "Oh, that's been done," which killed it, or
+else he said, "Oh, but that's never been done," which killed it even more
+completely.
+
+"Good idea," I said to Celia. "We'll have a Trench Scene."
+
+I suggested it to the impresario when next I saw him.
+
+"Oh, that's been done," he said.
+
+"Mine will be quite different from anybody else's," I said firmly.
+
+He brightened up a little.
+
+"All right, try it," he said.
+
+I seemed to have discovered the secret of successful revue-writing.
+
+The Trench Scene was written. It was written round the Joke, whose bright
+beams, like a perfect jewel in a perfect setting--However, I said all
+that to Celia at the time. She was just going to have said it herself,
+she told me.
+
+So far, so good. But a month later the Revue collapsed. The impresario
+and I agreed upon many things--as, for instance, that the War would be a
+long one, and that Hindenburg was no fool--but there were two points upon
+which we could never quite agree: (1) What was funny, and (2) which of us
+was writing the Revue. So, with mutual expressions of goodwill, and hopes
+that one day we might write a tragedy together, we parted.
+
+That ended the Revue; it ended the Trench Scene; and, for the moment, it
+ended the Joke.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+Chapter III finds the war over and Celia still at it.
+
+"You haven't got that Joke in yet."
+
+She had just read an article of mine called "Autumn in a Country
+Vicarage."
+
+"It wouldn't go in there very well," I said.
+
+"It would go in anywhere where there were rats. There might easily be
+rats in a vicarage."
+
+"Not in this one."
+
+"You talk about 'poor as a church mouse.'"
+
+"I am an artist," I said, thumping my heart and forehead and other seats
+of the emotions. "I don't happen to _see_ rats there, and if I don't see
+them I can't write about them. Anyhow, they wouldn't be secular rats,
+like the ones I made my joke about."
+
+"I don't mind whether the rats are secular or circular," said Celia, "but
+do get them in soon."
+
+Well, I tried. I really did try, but for months I couldn't get those rats
+in. It was a near thing sometimes, and I would think that I had them,
+but at the last moment they would whisk off and back into their holes
+again. I even wrote an article about "Cooking in the Great War," feeling
+that that would surely tempt them, but they were not to be drawn....
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+But at last the perfect opportunity came. I received a letter from a
+botanical paper asking for an article on the Flora of Trench Life.
+
+"Horray!" said Celia. "There you are."
+
+I sat down and wrote the article. Working up gradually to the subject of
+rats, and even more gradually intertwining it, so to speak, with the
+subject of cats, I brought off in one perfect climax the great Joke.
+
+"Lovely!" said Celia excitedly.
+
+"There is one small point which has occurred to me. Rats are _fauna_, not
+_flora_; I've just remembered."
+
+"Oh, does it matter?"
+
+"For a botanical paper, yes."
+
+And then Celia had a brilliant inspiration.
+
+"Send it to another paper," she said.
+
+I did. Two days later it appeared. Considering that I hadn't had a proof,
+it came out extraordinarily well. There was only one misprint. It was at
+the critical word of the Joke.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+"That's torn it," I said to Celia.
+
+"I suppose it has," she said sadly.
+
+"The world will never hear the Joke now. It's had it wrong, but still
+it's had it, and I can't repeat it."
+
+Celia began to smile.
+
+"It's sickening," she said; "but it's really rather funny, you know."
+
+And then she had another brilliant inspiration.
+
+"In fact you might write an article about it."
+
+And, as you see, I have.
+
+
+
+EPILOGUE
+
+
+Having read thus far, Celia says, "But you still haven't got the Joke
+in."
+
+Oh, well, here goes.
+
+_Extract from letter_: "We came back to the line to-day to find that the
+cat had kittened. However, as all the rats seem to have rottened we are
+much as we were."
+
+"Rottened" was misprinted "rattened," which seems to me to spoil the
+Joke....
+
+Yet I must confess that there are times now when I feel that perhaps
+after all I may have overrated it....
+
+But it was a pleasant joke in its day.
+
+
+
+THE LAST POT
+
+
+Let others hymn the weariness and pain
+  (Or, if they will, the glory and the glamour)
+Of holding fast, from Flanders to Lorraine,
+  The thin brown line at which the Germans hammer;
+My Muse, a more domesticated maid,
+Aspires to sing a song of Marmalade.
+
+O Marmalade!--I do not mean the sort,
+  Sweet marrow-pulp, for babes and maidens fitter,
+But that wherein the golden fishes sport
+  On oranges seas (with just a dash of bitter),
+Not falsely coy, but eager to parade
+Their Southern birth--in short, O Marmalade!
+
+Much have I sacrificed: my happy home,
+  My faith in experts' figures, half my money,
+The fortnight that I meant to spend in Rome,
+  My weekly effort to be fairly funny;
+But these are trifles, light as air when weighed
+Against this other--Breakfast Marmalade.
+
+Fair was the porridge in the days of peace,
+  And still more fair the cream and sugar taken;
+Plump were the twin poached eggs, yet not obese,
+  Upon their thrones of toast, and crisp the bacon--
+I face their loss undaunted, unafraid,
+If only I may keep my Marmalade.
+
+An evening press without Callisthenes;
+  A tables Staff; an immobile spaghetti;
+A Shaw with whom the Common Man agrees;
+  A Zambra searching vainly for Negretti;
+When spades are trumps, a hand without a spade--
+So is my breakfast lacking Marmalade.
+
+O Northcliffe (Lord)! O Keiller! O Dundee!
+  O Crosse and Blackwell, Limited! O Seville!
+O orange groves along the Middle Sea!
+  (O Jaffa, for example) O the devil--
+Let Beef and Butter, Rolls and Rabbits fade,
+But give me back my love, my Marmalade.
+
+
+
+THE STORY THAT WENT WEST
+
+
+"Why don't you write a war story?" said Celia one autumn day when that
+sort of story was popular.
+
+"Because everybody else does," I said. "I forget how many bayonets we
+have on the Western Front, but there must be at least twice as many
+fountain-pens."
+
+"It needn't be about the Western Front."
+
+"Unfortunately that's the only front I know anything about."
+
+"I thought writers used their imagination sometimes," said Celia to
+anybody who might happen to be listening.
+
+"Oh, well, if you put it like that," I said, "I suppose I must."
+
+So I settled down to a story about the Salonica Front.
+
+The scene of my story was laid in an old clay hut amid the wattles.
+
+"What are wattles?" asked Celia, when I told her the good news.
+
+"Local colour," I explained. "They grow in Bulgaria."
+
+"Are you sure?"
+
+"I'm sure that these ones did; I don't know about any others."
+
+Of course more local colour was wanted than a mere wattle or two. It was
+necessary therefore for my Bulgarians always to go about in _comitadjis_.
+Celia thought that these were a kind of native trouser laced at the knee.
+She may be right. My own impression is that they are a species of
+platoon. Anyhow the Bulgars always went about in them.
+
+There was a fierce fight which raged round the old clay hut in the
+wattles. The Greeks shouted "[Greek: Tuptô tuptomai]" The Serbs, for
+reasons into which I need not enter, were inarticulate with rage.
+With the French and British I had, of course, no difficulty, and the
+Bulgars (fortunately) were content with hoarse guttural noises. It was a
+fierce fight while it lasted, and I was sorry when it was over, because
+for the first time I began to feel at home with my story. I need not say
+that many a Bulgar had licked the wattles before I had finished.
+
+Unfortunately something else happened before I had finished.
+
+"What do you think?" cried Celia, bursting into my room one evening, just
+when I was wondering whether my readers would expect to know more of the
+heroine's native costume than that it was "simple yet becoming."
+
+"Wait a moment," I said.
+
+"It's too good to wait," said Celia excitedly. "Bulgaria has
+surrendered."
+
+Celia may be a good patriot, but she lacks the artistic temperament.
+
+"Oh, has she?" I said bitterly. "Then she's jolly well spoilt my story."
+
+"The one about the wattles?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Tut-tuttles," said Celia frivolously.
+
+Well, I wasn't going to waste my wattles. With great presence of mind I
+decided to transfer my story to the Palestine Front.
+
+Under a hard blue sky of intense brilliance the old clay hut stood among
+the wattles. A _wadi_ ran by the side of it; not a small Turkish dog, as
+Celia thought, but--well, everybody knows what a _wadi_ is. The battle
+went on much as before, except that the Turks were naturally more
+outspoken than the Bulgars, calling freely upon Allah at the beginning of
+the fight, and reconciling themselves to the end of it with "Kismet."
+I also turned some of the horses into camels, and (for the sake of the
+Indian troops) several pairs of puttees into _chupaties_. It was a good
+story while it lasted.
+
+However, nobody seems to care about art nowadays.
+
+"What do you think?" cried Celia, bursting into my room.
+
+I held up a delaying hand. I had suddenly thought of the word "adobe." My
+story seemed to need it somewhere. If possible, among the wattles.
+
+"But listen!" She read out the headline: "'Turkey Surrenders at
+Discretion.'"
+
+"Discretion!" I said indignantly. "I have never heard of anything so
+tactless. And it isn't as though I could even move on to Mesopotamia."
+
+"Couldn't there be a little local rising in Persia?" suggested Celia.
+
+"I doubt it, I doubt it," I said thoughtfully. "You can't do much with
+just wattles and a little sherbet--I mean you can't expect the public to
+be interested in Persia at such a moment as this. No, we shall have to
+step westward. We must see what we can do with the Italian Front."
+
+But I had very little hope. A curious foreboding of evil came over me as
+I placed those wattles tenderly along the west bank of the Piave. The old
+clay hut still stood proudly amid them; the Bersaglieri advanced
+impetuously with cries of "_En avant_!"--no, that's wrong--with cries
+of--well, anyhow they advanced.
+
+They advanced....
+
+And as I shut my eyes I seemed to see--no, not that old clay hut amid the
+wattles, nor yet the adobe edifice on the heights of Asiago, but Celia
+coming into the library with another paper announcing that yet another
+country was deaf to the call of art.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+If anybody wants a really good story about the Peninsular War and will
+drop me a line, I shall be glad to enter into negotiations with him. The
+scene is laid in the neighbourhood of Badajoz, and the chief interest
+centres round an old--yes, you have guessed it--an old clay hut in the
+wattles.
+
+
+
+THE TWO VISITS,
+
+1888, 1919
+
+("_Dispersal Areas, 10a, 10b, 10c--Crystal Palace_.")
+
+
+It was, I think, in '88
+That Luck or Providence or Fate
+Assumed the more material state
+   Of Aunt (or Great-Aunt) Alice,
+And took (the weather being fine,
+And Bill, the eldest, only nine)
+Three of us by the Brighton line
+   To see the Crystal Palace.
+
+Observe us, then, an eager four
+Advancing on the Western Door,
+Or possibly the Northern, or--
+   Well, anyhow, advancing;
+Aunt Alice bending from the hips,
+And Bill in little runs and trips,
+And John with frequent hops and skips,
+   While I was fairly dancing.
+
+Aunt Alice pays; the turnstile clicks,
+And with the happy crowds we mix
+To gaze upon--well, I was six,
+   Say, getting on for seven;
+And, looking back on it to-day,
+The memories have passed away--
+I find that I can only say
+  (Roughly) to gaze on heaven.
+
+Heaven it was which came to pass
+Within those magic walls of glass
+(Though William, like a silly ass,
+  Had lost my bag of bull's-eyes).
+The wonders of that wonder-hall!
+The--all the things I can't recall,
+And, dominating over all,
+  The statues, more than full-size.
+
+Adam and Niobe were there,
+Disraeli much the worse for wear,
+Samson before he'd cut his hair,
+  Lord Byron and Apollo;
+A female group surrounded by
+A camel (though I don't know why)--
+And all of them were ten feet high
+  And all, I think, were hollow.
+
+These gods looked down on us and smiled
+To see how utterly a child
+By simple things may be beguiled
+  To happiness and laughter;
+It warmed their kindly hearts to see
+The joy of Bill and John and me
+From ten to lunch, from lunch to tea,
+  From tea to six or after.
+
+That evening, when the day was dead,
+They tucked a babe of six in bed,
+Arranged the pillows for his head,
+  And saw the lights were shaded;
+Too sleepy for the Good-night kiss
+His only conscious thought was this:
+"No man shall ever taste the bliss
+  That I this blessed day did."
+
+When one is six one cannot tell;
+And John, who at the Palace fell
+A victim to the Blondin Belle,
+  Is wedded to another;
+And I, my intimates allow,
+Have lost the taste for bull's-eyes now,
+And baldness decorates the brow
+  Of Bill, our elder brother.
+
+Well, more than thirty years have passed...
+But all the same on Thursday last
+My heart was beating just as fast
+  Within that Hall of Wonder;
+My bliss was every bit as great
+As what it was in '88--
+Impossible to look sedate
+  Or keep my feelings under.
+
+The gods of old still gazed upon
+The scene where, thirty years agone,
+The lines of Bill and me and John
+  Were cast in pleasant places;
+And "Friends," I murmured, "what's the odds
+If you are rather battered gods?
+This is no time for Ichabods
+  And _eheu_--er--_fugaces_."
+
+Ah, no; I did not mourn the years'
+Fell work upon those poor old dears,
+Nor Pitt nor Venus drew my tears
+  And set me slowly sobbing;
+I hailed them with a happy laugh
+And slapped old Samson on the calf,
+And asked a member of the staff
+  For "Officers Demobbing."
+
+That evening, being then dispersed
+I swore (as I had sworn it first
+When three of us went on the burst
+  With Aunt, or Great-Aunt, Alice),
+"Although one finds, as man or boy,
+A thousand pleasures to enjoy,
+For happiness without alloy
+  Give me the Crystal Palace!"
+
+
+
+
+V. HOME NOTES
+
+
+
+THE WAY DOWN
+
+
+Sydney Smith, or Napoleon or Marcus Aurelius (somebody about that time)
+said that after ten days any letter would answer itself. You see what he
+meant. Left to itself your invitation from the Duchess to lunch next
+Tuesday is no longer a matter to worry about by Wednesday morning. You
+were either there or not there; it is unnecessary to write now and say
+that a previous invitation from the Prime Minister--and so on. It was
+Napoleon's idea (or Dr. Johnson's or Mark Antony's--one of that circle)
+that all correspondence can be treated in this manner.
+
+I have followed these early Masters (or whichever one it was) to the best
+of my ability. At any given moment in the last few years there have been
+ten letters that I absolutely _must_ write, thirty which I _ought_ to
+write, and fifty which any other person in my position _would_ have
+written. Probably I have written two. After all, when your profession is
+writing, you have some excuse for demanding a change of occupation in
+your leisure hours. No doubt if I were a coal-heaver by day, my wife
+would see to the fire after dinner while I wrote letters. As it is, she
+does the correspondence, while I gaze into the fire and think about
+things.
+
+You will say, no doubt, that this was all very well before the War, but
+that in the Army a little writing would be a pleasant change after the
+day's duties. Allow me to disillusion you. If, years ago, I had ever
+conceived a glorious future in which my autograph might be of value to
+the more promiscuous collectors, that conception has now been shattered.
+Four years in the Army has absolutely spoilt the market. Even were I
+revered in the year 2000 A.D. as Shakespeare is revered now, my
+half-million autographs, scattered so lavishly on charge-sheets, passes,
+chits, requisitions, indents and applications would keep the price at a
+dead level of about ten a penny. No, I have had enough of writing in the
+Army and I never want to sign my own name again. "Yours sincerely,
+Herbert Asquith," "Faithfully yours, J. Jellicoe"--these by all means;
+but not my own.
+
+However, I wrote a letter in the third year of the war; it was to the
+bank. It informed the Manager that I had arrived in London from France
+and should be troubling them again shortly, London being to all
+appearances an expensive place. It also called attention to my new
+address--a small furnished flat in which Celia and I could just turn
+round if we did it separately. When it was written, then came the
+question of posting it. I was all for waiting till the next morning, but
+Celia explained that there was actually a letterbox on our own floor,
+twenty yards down the passage. I took the letter along and dropped it
+into the slit.
+
+Then a wonderful thing happened. It went
+
+_Flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--
+flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--FLOP._
+
+I listened intently, hoping for more ... but that was all. Deeply
+disappointed that it was over, but absolutely thrilled with my discovery,
+I hurried back to Celia.
+
+"Any letters you want posted?" I said in an off-hand way.
+
+"No, thank you," she said.
+
+"Have you written any while we've been here?"
+
+"I don't think I've had anything to write."
+
+"I think," I said reproachfully, "it's quite time you wrote to your--your
+bank or your mother or somebody."
+
+She looked at me and seemed to be struggling for words.
+
+"I know exactly what you're going to say," I said, "but don't say it;
+write a little letter instead."
+
+"Well, as a matter of fact I _must_ just write a note to the laundress."
+
+"To the laundress," I said. "Of course, just a note."
+
+When it was written I insisted on her coming with me to post it. With
+great generosity I allowed her to place it in the slit. A delightful
+thing happened. It went _Flipperty--flipperty--flipperty
+flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty
+flipperty--flipperty--FLOP_.
+
+Right down to the letter-box in the hall. Two flipperties a floor. (A
+simple calculation shows that we are perched on the fifth floor. I am
+glad now that we live so high. It must be very dull to be on the fourth
+floor with only eight flipperties, unbearable to be on the first with
+only two.)
+
+"_O-oh!_ How _fas_-cinating!" said Celia.
+
+"Now don't you think you ought to write to your mother?"
+
+"Oh, I _must_."
+
+She wrote. We posted it. It went.
+
+_Flipperty--flipperty_--However, you know all about that now.
+
+Since this great discovery of mine, life has been a more
+pleasurable business. We feel now that there are romantic
+possibilities about Letters setting forth on their journey from our
+floor. To start life with so many flipperties might lead to anything.
+Each time that we send a letter off we listen in a tremble of excitement
+for the final FLOP, and when it comes I think we both feel vaguely that
+we are still waiting for something. We are waiting to hear some magic
+letter go _flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty_ ... and
+behold! there is no FLOP ... and still it goes
+on--_flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty_--growing fainter in the
+distance ... until it arrives at some wonderland of its own. One day it
+must happen so. For we cannot listen always for that FLOP, and hear it
+always; nothing in this world is as inevitable as that. One day we shall
+look at each other with awe in our faces and say, "But it's still
+flipperting!" and from that time forward the Hill of Campden will be a
+place holy and enchanted. Perhaps on Midsummer Eve--
+
+At any rate I am sure that it is the only way in which to post a letter
+to Father Christmas.
+
+Well, what I want to say is this: if I have been a bad correspondent in
+the past I am a good one now; and Celia, who was always a good one, is a
+better one. It takes at least ten letters a day to satisfy us, and we
+prefer to catch ten different posts. With the ten in your hand together
+there is always a temptation to waste them in one wild rush of
+flipperties, all catching each other up. It would be a great moment, but
+I do not think we can afford it yet; we must wait until we get more
+practised at letter-writing. And even then I am doubtful; for it might be
+that, lost in the confusion of that one wild rush, the magic letter would
+start on its way--_flipperty--flipperty_--to the never-land, and we
+should forever have missed it.
+
+So, friends, acquaintances, yes, and even strangers, I beg you now to
+give me another chance. I will answer your letters, how gladly. I still
+think that Napoleon (or Canute or the younger Pliny--one of the
+pre-Raphaelites) took a perfectly correct view of his correspondence ...
+but then _he_ never had a letter-box which went
+
+_Flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty
+flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty
+flipperty--FLOP._
+
+
+
+HEAVY WORK
+
+
+Every now and then doctors slap me about and ask me if I was always as
+thin as this.
+
+"As thin as what?" I say with as much dignity as is possible to a man who
+has had his shirt taken away from him.
+
+"As thin as this," says the doctor, hooking his stethoscope on to one of
+my ribs, and then going round to the other side to see how I am getting
+on there.
+
+I am slightly better on the other side, but he runs his pencil up and
+down me and produces that pleasing noise which small boys get by dragging
+a stick along railings.
+
+I explain that I was always delicately slender, but that latterly my ribs
+have been overdoing it.
+
+"You must put on more flesh," he says sternly, running his pencil up and
+down them again. (He must have been a great nuisance as a small boy.)
+
+"I will," I say fervently, "I will."
+
+Satisfied by my promise he gives me back my shirt.
+
+But it is not only the doctor who complains; Celia is even more upset by
+it. She says tearfully that I remind her of a herring. Unfortunately she
+does not like herrings. It is my hope some day to remind her of a turbot
+and make her happy. She, too, has my promise that I will put on flesh.
+
+We had a fortnight's leave a little while ago, which seemed to give me a
+good opportunity of putting some on. So we retired to a house in the
+country where there is a weighing-machine in the bathroom. We felt that
+the mere sight of this weighing-machine twice daily would stimulate the
+gaps between my ribs. They would realize that they had been brought down
+there on business.
+
+The first morning I weighed myself just before stepping into the water.
+When I got down to breakfast I told Celia the result.
+
+"You _are_ a herring," she said sadly.
+
+"But think what an opportunity it gives me. If I started the right
+weight, the rest of the fortnight would be practically wasted. By the
+way, the doctor talks about putting on flesh, but he didn't say how much
+he wanted. What do you think would be a nice amount?"
+
+"About another stone," said Celia. "You were just a nice size before the
+War."
+
+"All right. Perhaps I had better tell the weighing-machine. This is a
+co-operative job; I can't do it all myself."
+
+The next morning I was the same as before, and the next, and the next,
+and the next.
+
+"Really," said Celia, pathetically, "we might just as well have gone to a
+house where there wasn't a weighing-machine at all. I don't believe it's
+trying. Are you sure you stand on it long enough?"
+
+"Long enough for me. It's a bit cold, you know."
+
+"Well, make quite sure to-morrow. I must have you not quite so herringy."
+
+I made quite sure the next morning. I had eight stone and a half on the
+weight part, and the-little-thing-you-move-up-and-down was on the "4"
+notch, and the bar balanced midway between the top and the bottom. To
+have had a crowd in to see would have been quite unnecessary; the whole
+machine was shouting eight-stone-eleven as loudly as it could.
+
+"I expect it's got used to you," said Celia when I told her the sad state
+of affairs. "It likes eight-stone-eleven people."
+
+"We will give it," I said, "one more chance."
+
+Next morning the weights were as I had left them, and I stepped on
+without much hope, expecting that the bar would come slowly up to its
+midway position of rest. To my immense delight, however, it never
+hesitated but went straight up to the top. At last I had put on flesh!
+
+Very delicately I moved the-thing-you-move-up-and-down to its next notch.
+Still the bar stayed at the top. I had put on at least another ounce of
+flesh!
+
+I continued to put on more ounces. Still the bar remained up! I was
+eight-stone-thirteen.... Good heavens, I was eight-stone-fourteen!
+
+I pushed the-thing-you-move-up-and-down back to the zero position, and
+exchanged the half-stone weight for a stone one. Excited but a trifle
+cold, for it was a fresh morning, and the upper part of the window was
+wide open, I went up from nine stone ounce by ounce....
+
+At nine-stone-twelve I jumped off for a moment and shut the window....
+
+At eleven-stone-eight I had to get off again in order to attend to the
+bath, which was in danger of overflowing....
+
+At fifteen-stone-eleven the breakfast gong went....
+
+At nineteen-stone-nine I realized that I had overdone it. However I
+decided to know the worst. The worst that the machine could tell me was
+twenty-stone-seven. At twenty-stone-seven I left it.
+
+Celia, who had nearly finished breakfast, looked up eagerly as I came in.
+
+"Well?" she said.
+
+"I am sorry I am late," I apologized, "but I have been putting on flesh."
+
+"Have you really gone up?" she asked excitedly.
+
+"Yes." I began mechanically to help myself to porridge, and then stopped.
+"No, perhaps not," I said thoughtfully.
+
+"Have you gone up much?"
+
+"Much," I said. "Quite much."
+
+"How much? Quick!"
+
+"Celia," I said sadly, "I am twenty-stone-seven. I may be more; the
+weighing-machine gave out then."
+
+"Oh, but, darling, that's much too much."
+
+"Still, it's what we came here for," I pointed out. "No, no bacon,
+thanks; a small piece of dry toast."
+
+"I suppose the machine couldn't have made a mistake?"
+
+"It seemed very decided about it. It didn't hesitate at all."
+
+"Just try again after breakfast to make sure."
+
+"Perhaps I'd better try now," I said, getting up, "because if I turned
+out to be only twenty-stone-six I might venture on a little porridge
+after all. I shan't be long."
+
+I went upstairs. I didn't dare face that weighing-machine in my clothes
+after the way in which I had already strained it without them. I took
+them off hurriedly and stepped on. To my joy the bar stayed in its
+downward position. I took off an ounce ... then another ounce. The bar
+remained down....
+
+At eighteen-stone-two I jumped off for a moment in order to shut the
+window, which some careless housemaid had opened again....
+
+At twelve-stone-seven I shouted through the door to Celia that I
+shouldn't be long, and that I should want the porridge after all....
+
+At four-stone-six I said that I had better have an egg or two as well.
+
+At three ounces I stepped off, feeling rather shaken.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I have not used the weighing-machine since; partly because I do not
+believe it is trustworthy, partly because I spent the rest of my leave in
+bed with a severe cold. We are now in London again, where I am putting on
+flesh. At least the doctor who slapped me about yesterday said that I
+must, and I promised him that I would.
+
+
+
+THE PATRIOT
+
+
+This is a true story. Unless you promise to believe me, it is not much
+good my going on ... You promise? Very well.
+
+Years ago I bought a pianola. I went into the shop to buy a gramophone
+record, and I came out with a pianola--so golden-tongued was the manager.
+You would think that one could then retire into private life for a
+little, but it is only the beginning. There is the music-stool to be
+purchased, the library subscription, the tuner's fee (four visits a year,
+if you please), the cabinet for the rolls, the man to oil the pedals,
+the--However, one gets out of the shop at last. Nor do I regret my
+venture. It is common talk that my pianola was the chief thing about
+me which attracted Celia. "I _must_ marry a man with a pianola," she
+said ... and there was I ... and here, in fact, we are. My blessings,
+then, on the golden tongue of the manager.
+
+Now there is something very charming in a proper modesty about one's
+attainments, but it is necessary that the attainments should be generally
+recognized first. It was admirable in Stephenson to have said (as I am
+sure he did), when they congratulated him on his first steam-engine,
+"Tut-tut, it's nothing"; but he could only say this so long as the others
+were in a position to offer the congratulations. In order to place you in
+that position I must let you know how extraordinarily well I played the
+pianola. I brought to my interpretation of different Ops an _élan_, a
+_verve_, a _je ne sais quoi_--and several other French words--which were
+the astonishment of all who listened to me. But chiefly I was famous for
+my playing of one piece: "The Charge of the Uhlans," by Karl Bohm. Others
+may have seen Venice by moonlight, or heard the Vicar's daughter recite
+"Little Jim," but the favoured few who have been present when Bohm and I
+were collaborating are the ones who have really lived. Indeed, even the
+coldest professional critic would have spoken of it as "a noteworthy
+rendition."
+
+"The Charge of the Uhlans." If you came to see me, you had to hear it. As
+arranged for the pianola, it was marked to be played throughout at a
+lightning pace and with the loudest pedal on. So one would play it if one
+wished to annoy the man in the flat below; but a true musician has, I
+take it, a higher aim. I disregarded the "FF.'s" and the other sign-posts
+on the way, and gave it my own interpretation. As played by me, "The
+Charge of the Uhlans" became a whole battle scene. Indeed, it was
+necessary, before I began, that I should turn to my audience and describe
+the scene to them--in the manner, but not in the words, of a Queen's Hall
+programme:--
+
+"Er--first of all you hear the cavalry galloping past, and then there's a
+short hymn before action while they form up, and then comes the charge,
+and then there's a slow bit while they--er--pick up the wounded, and then
+they trot slowly back again. And if you listen carefully to the last bit
+you'll actually hear the horses limping."
+
+Something like that I would say; and it might happen that an insufferable
+guest (who never got asked again) would object that the hymn part was
+unusual in real warfare.
+
+"They sang it in this piece, anyhow," I would say stiffly, and turn my
+back on him and begin.
+
+But the war put a stop to music, as to many other things. For years the
+pianola was not played by either of us. We had other things to do. And in
+our case, curiously enough, absence from the pianola did not make the
+heart grow fonder. On the contrary, we seemed to lose our taste for
+music, and when at last we were restored to our pianola, we found that we
+had grown out of it.
+
+"It's very ugly," announced Celia.
+
+"We can't help our looks," I said in my grandmother's voice.
+
+"A book-case would be much prettier there."
+
+"But not so tuneful."
+
+"A pianola isn't tuneful if you never play it."
+
+"True," I said.
+
+Celia then became very alluring, and suggested that I might find somebody
+who would like to be lent a delightful pianola by somebody whose 
+delightful wife had her eye on a delightful bookcase.
+
+"I might," I said.
+
+"Somebody," said Celia, "who isn't supplied with music from below."
+
+I found John. He was quite pleased with the idea, and promised to
+return the pianola when he got sick of it.
+
+So on Wednesday it went. I was not sorry, because in its silence it was
+far from beautiful, and we wanted another book-case badly. But on
+Tuesday evening--its last hours with us--I had to confess to a certain
+melancholy. It is sad to part with an old and well-tried friend,
+particularly when that friend is almost entirely responsible for your
+marriage. I looked at the pianola and then I said to Celia, "I must
+play it once again."
+
+"Please," said Celia.
+
+"The old masterpiece, I suppose?"  I said, as I got it out.
+
+"Do you think you ought to--now?   I don't think I want to hear a
+charge of the Uhlans--beasts; I want a charge of our own men."
+
+"Art," I said grandly, "knows no frontiers." I suppose this has been
+said by several people several times already, but for the moment both
+Celia and I thought it was rather clever.
+
+So I placed the roll in the pianola, sat down and began to play....
+
+Ah, the dear old tune....
+
+Dash it all!
+
+"What's happened?" said Celia, breaking a silence which had become
+alarming.
+
+"I must have put it in wrong," I said.
+
+I wound the roll off, put it in again, and tried a second time,
+pedalling vigorously.
+
+Dead silence....
+
+Hush! A note ... another silence ... and then another note....
+
+I pedalled through to the end. About five notes sounded.
+
+"Celia," I said, "this is wonderful."
+
+It really was wonderful. For the first time in its life my pianola
+refused to play "The Charge of the Uhlans." It had played it a hundred
+times before the War, but now--no!
+
+We had to have a farewell piece. I put in a waltz, and it played it
+perfectly. Then we said good-bye to our pianola, feeling a reverence
+for it which we had never felt before.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+You don't believe this? Yet you promised you would ... and I still
+assure you that it is true. But I admit that the truth is sometimes
+hard to believe, and the first six persons to whom I told the story
+assured me frankly that I was a liar. If one is to be called a liar,
+one may as well make an effort to deserve the name. I made an effort,
+therefore, with the seventh person.
+
+"I put in 'The Charge of the Uhlans,'" I said, "and it played 'God
+Save the King.'"
+
+Unfortunately he was a very patriotic man, and he believed it. So that is
+how the story is now going about. But you who read this know the real
+truth of the matter.
+
+
+
+A QUESTION OF LIGHT
+
+
+As soon as Celia had got a cheque-book of her own (and I had explained
+the mysteries of "---- & Co." to her), she looked round for a safe
+investment of her balance, which amounted to several pounds. My offers,
+first of an old stocking and afterwards of mines, mortgages and aerated
+breads, were rejected at once.
+
+"I'll leave a little in the bank in case of accidents," she said, "and
+the rest must go somewhere absolutely safe and earn me five per cent.
+Otherwise they shan't have it."
+
+We did what we could for her; we offered the money to archdeacons and
+other men of pronounced probity; and finally we invested it in the
+Blanktown Electric Light Company. Blanktown is not its real name, of
+course; but I do not like to let out any information which may be of
+value to Celia's enemies--the wicked ones who are trying to snatch her
+little fortune from her. The world, we feel, is a dangerous place for a
+young woman with money.
+
+"Can't I _possibly_ lose it now?" she asked.
+
+"Only in two ways," I said. "Blanktown might disappear in the night, or
+the inhabitants might give up using electric light."
+
+It seemed safe enough. At the same time we watched the newspapers
+anxiously for details of the latest inventions; and anybody who happened
+to mention when dining with us that he was experimenting with a new and
+powerful illuminant was handed his hat at once.
+
+You have Blanktown, then, as the depository of Celia's fortune. Now it
+comes on the scene in another guise. I made the announcement with some
+pride at breakfast yesterday.
+
+"My dear," I said, "I have been asked to deliver a lecture."
+
+"Whatever on?" asked Celia.
+
+"Anything I like. The last person lectured on 'The Minor Satellites of
+Jupiter,' and the one who comes after me is doing 'The Architecture of
+the Byzantine Period,' so I can take something in between."
+
+"Like 'Frostbites,'" said Celia helpfully. "But I don't quite understand.
+Where is it, and why?"
+
+"The Blanktown Literary and Philosophical Society ask me to lecture to
+them at Blanktown. The man who was coming is ill."
+
+"But why _you_ particularly?"
+
+"One comes down to me in the end," I said modestly.
+
+"I expect it's because of my electric lights. Do they give you any money
+for it?"
+
+"They ask me to name my fee."
+
+"Then say a thousand pounds, and lecture on the need for more electric
+light. Fancy if I got six per cent!"
+
+"This is a very sordid conversation," I said. "If I agree to lecture
+at all, it will be simply because I feel that I have a message to
+deliver ... I will now retire into the library and consider what that
+message is to be."
+
+I placed the encyclopaedia handy and sat down at my desk. I had already
+grasped the fact that the title of my discourse was the important thing.
+In the list of the Society's lectures sent to me there was hardly one
+whose title did not impress the imagination in advance. I must be equally
+impressive ...
+
+After a little thought I began to write.
+
+"WASPS AND THEIR YOUNG
+
+"_Lecture delivered before the Blanktown Literary and Philosophical
+Society, Tuesday, December 8th._
+
+"_Ladies and Gentlemen_--"
+
+"Well," said Celia, drifting in, "how's it going?"
+
+I showed her how far I had got.
+
+"I thought you always began, 'My Lord Mayor, Ladies and Gentlemen,'" she
+said.
+
+"Only if the Lord Mayor's there."
+
+"But how will you know?"
+
+"Yes, that's rather awkward. I shall have to ask the Secretary
+beforehand."
+
+I began again.
+
+"WASPS AND THEIR YOUNG
+
+"_Lecture delivered, etc_....
+
+"_My Lord Mayor, my Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen_--"
+
+It looked much better.
+
+"What about Baronets?" said Celia. "There's sure to be lots."
+
+"Yes, this is going to be difficult. I shall have to have a long talk
+with the Secretary ... How's this?--'My Lord Mayor, Lords, Baronets,
+Ladies and Gentlemen and Sundries.' That's got in everybody."
+
+"That's all right. And I wanted to ask you: Have you got any lantern
+slides?"
+
+"They're not necessary."
+
+"But they're much more fun. Perhaps they'll have some old ones of
+Vesuvius you can work in. Well, good-bye." And she drifted out.
+
+I went on thinking.
+
+"No," I said to myself, "I'm on the wrong tack." So I began again:--
+
+"SOME YORKSHIRE POT-HOLES
+
+"_Lecture delivered before the Blanktown Literary and Philosophical
+Society, Tuesday, December 8th_.
+
+"_My Lord Mayor, my Lords_--"
+
+"I don't want to interrupt," said Celia coming in suddenly, "but--oh,
+what's a pot-hole?"
+
+"A curious underground cavern sometimes found in the North."
+
+"Aren't caverns always underground? But you're busy. Will you be in for
+lunch?"
+
+"I shall be writing my lecture all day," I said busily.
+
+At lunch I decided to have a little financial talk with Celia.
+
+"What I feel is this," I said. "At most I can ask ten guineas for my
+lecture. Now my expense all the way to the North, with a night at an
+hotel, will be at least five pounds."
+
+"Five-pounds-ten profit," said Celia. "Not bad."
+
+"Ah, but wait. I have never spoken in public before. In an immense hall,
+whose acoustics--"
+
+"Who are they?"
+
+"Well, never mind. What I mean is that I shall want some elocution
+lessons. Say five, at a guinea each."
+
+"That still leaves five shillings."
+
+"If only it left that, it might be worth it. But there's a new white
+waistcoat. An audience soon gets tired of a lecture, and then there's
+nothing for the wakeful ones to concentrate on but the white waistcoat of
+the lecturer. It must be of a virgin whiteness. Say thirty-five
+shillings. So I lose thirty shillings by it. Can I afford so much?"
+
+"But you gain the acoustics and the waistcoat."
+
+"True. Of course, if you insist--"
+
+"Oh, you _must_," said Celia.
+
+So I returned to the library. By tea-time I had got as far as this:--
+
+"ADVENTURES WITH A CAMERA IN SOMALILAND
+
+"_Lecture delivered before the Blanktown Literary and Philo_--"
+
+And then I had an idea. This time a brilliant one.
+
+"Celia," I said at tea, "I have been wondering whether I ought to take
+advantage of your generosity."
+
+"What generosity?"
+
+"In letting me deliver this lecture."
+
+"It isn't generosity, it's swank. I want to be able to tell everybody."
+
+"Ah, but the sacrifices you are making."
+
+"Am I?" said Celia, with interest.
+
+"Of course you are. Consider. I ask a fee of ten guineas. They cannot
+possibly charge more than a shilling a head to listen to me. It would
+be robbery. So that if there is to be a profit at all, as presumably they
+anticipate, I shall have a gate of at least two hundred and fifty."
+
+"I should _hope_ so."
+
+"Two hundred and fifty. And what does that mean? It means that at
+seven-thirty o'clock on the night of December the 8th two hundred and
+fifty residents of Blanktown will _turn out the electric lights in their
+drawing-rooms ..._ PERHAPS EVEN IN THEIR HALLS ... and proceed to
+the lecture-room. True, the lecture-room will be lit up--a small
+compensation--but not for long. When the slides of Vesuvius are thrown
+upon the screen--"
+
+Celia was going pale.
+
+"But if it's not you," she faltered, "it will be somebody else."
+
+"No; if I refuse, it will be too late then to get a substitute. Besides,
+they must have tried everybody else before they got down to me... Celia
+it is noble of you to sacrifice--"
+
+"Don't go!" she cried in anguish.
+
+I gave a deep sigh.
+
+"For your sake," I said, "I won't."
+
+So that settles it. If my lecture on "First Principles in Homoeopathy" is
+ever to be delivered, it must be delivered elsewhere.
+
+
+
+ENTER BINGO
+
+
+Before I introduce Bingo I must say a word for Humphrey, his sparring
+partner. Humphrey found himself on the top of my stocking last December,
+put there, I fancy, by Celia, though she says it was Father Christmas.
+He is a small yellow dog, with glass optics, and the label round his neck
+said, "His eyes move." When I had finished the oranges and sweets and
+nuts, when Celia and I had pulled the crackers, Humphrey remained over to
+sit on the music-stool, with the air of one playing the pianola. In this
+position he found his uses. There are times when a husband may
+legitimately be annoyed; at these times it was pleasant to kick Humphrey
+off his stool on to the divan, to stand on the divan and kick him on to
+the sofa, to stand on the sofa and kick him on to the bookcase; and then,
+feeling another man, to replace him on the music-stool and apologize to
+Celia. It was thus that he lost his tail.
+
+Here we say good-bye to Humphrey for the present; Bingo claims our
+attention. Bingo arrived as an absurd little black tub of puppiness,
+warranted (by a pedigree as long as your arm) to grow into a Pekinese. It
+was Celia's idea to call him Bingo; because (a ridiculous reason) as
+a child she had had a poodle called Bingo. The less said about poodles
+the better; why rake up the past?
+
+"If there is the slightest chance of Bingo--of this animal growing up
+into a poodle," I said, "he leaves my house at once."
+
+"_My_ poodle," said Celia, "was a lovely dog."
+
+(Of course she was only a child then. She wouldn't know.)
+
+"The point is this," I said firmly, "our puppy is meant for a
+Pekinese--the pedigree says so. From the look of him it will be touch and
+go whether he pulls it off. To call him by the name of a late poodle may
+just be the deciding factor. Now I hate poodles; I hate pet dogs. A
+Pekinese is not a pet dog; he is an undersized lion. Our puppy may grow
+into a small lion, or a mastiff, or anything like that; but I will _not_
+have him a poodle. If we call him Bingo, will you promise never to
+mention in his presence that you once had a--a--you know what I
+mean--called Bingo?"
+
+She promised. I have forgiven her for having once loved a poodle. I beg
+you to forget about it. There is now only one Bingo, and he is a Pekinese
+puppy.
+
+However, after we had decided to call him Bingo, a difficulty arose.
+Bingo's pedigree is full of names like Li Hung Chang and Sun Yat Sen; had
+we chosen a sufficiently Chinese name for him? Apart from what was due to
+his ancestors, were we encouraging him enough to grow into a Pekinese?
+What was there Oriental about "Bingo"?
+
+In itself, apparently, little. And Bingo himself must have felt this; for
+his tail continued to be nothing but a rat's tail, and his body to be
+nothing but a fat tub, and his head to be almost the head of any little
+puppy in the world. He felt it deeply. When I ragged him about it he
+tried to eat my ankles. I had only to go into the room in which he was,
+and murmur, "Rat's tail," to myself, or (more offensive still) "Chewed
+string," for him to rush at me. "Where, O Bingo, is that delicate
+feather curling gracefully over the back, which was the pride and glory
+of thy great-grandfather? Is the caudal affix of the rodent thy apology
+for it?" And Bingo would whimper with shame.
+
+Then we began to look him up in the map.
+
+I found a Chinese town called "Ning-po," which strikes me as very much
+like "Bing-go," and Celia found another one called "Yung-Ping," which
+might just as well be "Yung-Bing," the obvious name of Bingo's heir when
+he has one. These facts being communicated to Bingo, his nose immediately
+began to go back a little and his tub to develop something of a waist.
+But what finally decided him was a discovery of mine made only yesterday.
+_There is a Japanese province called Bingo_. Japanese, not Chinese, it is
+true; but at least it is Oriental. In any case conceive one's pride in
+realizing suddenly that one has been called after a province and not
+after a poodle. It has determined Bingo unalterably to grow up in the
+right way.
+
+You have Bingo now definitely a Pekinese. That being so, I may refer to
+his ancestors, always an object of veneration among these Easterns. I
+speak of (hats off, please!) Ch. Goodwood Lo.
+
+Of course you know (I didn't myself till last week) that "Ch."
+stands for "Champion." On the male side Champion Goodwood Lo is Bingo's
+great-great-grandfather. On the female side the same animal is Bingo's
+great-grandfather. One couldn't be a poodle after that. A fortnight after
+Bingo came to us we found in a Pekinese book a photograph of Goodwood Lo.
+How proud we all were! Then we saw above it, "Celebrities of the
+Past. The Late--"
+
+Champion Goodwood Lo was no more! In one moment Bingo had lost both his
+great-grandfather and his great-great-grandfather!
+
+We broke it to him as gently as possible, but the double shock was too
+much, and he passed the evening in acute depression. Annoyed with my
+tactlessness in letting him know anything about it, I kicked Humphrey off
+his stool. Humphrey, I forgot to say, has a squeak if kicked in the right
+place. He squeaked.
+
+Bingo, at that time still uncertain of his destiny, had at least the
+courage of the lion. Just for a moment he hesitated. Then with a pounce
+he was upon Humphrey.
+
+Till then I had regarded Humphrey--save for his power of rolling the eyes
+and his habit of taking long jumps from the music-stool to the
+book-case--as rather a sedentary character. But in the fight which
+followed he put up an amazingly good resistance. At one time he was
+underneath Bingo; the next moment he had Bingo down; first one, then the
+other, seemed to gain the advantage. But blood will tell. Humphrey's
+ancestry is unknown; I blush to say that it may possibly be German. Bingo
+had Goodwood Lo to support him--in two places. Gradually he got the upper
+hand; and at last, taking the reluctant Humphrey by the ear, he dragged
+him laboriously beneath the sofa. He emerged alone, with tail wagging,
+and was taken on to his mistress's lap. There he slept, his grief
+forgotten.
+
+So Humphrey was found a job. Whenever Bingo wants exercise, Humphrey
+plants himself in the middle of the room, his eyes cast upwards in an
+affectation of innocence. "I'm just sitting here," says Humphrey; "I
+believe there's a fly on the ceiling." It is a challenge which no
+great-grandson of Goodwood Lo could resist. With a rush Bingo is at him.
+"I'll learn you to stand in my way," he splutters. And the great dust-up
+begins....
+
+Brave little Bingo! I don't wonder that so warlike a race as the Japanese
+has called a province after him.
+
+
+
+A WARM HALF-HOUR
+
+
+Whatever the papers say, it was the hottest afternoon of the year. At
+six-thirty I had just finished dressing after my third cold bath since
+lunch, when Celia tapped on the door.
+
+"I want you to do something for me," she said. "It's a shame to ask you
+on a day like this."
+
+"It _is_ rather a shame," I agreed, "but I can always refuse."
+
+"Oh, but you mustn't. We haven't got any ice, and the Thompsons are
+coming to dinner. Do you think you could go and buy threepennyworth?
+Jane's busy, and I'm busy, and--"
+
+"And I'm busy," I said, opening and shutting a drawer with great
+rapidity.
+
+"Just threepennyworth," she pleaded. "Nice cool ice. Think of sliding
+home on it."
+
+Well, of course it had to be done. I took my hat and staggered out. On an
+ordinary cool day it is about half a mile to the fishmonger; to-day
+it was about two miles and a quarter. I arrived exhausted, and with only
+just strength enough to kneel down and press my forehead against the
+large block of ice in the middle of the shop, round which the lobsters
+nestled.
+
+"Here, you mustn't do that," said the fishmonger, waving me away.
+
+I got up, slightly refreshed.
+
+"I want," I said, "some--" and then a thought occurred to me.
+
+After all, _did_ fishmongers sell ice? Probably the large block in front
+of me was just a trade sign like the coloured bottles at the chemist's.
+Suppose I said to a fellow of the Pharmaceutical Society, "I want some of
+that green stuff in the window," he would only laugh. The tactful thing
+to do would be to buy a pint or two of laudanum first, and _then_, having
+established pleasant relations, ask him as a friend to lend me his green
+bottle for a bit.
+
+So I said to the fishmonger, "I want some--some nice lobsters."
+
+"How many would you like?"
+
+"One," I said.
+
+We selected a nice one between us, and he wrapped a piece of "Daily Mail"
+round it, leaving only the whiskers visible, and gave it to me. The
+ice being now broken--I mean the ice being now--well, you see what I
+mean--I was now in a position to ask for some of his ice.
+
+"I wonder if you could let me have a little piece of your ice," I
+ventured.
+
+"How much ice do you want?" he said promptly.
+
+"Sixpennyworth," I said, feeling suddenly that Celia's threepennyworth
+sounded rather paltry.
+
+"Six of ice, Bill," he shouted to an inferior at the back, and Bill
+tottered up with a block about the size of one of the lions in Trafalgar
+Square. He wrapped a piece of "Daily News" round it and gave it to me.
+
+"Is that all?" asked the fishmonger.
+
+"That is all," I said faintly; and, with Algernon, the overwhiskered
+crustacean, firmly clutched in the right hand and Stonehenge supported on
+the palm of the left hand, I retired.
+
+The flat seemed a very long way away, but having bought twice as much ice
+as I wanted, and an entirely unnecessary lobster, I was not going to
+waste still more money in taxis. Hot though it was, I would walk.
+
+For some miles all went well. Then the ice began to drip through the
+paper, and in a little while, the underneath part of "The Daily News"
+had disappeared altogether. Tucking the lobster under my arm I turned the
+block over, so that it rested on another part of the paper. Soon that had
+dissolved too. By the time I had got half-way our Radical contemporary
+had been entirely eaten.
+
+Fortunately "The Daily Mail" remained. But to get it I had to disentangle
+Algernon first, and I had no hand available. There was only one thing
+to do. I put the block of ice down on the pavement, unwrapped the
+lobster, put the lobster next to the ice, spread its "Daily Mail" out,
+lifted the ice on to the paper, and--looked up and saw Mrs. Thompson
+approaching.
+
+She was the last person I wanted at that moment. In an hour and a half
+she would be dining with us. Algernon would not be dining with us. If
+Algernon and Mrs. Thompson were to meet now, would she not be expecting
+him to turn up at every course? Think of the long drawn-out
+disappointment for her; not even lobster sauce!
+
+There was no time to lose. I decided to abandon the ice. Leaving it on
+the pavement I clutched the lobster and walked hastily back the way I had
+come.
+
+By the time I had shaken off Mrs. Thompson I was almost at the
+fishmonger's. That decided me. I would begin all over again, and would
+do it properly this time. "I want three of ice," I said with an air.
+
+"Three of ice, Bill," said the fishmonger, and Bill gave me quite a
+respectable segment in "The Morning Post."
+
+"And I want a taxi," I said, and I waved my lobster at one.
+
+We drove quickly home.
+
+But as we neared the flat I suddenly became nervous about Algernon. I
+could not take him, red and undraped, past the hall-porter, past all the
+other residents who might spring out at me on the stairs. Accordingly, I
+placed the block of ice on the seat, took off some of its "Morning Post,"
+and wrapped Algernon up decently. Then I sprang out, gave the man a coin,
+and hastened into the building.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Bless you," said Celia, "have you got it? How sweet of you!" And she
+took my parcel from me. "Now we shall be able--Why, what's this?"
+
+I looked at it closely.
+
+"It's--it's a lobster," I said. "Didn't you say lobster?"
+
+"I said ice."
+
+"Oh," I said, "oh, I didn't understand. I thought you said lobster."
+
+"You can't put lobster in cider cup," said Celia severely.
+
+Of course I quite see that. It was foolish of me. However, it's pleasant
+to think that the taxi must have been nice and cool for the next man.
+
+
+
+"WRONGLY ATTRIBUTED"
+
+
+You've heard of Willy Ferrero, the Boy Conductor? A musical prodigy,
+seven years old, who will order the fifth oboe out of the Albert Hall as
+soon as look at him. Well, he has a rival.
+
+Willy, as perhaps you know, does not play any instrument himself; he only
+conducts. His rival (Johnny, as I think of him) does not conduct as
+yet; at least, not audibly. His line is the actual manipulation of the
+pianoforte--the Paderewski touch. Johnny lives in the flat below, and I
+hear him touching.
+
+On certain mornings in the week--no need to specify them--I enter my
+library and give myself up to literary composition. On the same
+mornings little Johnny enters his music-room (underneath) and gives
+himself up to musical composition. Thus we are at work together.
+
+The worst of literary composition is this: that when you have got hold of
+what you feel is a really powerful idea, you find suddenly that you have
+been forestalled by some earlier writer--Sophocles or Shakespeare or
+George R. Sims. Then you have to think again. This frequently happens
+to me upstairs; and downstairs poor Johnny will find to his horror one
+day that his great work has already been given to the world by another--a
+certain Dr. John Bull.
+
+Johnny, in fact, is discovering "God Save the King" with one finger.
+
+As I dip my pen in the ink and begin to write, Johnny strikes up. On the
+first day when this happened, some three months ago, I rose from
+my chair and stood stiffly through the performance--an affair of some
+minutes, owing to a little difficulty with "Send him victorious," a line
+which always bothers Johnny. However, he got right through it at last,
+after harking back no more than twice, and I sat down to my work again.
+Generally speaking, "God Save the King" ends a show; it would be disloyal
+to play any other tune after that. Johnny quite saw this ... and so began
+to play "God Save the King" again.
+
+I hope that His Majesty, the Lord Chamberlain, the late Dr. Bull, or
+whoever is most concerned, will sympathize with me when I say that this
+time I remained seated. I have my living to earn.
+
+From that day Johnny has interpreted Dr. John Bull's favourite
+composition nine times every morning. As this has been going on for
+three months, and as the line I mentioned has two special rehearsals
+to itself before coming out right, you can easily work out how many
+send-him-victoriouses Johnny and I have collaborated in. About two
+thousand.
+
+Very well. Now, you ask yourself, why did I not send a polite
+note to Johnny's father asking him to restrain his little boy from
+over-composition, begging him not to force the child's musical genius too
+quickly, imploring him (in short) to lock up the piano and lose the key?
+What kept me from this course? The answer is "Patriotism." Those deep
+feelings for his country which one man will express glibly by rising nine
+times during the morning at the sound of the National Anthem, another
+will direct to more solid uses. It was my duty, I felt, not to discourage
+Johnny. He was showing qualities which could not fail, when he grew up,
+to be of value to the nation. Loyalty, musical genius, determination,
+patience, industry--never before have these qualities been so finely
+united in a child of six. Was I to say a single word to disturb the
+delicate balance of such a boy's mind? At six one is extraordinarily
+susceptible to outside influence. A word from his father to the effect
+that the gentleman above was getting sick of it, and Johnny's whole life
+might be altered.
+
+No, I would bear it grimly.
+
+And then, yesterday, who should write to me but Johnny's father himself.
+This was the letter:
+
+"Dear Sir--I do not wish to interfere unduly in the affairs of the other
+occupants of these flats, but I feel bound to call your attention to the
+fact that for many weeks now there has been a flow of water from your
+bathroom, which has penetrated through the ceiling of my bathroom,
+particularly after you have been using the room in the mornings. May I
+therefore beg you to be more careful in future not to splash or spill
+water on your floor, seeing that it causes inconvenience to the tenants
+beneath you?
+
+"Yours faithfully, Jno. McAndrew."
+
+You can understand how I felt about this. For months I had been suffering
+Johnny in silence; yet, at the first little drop of water from above,
+Johnny's father must break out into violent abuse of me. A fine reward!
+Well, Johnny's future could look after itself now; anyhow, he was doomed
+with a selfish father like that.
+
+"Dear Sir," I answered defiantly, "Now that we are writing to each other
+I wish to call your attention to the fact that for many months past there
+has been a constant flow of one-fingered music from your little boy,
+which penetrates through the floor of my library and makes all work
+impossible. May I beg you, therefore, to see that your child is taught a
+new tune immediately, seeing that the National Anthem has lost its first
+freshness for the tenants above him?"
+
+His reply to this came to-day.
+
+"Dear Sir,--I have no child.
+
+"Yours faithfully, Jno. McAndrew."
+
+I was so staggered that I could only think of one adequate retort.
+
+"DEAR SIR," I wrote,--"I never have a bath."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+So that's the end of Johnny, my boy prodigy, for whom I have suffered so
+long. It is not Johnny but Jno. who struggles with the National Anthem.
+He will give up music now, for he knows I have the bulge on him; I can
+flood his bathroom whenever I like. Probably he will learn something
+quieter--like painting. Anyway, Dr. John Bull's masterpiece will rise no
+more through the ceiling of the flat below.
+
+On referring to my encyclopedia, I see that, according to some
+authorities, "God Save the King" is "wrongly attributed" to Dr. Bull.
+Well, I wrongly attributed it to Johnny. It is easy to make these
+mistakes.
+
+
+
+A HANGING GARDEN IN BABYLON
+
+
+"Are you taking me to the Flower Show this afternoon?" asked Celia at
+breakfast.
+
+"No," I said thoughtfully; "no."
+
+"Well, that's that. What other breakfast conversation have I? Have you
+been to any theatres lately?"
+
+"Do you really want to go to the Flower Show?" I asked. "Because I don't
+believe I could bear it."
+
+"I've saved up two shillings."
+
+"It isn't that--not only that. But there'll be thousands of people there,
+all with gardens of their own, all pointing to things and saying,
+'We've got one of those in the east bed,' or 'Wouldn't that look nice in
+the south orchid house?' and you and I will be quite, quite out
+of it." I sighed, and helped myself from the west toast-rack.
+
+It is very delightful to have a flat in London, but there are times in
+the summer when I long for a garden of my own. I show people round our
+little place, and I point out hopefully the Hot Tap Doultonii in the
+scullery, and the Dorothy Perkins doormat, but it isn't the same thing as
+taking your guest round your garden and telling him that what you really
+want is rain. Until I can do that, the Chelsea Flower Show is no place
+for us.
+
+"Then I haven't told you the good news," said Celia. "We _are_
+gardeners." She paused a moment for effect. "I have ordered a
+window-box."
+
+I dropped the marmalade and jumped up eagerly.
+
+"But this is glorious news! I haven't been so excited since I recognized
+a calceolaria last year, and told my host it was a calceolaria just
+before he told me. A window-box! What's in it?"
+
+"Pink geraniums and--and pink geraniums, and--er--"
+
+"Pink geraniums?" I suggested.
+
+"Yes. They're very pretty, you know."
+
+"I know. But I could have wished for something more difficult. If we had
+something like--well, I don't want to seem to harp on it, but say
+calceolarias, then quite a lot of people mightn't recognize them, and I
+should be able to tell them what they were. I should be able to show them
+the calceolarias; you can't show people the geraniums."
+
+"You can say, 'What do you think of _that_ for a geranium?'" said Celia.
+"Anyhow," she added, "you've got to take me to the Flower Show now."
+
+"Of course I will. It is not only a pleasure, but a duty. As gardeners we
+must keep up with floricultural progress. Even though we start with pink
+geraniums now, we may have--er--calceolarias next year. Rotation of crops
+and--what not."
+
+Accordingly we made our way in the afternoon to the Show.
+
+"I think we're a little over-dressed," I said as we paid our shillings.
+"We ought to look as if we'd just run up from our little window-box in
+the country and were going back by the last train. I should be in
+gaiters, really."
+
+"Our little window-box is not in the country," objected Celia. "It's what
+you might call a _pied de terre_ in town. French joke," she added kindly.
+"Much more difficult than the ordinary sort."
+
+"Don't forget it; we can always use it again on visitors. Now what shall
+we look at first?"
+
+"The flowers first; then the tea."
+
+I had bought a catalogue and was scanning it rapidly.
+
+"We don't want flowers," I said. "Our window-box--our garden is already
+full. It may be that James, the head boxer, has overdone the pink
+geraniums this year, but there it is. We can sack him and promote Thomas,
+but the mischief is done. Luckily there are other things we want. What
+about a dove-cot? I should like to see doves cooing round our geraniums."
+
+"Aren't dove-cots very big for a window-box?"
+
+"We could get a small one--for small doves. Do you have to buy the doves
+too, or do they just come? I never know. Or there," I broke off suddenly;
+"my dear, that's just the thing." And I pointed with my stick.
+
+"We have seven clocks already," said Celia.
+
+"But a sun-dial! How romantic. Particularly as only two of the clocks go.
+Celia, if you'd let me have a sun-dial in my window-box, I would
+meet you by it alone sometimes."
+
+"It sounds lovely," she said doubtfully.
+
+"You do want to make this window-box a success, don't you?" I asked as we
+wandered on. "Well, then, help me to buy something for it. I don't
+suggest one of those," and I pointed to a summer-house, "or even a
+weather-cock; but we must do something now we're here. For instance,
+what about one of these patent extension ladders, in case the geraniums
+grow very tall and you want to climb up and smell them? Or would you
+rather have some mushroom spawn? I would get up early and pick the
+mushrooms for breakfast. What do you think?"
+
+"I think it's too hot for anything, and I must sit down. Is this seat an
+exhibit or is it meant for sitting on?"
+
+"It's an exhibit, but we might easily want to buy one some day, when our
+window-box gets bigger. Let's try it."
+
+It was so hot that I think, if the man in charge of the Rustic Bench
+Section had tried to move us on, we should have bought the seat at once.
+But nobody bothered us. Indeed it was quite obvious that the news that we
+owned a large window-box had not yet got about.
+
+"I shall leave you here," I said, after I had smoked a cigarette and
+dipped into the catalogue again, "and make my purchase. It will be quite
+inexpensive; indeed, it is marked in the catalogue at one-and-six-pence,
+which means that they will probably offer me the nine-shilling size
+first. But I shall be firm. Good-bye."
+
+I went and bought one and returned to her with it.
+
+"No, not now," I said, as she held out her hand eagerly. "Wait till we
+get home."
+
+It was cooler now, and we wandered through the tents, chatting
+patronizingly to the stall-keeper whenever we came to pink geraniums.
+At the orchids we were contemptuously sniffy. "Of course," I said, "for
+those who _like_ orchids--" and led the way back to the geraniums
+again. It was an interesting afternoon.
+
+And to our great joy the window-box was in position when we got home
+again.
+
+"Now!" I said dramatically, and I unwrapped my purchase and placed it in
+the middle of our new-made garden.
+
+"Whatever--"
+
+"A slug-trap," I explained proudly.
+
+"But how could slugs get up here?" asked Celia in surprise.
+
+"How do slugs get anywhere? They climb up the walls, or they come up in
+the lift, or they get blown about by the wind--I don't know. They
+can fly up if they like; but, however it be, when they do come, I mean to
+be ready for them."
+
+Still, though our slug-trap will no doubt come in usefully, it is not
+what we really want. What we gardeners really want is rain.
+
+
+
+SISTERLY ASSISTANCE
+
+
+I was talking to a very stupid man the other day. He was the stupidest
+man I have come across for many years. It is a hard thing to say of any
+man, but he appeared to me to be entirely lacking in intellect.
+
+It was Celia who introduced me to him. She had rung up her brother at the
+flat where he was staying, and, finding that he was out, she gave a
+message for him to the porter. It was simply that he was to ring her up
+as soon as he came in.
+
+"Ring up who?" said the porter. At least I suppose he did, for Celia
+repeated her name (and mine) very slowly and distinctly.
+
+"Mrs. who?" said the porter, "What?" or "I can't hear," or something
+equally foolish.
+
+Celia then repeated our name again.
+
+There followed a long conversation between the two of them, the
+audible part of it (that is Celia's) consisting of my name given
+forth in a variety of intonations, in the manner of one who sings an
+anthem--hopefully, pathetically, dramatically, despairingly.
+
+Up to this moment I had been rather attached to my name. True, it wants a
+little explaining to shopkeepers. There are certain consonants
+in it which require to be elided or swallowed or swivelled round the
+glottis, in order to give the name its proper due. But after five or six
+applications the shopkeeper grasps one's meaning.
+
+Well, as I say, I was attached to my name. But after listening to Celia
+for five minutes I realized that there had been some horrible mistake.
+People weren't called that.
+
+"Just wait a moment," I said to her rather anxiously, and picked up the
+telephone book. To my great relief I found that Celia was right. There
+_was_ a person of that name living at my address.
+
+"You're quite right," I said. "Go on."
+
+"I wish I had married somebody called Jones," said Celia, looking up at
+me rather reproachfully. "No, no, not Jones," she added hastily down the
+telephone, and once more she repeated the unhappy name.
+
+"It isn't my fault," I protested. "You did have a choice; I had none. Try
+spelling it. It spells all right."
+
+Celia tried spelling it.
+
+"I'm going to spell it," she announced very distinctly down the
+telephone. "Are you ready? ... M ... No, _M_. M for mother."
+
+That gave me an idea.
+
+"Come away," I said, seizing the telephone; "leave it to me. Now, then,"
+I called to the porter. "Never mind about the name. Just tell him to ring
+up his _sister_." And I looked at Celia triumphantly.
+
+"Ask him to ring up his mother," said the porter. "Very well, sir."
+
+"No, not the mother. That was something else. Forget all about that
+mother. He's to ring up his sister ... _sister_ ... SISTER."
+
+"You'll have to spell it," said Celia.
+
+"I'm going to spell it," I shouted. "Are you ready? ... _S_ for--for
+sister."
+
+"Now you're going to muddle him," murmured Celia.
+
+"S for sister; have you got that? ... No, _sister_, idiot. I for idiot,"
+I added quickly. "S for sister--this is another sister, of course. T
+for two. Got that? No, _two_. Two anything--two more sisters, if you
+like. E for--E for--" I turned helplessly to Celia: "quick, a word to
+begin with E! I've got him moving now. E for--quick, before his tympanum
+runs down."
+
+"Er--er--" Desperately she tried to think.
+
+"E for er," I shouted. "That'll be another sister, I expect ... Celia, I
+believe we ought to spell it with an 'H.' Can't you think of a better
+word?"
+
+"Enny," said Celia, having quite lost her nerve by this time.
+
+"E for enny," I shouted. "Any anything. Any of the sisters I've been
+telling you about. R for--quick, Celia!"
+
+"Rose," she said hastily.
+
+"R for Rose," I shouted. "Rose the flower--or the sister if you like.
+There you are, that's the whole word. Now then, I'll just spell it to
+you over again.... Celia, I want another word for E. That last was a bad
+one."
+
+"Edith?"
+
+"Good."
+
+I took a deep breath and began.
+
+"S for sister. I for Isabel--Isabel is the name of the sister. S for
+another sister--I'll tell you _her_ name directly. T for two sisters,
+these two that we're talking about. E for Edith, that's the second sister
+whose name I was going to tell you. R for Rose. Perhaps I ought to
+explain Rose. She was the sister whom these two sisters were sisters of.
+Got that?" I turned to Celia. "I'm going to get the sister idea into his
+head if I die for it."
+
+"Just a moment, sir," said the dazed voice of the porter.
+
+"What's the matter? Didn't I make it clear about Rose? She was the sister
+whom the--"
+
+"Just hold the line a moment, sir," implored the porter. "Here's the
+gentleman himself coming in."
+
+I handed the telephone to Celia. "Here he is," I said.
+
+But I was quite sorry to go, for I was getting interested in those
+sisters. Rose, I think, will always be my favourite. Her life, though
+short, was full of incident, and there were many things about her which I
+could have told that porter. But perhaps he would not have appreciated
+them. It is a hard thing to say of any man, but he appeared to me to be
+entirely lacking in intellect.
+
+
+
+THE OBVIOUS
+
+
+Celia had been calling on a newly married friend of hers. They had been
+schoolgirls together; they had looked over the same algebra book (or
+whatever it was that Celia learnt at school--I have never been quite
+certain); they had done their calisthenics side by side; they had
+compared picture post cards of Lewis Waller. Ah, me! the fairy princes
+they had imagined together in those days ... and here am I, and somewhere
+in the City (I believe he is a stockbroker) is Ermyntrude's husband, and
+we play our golf on Saturday afternoons, and go to sleep after dinner,
+and--Well, anyhow, they were both married, and Celia had been calling on
+Ermyntrude.
+
+"I hope you did all the right things," I said. "Asked to see the
+wedding-ring, and admired the charming little house, and gave a few hints
+on the proper way to manage a husband."
+
+"Rather," said Celia. "But it did seem funny, because she used to be
+older than me at school."
+
+"Isn't she still?"
+
+"Oh, _no_! I'm ever so much older now.... Talking about wedding-rings,"
+she went on, as she twisted her own round and round, "she's got all sorts
+of things written inside hers--the date and their initials and I don't
+know what else."
+
+"There can't be much else--unless perhaps she has a very large finger."
+
+"Well, I haven't got _anything_ in mine," said Celia, mournfully. She
+took off the offending ring and gave it to me.
+
+On the day when I first put the ring on her finger, Celia swore an oath
+that nothing but death, extreme poverty or brigands should ever remove
+it. I swore too. Unfortunately it fell off in the course of the
+afternoon, which seemed to break the spell somehow. So now it goes off
+and on just like any other ring. I took it from her and looked inside.
+
+"There are all sorts of things here too," I said. "Really, you don't seem
+to have read your wedding-ring at all. Or, anyhow, you've been skipping."
+
+"There's nothing," said Celia in the same mournful voice. "I do think you
+might have put something."
+
+I went and sat on the arm of her chair, and held the ring up.
+
+"You're an ungrateful wife," I said, "after all the trouble I took. Now
+look there," and I pointed with a pencil, "what's the first thing you
+see?"
+
+"Twenty-two. That's only the--"
+
+"That was your age when you married me. I had it put in at enormous
+expense. If you had been eighteen, the man said, or--or nine, it would
+have come much cheaper. But no, I would have your exact age. You were
+twenty-two and that's what I had engraved on it. Very well. Now what do
+you see next to it?"
+
+"A crown."
+
+"Yes. And what does that mean? In the language of--er--crowns it means
+'You are my queen.' I insisted on a crown. It would have been cheaper to
+have had a lion, which means--er--lions, but I was determined not to
+spare myself. For I thought," I went on pathetically, "I quite thought
+you would like a crown."
+
+"Oh, I do," cried Celia quickly, "if it really means that." She took the
+ring in her hands and looked at it lovingly. "And what's that there? Sort
+of a man's head."
+
+I gazed at her sadly.
+
+"You don't recognize it? Has a year of marriage so greatly changed me?
+Celia, it is your Ronald! I sat for that, hour after hour, day after day,
+for your sake, Celia. It is not a perfect likeness; in the small space
+allotted to him the sculptor has hardly done me justice. And there," I
+added, "is his initial 'r.' Oh, woman, the amount of thought I spent on
+that ring!"
+
+She came a little closer and slipped the ring on my finger.
+
+"Spend a little more," she pleaded. "There's plenty of room. Just have
+something nice written in it--something about you and me."
+
+"Like 'Pisgah'?"
+
+"What does that mean?"
+
+"I don't know. Perhaps it's 'Mizpah,' or 'Ichabod,' or 'Habakkuk.' I'm
+sure there's a word you put on rings--I expect they'd know at the shop."
+
+"But I don't want what they know at shops. It must be something quite
+private and special."
+
+"But the shop has got to know about it when I tell them. And I don't like
+telling strange men in shops private and special things about ourselves.
+I love you, Celia, but--"
+
+"That would be a lovely thing," she said, clasping her hands eagerly.
+
+"What?"
+
+"'I love you, Celia.'"
+
+I looked at her aghast.
+
+"Do you want me to order that in cold blood from the shopman?"
+
+"He wouldn't mind. Besides, if he saw us together he'd probably know. You
+aren't afraid of a goldsmith, are you?"
+
+"I'm not afraid of any goldsmith living--or goldfish either, if it come
+to that. But I should prefer to be sentimental in some other language
+than plain English. I could order '_Cars sposa_,' or--or '_Spaghetti,'_
+or anything like that, without a tremor."
+
+"But of course you shall put just whatever you like. Only--only let it be
+original. Not Mizpahs."
+
+"Right," I said.
+
+For three days I wandered past gold and silversmiths with the ring in my
+pocket ... and for three days Celia went about without a wedding-ring,
+and, for all I know, without even her marriage-lines in her muff. And on
+the fourth day I walked boldly in.
+
+"I want," I said, "a wedding-ring engraved," and I felt in my pockets.
+"Not initials," I said, and I felt in some more pockets, "but--but--"
+I tried the trousers pockets again. "Well, look here, I'll be quite frank
+with you. I--er--want--" I fumbled in my ticket-pocket, "I want 'I love
+you' on it," and I went through the waistcoat pockets a third time.
+"'I--er--love you.'"
+
+"Me?" said the shopman, surprised.
+
+"I love you," I repeated mechanically. "I love you. I love you, I--Well,
+look here, perhaps I'd better go back and get the ring."
+
+On the next day I was there again; but there was a different man behind
+the counter.
+
+"I want this ring engraved," I said.
+
+"Certainly. What shall we put?"
+
+I had felt the question coming. I had a sort of instinct that he would
+ask me that. But I couldn't get the words out again.
+
+"Well," I hesitated, "I--er--well."
+
+"Ladies often like the date put in. When is it to be?"
+
+"When is what to be?"
+
+"The wedding," he smiled.
+
+"It has been," I said. "It's all over. You're too late for it."
+
+I gave myself up to thought. At all costs I must be original. There must
+be something on Celia's wedding-ring that had never been in any
+other's....
+
+There was only one thing I could think of.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The engraved ring arrived as we were at tea a few days later, and I had a
+sudden overwhelming fear that Celia would not be pleased. I saw that I
+must explain it to her. After all, there was a distinguished precedent.
+
+"Come into the bath-room a moment," I said, and I led the way.
+
+She followed, wondering.
+
+"What is that?" I asked, pointing to a blue thing on the floor.
+
+"The bath-mat," she said, surprised.
+
+"And what is written on it?"
+
+"Why--'bath-mat,' of course."
+
+"Of course," I said ... and I handed her the wedding-ring.
+
+
+
+
+VI. A FEW GUESTS
+
+
+
+BAD LORD BLIGHT
+
+_(A Moral Story for the Middle-aged)_
+
+I
+
+
+Seated in the well-appointed library of Blight Hall, John Blighter,
+Seventeenth Earl of Blight, bowed his head in his hands and gave himself
+up to despair. The day of reckoning had come.
+
+Were appearances not so deceptive, one would have said that Lord Blight
+("Blight," as he was known familiarly to his friends) was a man to be
+envied. In a revolving book-case in the middle of the spacious library
+were countless treasured volumes, including a complete edition of
+Thackeray; outside in the well-kept grounds of the estate was a new
+lawn-mower; a bottle of sherry, freshly uncorked, stood upon the
+sideboard in the dining-room. But worldly possessions are not everything.
+An untroubled mind, as Shakespeare knew (even if he didn't actually say
+it), is more to be valued than riches. The seventeenth Earl of Blight's
+mind was not untroubled. His conscience was gnawing him.
+
+Some people would say, no doubt, that his conscience was too sensitive.
+True, there were episodes in his past life of which in later years he
+could not wholly approve; but is not this the case with every one of us?
+Far better, as must often have occurred to Milton, to strive for the
+future than to regret the past. Ten years ago Lord Blight had been plain
+John Blighter, with no prospects in front of him. Realizing that he could
+expect little help from others, he decided to push for himself. He began
+by pushing three cousins over the cliffs at Scarborough, thus becoming
+second heir to the earldom. A week later he pushed an elder brother over
+the same cliff, and was openly referred to in the Press as the next
+bearer of the title. Barely a fortnight had elapsed before a final push
+diverted the last member of the family (a valued uncle) into the
+ever-changing sea, the venue in this case being Whitby, presumably in
+order to avoid suspicion.
+
+But all this had happened ten years ago. The past is the past, as
+Wordsworth probably said to Coleridge more than once. It was time for
+Lord Blight to forget these incidents of his eager and impetuous youth.
+Yet somehow he could not. Within the last few days his conscience had
+begun to gnaw him, and in his despair he told himself that at last the
+day of reckoning had come. Poor Blight! It is difficult to withhold our
+sympathy from him.
+
+The door opened, and his wife, the Countess of Blight, came into the
+library.
+
+"Blight!" she whispered. "My poor Blight! What has happened?"
+
+He looked up haggardly.
+
+"Gertie," he said, for that was her name, "it is all over. My sins have
+found me out."
+
+"Not sins," she said gently. "Mistakes."
+
+"Mistakes, yes--you are right." He stretched out a hand, took a letter
+from the desk in front of him and gave it to her. "Read that." With a
+groan he buried his head in his hands again. She took it and read, slowly
+and wonderingly, these words:--
+
+"To lawn-mower as delivered, £5 17s. 6d."
+
+Lord Blight looked up with an impatient ejaculation "Give it to me," he
+said in some annoyance, snatching it away from her and throwing it into
+the waste-paper basket. "Here, this is the one. Read it; read it quickly;
+for we must decide what to do."
+
+She read it with starting eyes.
+
+"DEAR SIR,--I am prepared to lend you anything from £10 to £10,000 on
+your note-of-hand alone. Should you wish--"
+
+"D--n!" said the seventeenth Earl of Blight. "Here, where is the blessed
+thing?" He felt in his pockets. "I must have--I only had it a--Ah, here
+it is. Perhaps I had better read it to you this time." He put on his
+spectacles--a present from an aunt--and read as follows:--
+
+"MY LORD,--We regret to inform you that a claimant to the title has
+arisen. It seems that, soon after the death of his first wife, the
+sixteenth Earl of Blight contracted a second and secret marriage to Ellen
+Podby, by whom he had eleven sons, the eldest of whom is now asserting
+his right to the earldom and estates. Trusting to be favoured with your
+instructions in the matter, We are, my lord,
+
+"Yours faithfully,
+
+"BILLINGS, BILLINGS & BILLINGS."
+
+Gertie (Countess of Blight) looked at her husband in horror.
+
+"Eleven!" she cried.
+
+"Eleven," said the Earl gloomily.
+
+Then a look of grim determination came into his eyes. With the air of one
+who might have been quoting Keats, but possibly wasn't, he said firmly:
+
+"What man has done, man can do."
+
+That evening the Countess of Blight gave orders for eleven spare bedrooms
+to be got ready.
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+On the morning after the arrival of the eleven Podbys (as they had been
+taught to call themselves) John, seventeenth Earl of Blight, spoke
+quite frankly to Algernon, the eldest.
+
+"After all, my dear Algernon," he said, "we are cousins. There is no need
+for harsh words between us. All I ask is that you should forbear to make
+your claim until I have delivered my speech in the House of Lords on the
+Coast Erosion Bill, upon which I feel deeply. Once the Bill is through, I
+shall be prepared to retire in your favour. Meanwhile let us all enjoy
+together the simple pleasures of Blight Hall."
+
+Algernon, a fair young man with a meaningless expression, replied
+suitably.
+
+So for some days the eleven Podbys gave themselves up to pleasure. Percy,
+the youngest, though hardly of an age to appreciate the mechanism of it,
+was allowed to push the lawn-mower. Lancelot and Herbert, who had
+inherited the Podby intellect, were encouraged to browse around the
+revolving bookcase, from which they frequently extracted one of the works
+of Thackeray, replacing it again after a glance at the title page; while
+on one notable occasion the Earl of Blight took Algernon into the
+dining-room at about 11.31 in the morning and helped him to a glass of
+sherry and a slice of sultana cake. In this way the days passed happily,
+and confidence between the eleven Podbys and their cousin was
+established.
+
+It was on a fair spring morning, just a week after their arrival, that
+the Countess of Blight came into the music-room (where Algernon was
+humming a tune) and said, "Ah, Algernon, my husband was looking for you.
+I think he has some little excursion to propose. What a charming day, is
+it not? You will find him in the library."
+
+As Algernon entered the library, Lord Blight looked up from the map he
+was studying and nodded.
+
+"I thought," he said, coming to the point at once, "that it might amuse
+you to drive over with me to Flamborough Head. The view from the top of
+the cliff is considered well worth a visit. I don't know if your tastes
+lie in that direction at all?"
+
+Algernon was delighted at the idea, and replied that nothing would give
+him greater pleasure than to accompany Lord Blight.
+
+"Excellent. Perhaps we had better take some sandwiches and make a day of
+it."
+
+Greatly elated at the thought of a day by the sea, Lord Blight went out
+and gave instructions to the Countess for sandwiches to be cut.
+
+"In two packets, my love," he added, "in case Algernon and I get
+separated."
+
+Half an hour later they started off together in high spirits.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was dark before the seventeenth Earl of Blight returned to the house
+and joined the others at the dinner-table. His face wore a slightly
+worried expression.
+
+"The fact is, my dear," he said, in answer to a question from the
+Countess, "I am a little upset about Algernon. I fear we have lost him."
+
+"Algernon?" said the Countess in surprise.
+
+"Yes. We were standing at the top of Flamborough Head, looking down into
+the sea, when--" He paused and tapped his glass, "Sherry, Jenkins," he
+said, catching the butler's eye.
+
+"I beg your pardon, my lord."
+
+"--When poor Algernon stumbled and--Do any of you boys know if your
+brother can swim?"
+
+Everard, the ninth, said that Algernon had floated once in the Paddington
+Baths, but couldn't swim.
+
+"Ah! I was hoping--But in any case, coming into the water from that
+height--Well, well, we must face our troubles bravely. Another glass of
+sherry, Jenkins."
+
+As they passed through the hall on their way to the drawing-room, Lord
+Blight stopped a moment at the aneroid barometer and gave it an
+encouraging tap.
+
+"It looks like another fine day to-morrow," he said to Cuthbert, the
+second Podby. "The panorama from the Scalby cliffs is unrivalled.
+We might drive over and have a look at it."
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+Fortunately the weather held up. A week later the Podby family had been
+thinned down to five, and the seventeenth Earl of Blight was beginning
+to regain his usual equanimity. His health too was benefiting by the
+constant sea air and change; for, in order that no melancholy
+associations should cast a gloom over their little outings, he took care
+to visit a different health-resort each time, feeling that no expense or
+trouble should be spared in a matter of this kind. It was wonderful with
+what vigour and alertness of mind he sat down in the evenings to the
+preparation of his speech on the Coast Erosion Bill.
+
+One night after dinner, when all the Podby family (Basil and Percy) had
+retired to bed, Gertie (Countess of Blight) came into her husband's
+library and, twirling the revolving bookcase with restless fingers, asked
+if she could interrupt him for a moment.
+
+"Yes?" he said, looking up at her.
+
+"I am anxious, Blight," she answered. "Anxious about Percy."
+
+"So am I, my love," he responded gravely. "I fear that to-morrow"--he
+consulted a leather pocket-book--"no, the day after to-morrow, something
+may happen to him. I have an uneasy feeling. It may be that I am
+superstitious. Yet something tells me that in the Book of Fate the
+names of Percy and Bridlington"--he consulted his diary again--"yes,
+Bridlington; the names, as I was saying, of--"
+
+She interrupted him with an impatient gesture.
+
+"You misunderstand me," she said. "That is not why I am anxious. I am
+anxious because of something I have just learnt about Percy. I am
+afraid he is going to be--"
+
+"Troublesome?" suggested Lord Blight.
+
+She nodded.
+
+"I have learnt to-day," she explained, "that he has a horror of high
+places."
+
+"You mean that on the cliffs of, as it might be, Bridlington some sudden
+unbridled terror may cause him to hurl himself--"
+
+"You will never get him to the cliffs of Bridlington. He can't even look
+out of a first-floor window. He won't walk up the gentlest slope. That is
+why he is always playing with the lawn-mower."
+
+The Earl frowned and tapped on his desk with a penholder.
+
+"This is very grave news, Gertie," he said. "How is it that the boy comes
+to have this unmanly weakness?"
+
+"It seems he has always had it."
+
+"He should have been taken in hand. Even now perhaps it is not too late.
+It is our duty to wean him from these womanish apprehensions."
+
+"Too late. Unless you carried him up there in a sack--?"
+
+"No, no," protested the Earl vigorously. "My dear, the seventeenth Earl
+of Blight carrying a sack! Impossible!"
+
+For a little while there was silence while they brooded over the tragic
+news.
+
+"Perhaps," said the Countess at last, "there are other ways. It may be
+that Percy is fond of fishing."
+
+Lord Blight shifted uncomfortably in his seat. When he spoke it was with
+a curiously apologetic air.
+
+"I am afraid, my dear," he said, "that you will think me foolish. No
+doubt I am. You must put it down to the artistic temperament. But I tell
+you quite candidly that it is as impossible for me to lose Percy in a
+boating accident as it would be for--shall I say?--Sargent to appear as
+'Hamlet' or a violinist to wish to exhibit at the Royal Academy. One has
+one's art, one's medium of expression. It is at the top of the high cliff
+with an open view of the sea that I express myself best. Also," he added
+with some heat, "I feel strongly that what was good enough for Percy's
+father, ten brothers, three half-brothers, not to mention his cousin,
+should be good enough for Percy."
+
+The Countess of Blight moved sadly from the room.
+
+"Well," she said as she stopped for a moment at the door, "we must hope
+for the best. Perhaps Percy will overcome this aversion in time. You
+might talk seriously to him to-morrow about it."
+
+"To-morrow," said the Earl, referring once more to his diary, "Basil and
+I are visiting the romantic scarps of Filey."
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+On the day following the unfortunate accident at Filey the Earl and
+Countess of Blight reclined together upon the cliffs of Bridlington.
+
+"If we only had had Percy here!" sighed the Earl.
+
+"It was something to have got him as far as the beach," said the Countess
+hopefully. "Perhaps in time--a little higher every day--"
+
+The Earl sighed again.
+
+"The need for self-expression comes strongly upon the artist at a time
+like this," he said. "It is not for me to say that I have genius--"
+
+"It is for me to say it, dear," said his wife.
+
+"Well, well, perhaps in my own line. And at the full height of one's
+powers to be baulked by the morbidity, for I can call it nothing else, of
+a Percy Podby! Gertie," he went on dreamily, "I wish I could make you
+understand something of the fascination which an artist finds in his
+medium. To be lying here, at the top of the world, with the lazy sea
+crawling beneath us so many feet below--"
+
+"Look," said the Countess suddenly. She pointed to the beach.
+
+The Earl rose, stretched his head over the edge and gazed down.
+
+"Percy," he said.
+
+"Yes. Almost exactly beneath us."
+
+"If anything fell upon him from here," said the Earl thoughtfully, "it is
+quite possible that--"
+
+Suddenly the fascination whereof he had spoken to her came irresistibly
+home to the Countess.
+
+"Yes," she said, as if in a trance, "if anything fell upon
+him from here--" and she gave her husband a thoughtful
+push--"it--is--quite--possible--that--"
+
+At the word "that" the Earl reached Percy, and simultaneously the title
+expired.
+
+Poor Blight!--or perhaps, since the title was never really his, we should
+say "Poor Blighter!" It is difficult to withhold our sympathy from him.
+
+
+
+HIGH JINKS AT HAPPY-THOUGHT HALL
+
+
+[_An inevitable article in any decent magazine at Christmas-time. Read it
+carefully, and then have an uproarious time in your own little house_.]
+
+It was a merry party assembled at Happy-Thought Hall for Christmas. The
+Squire liked company, and the friends whom he had asked down for the
+festive season had all stayed at Happy-Thought Hall before, and were
+therefore well acquainted with each other. No wonder, then, that the wit
+flowed fast and furious, and that the guests all agreed afterwards that
+they had never spent such a jolly Christmas, and that the best of all
+possible hosts was Squire Tregarthen!
+
+First we must introduce some of the Squire's guests to our readers. The
+Reverend Arthur Manley, a clever young clergyman with a taste for
+gardening, was talking in one corner to Miss Phipps, a pretty girl of
+some twenty summers. Captain Bolsover, a smart cavalry officer, together
+with Professor and Mrs. Smith-Smythe from Oxford, formed a small party in
+another corner. Handsome Jack Ellison was, as usual, in deep conversation
+with the beautiful Miss Holden, who, it was agreed among the ladies of
+the party, was not altogether indifferent to his fine figure and
+remarkable prospects. There were other guests, but as they chiefly played
+the part of audience in the events which followed their names will not be
+of any special interest to our readers. Suffice it to say that they were
+all intelligent, well-dressed, and ready for any sort of fun.
+
+(_Now, thank heaven, we can begin_.)
+
+A burst of laughter from Captain Bolsover attracted general attention,
+and everybody turned in his direction.
+
+"By Jove, Professor, that's good," he said, as he slapped his knee; "you
+must tell the others that."
+
+"It was just a little incident that happened to me to-day as I was coming
+down here," said the Professor, as he beamed round on the company. "I
+happened to be rather late for my train, and as I bought my ticket I
+asked the clerk what time it was. He replied, 'If it takes six seconds
+for a clock to strike six, how long will it take to strike twelve?' I
+said twelve seconds, but it seems I was wrong."
+
+The others all said twelve seconds too, but they were all wrong. Can
+_you_ guess the right answer?
+
+When the laughter had died down, the Reverend Arthur Manley said:
+
+"That reminds me of an amusing experience which occurred to my
+housekeeper last Friday. She was ordering a little fish for my lunch, and
+the fishmonger, when asked the price of herrings, replied, 'Three
+ha'pence for one and a half,' to which my housekeeper said, 'Then I will
+have twelve.' How much did she pay?" He smiled happily at the company.
+
+"One--and--sixpence, of course," said Miss Phipps.
+
+"No, no; ninepence," cried the Squire with a hearty laugh.
+
+Captain Bolsover made it come to £l 3s. 2-1/2d., and the Professor
+thought fourpence. But once again they were all wrong. What do _you_ make
+it come to?
+
+It was now Captain Bolsover's turn for an amusing puzzle, and the others
+turned eagerly towards him.
+
+"What was that one about a door?" said the Squire. "You were telling me
+when we were out shooting yesterday, Bolsover."
+
+Captain Bolsover looked surprised.
+
+"Ah, no, it was young Reggie Worlock," said the Squire with a hearty
+laugh.
+
+"Oh, do tell us, Squire," said everybody.
+
+"It was just a little riddle, my dear," said the Squire to Miss Phipps,
+always a favourite of his. "When is a door not a door?"
+
+Miss Phipps said when it was a cucumber; but she was wrong. So were the
+others. See if _you_ can be more successful.
+
+"Yes, that's very good," said Captain Bolsover; "it reminds me of
+something which occurred during the Boer War."
+
+Everybody listened eagerly.
+
+"We were just going into action, and I happened to turn round to my men
+and say, 'Now, then, boys, give 'em beans!' To my amusement one of them
+replied smartly, 'How many blue beans make five?' We were all so
+interested in working it out that we never got into action at all."
+
+"But that's easy," said the Professor. "Five."
+
+"Four," said Miss Phipps. (She would. Silly kid!)
+
+"Six," said the Squire.
+
+Which was right?
+
+Jack Ellison had been silent during the laughter and jollity, always such
+a feature of Happy-Thought Hall at Christmas-time, but now he contributed
+an ingenious puzzle to the amusement of the company.
+
+"I met a man in a motor-'bus," he said in a quiet voice, "who told me
+that he had four sons. The eldest son, Abraham, had a dog who used to
+go and visit the three brothers occasionally. The dog, my informant told
+me, was very unwilling to go over the same ground twice, and yet being in
+a hurry wished to take the shortest journey possible. How did he manage
+it?"
+
+For a little while the company was puzzled. Then, after deep thought, the
+Professor said:
+
+"It depends on where they lived."
+
+"Yes," said Ellison. "I forgot to say that my acquaintance drew me a
+map." He produced a paper from his pocket. "Here it is."
+
+The others immediately began to puzzle over the answer, Miss Phipps being
+unusually foolish, even for her. It was some time before they discovered
+the correct route. What do _you_ think it is?
+
+"Well," said the Squire, with a hearty laugh, "it's time for bed."
+
+One by one they filed off, saying what a delightful evening they had had.
+Jack Ellison was particularly emphatic, for the beautiful Miss Holden
+had promised to be his wife. He, for one, will never forget Christmas at
+Happy-Thought Hall.
+
+
+
+THE ARRIVAL OF BLACKMAN'S WARBLER
+
+
+I am become an Authority on Birds. It happened in this way.
+
+The other day we heard the Cuckoo in Hampshire. (The next morning the
+papers announced that the Cuckoo had been heard in Devonshire--possibly a
+different one, but in no way superior to ours except in the matter of its
+Press agent.) Well, everybody in the house said, "Did you hear the
+Cuckoo?" to everybody else, until I began to get rather tired of it; and,
+having told everybody several times that I _had_ heard it, I tried to
+make the conversation more interesting. So, after my tenth "Yes," I added
+quite casually:
+
+"But I haven't heard the Tufted Pipit yet. It's funny why it should be so
+late this year."
+
+"Is that the same as the Tree Pipit?" said my hostess, who seemed to know
+more about birds than I had hoped.
+
+"Oh, no," I said quickly.
+
+"What's the difference exactly?"
+
+"Well, one is tufted," I said, doing my best, "and the other--er--climbs
+trees."
+
+"Oh, I see."
+
+"And of course the eggs are more speckled," I added, gradually acquiring
+confidence.
+
+"I often wish I knew more about birds," she said regretfully. "You must
+tell us something about them now we've got you here."
+
+And all this because of one miserable Cuckoo!
+
+"By all means," I said, wondering how long it would take to get a book
+about birds down from London.
+
+However, it was easier than I thought. We had tea in the garden that
+afternoon, and a bird of some kind struck up in the plane-tree.
+
+"There, now," said my hostess, "what's that?"
+
+I listened with my head on one side. The bird said it again.
+
+"That's the Lesser Bunting," I said hopefully.
+
+"The Lesser Bunting," said an earnest-looking girl; "I shall always
+remember that."
+
+I hoped she wouldn't, but I could hardly say so. Fortunately the bird
+lesser-bunted again, and I seized the opportunity of playing for safety.
+
+"Or is it the Sardinian White-throat?" I wondered. "They have very much
+the same note during the breeding season. But of course the eggs are more
+speckled," I added casually.
+
+And so on for the rest of the evening. You see how easy it is.
+
+However, the next afternoon a more unfortunate occurrence occurred. A
+real Bird Authority came to tea. As soon as the information leaked out, I
+sent up a hasty prayer for bird-silence until we had got him safely out
+of the place; but it was not granted. Our feathered songster in the
+plane-tree broke into his little piece.
+
+"There," said my hostess--"there's that bird again." She turned to me.
+"What did you say it was?"
+
+I hoped that the Authority would speak first, and that the others would
+then accept my assurance that they had misunderstood me the day before;
+but he was entangled at that moment in a watercress sandwich, the loose
+ends of which were still waiting to be tucked away.
+
+I looked anxiously at the girl who had promised to remember, in case she
+wanted to say something, but she also was silent. Everybody was silent
+except that miserable bird.
+
+Well, I had to have another go at it. "Blackman's Warbler," I said
+firmly.
+
+"Oh, yes," said my hostess.
+
+"Blackman's Warbler; I shall always remember that," lied the
+earnest-looking girl.
+
+The Authority, who was free by this time, looked at me indignantly.
+
+"Nonsense," he said; "it's the Chiff-chaff."
+
+Everybody else looked at me reproachfully. I was about to say that
+"Blackman's Warbler" was the local name for the Chiff-chaff in our part
+of Somerset, when the Authority spoke again.
+
+"The Chiff-chaff," he said to our hostess with an insufferable air of
+knowledge.
+
+I wasn't going to stand that.
+
+"So _I_ thought when I heard it first," I said, giving him a gentle
+smile. It was now the Authority's turn to get the reproachful looks.
+
+"Are they very much alike?" my hostess asked me, much impressed.
+
+"Very much. Blackmail's Warbler is often mistaken for the Chiff-chaff,
+even by so-called experts"--and I turned to the Authority and
+added, "Have another sandwich, won't you?"--"particularly so, of course,
+during the breeding season. It is true that the eggs are more speckled,
+but--"
+
+"Bless my soul," said the Authority, but it was easy to see that he was
+shaken, "I should think I know a Chiff-chaff when I hear one."
+
+"Ah, but do you know a Blackman's Warbler? One doesn't often hear them in
+this country. Now in Algiers--"
+
+The bird said "Chiff-chaff" again with an almost indecent plainness of
+speech.
+
+"There you are!" I said triumphantly. "Listen," and I held up a finger.
+"You notice the difference? _Obviously_ a Blackman's Warbler."
+
+Everybody looked at the Authority. He was wondering how long it would
+take to get a book about birds down from London, and deciding that
+it couldn't be done that afternoon. Meanwhile he did not dare to
+repudiate me. For all he had caught of our mumbled introduction I might
+have been Blackman myself.
+
+"Possibly you're right," he said reluctantly.
+
+Another bird said "Chiff-chaff" from another tree and I thought it wise
+to be generous. "There," I said, "now that _was_ a Chiff-chaff."
+
+The earnest-looking girl remarked (silly creature) that it sounded just
+like the other one, but nobody took any notice of her. They were all
+busy admiring me.
+
+Of course I mustn't meet the Authority again, because you may be pretty
+sure that when he got back to his books he looked up Blackman's Warbler
+and found that there was no such animal. But if you mix in the right
+society, and only see the wrong people once, it is really quite easy to
+be an authority on birds--or, I imagine, on anything else.
+
+
+
+THE LAST STRAW
+
+
+It was one of those summer evenings with the chill on, so after dinner we
+lit the smoking-room fire and wondered what to do. There were eight of
+us; just the right number for two bridge tables, or four picquet pairs,
+or eight patience singles.
+
+"Oh, no, not cards," said Celia quickly. "They're so dull."
+
+"Not when you get a grand slam," said our host, thinking of an accident
+which had happened to him the night before.
+
+"Even then I don't suppose anybody laughed."
+
+Peter and I, who were partners on that occasion, admitted that we hadn't
+laughed.
+
+"Well, there you are," said Celia triumphantly. "Let's play proverbs."
+
+"I don't think I know it," said Herbert. (He wouldn't.)
+
+"Oh, it's quite easy. First you think of a proverb."
+
+"Like 'A burnt camel spoils the moss,'" I explained.
+
+"You mean 'A burnt child dreads the fire,'" corrected Herbert.
+
+Celia caught my eye and went on hurriedly, "Well, then somebody goes
+outside, and then he asks questions--"
+
+"From outside?" asked Mrs. Herbert.
+
+"From inside," I assured her. "Generally from very near the fire, because
+he has got so cold waiting in the hall."
+
+"Oh, yes, I see."
+
+"And then he asks questions, and we each have to get one of the words of
+the proverb into our answer, without letting him know what the proverb
+is. It's rather fun."
+
+Peter and his wife, who knew the game, agreed. Mrs. Herbert seemed
+resigned to the worst, but Herbert, though faint, was still pursuing.
+
+"But doesn't he _guess_ what the proverb is?" he asked.
+
+"Sometimes," I admitted. "But sometimes, if we are very, very clever, he
+doesn't. That, in fact, is the game."
+
+Our host got up and went to the door.
+
+"I think I see," he said; "and I want my pipe anyhow. So I'll go out
+first."
+
+"Now then," said Celia, when the door was safely closed, "what shall we
+have?"
+
+Of course you know this game, and you know the difficulty of thinking of
+a proverb which has no moss or stable-doors or glasshouses in it; all
+of them words which it is impossible to include naturally in an answer to
+an ordinary question. The proverbs which Mrs. Herbert suggested were
+full of moss.
+
+"What about 'It's never too late to mend?'" said Mrs. Peter. "The only
+difficult word is 'mend.'"
+
+"We mustn't have less than seven words, one for each of us."
+
+"Can't we get something from Solomon for a change?" said Peter. "'A
+roaring lion is a calamity to its father, but the cautious man cometh
+not again.' That sort of thing."
+
+"We might try it," said Celia doubtfully, not feeling quite sure if it
+were a real proverb; "but 'cometh' would be difficult."
+
+"I don't see why," said Herbert. "One could always work it in somehow."
+
+"Well, of course, if he asked you, 'By what train cometh thou up in the
+mornings?' you could answer, 'I cometh up by the ten-fifteen.' Only you
+don't get that sort of question as a rule."
+
+"Oh, I see," said Herbert. "I didn't quite understand."
+
+"After all, its really much more fun having camels and things," said
+Celia. "'It's the last straw that breaks the camel's back.' Who'll do
+'camels'? You'd better," she added kindly to me.
+
+Everybody but myself seemed to think that this was much more fun.
+
+"I'll do 'straw,'" said Peter generously, whereupon Celia volunteered for
+"breaks." There were seven of us for nine words. We gave Mrs. Herbert the
+second "the," fearing to trust her with anything more alarming and in
+order to keep it in the family we gave the other "the" to Herbert, who
+was also responsible for "back." Our hostess had "last" and Mrs. Peter
+had "that."
+
+All this being settled, our host was admitted into his smoking-room
+again.
+
+"You begin with me," I said, and I was promptly asked, "How many blue
+beans make five?" When I had made a suitable answer into which "it's"
+came without much difficulty, our host turned to Herbert. Herbert's face
+had already assumed a look of strained expectancy.
+
+"Well, Herbert, what do you think of Lloyd George?"
+
+"Yes," said Herbert. "Yes--er--yes." He wiped the perspiration from his
+brow. "He--er--that is to say--er--Lloyd George, yes."
+
+"Is that the answer?" said our host, rather surprised.
+
+Herbert explained hastily that he hadn't really begun yet, and with the
+aid of an anecdote about a cousin of his who had met Winston Churchill
+at Dieppe once, he managed to get "the" in several times before blowing
+his nose vigorously and announcing that he had finished.
+
+"I believe he's playing a different game," murmured Celia to Mrs. Peter.
+
+The next three words were disposed of easily enough, a lucky question to
+Peter about the weather giving him an opportunity to refer to his straw
+hat. It was now Celia's turn for "breaks."
+
+"Nervous?" I asked her.
+
+"All of a twitter," she said.
+
+"Well, Celia," said our host, "how long are you going to stay with us?"
+
+"Oh, a long time yet," said Celia confidently.
+
+"Till Wednesday, anyhow," I interrupted, thinking it a good opportunity
+to clinch the matter.
+
+"We generally stay," explained Celia, "until our host breaks it to us
+that he can't stick us any longer."
+
+"Not that that often happens," I added.
+
+"Look here, which of you is answering the question?"
+
+"I am," said Celia firmly.
+
+"Well, have you answered it yet?"
+
+"To tell the truth I've quite forgotten the word that--Oh, I remember
+now. Yes," she went on very distinctly and slowly, "I hope to remain
+under your roof until next Wednesday morn. Whew!" and she fanned herself
+with her handkerchief.
+
+Mrs. Herbert repeated her husband's triumph with "the," and then it was
+my turn again for these horrible camels. My only hope was that our host
+would ask me if I had been to the Zoo lately, but I didn't see why he
+should. He didn't.
+
+"Would it surprise you to hear," he asked, "that the President of
+Czecho-Slovakia has a very long beard?"
+
+"If it had only been 'goats,'" I murmured to myself. Aloud I said,
+"What?" in the hope of gaining a little more time.
+
+He repeated his question.
+
+"No," I said slowly, "no, it wouldn't," and I telegraphed an appeal to
+Celia for help. She nodded back at me.
+
+"Have you finished?" asked our host.
+
+"Good Lord, no, I shall be half an hour yet. The fact is you've asked the
+wrong question. You see, I've got to get in 'moss.'"
+
+"I thought it was 'camels,'" said Celia carelessly.
+
+"No, 'moss.' Now if you'd only asked me a question about gardening--You
+see, the proverb we wanted to have first of all was 'People who live in
+glass houses shouldn't throw stones,' only 'throw' was so difficult.
+Almost as difficult as--" I turned to Celia. "What was it you said just
+now? Oh yes, camels. Or stable doors, or frying-pans. However, there it
+is." And I enlarged a little more on the difficulty of getting in these
+difficult words.
+
+"Thank you very much," said our host faintly when I had finished.
+
+It was the last straw which broke the camel's back, and it was Herbert
+who stepped forward blithely with the last straw. Our host, as he
+admitted afterwards, was still quite in the dark, and with his last
+question he presented Herbert with an absolute gift.
+
+"When do you go back to Devonshire?" he asked.
+
+"We--er--return next month," answered Herbert. "I should say," he added
+hastily, "we go _back_ next month."
+
+My own private opinion was that the sooner he returned to Devonshire the
+better.
+
+
+
+DISILLUSIONED
+
+
+The card was just an ordinary card,
+The letter just an ordinary letter.
+The letter simply said "Dear Mr. Brown,
+I'm asked by Mrs. Phipp to send you this";
+The card said, "Mrs. Philby Phipp, At Home,"
+And in a corner, "Dancing, 10 p.m.,"
+No more--except a date, a hint in French
+That a reply would not be deemed offensive,
+And, most important, Mrs. Phipp's address.
+
+Destiny, as the poets have observed
+(Or will do shortly) is a mighty thing.
+It takes us by the ear and lugs us firmly
+Down different paths towards one common goal,
+Paths pre-appointed, not of our own choosing;
+Or sometimes throws two travellers together,
+Marches them side by side for half a mile,
+Then snatches them apart and hauls them onward.
+Thus happened it that Mrs. Phipp and I
+Had never met to any great extent,
+Had never met, as far as I remembered,
+At all.... And yet there must have been a time
+When she and I were very near together,
+When some one told her, "_That_ is Mr. Brown,"
+Or introduced us "_This_ is Mr. Brown,"
+Or asked her if she'd heard of Mr. Brown;
+I know not what, I only know that now
+She stood At Home in need of Mr. Brown,
+And I had pledged myself to her assistance.
+
+Behold me on the night, the latest word
+In all that separates the gentleman
+(And waiters) from the evening-dress-less mob,
+And graced, moreover, by the latest word
+In waistcoats such as mark one from the waiters.
+My shirt, I must not speak about my shirt;
+My tie, I cannot dwell upon my tie--
+Enough that all was neat, harmonious,
+And suitable to Mrs. Philby Phipp.
+Behold me, then, complete. A hasty search
+To find the card, and reassure myself
+That this is certainly the day--(It is)--
+And 10 p.m. the hour; "p.m.," not "a.m.,"
+Not after breakfast--good; and then outside,
+To jump into a cab and take the winds,
+The cold east winds of March, with beauty. So.
+
+Let us get on more quickly. Looms ahead
+Tragedy. Let us on and have it over.
+
+I hung with men and women on the stairs
+And watched the tall white footman take the names,
+And heard him shout them out, and there I shaped
+My own name ready for him, "Mr. Brown."
+And Mrs. Philby Phipp, hearing the name,
+Would, I imagined, brighten suddenly
+And smile and say, "How _are_ you, Mr. Brown?"
+And in an instant I'd remember her,
+And where we met, and who was Mr. Phipp,
+And all the jolly time at Grindelwald
+(If that was where it was); and she and I
+Would talk of Art and Politics and things
+As we had talked these many years ago....
+So "Mr. Brown" I murmured to the man,
+And he--the fool!--he took a mighty breath
+And shouted, "Mr. BROWNIE!"--Brownie! Yes,
+He shouted "Mr. BROWNIE" to the roof.
+And Mrs. Philby Phipp, hearing the name,
+Brightened up suddenly and smiled and said,
+"How _are_ you, Mr. Brownie?"--(Brownie! Lord!)
+And, while my mouth was open to protest,
+"_How_ do you do?" to some one at the back.
+So I was passed along into the crowd
+As Brownie!
+
+Who on earth is Mr. Brownie?
+Did he, I wonder, he and Mrs. Phipp
+Talk Art and Politics at Grindelwald,
+Or did one simply point him out to her
+With "_That_ is Mr. Brownie?" Were they friends,
+Dear friends, or casual acquaintances?
+She brightened at his name, some memory
+Came back to her that brought a happy smile--Why
+surely they were friends! But _I_ am Brown,
+A stranger, all unknown to Mrs. Phipp,
+As she to me, a common interloper--I
+see it now--an uninvited guest,
+Whose card was clearly meant for Mr. Brownie.
+Soft music fell, and the kaleidoscope
+Of lovely woman glided, swayed and turned
+Beneath the shaded lights; but Mr. Brownie
+(_Né_ Brown, not Brownie) stood upon one side
+And brooded silently. Some spoke to him;
+Whether to Brown or Brownie mattered not,
+He did not answer, did not notice them,
+Just stood and brooded.... Then went home to bed.
+
+
+
+A FEW TRICKS FOR CHRISTMAS
+
+(_In the manner of many contemporaries_)
+
+
+Now that the "festive season" (_copyright_) is approaching, it behoves
+us all to prepare ourselves in some way to contribute to the gaiety of
+the Christmas house-party. A clever conjurer is welcome anywhere, and
+those of us whose powers of entertainment are limited to the setting of
+booby-traps or the arranging of apple-pie beds must view with envy the
+much greater tribute of laughter and applause which is the lot of the
+prestidigitator with some natural gift for legerdemain. Fortunately there
+are a few simple conjuring tricks which are within the reach of us all.
+With practice even the clumsiest of us can obtain sufficient dexterity in
+the art of illusion to puzzle the most observant of our fellow-guests.
+The few simple tricks which I am about to explain, if studied diligently
+for a few days before Christmas, will make a genuine addition to the
+gaiety of any gathering, and the amateur prestidigitator (if I may use
+that word again) will find that he is amply repaying the hospitality of
+his host and hostess by his contribution to the general festivity.
+
+So much by way of introduction. It is a difficult style of writing to
+keep up, particularly when the number of synonyms for "conjuring" is so
+strictly limited. Let me now get to the tricks. I call the first
+
+
+HOLDING THE LEMON
+
+For this trick you want a lemon and a pack of ordinary playing-cards.
+Cutting the lemon in two, you hand half to one member of your audience
+and half to another, asking them to hold the halves up in full view of
+the company. Then, taking the pack of cards in your own hands, you offer
+it to a third member of the party, requesting him to select a card and
+examine it carefully. When he has done this he puts it back in the pack,
+and you seize this opportunity to look hurriedly at the face of it,
+discovering (let us say) that it is the five of spades. Once more you
+shuffle the pack; and then, going through the cards one by one, you will
+have no difficulty in locating the five of spades, which you will hold up
+to the company with the words "I think this is your card, sir"--whereupon
+the audience will testify by its surprise and appreciation that you have
+guessed correctly.
+
+It will be noticed that, strictly speaking, the lemon is not a necessary
+adjunct of this trick; but the employment of it certainly adds an air of
+mystery to the initial stages of the illusion, and this air of mystery
+is, after all, the chief stock-in-trade of the successful conjurer.
+
+For my next trick, which I call
+
+
+THE ILLUSORY EGG
+
+and which is most complicated, you require a sponge, two tablecloths, a
+handful of nuts, a rabbit, five yards of coloured ribbon, a top-hat with
+a hole in it, a hard-boiled egg, two florins and a gentleman's watch.
+Having obtained all these things, which may take some time, you put the
+two tablecloths aside and separate the other articles into two heaps, the
+rabbit, the top-hat, the hard-boiled egg, and the handful of nuts being
+in one heap, and the ribbon, the sponge, the gentleman's watch and the
+two florins in the other. This being done, you cover each heap with a
+tablecloth, so that none of the objects beneath is in any way visible.
+Then you invite any gentleman in the audience to think of a number. Let
+us suppose he thinks of 38. In that case you ask any lady in the audience
+to think of an odd number, and she suggests (shall we say?) 29. Then,
+asking the company to watch you carefully, you--you--
+
+To tell the truth, I have forgotten just what it is you _do_ do, but I
+know that it is a very good trick, and never fails to create laughter and
+bewilderment. It is distinctly an illusion worth trying, and, if you
+begin it in the manner I have described, quite possibly some way of
+finishing it up will occur to you on the spur of the moment. By
+multiplying the two numbers together and passing the hard-boiled egg
+through the sponge and then taking the ... or is it the--Anyway,
+I'm certain you have to have a piece of elastic up the sleeve ... and I
+know one of the florins has to--No, it's no good, I can't remember it.
+
+But mention of the two numbers reminds me of a trick which I haven't
+forgotten. It is a thought-reading illusion, and always creates the
+_maximum_ of wonderment amongst the audience. It is called
+
+
+THE THREE QUESTIONS
+
+As before, you ask a gentleman in the company to write down a number on a
+piece of paper, and a lady to write down another number. These numbers
+they show to the other guests. You then inform the company that you will
+ask any one of them three questions, and by the way they are answered you
+will guess what the product of the two numbers is. (For instance, if the
+numbers were 13 and 17, then 13 multiplied by 17 is--let's see, thirteen
+sevens are--thirteen sevens--seven threes are twenty-one, seven times one
+is--well, look here, let's suppose the numbers are 10 and 17. Then the
+product is 170, and 170 is the number you have got to guess.)
+
+Well, the company selects a lady to answer your questions, and the first
+thing you ask her is: "When was Magna Charta signed?" Probably she says
+that she doesn't know. Then you say, "What is the capital of Persia?" She
+answers Timbuctoo, or Omar Khayyam, according to how well informed she
+is. Then comes your last question: "What makes lightning?" She is
+practically certain to say, "Oh, the thunder." Then you tell her that the
+two numbers multiplied together come to 170.
+
+How is this remarkable trick performed? It is quite simple. The two
+people whom you asked to think of the numbers are confederates, and you
+arranged with them beforehand that they should write down 10 and 17. Of
+course it would be a much better trick if they weren't confederates;
+but in that case I don't quite know how you would do it.
+
+I shall end up this interesting and instructive article with a rather
+more difficult illusion. For the tricks I have already explained it was
+sufficient that the amateur prestidigitator (I shall only say this once
+more) should know how it was done; for my last trick he will also require
+a certain aptitude for legerdemain in order to do it. But a week's quiet
+practice at home will give him all the skill that is necessary.
+
+
+THE MYSTERIOUS PUDDING
+
+is one of the oldest and most popular illusions. You begin by borrowing a
+gold watch from one of your audience. Having removed the works, you wrap
+the empty case up in a handkerchief and hand it back to him, asking him
+to put it in his waistcoat pocket. The works you place in an ordinary
+pudding basin and proceed to pound up with a hammer. Having reduced them
+to powder, you cover the basin with another handkerchief, which you
+borrow from a member of the company, and announce that you are about to
+make a plum-pudding. Cutting a small hole in the top of the handkerchief,
+you drop a lighted match through the aperture; whereupon the handkerchief
+flares up. When the flames have died down you exhibit the basin, wherein
+(to the surprise of all) is to be seen an excellent Christmas pudding,
+which you may ask your audience to sample. At the same time you tell the
+owner of the watch that if he feels in his pockets he will find his
+property restored to him intact; and to his amazement he discovers that
+the works in some mysterious way have got back into his watch, and that
+the handkerchief in which it was wrapped up has gone!
+
+Now for the explanation of this ingenious illusion. The secret of it is
+that you have a second basin, with a pudding in it, concealed in the palm
+of your right hand. At the critical moment, when the handkerchief flares
+up, you take advantage of the excitement produced to substitute the one
+basin for the other. The watch from which you extract the works is not
+the borrowed one, but one which you have had concealed between the third
+and fourth fingers of the left hand. You show the empty case of this
+watch to the company, before wrapping the watch in the handkerchief
+and handing it back to its owner. Meanwhile with the aid of a little wax
+you have attached an invisible hair to the handkerchief, the other end of
+it being fastened to the palm of your left hand. With a little practice
+it is not difficult to withdraw the handkerchief, by a series of trifling
+jerks, from, the pocket of your fellow-guest to its resting place between
+the first and second finger of your left hand.
+
+One word more. I am afraid that the borrowed handkerchief to which you
+applied the match really did get burnt, and you will probably have to
+offer the owner one of your own instead. That is the only weak spot in
+one of the most baffling tricks ever practised by the amateur
+prestidigitator (to use the word for the last time). It will make a
+fitting climax to your evening's entertainment--an entertainment which
+will ensure you another warm invitation next year when the "festive
+season" (_copyright_) comes upon us once again.
+
+
+
+
+VII. AND OTHERS
+
+
+
+MY FILM SCENARIO
+
+
+[Specially written for Economic Pictures, Limited, whose Manager
+has had the good fortune to pick up for a mere song (or, to be more
+accurate, for a few notes) several thousand miles of discarded cinema
+films from a bankrupt company. The films comprise the well-known
+"Baresark Basil, the Pride of the Ranch" (two miles long), "The Foiler
+Foiled" (one mile, three furlongs, two rods, poles or perches), "The
+Blood-stained Vest" (fragment--eighteen inches), "A Maniac's Revenge"
+(5,000 feet), "The Life of the Common Mosquito" (six legs), and so
+forth.]
+
+Twenty-five years before our film opens, Andrew Bellingham, a young man
+just about to enter his father's business, was spending a holiday in a
+little fishing village in Cornwall. The daughter of the sheep-farmer
+with whom he lodged was a girl of singular beauty, and Andrew's youthful
+blood was quickly stirred to admiration. Carried away by his passion for
+her, he--
+
+[MANAGER. _Just a reminder that Mr. T.P. O'Connor has to pass this before
+it can be produced_.]--he married her--
+
+[MANAGER. _Oh, I beg pardon_.]--and for some weeks they lived happily
+together. One day he informed Jessie that he would have to go back to his
+work in London, and that it might be a year or more before he could
+acknowledge her openly as his wife to his rich and proud parents. Jessie
+was prostrated with grief; and late that afternoon her hat and fringe-net
+were discovered by the edge of the waters. Realizing at once that she
+must have drowned herself in her distress, Andrew took an affecting
+farewell of her father and the sheep, and returned to London. A year
+later he married a distant cousin, and soon rose to a condition of
+prosperity. At the time our film begins to unwind, he was respected by
+everybody in the City, a widower, and the father of a beautiful girl of
+eighteen called Hyacinth.
+
+[MANAGER. _Now we're off. What do we start with?_]
+
+
+
+I
+
+
+On the sunny side of Fenchurch Street--
+
+[MANAGER. _Ah, then I suppose we'd better keep back the Rescue from the
+Alligator and the Plunge down Niagara in a Barrel_.]
+
+--Andrew Bellingham was dozing in his office. Suddenly he awoke to find a
+strange man standing over him.
+
+"Who are you?" asked Mr. Bellingham. "What do you want?"
+
+"My name is Jasper," was the answer, "and I have some information to give
+you." He bent down and hissed, "_Your first wife is still alive_!"
+
+Andrew started up in obvious horror. "My daughter," he gasped, "my little
+Hyacinth! She must never know."
+
+"Listen. Your wife is in Spain--
+
+[MANAGER. _Don't waste her. Make it somewhere where there are sharks_.
+
+AUTHOR. _It's all right, she's dead really_.]--and she will not trouble
+you. Give me a thousand pounds and you shall have these; and he held out
+a packet containing the marriage certificate, a photograph of Jessie's
+father dipping a sheep, a receipted bill for a pair of white gloves,
+size 9-1/2, two letters signed "Your own loving little Andy Pandy," and a
+peppermint with "Jess" on it in pink. Once these are locked up in your
+safe, no one need ever know that you were married in Cornwall twenty-five
+years ago."
+
+Without a moment's hesitation Mr. Bellingham took a handful of bank notes
+from his pocketbook, and the exchange was made. At all costs he must
+preserve his little Hyacinth from shame. Now she need never know. With a
+forced smile he bowed Jasper out, placed the packet in his safe and
+returned to his desk.
+
+But his mysterious visitor was not done with yet. As soon as the door had
+closed behind him Jasper re-entered softly, drugged Andrew hastily, and
+took possession again of the compromising documents. By the time Mr.
+Bellingham had regained his senses the thief was away. A hue-and-cry
+was raised, police whistles were blown, and Richard Harrington, Mr.
+Bellingham's private secretary, was smartly arrested.
+
+At the trial things looked black against Richard. He was poor and he was
+in love with Hyacinth; the chain of evidence was complete. In spite of
+his impassioned protest from the dock, in spite of Hyacinth's dramatic
+swoon in front of the solicitor's table, the judge with great solemnity
+passed sentence of twenty years' penal servitude. A loud "Hear, hear"
+from the gallery rang through the court, and, looking up, Mr. Bellingham
+caught the sardonic eye of the mysterious Jasper.
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+Richard had been in prison a month before the opportunity for his escape
+occurred. For a month he had been hewing stone in Portland, black
+despair at his heart. Then, like lightning, he saw his chance and took
+it. The warders were off guard for a moment. Hastily lifting his
+pickaxe--
+
+[MANAGER. _Sorry, but it's a spade in the only prison film we've got_.]
+
+Hastily borrowing a spade from a comrade who was digging potatoes, he
+struck several of his gaolers down, and, dodging the shots of others
+who hurried to the scene, he climbed the prison wall and dashed for
+freedom.
+
+Reaching Weymouth at nightfall, he made his way to the house which
+Hyacinth had taken in order to be near him, and, suitably disguised,
+travelled up to London with her in the powerful motor which she had kept
+ready. "At last, my love, we are together," he murmured as they
+neared Wimbledon. But he had spoken a moment too soon. An aeroplane
+swooped down upon them, and Hyacinth was snatched from his arms
+and disappeared with her captors into the clouds.
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+Richard's first act on arriving in London was to go to Mr. Bellingham's
+house. Andrew was out, but a note lying on his study carpet, "_Meet me at
+the Old Windmill to-night,"_ gave him a clue. On receipt of this note
+Andrew had gone to the rendezvous, and it was no surprise to him when
+Jasper stepped out and offered to sell him a packet containing a marriage
+certificate, a photograph of an old gentleman dipping a sheep, a
+peppermint lozenge with "Jess" on it, and various other documents for a
+thousand pounds.
+
+"You villain," cried Andrew, "even at the trial I suspected you," and he
+rushed at him fiercely.
+
+A desperate struggle ensued. Breaking free for a moment from the
+vice-like grip of the other, Jasper leapt with the spring of a panther at
+one of the sails of the windmill as it came round, and was whirled
+upwards; with the spring of another panther, Andrew leapt on to the next
+sail and was whirled after him. At that moment the wind dropped, and the
+combatants were suspended in mid-air.
+
+It was upon this terrible scene that Richard arrived. Already a crowd was
+collecting; and, though at present it did not seem greatly alarmed,
+feeling convinced that it was only assisting at another cinematograph
+rehearsal, its suspicions might at any moment be aroused. With a shout
+he dashed into the mill. Seeing him coming Jasper dropped his revolver
+and slid down the sail into the window. In a moment he reappeared at the
+door of the mill with Hyacinth under his arm. "Stop him!" cried Richard
+from underneath a sack of flour. It was no good. Jasper had leapt with
+his fair burden upon the back of his mustang and was gone....
+
+The usual pursuit followed.
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+It was the gala night at the Royal Circus. Ricardo Harringtoni, the
+wonderful new acrobat of whom everybody was talking, stood high above
+the crowd on his platform. His marvellous performance on the swinging
+horizontal bar was about to begin. Richard Harrington (for it was he) was
+troubled. Since he had entered on his new profession--as a disguise from
+the police who were still searching for him--he had had a vague suspicion
+that the lion-tamer was dogging him. _Who was the lion-tamer?_ Could it
+be Jasper?
+
+At that moment the band struck up and Richard leapt lightly on to the
+swinging bar. With a movement full of grace he let go of the bar and
+swung on to the opposite platform. And then, even as he was in mid-air,
+he realized what was happening.
+
+Jasper had let the lion loose!
+
+_It was waiting for him_.
+
+With a gasping cry Ricardo Harringtoni fainted.
+
+
+
+V
+
+
+When he recovered consciousness, Richard found himself on the S.S.
+"Boracic," which was forging her way through the--
+
+[MANAGER. _Somewhere where there are sharks_.]
+
+--the Indian Ocean. Mr. Bellingham was bathing his forehead with cooling
+drinks.
+
+"Forgive me, my boy," said Mr. Bellingham, "for the wrong I did you. It
+was Jasper who stole the compromising documents. He refuses to give them
+back unless I let him marry Hyacinth. What can I do?"
+
+"Where is she?" asked Richard.
+
+"Hidden away no one knows where. Find her, get back the documents for me,
+and she is yours."
+
+At that moment a terrible cry rang through the ship, "Man overboard!"
+Pushing over Mr. Bellingham and running on deck, Richard saw that
+a woman and her baby were battling for life in the shark-infested waters.
+In an instant he had plunged in and rescued them. As they were dragged
+together up the ship's side he heard her murmur, "Is little Jasper safe?"
+
+"Jasper?" cried Richard.
+
+"Yes, called after his daddy."
+
+"Where is daddy now?" asked Richard hoarsely.
+
+"In America."
+
+"Can't you see the likeness?" whispered Richard to Mr. Bellingham. "It
+must be. The villain is married to another. But now I will pursue
+him and get back the papers." And he left the boat at the next port and
+boarded one for America.
+
+The search through North and South America for Jasper was protracted.
+Accompanied sometimes by a band of cowboys, sometimes by a tribe of
+Indians, Richard scoured the continent for his enemy. There were hours
+when he would rest awhile and amuse himself by watching the antics of the
+common mosquito [Manager. _Good_!] or he would lie at full length and
+gaze at a bud bursting into flower. [Manager. _Excellent_!] Then he would
+leap on to his steed and pursue the trail relentlessly once more.
+
+One night he was dozing by his camp-fire, when he was awakened roughly by
+strong arms around his neck and Jasper's hot breath in his ear.
+
+"At last!" cried Jasper, and, knocking Richard heavily on the head with a
+boot, he picked up his unconscious enemy and carried him to a tributary
+of the Amazon noted for its alligators. Once there he tied him to a post
+in mid-stream and rode hastily off to the nearest town, where he spent
+the evening witnessing the first half of "The Merchant of Venice."
+[Manager. _Splendid_!] But in the morning a surprise awaited him. As he
+was proceeding along the top of a lonely cliff he was confronted suddenly
+by the enemy whom he had thought to kill.
+
+"Richard!" he cried, "escaped again!"
+
+"Now, Jasper, I have you."
+
+With a triumphant cry they rushed at each other; a terrible contest
+ensued; and then Jasper, with one blow of his palm, hurled his adversary
+over the precipice.
+
+
+
+VI
+
+
+How many times the two made an end of each other after this the pictures
+will show. Sometimes Jasper sealed Richard in a barrel and pushed him
+over Niagara; sometimes Richard tied Jasper to a stake and set light to
+him; sometimes they would both fall out of a balloon together. But
+the day of reckoning was at hand.
+
+[Manager. _We've only got the Burning House and the 1913 Derby left_.
+
+Author. _Right_.]
+
+It is the evening of the 3rd of June. A cry rends the air suddenly,
+whistles are blowing, there is a rattling of horses' hoofs. "Fire! Fire!"
+Richard, who was passing Soho Square at the time, heard the cry and
+dashed into the burning house. In a room full of smoke he perceived a
+cowering woman. Hyacinth! To pick her up was the work of a moment, but
+how shall he save her? Stay! The telegraph wire! His training at
+the Royal Circus stood him in good stead. Treading lightly on the swaying
+wire he carried Hyacinth across to the house opposite.
+
+"At last, my love," he breathed.
+
+"But the papers," she cried. "You must get them, or father will not let
+you marry me."
+
+Once more he treads the rocking wire; once more he re-crosses, with the
+papers on his back. Then the house behind him crumbles to the ground,
+with the wicked Jasper in its ruins....
+
+"Excellent," said Mr. Bellingham at dinner that evening. "Not only are
+the papers here, but a full confession by Jasper. My first wife was
+drowned all the time; he stole the documents from her father. Richard, my
+boy, when the Home Secretary knows everything he will give you a free
+pardon. And then you can marry my daughter."
+
+At these words Hyacinth and Richard were locked in a close embrace. On
+the next day they all went to the Derby together.
+
+
+
+THE FATAL GIFT
+
+
+People say to me sometimes, "Oh, _you_ know Woolman, don't you?" I
+acknowledge that I do, and, after the silence that always ensues, I add,
+"If you want to say anything against him, please go on." You can almost
+hear the sigh of relief that goes up. "I thought he was a friend of
+yours," they say cheerfully. "But, of course, if--" and then they
+begin.
+
+I think it is time I explained my supposed friendship for Ernest Merrowby
+Woolman--confound him.
+
+The affair began in a taxicab two years ago. Andrew had been dining with
+me that night; we walked out to the cab-rank together; I told the driver
+where to go, and Andrew stepped in, waved good-bye to me from the window,
+and sat down suddenly upon something hard. He drew it from beneath him,
+and found it was an extremely massive (and quite new) silver cigar-case.
+He put it in his pocket with the intention of giving it to the driver
+when he got out, but quite naturally forgot. Next morning he found it on
+his dressing-table. So he put it in his pocket again, meaning to leave it
+at Scotland Yard on his way to the City.
+
+Next morning it was on his dressing-table again.
+
+This went on for some days. After a week or so Andrew saw that it was
+hopeless to try to get a cigar-case back to Scotland Yard in this casual
+sort of way; it must be taken there deliberately by somebody who had a
+morning to spare and was willing to devote it to this special purpose.
+He placed the case, therefore, prominently on a small table in the
+dining-room to await the occasion; calling also the attention of his
+family to it, as an excuse for an outing when they were not otherwise
+engaged.
+
+At times he used to say, "I must really take that cigar-case to Scotland
+Yard to-morrow."
+
+At other times he would say, "Somebody must really take that cigar-case
+to Scotland Yard to-day."
+
+And so the weeks rolled on....
+
+It was about a year later that I first got mixed up with the thing. I
+must have dined with the Andrews several times without noticing the
+cigar-case, but on this occasion it caught my eye as we wandered out to
+join the ladies, and I picked it up carelessly. Well, not exactly
+carelessly; it was too heavy for that.
+
+"Why didn't you tell me," I said, "that you had stood for Parliament and
+that your supporters had consoled you with a large piece of plate? Hallo,
+they've put the wrong initials on it. How unbusiness-like."
+
+"Oh, _that_?" said Andrew. "Is it still there?"
+
+"Why not? It's quite a solid little table. But you haven't explained why
+your constituents, who must have seen your name on hundreds of posters,
+thought your initials were E.M.W."
+
+Andrew explained.
+
+"Then it isn't yours at all?" I said in amazement.
+
+"Of course not."
+
+"But, my dear man, this is theft. Stealing by finding, they call it. You
+could get"--I looked at him almost with admiration--"you could get two
+years for this"; and I weighed the cigar-case in my hand. "I believe
+you're the only one of my friends who could be certain of two years,"
+I went on musingly. "Let's see, there's--"
+
+"Nonsense," said Andrew uneasily. "But still, perhaps I'd better take it
+back to Scotland Yard to-morrow."
+
+"And tell them you've kept it for a year? They'd run you in at once. No,
+what you want to do is to get rid of it without their knowledge. But
+how--that's the question. You can't give it away because of the
+initials."
+
+"It's easy enough. I can leave it in another cab, or drop it in the
+river."
+
+"Andrew, Andrew," I cried, "you're determined to go to prison! Don't you
+know from all the humorous articles you've ever read that, if you _try_
+to lose anything, then you never can? It's one of the stock remarks one
+makes to women in the endeavour to keep them amused. No, you must think
+of some more subtle way of disposing of it."
+
+"I'll pretend it's yours," said Andrew more subtly, and he placed it in
+my pocket.
+
+"No, you don't," I said. "But I tell you what I will do. I'll take it for
+a week and see if I can get rid of it. If I can't, I shall give it you
+back and wash my hands of the whole business--except, of course, for the
+monthly letter or whatever it is they allow you at the Scrubbs. You may
+still count on me for that."
+
+And then the extraordinary thing happened. The next morning I received a
+letter from a stranger, asking for some simple information which I could
+have given him on a post-card. And so I should have done--or possibly, I
+am afraid, have forgotten to answer at all--but for the way that the
+letter ended up.
+
+"Yours very truly,
+ERNEST M. WOOLMAN."
+
+The magic initials! It was a chance not to be missed. I wrote
+enthusiastically back and asked him to lunch.
+
+He came. I gave him all the information he wanted, and more. Whether he
+was a pleasant sort of person or not I hardly noticed; I was so very
+pleasant myself.
+
+He returned my enthusiasm. He asked me to dine with him the following
+week. A little party at the Savoy--his birthday, you know.
+
+I accepted gladly. I rolled up at the party with my little present...a
+massive silver cigar-case...suitably engraved.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+So there you are. He clings to me. He seems to have formed the absurd
+idea that I am fond of him. A few months after that evening at the
+Savoy he was married. I was invited to the wedding--confound him. Of
+course I had to live up to my birthday present; the least I could do was
+an enormous silver cigar-box (not engraved), which bound me to him still
+more strongly.
+
+By that time I realized that I hated him. He was pushing, familiar,
+everything that I disliked. All my friends wondered how I had become so
+intimate with him....
+
+Well, now they know. And the original E.M.W., if he has the sense to read
+this, also knows. If he cares to prosecute Ernest Merrowby Woolman for
+being in possession of stolen goods, I shall be glad to give him any
+information. Woolman is generally to be found leaving my rooms at about
+6.30 in the evening, and a smart detective could easily nab him as he
+steps out.
+
+
+
+A MIDSUMMER MADNESS
+
+
+The girl who shared Herbert's meringue at dinner (a brittle one, which
+exploded just as he was getting into it) was kind and tactful.
+
+"It doesn't matter a bit," she said, removing fragments of shell from her
+lap; and, to put him at his ease again, went on "Are you interested in
+little problems at all?"
+
+Herbert, who would have been interested even in a photograph album just
+then, emerged from his apologies and swore that he was.
+
+"We're all worrying about one which Father saw in a paper. I do wish you
+could solve it for us. It goes like this." And she proceeded to explain
+it. Herbert decided that the small piece of meringue still in her hair
+was not worth mentioning, and he listened to her with interest.
+
+On the next morning I happened to drop in at Herbert's office.... And
+that, in short, is how I was entangled in the business.
+
+"Look here," said Herbert, "you used to be mathematical; here's something
+for you."
+
+"Let the dead past bury its dead," I implored. "I am now quite
+respectable."
+
+"It goes like this," he said, ignoring my appeal.
+
+He then gave me the problem, which I hand on to you.
+
+"A subaltern riding at the rear of a column of soldiers trotted up to the
+captain in front and challenged him to a game of billiards for half a
+crown a side, the loser to pay for the table. Having lost, he played
+another hundred, double or quits, and then rode back, the column by this
+time having travelled twice its own length, and a distance equal to the
+distance it would have travelled if it had been going in the other
+direction. What was the captain's name?"
+
+Perhaps I have not got it quite right, for I have had an eventful week
+since then; or perhaps Herbert didn't get it quite right; or perhaps the
+girl with the meringue in her hair didn't get it quite right; but anyhow,
+that was the idea of it.
+
+"And the answer," said Herbert, "ought to be 'four cows,' but I keep on
+making it 'eight and tuppence.' Just have a shot at it, there's a good
+fellow. I promised the girl, you know."
+
+I sat down, worked it out hastily on the back of an envelope, and made it
+a yard and a half.
+
+"No," said Herbert; "I know it's 'four cows,' but I can't get it."
+
+"Sorry," I said, "how stupid of me; I left out the table-money."
+
+I did it hastily again and made it three minutes twenty-five seconds.
+
+"It _is_ difficult, isn't it?" said Herbert. "I thought, as you used to
+be mathematical and as I'd promised the girl--"
+
+"Wait a moment," I said, still busy with my envelope. "I forgot the
+subaltern. Ah, that's right. The answer is a hundred and twenty-five
+men.... No, that's wrong--I never doubled the half-crown. Er--oh, look
+here, Herbert, I'm rather busy this morning. I'll send it to you."
+
+"Right," said Herbert. "I know I can depend on you, because you're
+mathematical." And he opened the door for me.
+
+I had meant to do a very important piece of work that day, but I couldn't
+get my mind off Herbert's wretched problem. Happening to see Carey at
+teatime, I mentioned it to him.
+
+"Ah," said Carey profoundly. "H'm. Have you tried it with an '_x_'?"
+
+"Of course."
+
+"Yes, it looks as though it wants a bit of an '_x_' somewhere. You
+stick to it with an '_x_' and you ought to do it. Let '_x_' be the
+subaltern--that's the way. I say, I didn't know you were interested in
+problems."
+
+"Well--"
+
+"Because I've got rather a tricky chess problem here I can't do." He
+produced his pocket chess-board. "White mates in four moves."
+
+I looked at it carelessly. Black had only left himself with a Pawn and a
+King, while White had a Queen and a couple of Knights about. Now, I know
+very little about chess, but I do understand the theory of chess
+problems.
+
+"Have you tried letting the Queen be taken by Black's pawn, then
+sacrificing the Knights, and finally mating him with the King alone?"
+
+"Yes," said Carey.
+
+Then I was baffled. If one can't solve a chess problem by starting off
+with the most unlikely-looking thing on the board, one can't solve it at
+all. However, I copied down the position and said I'd glance at it.... At
+eleven that night I rose from my glance, decided that Herbert's problem
+was the more immediately pressing, and took it to bed with me.
+
+I was lunching with William next day, and I told him about the subaltern.
+He dashed at it lightheartedly and made the answer seventeen.
+
+"Seventeen what?" I said.
+
+"Well, whatever we're talking about. I think you'll find it's seventeen
+all right. But look here, my son, here's a golf problem for you. A is
+playing B. At the fifth hole A falls off the tee into a pond--"
+
+I forget how it went on.
+
+When I got home to dinner, after a hard day with the subaltern, I found a
+letter from Norah waiting for me.
+
+"I hear from Mr. Carey," she wrote, "that you're keen on problems. Here's
+one I have cut out of our local paper. Do have a shot at it. The answer
+ought to be eight miles an hour."
+
+Luckily, however, she forgot to enclose the problem. For by this time,
+what with Herbert's subaltern, Carey's pawn, and a cistern left me by an
+uncle who was dining with us that night, I had more than enough to
+distract me.
+
+And so the business has gone on. The news that I am preparing a
+collection of interesting and tricky problems for a new "Encyclopaedia"
+has got about among my friends. Everybody who writes to me tells me of a
+relation of his who has been shearing sheep or rowing against the stream
+or dealing himself four aces. People who come to tea borrow a box of
+wooden matches and beg me to remove one match and leave a perfect square.
+I am asked to do absurd things with pennies....
+
+Meanwhile Herbert has forgotten both the problem and the girl. Three
+evenings later he shared his Hollandaise sauce with somebody in yellow
+(as luck would have it) and she changed the subject by wondering if he
+read Dickens. He is now going manfully through "Bleak House"--a chapter
+a night--and when he came to visit me to-day he asked me if I had ever
+heard of the man.
+
+However, I was not angry with him, for I had just made it come to "three
+cows." It is a cow short, but it is nearer than I have ever been before,
+and I think I shall leave it at that. Indeed, both the doctor and the
+nurse say that I had better leave it at that.
+
+
+
+TO THE DEATH
+
+_(In the Twentieth Century manner_)
+
+
+"Cauliflower!" shrieked Gaspard Volauvent across the little table in the
+_estaminet_. His face bristled with rage.
+
+"Serpent!" replied Jacques Rissole, bristling with equal dexterity.
+
+The two stout little men glared ferociously at each other. Then Jacques
+picked up his glass and poured the wine of the country over his friend's
+head.
+
+"Drown, serpent!" he said magnificently. He beckoned to the waiter.
+"Another bottle," he said. "My friend has drunk all this."
+
+Gaspard removed the wine from his whiskers with the local paper and leant
+over the table towards Jacques.
+
+"This must be wiped out in blood," he said slowly. "You understand?"
+
+"Perfectly," replied the other. "The only question is whose."
+
+"Name your weapons," said Gaspard Volauvent grandly.
+
+"Aeroplanes," replied Jacques Rissole after a moment's thought.
+
+"Bah! I cannot fly."
+
+"Then I win," said Jacques simply.
+
+The other looked at him in astonishment.
+
+"What! You fly?"
+
+"No; but I can learn."
+
+"Then I will learn too," said Gaspard with dignity. "We meet--in six
+months?"
+
+"Good." Jacques pointed to the ceiling. "Say three thousand feet up."
+
+"Three thousand four hundred," said Gaspard for the sake of disagreeing.
+
+"After all, that is for our seconds to arrange. My friend Epinard of the
+Roullens Aerodrome will act for me. He will also instruct me how to
+bring serpents to the ground."
+
+"With the idea of cleansing the sky of cauliflowers," said Gaspard, "I
+shall proceed to the flying-ground at Dormancourt; Blanchaille, the
+instructor there, will receive your friend."
+
+He bowed and walked out.
+
+Details were soon settled. On a date six months ahead the two combatants
+would meet three thousand two hundred feet above the little town in which
+they lived, and fight to the death. In the event of both crashing, the
+one who crashed last would be deemed the victor. It was Gaspard's second
+who insisted on this clause; Gaspard himself felt that it did not matter
+greatly.
+
+The first month of instruction went by. At the end of it Jacques Rissole
+had only one hope. It was that when he crashed he should crash on some of
+Gaspard's family. Gaspard had no hope, but one consolation. It was that
+no crash could involve his stomach, which he invariably left behind him
+as soon as the aeroplane rose.
+
+At the end of the second month Gaspard wrote to Jacques.
+
+"My friend," he wrote, "the hatred of you which I nurse in my bosom, and
+which fills me with the desire to purge you from the sky, is in danger of
+being transferred to my instructor. Let us therefore meet and renew our
+enmity."
+
+Jacques Rissole wrote back to Gaspard.
+
+"My enemy," he wrote, "there is nobody in the whole of the Roullens
+Aerodrome whom I do not detest with a detestation beside which my hatred
+for you seems as maudlin adoration. This is notwithstanding the fact that
+I make the most marvellous progress in the art of flying. It is merely
+something in their faces which annoys me. Let me therefore see yours
+again, in the hope that it will make me think more kindly of theirs."
+
+They met, poured wine over each other and parted. After another month the
+need of a further stimulant was felt. They met again, and agreed to
+insult each other weekly.
+
+On the last day of his training Gaspard spoke seriously to his
+instructor.
+
+"You see that I make nothing of it," he said. "My thoughts are ever with
+the stomach that I leave behind. Not once have I been in a position to
+take control. How then can I fight? My friend, I arrange it all. You
+shall take my place."
+
+"Is that quite fair to Rissole?" asked Blanchaille doubtfully.
+
+"Do not think that I want you to hurt him. That is not necessary. He will
+hurt himself. Keep out of his way until he has finished with himself, and
+then fly back here. It is easy."
+
+It seemed the best way; indeed the only way. Gaspard Volauvent could
+never get to the rendezvous alone, and it would be fatal to his honour
+if Jacques arrived there and found nobody to meet him. Reluctantly
+Blanchaille agreed.
+
+At the appointed hour Gaspard put his head cautiously out of his bedroom
+window and gazed up into the heavens. He saw two aeroplanes straight
+above him. At the thought that he might have been in one of them he
+shuddered violently. Indeed, he felt so unwell that the need for some
+slight restorative became pressing. He tripped off to the _estaminet_.
+
+It was empty save for one table. Gaspard walked towards it, hoping for a
+little conversation. The occupant lowered the newspaper from in front of
+his face and looked up.
+
+It was too much for Gaspard.
+
+"Coward!" he shrieked.
+
+Jacques, who had been going to say the same thing, hastily substituted
+"Serpent!"
+
+"I know you," cried Gaspard. "You send your instructor up in your place.
+Poltroon!"
+
+Jacques picked up his glass and poured the wine of the country over his
+friend's head.
+
+"Drown, serpent," he said magnificently. He beckoned to the waiter.
+"Another bottle," he said. "My friend has drunk all this."
+
+Gaspard removed the wine from his whiskers with Jacques' paper, and leant
+over him.
+
+"This must be wiped out in blood," he said slowly. "Name your weapons."
+
+"Submarines," said Jacques after a moment's thought.
+
+
+
+THE HANDICAP OF SEX
+
+
+I found myself in the same drawing-room with Anne the other day, so I
+offered her one of my favourite sandwiches. (I hadn't seen her for some
+time, and there were plenty in the plate.)
+
+"If you are coming to talk to me," she said, "I think I had better warn
+you that I am a Bolshevist."
+
+"Then you won't want a sandwich," I said gladly, and I withdrew the
+plate.
+
+"I suppose," said Anne, "that what I really want is a vote."
+
+"Haven't you got one? Sorry; I mean, of course you haven't got one."
+
+"But it isn't only that. I want to see the whole position of women
+altered. I want to see--"
+
+I looked round for her mother.
+
+"Tell me," I said gently; "when did this come over you?"
+
+"In the last few weeks," said Anne. "And I don't wonder."
+
+I settled down with the sandwiches to listen.
+
+Anne first noted symptoms of it at a luncheon-party at the beginning of
+the month. She had asked the young man on her right if she could have
+some of his salt, and as he passed it to her he covered up any
+embarrassment she might be feeling by saying genially, "Well, and how
+long is this coal strike going to last?"
+
+"I don't know," said Anne truthfully.
+
+"I suppose you're ready for the Revolution? The billiard-room and all the
+spare bedrooms well stocked?"
+
+Anne saw that this was meant humorously, and she laughed.
+
+"I expect we shall be all right," she said.
+
+"You'll have to give a coal-party, and invite all your friends. 'Fire,
+9--12.'"
+
+"What a lovely idea!" said Anne, smiling from sheer habit. "Mind you
+come." She got her face straight again with a jerk and turned to the
+solemn old gentleman on her other side.
+
+He was ready for her.
+
+"This is a terrible disaster for the country, this coal strike," he said.
+
+"Isn't it?" said Anne; and feeling that that was inadequate, added,
+"Terrible!"
+
+"I don't know what's happening to the country."
+
+Anne crumbled her bread, and having reviewed a succession of possible
+replies, each more fatuous than the last, decided to remain silent.
+
+"Everything will be at a standstill directly," her companion went on.
+"Already trade is leaving the country. America--"
+
+"I suppose so," said Anne gloomily.
+
+"Once stop the supplies of coal, you see, and you drain the life-blood of
+the country."
+
+"Of _course_," said Anne, and looked very serious.
+
+After lunch an extremely brisk little man took her in hand.
+
+"Have you been studying this coal strike question at all?" he began.
+
+"I read the papers," said Anne.
+
+"Ah, but you don't _get_ it there. They don't _tell_ you--they don't
+_tell_ you. Now I know a man who is actually _in_ it, and he _says_--and
+he knows this for a _fact_--that from the _moment_ when the _first man_
+downed tools--from the very moment when he _downed tools_..."
+
+Anne edged away from him nervously. Her face had assumed an expression of
+wild interest which she was certain couldn't last much longer.
+
+"Now, take coal at the pit's mouth," he went on--"at the _pit's
+mouth_"--he shook a forefinger at her--"at the _pit's mouth_--and I know
+this for a _fact_--the _royalties_, the royalties are--"
+
+"It's awful," said Anne. "I _know_."
+
+She went home feeling a little disturbed. There was something in her
+mind, a dim sense of foreboding, which kept casting its shadow across
+her pleasanter thoughts; "Just as you feel," she said, "when you _know_
+you've got to go to the dentist." But they had a big dinner-party that
+evening, and Anne, full of the joy of life, was not going to let anything
+stand in the way of her enjoyment of it.
+
+Her man began on the stairs.
+
+"Well," he said, "what about the coal strike? When are you going to start
+your coal-parties? 'Fire, 10--2.' They say that that's going to be the
+new rage." He smiled reassuringly at her. He was giving the impression
+that he _could_ have been very, very serious over this terrible business,
+but that for her sake he was wearing the mask. In the presence of women a
+man must make light of danger.
+
+Anne understood then what was troubling her; and as, half-way through
+dinner, the man on her other side turned to talk to her, she shot an
+urgent question at him. At any cost she must know the worst.
+
+"_How_ long will the strike last?" she said earnestly. "That's just what
+I was going to ask you," he said. "I fear it may be months."
+
+Anne sighed deeply.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I took the last sandwich and put down the plate.
+
+"And that," said Anne, "was three weeks ago."
+
+"It has been the same ever since?" I asked, beginning on a new plate.
+
+"Every day. I'm tired of it. I shrink from every new man I meet. I wait
+nervously for the word 'coal,' feeling that I shall scream when it
+comes. Oh, I want a vote or something. I don't know what I want, but I
+_hate_ men! Why should they think that everything they say to us
+is funny or clever or important? Why should they talk to us as if we were
+children? Why should they take it for granted that it's our duty to
+_listen_ always?"
+
+I rose with dignity. Dash it all, who had been doing the listening for
+the last half-hour?
+
+"You are run down," I said. "What you want is a tonic."
+
+Quite between ourselves, though, I really think--
+
+But no. We men must stick together.
+
+
+
+THE LEGEND OF HI-YOU
+
+I
+
+
+In the days of Good King Carraway (dead now, poor fellow, but he had a
+pleasant time while he lasted) there lived a certain swineherd commonly
+called Hi-You. It was the duty of Hi-You to bring up one hundred and
+forty-one pigs for his master, and this he did with as much enthusiasm as
+the work permitted. But there were times when his profession failed him.
+In the blue days of summer Princes and Princesses, Lords and Ladies,
+Chamberlains and Enchanters would ride past him and leave him vaguely
+dissatisfied with his company, so that he would remove the straw from his
+mouth and gaze after them, wondering what it would be like to have as
+little regard for a swineherd as they. But when they were out of sight,
+he would replace the straw in his mouth and fall with great diligence to
+the counting of his herd and such other duties as are required of the
+expert pigtender, assuring himself that, if a man could not be lively
+with one hundred and forty-one companions, he must indeed be a
+poor-spirited sort of fellow.
+
+Now there was one little black pig for whom Hi-You had a special
+tenderness. Just so, he often used to think, would he have felt towards
+a brother if this had been granted to him. It was not the colour of the
+little pig nor the curliness of his tail (endearing though this was), nor
+even the melting expression in his eyes which warmed the swineherd's
+heart, but the feeling that intellectually this pig was as solitary among
+the hundred and forty others as Hi-You himself. Frederick (for this was
+the name which he had given to it) shared their food, their sleeping
+apartments, much indeed as did Hi-You, but he lived, or so it seemed to
+the other, an inner life of his own. In short, Frederick was a soulful
+pig.
+
+There could be only one reason for this: Frederick was a Prince in
+disguise. Some enchanter--it was a common enough happening in those
+days--annoyed by Frederick's father, or his uncle, or even by Frederick
+himself, had turned him into a small black pig until such time as the
+feeling between them had passed away. There was a Prince Frederick of
+Milvania who had disappeared suddenly; probably this was he. His
+complexion was darker now, his tail more curly, but the royal bearing was
+unmistakable.
+
+It was natural then that, having little in common with his other hundred
+and forty charges, Hi-You should find himself drawn into ever closer
+companionship with Frederick. They would talk together in the intervals
+of acorn-hunting, Frederick's share of the conversation limited to
+"Humphs," unintelligible at first, but, as the days went on, seeming more
+and more charged with an inner meaning to Hi-You, until at last he could
+interpret every variation of grunt with which his small black friend
+responded. And indeed it was a pretty sight to see them sitting together
+on the top of a hill, the world at their feet, discussing at one time the
+political situation of Milvania, at another the latest ballad of the
+countryside, or even in their more hopeful moments planning what they
+should do when Frederick at last was restored to public life.
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+Now it chanced that one morning when Frederick and Hi-You were arguing
+together in a friendly manner over the new uniforms of the Town Guard
+(to the colours of which Frederick took exception) King Carraway himself
+passed that way, and being in a good humour stood for a moment listening
+to them.
+
+"Well, well," he said at last, "well, well, well."
+
+In great surprise Hi-You looked up, and then, seeing that it was the
+King, jumped to his feet and bowed several times.
+
+"Pardon, Your Majesty," he stammered, "I did not see Your Majesty. I
+was--I was talking."
+
+"To a pig," laughed the King.
+
+"To His Royal Highness Prince Frederick of Milvania," said Hi-You
+proudly.
+
+"I beg your pardon," said the King; "could I trouble you to say that
+again?"
+
+"His Royal Highness Prince Frederick of Milvania."
+
+"Yes, that was what it sounded like last time."
+
+"Frederick," murmured Hi-You in his friend's ear, "this is His Majesty
+King Carraway. He lets me call him Frederick," he added to the King.
+
+"You don't mean to tell me," said His Majesty, pointing to the pig, "that
+_this_ is Prince Frederick?"
+
+"It is indeed, Sire. Such distressing incidents must often have occurred
+within Your Majesty's recollection."
+
+"They have, yes. Dear me, dear me."
+
+"Humph," remarked Frederick, feeling it was time he said something.
+
+"His Royal Highness says that he is very proud to meet so distinguished a
+monarch as Your Majesty."
+
+"Did he say that?" asked the King, surprised.
+
+"Undoubtedly, Your Majesty."
+
+"Very good of him, I'm sure."
+
+"Humph," said Frederick again.
+
+"He adds," explained Hi-You, "that Your Majesty's great valour is only
+excelled by the distinction of Your Majesty's appearance."
+
+"Dear me," said the King, "I thought he was merely repeating himself. It
+seems to me very clever of you to understand so exactly what he is
+saying."
+
+"Humph," said Frederick, feeling that it was about acorn time again.
+
+"His Royal Highness is kind enough to say that we are very old friends."
+
+"Yes, of course, that must make a difference. One soon picks it up, no
+doubt. But we must not be inhospitable to so distinguished a visitor.
+Certainly he must stay with us at the Palace. And you had better come
+along too, my man, for it may well be that without your aid some of His
+Royal Highness's conversation would escape us. Prince Frederick of
+Milvania--dear me, dear me. This will be news for Her Royal Highness."
+
+So, leaving the rest of the herd to look after itself, as it was quite
+capable of doing, Frederick and Hi-You went to the Palace.
+
+Now Her Royal Highness Princess Amaril was of an age to be married. Many
+Princes had sought her hand, but in vain, for she was as proud as she was
+beautiful. Indeed, her beauty was so great that those who looked upon it
+were blinded, as if they had gazed upon the sun at noonday--or so the
+Court Poet said, and he would not be likely to exaggerate. Wherefore
+Hi-You was filled with a great apprehension as he walked to the Palace,
+and Frederick, to whom the matter had been explained, was, it may be
+presumed, equally stirred within, although outwardly impassive. And, as
+they went, Hi-You murmured to his companion that it was quite all right,
+for that in any event she could not eat them, the which assurance
+Frederick, no doubt, was peculiarly glad to receive.
+
+"Ah," said the King, as they were shown into the Royal Library, "that's
+right." He turned to the Princess. "My dear, prepare for a surprise."
+
+"Yes, Father," said Amaril dutifully.
+
+"This," said His Majesty dramatically, throwing out a hand, "is a Prince
+in disguise."
+
+"Which one, Father?" said Amaril.
+
+"The small black one, of course," said the King crossly; "the other is
+merely his attendant. Hi, you, what's your name?"
+
+The swineherd hastened to explain that His Majesty, with His Majesty's
+unfailing memory for names, had graciously mentioned it.
+
+"You don't say anything," said the King to his daughter.
+
+Princess Amaril sighed.
+
+"He is very handsome, Father," she said, looking at Hi-You.
+
+"Y-yes," said the King, regarding Frederick (who was combing himself
+thoughtfully behind the left ear) with considerable doubt. "But the
+real beauty of Prince Frederick's character does not lie upon the
+surface, or anyhow--er--not at the moment."
+
+"No, Father," sighed Amaril, and she looked at Hi-You again.
+
+Now the swineherd, who with instinctive good breeding had taken the straw
+from his mouth on entering the Palace, was a well-set-up young fellow,
+such as might please even a Princess.
+
+For a little while there was silence in the Royal Library, until
+Frederick realized that it was his turn to speak.
+
+"Humph!" said Frederick.
+
+"There!" said the King in great good humour. "Now, my dear, let me tell
+you what that means. That means that His Royal Highness is delighted
+to meet so beautiful and distinguished a Princess." He turned to Hi-You.
+"Isn't that right, my man?"
+
+"Perfectly correct, Your Majesty."
+
+"You see, my dear," said the King complacently, "one soon picks it up.
+Now in a few days--"
+
+"Humph!" said Frederick again.
+
+"What did that one mean, Father?" asked Amaril.
+
+"That meant--er--that meant--well, it's a little hard to put it
+colloquially, but roughly it means"--he made a gesture with his
+hand--"that we have--er--been having very charming weather lately." He
+frowned vigorously at the swineherd.
+
+"Exactly, Your Majesty," said Hi-You.
+
+"Charming weather for the time of year."
+
+"For the time of year, of course," said the King hastily. "One naturally
+assumes that. Well, my dear," he went on to his daughter, "I'm sure you
+will be glad to know that Prince Frederick has consented to stay with us
+for a little. You will give orders that suitable apartments are to be
+prepared."
+
+"Yes, Father. What _are_ suitable apartments?"
+
+The King pulled at his beard and regarded Frederick doubtfully.
+
+"Perhaps it would be better," the Princess went on, looking at Hi-You,
+"if this gentleman--"
+
+"Of course, my dear, of course. Naturally His Royal Highness would wish
+to retain his suite."
+
+"Humph!" said Frederick, meaning, I imagine, that things were looking up.
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+Of all the Princes who from time to time had visited the Court none
+endeared himself so rapidly to the people as did Frederick of Milvania.
+His complete lack of vanity, his thoughtfulness, the intense reserve
+which so obviously indicated a strong character, his power of listening
+placidly to even the most tedious of local dignitaries, all these were
+virtues of which previous royal visitors had given no sign. Moreover on
+set occasions Prince Frederick could make a very pretty speech. True,
+this was read for him, owing to a slight affection of the throat from
+which, as the Chancellor pointed out, His Royal Highness was temporarily
+suffering, but it would be couched in the most perfect taste and seasoned
+at suitable functions (such, for instance, as the opening of the first
+Public Baths) with a pleasantly restrained humour. Nor was there any
+doubt that the words were indeed the Prince's own, as dictated to Hi-You
+and by him put on paper for the Chancellor. But Hi-You himself never left
+the Palace.
+
+"My dear," said the King to his daughter one day, "have you ever thought
+of marriage?"
+
+"Often, Father," said Amaril.
+
+"I understand from the Chancellor that the people are expecting an
+announcement on the subject shortly."
+
+"We haven't got anything to announce, have we?"
+
+"It's a pity that you were so hasty with your other suitors," said the
+King thoughtfully. "There is hardly a Prince left who is in any way
+eligible."
+
+"Except Prince Frederick," said Amaril gently.
+
+The King looked at her suspiciously and then looked away again, pulling
+at his beard.
+
+"Of course," went on Amaril, "I don't know what your loving subjects
+would say about it."
+
+"My loving subjects," said the King grimly, "have been properly brought
+up. They believe--they have my authority for believing--that they
+are suffering from a disability of the eyesight laid upon them by a
+wicked enchanter, under which they see Princes as--er--pigs. That, if you
+remember, was this fellow Hi-You's suggestion. And a very sensible one."
+
+"But do you want Frederick as a son-in-law?"
+
+"Well, that's the question. In his present shape he is perhaps not
+quite--not quite--well, how shall I put it?"
+
+"Not quite," suggested Amaril.
+
+"Exactly. At the same time I think that there could be no harm in the
+announcement of a betrothal. The marriage, of course, would not be
+announced until--"
+
+"Until the enchanter had removed his spell from the eyes of the people?"
+
+"Quite so. You have no objection to that, my dear?"
+
+"I am His Majesty's subject," said Amaril dutifully.
+
+"That's a good girl." He patted the top of her head and dismissed her.
+
+So the betrothal of His Royal Highness Frederick of Milvania to the
+Princess Amaril was announced, to the great joy of the people. And
+in the depths of the Palace Hi-You the swineherd was hard at work
+compounding a potion which, he assured the King, would restore Frederick
+to his own princely form. And sometimes the Princess Amaril would help
+him at his work.
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+A month went by, and then Hi-You came to the King with news. He had
+compounded the magic potion. A few drops sprinkled discriminately on
+Frederick would restore him to his earlier shape, and the wedding could
+then be announced.
+
+"Well, my man," said His Majesty genially, "this is indeed pleasant
+hearing. We will sprinkle Frederick to-morrow. Really, I am very much
+in your debt; remind me after the ceremony to speak to the Lord Treasurer
+about the matter."
+
+"Say no more," begged Hi-You. "All I ask is to be allowed to depart in
+peace. Let me have a few hours alone with His Royal Highness in the form
+in which I have known him so long, and then, when he is himself again,
+let me go. For it is not meet that I should remain here as a perpetual
+reminder to His Royal Highness of what he would fain forget."
+
+"Well, that's very handsome of you, very handsome indeed. I see your
+point. Yes, it is better that you should go. But, before you go, there
+is just one thing. The people are under the impression that--er--an
+enchanter has--er--well, you remember what you yourself suggested."
+
+"I have thought of that," said Hi-You, who seemed to have thought of
+everything. "And I venture to propose that Your Majesty should
+announce that a great alchemist has been compounding a potion to relieve
+their blindness. A few drops of this will be introduced into the water
+of the Public Baths, and all those bathing therein will be healed."
+
+"A striking notion," said the King. "Indeed it was just about to occur to
+me. I will proclaim to-morrow a public holiday, and give orders that it
+be celebrated in the baths. Then in the evening, when they are all
+clean--I should say 'cured'--we will present their Prince to them."
+
+So it happened even as Hi-You had said, and in the evening the Prince, a
+model now of manly beauty, was presented to them, and they acclaimed
+him with cheers. And all noticed how lovingly the Princess regarded him,
+and how he smiled upon her.
+
+But the King gazed upon the Prince as one fascinated. Seven times he
+cleared his throat and seven times he failed to speak. And the eighth
+time he said, "Your face is strangely familiar to me."
+
+"Perchance we met in Milvania," said the Prince pleasantly.
+
+Now the King had never been in Milvania. Wherefore he still gazed at the
+Prince, and at length he said, "What has happened to that Hi-You fellow?"
+
+"You will never hear of him again," said the Prince pleasantly.
+
+"Oh!" said the King. And after that they feasted.
+
+And some say that they feasted upon roast pig, but I say not. And some
+say that Hi-You had planned it all from the beginning, but I say not.
+And some say that it was the Princess Amaril who planned it, from the day
+when first she saw Hi-You, and with them I agree. For indeed I am very
+sure that when Hi-You was a swineherd upon the hills he believed truly
+that the little black pig with the curly tail was a Prince. And, though
+events in the end were too much for him, I like to think that Hi-You
+remained loyal to his friend, and that in his plush-lined sty in a quiet
+corner of the Palace grounds Frederick passed a gentle old age, cheered
+from time to time by the visits of Amaril's children.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Sunny Side, by A. A. Milne
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SUNNY SIDE ***
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Sunny Side, by A. A. Milne
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Sunny Side
+
+Author: A. A. Milne
+
+Release Date: September 12, 2004 [EBook #13441]
+Last updated: January 24, 2012
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SUNNY SIDE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Rick Niles and John Hagerson, Mary Meehan and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                             THE SUNNY SIDE
+
+                             BY A. A. MILNE
+
+    Author of "If I May," "The Dover Road," "Mr. Pim Passes By," etc.
+
+                                  1922
+
+
+
+
+TO OWEN SEAMAN
+
+AFFECTIONATELY IN MEMORY OF NINE HAPPY YEARS AT THE "PUNCH" OFFICE
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+CHAPTER
+
+
+     INTRODUCTION TO THE AMERICAN EDITION
+
+  I. ORANGES AND LEMONS
+
+ II. MEN OF LETTERS
+
+III. SUMMER DAYS
+
+ IV. WAR-TIME
+
+  V. HOME NOTES
+
+ VI. A FEW GUESTS
+
+VII. AND OTHERS
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+My publisher wants me to apologize for--"introduce" was the kindly word
+he used--this collection of articles and verses from _Punch_. I do so
+with pleasure.
+
+_Among the many interests of a long and varied career_--
+
+No, I don't think I shall begin like that.
+
+_It was early in 1871_--
+
+Nor like that.
+
+Really it is very difficult, you know. I wrote these things for a number
+of years, and--well, here they are. But just to say "Here they are" is to
+be too informal for my publisher. He wants, not a casual introduction,
+but a presentation. Let me tell you a little story instead.
+
+When war broke out, I had published three of these books in England, the
+gleanings of nine years' regular work for _Punch_. There are, I
+understand, a few Americans who read _Punch_, and it was suggested to me
+that a suitable collection of articles from these three books might have
+some sort of American sale. So I made such a collection, leaving out the
+more topical and allusive sketches, and including those with a more
+general appeal. I called the result "Happy Days"--an attractive title,
+you will agree--and in 1915 a New York publisher was found for it.
+
+This is a funny story; at least it appeals to _me_; so I won't remind
+myself of the number of copies which we sold. That was tragedy, not
+comedy. The joke lay in one of the few notices which the book received
+from the press. For a New York critic ended his review of "Happy Days"
+with these immortal words:
+
+"_Mr. Milne is at present in the trenches facing the German bullets, so
+this will probably be his last book_."
+
+You see now why an apology is necessary. Here we are, seven years later,
+and I am still at it.
+
+But at any rate, it is the last of this sort of book. As I said in a
+foreword to the English edition: "It is the last time because this sort
+of writing depends largely upon the irresponsibility and high spirits of
+youth for its success, and I want to stop before (may I say 'before'?)
+the high spirits become mechanical and the irresponsibility a trick.
+Perhaps the fact that this collection is final will excuse its air of
+scrappiness. Odd Verses have crept in on the unanswerable plea that, if
+they didn't do it now, they never would; War Sketches protested that I
+shouldn't have a book at all if I left them out; an Early Article,
+omitted from three previous volumes, paraded for the fourth time with
+such a pathetic 'I suppose you don't want _me_' in its eye that it could
+not decently be rejected. So here they all are."
+
+One further word of explanation. You may find the first section of this
+book--"Oranges and Lemons"--a little difficult. The characters of it are
+old friends to that limited public which reads my books in England; their
+earlier adventures have been told in those previous volumes (and
+purposely omitted from "Happy Days" as being a little too insular). I
+feel somehow that strangers will not be on such easy terms with them, and
+I would recommend that you approach them last. By that time you will have
+discovered whether you are in a mood to stop and listen to their chatter,
+or prefer to pass them by with a nod.
+
+A.A. M.
+
+
+
+
+THE SUNNY SIDE
+
+
+
+
+I. ORANGES AND LEMONS
+
+
+
+I.
+
+THE INVITATION
+
+
+"Dear Myra," wrote Simpson at the beginning of the year--"I have an
+important suggestion to make to you both, and I am coming round to-morrow
+night after dinner about nine o'clock. As time is so short I have asked
+Dahlia and Archie to meet me there, and if by any chance you have gone
+out we shall wait till you come back.
+
+"Yours ever,
+
+"SAMUEL
+
+"P.S.--I have asked Thomas too."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Well?" said Myra eagerly, as I gave her back the letter.
+
+In deep thought I buttered a piece of toast.
+
+"We could stop Thomas," I said. "We might ring up the Admiralty and ask
+them to give him something to do this evening. I don't know about Archie.
+Is he--"
+
+"Oh, what do you think it is? Aren't you excited?" She sighed and added,
+"Of course I know what Samuel _is_."
+
+"Yes. Probably he wants us all to go to the Zoo together ... or he's
+discovered a new way of putting, or--I say, I didn't know Archie and
+Dahlia were in town."
+
+"They aren't. But I expect Samuel telegraphed to them to meet him under
+the clock at Charing Cross disguised, when they would hear of something
+to their advantage. Oh, I wonder what it is. It _must_ be something real
+this time."
+
+Since the day when Simpson woke me up at six o'clock in the morning to
+show me his stance-for-a-full-wooden-club shot I have distrusted his
+enthusiasms; but Myra loves him as a mother; and I--I couldn't do without
+him; and when a man like that invites a whole crowd of people to come to
+your flat just about the time when you are wondering what has happened to
+the sardines on toast--well, it isn't polite to put the chain on the door
+and explain through the letter-box that you have gone away for a week.
+
+"We'd better have dinner a bit earlier to be on the safe side," I said,
+as Myra gave me a parting brush down in the hall. "If any further
+developments occur in the course of the day, ring me up at the office. By
+the way, Simpson doesn't seem to have invited Peter. I wonder why not.
+He's nearly two, and he ought to be in it. Myra, I'm sure I'm tidy now."
+
+"Pipe, tobacco, matches, keys, money?"
+
+"Everything," I said. "Bless you. Goodbye."
+
+"Good-bye," said Myra lingeringly. "What do you think he meant by 'as
+time is so short'?"
+
+"I don't know. At least," I added, looking at my watch, "I do know. I
+shall be horribly late. Good-bye."
+
+I fled down the stairs into the street, waved to Myra at the
+window ... and then came cautiously up again for my pipe. Life is very
+difficult on the mornings when you are in a hurry.
+
+At dinner that night Myra could hardly eat for excitement.
+
+"You'll be sorry afterwards," I warned her, "when it turns out to be
+nothing more than that he has had his hair cut."
+
+"But even if it is, I don't see why I shouldn't be excited at seeing my
+only brother again--not to mention sister-in-law."
+
+"Then let's move," I said. "They'll be here directly."
+
+Archie and Dahlia came first. We besieged them with questions as soon as
+they appeared.
+
+"Haven't an idea," said Archie, "I wanted to bring a revolver in case it
+was anything really desperate, but Dahlia wouldn't let me."
+
+"It would have been useful too," I said, "if it turned out to be
+something merely futile."
+
+"You're not going to hurt my Samuel, however futile it is," said Myra.
+"Dahlia, how's Peter, and will you have some coffee?"
+
+"Peter's lovely. You've had coffee, haven't you, Archie?"
+
+"Better have some more," I suggested, "in case Simpson is merely
+soporific. We anticipate a slumbering audience, and Samuel explaining a
+new kind of googlie he's invented."
+
+Entered Thomas lazily.
+
+"Hallo," he said in his slow voice. "What's it all about?"
+
+"It's a raid on the Begum's palace," explained Archie rapidly. "Dahlia
+decoys the Chief Mucilage; you, Thomas, drive the submarine; Myra has
+charge of the clockwork mouse, and we others hang about and sing. To say
+more at this stage would be to bring about a European conflict."
+
+"Coffee, Thomas?" said Myra.
+
+"I bet he's having us on," said Thomas gloomily, as he stirred his
+coffee.
+
+There was a hurricane in the hall. Chairs were swept over; coats and hats
+fell to the ground; a high voice offered continuous apologies--and
+Simpson came in.
+
+"Hallo, Myra!" he said eagerly. "Hallo, old chap! Hallo, Dahlia! Hallo,
+Archie! Hallo, Thomas, old boy!" He fixed his spectacles firmly on his
+nose and beamed round the room.
+
+"We're all here--thanking you very much for inviting us," I said. "Have a
+cigar--if you've brought any with you."
+
+Fortunately he had brought several with him.
+
+"Now then, I'll give any of you three guesses what it's all about."
+
+"No, you don't. We're all waiting, and you can begin your apology right
+away."
+
+Simpson took a deep breath and began.
+
+"I've been lent a villa," he said.
+
+There was a moment's silence ... and then Archie got up.
+
+"Good-bye," he said to Myra, holding out his hand. "Thanks for a very
+jolly evening. Come along Dahlia."
+
+"But I say, old chap," protested Simpson.
+
+"I'm sorry, Simpson, but the fact that you're moving from the Temple to
+Cricklewood, or wherever it is, and that somebody else is paying the
+thirty pounds a year, is jolly interesting, but it wasn't good enough to
+drag us up from the country to tell us about it. You could have written.
+However, thank you for the cigar."
+
+"My dear fellow, it isn't Cricklewood. It's the Riviera!"
+
+Archie sat down again.
+
+"Samuel!" cried Myra. "How she must love you!"
+
+"I should never lend Simpson a villa of mine," I said. "He'd only lose
+it."
+
+"They're some very old friends who live there, and they're going away for
+a month, and the servants are staying on, and they suggested that if I
+was going abroad again this year--"
+
+"How did the servants know you'd been abroad last year?" asked Archie.
+
+"Don't interrupt, dear," said Dahlia. "I see what he means. How very
+jolly for you, Samuel."
+
+"For all of us, Dahlia!"
+
+"You aren't suggesting we shall all crowd in?" growled Thomas.
+
+"Of course, my dear old chap! I told them, and they're delighted. We can
+share housekeeping expenses, and it will be as cheap as anything."
+
+"But to go into a stranger's house," said Dahlia anxiously.
+
+"It's _my_ house, Dahlia, for the time. I invite you!" He threw out his
+hands in a large gesture of welcome and knocked his coffee-cup on to the
+carpet; begged Myra's pardon several times; and then sat down again and
+wiped his spectacles vigorously.
+
+Archie looked doubtfully at Thomas.
+
+"Duty, Thomas, duty," he said, thumping his chest. "You can't desert the
+Navy at this moment of crisis."
+
+"Might," said Thomas, puffing at his pipe.
+
+Archie looked at me. I looked hopefully at Myra.
+
+"Oh-h-h!" said Myra, entranced.
+
+Archie looked at Dahlia. Dahlia frowned.
+
+"It isn't till February," said Simpson eagerly.
+
+"It's very kind of you, Samuel," said Dahlia, "but I don't think--"
+
+Archie nodded to Simpson.
+
+"You leave this to me," he said confidentially. "We're going."
+
+
+
+II.
+
+ON THE WAY
+
+
+"Toulon," announced Archie, as the train came to a stop and gave out its
+plaintive, dying whistle. "Naval port of our dear allies, the French.
+This would interest Thomas."
+
+"If he weren't asleep," I said.
+
+"He'll be here directly," said Simpson from the little table for two on
+the other side of the gangway. "I'm afraid he had a bad night. Here,
+_garcon_--er--_donnez-moi du cafe et_--er-" But the waiter had slipped
+past him again--the fifth time.
+
+"Have some of ours," said Myra kindly, holding out the pot.
+
+"Thanks very much, Myra, but I may as well wait for Thomas, and--_garcon,
+du cafe pour_--I don't think he'll be--_deux cafes, garcon, s'il
+vous_--it's going to be a lovely day."
+
+Thomas came in quietly, sat down opposite Simpson, and ordered breakfast.
+
+"Samuel wants some too," said Myra.
+
+Thomas looked surprised, grunted and ordered another breakfast.
+
+"You see how easy it is," said Archie. "Thomas, we're at Toulon, where
+the _ententes cordiales_ come from. You ought to have been up long ago
+taking notes for the Admiralty."
+
+"I had a rotten night," said Thomas. "Simpson fell out of bed in the
+middle of it."
+
+"Oh, poor Samuel!"
+
+"You don't mean to say you gave him the top berth?" I asked in surprise.
+"You must have known he'd fall out."
+
+"But, Thomas dear, surely Samuel's just falling-out-of-bed noise wouldn't
+wake you up," said Myra. "I always thought you slept so well."
+
+"He tried to get back into _my_ bed."
+
+"I was a little dazed," explained Simpson hastily, "and I hadn't got my
+spectacles."
+
+"Still you ought to have been able to see Thomas there."
+
+"Of course I did see him as soon as I got in, and then I remembered I was
+up above. So I climbed up."
+
+"It must be rather difficult climbing up at night," thought Dahlia.
+
+"Not if you get a good take-off, Dahlia," said Simpson earnestly.
+
+"Simpson got a good one off my face," explained Thomas.
+
+"My dear old chap, I was frightfully sorry. I did come down at once and
+tell you how sorry I was, didn't I?"
+
+"You stepped back on to it," said Thomas shortly, and he turned his
+attention to the coffee.
+
+Our table had finished breakfast. Dahlia and Myra got up slowly, and
+Archie and I filled our pipes and followed them out.
+
+"Well, we'll leave you to it," said Archie to the other table.
+"Personally, I think it's Thomas's turn to step on Simpson. But don't be
+long, because there's a good view coming."
+
+The good view came, and then another and another, and they merged
+together and became one long, moving panorama of beauty. We stood in
+the corridor and drank it in ... and at intervals we said "Oh-h!" and
+"Oh, I say!" and "Oh, I say, _really_!" And there was one particular
+spot I wish I could remember where, so that it might be marked by a
+suitable tablet--at the sight of which Simpson was overheard to say,
+"_Mon Dieu_!" for (probably) the first time in his life.
+
+"You know, all these are olive trees, you chaps," he said every five
+minutes. "I wonder if there are any olives growing on them?"
+
+"Too early," said Archie. "It's the sardine season now."
+
+It was at Cannes that we saw the first oranges.
+
+"That does it," I said to Myra. "We're really here. And look, there's a
+lemon tree. Give me the oranges and lemons, and you can have all the
+palms and the cactuses and the olives."
+
+"Like polar bears in the arctic regions," said Myra.
+
+I thought for a moment. Superficially there is very little resemblance
+between an orange and a polar bear.
+
+"Like polar bears," I said hopefully.
+
+"I mean," luckily she went on, "polar bears do it for you in the polar
+regions. You really know you're there then. Give me the polar bears, I
+always say, and you can keep the seals and the walruses and the penguins.
+It's the hallmark."
+
+"Right. I knew you meant something. In London," I went on, "it is
+raining. Looking out of my window I see a lamp-post (not in flower)
+beneath a low, grey sky. Here we see oranges against a blue sky a million
+miles deep. What a blend! Myra, let's go to a fancy-dress ball when we
+get back. You go as an orange and I'll go as a very blue, blue sky, and
+you shall lean against me."
+
+"And we'll dance the tangerine," said Myra.
+
+But now observe us approaching Monte Carlo. For an hour past Simpson has
+been collecting his belongings. Two bags, two coats, a camera, a rug,
+Thomas, golf-clubs, books--his compartment is full of things which have
+to be kept under his eye lest they should evade him at the last moment.
+As the train leaves Monaco his excitement is intense.
+
+"I think, old chap," he says to Thomas, "I'll wear the coats after all."
+
+"And the bags," says Thomas, "and then you'll have a suit."
+
+Simpson puts on the two coats and appears very big and hot.
+
+"I'd better have my hands free," he says, and straps the camera and the
+golf-clubs on to himself. "Then if you nip out and get a porter I can
+hand the bags out to him through the window."
+
+"All right," says Thomas. He is deep in his book and looks as if he were
+settled in his corner of the carriage for the day.
+
+The train stops. There is bustle, noise, confusion. Thomas in some
+magical way has disappeared. A porter appears at the open window and
+speaks voluble French to Simpson. Simpson looks round wildly for Thomas.
+"Thomas!" he cries. "_Un moment_," he says to the porter. "Thomas! _Mon
+ami, it n'est pas_--I say, Thomas, old chap, where are you? _Attendez un
+moment. Mon ami_--er--_reviendra_--" He is very hot. He is wearing, in
+addition to what one doesn't mention, an ordinary waistcoat, a woolly
+waistcoat for steamer use, a tweed coat, an aquascutum, an ulster, a
+camera and a bag of golfclubs. The porter, with many gesticulations, is
+still hurling French at him.
+
+It is too much for Simpson. He puts his head out of the window and,
+observing in the distance a figure of such immense dignity that it can
+only belong to the station-master, utters to him across the hurly-burly a
+wild call for help.
+
+"_Ou est_ Cooks's _homme_?" he cries.
+
+
+
+III.
+
+SETTLING DOWN
+
+
+The villa was high up on the hill, having (as Simpson was to point out
+several times later) Mentone on its left hand and Monte Carlo on its
+right. A long winding path led up through its garden of olives to the
+front door, and through the mimosa trees which flanked this door we could
+see already a flutter of white aprons. The staff was on the loggia
+waiting to greet us.
+
+We halted a moment out of sight of the ladies above and considered
+ourselves. It came to us with a sudden shock that we were a very large
+party.
+
+"I suppose," said Archie to Simpson, "they do expect all of us and not
+only you? You told them that about half London was coming?"
+
+"We're only six," said Myra, "because I've just counted again, but we
+seem about twenty."
+
+"It's quite all right," said Simpson cheerfully. "I said we'd be six."
+
+"But six in a letter is much smaller than six of us like this; and when
+they see our luggage--"
+
+"Let's go back," I suggested, suddenly nervous. To be five guests of the
+guest of a man you have never met is delicate work.
+
+At this critical moment Archie assumed command. He is a Captain in the
+Yeomanry and has tackled bigger jobs than this in his time.
+
+"We must get ourselves into proper order," he said. "Simpson, the villa
+has been lent to _you_; you must go first. Dahlia and I come next. When
+we arrive you will introduce us as your friends, Mr. and Mrs. Mannering.
+Then turning to Myra you say, 'Mr. Mannering's sister; and this,' you
+add, 'is her husband.' Then--er--Thomas--"
+
+"It will be difficult to account for Thomas," I said. "Thomas comes at
+the end. He hangs back a little at first; and then if he sees that there
+is going to be any awkwardness about him, he can pretend he's come on the
+wrong night, and apologize and go home again."
+
+"If Thomas goes, I go," said Myra dramatically.
+
+"I have another idea," I said. "Thomas hides here for a bit. We introduce
+ourselves and settle in, and have lunch; and after lunch we take a stroll
+in the garden, and to our great surprise discover Thomas. 'Thomas,' we
+say, '_you_ here? Dear old chap, we thought you were in England. How
+splendid! Where are you staying? Oh, but you must stop with _us_; we can
+easily have a bed put up for you in the garage.' And then--"
+
+"Not after lunch," said Thomas; "before lunch."
+
+"Don't all be so silly," smiled Dahlia. "They'll wonder what has happened
+to us if we wait any longer. Besides, the men will be here with the
+luggage directly. Come along."
+
+"Samuel," said Archie, "forward."
+
+In our new formation we marched up, Simpson excited and rehearsing to
+himself the words of introduction, we others outwardly calm. At a range
+of ten yards he opened fire. "How do you do?" he beamed. "Here we all
+are! Isn't it a lovely--"
+
+The cook-housekeeper, majestic but kindly, came forward with outstretched
+hand and welcomed him volubly--in French. The other three ladies added
+their French to hers. There was only one English body on the loggia. It
+belonged to a bull-dog. The bull-dog barked loudly at Simpson in English.
+
+There was no "Cook's homme" to save Simpson this time. But he rose to the
+occasion nobly. The scent of the mimosa inspired him.
+
+"_Merci,"_ he said, "_merci. Oui, n'est ce pas_! Delightful. Er--these
+are--_ces sont mes amis_. Er--Dahlia, come along--er, _Monsieur et Madame
+Mannering_--er--Myra, _la soeur de Monsieur_--er--where are you, old
+chap?--_le mari de la soeur de Monsieur._ Er--Thomas--er--" (he was
+carried away by memories of his schoolboy French), "_le frere du
+jardinier_--er--" He wheeled round and saw me; introduced me again;
+introduced Myra as my wife, Archie as her brother, and Dahlia as Archie's
+wife; and then with a sudden inspiration presented Thomas grandly as "_le
+beau-pere du petit fils de mes amis Monsieur et Madame Mannering_."
+Thomas seemed more assured of his place as Peter's godfather than as the
+brother of the gardener.
+
+There were four ladies; we shook hands with all of them. It took us a
+long time, and I doubt if we got it all in even so, for twice I found
+myself shaking hands with Simpson. But these may have been additional
+ones thrown in. It was over at last, and we followed the staff indoors.
+
+And then we had another surprise. It was broken to us by Dahlia, who, at
+Simpson's urgent request, took up the position of lady of the house, and
+forthwith received the flowing confidences of the housekeeper.
+
+"Two of us have to sleep outside," she said.
+
+"Where?" we all asked blankly.
+
+We went on to the loggia again, and she pointed to a little house almost
+hidden by olive-trees in a corner of the garden below us.
+
+"Oh, well, that's all right," said Archie. "It's on the estate. Thomas,
+you and Simpson won't mind that a bit, will you?"
+
+"We can't turn Samuel out of his own house," said Myra indignantly.
+
+"We aren't turning him; he wants to go. But, of course, if you and your
+young man would like to live there instead--"
+
+Myra looked at me eagerly.
+
+"It would be rather fun," she said. "We'd have another little honeymoon
+all to ourselves."
+
+"It wouldn't really be a honeymoon," I objected. "We should always be
+knocking up against trippers in the garden, Archies and Samuels and
+Thomases and what not. They'd be all over the place."
+
+Dahlia explained the domestic arrangements. The honeymooners had their
+little breakfast in their own little house, and then joined the others
+for the day at about ten.
+
+"Or eleven," said Thomas.
+
+"It would be rather lovely," said Myra thoughtfully.
+
+"Yes," I agreed; "but have you considered that--Come over this way a
+moment, where Thomas and Simpson can't hear, while I tell you some of the
+disadvantages."
+
+I led her into a quiet corner and suggested a few things to her which I
+hoped would not occur to the other two.
+
+_Item_: That if it was raining hard at night, it would be beastly.
+_Item_: That if you suddenly found you'd left your pipe behind, it would
+be rotten. _Item_: That if, as was probable, there wasn't a proper
+bathroom in the little house, it would be sickening. _Item_: That if she
+had to walk on muddy paths in her evening shoes, it would be--
+
+At this point Myra suddenly caught the thread of the argument. We went
+back to the others.
+
+"We think," said Myra, "it would be perfectly heavenly in the little
+house; but--" She hesitated.
+
+"But at the same time," I said, "we think it's up to Simpson and Thomas
+to be English gentlemen. Samuel, it's your honour."
+
+There was a moment's silence.
+
+"Come along," said Thomas to Simpson, "let's go and look at it."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+After lunch, clean and well-fed and happy, we lay in deck-chairs on the
+loggia and looked lazily down at the Mediterranean.
+
+"Thank you, Samuel, for bringing us," said Dahlia gently. "Your friends
+must be very fond of you to have lent you this lovely place."
+
+"Not fonder than we are," said Myra, smiling at him.
+
+
+
+IV.
+
+BEFORE LUNCH
+
+
+I found Myra in the hammock at the end of the loggia.
+
+"Hallo," I said.
+
+"Hallo." She looked up from her book and waved her hand. "Mentone on the
+left, Monte Carlo on the right," she said, and returned to her book
+again. Simpson had mentioned the situation so many times that it had
+become a catch-phrase with us.
+
+"Fancy reading on a lovely morning like this," I complained.
+
+"But that's why. It's a very gloomy play by Ibsen, and whenever it's
+simply more than I can bear, I look up and see Mentone on the left, Monte
+Carlo on the right--I mean, I see all the loveliness round me, and then I
+know the world isn't so bad after all." She put her book down. "Are you
+alone?"
+
+I gripped her wrist suddenly and put the paper-knife to her throat.
+
+"_We_ are alone," I hissed--or whatever you do to a sentence without any
+"s's" in it to make it dramatic. "Your friends cannot save you now.
+Prepare to--er--come a walk up the hill with me."
+
+"Help! Help!" Whispered Myra. She hesitated a moment; then swung herself
+out of the hammock and went in for her hat.
+
+We climbed up a steep path which led to the rock-village above us.
+Simpson had told us that we must see the village; still more earnestly he
+had begged us to see Corsica. The view of Corsica was to be obtained from
+a point some miles up--too far to go before lunch.
+
+"However, we can always say we saw it," I reassured Myra. "From this
+distance you can't be certain of recognizing an island you don't know.
+Any small cloud on the horizon will do."
+
+"I know it on the map."
+
+"Yes, but it looks quite different in real life. The great thing is to be
+able to assure Simpson at lunch that the Corsican question is now closed.
+When we're a little higher up, I shall say, 'Surely that's Corsica?' and
+you'll say, 'Not _Corsica_?' as though you'd rather expected the Isle of
+Wight; and then it'll be all over. Hallo!"
+
+We had just passed the narrow archway leading into the courtyard of the
+village and were following the path up the hill. But in that moment of
+passing we had been observed. Behind us a dozen village children now
+trailed eagerly.
+
+"Oh, the dears!" cried Myra.
+
+"But I think we made a mistake to bring them," I said severely. "No one
+is fonder of our--one, two, three ... I make it eleven--our eleven
+children than I am, but there are times when Father and Mother want to be
+alone."
+
+"I'm sorry, dear. I thought you'd be so proud to have them all with you."
+
+"I _am_ proud of them. To reflect that all the--one, two ... I make it
+thirteen--all these thirteen are ours, is very inspiring. But I don't
+like people to think that we cannot afford our youngest, our little
+Philomene, shoes and stockings. And Giuseppe should have washed his face
+since last Friday. These are small matters, but they are very trying to a
+father."
+
+"Have you any coppers?" asked Myra suddenly. "You forget their
+pocket-money last week."
+
+"One, two, three--I cannot possibly afford--one, two, three, four--Myra,
+I do wish you'd count them definitely and tell me how many we have. One
+likes to know. I cannot afford pocket-money for more than a dozen."
+
+"Ten." She took a franc from me and gave it to the biggest girl.
+(Anne-Marie, our first, and getting on so nicely with her French.)
+Rapidly she explained what was to be done with it, Anne-Marie's look of
+intense rapture slowly straightening itself to one of ordinary gratitude
+as the financial standing of the other nine in the business became clear.
+Then we waved farewell to our family and went on.
+
+High above the village, a thousand feet above the sea, we rested, and
+looked down upon the silvery olives stretching into the blue ... and more
+particularly upon one red roof which stood up amid the grey-green trees.
+
+"That's the Cardews' villa," I said.
+
+Myra was silent.
+
+When Myra married me she promised to love, honour and write all my
+thank-you-very-much letters for me, for we agreed before the ceremony
+that the word "obey" should mean nothing more than that. There are two
+sorts of T.Y.V.M. letters--the "Thank you very much for asking us, we
+shall be delighted to come," and the "Thank you very much for having us,
+we enjoyed it immensely." With these off my mind I could really
+concentrate on my work, or my short mashie shots, or whatever was of
+importance. But there was now a new kind of letter to write, and one
+rather outside the terms of our original understanding. A friend of mine
+had told his friends the Cardews that we were going out to the Riviera
+and would let them know when we arrived ... and we had arrived a week
+ago.
+
+"It isn't at all an easy letter to write," said Myra. "It's practically
+asking a stranger for hospitality."
+
+"Let us say 'indicating our readiness to accept it.' It sounds better."
+
+Myra smiled slowly to herself.
+
+"'Dear Mrs. Cardew,'" she said, "'we are ready for lunch when you are.
+Yours sincerely.'"
+
+"Well, that's the idea."
+
+"And then what about the others? If the Cardews are going to be nice we
+don't want to leave Dahlia and all of them out of it."
+
+I thought it over carefully for a little.
+
+"What you want to do," I said at last, "is to write a really long letter
+to Mrs. Cardew, acquainting her with all the facts. Keep nothing back
+from her. I should begin by dwelling on the personnel of our little
+company. 'My husband and I,' you should say, 'are not alone. We have also
+with us Mr. and Mrs. Archibald Mannering, a delightful couple. Mr. A.
+Mannering is something in the Territorials when he is not looking after
+his estate. His wife is a great favourite in the county. Next I have to
+introduce to you Mr. Thomas Todd, an agreeable young bachelor. Mr. Thomas
+Todd is in the Sucking-a-ruler-and-looking-out-of-the-window Department
+of the Admiralty, by whose exertions, so long as we preserve the 2 Todds
+to 1 formula--or, excluding Canadian Todds, 16 to 10--Britannia rules the
+waves. Lastly, there is Mr. Samuel Simpson. Short of sight but warm of
+heart, and with (on a bad pitch) a nasty break from the off, Mr. S.
+Simpson is a _litterateur_ of some eminence but little circulation,
+combining on the cornet intense wind-power with no execution, and on the
+golf course an endless enthusiasm with only an occasional contact. This,
+dear Mrs. Cardew, is our little party. I say nothing of my husband.'"
+
+"Go on," smiled Myra. "You have still to explain how we invite ourselves
+to lunch."
+
+"We don't; we leave that to her. All we do is to give a list of the meals
+in which, in the ordinary course, we are wont to indulge, together with a
+few notes on our relative capacities at each. 'Perhaps,' you wind up, 'it
+is at luncheon time that as a party we show to the best advantage. Some
+day, my dear Mrs. Cardew, we must all meet at lunch. You will then see
+that I have exaggerated neither my husband's appetite, nor the light
+conversation of my brother, nor the power of apology, should any little
+_contretemps_ occur, of Mr. Samuel Simpson. Let us, I say, meet at lunch.
+Let us--'" I took out my watch suddenly.
+
+"Come on," I said, getting up and giving a hand to Myra; "we shall only
+just be in time for it."
+
+
+
+V.
+
+THE GAMESTERS
+
+
+"It's about time," said Simpson one evening, "that we went to the tables
+and--er--" (he adjusted his spectacles)--"had a little flutter."
+
+We all looked at him in silent admiration.
+
+"Oh, Samuel," sighed Myra, "and I promised your aunt that you shouldn't
+gamble while you were away."
+
+"But, my dear Myra, it's the first thing the fellows at the club ask you
+when you've been to the Riviera--if you've had any luck."
+
+"Well, you've had a lot of luck," said Archie. "Several times when you've
+been standing on the heights and calling attention to the beautiful view
+below, I've said to myself, 'One push, and he's a deader,' but something,
+some mysterious agency within, has kept me back."
+
+"All the fellows at the club--"
+
+Simpson is popularly supposed to belong to a Fleet Street Toilet and
+Hairdressing Club, where for three guineas a year he gets shaved every
+day, and has his hair cut whenever Myra insists. On the many occasions
+when he authorizes a startling story of some well-known statesman with
+the words: "My dear old chap, I know it for a fact. I heard it at the
+club to-day from a friend of his," then we know that once again the
+barber's assistant has been gossiping over the lather.
+
+"Do think, Samuel," I interrupted, "how much more splendid if you could
+be the only man who had seen Monte Carlo without going inside the rooms.
+And then when the hairdresser--when your friends at the club ask if
+you've had any luck at the tables, you just say coldly, 'What tables?'"
+
+"Preferably in Latin," said Archie. "_Quae mensae_?"
+
+But it was obviously no good arguing with him. Besides, we were all keen
+enough to go.
+
+"We needn't lose," said Myra. "We might win."
+
+"Good idea," said Thomas. He lit his pipe and added, "Simpson was telling
+me about his system last night. At least, he was just beginning when I
+went to sleep." He applied another match to his pipe and went on, as if
+the idea had suddenly struck him, "Perhaps it was only his internal
+system he meant. I didn't wait."
+
+"Samuel, you _are_ quite well inside, aren't you?"
+
+"Quite, Myra. But, I _have_ invented a sort of system for _roulette_,
+which we might--"
+
+"There's only one system which is any good," pronounced Archie. "It's the
+system by which, when you've lost all your own money, you turn to the man
+next to you and say, 'Lend me a louis, dear old chap, till Christmas;
+I've forgotten my purse.'"
+
+"No systems," said Dahlia. "Let's make a collection and put it all on one
+number and hope it will win."
+
+Dahlia had obviously been reading novels about people who break the bank.
+
+"It's as good a way of losing as any other," said Archie. "Let's do it
+for our first gamble, anyway. Simpson, as our host, shall put the money
+on. I, as his oldest friend, shall watch him to see that he does it.
+What's the number to be?"
+
+We all thought hard for several moments.
+
+"Samuel, what's your age?" asked Myra, at last.
+
+"Right off the board," said Thomas.
+
+"You're not really more than thirty-six?" Myra whispered to him. "Tell me
+as a secret."
+
+"Peter's nearly two," said Dahlia.
+
+"Do you think you could nearly put our money on 'two'?" asked Archie.
+
+"I once made seventeen," I said. "On that never-to-be-forgotten day when
+I went in first with Archie--"
+
+"That settles it. Here's to the highest score of The Rabbits'
+wicket-keeper. To-morrow afternoon we put our money on seventeen.
+Simpson, you have between now and 3.30 to-morrow to perfect your French
+delivery of the magic word _dix-sept_."
+
+I went to bed a proud but anxious man that night. It was _my_ famous
+score which had decided the figure that was to bring us fortune ... and
+yet ... and yet....
+
+Suppose eighteen turned up? The remorse, the bitterness! "If only," I
+should tell myself--"if only we had run three instead of two for that cut
+to square-leg!" Suppose it were sixteen! "Why, oh why," I should groan,
+"did I make the scorer put that bye down as a hit?" Suppose it were
+thirty-four! But there my responsibility ended. If it were going to be
+thirty-four, they should have used one of Archie's scores, and made a
+good job of it.
+
+At 3.30 next day we were in the fatal building. I should like to pause
+here and describe my costume to you, which was a quiet grey in the best
+of taste, but Myra says that if I do this I must describe hers too, a
+feat beyond me. Sufficient that she looked dazzling, that as a party we
+were remarkably well-dressed, and that Simpson--murmuring "_dix-sept"_ to
+himself at intervals--led the way through the rooms till he found a table
+to his liking.
+
+"Aren't you excited?" whispered Myra to me.
+
+"Frightfully," I said, and left my mouth well open. I don't quite know
+what picture of the event Myra and I had conjured up in our minds, but I
+fancy it was one something like this. At the entrance into the rooms of
+such a large and obviously distinguished party there would be a slight
+sensation among the crowd, and way would be made for us at the most
+important table. It would then leak out that Chevalier Simpson--the tall
+poetical-looking gentleman in the middle, my dear--had brought with him
+no less a sum than thirty francs with which to break the bank, and that
+he proposed to do this in one daring _coup_. At this news the players at
+the other tables would hastily leave their winnings (or losings) and
+crowd round us. Chevalier Simpson, pale but controlled, would then place
+his money on seventeen--"_dix-sept_," he would say to the croupier to
+make it quite clear--and the ball would be spun. As it slowed down, the
+tension in the crowd would increase. "_Mon Dieu_!" a woman would cry in a
+shrill voice; there would be guttural exclamations from Germans; at the
+edge of the crowd strong men would swoon. At last a sudden shriek ... and
+the croupier's voice, trembling for the first time for thirty years,
+"_Dix-sept_!" Then gold and notes would be pushed at the Chevalier. He
+would stuff his pockets with them; he would fill his hat with them; we
+others, we would stuff our pockets too. The bank would send out for more
+money. There would be loud cheers from all the company (with the
+exception of one man, who had put five francs on sixteen and had shot
+himself) and we should be carried--that is to say, we four men--shoulder
+high to the door, while by the deserted table Myra and Dahlia clung to
+each other, weeping tears of happiness....
+
+Something like that.
+
+What happened was different. As far as I could follow, it was this. Over
+the heads of an enormous, badly-dressed and utterly indifferent crowd
+Simpson handed his thirty francs to the croupier.
+
+"_Dix-sept_," he said.
+
+The croupier with his rake pushed the money on to seventeen.
+
+Another croupier with his rake pulled it off again ... and stuck to it.
+
+The day's fun was over.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"What _did_ win?" asked Myra some minutes later, when the fact that we
+should never see our money again had been brought home to her.
+
+"Zero," said Archie.
+
+I sighed heavily.
+
+"My usual score," I said, "not my highest."
+
+
+
+VI.
+
+THE RECORD OF IT
+
+
+"I shall be glad to see Peter again," said Dahlia, as she folded up her
+letter from home.
+
+Peter's previous letter, dictated to his nurse-secretary, had, according
+to Archie, been full of good things. Cross-examination of the proud
+father, however, had failed to reveal anything more stirring than "I love
+mummy," and--er--so on.
+
+We were sitting in the loggia after what I don't call breakfast--all of
+us except Simpson, who was busy with a mysterious package. We had not
+many days left; and I was beginning to feel that, personally, I should
+not be sorry to see things like porridge again. Each to his taste.
+
+"The time has passed absurdly quickly," said Myra. "We don't seem to have
+done _anything_--except enjoy ourselves. I mean anything specially
+Rivierish. But it's been heavenly."
+
+"We've done lots of Rivierish things," I protested. "If you'll be quiet a
+moment I'll tell you some."
+
+These were some of the things:
+
+(1) We had been to the Riviera. (Nothing could take away from that. We
+had the labels on our luggage.)
+
+(2) We had lost heavily (thirty francs) at the Tables. (This alone
+justified the journey.)
+
+(3) Myra had sat next to a Prince at lunch. (Of course she might have
+done this in London, but so far there has been no great rush of Princes
+to our little flat. Dukes, Mayors, Companions of St. Michael and St.
+George, certainly; but, somehow, not Princes.)
+
+(4) Simpson had done the short third hole at Mt. Agel in three. (His
+first had cleverly dislodged the ball from the piled-up tee; his second,
+a sudden nick, had set it rolling down the hill to the green; and the
+third, an accidental putt, had sunk it.)
+
+(5) Myra and I had seen Corsica. (Question.)
+
+(6) And finally, and best of all, we had sat in the sun, under a blue sky
+above a blue sea, and watched the oranges and lemons grow.
+
+So, though we had been to but few of the famous beauty spots around, we
+had had a delightfully lazy time; and as proof that we had not really
+been at Brighton there were, as I have said, the luggage labels. But we
+were to be able to show further proof. At this moment Simpson came out of
+the house, his face beaming with excitement, his hands carefully
+concealing something behind his back.
+
+"Guess what I've got," he said eagerly.
+
+"The sack," said Thomas.
+
+"Your new bests," said Archie.
+
+"Something that will interest us all," helped Simpson.
+
+"I withdraw my suggestion," said Archie.
+
+"Something we ought to have brought with us all along."
+
+"More money," said Myra.
+
+The tension was extreme. It was obvious that our consuming anxiety would
+have to be relieved very speedily. To avoid a riot, Thomas went behind
+Simpson's back and took his surprise away from him.
+
+"A camera," he said. "Good idea."
+
+Simpson was all over himself with bon-hommy.
+
+"I suddenly thought of it the other night," he said, smiling round at all
+of us in his happiness, "and I was just going to wake Thomas up to tell
+him, when I thought I'd keep it a secret. So I wrote to a friend of mine
+and asked him to send me out one, and some films and things, just as a
+surprise for you."
+
+"Samuel, you _are_ a dear," said Myra, looking at him lovingly.
+
+"You see, I thought, Myra, you'd like to have some records of the place,
+because they're so jolly to look back on, and--er, I'm not quite sure how
+you work it, but I expect some of you know and--er--"
+
+"Come on," said Myra, "I'll show you." She retired with Simpson to a
+secluded part of the loggia and helped him put the films in.
+
+"Nothing can save us," said Archie. "We are going to be taken together in
+a group. Simpson will send it to one of the picture papers, and we shall
+appear as 'Another Merry Little Party of Well-known Sun-seekers. Names
+from left to right: Blank, blank, Mr. Archibald Mannering, blank, blank.'
+I'd better go and brush my hair."
+
+Simpson returned to us, nervous and fully charged with advice.
+
+"Right, Myra, I see. That'll be all right. Oh, look here, do you--oh yes,
+I see. Right. Now then--wait a bit--oh yes, I've got it. Now then, what
+shall we have first? A group?"
+
+"Take the house and the garden and the village," said Thomas. "You'll see
+plenty of _us_ afterwards."
+
+"The first one is bound to be a failure," I pointed out. "Rather let him
+fail at us, who are known to be beautiful, than at the garden, which has
+its reputation yet to make. Afterwards, when he has got the knack, he
+will be able to do justice to the scenery."
+
+Archie joined us again, followed by the bull-dog. We grouped ourselves
+picturesquely.
+
+"That looks ripping," said Simpson. "Oh, look here, Myra, do you--No,
+don't come; you'll spoil the picture. I suppose you have to--oh, it's all
+right, I think I've got it."
+
+"I shan't try to look handsome this time," said Archie; "it's not worth
+it. I shall just put an ordinary blurred expression on."
+
+"Now, are you ready? Don't move. Quite still, please; quite--"
+
+"It's instantaneous, you know," said Myra gently.
+
+This so unnerved Simpson that he let the thing off without any further
+warning, before we had time to get our expressions natural.
+
+"That was all right, Myra, wasn't it?" he said proudly.
+
+"I'm--I'm afraid you had your hand over the lens, Samuel dear."
+
+"Our new photographic series: 'Palms of the Great.' No. 1, Mr. S.
+Simpson's," murmured Archie.
+
+"It wouldn't have been a very good one anyhow," I said encouragingly. "It
+wasn't typical. Dahlia should have had an orange in her hand, and Myra
+might have been resting her cheek against a cactus. Try it again,
+Simpson, and get a little more colour into it."
+
+He tried again and got a lot more colour into it.
+
+"Strictly speaking," said Myra sadly, "you ought to have got it on to a
+new film."
+
+Simpson looked in horror at the back of his camera, found that he had
+forgotten to turn the handle, apologized profusely, and wound up very
+gingerly till the number "2" approached. "Now then," he said, looking
+up ... and found himself alone.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+As I write this in London I have Simpson's album in front of me. Should
+you ever do us the honour of dining with us (as I hope you will), and
+(which seems impossible) should there ever come a moment when the
+conversation runs low, and you are revolving in your mind whether it is
+worth while asking us if we have been to any theatres lately, then I
+shall produce the album, and you will be left in no doubt that we are
+just back from the Riviera. You will see oranges and lemons and olives
+and cactuses and palms; blue sky (if you have enough imagination) and
+still bluer sea; picturesque villas, curious effects of rocks, distant
+backgrounds of mountain ... and on the last page the clever kindly face
+of Simpson.
+
+The whole affair will probably bore you to tears.
+
+But with Myra and me the case of course is different. We find these
+things, as Simpson said, very jolly to look back on.
+
+
+
+
+II. MEN OF LETTERS
+
+
+
+MEN OF LETTERS
+
+JOHN PENQUARTO
+
+A TALE OF LITERARY LIFE IN LONDON
+
+(_Modelled on the hundred best Authors_.)
+
+I
+
+
+John Penquarto looked round his diminutive bed-sitting-room with a
+feeling of excitement not unmixed with awe. So this was London! The new
+life had begun. With a beating heart he unpacked his bag and set out his
+simple belongings.
+
+First his books, his treasured books; where should he put them? It was
+comforting to think that, wherever they stood, they would be within reach
+of his hand as he lay in bed. He placed them on the window-sill and read
+their titles again reverently: "Half-Hours with our Water-Beetles," "The
+Fretworker's Companion" and "Strenuous Days in Simla." He owed everything
+to them. And what an air they gave the room!
+
+But not such an air as was given by his other treasure--the photograph of
+Mary.
+
+Mary! He had only met her once, and that was twenty years ago, at his
+native Polwollop. He had gone to the big house with a message for Mr.
+Trevena, her ladyship's butler: "Mother's respects, and she has found the
+other shirt-front and will send it up as soon as it is dry." He had often
+taken a similar message, for Mrs. Penquarto did the washing for the upper
+servants at the Hall, but somehow he had known that to-day was going to
+be different.
+
+There, just inside the gates, was Mary. He was only six, but even then he
+knew that never would he see again anything so beautiful. She was five;
+but there was something in her manner of holding herself and the
+imperious tilt of her head which made her seem almost five-and-a-half.
+
+"I'm Mary," she said.
+
+He wanted to say that he was John, but could not. He stood there
+tongue-tied.
+
+"I love you," she went on.
+
+His heart beat tumultuously. He felt suffocated. He longed to say, "So do
+I," but was afraid that it was not good English. Even then he knew that
+he must be a writer when he grew up.
+
+She leant forward and kissed him. He realized suddenly that he was in
+love. The need for self-expression was strong upon him. Shyly he brought
+out his last acid-drop and shared it with her. He had never seen her
+since, but even now, twenty years after, he could not eat an acid-drop
+without emotion, and a whole bag of them brought the scene back so
+visibly as to be almost a pain.
+
+Yes, he was to be a writer; there could be no doubt about that. Everybody
+had noticed it. The Vicar had said, "Johnny will never do any good at
+Polwollop, I fear"; and the farmer for whom John scared rooks had said,
+"Thiccy la-ad seems daft-like," and one after another of Mrs. Penquarto's
+friends had given similar testimony. And now here he was, at twenty-six,
+in the little bed-sitting-room in Bloomsbury, ready to write the great
+novel which should take London by storm. Polwollop seemed a hundred years
+away.
+
+Feverishly he seized pen and paper and began
+to wonder what to write.
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+It was near the Albert Memorial that the great inspiration came to him
+some weeks later. Those had been weeks of mingled hope and despair; of
+hope as he had fondled again his treasured books and read their titles,
+or gazed at the photograph of Mary; of despair as he had taken off his
+belt and counted out his rapidly-decreasing stock of money, or reflected
+that he was as far from completing his novel as ever. Sometimes in the
+search for an idea he had frequented the restaurants where the great
+Samuel Johnson himself had eaten, and sometimes he had frequented other
+restaurants where even the great Samuel Johnson himself had been unable
+to eat. Often he had gone into the British Museum and leant against a
+mummy-case, or taken a 'bus to Chelsea and pressed his forehead against
+the brass-plate which marked Carlyle's house, but no inspiration had
+come. And then suddenly, quite close to the Albert Memorial, he knew.
+
+He would write a novel about a boy called William who had lived in
+Cornwall, and who came to London and wrote a novel, a novel of which "The
+Westminster Gazette" said: "This novel undoubtedly places the author in
+the front rank of living novelists." William's novel would be a realistic
+account of--yes, that was it--of a boy called Henry, who had lived in
+Cornwall, and who came to London and wrote a novel, a novel of which "The
+Morning Post" said: "By this novel the author has indubitably established
+his claim to be reckoned among the few living novelists who count." But
+stay! What should this novel of Henry's be about? It would be necessary
+to describe it. For an hour he wrestled with the problem, and then he had
+another inspiration. Henry's novel would be about a boy called Thomas who
+had lived in Cornwall and who came to London and wrote a novel {about a
+boy called Stephen who had lived in Cornwall, and who came to London and
+wrote a novel (about a boy called Michael who had lived in Cornwall, and
+who came to London and wrote a novel (about a boy called Peter, who had
+lived in Cornwall, and ...) ...
+
+And so on.
+
+And every one of the novels would establish the author's right to be
+reckoned, etc., and place him undoubtedly in the very front rank.
+
+It was a stupendous idea. For a moment John was almost paralysed at
+contemplation of it. There seemed to be no end to his novel as he had
+planned it. Was it too much for his powers?
+
+There was only one way to find out. He hurried back to his
+bed-sitting-room, seized a pen and began to write.
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+It was two years later. For the last fortnight John Penquarto had stopped
+counting the money in his belt. There was none left. For a fortnight now
+he had been living on the belt itself.
+
+But a great hope had always sustained him. One day he would hear from the
+publisher to whom he had sent his novel a year ago.
+
+And now at last the letter had come, and he was seated in the office of
+the great Mr. Pump himself. His heart beat rapidly. He felt suffocated.
+
+"Well, Mr. Penquarto," said the smiling publisher, "I may say at once
+that we like your novel. We should have written before, but we have only
+just finished reading it. It is a little long--about two million eight
+hundred thousand words, I reckon it--but I have a suggestion to make
+which will meet that difficulty. I suggest that we publish it in half a
+dozen volumes, stopping, for the first volume, at the Press notices of
+(say) Peter's novel. We find that the public likes these continuous
+books. About terms. We will send an agreement along to-morrow. Naturally,
+as this is a first book, we can only pay a nominal sum on account of
+royalties. Say ten thousand pounds. How will that suit you?"
+
+With a heart still beating John left the office five minutes later and
+bought a new belt. Then he went to a restaurant where Goldsmith had never
+been and ordered a joint and two veg. Success had come!
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+I should like to dwell upon the weeks which followed. I should like to
+tell of John's emotion when he saw his first proofs and of the printer's
+emotion when he saw what a mess John had made of them. I should like to
+describe how my hero's heart beat during the anxious days of waiting; to
+picture to you his pride at the arrival of his six free copies, and his
+landlady's surprise when he presented her with one. Above all, I should
+like to bring home to you the eagerness with which he bought and opened
+"The Times Literary Supplement" and read his first review:
+
+"'William Trewulliam--The First Phase.' By John Penquarto, 7-1/2 by
+5-1/4, 896 pp., Albert Pump. 9s. n."
+
+I have no time to go into these matters, nor have I time in which to give
+at length his later Press cuttings, in which there was displayed a
+unanimity of opinion that John Penquarto was now in the front rank of
+living novelists, one of the limited number whose work really counted. I
+must hurry on.
+
+It was a week after the publication of "William Trewulliam," the novel
+which had taken all London by storm. In all the drawing-rooms of Mayfair,
+in all the clubs of Pall Mall, people were asking each other, "Who is
+John Penquarto?" Nobody knew--save one.
+
+Lady Mary knew. It was not the name Penquarto which had told her; it
+was--yes, you have guessed--the scene at the beginning of the book,
+when William Trewulliam meets the little Anne and shares his last
+raspberry-drop with her. Even under this disguise she recognized that
+early meeting. She pierced beneath the imagination of the novelist to the
+recollection of the man. John Penquarto--of course! Now she remembered
+the name.
+
+It had always been a mystery to her friends why Lady Mary had never
+married. No girl in Society had been more eagerly courted. It was
+whispered that already she had refused more than one Archbishop, three
+Newspaper Proprietors and a couple of Dukes. Something, she scarcely knew
+what, told her that this was not love. She must wait. As she dressed to
+go to the Duchess of Bilberry's "At Home," she wondered if she would ever
+meet John Penquarto again, and if he had altered.
+
+"Mary!"
+
+It was John speaking. He had seen her the moment she came in at the door.
+Something--was it the Duchess's champagne at dinner?--had reminded him of
+the acid-drop they had eaten together and this had brought back his
+memories in a flood. To-night he would meet her again. He knew it
+instinctively. Besides, it was like this that William Trewulliam had met
+Anne again, and Henry Polhenery had met Sarah, and Thomas Pentummas had
+met Alice, and--well, anyhow he knew.
+
+"John!"
+
+It was Mary speaking. Perhaps you had guessed.
+
+"You knew me?" (This is John. It was his turn.)
+
+"I knew you." (Said Mary.)
+
+"Do you remember--"
+
+Mary blushed, and John did not deviate from the healthy red colour which
+he had maintained throughout the conversation. In spite of his success he
+was never quite at ease in society at this period of his life. Nor were
+Henry Polhenery and Thomas Pentummas. They remained handsome but awkward,
+which was why women loved them so.
+
+"I love you," (John speaking.)
+
+"I think I must have always loved you." (Mary going it.)
+
+He took her hand in his.
+
+Nobody noticed them. They were as much alone as if they had been at the
+National Gallery together. Many of the guests were going through similar
+scenes of recognition and love-making; others were asking each other if
+they had read "William Trewulliam" yet, and lying about it others again
+were making for the buffet. John and Mary had the world to themselves....
+
+
+
+V
+
+
+They were married a month later. John, who did not look his best in a
+frock-coat, had pleaded for a quiet wedding, and only the Duchess of
+Bilberry and Mr. Pump were present at the simple ceremony which took
+place at the Bloomsbury registry-office. Then the happy couple drove
+away.
+
+And where are they spending the honeymoon?
+
+Ah, do you need to ask?
+
+"At Greenwich?" No, fathead, not at Greenwich.
+
+"At Clacton-on-Sea?" Look here, I don't believe you're trying. Have
+another shot....
+
+Yes, dear reader, you are right. They are going back to Polwollop.
+
+It might be a good plan to leave them there.
+
+
+
+THE COMPLETE DRAMATIST
+
+
+I take it that every able-bodied man and woman in this country wants to
+write a play. Since the news first got about that Orlando What's-his-name
+made L50,000 out of "The Crimson Sponge," there has been a feeling that
+only through the medium of the stage can literary art find its true
+expression. The successful playwright is indeed a man to be envied.
+Leaving aside for the moment the question of super-tax, the prizes which
+fall to his lot are worth something of an effort. He sees his name
+(correctly spelt) on 'buses which go to such different spots as
+Hammersmith and West Norwood, and his name (spelt incorrectly) beneath
+the photograph of somebody else in "The Illustrated Butler." He is a
+welcome figure at the garden-parties of the elect, who are always ready
+to encourage him by accepting free seats for his play; actor-managers nod
+to him; editors allow him to contribute without charge to a symposium on
+the price of golf balls. In short he becomes a "prominent figure in
+London Society"--and, if he is not careful, somebody will say so.
+
+But even the unsuccessful dramatist has his moments. I knew a young man
+who married somebody else's mother, and was allowed by her fourteen
+gardeners to amuse himself sometimes by rolling the tennis-court. It was
+an unsatisfying life; and when rash acquaintances asked him what he did,
+he used to say that he was for the Bar. Now he says he is writing a
+play--and we look round the spacious lawns and terraces and marvel at the
+run his last one must have had.
+
+However, I assume that you who read this are actually in need of the
+dibs. Your play must be not merely a good play, but a successful one. How
+shall this success be achieved?
+
+Frankly I cannot always say. If you came to me and said, "I am on the
+Stock Exchange, and bulls are going down," or up, or sideways, or
+whatever it might be; "there's no money to be made in the City nowadays,
+and I want to write a play instead. How shall I do it?"--well, I couldn't
+help you. But suppose you said, "I'm fond of writing; my people always
+say my letters home are good enough for 'Punch.' I've got a little idea
+for a play about a man and a woman and another woman, and--but perhaps
+I'd better keep the plot a secret for the moment. Anyhow it's jolly
+exciting, and I can do the dialogue all right. The only thing is, I don't
+know anything about technique and stagecraft and the three unities and
+that sort of rot. Can you give me a few hints?"--suppose you spoke to me
+like this, then I could do something for you. "My dear Sir," I should
+reply (or Madam), "you have come to the right shop. Lend me your ear for
+ten minutes, and you shall learn just what stagecraft is." And I should
+begin with a short homily on
+
+
+SOLILOQUY
+
+If you ever read your "Shakespeare"--and no dramatist should despise the
+works of another dramatist; he may always pick up something in them which
+may be useful for his next play--if you ever read your "Shakespeare," it
+is possible that you have come across this passage:
+
+"_Enter_ Hamlet.
+
+_Ham._ To be, or not to be--"
+
+And, so on in the same vein for some thirty lines.
+
+These few remarks are called a soliloquy, being addressed rather to the
+world in general than to any particular person on the stage. Now the
+object of this soliloquy is plain. The dramatist wished us to know the
+thoughts which were passing through Hamlet's mind, and it was the only
+way he could think of in which to do it. Of course, a really good actor
+can often give a clue to the feelings of a character simply by facial
+expression. There are ways of shifting the eyebrows, distending the
+nostrils, and exploring the lower molars with the tongue by which it is
+possible to denote respectively Surprise, Defiance and Doubt. Indeed,
+irresolution being the keynote of Hamlet's soliloquy, a clever player
+could to some extent indicate the whole thirty lines by a silent working
+of the jaw. But at the same time it would be idle to deny that he would
+miss the finer shades of the dramatist's meaning. "The insolence of
+office, and the spurns"--to take only one line--would tax the most
+elastic face.
+
+So the soliloquy came into being. We moderns, however, see the
+absurdity of it. In real life no one thinks aloud or in an empty room.
+The up-to-date dramatist must certainly avoid this hallmark of the
+old-fashioned play.
+
+What, then, is to be done? If it be granted, first, that the thoughts of
+a certain character should be known to the audience, and, secondly, that
+soliloquy, or the habit of thinking aloud, is in opposition to modern
+stage technique, how shall a soliloquy be avoided without damage to the
+play?
+
+Well, there are more ways than one; and now we come to what is meant by
+stagecraft. Stagecraft is the art of getting over these and other
+difficulties, and (if possible) getting over them in a showy manner, so
+that people will say, "How remarkable his stagecraft is for so young a
+writer," when otherwise they mightn't have noticed it at all. Thus, in
+this play we have been talking about, an easy way of avoiding Hamlet's
+soliloquy would be for Ophelia to speak first.
+
+_Oph._ What are you thinking about, my lord?
+
+_Ham._ I am wondering whether to be or not to be, whether 'tis nobler in
+the mind to suffer--
+
+And so on, till you get to the end, when Ophelia might say, "Ah, yes," or
+something non-committal of that sort. This would be an easy way of doing
+it, but it would not be the best way, for the reason that it is too easy
+to call attention to itself. What you want is to make it clear that you
+are conveying Hamlet's thoughts to the audience in rather a clever
+manner.
+
+That this can now be done we have to thank the well-known inventor of the
+telephone. (I forget his name.) The telephone has revolutionized the
+stage; with its aid you can convey anything you like across the
+footlights. In the old badly-made play it was frequently necessary for
+one of the characters to take the audience into his confidence. "Having
+disposed of my uncle's body," he would say to the stout lady in the third
+row of the stalls, "I now have leisure in which to search for the will.
+But first to lock the door lest I should be interrupted by Harold
+Wotnott." In the modern well-constructed play he simply rings up an
+imaginary confederate and tells him what he is going to do. Could
+anything be more natural?
+
+Let us, to give an example of how this method works, go back again to the
+play we have been discussing.
+
+_Enter_ Hamlet. _He walks quickly across the room to the telephone, and
+takes up the receiver impatiently._
+
+_Ham_. Hallo! Hallo! I want double-nine--hal-_lo_! I want double-nine
+two--hal-_lo_! Double-nine two three, Elsinore.... Double-_nine_,
+yes.... Hallo, is that you, Horatio? Hamlet speaking. I say, I've been
+wondering about this business. To be or not to be, that is the question;
+whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows--What?
+No, Hamlet speaking. _What_? Aren't you Horatio? I want double-nine two
+three--sorry.... Is that you, Exchange? You gave me double-_five_, I
+want double-_nine_....  Hallo, is that you, Horatio? Hamlet speaking.
+I've been wondering about this business. To be or not to be, that is
+the--What? No, I said, To _be_ or _not_ to be.... No, "be"--b-e. Yes,
+that's right. To be or not to be, that is the question; whether 'tis
+nobler--
+
+And so on. You see how effective it is.
+
+But there is still another way of avoiding the soliloquy, which is
+sometimes used with good results. It is to let Hamlet, if that happen to
+be the name of your character, enter with a small dog, pet falcon,
+mongoose, tame bear or whatever animal is most in keeping with the part,
+and confide in this animal such sorrows, hopes or secret history as the
+audience has got to know. This has the additional advantage of putting
+the audience immediately in sympathy with your hero. "How _sweet_ of
+him," all the ladies say, "to tell his little bantam about it!"
+
+If you are not yet tired (as I am) of the Prince of Denmark, I will
+explain (for the last time) how a modern author might re-write his
+speech.
+
+_Enter_ Hamlet _with his favourite_ boar-hound.
+
+_Ham. (to B.-H.)_. To be or not to be--ah, Fido, Fido! That is the
+question--eh, old Fido, boy? Whether 'tis nobler in--how now, a rat!
+Rats, Fido, _fetch_ 'em--in the mind to suffer the slings and--_down_,
+Sir!--arrows--put it down! Arrows of--_drop_ it, Fido; good old dog--
+
+And so on. Which strikes me as rather sweet and natural.
+
+Let us now pass on to the very important question of
+
+
+EXITS AND ENTRANCES
+
+To the young playwright, the difficulty of getting his characters on to
+the stage would seem much less than the difficulty of finding them
+something to say when they are there. He writes gaily and without
+hesitation "_Enter_ Lord Arthur Fluffinose," and only then begins to bite
+the end of his penholder and gaze round his library for inspiration. Yet
+it is on that one word "Enter" that his reputation for dramatic technique
+will hang. Why did Lord Arthur Fluffinose enter? The obvious answer, that
+the firm which is mentioned in the programme as supplying his trousers
+would be annoyed if he didn't, is not enough; nor is it enough to say
+that the whole plot of the piece hinges on him, and that without him the
+drama would languish. What the critic wants to know is why Lord Arthur
+chose that very moment to come in--the very moment when Lady Larkspur was
+left alone in the oak-beamed hall of Larkspur Towers. Was it only a
+coincidence? And if the young dramatist answers callously, "Yes," it
+simply shows that he has no feeling for the stage whatever. In that case
+I needn't go on with this article.
+
+However, it will be more convenient to assume, dear reader, that in your
+play Lord Arthur had a good reason for coming in. If that be so, he must
+explain it. It won't do to write like this:---
+
+_Enter_ Lord Arthur. Lady Larkspur _starts suddenly and turns towards
+him._
+
+_Lady Larkspur_. Arthur! _You_ here? (_He gives a nod of confirmation.
+She pauses a moment, and then with a sudden passionate movement flings
+herself into his arms_.) Take me away, Arthur. I can't bear this life any
+longer. Larkspur bit me again this morning for the _third_ time. I want
+to get away from it all. [_Swoons_.]
+
+The subsequent scene may be so pathetic that on the hundredth night it is
+still bringing tears to the eyes of the fireman, but you must not expect
+to be treated as a serious dramatist. You will see this for yourself if
+you consider the passage as it should properly have been written:--
+
+_Enter_ Lord Arthur Fluffinose. Lady Larkspur _looks at him with
+amazement_.
+
+_Lady Larkspur_. Arthur, what are _you_ doing here?
+
+_Lord Arthur_. I caught the 2.3 from town. It gets in at 3.37, and I
+walked over from the station. It's only a mile. _(At this point he looks
+at the grandfather clock in the corner, and the audience, following his
+eyes, sees that it is seven minutes to four, which appears delightfully
+natural.)_ I came to tell Larkspur to sell Bungoes. They are going
+down.
+
+_Lady Larkspur (folding her hands over her chest and gazing broodingly at
+the footlights)_. Larkspur!
+
+_Lord Arthur (anxiously)_. What is it? _(Suddenly.)_ Has he been
+ill-treating you again?
+
+_Lady Larkspur (flinging herself into his arms)_. Oh, Arthur, Arthur,
+take me away!
+
+And so on.
+
+But it may well be that Lord Larkspur has an intrigue of his own with his
+secretary, Miss Devereux, and, if their big scene is to take place on the
+stage too, the hall has got to be cleared for them in some way. Your
+natural instinct will be to say, "_Exeunt_ Fluffinose _and_ Lady
+Larkspur, _R. Enter_ Lord Larkspur _and_ Miss Devereux, _L_." This is
+very immature, even if you are quite clear as to which side of the stage
+is L. and which is R. You _must_ make the evolutions seem natural.
+Thus:--
+
+_Enter from the left_ Miss Devereux. _She stops in surprise at seeing_
+Lord Arthur _and holds out her hand_.
+
+_Miss D_. Why, Lord Arthur! Whatever--
+
+_Lord A_. How d'you do? I've just run down to tell Lord Larkspur to--
+
+_Miss D_. He's in the library. At least he--
+
+_Lord A. (taking out his watch_.) Ah, then perhaps I'd better--
+
+[_Exit by door on left._]
+
+_Miss D._ (_to_ Lady L.). Have you seen "The Times" about here? There is
+a set of verses in the Financial Supplement which Lord Larkspur wanted
+to--(_She wanders vaguely round the room. Enter_ Lord Larkspur _by door
+at back._) Why, here you are! I've just sent Lord Arthur into the library
+to--
+
+_Lord L_. I went out to speak to the gardener about--
+
+_Lady L_. Ah, then I'll go and tell Arthur--_[Exit to library, leaving_
+Miss Devereux _and_ Lord Larkspur _alone_.
+
+And there you are. You will, of course, appreciate that the unfinished
+sentences not only save time, but also make the manoeuvring very much
+more natural.
+
+So far I have been writing as if you were already in the thick of your
+play; but it may well be that the enormous difficulty of getting the
+first character on has been too much for you. How, you may be wondering,
+are you to begin your masterpiece?
+
+The answer to this will depend upon the length of the play, for upon the
+length depends the hour at which the curtain rises. If yours is an 8.15
+play you may be sure that the stalls will not fill up till 8.30, and you
+should therefore let loose the lesser-paid members of the cast on the
+opening scene, keeping your fifty-pounders in reserve. In an 8.45 play
+the audience may be plunged into the drama at once. But this is much the
+more difficult thing to do, and for the beginner I should certainly
+recommend the 8.15 play, for which the recipe is simple.
+
+As soon as the lights go down, and while the bald, stout gentleman is
+kicking our top-hat out of his way, treading heavily on our toes and
+wheezing, "Sorry, sorry," as he struggles to his seat, a buzz begins
+behind the curtain. What the players are saying is not distinguishable,
+but a merry girlish laugh rings out now and then, followed by the short
+sardonic chuckle of an obvious man of the world. Then the curtain rises,
+and it is apparent that we are assisting at an At Home of considerable
+splendour. Most of the characters seem to be on the stage, and for once
+we do not ask how they got there. We presume they have all been invited.
+Thus you have had no difficulty with your entrances.
+
+_As the chatter dies down a chord is struck on the piano_.
+
+_The Bishop of Sploshington_. Charming. Quite one of my favourites. Do
+play it again. _(Relapses into silence for the rest of the evening.)_
+
+_The Duchess of Southbridge (to_ Lord Reggie). Oh, Reggie, what _did_ you
+say?
+
+_Lord Reggie (putting up his eyeglass)_. Said I'd bally
+well--top-hole--what?--don'cherknow.
+
+_Lady Evangeline (to_ Lady Violet, as _they walk across the stage)_. Oh,
+I _must_ tell you what that funny Mr. Danby said. (_Doesn't._ Lady
+Violet, _none the less, trills with happy laughter.)_
+
+_Prince von Ichdien, the well-known Ambassador (loudly, to an unnamed
+gentleman)_. What your country ought to do--_(He finishes his remarks
+in the lip-language, which the unnamed gentleman seems to understand. At
+any rate he nods several times.)_
+
+_There is more girlish laughter, more buzz and more deaf-and-dumb
+language. Then_
+
+_Lord Tuppeny_. Well, what about auction?
+
+_Amid murmurs of_ "You'll play, Field-Marshal?" _and_ "Auction,
+Archbishop?" _the crowd drifts off, leaving the hero and heroine alone in
+the middle of the stage_.
+
+And then you can begin.
+
+But now I must give you a warning. You will never be a dramatist until
+you have learnt the technique of
+
+
+MEALS
+
+In spite of all you can do in the way of avoiding soililoquies and
+getting your characters on and off the stage in a dramatic manner, a time
+will come when you realize sadly that your play is not a bit like life
+after all. Then is the time to introduce a meal on the stage. A stage
+meal is popular, because it proves to the audience that the actors, even
+when called Charles Hawtrey or Owen Nares, are real people just like you
+and me. "Look at Mr. Bourchier eating," we say excitedly to each other in
+the pit, having had a vague idea up till then that an actor lived like a
+god on praise and greasepaint and his photograph in the papers. "Another
+cup, won't you?" says Miss Gladys Cooper; "No, thank you," says Mr.
+Dennis Eadie--dash it, it's exactly what we do at home ourselves. And
+when, to clinch matters, the dramatist makes Mr. Gerald du Maurier light
+a real cigarette in the Third Act, then he can flatter himself that he
+has indeed achieved the ambition of every stage writer, and "brought the
+actual scent of the hay across the footlights."
+
+But there is a technique to be acquired in this matter as in everything
+else within the theatre. The great art of the stage-craftsman, as I have
+already shown, is to seem natural rather than to be natural. Let your
+actors have tea by all means, but see that it is a properly histrionic
+tea. This is how it should go:--
+
+_Hostess_. How do you do? You'll have some tea, won't you? _[Rings
+bell]_.
+
+_Guest_. Thank you.
+
+_Enter_ Butler.
+
+_Hostess_. Tea, please, Matthews.
+
+_Butler (impassively)_. Yes, m'lady. _(This is all he says during the
+play, so he must try and get a little character into it, in order that_
+"The Era" _may remark, "Mr. Thompson was excellent as_ Matthews."
+_However, his part is not over yet, for he returns immediately, followed
+by three footmen--just as it happened when you last called on the_
+Duchess--_and sets out the tea.)_
+
+_Hostess (holding up the property lump of sugar in the tongs)_. Sugar?
+
+_Guest (luckily)_. No, thanks.
+
+_Hostess replaces lump and inclines empty teapot over tray for a moment;
+then hands him a cup painted brown inside--thus deceiving the gentleman
+with the telescope in the upper circle_.
+
+_Guest (touching his lips with the cup and then returning it to its
+saucer)_. Well, I must be going.
+
+_Re-enter_ Butler _and three_ Footmen, _who remove the tea-things_.
+
+_Hostess (to_ Guest). Good-bye; so glad you could come. [_Exit_ Guest.]
+
+His visit has been short, but it has been very thrilling while it lasted.
+
+Tea is the most usual meal on the stage, for the reason that it is the
+least expensive, the property lump of sugar being dusted and used again
+on the next night. For a stage dinner a certain amount of genuine
+sponge-cake has to be made up to look like fish, chicken or cutlet. In
+novels the hero has often "pushed his meals away untasted," but no stage
+hero would do anything so unnatural as this. The etiquette is to have two
+bites before the butler and the three footmen whisk away the plate. Two
+bites are made, and the bread is crumbled, with an air of great
+eagerness; indeed, one feels that in real life the guest would clutch
+hold of the footman and say, "Half a mo', old chap, I haven't _nearly_
+finished"; but the actor is better schooled than this. Besides, the thing
+is coming back again as chicken directly.
+
+But it is the cigarette which chiefly has brought the modern drama to its
+present state of perfection. Without the stage cigarette many an epigram
+would pass unnoticed, many an actor's hands would be much more
+noticeable; and the man who works the fireproof safety curtain would lose
+even the small amount of excitement which at present attaches to his job.
+
+Now although it is possible, in the case of a few men at the top of the
+profession, to leave the conduct of the cigarette entirely to the actor,
+you will find it much more satisfactory to insert in the stage directions
+the particular movements (with match and so forth) that you wish carried
+out. Let us assume that Lord Arthur asks Lord John what a cynic is--the
+question of what a cynic is having arisen quite naturally in the course
+of the plot. Let us assume further that you wish Lord John to reply, "A
+cynic is a man who knows the price of everything and the value of
+nothing." It has been said before, but you may feel that it is quite time
+it was said again; besides, for all the audience knows, Lord John may
+simply be quoting. Now this answer, even if it comes quite fresh to the
+stalls, will lose much of its effect if it is said without the assistance
+of a cigarette. Try it for yourself.
+
+_Lord John_. A cynic is a man who, etc....
+
+Rotten. Now try again.
+
+_Lord John_. A cynic is a man who, etc.... _[Lights cigarette.]_
+
+No, even that is not good. Once more:---
+
+_Lord John (lighting cigarette)_. A cynic is a man who, etc.
+
+Better, but leaves too much to the actor.
+
+Well, I see I must tell you.
+
+_Lord John (taking out gold cigarette case from his left-hand upper
+waistcoat pocket)_. A cynic, my dear Arthur (_he opens case
+deliberately, puts cigarette in mouth, and extracts gold match-box
+from right-hand trouser_) is a man who (_strikes match_) knows the
+price of (_lights cigarette_)--everything, and (_standing with match in
+one hand and cigarette in the other_) the value of---pff (_blows out
+match_) of (_inhales deeply from cigarette and blows out a cloud of
+smoke_)--nothing.
+
+It makes a different thing of it altogether. Of course on the actual
+night the match may refuse to strike, and Lord John may have to go on
+saying "a man who--a man who--a man who" until the ignition occurs, but
+even so it will still seem delightfully natural to the audience (as if he
+were making up the epigram as he went along); while as for blowing the
+match out, he can hardly fail to do _that_ in one.
+
+The cigarette, of course, will be smoked at other moments than
+epigrammatic ones, but on these other occasions you will not need to deal
+so fully with it in the stage directions. "_Duke (lighting cigarette_). I
+trust, Perkins, that..." is enough. You do not want to say, "_Duke
+(dropping ash on trousers_). It seems to me, my love..." or, "_Duke
+(removing stray piece of tobacco from tongue_). What Ireland needs
+is..."; still less "_Duke (throwing away end of  cigarette_). Show him
+in." For this must remain one of the mysteries of the stage--What happens
+to the stage cigarette when it has been puffed four times? The stage tea,
+of which a second cup is always refused; the stage cutlet, which is
+removed with the connivance of the guest after two mouthfuls; the stage
+cigarette, which nobody ever seems to want to smoke to the end--thinking
+of these as they make their appearances in the houses of the titled, one
+would say that the hospitality of the peerage was not a thing to make any
+great rush for....
+
+But that would be to forget the butler and the three footmen. Even a Duke
+cannot have everything. And what his _chef_ may lack in skill his butler
+more than makes up for in impassivity.
+
+
+
+A POETRY RECITAL
+
+
+It has always been the privilege of Art to be patronized by Wealth and
+Rank. Indeed, if we literary and artistic strugglers were not asked out
+to afternoon tea sometimes by our millionaire acquaintances, it is
+doubtful if we should be able to continue the struggle. Recently a new
+(and less expensive) method of entertaining Genius has become fashionable
+in the best circles, and the aspiring poet is now invited to the house of
+the Great, not for the purpose of partaking of bodily refreshment
+himself, but in order that he may afford spiritual refreshment to others.
+In short, he is given an opportunity of reciting his own works in front
+of the Fair, the Rich and the Highly Born, and making what he can out of
+it in the way of advertisement.
+
+Let us imagine that we have been lucky enough to secure an invitation to
+one of Lady Poldoodle's Poetry At-Homes, at her charming little house in
+Berkeley Square.
+
+The guests are all waiting, their eyes fixed in eager anticipation on the
+black-covered throne at the farther end of the room, whereon each poet
+will sit to declaim his masterpiece, when suddenly Lord Poldoodle is
+observed to be making his way cautiously towards a side-door. Fortunately
+he is stopped in time, and dragged back to his seat next to the throne,
+from which he rises a moment later to open the proceeding.
+
+"Ladies and gentlemen," he says, "we are met here this afternoon in order
+to listen to some of our younger poets who will recite from their own
+works. So far, I have always managed to avoid--so far, I have been
+unavoidably prevented from attending on these occasions, but I understand
+that the procedure is as follows. Each poet will recite a short sample of
+his poetry, after which, no doubt, you will go home and order from your
+bookseller a complete set of his works."
+
+Lady Poldoodle goes quickly over to him and whispers vigorously.
+
+"I find I am wrong," says our host. "Full sets of the author's
+works can be obtained on the way out. There is, however, no
+compulsion in the matter, and, if you take my advice--well, well,
+let us get on. Our first poet"--here he puts on his glasses, and reads
+from a paper on the table in front of him--"is Mr. Sydney Worple, of
+whom you--er--have--er--doubtless all heard. At any rate you will hear
+him now."
+
+Mr. Sydney Worple, tall and thin, wearing the sort of tie which makes you
+think you must have seen him before, steps forward amidst applause. He
+falls back into the throne as if deep in thought, and passes a hand
+across his hair.
+
+Mr. Worple (_very suddenly_) "Dawn at Surbiton."
+
+"Where?" says a frightened voice at the back.
+
+"H'sh!" says Lady Poldoodle in a whisper. "Surbiton."
+
+"Surbiton" is passed round the back seats. Not that it is going to matter
+in the least.
+
+Mr. Worple repeats the title, and then recites in an intense voice these
+lines:
+
+Out of the nethermost bonds of night,
+  Out of the gloom where the bats' wings brush me,
+  Free from the crepitous doubts which crush me,
+Forth I fare to the cool sunlight;
+
+Forth to a world where the wind sweeps clean,
+  Where the smooth-limbed ash to the blue stands bare,
+  And the gossamer spreads her opalled ware--
+And Jones is catching the 8.15.
+
+After several more verses like this he bows and retires. Lady Poldoodle,
+still mechanically clapping, says to her neighbour:
+
+"How beautiful! Dawn at Surbiton! Such a beautiful idea, I think."
+
+"Wasn't it sublime?" answers the neighbour. "The wonderful contrast
+between the great pageant of nature and poor Mr. Jones, catching--always
+catching--the 8.15."
+
+But Lord Poldoodle is rising again. "Our next poet," he says,
+"is Miss Miranda Herrick, whose work is so distinguished for
+its--er--its--er--distinction."
+
+Miss Herrick, dressed in pale green and wearing pincenez, flutters in
+girlishly. She gives a nervous little giggle, pushes out her foot,
+withdraws it and begins:
+
+When I take my bath in the morning--
+
+The audience wakes up with a start. "When you take your _what_!" says
+Lord Poldoodle.
+
+Miss Herrick begins again, starting this time with the title.
+
+LIFE
+
+When I take my bath in the morning,
+When I strip for the cool delight,
+  And the housemaid brings
+  Me towels and things,
+Do I reck of the coming night?
+
+A materially-minded man whispers to his neighbour that _he_ always
+wonders what's for breakfast. "H'sh!" she says, for there is another
+verse to come.
+
+When my hair comes down in the evening,
+And my tired clothes swoon to the ground,
+  Do I bother my head,
+  As I leap in bed,
+Of the truth which the dawn brings round?
+
+In the uncomfortable pause which follows, a voice is heard saying, "Does
+she?" and Lady Poldoodle asks kindly, "Is that all, dear?"
+
+"What more could there be?" says Miss Herrick with a sigh. "What more is
+there to say? It is Life."
+
+"Life! How true!" says the hostess. "But won't you give us something
+else? That one ended so very suddenly."
+
+After much inward (and outward) wrestling Miss Herrick announces:
+
+A THOUGHT
+
+The music falls across the vale
+From nightingale to nightingale;
+The owl within the ivied tree
+Makes love to me, makes love to me;
+But all the tadpoles in the pond
+Are dumb--however fond.
+
+"I begin to think that there is something in a tadpole after all,"
+murmurs Lord Poldoodle to himself, as the author wriggles her way out.
+
+"After all," says one guest to another, "why shouldn't a tadpole make
+love as much as anybody else?"
+
+"I think," says her neighbour, "that the idea is of youth trying vainly
+to express itself--or am I thinking of caterpillars? Lord Poldoodle, what
+is a tadpole exactly?"
+
+"A tadpole," he answers decisively, "is an extremely immature wriggling
+creature, which is, quite rightly, dumb."
+
+Now steps forward Mr. Horatio Bullfinch, full of simple enthusiasm, one
+of the London school. He gives us his famous poem, "Berkeley Square."
+
+The men who come from the north country
+  Are tall and very fair,
+The men who come from the south country
+  Have hardly any hair,
+But the only men in the world for me
+  Are the men of Berkeley Square.
+
+The sun may shine at Colchester,
+  The rain may rain at Penge;
+From low-hung skies the dawn may rise
+  Broodingly on Stonehenge.
+Knee-deep in clover the lambs at Dover
+  Nibble awhile and stare;
+But there's only one place in the world for me,
+  Berkeley--Berkeley Square.
+
+And so on, down to that magnificent last verse:
+
+The skylark triumphs from the blue,
+  Above the barley fields at Loo,
+The blackbird whistles loud and clear
+  Upon the hills at Windermere;
+But oh, I simply LOVE the way
+  Our organ-grinder plays all day!
+
+Lord Poldoodle rises to introduce Mr. Montagu Mott.
+
+"Mr. Mott," he says, "is, I am told, our leading exponent of what is
+called _vers libre_, which means--well, you will see what it means
+directly."
+
+Mr. Mott, a very ugly little man, who tries to give you the impression
+that he is being ugly on purpose, and could easily be beautiful if he
+were not above all that sort of thing, announces the title of his
+masterpiece. It is called "Why Is the Fat Woman's Face So Red?" Well,
+what else _could_ you call it?
+
+Why is the fat woman's face so red?
+Is it because her stays are too tight?
+Or because she wants to sneeze and has lost her pocket handkerchief?
+Or only because her second son
+(The engineer)
+Is dying of cancer.
+I cannot be certain.
+Yet I sit here and ask myself
+Wonderingly
+Why is the fat woman's face so red?
+
+It is generally recognized that, in Mr. Mott, we have a real poet. There
+are loud cries of "Encore!" Mr. Mott shakes his head.
+
+"I have written no more," he says in a deep voice. "I have given you the
+result of three years' work. Perhaps--in another three years--" He shrugs
+his shoulders and walks gloomingly out.
+
+"Such a sweet idea," says Lady Poldoodle. "I sit here and ask
+myself--wonderingly! How true! How very true!"
+
+"I couldn't quite follow it, dear," says her neighbour frankly. "Did he
+marry her after all?"
+
+Lord Poldoodle, looking slightly more cheerful, gets once more on to his
+legs.
+
+"You will all be very glad to hear--ah--you will all be sorry to hear
+that we have only one more poet on our list this afternoon. Mr. Cecil
+Willow, the well-known--er--poet."
+
+Mr. Willow, a well-dressed young man, fair and rather stout, and a credit
+to any drawing-room, announces the subject of his poem--Liberty.
+
+"Liberty, what crimes have been committed in thy name!" murmurs Lord
+Poldoodle to himself.
+
+LIBERTY
+
+There were two thrushes in a tree,
+The one was tamed, the other free.
+Because his wings were clipped so small
+The tame one did not fly at all,
+But sang to Heaven all the day--
+The other (shortly after) flew away.
+
+There were two women in a town,
+The one was blonde, the other brown.
+The brown one pleased a Viscount's son
+(Not Richard, but the other one)
+He gave her a delightful flat--
+The blonde one loved a man called Alfred Spratt.
+
+There were two Kings on thrones of gold,
+The one was young, the other old.
+The young one's laws were wisely made
+Till someone took a hand-grenade
+And threw it, shouting, "Down with Kings!"--
+The old one laid foundation stones and things.
+
+"How delightful," says everybody. "How very delightful. Thank you, Lady
+Poldoodle, for such a delightful afternoon."
+
+
+
+THE PERILS OF REVIEWING
+
+
+A most unfortunate thing has happened to a friend of mine called ---- to
+a friend of ---- to a ----. Well, I suppose the truth will have to come
+out. It happened to me. Only don't tell anybody.
+
+I reviewed a book the other day. It is not often I do this, because
+before one can review a book one has to, or is supposed to, read it,
+which wastes a good deal of time. Even that isn't an end of the trouble.
+The article which follows is not really one's own, for the wretched
+fellow who wrote the book is always trying to push his way in with his
+views on matrimony, or the Sussex downs, or whatever his ridiculous
+subject is. He expects one to say, "Mr. Blank's treatment of Hilda's
+relations with her husband is masterly," whereas what one wants to say
+is, "Putting Mr. Blank's book on one side, we may consider the larger
+question, whether--" and so consider it (alone) to the end of the column.
+
+Well, I reviewed Mr. Blank's book, "Rotundity." As I expected, the first
+draft had to be re-headed "A Corner of old London," and used elsewhere;
+Mr. Blank didn't get into it at all. I kept promising myself a sentence:
+"Take 'Rotundity,' for instance, the new novel by William Blank, which,
+etc." but before I was ready for it the article was finished. In my
+second draft, realizing the dangers of delay, I began at once, "This
+remarkable novel," and continued so for a couple of sentences. But on
+reading it through afterwards I saw at once that the first two sentences
+were out of place in an article that obviously ought to be called "The
+Last Swallow"; so I cut them out, sent "The Last Swallow: A Reverie" to
+another Editor, and began again. The third time I was successful.
+
+Of course in my review I said all the usual things. I said that Mr.
+Blank's attitude to life was "subjective rather than objective" ... and
+a little lower down that it was "objective rather than subjective." I
+pointed out that in his treatment of the major theme he was a
+neo-romanticist, but I suggested that, on the other hand, he had nothing
+to learn from the Russians--or the Russians had nothing to learn from
+him; I forget which. And finally I said (and this is the cause of the
+whole trouble) that Antoine Vaurelle's world-famous classic--and I looked
+it up in the encyclopedia--world-renowned classic, "Je Comprends Tout,"
+had been not without its influence on Mr. Blank. It was a good review,
+and the editor was pleased about it.
+
+A few days later Mr. Blank wrote to say that, curiously enough, he had
+never read "Je Comprends Tout." It didn't seem to me very curious,
+because I had never read it either, but I thought it rather odd of him to
+confess as much to a stranger. The only book of Vaurelle's which I had
+read was "Consolatrice," in an English translation. However, one doesn't
+say these things in a review.
+
+Now I have a French friend, Henri, one of those annoying Frenchmen who
+talk English much better than I do, and Henri, for some extraordinary
+reason, had seen my review. He has to live in London now, but his heart
+is in Paris; and I imagine that every word of his beloved language which
+appears, however casually, in an English paper mysteriously catches his
+eye and brings the scent and sounds of the boulevards to him across the
+coffee-cups. So, the next time I met him, he shook me warmly by the hand,
+and told me how glad he was that I was an admirer of Antoine Vaurelle's
+novels.
+
+"Who isn't?" I said with a shrug, and, to get the conversation on to
+safer ground, I added hastily that in some ways I almost liked
+"Consolatrice" best.
+
+He shook my hand again. So did he. A great book.
+
+"But of course," he said, "one must read it in the original French. It is
+the book of all others which loses by translation."
+
+"Of course," I agreed. Really, I don't see what else I could have done.
+
+"Do you remember that wonderful phrase--" and he rattled it off.
+"Magnificent, is it not?"
+
+"Magnificent," I said, remembering an appointment instead. "Well, I must
+be getting on. Good-bye." And, as I walked off, I patted my forehead with
+my handkerchief and wondered why the day had grown so warm suddenly.
+
+However the next day was even warmer. Henri came to see me with a book
+under his arm. We all have one special book of our own which we recommend
+to our acquaintances, regarding the love of it as perhaps the best
+passport to our friendship. This was Henri's. He was about to test me. I
+had read and admired his favourite Vaurelle--in the original French.
+Would I love his darling Laforgue? My reputation as a man, as a writer,
+as a critic, depended on it. He handed me the book--in French.
+
+"It is all there," he said reverently, as he gave it to me. "All
+your English masters, they all come from him. Perhaps, most of all,
+your ---- But you shall tell me when you have read it. You shall tell me
+whom most you seem to see there. Your Meredith? Your Shaw? Your ---- But
+you shall tell me."
+
+"I will tell you," I said faintly.
+
+And I've got to tell him.
+
+Don't think that I shall have any difficulty in reading the book.
+Glancing through it just now I came across this:--
+
+"'_Kate, avez-vous soupe avant le spectacle_?'
+
+'_Non, je n'avais guere le coeur a manger_.'"
+
+Well, that's easy enough. But I doubt if it is one of the most
+characteristic passages. It doesn't give you a clue to Laforgue's manner,
+any more than "'Must I sit here, mother?' 'Yes, without a doubt you
+must,'" tells you all that you want to know about Meredith. There's more
+in it than that.
+
+And I've got to tell him.
+
+But fancy holding forth on an author's style after reading him
+laboriously with a dictionary!
+
+However, I must do my best; and in my more hopeful moments I see the
+conversation going like this:--
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Oh, wonderful." (_With emotion_) "Really wonderful."
+
+"You see them all there?"
+
+"Yes, yes. It's really--wonderful. Meredith--I mean--well, it's
+simply--(_after a pause_) wonderful."
+
+"You see Meredith there most?"
+
+"Y-yes. Sometimes. And then (_with truth_) sometimes I--I don't. It's
+difficult to say. Sometimes I--er--Shaw--er--well, it's--" (_with a
+gesture somewhat Gallic_) "How can I put it?"
+
+"Not Thackeray at all?" he says, watching me eagerly.
+
+I decide to risk it.
+
+"Oh, but of course! I mean--Thackeray! When I said Meredith
+I was thinking of the _others_. But Thackeray--I mean Thackeray
+_is_--er--" (_I've forgotten the author's name for the moment and
+go on hastily_) "I mean--er--Thackeray, obviously."
+
+He shakes me by the hand. I am his friend.
+
+But this conversation only takes place in my more hopeful moments. In my
+less hopeful ones I see myself going into the country for quite a long
+time.
+
+
+
+
+III. SUMMER DAYS
+
+
+
+A SONG FOR THE SUMMER
+
+
+_Is it raining_? Never mind--
+  Think how much the birdies love it!
+See them in their dozens drawn,
+Dancing, to the croquet lawn--
+Could our little friends have dined
+  If there'd been no worms above it?
+
+_Is it murky_? What of that,
+  If the Owls are fairly perky?
+Just imagine you were one--
+Wouldn't you _detest_ the sun?
+I'm pretending I'm a Bat,
+  And I know I _like_ it murky.
+
+_Is it chilly_? After all,
+  We must not forget the Poodle.
+If the days were really hot,
+Could he wear _one_ woolly spot?
+Could he even keep his shawl?
+  No, he'd shave the whole caboodle.
+
+
+
+THE SEASON'S PROSPECTS
+
+
+The great question in the Mallory family just now is whether Dick will
+get into the eleven this year. Confident as he is himself, he is taking
+no risks.
+
+"We're going to put the net up to-morrow," he said to me as soon as I
+arrived, "and then you'll be able to bowl to me. How long are you
+staying?"
+
+"Till to-night," I said quickly.
+
+"Rot! You're fixed up here till Tuesday any how."
+
+"My dear Dick, I've come down for a few days' rest. If the weather
+permits, I may have the croquet things out one afternoon and try a round,
+or possibly--"
+
+"I don't believe you _can_ bowl," said Bobby rudely. Bobby is
+twelve--five years younger than Dick. It is not my place to smack Bobby's
+head, but _somebody_ might do it for him.
+
+"Then that just shows how little you know about it," I retorted. "In a
+match last September I went on to bowl--"
+
+"Why?"
+
+"I knew the captain," I explained. "Well, as I say, he asked me to go on
+to bowl, and I took four wickets for thirteen runs. There!"
+
+"Good man," said Dick.
+
+"Was it against a girls' school?" said Bobby. (You know, Bobby is simply
+_asking_ for it.)
+
+"It was not. Nor were children of twelve allowed in without their
+perambulators."
+
+"Well, anyhow," said Bobby, "I bet Phyllis can bowl better than you."
+
+"Is this true?" I said to Phyllis. I asked her, because in a general way
+my bowling is held to be superior to that of girls of fifteen. Of course,
+she might be something special.
+
+"I can bowl Bobby out," she said modestly.
+
+I looked at Bobby in surprise and then shook my head sadly.
+
+"You jolly well shut up," he said, turning indignantly to his sister.
+"Just because you did it once when the sun was in my eyes--"
+
+"Bobby, Bobby," I said, "this is painful hearing. Let us be thankful that
+we don't have to play against girls' schools. Let us--"
+
+But Bobby was gone. Goaded to anger, he had put his hands in his pockets
+and made the general observation "Rice-pudding"--an observation
+inoffensive enough to a stranger, but evidently of such deep, private
+significance to Phyllis that it was necessary for him to head a pursuit
+into the shrubbery without further delay.
+
+"The children are gone," I said to Dick. "Now we can discuss the
+prospects for the season in peace." I took up "The Sportsman" again. "I
+see that Kent is going to--"
+
+"The prospects are all right," said Dick, "if only I can get into form
+soon enough. Last year I didn't get going till the end of June. By the
+way, what sort of stuff do you bowl?"
+
+"Ordinary sort of stuff," I said, "with one or two bounces in it. Do you
+see that Surrey--"
+
+"Fast or slow?"
+
+"Slow--that is, you know, when I _do_ bowl at all. I'm not quite sure
+this season whether I hadn't better--"
+
+"Slow," said Dick thoughtfully; "that's really what I want. I want lots
+of that."
+
+"You must get Phyllis to bowl to you," I said with detachment. "You know,
+I shouldn't be surprised if Lancashire--"
+
+"My dear man, girls can't bowl. She fields jolly well, though."
+
+"What about your father?"
+
+"His bowling days are rather over. He was in the eleven, you know, thirty
+years ago. So there's really nobody but--"
+
+"One's bowling days soon get over," I hastened to agree.
+
+But I know now exactly what the prospects of the season--or, at any rate,
+of the first week of it--are.
+
+
+MR. MALLORY
+
+The prospects here are on the whole encouraging. To dwell upon the bright
+side first, there will be half-an-hour's casual bowling, and an hour and
+a half's miscellaneous coaching, every day. On the other hand, some of
+his best plants will be disturbed, while there is more than a chance that
+he may lose the services of a library window.
+
+
+MRS. MALLORY
+
+The prospects here are much as last year, except that her youngest born,
+Joan, is now five, and consequently rather more likely to wander in the
+way of a cricket ball or fall down in front of the roller than she was
+twelve months ago. Otherwise Mrs. Mallory faces the approaching season
+with calm, if not with complete appreciation.
+
+
+DICK
+
+Of Dick's prospects there is no need to speak at length. He will have two
+hours' batting every day against, from a batsman's point of view, ideal
+bowling, and in addition the whole-hearted admiration of all of us. In
+short, the outlook here is distinctly hopeful.
+
+
+PHYLLIS
+
+The prospects of this player are, from her own point of view, bright, as
+she will be allowed to field for two hours a day to the beloved Dick. She
+is also fully qualified now to help with the heavy roller. A new
+experiment is to be tried this season, and she will be allowed to bowl
+for an odd five-minutes at the end of Dick's innings to _me_.
+
+
+BOBBY
+
+enters upon the coming season with confidence, as he thinks there is a
+chance of my bowling to him too; but he is mistaken. As before, he will
+be in charge of the heavy roller, and he will also be required to slacken
+the ropes of the net at the end of the day. His prospects, however, are
+certainly improved this season, as he will be qualified to bowl for the
+whole two hours, but only on the distinct understanding (with Phyllis)
+that he does his own fielding for himself.
+
+Of the prospects of
+
+
+JOAN
+
+I have already spoken above. There remain only the prospects of
+
+
+MYSELF
+
+which are frankly rotten. They consist chiefly of two hours' bowling to
+the batting of Dick (who hits them back very hard), and ten minutes'
+batting to the bowling of Phyllis (slow, mild) and Bobby (fast wides);
+for Dick, having been ordered by the captain not to strain himself by
+trying to bowl, is not going to try. It is extremely doubtful whether
+Bobby will approve of my action, while if he or Phyllis should, by an
+unlucky accident, get me out, I should never hear the last of it. In this
+case, however, there must be added to Bobby's prospects the possibility
+of getting his head definitely smacked.
+
+Fortunately--it is my only consolation--the season will be a short one.
+It ends on Tuesday.
+
+
+
+THE FIRST GAME
+
+
+  There comes a Day (I can hear it coming),
+    One of those glorious deep blue days,
+  When larks are singing and bees are humming,
+    And Earth gives voice in a thousand ways--
+      Then I, my friends, I too shall sing,
+      And hum a foolish little thing,
+And whistle like (but not too like) a blackbird in the Spring.
+
+  There looms a Day (I can feel it looming;
+    Yes, it will be in a month or less),
+  When all the flowers in the world are blooming
+    And Nature flutters her fairest dress--
+      Then I, my friends, I too shall wear
+      A blazer that will make them stare,
+And brush--this is official: I shall also brush my hair.
+
+  It is the day that I watch for yearly,
+    Never before has it come so late;
+  But now I've only a month--no, merely
+    A couple of fortnights left to wait;
+      And then (to make the matter plain)
+      I hold--at last!--a bat again:
+Dear Hobbs! the weeks this summer--think! the _weeks_
+      I've lived in vain!
+
+  I see already the first ball twisting
+    Over the green as I take my stand,
+  I hear already long-on insisting
+    It wasn't a chance that came to hand--
+      Or no; I see it miss the bat
+      And strike me on the knee, whereat
+Some fool, some silly fool at point, says blandly,
+        "How was that?"
+
+  Then, scouting later, I hold a hot-un
+    At deep square-leg from the local Fry,
+  And at short mid-on to the village Scotton
+    I snap a skimmer some six foot high--
+      Or else, perhaps, I get the ball,
+      Upon the thumb, or not at all,
+Or right into the hands, and then, lorblessme, let it fall.
+
+  But what care I? It's the game that calls me--
+    Simply to be on the field of play;
+  How can it matter what fate befalls me,
+    With ten good fellows and one good day?
+             ... But still,
+      I rather hope spectators will,
+      Observing any lack or skill,
+Remark, "This is his first appearance." Yes, I _hope_ they will.
+
+
+
+THE COMPETITION SPIRIT
+
+
+About six weeks ago a Canadian gentleman named Smith arrived in the Old
+Country (England). He knew a man who knew a man who knew a man ... and so
+on for a bit ... who knew a man who knew a man who knew me. Letters
+passed; negotiations ensued; and about a week after he had first set foot
+in the Mother City (London) Smith and I met at my Club for lunch.
+
+I may confess now that I was nervous. I think I expected a man in a brown
+shirt and leggings, who would ask me to put it "right there," and tell me
+I was "some Englishman." However, he turned out to be exactly like
+anybody else in London. Whether he found me exactly like anybody else in
+Canada I don't know. Anyway, we had a very pleasant lunch, and arranged
+to play golf together on the next day.
+
+Whatever else is true of Canada there can be no doubt that it turns out
+delightful golfers. Smith proved to be just the best golfer I had ever
+met, being, when at the top of his form, almost exactly as good as I was.
+Hole after hole we halved in a mechanical eight. If by means of a raking
+drive and four perfect brassies at the sixth he managed to get one up for
+a moment, then at the short seventh a screaming iron and three consummate
+approaches would make me square again. Occasionally he would, by
+superhuman play, do a hole in bogey; but only to crack at the next, and
+leave me, at the edge of the green, to play "one off eleven." It was, in
+fact, a ding-dong struggle all the way; and for his one-hole victory in
+the morning I had my revenge with a one-hole victory in the afternoon.
+
+By the end of a month we must have played a dozen rounds of this nature.
+I always had a feeling that I was really a better golfer than he, and
+this made me friendly towards his game. I would concede him short putts
+which I should have had no difficulty in missing myself; if he lost his
+ball I would beg him to drop another and go on with the hole; if he got
+into a bad place in a bunker I would assure him it was ground under
+repair. He was just as friendly in refusing to take these advantages,
+just as pleasant in offering similar indulgences to me. I thought at
+first it was part of his sporting way, but it turned out that (absurdly
+enough) he also was convinced that he was really the better golfer of the
+two, and could afford these amenities.
+
+One day he announced that he was going back to Canada.
+
+"We must have a last game," he said, "and this one must be decisive."
+
+"For the championship of the Empire," I agreed. "Let's buy a little cup
+and play for it. I've never won anything at golf yet, and I should love
+to see a little cup on the dinner-table every night."
+
+"You can't come to dinner in Canada _every_ night," he pointed out. "It
+would be so expensive for you."
+
+Well, the cup was bought, engraved "The Empire Challenge Cup," and played
+for last Monday.
+
+"This," said Smith, "is a serious game, and we must play all out. No
+giving away anything, no waiving the rules. The Empire is at stake. The
+effeteness of the Mother Country is about to be put to the proof.
+Proceed."
+
+It wasn't the most pleasant of our games. The spirit of the cup hung over
+it and depressed us. At the third hole I had an eighteen-inch putt for a
+half. "That's all right," said Smith forgetfully; and then added,
+"Perhaps you'd better put it in, though." Of course I missed. On the
+fifth green he was about to brush away a leaf. "That's illegal," I said
+sharply, "you must pick it up; you mayn't brush it away," and after a
+fierce argument on the point he putted hastily--and badly. At the
+eighteenth tee we were all square and hardly on speaking terms. The fate
+of the Mother Country depended upon the result of this hole.
+
+I drove a long one, the longest of the day, slightly hooked.
+
+"Good shot," said Smith with an effort. He pressed and foozled badly. I
+tried not to look pleased.
+
+We found his ball in a thick clump of heather. With a grim look on his
+face, he took out his niblick....
+
+I stayed by him and helped him count up to eight.
+
+"Where's your ball?" he growled.
+
+"A long way on," I said reproachfully. "I wish you'd hurry up. The poor
+thing will be getting cold."
+
+He got to work again. We had another count together up to fifteen.
+Sometimes there would be a gleam of white at the top of the heather for a
+moment and then it would fade away.
+
+"How many?" I asked some minutes later.
+
+"About thirty. But I don't care, I'm going to get the little beast into
+the hole if it takes me all night." He went on hacking.
+
+I had lost interest in the performance, for the cup was mine, but I did
+admire his Colonial grit.
+
+"Got it," he cried suddenly, and the ball sailed out on to the pretty.
+Another shot put him level with me.
+
+"Thirty-two?" I asked.
+
+"About," he said coldly.
+
+I began to look for my ball. It had got tired of waiting and had hidden
+itself. Smith joined gloomily in the search.
+
+"This is absurd," I said, after three or four minutes.
+
+"By jove!" said Smith, suddenly brightening up. "If your ball's lost I
+win after all."
+
+"Nonsense; you've given the hole up," I protested. "You don't know how
+many you've played. According to the rules, if I ask you how many, and
+you give wrong information--"
+
+"It's thirty-five," he said promptly.
+
+"I don't believe you counted."
+
+"Call it forty-five then. There's nothing to prevent my calling it more
+than it really is. If it was really only forty, then I'm counting five
+occasions when the ball rolled over as I was addressing it. That's very
+generous of me. Actually I'm doubtful if the ball did roll over five
+times, but I say it did in order to be on the safe side." He looked at
+his watch. "And if you don't find your ball in thirty seconds, you lose
+the hole."
+
+It was ingenious, but the Mother Country can be ingenious too.
+
+"How many have you played exactly?" I asked. "Be careful."
+
+"Forty-five," he said. "Exactly."
+
+"Right." I took my niblick and swung at the heather. "Bother," I said.
+"Missed it. Two."
+
+"Hallo! Have you found it?"
+
+"I have. It's somewhere in this field. There's no rule which insists that
+you shall hit the ball, or even that you shall hit near the ball, or even
+that you shall see the ball when you hit at it. Lots of old gentlemen
+shut their eyes and miss the sphere. I've missed. In five minutes I shall
+miss again."
+
+"But what's the point?"
+
+"The point, dear friend," I smiled, "is that after each stroke one is
+allowed five minutes in which to find the ball. I have forty-three
+strokes in hand; that gives me three hours and thirty-five minutes in
+which to look for it. At regular intervals of five minutes I shall swing
+my club and probably miss. It's four-thirty now; at eight o'clock, unless
+I find my ball before, I shall be playing the like. And if you are a
+sportsman," I added, "you will bring me out some tea in half an hour."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At six-thirty I was still looking--and swinging. Smith then came to terms
+and agreed to share the cup with me for the first year. He goes back to
+Canada to-morrow, and will spread the good news there that the Old
+Country can still hold its own in resource, determination and staying
+power. But next year we are going to play friendly golf again.
+
+
+
+THE FIRST TEE
+
+(MULLION)
+
+
+  It is the place, it is the place, my soul!
+    (Blow, bugle, blow; sing, triangle; toot, fife!)
+  Down to the sea the close-cropped pastures roll,
+  Couches behind yon sandy hill the goal
+    Whereat, it may be, after ceaseless strife
+The "Colonel" shall find peace, and Henry say,
+        "Your hole" ...
+
+  Caddie, give me my driver, caddie,
+    The sun shines hot, but there's half a breeze,
+  Enough to rustle the tree-tops, laddie,
+    Only supposing there were some trees;
+The year's at the full and the morn's at eleven,
+It's a wonderful day just straight from Heaven,
+And this is a hole I can do in seven--
+         Caddie, my driver, please.
+
+Three times a day from now till Monday week
+  (Ten peerless days in all) I take my stand
+Vested in some _degage_ mode of breek
+(The chess-board touch, with squares that almost speak),
+  And lightly sketch my Slice into the Sand,
+As based on bigger men, but much of it unique....
+
+  Caddie, give me my driver, caddie,
+    Note my style on the first few tees;
+  Duncan fashioned my wrist-work, laddie,
+    Taylor taught me to twist my knees;
+I've a beautiful swing that I learnt from Vardon
+(I practise it sometimes down the garden--
+"My fault! Sorry! I _beg_ your pardon!")--
+      Caddie, my driver, please.
+
+  Only ten little days, in which to do
+    So much! e.g., the twelfth: ah, it was there
+  The Secretary met his Waterloo,
+  But perished gamely, playing twenty-two;
+    His clubs _(ten little days_!) lie bleaching where
+Sea-poppies blow _(ten days_) and wheeling sea-birds mew....
+
+  Caddie, give me my driver, caddie,
+    Let us away with thoughts like these;
+  A week and a half is a lifetime, laddie,
+    The day that's here is the day to seize;
+_Carpe diem_--yes, that's the motto,
+"Work be jiggered!" and likewise "What ho!"
+I'M NOT GOING BACK TILL I'VE JOLLY WELL GOT TO!
+      Caddie, my driver, please.
+
+
+
+THE ENCHANTED CASTLE
+
+
+There are warm days in London when even a window-box fails to charm, and
+one longs for the more open spaces of the country. Besides, one wants to
+see how the other flowers are getting on. It is on these days that we
+travel to our Castle of Stopes; as the crow flies, fifteen miles away.
+Indeed, that is the way we get to it, for it is a castle in the air. And
+when we are come to it, Celia is always in a pink sunbonnet gathering
+roses lovingly, and I, not very far off, am speaking strongly to somebody
+or other about something I want done. By-and-by I shall go into the
+library and work ... with an occasional glance through the open window at
+Celia.
+
+To think that a month ago we were quite happy with a few pink geraniums!
+
+Sunday, a month ago, was hot. "Let's take train somewhere," said Celia,
+"and have lunch under a hedge."
+
+"I know a lovely place for hedges," I said.
+
+"I know a lovely tin of potted grouse," said Celia, and she went off to
+cut some sandwiches. By twelve o'clock we were getting out of the train.
+
+The first thing we came to was a golf course, and Celia had to drag me
+past it. Then we came to a wood, and I had to drag her through it.
+Another mile along a lane, and then we both stopped together.
+
+"Oh!" we said.
+
+It was a cottage, the cottage of a dream. And by a cottage I mean, not
+four plain rooms and a kitchen, but one surprising room opening into
+another; rooms all on different levels and of different shapes, with
+delightful places to bump your head on; open fireplaces; a large square
+hall, oak-beamed, where your guests can hang about after breakfast, while
+deciding whether to play golf or sit in the garden. Yet all so cunningly
+disposed that from outside it looks only a cottage or, at most, two
+cottages persuaded into one.
+
+And, of course, we only saw it from outside. The little drive, determined
+to get there as soon as possible, pushed its way straight through an
+old barn, and arrived at the door simultaneously with the flagged
+lavender walk for the humble who came on foot. The rhododendrons were
+ablaze beneath the south windows; a little orchard was running wild on
+the west; there was a hint at the back of a clean-cut lawn. Also, you
+remember, there was a golf course, less than two miles away.
+
+"Oh," said Celia with a deep sigh, "but we must live here."
+
+An Irish terrier ran out to inspect us. I bent down and patted it. "With
+a dog," I added.
+
+"Isn't it all lovely? I wonder who it belongs to, and if--"
+
+"If he'd like to give it to us."
+
+"Perhaps he would if he saw us and admired us very much," said Celia
+hopefully.
+
+"I don't think Mr. Barlow is that sort of man," I said. "An excellent
+fellow, but not one to take these sudden fancies."
+
+"Mr. Barlow? How do you know his name?"
+
+"I have these surprising intuitions," I said modestly. "The way the
+chimneys stand up--"
+
+"I know," cried Celia. "The dog's collar."
+
+"Right, Watson. And the name of the house is Stopes."
+
+She repeated it to herself with a frown.
+
+"What a disappointing name," she said. "Just Stopes."
+
+"Stopes," I said. "Stopes, Stopes. If you keep on saying it, a certain
+old-world charm seems to gather round it. Stopes."
+
+"Stopes," said Celia. "It _is_ rather jolly."
+
+We said it ten more times each, and it seemed the only possible name for
+it. Stopes--of course.
+
+"Well!" I asked.
+
+"We must write to Mr. Barlow," said Celia decisively. "'Dear Mr. Barlow,
+er--Dear Mr. Barlow--we--' Yes, it will be rather difficult. What do we
+want to say exactly?"
+
+"'Dear Mr. Barlow--May we have your house?'"
+
+"Yes," smiled Celia, "but I'm afraid we can hardly ask for it. But we
+might rent it when--when he doesn't want it any more."
+
+"'Dear Mr. Barlow,'" I amended, "'have you any idea when you're going to
+die?' No, that wouldn't do either. And there's another thing--we don't
+know his initials, or even if he's a 'Mr.' Perhaps he's a knight or a--a
+duke. Think how offended Duke Barlow would be if we put '---- Barlow,
+Esq.' on the envelope."
+
+"We could telegraph. 'Barlow. After you with Stopes.'"
+
+"Perhaps there's a young Barlow, a Barlowette or two with expectations.
+It may have been in the family for years."
+
+"Then we--Oh, let's have lunch." She sat down and began to undo the
+sandwiches. "Dear o' Stopes," she said with her mouth full.
+
+We lunched outside Stopes. Surely if Earl Barlow had seen us he would
+have asked us in. But no doubt his dining-room looked the other way;
+towards the east and north, as I pointed out to Celia, thus being
+pleasantly cool at lunch-time.
+
+"Ha, Barlow," I said dramatically, "a time will come when _we_ shall be
+lunching in there, and _you_--bah!" And I tossed a potted-grouse sandwich
+to his dog.
+
+However, that didn't get us any nearer.
+
+"Will you _promise,"_ said Celia, "that we shall have lunch in there one
+day?"
+
+"I promise," I said readily. That gave me about sixty years to do
+something in.
+
+"I'm like--who was it who saw something of another man's and wouldn't be
+happy till he got it?"
+
+"The baby in the soap advertisement."
+
+"No, no, some king in history."
+
+"I believe you are thinking of Ahab, but you aren't a bit like him,
+really. Besides, we're not coveting Stopes. All we want to know is, does
+Barlow ever let it in the summer?"
+
+"That's it," said Celia eagerly.
+
+"And, if so," I went on, "will he lend us the money to pay the rent
+with?"
+
+"Er--yes," said Celia. "That's it."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+So for a month we have lived in our Castle of Stopes. I see Celia there
+in her pink sun-bonnet, gathering the flowers lovingly, bringing an
+armful of them into the hall, disturbing me sometimes in the library with
+"_Aren't_ they beauties? No, I only just looked in--good luck to you."
+And she sees me ordering a man about importantly, or waving my hand to
+her as I ride through the old barn on my road to the golf course.
+
+But this morning she had an idea.
+
+"Suppose," she said timidly, "you _wrote_ about Stopes, and Mr. Barlow
+happened to see it, and knew how much we wanted it, and--"
+
+"Well!"
+
+"Then," said Celia firmly, "if he were a gentleman he would give it to
+us."
+
+Very well. Now we shall see if Mr. Barlow is a gentleman.
+
+
+
+THE SANDS OF PLEASURE
+
+
+Ladies first, so we will start with Jenny. Jenny is only nine, but she
+has been to the seaside before and knows all about it. She wears the
+fashionable _costume de plage_, which consists of a white linen hat, a
+jersey and an overcrowded pair of bathing-drawers, into which not only
+Jenny, but the rest of her wardrobe, has had to fit itself. Two slim
+brown legs emerge to bear the burden, and one feels that if she fell over
+she would have to stay there until somebody picked her up.
+
+She is holding Richard Henry by the hand. Richard Henry is four, and this
+is the first time he has seen the sea. Jenny is showing it to him.
+Privately he thinks that it has been over-rated. There was a good deal of
+talk about it in his suburb (particularly from Jenny, who had been there
+before) and naturally one expected something rather--well, rather more
+like what they had been saying it was like. However, perhaps it would be
+as well to keep in with Jenny and not to let her see that he is
+disappointed, so every time she says, "Isn't the sea lovely?" he echoes,
+"Lovely," and now and then he adds (just to humour her), "Is 'at the
+sea?" and then she has the chance to say again, "Yes, that's the sea,
+darling. Isn't it lovely?" It is obvious that she is proud of it.
+Apparently she put it there. Anyway, it seems to be hers now.
+
+Jenny has brought Father and Mother as well as Richard Henry. There they
+are, over there. When she came before she had to leave them behind, much
+to their disappointment. Father was saying, "Form fours, left," before
+going off to France again, and Mother was buying wool to make him some
+more socks. It was a great relief to them to know that they were being
+taken this time, and that they would have Jenny to tell them all about
+it.
+
+Father is lying in a deck-chair, smoking his pipe. There has been an
+interesting discussion this afternoon as to whether he is a coward or
+not. Father thought he wasn't, but Mother wasn't quite so sure. Jenny
+said that of course he couldn't really be, because the King gave him a
+medal for not being one, but Mother explained that it was only a medal he
+had over, and Father happened to be passing by the window.
+
+"I don't see what this has to do with it," said Father. "I simply prefer
+bathing in the morning."
+
+"Oo, you said this morning you preferred bathing in the afternoon," says
+Jenny like a flash.
+
+"I know; but since then I've had time to think it over, and I see that I
+was hasty. The morning is the best time."
+
+"I'm afraid he _is_ a coward," said Mother sadly, wondering why she had
+married him.
+
+"The whole point is, why did Jenny bring me here?"
+
+"To enjoy yourself," said Jenny promptly.
+
+"Well, I am," said Father, closing his eyes.
+
+But we do not feel so sure that Mother is enjoying herself. She has just
+read in the paper about a mine that floated ashore and exploded. Nobody
+was near at the time, but supposing one of the children had been playing
+with it.
+
+"Which one?" said Father lazily.
+
+"Jenny."
+
+"Then we should have lost Jenny."
+
+This being so, Jenny promises solemnly not to play with any mine that
+comes ashore, nor to let Richard Henry play with it, nor to allow it to
+play with Richard Henry, nor--
+
+"I suppose I may just point it out to him and say, 'Look, that's a
+mine'?" says Jenny wistfully. If she can't do this, it doesn't seem to be
+much use coming to the seaside at all.
+
+"I don't think there would be any harm in that," says Father. "But don't
+engage it in conversation."
+
+"Thank you very much," says Jenny, and she and Richard Henry go off
+together.
+
+Mother watches them anxiously. Father closes his eyes.
+
+"Now," says Jenny eagerly, "I'm going to show you a darling little crab.
+Won't that be lovely?"
+
+Richard Henry, having been deceived, as he feels, about the sea, is not
+too hopeful about that crab. However, he asks politely, "What's a crab?"
+
+"You'll see directly, darling," says Jenny; and he has to be content with
+that.
+
+"Crab," he murmurs to himself.
+
+Suddenly an idea occurs to him. He lets go of Jenny's hand and trots up
+to an old gentleman with white whiskers.
+
+"Going to see a crab," he announces.
+
+"Going to see a crab, are you, my little man?" says the old gentleman
+kindly.
+
+"Going to see a crab," says Richard Henry, determined to keep up his end
+of the conversation.
+
+"Well, I never! So you're going to see a crab!" says the old gentleman,
+doing his best with it.
+
+Richard Henry nods two or three times. "Going to see a crab," he says
+firmly.
+
+Luckily Jenny comes up and rescues him, otherwise they would still be at
+it. "Come along, darling, and see the crab," she says, picking up his
+hand; and Richard Henry looks triumphantly at the old gentleman. There
+you are. Perhaps he will believe a fellow another time.
+
+Jenny has evidently made an arrangement with a particular crab for this
+afternoon. It is to be hoped that the appointment will be kept, for she
+has hurried Richard Henry past all sorts of wonderful things which he
+wanted to stop with for a little. But the thought of this lovely crab,
+which Jenny thinks so much of, forbids protest. Quite right not to keep
+it waiting. What will it be like? Will it be bigger than the sea?
+
+We have reached the rendezvous. We see now that we need not have been in
+such a hurry.
+
+"There!" says Jenny excitedly. "Isn't he a darling little crab? He's
+asleep." (That's why we need not have hurried.)
+
+Richard Henry says nothing. He can't think of the words for what he is
+feeling. What he wants to say is that Jenny has let him down again. They
+passed a lot of these funny little things on their way here, but Jenny
+wouldn't stop because she was going to show him a Crab, a great, big,
+enormous darling little Crab--which might have been anything--and now
+it's only just this. No wonder the old gentleman didn't believe him.
+
+Swindled--that's the word he wants. However, he can't think of it for the
+moment, so he tries something else.
+
+"Darling little crab," he says.
+
+They leave the dead crab there and hurry back.
+
+"What shall I show you _now_?" says Jenny.
+
+
+
+GOLDEN MEMORIES
+
+
+When Memory with its scorn of ages,
+  Its predilection for the past,
+Turns back about a billion pages
+  And lands us by the Cam at last;
+Is it the thought of "Granta" (once our daughter),
+  The Freshers' Match, the Second in our Mays
+That makes our mouth, our very soul to water?
+  Ah no! Ah no! It is the Salmon Mayonnaise!
+
+The work we did was rarely reckoned
+  Worthy a tutor's kindly word--
+(For when I said we got a Second
+  I really meant we got a Third)--
+The games we played were often tinged with bitter,
+  Amidst the damns no faintest hint of praise
+Greeted us when we missed the authentic "sitter"--
+  But thou wert always kind, O Salmon Mayonnaise!
+
+Even our nights with "Granta," even
+  The style that, week by blessed week,
+Mixed Calverley and J.K. Stephen
+  With much that was (I hold) unique,
+Even our parodies of the Rubaiyat
+  Were disappointing--yes, in certain ways:
+What genius loves (I mean) the people shy at--
+  Yet no one ever shied at Salmon Mayonnaise!
+
+Alas! no restaurant in London
+  Can make us feel that thrill again;
+Though what they do or what leave undone
+  I often ask, and ask in vain.
+Is it the sauce which puts the brand of Cam on
+  Each maddening dish? The egg? The yellow
+           glaze?
+  The cucumber? The special breed of salmon?--
+  I only know we loved, we _loved_ that Mayonnaise!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Did Beauty," some may ask severely,
+  "Visit him in no other guise?
+It cannot be that salmon merely
+  Should bring the mist before his eyes!
+What of the river there where Byron's Pool lay,
+  The warm blue morning shimmering in the
+           haze?"
+Not this (I say) ... Yet something else ...
+         _Creme Brulee_!
+  Ye gods! to think of that _and_ Salmon Mayonnaise!
+
+
+
+THE PROBLEM OF LIFE
+
+
+The noise of the retreating sea came pleasantly to us from a distance.
+Celia was lying on her--I never know how to put this nicely--well, she
+was lying face downwards on a rock and gazing into a little pool which
+the tide had forgotten about and left behind. I sat beside her and
+annoyed a limpet. Three minutes ago I had taken it suddenly by surprise
+and with an Herculean effort moved it an eighteenth of a millimetre
+westwards. My silence since then was lulling it into a false security,
+and in another two minutes I hoped to get a move on it again.
+
+"Do you know," said Celia with a puzzled look on her face, "sometimes I
+think I'm quite an ordinary person after all."
+
+"You aren't a little bit," I said lazily; "you're just like nobody else
+in the world."
+
+"Well, of course, you had to say that."
+
+"No, I hadn't. Lots of husbands would merely have yawned." I felt one
+coming and stopped it just in time. Waiting for limpets to go to sleep
+is drowsy work. "But why are you so morbid about yourself suddenly?"
+
+"I don't know," she said. "Only every now and then I find myself thinking
+the most _obvious_ thoughts."
+
+"We all do," I answered, as I stroked my limpet gently. The noise of our
+conversation had roused it, but a gentle stroking motion (I am told by
+those to whom it has confided) will frequently cause its muscles to
+relax. "The great thing is not to speak them. Still, you'd better tell me
+now. What is it?"
+
+"Well," she said, her cheeks perhaps a little pinker than usual, "I was
+just thinking that life was very wonderful. But it's a _silly_ thing to
+say."
+
+"It's holiday time," I reminded her. "The need for sprinkling our remarks
+with thoughtful words like 'economic' and 'sporadic' is over for a bit.
+Let us be silly." I scratched in the rock the goal to which I was urging
+my limpet and took out my watch. "Three thirty-five. I shall get him
+there by four."
+
+Celia was gazing at two baby fishes who played in and out a bunch of
+sea-weed. Above the seaweed an anemone sat fatly.
+
+"I suppose they're all just as much alive as we are," she said
+thoughtfully. "They marry"--I looked at my limpet with a new
+interest--"and bring up families and go about their business, and it
+all means just as much to them as it does to us."
+
+"My limpet's business affairs mean nothing to me," I said firmly. "I am
+only wrapped up in him as a sprinter."
+
+"Aren't you going to try to move him again?"
+
+"He's not quite ready yet. He still has his suspicions."
+
+Celia dropped into silence. Her next question showed that she had left
+the pool for a moment.
+
+"Are there any people in Mars?" she asked.
+
+"People down here say that there aren't. A man told me the other day that
+he knew this for a fact. On the other hand, people in Mars know for a
+fact that there isn't anybody on the Earth. Probably they are both
+wrong."
+
+"I should like to know a lot about things," sighed Celia. "Do you know
+anything about limpets?"
+
+"Only that they stick like billy-o."
+
+"I suppose more about them _is_ known than that?"
+
+"I suppose so. By people who have made a specialty of them. For one who
+has preferred to amass general knowledge rather than to specialize, it is
+considered enough to know that they stick like billy-o."
+
+"You haven't specialized in anything, have you?"
+
+"Only in wives."
+
+Celia smiled and went on. "How do you make a specialty of limpets?"
+
+"Well, I suppose you--er--study them. You sit down and--and watch them.
+Probably after dark they get up and do something. And of course, in any
+case, you can always dissect one and see what he's had for breakfast. One
+way and another you get to know things about them."
+
+"They must have a lot of time for thinking," said Celia, regarding my
+limpet with her head on one side. "Tell me, how do they know that there
+are no men in Mars?"
+
+I sat up with a sigh.
+
+"Celia, you do dodge about so. I have barely brought together and
+classified my array of facts about things in this world, when you've
+dashed up to another one. What is the connexion between Mars and limpets?
+If there are any limpets in Mars they are freshwater ones. In the
+canals."
+
+"Oh, I just wondered," she said. "I mean"--she wrinkled her forehead in
+the effort to find words for her thoughts--"I'm wondering what everything
+means, and why we're all here, and what limpets are for, and, supposing
+there are people in Mars, if we're the real people whom the world was
+made for, or if _they_ are." She stopped and added, "One evening after
+dinner, when we get home, you must tell me all about _everything_"
+
+Celia has a beautiful idea that I can explain everything to her. I
+suppose I must have explained a stymie or a no-ball very cleverly once.
+
+"Well," I said, "I can tell you what limpets are for now. They're like
+sheep and cows and horses and pheasants and--and any other animal.
+They're just for _us_. At least so the wise people say."
+
+"But we don't eat limpets."
+
+"No, but they can amuse us. This one"--and with a sudden leap I was
+behind him as he dozed, and I had dashed him forward another eighteenth
+of a millimetre--"this one has amused _me_."
+
+"Perhaps," said Celia thoughtfully, and I don't think it was quite a nice
+thing for a young woman to say, "perhaps we're only meant to amuse the
+people in Mars."
+
+"Then," I said lazily, "let's hope that they _are_ amused."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Ten days later the Great War began. Celia said no more on the subject,
+but she used to look at me curiously sometimes, and I fear that the
+problem of life left her more puzzled than ever. At the risk of betraying
+myself to her as "quite an ordinary person after all" I confess that
+there are times when it leaves me puzzled too.
+
+
+
+
+IV. WAR-TIME
+
+
+
+O.B.E.
+
+
+I know a Captain of Industry,
+Who made big bombs for the R.F.C.,
+And collared a lot of L s. d.--
+And he--thank God!--has the O.B.E.
+
+I know a Lady of Pedigree,
+Who asked some soldiers out to tea,
+And said "Dear me!" and "Yes, I see"--
+And she--thank God!--has the O.B.E.
+
+I know a fellow of twenty-three,
+Who got a job with a fat M.P.--
+(Not caring much for the Infantry.)
+And he--thank God!--has the O.B.E.
+
+I had a friend; a friend, and he
+Just held the line for you and me,
+And kept the Germans from the sea,
+And died--without the O.B.E.
+                      Thank God!
+He died without the O.B.E.
+
+
+
+ARMAGEDDON
+
+
+The conversation had turned, as it always does in the smoking-rooms of
+golf clubs, to the state of poor old England, and Porkins had summed the
+matter up. He had marched round in ninety-seven that morning, followed by
+a small child with an umbrella and an arsenal of weapons, and he felt in
+form with himself.
+
+"What England wants," he said, leaning back and puffing at his
+cigar,--"what England wants is a war. (Another whisky and soda, waiter.)
+We're getting flabby. All this pampering of the poor is playing the very
+deuce with the country. A bit of a scrap with a foreign power would do us
+all the good in the world." He disposed of his whisky at a draught.
+"We're flabby," he repeated. "The lower classes seem to have no
+sense of discipline nowadays. We want a war to brace us up."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It is well understood in Olympus that Porkins must not be disappointed.
+What will happen to him in the next world I do not know, but it will be
+something extremely humorous; in this world, however, he is to have all
+that he wants. Accordingly the gods got to work.
+
+In the little village of Ospovat, which is in the southeastern corner of
+Ruritania, there lived a maiden called Maria Strultz, who was engaged to
+marry Captain Tomsk.
+
+"I fancy," said one of the gods, "that it might be rather funny if Maria
+jilted the Captain. I have an idea that it would please Porkins."
+
+"Whatever has Maria--" began a very young god, but he was immediately
+suppressed.
+
+"Really," said the other, "I should have thought it was sufficiently
+obvious. You know what these mortals are." He looked round to them all.
+"Is it agreed then?"
+
+It was agreed.
+
+So Maria Strultz jilted the Captain.
+
+Now this, as you may imagine, annoyed Captain Tomsk. He commanded a
+frontier fort on the boundary between Ruritania and Essenland, and his
+chief amusement in a dull life was to play cards with the Essenland
+captain, who commanded the fort on the other side of the river. When
+Maria's letter came, he felt that the only thing to do was to drown
+himself; on second thoughts he decided to drown his sorrows first. He did
+this so successfully that at the end of the evening he was convinced that
+it was not Maria who had jilted him, but the Essenland captain who had
+jilted Maria; whereupon he rowed across the river and poured his revolver
+into the Essenland flag which was flying over the fort. Maria thus
+revenged, he went home to bed, and woke next morning with a bad headache.
+
+("_Now we're off," said the gods in Olympus_.)
+
+In Diedeldorf, the capital of Essenland, the leader-writers proceeded to
+remove their coats.
+
+"The blood of every true Essenlander," said the leader-writer of the
+"Diedeldorf Patriot", after sending out for another pot of beer, "will
+boil when it hears of this fresh insult to our beloved flag, an insult
+which can only be wiped out with blood." Then seeing that he had two
+"bloods" in one sentence, he crossed the second One out, substituted "the
+sword," and lit a fresh cigarette. "For years Essenland has writhed under
+the provocations of Ruritania, but has preserved a dignified silence;
+this last insult is more than flesh and blood can stand." Another "blood"
+had got in, but it was a new sentence and he thought it might be allowed
+to remain. "We shall not be accused of exaggeration if we say that
+Essenland would lose, and rightly lose, her prestige in the eyes of
+Europe if she let this affront pass unnoticed. In a day she would sink
+from a first-rate to a fifth-rate power." But he didn't say how.
+
+The Chancellor of Essenland, in a speech gravely applauded by both sides
+of the House, announced the steps he had taken. An ultimatum had been
+sent to Ruritania demanding an apology, an indemnity of a hundred
+thousand marks, and the public degradation of Captain Tomsk, whose
+epaulettes were to be torn off by the Commander-in-Chief of the Essenland
+Army in the presence of a full corps of cinematograph artists. Failing
+this, war would be declared.
+
+Ruritania offered the apology, the indemnity, and the public degradation
+of Captain Tomsk, but urged that this last ceremony would be better
+performed by the Commander-in-Chief of the Ruritanian Army; otherwise
+Ruritania might as well cease to be a sovereign state, for she would
+lose her prestige in the eyes of Europe, and sink to the level of a
+fifth-rate power.
+
+There was only one possible reply to this, and Essenland made it. She
+invaded Ruritania.
+
+_("Aren't they wonderful?" said the gods in Olympus to each other_.
+
+"_But haven't you made a mistake?" asked the very young god. "Porkins
+lives in England, not Essenland_."
+
+"_Wait a moment," said the others.)_
+
+       *       *       *        *       *
+
+In the capital of Borovia the leader-writer of the "Borovian Patriot" got
+to work. "How does Borovia stand?" he asked. "If Essenland occupies
+Ruritania, can any thinking man in Borovia feel safe with the enemy at
+his gates?" (The Borovian peasant, earning five marks a week, would have
+felt no less safe than usual, but then he could hardly be described as a
+thinking man.) "It is vital to the prestige of Borovia that the integrity
+of Ruritania should be preserved. Otherwise we may resign ourselves at
+once to the prospect of becoming a fifth-rate power in the eyes of
+Europe." And in a speech, gravely applauded by all parties, the Borovian
+Chancellor said the same thing. So the Imperial Army was mobilized and,
+amidst a wonderful display of patriotic enthusiasm by those who were
+remaining behind, the Borovian troops marched to the front....
+
+_("And there you are," said the gods in Olympus.
+
+"But even now--" began the very young god doubtfully.
+
+"Silly, isn't Felicia the ally of Essenland; isn't Marksland the ally of
+Borovia; isn't England the ally of the ally of the ally of the Country
+which holds the balance of power between Marksland and Felicia?"
+
+"But if any of them thought the whole thing stupid or unjust or--"
+
+"Their prestige," said the gods gravely, trying not to laugh.
+
+"Oh, I see," said the very young god.)_
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+And when a year later the hundred-thousandth English mother woke up to
+read that her boy had been shot, I am afraid she shed foolish tears and
+thought that the world had come to an end.
+
+Poor short-sighted creature! She didn't realize that Porkins, who had
+marched round in ninety-six the day before, was now thoroughly braced up.
+
+_("What babies they all are," said the very young god.)_
+
+
+
+GOLD BRAID
+
+
+Same old crossing, same old boat,
+  Same old dust round Rouen way,
+Same old narsty one-franc note,
+  Same old "Mercy, sivvoo play";
+Same old scramble up the line,
+  Same old 'orse-box, same old stror,
+Same old weather, wet or fine,
+Same old blooming War.
+
+_Ho Lor, it isn't a dream,
+  It's just as it used to be, every bit;
+Same old whistle and same old bang,
+  And me out again to be 'it._
+
+'Twas up by Loos I got me first;
+  I just dropped gently, crawled a yard
+And rested sickish, with a thirst--
+  The 'eat, I thought, and smoking 'ard....
+Then someone 'ands me out a drink,
+  What poets call "the cooling draft,"
+And seeing 'im I done a think:
+  "_Blighty,"_ I thinks--and laughed.
+
+I'm not a soldier nacheral,
+  No more than most of us to-day;
+I runs a business with a pal
+  (Meaning the Missis) Fulham way;
+Greengrocery--the cabbages
+  And fruit and things I take meself,
+And she has dafts and crocuses
+  A-smiling on a shelf.
+
+"Blighty," I thinks. The doctor knows;
+  'E talks of punctured damn-the-things.
+It's me for Blighty. Down I goes;
+  I ain't a singer, but I sings.
+"Oh, 'oo goes 'ome?" I sort of 'ums;
+  "Oh, 'oo's for dear old England's shores?"
+And by-and-by Southampton comes--
+  "Blighty!" I says, and roars.
+
+I s'pose I thort I done my bit;
+  I s'pose I thort the War would stop;
+I saw meself a-getting fit
+  With Missis at the little shop;
+The same like as it used to be,
+  The same old markets, same old crowd,
+The same old marrers, same old me,
+But 'er as proud as proud....
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The regiment is where it was,
+  I'm in the same old ninth platoon;
+New faces most, and keen becos
+  They thinks the thing is ending soon;
+I ain't complaining, mind, but still,
+  When later on some newish bloke
+Stops one and laughs, "A blighty, Bill,"
+  I'll wonder, "Where's the joke?"
+
+Same old trenches, same old view,
+  Same old rats as blooming tame,
+Same old dug-outs, nothing new,
+  Same old smell, the very same,
+Same old bodies out in front,
+  Same old _strafe_ from 2 till 4,
+Same old scratching, same old 'unt.
+  Same old bloody War.
+
+_Ho Lor, it isn't a dream,
+  It's just as it used to be, every bit;
+Same old whistle and same old bang.
+  And me to stay 'ere till I'm 'it._
+
+
+
+TOBY
+
+
+It will save trouble if I say at once that I know nothing about horses.
+This will be quite apparent to you, of course, before I have finished,
+but I don't want you to suppose that it is not also quite apparent to me.
+I have no illusions on the subject; neither, I imagine, has Toby.
+
+To me there are only two kinds of horse. Chestnuts, roans, bay rums--I
+know nothing of all these; I can only describe a horse simply as a nice
+horse or a nasty horse. Toby is a nice horse.
+
+Toby, of course, knows much more about men than I do about horses, and no
+doubt he describes me professionally to his colleagues as a "flea-bitten
+fellow standing about eighteen hoofs"; but when he is not being technical
+I like to think that he sums me up to himself as a nice man. At any rate
+I am not allowed to wear spurs, and that must weigh with a horse a good
+deal.
+
+I have no real right to Toby. The Signalling Officer's official mount is
+a bicycle, but a bicycle in this weather--! And there _is_ Toby, and
+somebody must ride him, and, as I point out to the other subalterns, it
+would only cause jealousy if one of _them_ rode him, and--"
+
+"Why would it create more jealousy than if _you_ do?" asked one of them.
+
+"Well," I said, "you're the officer commanding platoon number--"
+
+"Fifteen."
+
+"Fifteen. Now, why should the officer commanding the fifteenth platoon
+ride a horse when the officer commanding the nineteenth--"
+
+He reminded me that there were only sixteen platoons in a battalion. It's
+such a long time since I had anything to do with platoons that I forget.
+
+"All right, we'll say the sixteenth. Why shouldn't _he_ have a horse? Of
+all the unjust--Well, you see what recriminations it would lead to. Now I
+don't say I'm more valuable than a platoon-commander or more effective on
+a horse, but, at any rate, there aren't sixteen of me. There's only one
+Signalling Officer, and if there _is_ a spare horse over--"
+
+"What about the Bombing Officer?" said O.C. Platoon 15 carelessly.
+
+I had quite forgotten the Bombing Officer. Of course he is a specialist
+too.
+
+"Yes, quite so, but if you would only think a little," I said, thinking
+hard all the time, "you would--well, put it this way. The range of a
+Mills bomb is about fifty yards; the range of a field telephone is
+several miles. Which of us is more likely to require a horse?"
+
+"_And_ the Sniping officer?" he went on dreamily.
+
+This annoyed me.
+
+"You don't shoot snipe from horseback," I said sharply. "You're mixing up
+shooting and hunting, my lad. And in any case there are reasons, special
+reasons, why I ride Toby--reasons of which you know nothing."
+
+Here are the reasons:--
+
+1. I think I have more claim to a horse called Toby than has a
+contributor to "Our Feathered Friends" or whatever paper the Sniping
+Officer writes for.
+
+2. When I joined the Army, Celia was inconsolable. I begged her to keep a
+stiff upper lip, to which she replied that she could do it better if I
+promised not to keep a bristly one. I pointed out that the country wanted
+bristles; and though, between ourselves, we might regard it as a
+promising face spoilt for a tradition, still discipline was discipline.
+And so the bristles came, and remained until the happy day when the War
+Office, at the risk of losing the war, made them optional. Immediately
+they were uprooted.
+
+Now the Colonel has only one fault (I have been definitely promised my
+second star in 1927, so he won't think I am flattering him with a
+purpose): he likes moustaches. His own is admirable, and I have no wish
+for him to remove it, but I think he should be equally broad-minded about
+mine.
+
+"You aren't really more beautiful without it," he said. "A moustache
+suits you."
+
+"My wife doesn't think so," I said firmly. I had the War Office on my
+side, so I could afford to be firm.
+
+The Colonel looked at me, and then he looked out of the window, and made
+the following remarkable statement.
+
+"Toby," he said gently to himself, "doesn't like clean-shaven officers."
+
+This hadn't occurred to me; I let it sink in.
+
+"Of course," I said at last, "one must consider one's horse. I quite see
+that."
+
+"With a bicycle," he said, "it's different."
+
+And so there you have the second reason. If the Bombing Officer rode
+Toby, I should shave again to-morrow, and then where would the Battalion
+be? Ruined.
+
+So Toby and I go off together. Up till now he has been good to me. He has
+bitten one Company Commander, removed another, and led the Colonel a
+three-mile chase across country after him, so if any misunderstanding
+occurs between us there will be good precedent for it. So far my only
+real trouble has been once when billeting.
+
+Billeting is delightful fun. You start three hours in advance of the
+battalion, which means that if the battalion leaves at eight in the
+morning, you are up in the fresh of the day, when the birds are singing.
+You arrive at the village and get from the Mayor or the Town Major a list
+of possible hostesses. Entering the first house (labeled "Officers 5")
+you say, "_Vous avez un lit pour un Officier ici, n'est-ce pas? Vive la
+France_!" She answers, "_Pas un lit_," and you go to the next house.
+"_Vous avez place pour cent hommes--oui?" "Non_," says she--and so on.
+By-and-by the battalion arrives, and everybody surrounds you. "Where are
+_my_ men going?" "Where is _my_ billet?" "Where's 'C' Company's mess?"
+"Have you found anything for the Pioneers?" And so one knows what it is
+to be popular.
+
+Well, the other day the Major thought he'd come with me, just to give me
+an idea how it ought to be done. I say nothing of the result; but for
+reasons connected with Toby I hope he won't come again. For in the middle
+of a narrow street crowded with lorries, he jumped off his horse, flung
+(I think that's the expression)--flung me the reins and said, "Just wait
+here while I see the Mayor a moment."
+
+The Major's horse I can describe quite shortly--a nasty big black horse.
+
+Toby I have already described as a nice horse, but he had been knee-deep
+in mud, inspecting huts, for nearly half an hour, and was sick of
+billeting.
+
+I need not describe two-hundred-lorries-on-a-dark-evening to you.
+
+And so, seeing that you know the constituents, I must let you imagine how
+they all mixed....
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+This is a beastly war. But it has its times; and when our own particular
+bit of the battle is over, and what is left of the battalion is marching
+back to rest, I doubt if, even in England (which seems very far off), you
+will find two people more contented with the morning than Toby and I, as
+we jog along together.
+
+
+
+COMMON
+
+
+Seated in your comfortable club, my very dear sir, or in your delightful
+drawing-room, madam, you may smile pityingly at the idea of a mascot
+saving anybody's life. "What will be, will be," you say to yourself (or
+in Italian to your friends), "and to suppose that a charm round the neck
+of a soldier will divert a German shell is ridiculous." But out there,
+through the crumps, things look otherwise.
+
+Common had sat on the mantelpiece at home. An ugly little ginger dog,
+with a bit of red tape for his tongue and two black beads for his eyes,
+he viewed his limited world with an air of innocent impertinence very
+attractive to visitors. Common he looked and Common he was called,
+with a Christian name of Howard for registration. For six months he sat
+there, and no doubt he thought that he had seen all that there was to see
+of the world when the summons came which was to give him so different an
+outlook on life.
+
+For that summons meant the breaking up of his home. Master was going
+wandering from trench to trench, Mistress from one person's house to
+another person's house. She no doubt would take Common with her; or
+perhaps she couldn't be bothered with an ugly little ginger dog, and he
+would be stored in some repository, boarded out in some Olympic kennel.
+"Or do you _possibly_ think Master might--"
+
+He looked very wistful that last morning, so wistful that Mistress
+couldn't bear it, and she slipped him in hastily between the revolver and
+the boracic powder, "Just to look after you," she said. So Common came
+with me to France.
+
+His first view of the country was at Rouen, when he sat at the entrance
+to my tent and hooshed the early morning flies away. His next at a
+village behind the lines, where he met stout fellows of "D" Company and
+took the centre of the table at mess in the apple orchard; and moreover
+was introduced to a French maiden of two, with whom, at the instigation
+of the seconds in the business--her mother and myself--a prolonged but
+monotonous conversation in the French tongue ensued, Common, under
+suitable pressure, barking idiomatically, and the maiden, carefully
+prompted, replying with the native for "Bow-wow." A pretty greenwood
+scene beneath the apple-trees, and in any decent civilization the great
+adventure would have ended there. But Common knew that it was not only
+for this that he had been brought out, and that there was more arduous
+work to come.
+
+Once more he retired to the valise, for we were making now for a
+vill--for a heap of bricks near the river; you may guess the river. It
+was about this time that I made a little rhyme for him:
+
+There was a young puppy called Howard,
+Who at fighting was rather a coward;
+     He never quite ran
+     When the battle began,
+But he started at once to bow-wow hard.
+
+A good poet is supposed to be superior to the exigencies of rhyme, but I
+am afraid that in any case Common's reputation had to be sacrificed to
+them. To be lyrical over anybody called Howard Common without hinting
+that he--well, try for yourself. Anyhow it was a lie, as so much good
+poetry is.
+
+There came a time when valises were left behind and life for a fortnight
+had to be sustained on a pack. One seems to want very many things, but
+there was no hesitation about Common's right to a place. So he came to
+see his first German dug-out, and to get a proper understanding of this
+dead bleached land and the great work which awaited him there. It was to
+blow away shells and bullets when they came too near the master in whose
+pocket he sat.
+
+In this he was successful; but I think that the feat in which he takes
+most pride was performed one very early summer morning. A telephone line
+had to be laid, and, for reasons obvious to Common, rather rapidly. It
+was laid safely--a mere nothing to him by this time. But when it was
+joined up to the telephone in the front line, then he realized that he
+was called upon to be not only a personal mascot, but a mascot to the
+battalion, and he sat himself upon the telephone and called down a
+blessing on that cable, so that it remained whole for two days and a
+night when by all the rules it should have been in a thousand pieces.
+"And even if I didn't _really_ do it all myself," he said, "anyhow I
+_did_ make some of the men in the trench smile a little that morning, and
+there wasn't so _very_ much smiling going on just then, you know."
+
+After that morning he lived in my pocket, sometimes sniffing at an empty
+pipe, sometimes trying to read letters from Mistress which joined him
+every day. We had gone North to a more gentlemanly part of the line, and
+his duties took but little of his time, so that anything novel, like a
+pair of pliers or an order from the Director of Army Signals, was always
+welcome. To begin with he took up rather more than his fair share of the
+pocket, but he rapidly thinned down. Alas! in the rigours of the campaign
+he also lost his voice; and his little black collar, his only kit,
+disappeared.
+
+Then, just when we seemed settled for the winter, we were ordered South
+again. Common knew what that meant, a busy time for him. We moved down
+slowly, and he sampled billet after billet, but we arrived at last and
+sat down to wait for the day.
+
+And then he began to get nervous. Always he was present when the
+operations were discussed; he had seen all the maps; he knew exactly what
+was expected of us. And he didn't like it.
+
+"It's more than a fellow can do," he said; "at least to be certain of. I
+can blow away the shells in front and the shells from the right, but if
+Master's map is correct we're going to get enfiladed from the left as
+well, and one can't be _everywhere_. This wants thinking about."
+
+So he dived head downwards into the deepest recesses of my pocket and
+abandoned himself to thought. A little later he came up with a smile....
+
+Next morning I stayed in bed and the doctor came. Common looked over his
+shoulder as he read the thermometer.
+
+"A hundred and four," said Common. "Golly! I hope I haven't over-done
+it."
+
+He came with me to the clearing station.
+
+"I only just blowed a germ at him," he said wistfully--"one I found in
+his pocket. I only just blowed it at him."
+
+We went down to the base hospital together; we went back to England. And
+in the hospital in England Common suddenly saw his mistress again.
+
+"I've brought him back, Missis," he said. "Here he is. Have I done well?"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He sits now in a little basket lined with flannel, a hero returned from
+the War. Round his neck he wears the regimental colours, and on his chest
+will be sewn whatever medal is given to those who have served faithfully
+on the Western Front. Seated in your comfortable club, my very dear sir,
+or in your delightful drawing-room, madam, you smile pityingly....
+
+Or perhaps you don't.
+
+
+
+GEORGE'S V.C.
+
+(THE LAST OF THE WAR STORIES)
+
+
+I
+
+The Colonel of the Nth Blankshires was seated in his office. It was not
+an imposing room to look at. Furnished simply but tastefully with a
+table, officers, for use of, one, and a chair, ditto, one, it gave little
+evidence of the distressing scenes which had been enacted in it, and
+still less evidence of the terrible scene which was to come. Within these
+walls the Colonel was accustomed to deal out stern justice to offenders,
+and many a hardened criminal had been carried out fainting upon hearing
+the terrible verdict, "One day's C.B."
+
+But the Colonel was not holding the scales of justice now, for it was
+late afternoon. With an expression of the utmost anxiety upon his face
+he read and re-read the official-looking document which he held in his
+hand. Even the photograph of the Sergeant-Major (signed, "Yours ever,
+Henry"), which stood upon his desk, brought him no comfort.
+
+The door opened and Major Murgatroyd, second in command of the famous
+Blankshires, came in.
+
+"Come in," said Colonel Blowhard.
+
+The Major saluted impressively, and the Colonel rose and returned his
+salute with the politeness typical of the British Army.
+
+"You wished to see me, Colonel?"
+
+"I did, Major." They saluted each other again. "A secret document of
+enormous importance," went on the Colonel, "has just reached me from the
+War Office. It concerns the Regiment, the dear old Regiment." Both men
+saluted, and the Colonel went on hoarsely, "Were the news in this
+document to become public property before its time, nothing could avert
+the defeat of England in the present world-wide cataclysm."
+
+"Is it as important as that, Colonel?" said the Major, even more hoarsely
+if anything.
+
+"It is, Major."
+
+The Major's voice sank to a whisper.
+
+"What would not Hindenburg give to see it," he muttered.
+
+"Ay," said the Colonel. "I say that to myself day and night: 'What not
+what--what would what--' Well, I say it to myself day and night. For this
+reason, Major, I have decided to entrust the news to no one but yourself.
+Our Officers are good lads and a credit to the dear old Regiment"--they
+saluted as before--"but in a matter of this sort one cannot be too
+discreet."
+
+"You are right, Colonel."
+
+The Colonel looked round the room apprehensively and brought his chair a
+little closer to the Major.
+
+"The secret contained in this document--Are we alone?"
+
+"Except for each other, Colonel."
+
+"The secret," went on the Colonel, "is this: that, on and after the 23rd
+of the month, men in category X3 are to be included in category X2."
+
+"My God," gasped the Major, "if Hindenburg knew!"
+
+"He must not know, Major," said the Colonel simply. "I can trust you not
+to disclose this until the time is ripe?"
+
+"You can trust me, Colonel."
+
+They grasped hands and saluted.
+
+At this moment the door opened and an orderly came in.
+
+"You're wanted by the Sergeant-Major, sir," he told the Colonel.
+
+"Ah, excuse me a moment," said the latter to his second in command,
+knowing how much it annoys a sergeant-major to be kept waiting. He
+saluted and hurried out.
+
+"Just a moment, orderly," said the Major.
+
+The orderly came back. "Yes, sir," he said.
+
+"Did you give that message to Miss Blowhard?"
+
+"Yes, sir. She says she cannot play golf with
+you to-morrow because she is playing with Second-Lieutenant
+Lord Smith." He saluted and withdrew.
+
+Left alone the Major gave vent to his rage. "Lord Smith!" he stormed.
+"Curse him! What can she see in that puppy? Thrice have I used my
+influence to send him away on a musketry course, and thrice has he
+returned. Could I but turn him out of the Regiment for good, I might win
+the love of the fair Miss Blowhard, the Colonel's daughter." In a sudden
+passion he picked up the "Manual of Military Law" and flung it to the
+ground.
+
+All at once an idea struck him and a crafty look came into his eyes.
+
+"By jove," he cried, "the secret document! The very thing."
+
+To put the document into an envelope was the work of a moment. Taking up
+a pen he printed on the outside in large capitals these words:
+
+FOR HINDENBURG,
+GERMANY
+
+With a diabolical smile he sealed the envelope up, rang the bell, and
+ordered Second-Lieutenant Lord Smith to be brought before him.
+
+"You wanted me, sir?" said Lord Smith on his arrival.
+
+Of all the distinguished officers in the Nth Battalion, Lord Smith was
+perhaps the most brilliant. Although he had held his commission for three
+years he had only been arrested twice by the Provost-Marshal--the first
+time for wearing a soft cap when, as an officer and gentleman, he
+should have worn a hard one, and the second time, three months later, for
+wearing a hard cap when, as an officer and gentleman, he should have worn
+a soft one. Nobody can deny that these were serious blots on his career,
+but it was felt in the trenches that his skill with the rifle partially
+atoned for them.
+
+"Ah, Smith, my boy," said the Major genially, "I just wanted to know the
+address of your tailor. Wonderfully well-cut tunic this of yours." He
+went over to him and, under pretence of examining the cut of his tunic,
+dropped the envelope cautiously into one of the pockets.
+
+Somewhat surprised at the compliment paid to his tailor, but entirely
+unsuspicious, Lord Smith gave him the required address.
+
+"Thanks," said the Major. "By the way, I've got to go out now; would you
+mind waiting here till the Colonel comes back? He has left an extremely
+important document on his table and I do not like to leave the room
+unoccupied."
+
+"Certainly, sir," said Lord Smith.
+
+Left alone, our hero gave himself up to thought. For some reason he
+distrusted the Major; he felt that they were rivals for the hand of
+Rosamund Blowhard. On ten Sundays in succession he had been forced to
+attend Church Parade, what time the Major and Rosamund were disporting
+themselves on the golf links. It was only on Saturday afternoons that he
+had a chance of seeing her alone, and yet he felt somehow that she loved
+him.
+
+"Ah, Smith, my boy," said the Colonel as he bustled in. "Always glad to
+see you. My favourite subaltern," he went on, with his hand on the young
+man's shoulder; "the best officer who ever formed a four at bridge--I
+mean, who ever formed fours; and a holder of no fewer than three musketry
+certificates."
+
+Lord Smith smiled modestly.
+
+"There, I must get on with my work," went on the Colonel, sitting down
+at his table and turning over his papers. "You find me very--you find
+me--you find--good Heavens!"
+
+"What is it, sir?"
+
+"I _don't_ find it--I've lost it; the secret document!"
+
+"Was it very important, sir?"
+
+"Important!" cried the Colonel. "If Hindenburg--but we must get to work.
+Summon the guard, blow the fire-alarm, send for the Orderly Sergeant."
+
+In less than a minute the room was full of armed men, including the
+Major.
+
+"Men of the Nth Blankshires," said the Colonel, addressing them, "a
+document of enormous importance has been stolen from this room. Unless
+that document is recovered the fair name of the Regiment will be
+irretrievably tarnished."
+
+"Never!" cried a Corporal of the Signalling Section, and there was a deep
+murmur of applause.
+
+"May I suggest, sir," said the Major, "that the pockets of all should be
+searched? I myself am quite ready to set the example," and as he spoke
+he drew out three receipted bills and a price list of tomatoes, and
+placed them before the Colonel.
+
+One by one they followed his example.
+
+Suddenly all eyes were fixed on Second-Lieutenant Lord Smith, as
+with horror and amazement upon his face he drew from his pocket the
+official-looking envelope.
+
+"I swear I never put it there, sir," he gasped.
+
+"Perhaps I ought to tell you, sir," said the Major, "that I asked Lord
+Smith to keep an eye upon the document during my absence. No doubt he
+placed it in his pocket for safety."
+
+Several men applauded this suggestion, for Lord Smith was a general
+favourite.
+
+The Colonel gave one glance at the envelope, and then, with fire flashing
+from his eyes, held it up for all to see.
+
+"How do you account for _this_?" he cried in a voice of thunder, and with
+a gasp of horror they read the fatal words:
+
+FOR HINDENBURG,
+GERMANY
+
+The Colonel and the other officers drew their swords, the rank and file
+fixed bayonets; they hacked the buttons off Lord Smith's tunic, they dug
+the stars out of his sleeves, they tore the regimental badge from his
+cap; they tore his collar, they tore his tie, they took his gold
+cigarette-case; and still he stood there, saying proudly, "I am
+innocent."
+
+"Go!" said the Colonel, pointing with his sword to the door.
+
+Suddenly there was a commotion outside and a breathless figure pushed its
+way into the room.
+
+"Father," cried Rosamund Blowhard, "spare him. He is innocent."
+
+"Rosamund," said George, for so we must call him now, "I am innocent.
+Some day the truth will be known." Then he took a tender farewell of her
+and, casting a glance of mingled suspicion and hatred at the Major, he
+strode from the room.
+
+
+II
+
+The patient in the Xth bed at the Yth Base Hospital stirred restlessly.
+
+"Water," he murmured, "water."
+
+A soft-footed nurse rose and poured some over him. "Rosamund," he
+breathed, and with a smile of content dropped peacefully asleep again.
+
+Who was he, this mysterious patient in Number X bed? Obviously a
+gentleman from the colour of his pyjamas, his identity disc proclaimed
+him to be Private Smithlord of the Qth Blankshires. There was something
+strange about him. Only that morning he had received the V.C. from Sir
+Douglas Haig, the R.S.V.P. from General Petain, the Order of the Golden
+Elephant from our Japanese Allies, the Order of the Split Haddock from
+the President of Nicaragua, and the Order of the Neutral Nut from Brazil.
+Yet he cared for none of these things; he only murmured, "Rosamund!" Who
+was Private Smithlord?
+
+Though so little was known of him, the story of his prowess was on every
+lip. An officer from his regiment who had gone out alone to an
+observation post had been surrounded and cut off by the enemy. Threatened
+on all sides by guns and bombs of every calibre, he had prepared to sell
+his life dearly. To attempt a rescue would have been madness; even the
+most reckless Town Major would have blenched at the idea; and the
+Regiment, in the comparative safety of their trench, could only look on
+helplessly.
+
+All but Private Smithlord. Hastily borrowing the Colonel's horse, he
+urged the gallant animal up the trench and away over the top. And then
+began a race such as had never been seen at Epsom or Melton Mowbray.
+
+"Gad," said a sporting subaltern, who in peace days had frequently
+entered for a Derby sweepstake at the National Liberal Club, "the beggar
+can ride--what?"
+
+An answering cheer rang out from all ranks.
+
+Over wire entanglements and across shell holes dashed Private Smithlord,
+firing rapidly with his revolver all the while. Nearer to the ill-fated
+officer he drew, and then suddenly he was in the midst of the enemy.
+Lashing out right and left, he fought his way to the man he had come to
+rescue, pulled him up behind him and, amidst a hurricane of bullets,
+charged back to the British lines. Nor did he pause till he arrived at
+the Colonel's dug-out.
+
+"I have brought him back, sir," he said, and fainted. When he awoke it
+was to find himself in the Xth bed of the Yth Base Hospital.
+
+And who is it in the next bed? It is the officer whom he rescued. Do we
+recognize him? Alas, no. Although unwounded by the enemy, the exposure of
+that terrible day had brought on a severe attack of mumps. We cannot
+recognize him. But the nurse assures us that it is our old friend, Major
+Murgatroyd.
+
+"A visitor to see you," said the nurse, coming in and waking Private
+Smithlord up.
+
+"Can't you say I'm out?" said Smithlord, expecting it was another foreign
+decoration and wondering what language he would have to speak this time.
+
+"It's an English Colonel," said the nurse.
+
+Smithlord saluted and begged the nurse to show him up at once. In another
+minute Colonel Blowhard had entered.
+
+"I want to thank you," said the Colonel, "for so gallantly rescuing an
+old friend of mine--Major Murgatroyd, belonging to the Nth Battalion
+Blankshires, but now attached to the Qth."
+
+Smithlord could hardly repress a start. In the excitement of the moment
+he had not recognized the features of the man he had saved. It was his
+old rival.
+
+"It is curious," went on the Colonel, "that in features you resemble
+another old friend of mine, Lord Smith."
+
+"My name is Smithlord, sir."
+
+"Ah! Any relation?"
+
+"None," said Smithlord, crossing his thumbs under the bedclothes.
+
+"Do you mind ringing the bell?" he went on, feeling that at all costs he
+must turn the conversation. "I think it is time for my medicine."
+
+In answer to the Colonel's ring a nurse appeared.
+
+"Nurse Brown has just gone out," she said. "Can I do anything for you?"
+
+"Good Heavens! Rosamund!" cried the Colonel.
+
+"Yes, father, it is I," she replied simply. "I have come to France to
+find the man I love."
+
+"Murgatroyd?" said the Colonel. "But this gallant fellow was the man
+who--By the way, let me introduce you. Private Smithlord, my daughter,
+Rosamund."
+
+The two looked at each other face to face. The intuition and ready wit of
+the woman pierced the disguise which had baffled the soldier.
+
+"Father," she cried, "it's not Smithlord, it's Lord Smith. George!"
+
+"Rosamund!" cried George. We cannot keep the secret any longer from our
+readers; it _was_ Lord Smith.
+
+"Tut, tut, sir, what is this?" said the Colonel. "I turned you out of the
+Regiment three weeks ago. What the deuce," he said, for, like all
+military men, he was addicted to strong language--"what the deuce does
+this mean?"
+
+"I was innocent, sir."
+
+"Father, he was innocent."
+
+"He was innocent," said a hollow voice from the next bed.
+
+In amazement they all looked at the officer lying there.
+
+"Rosamund," he cried, "am I so greatly changed?"
+
+The Colonel handed him his pocket mirror.
+
+"Yes," sighed the Major, "I understand. But I am Major Murgatroyd."
+
+"Major Murgatroyd!" they all cried.
+
+"This gallant fellow here, whom I now know to be Lord Smith, saved my
+life; I cannot let him suffer any longer. It was I who hid the secret
+document in his pocket. I did it for love of you, Rosamund." He held out
+his hand. "Say you forgive me, my dear Lord Smith."
+
+Lord Smith shook his hand warmly.
+
+But little more remains to tell. A month later our hero was back in
+England. Fortunately the Quartermaster had kept his buttons; and in a
+very short time he was back in the dear old uniform, and the wedding of
+Second-Lieutenant Lord Smith to Rosamund Blowhard was one of the events
+of the season.
+
+And what of Major Murgatroyd? He has learnt his lesson; and as commandant
+of a rest camp on the French coast he is the soul of geniality to all
+who meet him.
+
+
+
+THE BALLAD OF PRIVATE CHADD
+
+
+I sing of George Augustus Chadd,
+Who'd always from a baby had
+A deep affection for his Dad--
+  In other words, his Father;
+Contrariwise, the father's one
+And only treasure was his son,
+Yes, even when he'd gone and done
+  Things which annoyed him rather.
+
+For instance, if at Christmas (say)
+Or on his parent's natal day
+The thoughtless lad forgot to pay
+The customary greeting,
+  His father's visage only took
+That dignified reproachful look
+Which dying beetles give the cook
+  Above the clouds of Keating.
+
+As years went on such looks were rare;
+The younger Chadd was always there
+To greet his father and to share
+  His father's birthday party;
+The pink "For auld acquaintance sake"
+Engraved in sugar on the cake
+Was his. The speech he used to make
+  Was reverent but hearty.
+
+The younger Chadd was twentyish
+When War broke out, but did not wish
+To get an A.S.C. commish
+  Or be a rag-time sailor;
+Just Private Chadd he was, and went
+To join his Dad's old regiment,
+While Dad (the dear old dug-out) sent
+  For red tabs from the tailor.
+
+To those inured to war's alarms
+I need not dwell upon the charms
+Of raw recruits when sloping arms,
+  Nor tell why Chadd was hoping
+That, if his sloping-powers increased,
+They'd give him two days' leave at least
+To join his Father's birthday feast ...
+  And so resumed his sloping.
+
+One morning on the training ground,
+When fixing bayonets, he found
+The fatal day already round,
+  And, even as he fixed, he
+Decided then and there to state
+To Sergeant Brown (at any rate)
+His longing to congratulate
+  His sire on being sixty.
+
+"Sergeant," he said, "we're on the eve
+Of Father's birthday; grant me leave"
+(And here his bosom gave a heave)
+  "To offer him my blessing;
+And, if a Private's tender thanks--
+Nay, do not blank my blanky blanks!
+I could not help but leave the ranks;
+  Birthdays are more than dressing."
+
+The Sergeant was a kindly soul,
+He loved his men upon the whole,
+He'd also had a father's _role_
+  Pressed on him fairly lately.
+"Brave Chadd," he said, "thou speakest sooth!
+O happy day! O pious youth!
+Great," he extemporized, "is Truth,
+  And it shall flourish greatly."
+
+The Sergeant took him by the hand
+And led him to the Captain, and
+The Captain tried to understand,
+  And (more or less) succeeded;
+"Correct me if you don't agree,
+But one of you wants _what_?" said he,
+And George Augustus Chadd said, "Me!"
+  Meaning of course that _he_ did.
+
+The Captain took him by the ear
+And gradually brought him near
+The Colonel, who was far from clear,
+  But heard it all politely,
+And asked him twice, "You want a _what_?"
+The Captain said that _he_ did not,
+And Chadd saluted quite a lot
+  And put the matter rightly.
+
+The Colonel took him by the hair
+And furtively conveyed him where
+The General inhaled the air,
+  Immaculately booted;
+Then said, "Unless I greatly err
+This Private wishes to prefer
+A small petition to you, Sir,"
+  And so again saluted.
+
+The General inclined his head
+Towards the two of them and said,
+"Speak slowly, please, or shout instead;
+  I'm hard of hearing, rather."
+So Chadd, that promising recruit,
+Stood to attention, clicked his boot,
+And bellowed, with his best salute,
+  "_A happy birthday, Father_!"
+
+
+
+THE VISITORS' BOOK
+
+
+"As man of the world," said Blake, stretching himself to his full height
+of five foot three, and speaking with the wisdom of nineteen years, "I
+say that it can't be done. In any other company, certainly; at
+headquarters, possibly; but not in D Company. D Company has a
+reputation."
+
+"All I say," said Rogers, "is that, if you can't run any mess in the
+trenches on four francs a day, you're a rotten mess president."
+
+Blake turned dramatically to his company commander.
+
+"Did you hear that, Billy?" he asked.
+
+"Yes," said Billy. "I was just going to say it myself."
+
+"Then, in that case, I have the honour to resign the mess presidency."
+
+"Nothing doing, old boy. You're detailed."
+
+"You can't be detailed to be a president. Presidents are elected by
+popular acclamation. They resign--they resign--"
+
+"To avoid being shot."
+
+"Well, anyhow, they resign. I shall send my resignation in to the Army
+Council to-night. It will appear in 'The Gazette' in due course. '2nd
+Lieut. Blake resigns his mess presidency owing to the enormous price of
+sardines per thousand and the amount of lime juice consumed by casual
+visitors.' I'll tell you what--I'll run the mess on four francs, if
+you'll bar guests."
+
+"Rot, it's nothing to do with guests. We never have any."
+
+"Never have any!" said Blake indignantly. "Then I shall keep a visitors'
+book just to show you."
+
+So that was how the D Company Visitors' Book was inaugurated. I had the
+honour of opening it. I happened to be mending a telephone line in this
+particular trench one thirsty day, and there was the dug-out, and--well,
+there was I. I dropped in.
+
+"Hallo," said Blake, "have a drink."
+
+I had a lime juice. Then I had another. And then, very reluctantly, I got
+up to go. Army Form Book 136 was handed to me.
+
+"The visitors' book," said Blake. "You can just write your name in it, or
+you can be funny, whichever you like."
+
+"What do they usually do?" I asked.
+
+"Well, you're the first, so you'll set the tone. For God's sake don't be
+too funny."
+
+It was an alarming responsibility. However, as it happened, I had
+something which I wanted to say.
+
+"Thursday, 12.45 p.m.," I wrote. "Pleasantly entertained as usual by D
+Company. Refused a pressing invitation to stay to lunch, although
+it was a hot day and I had a long walk back to my own mess."
+
+I handed the book back to Blake. He read it; and with one foot on the
+bottom step of the dugout I waited anxiously.
+
+"Oh, I say, do stay to lunch," he said.
+
+I gave a start of surprise.
+
+"Oh, thanks very much," I said, and I took my foot off the step. "It
+would be rather--I think, perhaps--well, thanks very much."
+
+Once begun, the book filled up rapidly. Subalterns from other companies
+used to call round for the purpose of being funny; I suppose that
+unconsciously I had been too humorous--anyway, the tone had been set. The
+bombing officer, I remember, vowed that Mrs. Blake's hospitality was so
+charming that he would bring his wife and family next time. A gunner
+officer broke into verse--a painful business. One way and another it was
+not long before the last page was reached.
+
+"We must get the General for the last page," said Blake.
+
+"Don't be an ass," said Rogers.
+
+"Whatever's the matter? Don't you think he'd do it?"
+
+"You wouldn't have the cheek to ask him."
+
+"Good lord, you don't stop being a human being, because you command a
+brigade. Why on earth shouldn't I ask him?"
+
+I happened to turn up just then. The telephone line from headquarters to
+D Company always seemed to want attention, whatever part of the line we
+were in.
+
+"Hallo," said Blake, "have a drink."
+
+"Well, I am rather thirsty," I said, and I took out a pencil. "Pass the
+visitors' book and let's get it over."
+
+"No, you don't," said Blake, snatching it away from me, "that's for the
+General."
+
+"This way, sir," said a voice above, and down came Billy, followed by the
+Brigadier. We jumped up.
+
+"You'll have a drink, sir?" said Billy.
+
+"Oh, thanks very much."
+
+"What will you have, sir?" asked Blake, looking round wildly. "Lime juice
+or--or lime juice?"
+
+"I'll have lime juice, thank you," said the General after consideration.
+
+Blake produced the book nervously.
+
+"I wonder if you'd mind," he began.
+
+The General looked inquiring, and started feeling for his glasses. He was
+just feeling in his fifth pocket when Billy came to the rescue.
+
+"It's only some nonsense of Blake's, sir," he said. "He keeps a visitors'
+book."
+
+"Ah, well," said the General, getting up, "another day, perhaps."
+
+When we were alone again Blake turned on Billy.
+
+"You are a silly ass," he said. "If you hadn't interfered, he'd have done
+it. Well, I shall fill it in myself now."
+
+He took a pencil and wrote:
+
+"Monday--Hospitably received by 'D' Company and much enjoyed the mess
+president's amusing conversation. The company commander and a subaltern
+named Rogers struck me as rather lacking in intelligence. R. Blake,
+D.S.O., Brig.-Gen."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I had been out of it for a long time, and when quite accidentally I met
+an officer of the battalion in London I was nearly a year behind the
+news.
+
+"And Blake," I said, after he'd told me some of it, "that nice child in
+'D' Company; what happened to him?"
+
+"Didn't you hear? He had rather a funny experience. He went into that
+last show as senior subaltern of 'D.' Billy was knocked out pretty early
+and Blake took on. After that we had a lot of casualties, and finally we
+were cut off from headquarters altogether and had to carry on on our own.
+Billy was the senior company commander and took charge of the battalion.
+I don't quite know how it happened after that. We all got rather mixed
+up, I suppose. Anyway, at one time Blake was actually commanding the
+brigade. He was splendid; simply all over the place. He got the D.S.O.
+He's rather bucked with himself. Young Blake as a Brigadier--funny, isn't
+it?"
+
+"Not so very," I said.
+
+
+
+FROM A FULL HEART
+
+
+  In days of peace my fellow-men
+    Rightly regarded me as more like
+  A Bishop than a Major-Gen.,
+    And nothing since has made me warlike;
+  But when this age-long struggle ends
+    And I have seen the Allies dish up
+  The goose of Hindenburg--oh, friends!
+    I shall out-bish the mildest Bishop.
+
+_When the War is over and the Kaiser's out of print,
+I'm going to buy some tortoises and watch the beggars sprint;
+When the War is over and the sword at last we sheathe,
+I'm going to keep a jelly-fish and listen to it breathe_.
+
+  I never really longed for gore,
+    And any taste for red corpuscles
+  That lingered with me left before
+    The German troops had entered Brussels.
+  In early days the Colonel's "Shun!"
+    Froze me; and, as the War grew older,
+  The noise of someone else's gun
+    Left me considerably colder.
+
+_When the War is over and the battle has been won,
+I'm going to buy a barnacle and take it for a run;
+When the War is over and the German Fleet we sink,
+I'm going to keep a silk-worm's egg and listen to it think._
+
+  The Captains and the Kings depart--
+    It may be so, but not lieutenants;
+  Dawn after weary dawn I start
+    The never-ending round of penance;
+  One rock amid the welter stands
+    On which my gaze is fixed intently--
+  An after-life in quiet lands
+    Lived very lazily and gently.
+
+_When the War is over and we've done the Belgians proud,
+I'm going to keep a chrysalis and read to it aloud;
+When the War is over and we've finished up the show,
+I'm going to plant a lemon-pip and listen to it grow._
+
+  Oh, I'm tired of the noise and the turmoil of battle,
+  And I'm even upset by the lowing of cattle,
+  And the clang of the bluebells is death to my liver,
+  And the roar of the dandelion gives me a shiver,
+  And a glacier, in movement, is much too exciting,
+  And I'm nervous, when standing on one, of alighting--
+  Give me Peace; that is all, that is all that I seek ...
+      Say, starting on Saturday week.
+
+
+
+ONE STAR
+
+
+Occasionally I receive letters from friends, whom I have not seen lately,
+addressed to Lieutenant M ---- and apologizing prettily inside in case I
+am by now a colonel; in drawing-rooms I am sometimes called "Captain-er";
+and up at the Fort the other day a sentry of the Royal Defence Corps,
+wearing the Crecy medal, mistook me for a Major, and presented crossbows
+to me. This is all wrong. As Mr. Garvin well points out, it is important
+that we should not have a false perspective of the War. Let me, then,
+make it perfectly plain--I am a Second Lieutenant.
+
+When I first became a Second Lieutenant I was rather proud. I was a
+Second Lieutenant "on probation." On my right sleeve I wore a single
+star. So:
+
+*
+
+(on probation, of course). On my left sleeve I wore another star. So:
+
+*
+
+(also on probation).
+
+They were good stars, none better in the service; and as we didn't like
+the sound of "on probation" Celia put a few stitches in them to make them
+more permanent. This proved effective. Six months later I had a very
+pleasant note from the King telling me that the days of probation were
+now over, and making it clear that he and I were friends.
+
+I was now a real Second Lieutenant. On my right sleeve I had a single
+star. Thus:
+
+*
+(not on probation).
+
+On my left sleeve I also had a single star. In this manner:
+
+*
+
+This star also was now a fixed one.
+
+From that time forward my thoughts dwelt naturally on promotion. There
+were exalted persons in the regiment called Lieutenants. They had two
+stars on each sleeve. So:
+
+**
+
+I decided to become a Lieutenant.
+
+Promotion in our regiment was difficult. After giving the matter every
+consideration I came to the conclusion that the only way to win my second
+star was to save the Colonel's life. I used to follow him about
+affectionately in the hope that he would fall into the sea. He was a big
+strong man and a powerful swimmer, but once in the water it would not be
+difficult to cling round his neck and give an impression that I was
+rescuing him. However, he refused to fall in. I fancy that he wore
+somebody's Military Soles which prevent slipping.
+
+Years rolled on. I used to look at my stars sometimes, one on each
+sleeve; they seemed very lonely. At times they came close together;
+but at other times as, for instance, when I was semaphoring, they were
+very far apart. To prevent these occasional separations Celia took them
+off my sleeves and put them on my shoulders. One on each shoulder. So:
+
+*
+
+And so:
+
+*
+
+There they stayed.
+
+And more years rolled on.
+
+One day Celia came to me in great excitement.
+
+"Have you seen this in the paper about promotion?" she said eagerly.
+
+"No; what is it?" I asked. "Are they making more generals?"
+
+"I don't know about generals; it's Second Lieutenants being Lieutenants."
+
+"You're joking on a very grave subject," I said seriously. "You can't
+expect to win the War if you go on like that."
+
+"Well, you read it," she said, handing me the paper.
+
+I took the paper with a trembling hand, and read. She was right! If the
+paper was to be believed, all Second Lieutenants were to become
+Lieutenants after eighteen years' service. At last my chance had come.
+
+"My dear, this is wonderful," I said. "In another fifteen years we shall
+be there. You might buy two more stars this afternoon and practise sewing
+them on, in order to be ready. You mustn't be taken by surprise when the
+actual moment comes."
+
+"But you're a Lieutenant _now_," she said, "if that's true. It says that
+'after eighteen months--'"
+
+I snatched up the paper again. Good Heavens! it was eighteen
+_months_--not years.
+
+"Then I _am_ a Lieutenant," I said.
+
+We had a bottle of champagne for dinner that night, and Celia got the
+paper and read it aloud to my tunic. And just for practice she took the
+two stars off my other tunic and sewed them on this one--thus:
+
+**      **
+
+And we had a very happy evening.
+
+"I suppose it will be a few days before it's officially announced," I
+said.
+
+"Bother, I suppose it will," said Celia, and very reluctantly she took
+one star off each shoulder,
+
+leaving the matter--so:
+
+*        *
+
+And the years rolled on....
+
+And I am still a Second Lieutenant....
+
+I do not complain; indeed I am even rather proud of it. If I am not
+gaining on my original one star, at least I am keeping pace with it. I
+might so easily have been a corporal by now.
+
+But I should like to have seen a little more notice taken of me in the
+"Gazette." I scan it every day, hoping for some such announcement
+as this:
+
+"_Second Lieutenant M_ ---- _to remain a Second Lieutenant_."
+
+Or this:
+
+"_Second Lieutenant M_ ---- _to be seconded and to retain his present
+rank of Second Lieutenant_."
+
+Or even this:
+
+"_Second Lieutenant M_ ---- _relinquishes the rank of Acting Second
+Lieutenant on ceasing to command a Battalion, and reverts to the rank of
+Second Lieutenant_."
+
+Failing this, I have thought sometimes of making an announcement in the
+Personal Column of "The Times":
+
+"Second Lieutenant M ---- regrets that his duties as a Second Lieutenant
+prevent him from replying personally to the many kind inquiries he has
+received, and begs to take this opportunity of announcing that he still
+retains a star on each shoulder. Both doing well."
+
+But perhaps that is unnecessary now. I think that by this time I have
+made it clear just how many stars I possess.
+
+One on the right shoulder. So:
+
+*
+
+And one on the left shoulder. So:
+
+*
+
+That is all.
+
+
+
+THE JOKE: A TRAGEDY
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+The Joke was born one October day in the trench called Mechanics, not so
+far from Loos. We had just come back into the line after six days in
+reserve, and, the afternoon being quiet, I was writing my daily letter to
+Celia. I was telling her about our cat, imported into our dug-out in the
+hope that it would keep the rats down, when suddenly the Joke came. I was
+so surprised by it that I added in brackets, "This is quite my own. I've
+only just thought of it." Later on the Post-Corporal came, and the Joke
+started on its way to England.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+Chapter II finds me some months later at home again.
+
+"Do you remember that joke about the rats in one of your letters?" said
+Celia one evening.
+
+"Yes. You never told me if you liked it."
+
+"I simply loved it. You aren't going to waste it, are you?"
+
+"If you simply loved it, it wasn't wasted."
+
+"But I want everybody else--Couldn't you use it in the Revue?"
+
+I was supposed to be writing a Revue at this time for a certain
+impresario. I wasn't getting on very fast, because whenever I suggested a
+scene to him, he either said, "Oh, that's been done," which killed it, or
+else he said, "Oh, but that's never been done," which killed it even more
+completely.
+
+"Good idea," I said to Celia. "We'll have a Trench Scene."
+
+I suggested it to the impresario when next I saw him.
+
+"Oh, that's been done," he said.
+
+"Mine will be quite different from anybody else's," I said firmly.
+
+He brightened up a little.
+
+"All right, try it," he said.
+
+I seemed to have discovered the secret of successful revue-writing.
+
+The Trench Scene was written. It was written round the Joke, whose bright
+beams, like a perfect jewel in a perfect setting--However, I said all
+that to Celia at the time. She was just going to have said it herself,
+she told me.
+
+So far, so good. But a month later the Revue collapsed. The impresario
+and I agreed upon many things--as, for instance, that the War would be a
+long one, and that Hindenburg was no fool--but there were two points upon
+which we could never quite agree: (1) What was funny, and (2) which of us
+was writing the Revue. So, with mutual expressions of goodwill, and hopes
+that one day we might write a tragedy together, we parted.
+
+That ended the Revue; it ended the Trench Scene; and, for the moment, it
+ended the Joke.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+Chapter III finds the war over and Celia still at it.
+
+"You haven't got that Joke in yet."
+
+She had just read an article of mine called "Autumn in a Country
+Vicarage."
+
+"It wouldn't go in there very well," I said.
+
+"It would go in anywhere where there were rats. There might easily be
+rats in a vicarage."
+
+"Not in this one."
+
+"You talk about 'poor as a church mouse.'"
+
+"I am an artist," I said, thumping my heart and forehead and other seats
+of the emotions. "I don't happen to _see_ rats there, and if I don't see
+them I can't write about them. Anyhow, they wouldn't be secular rats,
+like the ones I made my joke about."
+
+"I don't mind whether the rats are secular or circular," said Celia, "but
+do get them in soon."
+
+Well, I tried. I really did try, but for months I couldn't get those rats
+in. It was a near thing sometimes, and I would think that I had them,
+but at the last moment they would whisk off and back into their holes
+again. I even wrote an article about "Cooking in the Great War," feeling
+that that would surely tempt them, but they were not to be drawn....
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+But at last the perfect opportunity came. I received a letter from a
+botanical paper asking for an article on the Flora of Trench Life.
+
+"Horray!" said Celia. "There you are."
+
+I sat down and wrote the article. Working up gradually to the subject of
+rats, and even more gradually intertwining it, so to speak, with the
+subject of cats, I brought off in one perfect climax the great Joke.
+
+"Lovely!" said Celia excitedly.
+
+"There is one small point which has occurred to me. Rats are _fauna_, not
+_flora_; I've just remembered."
+
+"Oh, does it matter?"
+
+"For a botanical paper, yes."
+
+And then Celia had a brilliant inspiration.
+
+"Send it to another paper," she said.
+
+I did. Two days later it appeared. Considering that I hadn't had a proof,
+it came out extraordinarily well. There was only one misprint. It was at
+the critical word of the Joke.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+"That's torn it," I said to Celia.
+
+"I suppose it has," she said sadly.
+
+"The world will never hear the Joke now. It's had it wrong, but still
+it's had it, and I can't repeat it."
+
+Celia began to smile.
+
+"It's sickening," she said; "but it's really rather funny, you know."
+
+And then she had another brilliant inspiration.
+
+"In fact you might write an article about it."
+
+And, as you see, I have.
+
+
+
+EPILOGUE
+
+
+Having read thus far, Celia says, "But you still haven't got the Joke
+in."
+
+Oh, well, here goes.
+
+_Extract from letter_: "We came back to the line to-day to find that the
+cat had kittened. However, as all the rats seem to have rottened we are
+much as we were."
+
+"Rottened" was misprinted "rattened," which seems to me to spoil the
+Joke....
+
+Yet I must confess that there are times now when I feel that perhaps
+after all I may have overrated it....
+
+But it was a pleasant joke in its day.
+
+
+
+THE LAST POT
+
+
+Let others hymn the weariness and pain
+  (Or, if they will, the glory and the glamour)
+Of holding fast, from Flanders to Lorraine,
+  The thin brown line at which the Germans hammer;
+My Muse, a more domesticated maid,
+Aspires to sing a song of Marmalade.
+
+O Marmalade!--I do not mean the sort,
+  Sweet marrow-pulp, for babes and maidens fitter,
+But that wherein the golden fishes sport
+  On oranges seas (with just a dash of bitter),
+Not falsely coy, but eager to parade
+Their Southern birth--in short, O Marmalade!
+
+Much have I sacrificed: my happy home,
+  My faith in experts' figures, half my money,
+The fortnight that I meant to spend in Rome,
+  My weekly effort to be fairly funny;
+But these are trifles, light as air when weighed
+Against this other--Breakfast Marmalade.
+
+Fair was the porridge in the days of peace,
+  And still more fair the cream and sugar taken;
+Plump were the twin poached eggs, yet not obese,
+  Upon their thrones of toast, and crisp the bacon--
+I face their loss undaunted, unafraid,
+If only I may keep my Marmalade.
+
+An evening press without Callisthenes;
+  A tables Staff; an immobile spaghetti;
+A Shaw with whom the Common Man agrees;
+  A Zambra searching vainly for Negretti;
+When spades are trumps, a hand without a spade--
+So is my breakfast lacking Marmalade.
+
+O Northcliffe (Lord)! O Keiller! O Dundee!
+  O Crosse and Blackwell, Limited! O Seville!
+O orange groves along the Middle Sea!
+  (O Jaffa, for example) O the devil--
+Let Beef and Butter, Rolls and Rabbits fade,
+But give me back my love, my Marmalade.
+
+
+
+THE STORY THAT WENT WEST
+
+
+"Why don't you write a war story?" said Celia one autumn day when that
+sort of story was popular.
+
+"Because everybody else does," I said. "I forget how many bayonets we
+have on the Western Front, but there must be at least twice as many
+fountain-pens."
+
+"It needn't be about the Western Front."
+
+"Unfortunately that's the only front I know anything about."
+
+"I thought writers used their imagination sometimes," said Celia to
+anybody who might happen to be listening.
+
+"Oh, well, if you put it like that," I said, "I suppose I must."
+
+So I settled down to a story about the Salonica Front.
+
+The scene of my story was laid in an old clay hut amid the wattles.
+
+"What are wattles?" asked Celia, when I told her the good news.
+
+"Local colour," I explained. "They grow in Bulgaria."
+
+"Are you sure?"
+
+"I'm sure that these ones did; I don't know about any others."
+
+Of course more local colour was wanted than a mere wattle or two. It was
+necessary therefore for my Bulgarians always to go about in _comitadjis_.
+Celia thought that these were a kind of native trouser laced at the knee.
+She may be right. My own impression is that they are a species of
+platoon. Anyhow the Bulgars always went about in them.
+
+There was a fierce fight which raged round the old clay hut in the
+wattles. The Greeks shouted "[Greek: Tupto tuptomai]" The Serbs, for
+reasons into which I need not enter, were inarticulate with rage.
+With the French and British I had, of course, no difficulty, and the
+Bulgars (fortunately) were content with hoarse guttural noises. It was a
+fierce fight while it lasted, and I was sorry when it was over, because
+for the first time I began to feel at home with my story. I need not say
+that many a Bulgar had licked the wattles before I had finished.
+
+Unfortunately something else happened before I had finished.
+
+"What do you think?" cried Celia, bursting into my room one evening, just
+when I was wondering whether my readers would expect to know more of the
+heroine's native costume than that it was "simple yet becoming."
+
+"Wait a moment," I said.
+
+"It's too good to wait," said Celia excitedly. "Bulgaria has
+surrendered."
+
+Celia may be a good patriot, but she lacks the artistic temperament.
+
+"Oh, has she?" I said bitterly. "Then she's jolly well spoilt my story."
+
+"The one about the wattles?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Tut-tuttles," said Celia frivolously.
+
+Well, I wasn't going to waste my wattles. With great presence of mind I
+decided to transfer my story to the Palestine Front.
+
+Under a hard blue sky of intense brilliance the old clay hut stood among
+the wattles. A _wadi_ ran by the side of it; not a small Turkish dog, as
+Celia thought, but--well, everybody knows what a _wadi_ is. The battle
+went on much as before, except that the Turks were naturally more
+outspoken than the Bulgars, calling freely upon Allah at the beginning of
+the fight, and reconciling themselves to the end of it with "Kismet."
+I also turned some of the horses into camels, and (for the sake of the
+Indian troops) several pairs of puttees into _chupaties_. It was a good
+story while it lasted.
+
+However, nobody seems to care about art nowadays.
+
+"What do you think?" cried Celia, bursting into my room.
+
+I held up a delaying hand. I had suddenly thought of the word "adobe." My
+story seemed to need it somewhere. If possible, among the wattles.
+
+"But listen!" She read out the headline: "'Turkey Surrenders at
+Discretion.'"
+
+"Discretion!" I said indignantly. "I have never heard of anything so
+tactless. And it isn't as though I could even move on to Mesopotamia."
+
+"Couldn't there be a little local rising in Persia?" suggested Celia.
+
+"I doubt it, I doubt it," I said thoughtfully. "You can't do much with
+just wattles and a little sherbet--I mean you can't expect the public to
+be interested in Persia at such a moment as this. No, we shall have to
+step westward. We must see what we can do with the Italian Front."
+
+But I had very little hope. A curious foreboding of evil came over me as
+I placed those wattles tenderly along the west bank of the Piave. The old
+clay hut still stood proudly amid them; the Bersaglieri advanced
+impetuously with cries of "_En avant_!"--no, that's wrong--with cries
+of--well, anyhow they advanced.
+
+They advanced....
+
+And as I shut my eyes I seemed to see--no, not that old clay hut amid the
+wattles, nor yet the adobe edifice on the heights of Asiago, but Celia
+coming into the library with another paper announcing that yet another
+country was deaf to the call of art.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+If anybody wants a really good story about the Peninsular War and will
+drop me a line, I shall be glad to enter into negotiations with him. The
+scene is laid in the neighbourhood of Badajoz, and the chief interest
+centres round an old--yes, you have guessed it--an old clay hut in the
+wattles.
+
+
+
+THE TWO VISITS,
+
+1888, 1919
+
+("_Dispersal Areas, 10a, 10b, 10c--Crystal Palace_.")
+
+
+It was, I think, in '88
+That Luck or Providence or Fate
+Assumed the more material state
+   Of Aunt (or Great-Aunt) Alice,
+And took (the weather being fine,
+And Bill, the eldest, only nine)
+Three of us by the Brighton line
+   To see the Crystal Palace.
+
+Observe us, then, an eager four
+Advancing on the Western Door,
+Or possibly the Northern, or--
+   Well, anyhow, advancing;
+Aunt Alice bending from the hips,
+And Bill in little runs and trips,
+And John with frequent hops and skips,
+   While I was fairly dancing.
+
+Aunt Alice pays; the turnstile clicks,
+And with the happy crowds we mix
+To gaze upon--well, I was six,
+   Say, getting on for seven;
+And, looking back on it to-day,
+The memories have passed away--
+I find that I can only say
+  (Roughly) to gaze on heaven.
+
+Heaven it was which came to pass
+Within those magic walls of glass
+(Though William, like a silly ass,
+  Had lost my bag of bull's-eyes).
+The wonders of that wonder-hall!
+The--all the things I can't recall,
+And, dominating over all,
+  The statues, more than full-size.
+
+Adam and Niobe were there,
+Disraeli much the worse for wear,
+Samson before he'd cut his hair,
+  Lord Byron and Apollo;
+A female group surrounded by
+A camel (though I don't know why)--
+And all of them were ten feet high
+  And all, I think, were hollow.
+
+These gods looked down on us and smiled
+To see how utterly a child
+By simple things may be beguiled
+  To happiness and laughter;
+It warmed their kindly hearts to see
+The joy of Bill and John and me
+From ten to lunch, from lunch to tea,
+  From tea to six or after.
+
+That evening, when the day was dead,
+They tucked a babe of six in bed,
+Arranged the pillows for his head,
+  And saw the lights were shaded;
+Too sleepy for the Good-night kiss
+His only conscious thought was this:
+"No man shall ever taste the bliss
+  That I this blessed day did."
+
+When one is six one cannot tell;
+And John, who at the Palace fell
+A victim to the Blondin Belle,
+  Is wedded to another;
+And I, my intimates allow,
+Have lost the taste for bull's-eyes now,
+And baldness decorates the brow
+  Of Bill, our elder brother.
+
+Well, more than thirty years have passed...
+But all the same on Thursday last
+My heart was beating just as fast
+  Within that Hall of Wonder;
+My bliss was every bit as great
+As what it was in '88--
+Impossible to look sedate
+  Or keep my feelings under.
+
+The gods of old still gazed upon
+The scene where, thirty years agone,
+The lines of Bill and me and John
+  Were cast in pleasant places;
+And "Friends," I murmured, "what's the odds
+If you are rather battered gods?
+This is no time for Ichabods
+  And _eheu_--er--_fugaces_."
+
+Ah, no; I did not mourn the years'
+Fell work upon those poor old dears,
+Nor Pitt nor Venus drew my tears
+  And set me slowly sobbing;
+I hailed them with a happy laugh
+And slapped old Samson on the calf,
+And asked a member of the staff
+  For "Officers Demobbing."
+
+That evening, being then dispersed
+I swore (as I had sworn it first
+When three of us went on the burst
+  With Aunt, or Great-Aunt, Alice),
+"Although one finds, as man or boy,
+A thousand pleasures to enjoy,
+For happiness without alloy
+  Give me the Crystal Palace!"
+
+
+
+
+V. HOME NOTES
+
+
+
+THE WAY DOWN
+
+
+Sydney Smith, or Napoleon or Marcus Aurelius (somebody about that time)
+said that after ten days any letter would answer itself. You see what he
+meant. Left to itself your invitation from the Duchess to lunch next
+Tuesday is no longer a matter to worry about by Wednesday morning. You
+were either there or not there; it is unnecessary to write now and say
+that a previous invitation from the Prime Minister--and so on. It was
+Napoleon's idea (or Dr. Johnson's or Mark Antony's--one of that circle)
+that all correspondence can be treated in this manner.
+
+I have followed these early Masters (or whichever one it was) to the best
+of my ability. At any given moment in the last few years there have been
+ten letters that I absolutely _must_ write, thirty which I _ought_ to
+write, and fifty which any other person in my position _would_ have
+written. Probably I have written two. After all, when your profession is
+writing, you have some excuse for demanding a change of occupation in
+your leisure hours. No doubt if I were a coal-heaver by day, my wife
+would see to the fire after dinner while I wrote letters. As it is, she
+does the correspondence, while I gaze into the fire and think about
+things.
+
+You will say, no doubt, that this was all very well before the War, but
+that in the Army a little writing would be a pleasant change after the
+day's duties. Allow me to disillusion you. If, years ago, I had ever
+conceived a glorious future in which my autograph might be of value to
+the more promiscuous collectors, that conception has now been shattered.
+Four years in the Army has absolutely spoilt the market. Even were I
+revered in the year 2000 A.D. as Shakespeare is revered now, my
+half-million autographs, scattered so lavishly on charge-sheets, passes,
+chits, requisitions, indents and applications would keep the price at a
+dead level of about ten a penny. No, I have had enough of writing in the
+Army and I never want to sign my own name again. "Yours sincerely,
+Herbert Asquith," "Faithfully yours, J. Jellicoe"--these by all means;
+but not my own.
+
+However, I wrote a letter in the third year of the war; it was to the
+bank. It informed the Manager that I had arrived in London from France
+and should be troubling them again shortly, London being to all
+appearances an expensive place. It also called attention to my new
+address--a small furnished flat in which Celia and I could just turn
+round if we did it separately. When it was written, then came the
+question of posting it. I was all for waiting till the next morning, but
+Celia explained that there was actually a letterbox on our own floor,
+twenty yards down the passage. I took the letter along and dropped it
+into the slit.
+
+Then a wonderful thing happened. It went
+
+_Flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--
+flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--FLOP._
+
+I listened intently, hoping for more ... but that was all. Deeply
+disappointed that it was over, but absolutely thrilled with my discovery,
+I hurried back to Celia.
+
+"Any letters you want posted?" I said in an off-hand way.
+
+"No, thank you," she said.
+
+"Have you written any while we've been here?"
+
+"I don't think I've had anything to write."
+
+"I think," I said reproachfully, "it's quite time you wrote to your--your
+bank or your mother or somebody."
+
+She looked at me and seemed to be struggling for words.
+
+"I know exactly what you're going to say," I said, "but don't say it;
+write a little letter instead."
+
+"Well, as a matter of fact I _must_ just write a note to the laundress."
+
+"To the laundress," I said. "Of course, just a note."
+
+When it was written I insisted on her coming with me to post it. With
+great generosity I allowed her to place it in the slit. A delightful
+thing happened. It went _Flipperty--flipperty--flipperty
+flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty
+flipperty--flipperty--FLOP_.
+
+Right down to the letter-box in the hall. Two flipperties a floor. (A
+simple calculation shows that we are perched on the fifth floor. I am
+glad now that we live so high. It must be very dull to be on the fourth
+floor with only eight flipperties, unbearable to be on the first with
+only two.)
+
+"_O-oh!_ How _fas_-cinating!" said Celia.
+
+"Now don't you think you ought to write to your mother?"
+
+"Oh, I _must_."
+
+She wrote. We posted it. It went.
+
+_Flipperty--flipperty_--However, you know all about that now.
+
+Since this great discovery of mine, life has been a more
+pleasurable business. We feel now that there are romantic
+possibilities about Letters setting forth on their journey from our
+floor. To start life with so many flipperties might lead to anything.
+Each time that we send a letter off we listen in a tremble of excitement
+for the final FLOP, and when it comes I think we both feel vaguely that
+we are still waiting for something. We are waiting to hear some magic
+letter go _flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty_ ... and
+behold! there is no FLOP ... and still it goes
+on--_flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty_--growing fainter in the
+distance ... until it arrives at some wonderland of its own. One day it
+must happen so. For we cannot listen always for that FLOP, and hear it
+always; nothing in this world is as inevitable as that. One day we shall
+look at each other with awe in our faces and say, "But it's still
+flipperting!" and from that time forward the Hill of Campden will be a
+place holy and enchanted. Perhaps on Midsummer Eve--
+
+At any rate I am sure that it is the only way in which to post a letter
+to Father Christmas.
+
+Well, what I want to say is this: if I have been a bad correspondent in
+the past I am a good one now; and Celia, who was always a good one, is a
+better one. It takes at least ten letters a day to satisfy us, and we
+prefer to catch ten different posts. With the ten in your hand together
+there is always a temptation to waste them in one wild rush of
+flipperties, all catching each other up. It would be a great moment, but
+I do not think we can afford it yet; we must wait until we get more
+practised at letter-writing. And even then I am doubtful; for it might be
+that, lost in the confusion of that one wild rush, the magic letter would
+start on its way--_flipperty--flipperty_--to the never-land, and we
+should forever have missed it.
+
+So, friends, acquaintances, yes, and even strangers, I beg you now to
+give me another chance. I will answer your letters, how gladly. I still
+think that Napoleon (or Canute or the younger Pliny--one of the
+pre-Raphaelites) took a perfectly correct view of his correspondence ...
+but then _he_ never had a letter-box which went
+
+_Flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty
+flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty--flipperty
+flipperty--FLOP._
+
+
+
+HEAVY WORK
+
+
+Every now and then doctors slap me about and ask me if I was always as
+thin as this.
+
+"As thin as what?" I say with as much dignity as is possible to a man who
+has had his shirt taken away from him.
+
+"As thin as this," says the doctor, hooking his stethoscope on to one of
+my ribs, and then going round to the other side to see how I am getting
+on there.
+
+I am slightly better on the other side, but he runs his pencil up and
+down me and produces that pleasing noise which small boys get by dragging
+a stick along railings.
+
+I explain that I was always delicately slender, but that latterly my ribs
+have been overdoing it.
+
+"You must put on more flesh," he says sternly, running his pencil up and
+down them again. (He must have been a great nuisance as a small boy.)
+
+"I will," I say fervently, "I will."
+
+Satisfied by my promise he gives me back my shirt.
+
+But it is not only the doctor who complains; Celia is even more upset by
+it. She says tearfully that I remind her of a herring. Unfortunately she
+does not like herrings. It is my hope some day to remind her of a turbot
+and make her happy. She, too, has my promise that I will put on flesh.
+
+We had a fortnight's leave a little while ago, which seemed to give me a
+good opportunity of putting some on. So we retired to a house in the
+country where there is a weighing-machine in the bathroom. We felt that
+the mere sight of this weighing-machine twice daily would stimulate the
+gaps between my ribs. They would realize that they had been brought down
+there on business.
+
+The first morning I weighed myself just before stepping into the water.
+When I got down to breakfast I told Celia the result.
+
+"You _are_ a herring," she said sadly.
+
+"But think what an opportunity it gives me. If I started the right
+weight, the rest of the fortnight would be practically wasted. By the
+way, the doctor talks about putting on flesh, but he didn't say how much
+he wanted. What do you think would be a nice amount?"
+
+"About another stone," said Celia. "You were just a nice size before the
+War."
+
+"All right. Perhaps I had better tell the weighing-machine. This is a
+co-operative job; I can't do it all myself."
+
+The next morning I was the same as before, and the next, and the next,
+and the next.
+
+"Really," said Celia, pathetically, "we might just as well have gone to a
+house where there wasn't a weighing-machine at all. I don't believe it's
+trying. Are you sure you stand on it long enough?"
+
+"Long enough for me. It's a bit cold, you know."
+
+"Well, make quite sure to-morrow. I must have you not quite so herringy."
+
+I made quite sure the next morning. I had eight stone and a half on the
+weight part, and the-little-thing-you-move-up-and-down was on the "4"
+notch, and the bar balanced midway between the top and the bottom. To
+have had a crowd in to see would have been quite unnecessary; the whole
+machine was shouting eight-stone-eleven as loudly as it could.
+
+"I expect it's got used to you," said Celia when I told her the sad state
+of affairs. "It likes eight-stone-eleven people."
+
+"We will give it," I said, "one more chance."
+
+Next morning the weights were as I had left them, and I stepped on
+without much hope, expecting that the bar would come slowly up to its
+midway position of rest. To my immense delight, however, it never
+hesitated but went straight up to the top. At last I had put on flesh!
+
+Very delicately I moved the-thing-you-move-up-and-down to its next notch.
+Still the bar stayed at the top. I had put on at least another ounce of
+flesh!
+
+I continued to put on more ounces. Still the bar remained up! I was
+eight-stone-thirteen.... Good heavens, I was eight-stone-fourteen!
+
+I pushed the-thing-you-move-up-and-down back to the zero position, and
+exchanged the half-stone weight for a stone one. Excited but a trifle
+cold, for it was a fresh morning, and the upper part of the window was
+wide open, I went up from nine stone ounce by ounce....
+
+At nine-stone-twelve I jumped off for a moment and shut the window....
+
+At eleven-stone-eight I had to get off again in order to attend to the
+bath, which was in danger of overflowing....
+
+At fifteen-stone-eleven the breakfast gong went....
+
+At nineteen-stone-nine I realized that I had overdone it. However I
+decided to know the worst. The worst that the machine could tell me was
+twenty-stone-seven. At twenty-stone-seven I left it.
+
+Celia, who had nearly finished breakfast, looked up eagerly as I came in.
+
+"Well?" she said.
+
+"I am sorry I am late," I apologized, "but I have been putting on flesh."
+
+"Have you really gone up?" she asked excitedly.
+
+"Yes." I began mechanically to help myself to porridge, and then stopped.
+"No, perhaps not," I said thoughtfully.
+
+"Have you gone up much?"
+
+"Much," I said. "Quite much."
+
+"How much? Quick!"
+
+"Celia," I said sadly, "I am twenty-stone-seven. I may be more; the
+weighing-machine gave out then."
+
+"Oh, but, darling, that's much too much."
+
+"Still, it's what we came here for," I pointed out. "No, no bacon,
+thanks; a small piece of dry toast."
+
+"I suppose the machine couldn't have made a mistake?"
+
+"It seemed very decided about it. It didn't hesitate at all."
+
+"Just try again after breakfast to make sure."
+
+"Perhaps I'd better try now," I said, getting up, "because if I turned
+out to be only twenty-stone-six I might venture on a little porridge
+after all. I shan't be long."
+
+I went upstairs. I didn't dare face that weighing-machine in my clothes
+after the way in which I had already strained it without them. I took
+them off hurriedly and stepped on. To my joy the bar stayed in its
+downward position. I took off an ounce ... then another ounce. The bar
+remained down....
+
+At eighteen-stone-two I jumped off for a moment in order to shut the
+window, which some careless housemaid had opened again....
+
+At twelve-stone-seven I shouted through the door to Celia that I
+shouldn't be long, and that I should want the porridge after all....
+
+At four-stone-six I said that I had better have an egg or two as well.
+
+At three ounces I stepped off, feeling rather shaken.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I have not used the weighing-machine since; partly because I do not
+believe it is trustworthy, partly because I spent the rest of my leave in
+bed with a severe cold. We are now in London again, where I am putting on
+flesh. At least the doctor who slapped me about yesterday said that I
+must, and I promised him that I would.
+
+
+
+THE PATRIOT
+
+
+This is a true story. Unless you promise to believe me, it is not much
+good my going on ... You promise? Very well.
+
+Years ago I bought a pianola. I went into the shop to buy a gramophone
+record, and I came out with a pianola--so golden-tongued was the manager.
+You would think that one could then retire into private life for a
+little, but it is only the beginning. There is the music-stool to be
+purchased, the library subscription, the tuner's fee (four visits a year,
+if you please), the cabinet for the rolls, the man to oil the pedals,
+the--However, one gets out of the shop at last. Nor do I regret my
+venture. It is common talk that my pianola was the chief thing about
+me which attracted Celia. "I _must_ marry a man with a pianola," she
+said ... and there was I ... and here, in fact, we are. My blessings,
+then, on the golden tongue of the manager.
+
+Now there is something very charming in a proper modesty about one's
+attainments, but it is necessary that the attainments should be generally
+recognized first. It was admirable in Stephenson to have said (as I am
+sure he did), when they congratulated him on his first steam-engine,
+"Tut-tut, it's nothing"; but he could only say this so long as the others
+were in a position to offer the congratulations. In order to place you in
+that position I must let you know how extraordinarily well I played the
+pianola. I brought to my interpretation of different Ops an _elan_, a
+_verve_, a _je ne sais quoi_--and several other French words--which were
+the astonishment of all who listened to me. But chiefly I was famous for
+my playing of one piece: "The Charge of the Uhlans," by Karl Bohm. Others
+may have seen Venice by moonlight, or heard the Vicar's daughter recite
+"Little Jim," but the favoured few who have been present when Bohm and I
+were collaborating are the ones who have really lived. Indeed, even the
+coldest professional critic would have spoken of it as "a noteworthy
+rendition."
+
+"The Charge of the Uhlans." If you came to see me, you had to hear it. As
+arranged for the pianola, it was marked to be played throughout at a
+lightning pace and with the loudest pedal on. So one would play it if one
+wished to annoy the man in the flat below; but a true musician has, I
+take it, a higher aim. I disregarded the "FF.'s" and the other sign-posts
+on the way, and gave it my own interpretation. As played by me, "The
+Charge of the Uhlans" became a whole battle scene. Indeed, it was
+necessary, before I began, that I should turn to my audience and describe
+the scene to them--in the manner, but not in the words, of a Queen's Hall
+programme:--
+
+"Er--first of all you hear the cavalry galloping past, and then there's a
+short hymn before action while they form up, and then comes the charge,
+and then there's a slow bit while they--er--pick up the wounded, and then
+they trot slowly back again. And if you listen carefully to the last bit
+you'll actually hear the horses limping."
+
+Something like that I would say; and it might happen that an insufferable
+guest (who never got asked again) would object that the hymn part was
+unusual in real warfare.
+
+"They sang it in this piece, anyhow," I would say stiffly, and turn my
+back on him and begin.
+
+But the war put a stop to music, as to many other things. For years the
+pianola was not played by either of us. We had other things to do. And in
+our case, curiously enough, absence from the pianola did not make the
+heart grow fonder. On the contrary, we seemed to lose our taste for
+music, and when at last we were restored to our pianola, we found that we
+had grown out of it.
+
+"It's very ugly," announced Celia.
+
+"We can't help our looks," I said in my grandmother's voice.
+
+"A book-case would be much prettier there."
+
+"But not so tuneful."
+
+"A pianola isn't tuneful if you never play it."
+
+"True," I said.
+
+Celia then became very alluring, and suggested that I might find somebody
+who would like to be lent a delightful pianola by somebody whose
+delightful wife had her eye on a delightful bookcase.
+
+"I might," I said.
+
+"Somebody," said Celia, "who isn't supplied with music from below."
+
+I found John. He was quite pleased with the idea, and promised to
+return the pianola when he got sick of it.
+
+So on Wednesday it went. I was not sorry, because in its silence it was
+far from beautiful, and we wanted another book-case badly. But on
+Tuesday evening--its last hours with us--I had to confess to a certain
+melancholy. It is sad to part with an old and well-tried friend,
+particularly when that friend is almost entirely responsible for your
+marriage. I looked at the pianola and then I said to Celia, "I must
+play it once again."
+
+"Please," said Celia.
+
+"The old masterpiece, I suppose?"  I said, as I got it out.
+
+"Do you think you ought to--now?   I don't think I want to hear a
+charge of the Uhlans--beasts; I want a charge of our own men."
+
+"Art," I said grandly, "knows no frontiers." I suppose this has been
+said by several people several times already, but for the moment both
+Celia and I thought it was rather clever.
+
+So I placed the roll in the pianola, sat down and began to play....
+
+Ah, the dear old tune....
+
+Dash it all!
+
+"What's happened?" said Celia, breaking a silence which had become
+alarming.
+
+"I must have put it in wrong," I said.
+
+I wound the roll off, put it in again, and tried a second time,
+pedalling vigorously.
+
+Dead silence....
+
+Hush! A note ... another silence ... and then another note....
+
+I pedalled through to the end. About five notes sounded.
+
+"Celia," I said, "this is wonderful."
+
+It really was wonderful. For the first time in its life my pianola
+refused to play "The Charge of the Uhlans." It had played it a hundred
+times before the War, but now--no!
+
+We had to have a farewell piece. I put in a waltz, and it played it
+perfectly. Then we said good-bye to our pianola, feeling a reverence
+for it which we had never felt before.
+
+      *      *      *      *      *
+
+You don't believe this? Yet you promised you would ... and I still
+assure you that it is true. But I admit that the truth is sometimes
+hard to believe, and the first six persons to whom I told the story
+assured me frankly that I was a liar. If one is to be called a liar,
+one may as well make an effort to deserve the name. I made an effort,
+therefore, with the seventh person.
+
+"I put in 'The Charge of the Uhlans,'" I said, "and it played 'God
+Save the King.'"
+
+Unfortunately he was a very patriotic man, and he believed it. So that is
+how the story is now going about. But you who read this know the real
+truth of the matter.
+
+
+
+A QUESTION OF LIGHT
+
+
+As soon as Celia had got a cheque-book of her own (and I had explained
+the mysteries of "---- & Co." to her), she looked round for a safe
+investment of her balance, which amounted to several pounds. My offers,
+first of an old stocking and afterwards of mines, mortgages and aerated
+breads, were rejected at once.
+
+"I'll leave a little in the bank in case of accidents," she said, "and
+the rest must go somewhere absolutely safe and earn me five per cent.
+Otherwise they shan't have it."
+
+We did what we could for her; we offered the money to archdeacons and
+other men of pronounced probity; and finally we invested it in the
+Blanktown Electric Light Company. Blanktown is not its real name, of
+course; but I do not like to let out any information which may be of
+value to Celia's enemies--the wicked ones who are trying to snatch her
+little fortune from her. The world, we feel, is a dangerous place for a
+young woman with money.
+
+"Can't I _possibly_ lose it now?" she asked.
+
+"Only in two ways," I said. "Blanktown might disappear in the night, or
+the inhabitants might give up using electric light."
+
+It seemed safe enough. At the same time we watched the newspapers
+anxiously for details of the latest inventions; and anybody who happened
+to mention when dining with us that he was experimenting with a new and
+powerful illuminant was handed his hat at once.
+
+You have Blanktown, then, as the depository of Celia's fortune. Now it
+comes on the scene in another guise. I made the announcement with some
+pride at breakfast yesterday.
+
+"My dear," I said, "I have been asked to deliver a lecture."
+
+"Whatever on?" asked Celia.
+
+"Anything I like. The last person lectured on 'The Minor Satellites of
+Jupiter,' and the one who comes after me is doing 'The Architecture of
+the Byzantine Period,' so I can take something in between."
+
+"Like 'Frostbites,'" said Celia helpfully. "But I don't quite understand.
+Where is it, and why?"
+
+"The Blanktown Literary and Philosophical Society ask me to lecture to
+them at Blanktown. The man who was coming is ill."
+
+"But why _you_ particularly?"
+
+"One comes down to me in the end," I said modestly.
+
+"I expect it's because of my electric lights. Do they give you any money
+for it?"
+
+"They ask me to name my fee."
+
+"Then say a thousand pounds, and lecture on the need for more electric
+light. Fancy if I got six per cent!"
+
+"This is a very sordid conversation," I said. "If I agree to lecture
+at all, it will be simply because I feel that I have a message to
+deliver ... I will now retire into the library and consider what that
+message is to be."
+
+I placed the encyclopaedia handy and sat down at my desk. I had already
+grasped the fact that the title of my discourse was the important thing.
+In the list of the Society's lectures sent to me there was hardly one
+whose title did not impress the imagination in advance. I must be equally
+impressive ...
+
+After a little thought I began to write.
+
+"WASPS AND THEIR YOUNG
+
+"_Lecture delivered before the Blanktown Literary and Philosophical
+Society, Tuesday, December 8th._
+
+"_Ladies and Gentlemen_--"
+
+"Well," said Celia, drifting in, "how's it going?"
+
+I showed her how far I had got.
+
+"I thought you always began, 'My Lord Mayor, Ladies and Gentlemen,'" she
+said.
+
+"Only if the Lord Mayor's there."
+
+"But how will you know?"
+
+"Yes, that's rather awkward. I shall have to ask the Secretary
+beforehand."
+
+I began again.
+
+"WASPS AND THEIR YOUNG
+
+"_Lecture delivered, etc_....
+
+"_My Lord Mayor, my Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen_--"
+
+It looked much better.
+
+"What about Baronets?" said Celia. "There's sure to be lots."
+
+"Yes, this is going to be difficult. I shall have to have a long talk
+with the Secretary ... How's this?--'My Lord Mayor, Lords, Baronets,
+Ladies and Gentlemen and Sundries.' That's got in everybody."
+
+"That's all right. And I wanted to ask you: Have you got any lantern
+slides?"
+
+"They're not necessary."
+
+"But they're much more fun. Perhaps they'll have some old ones of
+Vesuvius you can work in. Well, good-bye." And she drifted out.
+
+I went on thinking.
+
+"No," I said to myself, "I'm on the wrong tack." So I began again:--
+
+"SOME YORKSHIRE POT-HOLES
+
+"_Lecture delivered before the Blanktown Literary and Philosophical
+Society, Tuesday, December 8th_.
+
+"_My Lord Mayor, my Lords_--"
+
+"I don't want to interrupt," said Celia coming in suddenly, "but--oh,
+what's a pot-hole?"
+
+"A curious underground cavern sometimes found in the North."
+
+"Aren't caverns always underground? But you're busy. Will you be in for
+lunch?"
+
+"I shall be writing my lecture all day," I said busily.
+
+At lunch I decided to have a little financial talk with Celia.
+
+"What I feel is this," I said. "At most I can ask ten guineas for my
+lecture. Now my expense all the way to the North, with a night at an
+hotel, will be at least five pounds."
+
+"Five-pounds-ten profit," said Celia. "Not bad."
+
+"Ah, but wait. I have never spoken in public before. In an immense hall,
+whose acoustics--"
+
+"Who are they?"
+
+"Well, never mind. What I mean is that I shall want some elocution
+lessons. Say five, at a guinea each."
+
+"That still leaves five shillings."
+
+"If only it left that, it might be worth it. But there's a new white
+waistcoat. An audience soon gets tired of a lecture, and then there's
+nothing for the wakeful ones to concentrate on but the white waistcoat of
+the lecturer. It must be of a virgin whiteness. Say thirty-five
+shillings. So I lose thirty shillings by it. Can I afford so much?"
+
+"But you gain the acoustics and the waistcoat."
+
+"True. Of course, if you insist--"
+
+"Oh, you _must_," said Celia.
+
+So I returned to the library. By tea-time I had got as far as this:--
+
+"ADVENTURES WITH A CAMERA IN SOMALILAND
+
+"_Lecture delivered before the Blanktown Literary and Philo_--"
+
+And then I had an idea. This time a brilliant one.
+
+"Celia," I said at tea, "I have been wondering whether I ought to take
+advantage of your generosity."
+
+"What generosity?"
+
+"In letting me deliver this lecture."
+
+"It isn't generosity, it's swank. I want to be able to tell everybody."
+
+"Ah, but the sacrifices you are making."
+
+"Am I?" said Celia, with interest.
+
+"Of course you are. Consider. I ask a fee of ten guineas. They cannot
+possibly charge more than a shilling a head to listen to me. It would
+be robbery. So that if there is to be a profit at all, as presumably they
+anticipate, I shall have a gate of at least two hundred and fifty."
+
+"I should _hope_ so."
+
+"Two hundred and fifty. And what does that mean? It means that at
+seven-thirty o'clock on the night of December the 8th two hundred and
+fifty residents of Blanktown will _turn out the electric lights in their
+drawing-rooms ..._ PERHAPS EVEN IN THEIR HALLS ... and proceed to
+the lecture-room. True, the lecture-room will be lit up--a small
+compensation--but not for long. When the slides of Vesuvius are thrown
+upon the screen--"
+
+Celia was going pale.
+
+"But if it's not you," she faltered, "it will be somebody else."
+
+"No; if I refuse, it will be too late then to get a substitute. Besides,
+they must have tried everybody else before they got down to me... Celia
+it is noble of you to sacrifice--"
+
+"Don't go!" she cried in anguish.
+
+I gave a deep sigh.
+
+"For your sake," I said, "I won't."
+
+So that settles it. If my lecture on "First Principles in Homoeopathy" is
+ever to be delivered, it must be delivered elsewhere.
+
+
+
+ENTER BINGO
+
+
+Before I introduce Bingo I must say a word for Humphrey, his sparring
+partner. Humphrey found himself on the top of my stocking last December,
+put there, I fancy, by Celia, though she says it was Father Christmas.
+He is a small yellow dog, with glass optics, and the label round his neck
+said, "His eyes move." When I had finished the oranges and sweets and
+nuts, when Celia and I had pulled the crackers, Humphrey remained over to
+sit on the music-stool, with the air of one playing the pianola. In this
+position he found his uses. There are times when a husband may
+legitimately be annoyed; at these times it was pleasant to kick Humphrey
+off his stool on to the divan, to stand on the divan and kick him on to
+the sofa, to stand on the sofa and kick him on to the bookcase; and then,
+feeling another man, to replace him on the music-stool and apologize to
+Celia. It was thus that he lost his tail.
+
+Here we say good-bye to Humphrey for the present; Bingo claims our
+attention. Bingo arrived as an absurd little black tub of puppiness,
+warranted (by a pedigree as long as your arm) to grow into a Pekinese. It
+was Celia's idea to call him Bingo; because (a ridiculous reason) as
+a child she had had a poodle called Bingo. The less said about poodles
+the better; why rake up the past?
+
+"If there is the slightest chance of Bingo--of this animal growing up
+into a poodle," I said, "he leaves my house at once."
+
+"_My_ poodle," said Celia, "was a lovely dog."
+
+(Of course she was only a child then. She wouldn't know.)
+
+"The point is this," I said firmly, "our puppy is meant for a
+Pekinese--the pedigree says so. From the look of him it will be touch and
+go whether he pulls it off. To call him by the name of a late poodle may
+just be the deciding factor. Now I hate poodles; I hate pet dogs. A
+Pekinese is not a pet dog; he is an undersized lion. Our puppy may grow
+into a small lion, or a mastiff, or anything like that; but I will _not_
+have him a poodle. If we call him Bingo, will you promise never to
+mention in his presence that you once had a--a--you know what I
+mean--called Bingo?"
+
+She promised. I have forgiven her for having once loved a poodle. I beg
+you to forget about it. There is now only one Bingo, and he is a Pekinese
+puppy.
+
+However, after we had decided to call him Bingo, a difficulty arose.
+Bingo's pedigree is full of names like Li Hung Chang and Sun Yat Sen; had
+we chosen a sufficiently Chinese name for him? Apart from what was due to
+his ancestors, were we encouraging him enough to grow into a Pekinese?
+What was there Oriental about "Bingo"?
+
+In itself, apparently, little. And Bingo himself must have felt this; for
+his tail continued to be nothing but a rat's tail, and his body to be
+nothing but a fat tub, and his head to be almost the head of any little
+puppy in the world. He felt it deeply. When I ragged him about it he
+tried to eat my ankles. I had only to go into the room in which he was,
+and murmur, "Rat's tail," to myself, or (more offensive still) "Chewed
+string," for him to rush at me. "Where, O Bingo, is that delicate
+feather curling gracefully over the back, which was the pride and glory
+of thy great-grandfather? Is the caudal affix of the rodent thy apology
+for it?" And Bingo would whimper with shame.
+
+Then we began to look him up in the map.
+
+I found a Chinese town called "Ning-po," which strikes me as very much
+like "Bing-go," and Celia found another one called "Yung-Ping," which
+might just as well be "Yung-Bing," the obvious name of Bingo's heir when
+he has one. These facts being communicated to Bingo, his nose immediately
+began to go back a little and his tub to develop something of a waist.
+But what finally decided him was a discovery of mine made only yesterday.
+_There is a Japanese province called Bingo_. Japanese, not Chinese, it is
+true; but at least it is Oriental. In any case conceive one's pride in
+realizing suddenly that one has been called after a province and not
+after a poodle. It has determined Bingo unalterably to grow up in the
+right way.
+
+You have Bingo now definitely a Pekinese. That being so, I may refer to
+his ancestors, always an object of veneration among these Easterns. I
+speak of (hats off, please!) Ch. Goodwood Lo.
+
+Of course you know (I didn't myself till last week) that "Ch."
+stands for "Champion." On the male side Champion Goodwood Lo is Bingo's
+great-great-grandfather. On the female side the same animal is Bingo's
+great-grandfather. One couldn't be a poodle after that. A fortnight after
+Bingo came to us we found in a Pekinese book a photograph of Goodwood Lo.
+How proud we all were! Then we saw above it, "Celebrities of the
+Past. The Late--"
+
+Champion Goodwood Lo was no more! In one moment Bingo had lost both his
+great-grandfather and his great-great-grandfather!
+
+We broke it to him as gently as possible, but the double shock was too
+much, and he passed the evening in acute depression. Annoyed with my
+tactlessness in letting him know anything about it, I kicked Humphrey off
+his stool. Humphrey, I forgot to say, has a squeak if kicked in the right
+place. He squeaked.
+
+Bingo, at that time still uncertain of his destiny, had at least the
+courage of the lion. Just for a moment he hesitated. Then with a pounce
+he was upon Humphrey.
+
+Till then I had regarded Humphrey--save for his power of rolling the eyes
+and his habit of taking long jumps from the music-stool to the
+book-case--as rather a sedentary character. But in the fight which
+followed he put up an amazingly good resistance. At one time he was
+underneath Bingo; the next moment he had Bingo down; first one, then the
+other, seemed to gain the advantage. But blood will tell. Humphrey's
+ancestry is unknown; I blush to say that it may possibly be German. Bingo
+had Goodwood Lo to support him--in two places. Gradually he got the upper
+hand; and at last, taking the reluctant Humphrey by the ear, he dragged
+him laboriously beneath the sofa. He emerged alone, with tail wagging,
+and was taken on to his mistress's lap. There he slept, his grief
+forgotten.
+
+So Humphrey was found a job. Whenever Bingo wants exercise, Humphrey
+plants himself in the middle of the room, his eyes cast upwards in an
+affectation of innocence. "I'm just sitting here," says Humphrey; "I
+believe there's a fly on the ceiling." It is a challenge which no
+great-grandson of Goodwood Lo could resist. With a rush Bingo is at him.
+"I'll learn you to stand in my way," he splutters. And the great dust-up
+begins....
+
+Brave little Bingo! I don't wonder that so warlike a race as the Japanese
+has called a province after him.
+
+
+
+A WARM HALF-HOUR
+
+
+Whatever the papers say, it was the hottest afternoon of the year. At
+six-thirty I had just finished dressing after my third cold bath since
+lunch, when Celia tapped on the door.
+
+"I want you to do something for me," she said. "It's a shame to ask you
+on a day like this."
+
+"It _is_ rather a shame," I agreed, "but I can always refuse."
+
+"Oh, but you mustn't. We haven't got any ice, and the Thompsons are
+coming to dinner. Do you think you could go and buy threepennyworth?
+Jane's busy, and I'm busy, and--"
+
+"And I'm busy," I said, opening and shutting a drawer with great
+rapidity.
+
+"Just threepennyworth," she pleaded. "Nice cool ice. Think of sliding
+home on it."
+
+Well, of course it had to be done. I took my hat and staggered out. On an
+ordinary cool day it is about half a mile to the fishmonger; to-day
+it was about two miles and a quarter. I arrived exhausted, and with only
+just strength enough to kneel down and press my forehead against the
+large block of ice in the middle of the shop, round which the lobsters
+nestled.
+
+"Here, you mustn't do that," said the fishmonger, waving me away.
+
+I got up, slightly refreshed.
+
+"I want," I said, "some--" and then a thought occurred to me.
+
+After all, _did_ fishmongers sell ice? Probably the large block in front
+of me was just a trade sign like the coloured bottles at the chemist's.
+Suppose I said to a fellow of the Pharmaceutical Society, "I want some of
+that green stuff in the window," he would only laugh. The tactful thing
+to do would be to buy a pint or two of laudanum first, and _then_, having
+established pleasant relations, ask him as a friend to lend me his green
+bottle for a bit.
+
+So I said to the fishmonger, "I want some--some nice lobsters."
+
+"How many would you like?"
+
+"One," I said.
+
+We selected a nice one between us, and he wrapped a piece of "Daily Mail"
+round it, leaving only the whiskers visible, and gave it to me. The
+ice being now broken--I mean the ice being now--well, you see what I
+mean--I was now in a position to ask for some of his ice.
+
+"I wonder if you could let me have a little piece of your ice," I
+ventured.
+
+"How much ice do you want?" he said promptly.
+
+"Sixpennyworth," I said, feeling suddenly that Celia's threepennyworth
+sounded rather paltry.
+
+"Six of ice, Bill," he shouted to an inferior at the back, and Bill
+tottered up with a block about the size of one of the lions in Trafalgar
+Square. He wrapped a piece of "Daily News" round it and gave it to me.
+
+"Is that all?" asked the fishmonger.
+
+"That is all," I said faintly; and, with Algernon, the overwhiskered
+crustacean, firmly clutched in the right hand and Stonehenge supported on
+the palm of the left hand, I retired.
+
+The flat seemed a very long way away, but having bought twice as much ice
+as I wanted, and an entirely unnecessary lobster, I was not going to
+waste still more money in taxis. Hot though it was, I would walk.
+
+For some miles all went well. Then the ice began to drip through the
+paper, and in a little while, the underneath part of "The Daily News"
+had disappeared altogether. Tucking the lobster under my arm I turned the
+block over, so that it rested on another part of the paper. Soon that had
+dissolved too. By the time I had got half-way our Radical contemporary
+had been entirely eaten.
+
+Fortunately "The Daily Mail" remained. But to get it I had to disentangle
+Algernon first, and I had no hand available. There was only one thing
+to do. I put the block of ice down on the pavement, unwrapped the
+lobster, put the lobster next to the ice, spread its "Daily Mail" out,
+lifted the ice on to the paper, and--looked up and saw Mrs. Thompson
+approaching.
+
+She was the last person I wanted at that moment. In an hour and a half
+she would be dining with us. Algernon would not be dining with us. If
+Algernon and Mrs. Thompson were to meet now, would she not be expecting
+him to turn up at every course? Think of the long drawn-out
+disappointment for her; not even lobster sauce!
+
+There was no time to lose. I decided to abandon the ice. Leaving it on
+the pavement I clutched the lobster and walked hastily back the way I had
+come.
+
+By the time I had shaken off Mrs. Thompson I was almost at the
+fishmonger's. That decided me. I would begin all over again, and would
+do it properly this time. "I want three of ice," I said with an air.
+
+"Three of ice, Bill," said the fishmonger, and Bill gave me quite a
+respectable segment in "The Morning Post."
+
+"And I want a taxi," I said, and I waved my lobster at one.
+
+We drove quickly home.
+
+But as we neared the flat I suddenly became nervous about Algernon. I
+could not take him, red and undraped, past the hall-porter, past all the
+other residents who might spring out at me on the stairs. Accordingly, I
+placed the block of ice on the seat, took off some of its "Morning Post,"
+and wrapped Algernon up decently. Then I sprang out, gave the man a coin,
+and hastened into the building.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Bless you," said Celia, "have you got it? How sweet of you!" And she
+took my parcel from me. "Now we shall be able--Why, what's this?"
+
+I looked at it closely.
+
+"It's--it's a lobster," I said. "Didn't you say lobster?"
+
+"I said ice."
+
+"Oh," I said, "oh, I didn't understand. I thought you said lobster."
+
+"You can't put lobster in cider cup," said Celia severely.
+
+Of course I quite see that. It was foolish of me. However, it's pleasant
+to think that the taxi must have been nice and cool for the next man.
+
+
+
+"WRONGLY ATTRIBUTED"
+
+
+You've heard of Willy Ferrero, the Boy Conductor? A musical prodigy,
+seven years old, who will order the fifth oboe out of the Albert Hall as
+soon as look at him. Well, he has a rival.
+
+Willy, as perhaps you know, does not play any instrument himself; he only
+conducts. His rival (Johnny, as I think of him) does not conduct as
+yet; at least, not audibly. His line is the actual manipulation of the
+pianoforte--the Paderewski touch. Johnny lives in the flat below, and I
+hear him touching.
+
+On certain mornings in the week--no need to specify them--I enter my
+library and give myself up to literary composition. On the same
+mornings little Johnny enters his music-room (underneath) and gives
+himself up to musical composition. Thus we are at work together.
+
+The worst of literary composition is this: that when you have got hold of
+what you feel is a really powerful idea, you find suddenly that you have
+been forestalled by some earlier writer--Sophocles or Shakespeare or
+George R. Sims. Then you have to think again. This frequently happens
+to me upstairs; and downstairs poor Johnny will find to his horror one
+day that his great work has already been given to the world by another--a
+certain Dr. John Bull.
+
+Johnny, in fact, is discovering "God Save the King" with one finger.
+
+As I dip my pen in the ink and begin to write, Johnny strikes up. On the
+first day when this happened, some three months ago, I rose from
+my chair and stood stiffly through the performance--an affair of some
+minutes, owing to a little difficulty with "Send him victorious," a line
+which always bothers Johnny. However, he got right through it at last,
+after harking back no more than twice, and I sat down to my work again.
+Generally speaking, "God Save the King" ends a show; it would be disloyal
+to play any other tune after that. Johnny quite saw this ... and so began
+to play "God Save the King" again.
+
+I hope that His Majesty, the Lord Chamberlain, the late Dr. Bull, or
+whoever is most concerned, will sympathize with me when I say that this
+time I remained seated. I have my living to earn.
+
+From that day Johnny has interpreted Dr. John Bull's favourite
+composition nine times every morning. As this has been going on for
+three months, and as the line I mentioned has two special rehearsals
+to itself before coming out right, you can easily work out how many
+send-him-victoriouses Johnny and I have collaborated in. About two
+thousand.
+
+Very well. Now, you ask yourself, why did I not send a polite
+note to Johnny's father asking him to restrain his little boy from
+over-composition, begging him not to force the child's musical genius too
+quickly, imploring him (in short) to lock up the piano and lose the key?
+What kept me from this course? The answer is "Patriotism." Those deep
+feelings for his country which one man will express glibly by rising nine
+times during the morning at the sound of the National Anthem, another
+will direct to more solid uses. It was my duty, I felt, not to discourage
+Johnny. He was showing qualities which could not fail, when he grew up,
+to be of value to the nation. Loyalty, musical genius, determination,
+patience, industry--never before have these qualities been so finely
+united in a child of six. Was I to say a single word to disturb the
+delicate balance of such a boy's mind? At six one is extraordinarily
+susceptible to outside influence. A word from his father to the effect
+that the gentleman above was getting sick of it, and Johnny's whole life
+might be altered.
+
+No, I would bear it grimly.
+
+And then, yesterday, who should write to me but Johnny's father himself.
+This was the letter:
+
+"Dear Sir--I do not wish to interfere unduly in the affairs of the other
+occupants of these flats, but I feel bound to call your attention to the
+fact that for many weeks now there has been a flow of water from your
+bathroom, which has penetrated through the ceiling of my bathroom,
+particularly after you have been using the room in the mornings. May I
+therefore beg you to be more careful in future not to splash or spill
+water on your floor, seeing that it causes inconvenience to the tenants
+beneath you?
+
+"Yours faithfully, Jno. McAndrew."
+
+You can understand how I felt about this. For months I had been suffering
+Johnny in silence; yet, at the first little drop of water from above,
+Johnny's father must break out into violent abuse of me. A fine reward!
+Well, Johnny's future could look after itself now; anyhow, he was doomed
+with a selfish father like that.
+
+"Dear Sir," I answered defiantly, "Now that we are writing to each other
+I wish to call your attention to the fact that for many months past there
+has been a constant flow of one-fingered music from your little boy,
+which penetrates through the floor of my library and makes all work
+impossible. May I beg you, therefore, to see that your child is taught a
+new tune immediately, seeing that the National Anthem has lost its first
+freshness for the tenants above him?"
+
+His reply to this came to-day.
+
+"Dear Sir,--I have no child.
+
+"Yours faithfully, Jno. McAndrew."
+
+I was so staggered that I could only think of one adequate retort.
+
+"DEAR SIR," I wrote,--"I never have a bath."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+So that's the end of Johnny, my boy prodigy, for whom I have suffered so
+long. It is not Johnny but Jno. who struggles with the National Anthem.
+He will give up music now, for he knows I have the bulge on him; I can
+flood his bathroom whenever I like. Probably he will learn something
+quieter--like painting. Anyway, Dr. John Bull's masterpiece will rise no
+more through the ceiling of the flat below.
+
+On referring to my encyclopedia, I see that, according to some
+authorities, "God Save the King" is "wrongly attributed" to Dr. Bull.
+Well, I wrongly attributed it to Johnny. It is easy to make these
+mistakes.
+
+
+
+A HANGING GARDEN IN BABYLON
+
+
+"Are you taking me to the Flower Show this afternoon?" asked Celia at
+breakfast.
+
+"No," I said thoughtfully; "no."
+
+"Well, that's that. What other breakfast conversation have I? Have you
+been to any theatres lately?"
+
+"Do you really want to go to the Flower Show?" I asked. "Because I don't
+believe I could bear it."
+
+"I've saved up two shillings."
+
+"It isn't that--not only that. But there'll be thousands of people there,
+all with gardens of their own, all pointing to things and saying,
+'We've got one of those in the east bed,' or 'Wouldn't that look nice in
+the south orchid house?' and you and I will be quite, quite out
+of it." I sighed, and helped myself from the west toast-rack.
+
+It is very delightful to have a flat in London, but there are times in
+the summer when I long for a garden of my own. I show people round our
+little place, and I point out hopefully the Hot Tap Doultonii in the
+scullery, and the Dorothy Perkins doormat, but it isn't the same thing as
+taking your guest round your garden and telling him that what you really
+want is rain. Until I can do that, the Chelsea Flower Show is no place
+for us.
+
+"Then I haven't told you the good news," said Celia. "We _are_
+gardeners." She paused a moment for effect. "I have ordered a
+window-box."
+
+I dropped the marmalade and jumped up eagerly.
+
+"But this is glorious news! I haven't been so excited since I recognized
+a calceolaria last year, and told my host it was a calceolaria just
+before he told me. A window-box! What's in it?"
+
+"Pink geraniums and--and pink geraniums, and--er--"
+
+"Pink geraniums?" I suggested.
+
+"Yes. They're very pretty, you know."
+
+"I know. But I could have wished for something more difficult. If we had
+something like--well, I don't want to seem to harp on it, but say
+calceolarias, then quite a lot of people mightn't recognize them, and I
+should be able to tell them what they were. I should be able to show them
+the calceolarias; you can't show people the geraniums."
+
+"You can say, 'What do you think of _that_ for a geranium?'" said Celia.
+"Anyhow," she added, "you've got to take me to the Flower Show now."
+
+"Of course I will. It is not only a pleasure, but a duty. As gardeners we
+must keep up with floricultural progress. Even though we start with pink
+geraniums now, we may have--er--calceolarias next year. Rotation of crops
+and--what not."
+
+Accordingly we made our way in the afternoon to the Show.
+
+"I think we're a little over-dressed," I said as we paid our shillings.
+"We ought to look as if we'd just run up from our little window-box in
+the country and were going back by the last train. I should be in
+gaiters, really."
+
+"Our little window-box is not in the country," objected Celia. "It's what
+you might call a _pied de terre_ in town. French joke," she added kindly.
+"Much more difficult than the ordinary sort."
+
+"Don't forget it; we can always use it again on visitors. Now what shall
+we look at first?"
+
+"The flowers first; then the tea."
+
+I had bought a catalogue and was scanning it rapidly.
+
+"We don't want flowers," I said. "Our window-box--our garden is already
+full. It may be that James, the head boxer, has overdone the pink
+geraniums this year, but there it is. We can sack him and promote Thomas,
+but the mischief is done. Luckily there are other things we want. What
+about a dove-cot? I should like to see doves cooing round our geraniums."
+
+"Aren't dove-cots very big for a window-box?"
+
+"We could get a small one--for small doves. Do you have to buy the doves
+too, or do they just come? I never know. Or there," I broke off suddenly;
+"my dear, that's just the thing." And I pointed with my stick.
+
+"We have seven clocks already," said Celia.
+
+"But a sun-dial! How romantic. Particularly as only two of the clocks go.
+Celia, if you'd let me have a sun-dial in my window-box, I would
+meet you by it alone sometimes."
+
+"It sounds lovely," she said doubtfully.
+
+"You do want to make this window-box a success, don't you?" I asked as we
+wandered on. "Well, then, help me to buy something for it. I don't
+suggest one of those," and I pointed to a summer-house, "or even a
+weather-cock; but we must do something now we're here. For instance,
+what about one of these patent extension ladders, in case the geraniums
+grow very tall and you want to climb up and smell them? Or would you
+rather have some mushroom spawn? I would get up early and pick the
+mushrooms for breakfast. What do you think?"
+
+"I think it's too hot for anything, and I must sit down. Is this seat an
+exhibit or is it meant for sitting on?"
+
+"It's an exhibit, but we might easily want to buy one some day, when our
+window-box gets bigger. Let's try it."
+
+It was so hot that I think, if the man in charge of the Rustic Bench
+Section had tried to move us on, we should have bought the seat at once.
+But nobody bothered us. Indeed it was quite obvious that the news that we
+owned a large window-box had not yet got about.
+
+"I shall leave you here," I said, after I had smoked a cigarette and
+dipped into the catalogue again, "and make my purchase. It will be quite
+inexpensive; indeed, it is marked in the catalogue at one-and-six-pence,
+which means that they will probably offer me the nine-shilling size
+first. But I shall be firm. Good-bye."
+
+I went and bought one and returned to her with it.
+
+"No, not now," I said, as she held out her hand eagerly. "Wait till we
+get home."
+
+It was cooler now, and we wandered through the tents, chatting
+patronizingly to the stall-keeper whenever we came to pink geraniums.
+At the orchids we were contemptuously sniffy. "Of course," I said, "for
+those who _like_ orchids--" and led the way back to the geraniums
+again. It was an interesting afternoon.
+
+And to our great joy the window-box was in position when we got home
+again.
+
+"Now!" I said dramatically, and I unwrapped my purchase and placed it in
+the middle of our new-made garden.
+
+"Whatever--"
+
+"A slug-trap," I explained proudly.
+
+"But how could slugs get up here?" asked Celia in surprise.
+
+"How do slugs get anywhere? They climb up the walls, or they come up in
+the lift, or they get blown about by the wind--I don't know. They
+can fly up if they like; but, however it be, when they do come, I mean to
+be ready for them."
+
+Still, though our slug-trap will no doubt come in usefully, it is not
+what we really want. What we gardeners really want is rain.
+
+
+
+SISTERLY ASSISTANCE
+
+
+I was talking to a very stupid man the other day. He was the stupidest
+man I have come across for many years. It is a hard thing to say of any
+man, but he appeared to me to be entirely lacking in intellect.
+
+It was Celia who introduced me to him. She had rung up her brother at the
+flat where he was staying, and, finding that he was out, she gave a
+message for him to the porter. It was simply that he was to ring her up
+as soon as he came in.
+
+"Ring up who?" said the porter. At least I suppose he did, for Celia
+repeated her name (and mine) very slowly and distinctly.
+
+"Mrs. who?" said the porter, "What?" or "I can't hear," or something
+equally foolish.
+
+Celia then repeated our name again.
+
+There followed a long conversation between the two of them, the
+audible part of it (that is Celia's) consisting of my name given
+forth in a variety of intonations, in the manner of one who sings an
+anthem--hopefully, pathetically, dramatically, despairingly.
+
+Up to this moment I had been rather attached to my name. True, it wants a
+little explaining to shopkeepers. There are certain consonants
+in it which require to be elided or swallowed or swivelled round the
+glottis, in order to give the name its proper due. But after five or six
+applications the shopkeeper grasps one's meaning.
+
+Well, as I say, I was attached to my name. But after listening to Celia
+for five minutes I realized that there had been some horrible mistake.
+People weren't called that.
+
+"Just wait a moment," I said to her rather anxiously, and picked up the
+telephone book. To my great relief I found that Celia was right. There
+_was_ a person of that name living at my address.
+
+"You're quite right," I said. "Go on."
+
+"I wish I had married somebody called Jones," said Celia, looking up at
+me rather reproachfully. "No, no, not Jones," she added hastily down the
+telephone, and once more she repeated the unhappy name.
+
+"It isn't my fault," I protested. "You did have a choice; I had none. Try
+spelling it. It spells all right."
+
+Celia tried spelling it.
+
+"I'm going to spell it," she announced very distinctly down the
+telephone. "Are you ready? ... M ... No, _M_. M for mother."
+
+That gave me an idea.
+
+"Come away," I said, seizing the telephone; "leave it to me. Now, then,"
+I called to the porter. "Never mind about the name. Just tell him to ring
+up his _sister_." And I looked at Celia triumphantly.
+
+"Ask him to ring up his mother," said the porter. "Very well, sir."
+
+"No, not the mother. That was something else. Forget all about that
+mother. He's to ring up his sister ... _sister_ ... SISTER."
+
+"You'll have to spell it," said Celia.
+
+"I'm going to spell it," I shouted. "Are you ready? ... _S_ for--for
+sister."
+
+"Now you're going to muddle him," murmured Celia.
+
+"S for sister; have you got that? ... No, _sister_, idiot. I for idiot,"
+I added quickly. "S for sister--this is another sister, of course. T
+for two. Got that? No, _two_. Two anything--two more sisters, if you
+like. E for--E for--" I turned helplessly to Celia: "quick, a word to
+begin with E! I've got him moving now. E for--quick, before his tympanum
+runs down."
+
+"Er--er--" Desperately she tried to think.
+
+"E for er," I shouted. "That'll be another sister, I expect ... Celia, I
+believe we ought to spell it with an 'H.' Can't you think of a better
+word?"
+
+"Enny," said Celia, having quite lost her nerve by this time.
+
+"E for enny," I shouted. "Any anything. Any of the sisters I've been
+telling you about. R for--quick, Celia!"
+
+"Rose," she said hastily.
+
+"R for Rose," I shouted. "Rose the flower--or the sister if you like.
+There you are, that's the whole word. Now then, I'll just spell it to
+you over again.... Celia, I want another word for E. That last was a bad
+one."
+
+"Edith?"
+
+"Good."
+
+I took a deep breath and began.
+
+"S for sister. I for Isabel--Isabel is the name of the sister. S for
+another sister--I'll tell you _her_ name directly. T for two sisters,
+these two that we're talking about. E for Edith, that's the second sister
+whose name I was going to tell you. R for Rose. Perhaps I ought to
+explain Rose. She was the sister whom these two sisters were sisters of.
+Got that?" I turned to Celia. "I'm going to get the sister idea into his
+head if I die for it."
+
+"Just a moment, sir," said the dazed voice of the porter.
+
+"What's the matter? Didn't I make it clear about Rose? She was the sister
+whom the--"
+
+"Just hold the line a moment, sir," implored the porter. "Here's the
+gentleman himself coming in."
+
+I handed the telephone to Celia. "Here he is," I said.
+
+But I was quite sorry to go, for I was getting interested in those
+sisters. Rose, I think, will always be my favourite. Her life, though
+short, was full of incident, and there were many things about her which I
+could have told that porter. But perhaps he would not have appreciated
+them. It is a hard thing to say of any man, but he appeared to me to be
+entirely lacking in intellect.
+
+
+
+THE OBVIOUS
+
+
+Celia had been calling on a newly married friend of hers. They had been
+schoolgirls together; they had looked over the same algebra book (or
+whatever it was that Celia learnt at school--I have never been quite
+certain); they had done their calisthenics side by side; they had
+compared picture post cards of Lewis Waller. Ah, me! the fairy princes
+they had imagined together in those days ... and here am I, and somewhere
+in the City (I believe he is a stockbroker) is Ermyntrude's husband, and
+we play our golf on Saturday afternoons, and go to sleep after dinner,
+and--Well, anyhow, they were both married, and Celia had been calling on
+Ermyntrude.
+
+"I hope you did all the right things," I said. "Asked to see the
+wedding-ring, and admired the charming little house, and gave a few hints
+on the proper way to manage a husband."
+
+"Rather," said Celia. "But it did seem funny, because she used to be
+older than me at school."
+
+"Isn't she still?"
+
+"Oh, _no_! I'm ever so much older now.... Talking about wedding-rings,"
+she went on, as she twisted her own round and round, "she's got all sorts
+of things written inside hers--the date and their initials and I don't
+know what else."
+
+"There can't be much else--unless perhaps she has a very large finger."
+
+"Well, I haven't got _anything_ in mine," said Celia, mournfully. She
+took off the offending ring and gave it to me.
+
+On the day when I first put the ring on her finger, Celia swore an oath
+that nothing but death, extreme poverty or brigands should ever remove
+it. I swore too. Unfortunately it fell off in the course of the
+afternoon, which seemed to break the spell somehow. So now it goes off
+and on just like any other ring. I took it from her and looked inside.
+
+"There are all sorts of things here too," I said. "Really, you don't seem
+to have read your wedding-ring at all. Or, anyhow, you've been skipping."
+
+"There's nothing," said Celia in the same mournful voice. "I do think you
+might have put something."
+
+I went and sat on the arm of her chair, and held the ring up.
+
+"You're an ungrateful wife," I said, "after all the trouble I took. Now
+look there," and I pointed with a pencil, "what's the first thing you
+see?"
+
+"Twenty-two. That's only the--"
+
+"That was your age when you married me. I had it put in at enormous
+expense. If you had been eighteen, the man said, or--or nine, it would
+have come much cheaper. But no, I would have your exact age. You were
+twenty-two and that's what I had engraved on it. Very well. Now what do
+you see next to it?"
+
+"A crown."
+
+"Yes. And what does that mean? In the language of--er--crowns it means
+'You are my queen.' I insisted on a crown. It would have been cheaper to
+have had a lion, which means--er--lions, but I was determined not to
+spare myself. For I thought," I went on pathetically, "I quite thought
+you would like a crown."
+
+"Oh, I do," cried Celia quickly, "if it really means that." She took the
+ring in her hands and looked at it lovingly. "And what's that there? Sort
+of a man's head."
+
+I gazed at her sadly.
+
+"You don't recognize it? Has a year of marriage so greatly changed me?
+Celia, it is your Ronald! I sat for that, hour after hour, day after day,
+for your sake, Celia. It is not a perfect likeness; in the small space
+allotted to him the sculptor has hardly done me justice. And there," I
+added, "is his initial 'r.' Oh, woman, the amount of thought I spent on
+that ring!"
+
+She came a little closer and slipped the ring on my finger.
+
+"Spend a little more," she pleaded. "There's plenty of room. Just have
+something nice written in it--something about you and me."
+
+"Like 'Pisgah'?"
+
+"What does that mean?"
+
+"I don't know. Perhaps it's 'Mizpah,' or 'Ichabod,' or 'Habakkuk.' I'm
+sure there's a word you put on rings--I expect they'd know at the shop."
+
+"But I don't want what they know at shops. It must be something quite
+private and special."
+
+"But the shop has got to know about it when I tell them. And I don't like
+telling strange men in shops private and special things about ourselves.
+I love you, Celia, but--"
+
+"That would be a lovely thing," she said, clasping her hands eagerly.
+
+"What?"
+
+"'I love you, Celia.'"
+
+I looked at her aghast.
+
+"Do you want me to order that in cold blood from the shopman?"
+
+"He wouldn't mind. Besides, if he saw us together he'd probably know. You
+aren't afraid of a goldsmith, are you?"
+
+"I'm not afraid of any goldsmith living--or goldfish either, if it come
+to that. But I should prefer to be sentimental in some other language
+than plain English. I could order '_Cars sposa_,' or--or '_Spaghetti,'_
+or anything like that, without a tremor."
+
+"But of course you shall put just whatever you like. Only--only let it be
+original. Not Mizpahs."
+
+"Right," I said.
+
+For three days I wandered past gold and silversmiths with the ring in my
+pocket ... and for three days Celia went about without a wedding-ring,
+and, for all I know, without even her marriage-lines in her muff. And on
+the fourth day I walked boldly in.
+
+"I want," I said, "a wedding-ring engraved," and I felt in my pockets.
+"Not initials," I said, and I felt in some more pockets, "but--but--"
+I tried the trousers pockets again. "Well, look here, I'll be quite frank
+with you. I--er--want--" I fumbled in my ticket-pocket, "I want 'I love
+you' on it," and I went through the waistcoat pockets a third time.
+"'I--er--love you.'"
+
+"Me?" said the shopman, surprised.
+
+"I love you," I repeated mechanically. "I love you. I love you, I--Well,
+look here, perhaps I'd better go back and get the ring."
+
+On the next day I was there again; but there was a different man behind
+the counter.
+
+"I want this ring engraved," I said.
+
+"Certainly. What shall we put?"
+
+I had felt the question coming. I had a sort of instinct that he would
+ask me that. But I couldn't get the words out again.
+
+"Well," I hesitated, "I--er--well."
+
+"Ladies often like the date put in. When is it to be?"
+
+"When is what to be?"
+
+"The wedding," he smiled.
+
+"It has been," I said. "It's all over. You're too late for it."
+
+I gave myself up to thought. At all costs I must be original. There must
+be something on Celia's wedding-ring that had never been in any
+other's....
+
+There was only one thing I could think of.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The engraved ring arrived as we were at tea a few days later, and I had a
+sudden overwhelming fear that Celia would not be pleased. I saw that I
+must explain it to her. After all, there was a distinguished precedent.
+
+"Come into the bath-room a moment," I said, and I led the way.
+
+She followed, wondering.
+
+"What is that?" I asked, pointing to a blue thing on the floor.
+
+"The bath-mat," she said, surprised.
+
+"And what is written on it?"
+
+"Why--'bath-mat,' of course."
+
+"Of course," I said ... and I handed her the wedding-ring.
+
+
+
+
+VI. A FEW GUESTS
+
+
+
+BAD LORD BLIGHT
+
+_(A Moral Story for the Middle-aged)_
+
+I
+
+
+Seated in the well-appointed library of Blight Hall, John Blighter,
+Seventeenth Earl of Blight, bowed his head in his hands and gave himself
+up to despair. The day of reckoning had come.
+
+Were appearances not so deceptive, one would have said that Lord Blight
+("Blight," as he was known familiarly to his friends) was a man to be
+envied. In a revolving book-case in the middle of the spacious library
+were countless treasured volumes, including a complete edition of
+Thackeray; outside in the well-kept grounds of the estate was a new
+lawn-mower; a bottle of sherry, freshly uncorked, stood upon the
+sideboard in the dining-room. But worldly possessions are not everything.
+An untroubled mind, as Shakespeare knew (even if he didn't actually say
+it), is more to be valued than riches. The seventeenth Earl of Blight's
+mind was not untroubled. His conscience was gnawing him.
+
+Some people would say, no doubt, that his conscience was too sensitive.
+True, there were episodes in his past life of which in later years he
+could not wholly approve; but is not this the case with every one of us?
+Far better, as must often have occurred to Milton, to strive for the
+future than to regret the past. Ten years ago Lord Blight had been plain
+John Blighter, with no prospects in front of him. Realizing that he could
+expect little help from others, he decided to push for himself. He began
+by pushing three cousins over the cliffs at Scarborough, thus becoming
+second heir to the earldom. A week later he pushed an elder brother over
+the same cliff, and was openly referred to in the Press as the next
+bearer of the title. Barely a fortnight had elapsed before a final push
+diverted the last member of the family (a valued uncle) into the
+ever-changing sea, the venue in this case being Whitby, presumably in
+order to avoid suspicion.
+
+But all this had happened ten years ago. The past is the past, as
+Wordsworth probably said to Coleridge more than once. It was time for
+Lord Blight to forget these incidents of his eager and impetuous youth.
+Yet somehow he could not. Within the last few days his conscience had
+begun to gnaw him, and in his despair he told himself that at last the
+day of reckoning had come. Poor Blight! It is difficult to withhold our
+sympathy from him.
+
+The door opened, and his wife, the Countess of Blight, came into the
+library.
+
+"Blight!" she whispered. "My poor Blight! What has happened?"
+
+He looked up haggardly.
+
+"Gertie," he said, for that was her name, "it is all over. My sins have
+found me out."
+
+"Not sins," she said gently. "Mistakes."
+
+"Mistakes, yes--you are right." He stretched out a hand, took a letter
+from the desk in front of him and gave it to her. "Read that." With a
+groan he buried his head in his hands again. She took it and read, slowly
+and wonderingly, these words:--
+
+"To lawn-mower as delivered, L5 17s. 6d."
+
+Lord Blight looked up with an impatient ejaculation "Give it to me," he
+said in some annoyance, snatching it away from her and throwing it into
+the waste-paper basket. "Here, this is the one. Read it; read it quickly;
+for we must decide what to do."
+
+She read it with starting eyes.
+
+"DEAR SIR,--I am prepared to lend you anything from L10 to L10,000 on
+your note-of-hand alone. Should you wish--"
+
+"D--n!" said the seventeenth Earl of Blight. "Here, where is the blessed
+thing?" He felt in his pockets. "I must have--I only had it a--Ah, here
+it is. Perhaps I had better read it to you this time." He put on his
+spectacles--a present from an aunt--and read as follows:--
+
+"MY LORD,--We regret to inform you that a claimant to the title has
+arisen. It seems that, soon after the death of his first wife, the
+sixteenth Earl of Blight contracted a second and secret marriage to Ellen
+Podby, by whom he had eleven sons, the eldest of whom is now asserting
+his right to the earldom and estates. Trusting to be favoured with your
+instructions in the matter, We are, my lord,
+
+"Yours faithfully,
+
+"BILLINGS, BILLINGS & BILLINGS."
+
+Gertie (Countess of Blight) looked at her husband in horror.
+
+"Eleven!" she cried.
+
+"Eleven," said the Earl gloomily.
+
+Then a look of grim determination came into his eyes. With the air of one
+who might have been quoting Keats, but possibly wasn't, he said firmly:
+
+"What man has done, man can do."
+
+That evening the Countess of Blight gave orders for eleven spare bedrooms
+to be got ready.
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+On the morning after the arrival of the eleven Podbys (as they had been
+taught to call themselves) John, seventeenth Earl of Blight, spoke
+quite frankly to Algernon, the eldest.
+
+"After all, my dear Algernon," he said, "we are cousins. There is no need
+for harsh words between us. All I ask is that you should forbear to make
+your claim until I have delivered my speech in the House of Lords on the
+Coast Erosion Bill, upon which I feel deeply. Once the Bill is through, I
+shall be prepared to retire in your favour. Meanwhile let us all enjoy
+together the simple pleasures of Blight Hall."
+
+Algernon, a fair young man with a meaningless expression, replied
+suitably.
+
+So for some days the eleven Podbys gave themselves up to pleasure. Percy,
+the youngest, though hardly of an age to appreciate the mechanism of it,
+was allowed to push the lawn-mower. Lancelot and Herbert, who had
+inherited the Podby intellect, were encouraged to browse around the
+revolving bookcase, from which they frequently extracted one of the works
+of Thackeray, replacing it again after a glance at the title page; while
+on one notable occasion the Earl of Blight took Algernon into the
+dining-room at about 11.31 in the morning and helped him to a glass of
+sherry and a slice of sultana cake. In this way the days passed happily,
+and confidence between the eleven Podbys and their cousin was
+established.
+
+It was on a fair spring morning, just a week after their arrival, that
+the Countess of Blight came into the music-room (where Algernon was
+humming a tune) and said, "Ah, Algernon, my husband was looking for you.
+I think he has some little excursion to propose. What a charming day, is
+it not? You will find him in the library."
+
+As Algernon entered the library, Lord Blight looked up from the map he
+was studying and nodded.
+
+"I thought," he said, coming to the point at once, "that it might amuse
+you to drive over with me to Flamborough Head. The view from the top of
+the cliff is considered well worth a visit. I don't know if your tastes
+lie in that direction at all?"
+
+Algernon was delighted at the idea, and replied that nothing would give
+him greater pleasure than to accompany Lord Blight.
+
+"Excellent. Perhaps we had better take some sandwiches and make a day of
+it."
+
+Greatly elated at the thought of a day by the sea, Lord Blight went out
+and gave instructions to the Countess for sandwiches to be cut.
+
+"In two packets, my love," he added, "in case Algernon and I get
+separated."
+
+Half an hour later they started off together in high spirits.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was dark before the seventeenth Earl of Blight returned to the house
+and joined the others at the dinner-table. His face wore a slightly
+worried expression.
+
+"The fact is, my dear," he said, in answer to a question from the
+Countess, "I am a little upset about Algernon. I fear we have lost him."
+
+"Algernon?" said the Countess in surprise.
+
+"Yes. We were standing at the top of Flamborough Head, looking down into
+the sea, when--" He paused and tapped his glass, "Sherry, Jenkins," he
+said, catching the butler's eye.
+
+"I beg your pardon, my lord."
+
+"--When poor Algernon stumbled and--Do any of you boys know if your
+brother can swim?"
+
+Everard, the ninth, said that Algernon had floated once in the Paddington
+Baths, but couldn't swim.
+
+"Ah! I was hoping--But in any case, coming into the water from that
+height--Well, well, we must face our troubles bravely. Another glass of
+sherry, Jenkins."
+
+As they passed through the hall on their way to the drawing-room, Lord
+Blight stopped a moment at the aneroid barometer and gave it an
+encouraging tap.
+
+"It looks like another fine day to-morrow," he said to Cuthbert, the
+second Podby. "The panorama from the Scalby cliffs is unrivalled.
+We might drive over and have a look at it."
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+Fortunately the weather held up. A week later the Podby family had been
+thinned down to five, and the seventeenth Earl of Blight was beginning
+to regain his usual equanimity. His health too was benefiting by the
+constant sea air and change; for, in order that no melancholy
+associations should cast a gloom over their little outings, he took care
+to visit a different health-resort each time, feeling that no expense or
+trouble should be spared in a matter of this kind. It was wonderful with
+what vigour and alertness of mind he sat down in the evenings to the
+preparation of his speech on the Coast Erosion Bill.
+
+One night after dinner, when all the Podby family (Basil and Percy) had
+retired to bed, Gertie (Countess of Blight) came into her husband's
+library and, twirling the revolving bookcase with restless fingers, asked
+if she could interrupt him for a moment.
+
+"Yes?" he said, looking up at her.
+
+"I am anxious, Blight," she answered. "Anxious about Percy."
+
+"So am I, my love," he responded gravely. "I fear that to-morrow"--he
+consulted a leather pocket-book--"no, the day after to-morrow, something
+may happen to him. I have an uneasy feeling. It may be that I am
+superstitious. Yet something tells me that in the Book of Fate the
+names of Percy and Bridlington"--he consulted his diary again--"yes,
+Bridlington; the names, as I was saying, of--"
+
+She interrupted him with an impatient gesture.
+
+"You misunderstand me," she said. "That is not why I am anxious. I am
+anxious because of something I have just learnt about Percy. I am
+afraid he is going to be--"
+
+"Troublesome?" suggested Lord Blight.
+
+She nodded.
+
+"I have learnt to-day," she explained, "that he has a horror of high
+places."
+
+"You mean that on the cliffs of, as it might be, Bridlington some sudden
+unbridled terror may cause him to hurl himself--"
+
+"You will never get him to the cliffs of Bridlington. He can't even look
+out of a first-floor window. He won't walk up the gentlest slope. That is
+why he is always playing with the lawn-mower."
+
+The Earl frowned and tapped on his desk with a penholder.
+
+"This is very grave news, Gertie," he said. "How is it that the boy comes
+to have this unmanly weakness?"
+
+"It seems he has always had it."
+
+"He should have been taken in hand. Even now perhaps it is not too late.
+It is our duty to wean him from these womanish apprehensions."
+
+"Too late. Unless you carried him up there in a sack--?"
+
+"No, no," protested the Earl vigorously. "My dear, the seventeenth Earl
+of Blight carrying a sack! Impossible!"
+
+For a little while there was silence while they brooded over the tragic
+news.
+
+"Perhaps," said the Countess at last, "there are other ways. It may be
+that Percy is fond of fishing."
+
+Lord Blight shifted uncomfortably in his seat. When he spoke it was with
+a curiously apologetic air.
+
+"I am afraid, my dear," he said, "that you will think me foolish. No
+doubt I am. You must put it down to the artistic temperament. But I tell
+you quite candidly that it is as impossible for me to lose Percy in a
+boating accident as it would be for--shall I say?--Sargent to appear as
+'Hamlet' or a violinist to wish to exhibit at the Royal Academy. One has
+one's art, one's medium of expression. It is at the top of the high cliff
+with an open view of the sea that I express myself best. Also," he added
+with some heat, "I feel strongly that what was good enough for Percy's
+father, ten brothers, three half-brothers, not to mention his cousin,
+should be good enough for Percy."
+
+The Countess of Blight moved sadly from the room.
+
+"Well," she said as she stopped for a moment at the door, "we must hope
+for the best. Perhaps Percy will overcome this aversion in time. You
+might talk seriously to him to-morrow about it."
+
+"To-morrow," said the Earl, referring once more to his diary, "Basil and
+I are visiting the romantic scarps of Filey."
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+On the day following the unfortunate accident at Filey the Earl and
+Countess of Blight reclined together upon the cliffs of Bridlington.
+
+"If we only had had Percy here!" sighed the Earl.
+
+"It was something to have got him as far as the beach," said the Countess
+hopefully. "Perhaps in time--a little higher every day--"
+
+The Earl sighed again.
+
+"The need for self-expression comes strongly upon the artist at a time
+like this," he said. "It is not for me to say that I have genius--"
+
+"It is for me to say it, dear," said his wife.
+
+"Well, well, perhaps in my own line. And at the full height of one's
+powers to be baulked by the morbidity, for I can call it nothing else, of
+a Percy Podby! Gertie," he went on dreamily, "I wish I could make you
+understand something of the fascination which an artist finds in his
+medium. To be lying here, at the top of the world, with the lazy sea
+crawling beneath us so many feet below--"
+
+"Look," said the Countess suddenly. She pointed to the beach.
+
+The Earl rose, stretched his head over the edge and gazed down.
+
+"Percy," he said.
+
+"Yes. Almost exactly beneath us."
+
+"If anything fell upon him from here," said the Earl thoughtfully, "it is
+quite possible that--"
+
+Suddenly the fascination whereof he had spoken to her came irresistibly
+home to the Countess.
+
+"Yes," she said, as if in a trance, "if anything fell upon
+him from here--" and she gave her husband a thoughtful
+push--"it--is--quite--possible--that--"
+
+At the word "that" the Earl reached Percy, and simultaneously the title
+expired.
+
+Poor Blight!--or perhaps, since the title was never really his, we should
+say "Poor Blighter!" It is difficult to withhold our sympathy from him.
+
+
+
+HIGH JINKS AT HAPPY-THOUGHT HALL
+
+
+[_An inevitable article in any decent magazine at Christmas-time. Read it
+carefully, and then have an uproarious time in your own little house_.]
+
+It was a merry party assembled at Happy-Thought Hall for Christmas. The
+Squire liked company, and the friends whom he had asked down for the
+festive season had all stayed at Happy-Thought Hall before, and were
+therefore well acquainted with each other. No wonder, then, that the wit
+flowed fast and furious, and that the guests all agreed afterwards that
+they had never spent such a jolly Christmas, and that the best of all
+possible hosts was Squire Tregarthen!
+
+First we must introduce some of the Squire's guests to our readers. The
+Reverend Arthur Manley, a clever young clergyman with a taste for
+gardening, was talking in one corner to Miss Phipps, a pretty girl of
+some twenty summers. Captain Bolsover, a smart cavalry officer, together
+with Professor and Mrs. Smith-Smythe from Oxford, formed a small party in
+another corner. Handsome Jack Ellison was, as usual, in deep conversation
+with the beautiful Miss Holden, who, it was agreed among the ladies of
+the party, was not altogether indifferent to his fine figure and
+remarkable prospects. There were other guests, but as they chiefly played
+the part of audience in the events which followed their names will not be
+of any special interest to our readers. Suffice it to say that they were
+all intelligent, well-dressed, and ready for any sort of fun.
+
+(_Now, thank heaven, we can begin_.)
+
+A burst of laughter from Captain Bolsover attracted general attention,
+and everybody turned in his direction.
+
+"By Jove, Professor, that's good," he said, as he slapped his knee; "you
+must tell the others that."
+
+"It was just a little incident that happened to me to-day as I was coming
+down here," said the Professor, as he beamed round on the company. "I
+happened to be rather late for my train, and as I bought my ticket I
+asked the clerk what time it was. He replied, 'If it takes six seconds
+for a clock to strike six, how long will it take to strike twelve?' I
+said twelve seconds, but it seems I was wrong."
+
+The others all said twelve seconds too, but they were all wrong. Can
+_you_ guess the right answer?
+
+When the laughter had died down, the Reverend Arthur Manley said:
+
+"That reminds me of an amusing experience which occurred to my
+housekeeper last Friday. She was ordering a little fish for my lunch, and
+the fishmonger, when asked the price of herrings, replied, 'Three
+ha'pence for one and a half,' to which my housekeeper said, 'Then I will
+have twelve.' How much did she pay?" He smiled happily at the company.
+
+"One--and--sixpence, of course," said Miss Phipps.
+
+"No, no; ninepence," cried the Squire with a hearty laugh.
+
+Captain Bolsover made it come to Ll 3s. 2-1/2d., and the Professor
+thought fourpence. But once again they were all wrong. What do _you_ make
+it come to?
+
+It was now Captain Bolsover's turn for an amusing puzzle, and the others
+turned eagerly towards him.
+
+"What was that one about a door?" said the Squire. "You were telling me
+when we were out shooting yesterday, Bolsover."
+
+Captain Bolsover looked surprised.
+
+"Ah, no, it was young Reggie Worlock," said the Squire with a hearty
+laugh.
+
+"Oh, do tell us, Squire," said everybody.
+
+"It was just a little riddle, my dear," said the Squire to Miss Phipps,
+always a favourite of his. "When is a door not a door?"
+
+Miss Phipps said when it was a cucumber; but she was wrong. So were the
+others. See if _you_ can be more successful.
+
+"Yes, that's very good," said Captain Bolsover; "it reminds me of
+something which occurred during the Boer War."
+
+Everybody listened eagerly.
+
+"We were just going into action, and I happened to turn round to my men
+and say, 'Now, then, boys, give 'em beans!' To my amusement one of them
+replied smartly, 'How many blue beans make five?' We were all so
+interested in working it out that we never got into action at all."
+
+"But that's easy," said the Professor. "Five."
+
+"Four," said Miss Phipps. (She would. Silly kid!)
+
+"Six," said the Squire.
+
+Which was right?
+
+Jack Ellison had been silent during the laughter and jollity, always such
+a feature of Happy-Thought Hall at Christmas-time, but now he contributed
+an ingenious puzzle to the amusement of the company.
+
+"I met a man in a motor-'bus," he said in a quiet voice, "who told me
+that he had four sons. The eldest son, Abraham, had a dog who used to
+go and visit the three brothers occasionally. The dog, my informant told
+me, was very unwilling to go over the same ground twice, and yet being in
+a hurry wished to take the shortest journey possible. How did he manage
+it?"
+
+For a little while the company was puzzled. Then, after deep thought, the
+Professor said:
+
+"It depends on where they lived."
+
+"Yes," said Ellison. "I forgot to say that my acquaintance drew me a
+map." He produced a paper from his pocket. "Here it is."
+
+The others immediately began to puzzle over the answer, Miss Phipps being
+unusually foolish, even for her. It was some time before they discovered
+the correct route. What do _you_ think it is?
+
+"Well," said the Squire, with a hearty laugh, "it's time for bed."
+
+One by one they filed off, saying what a delightful evening they had had.
+Jack Ellison was particularly emphatic, for the beautiful Miss Holden
+had promised to be his wife. He, for one, will never forget Christmas at
+Happy-Thought Hall.
+
+
+
+THE ARRIVAL OF BLACKMAN'S WARBLER
+
+
+I am become an Authority on Birds. It happened in this way.
+
+The other day we heard the Cuckoo in Hampshire. (The next morning the
+papers announced that the Cuckoo had been heard in Devonshire--possibly a
+different one, but in no way superior to ours except in the matter of its
+Press agent.) Well, everybody in the house said, "Did you hear the
+Cuckoo?" to everybody else, until I began to get rather tired of it; and,
+having told everybody several times that I _had_ heard it, I tried to
+make the conversation more interesting. So, after my tenth "Yes," I added
+quite casually:
+
+"But I haven't heard the Tufted Pipit yet. It's funny why it should be so
+late this year."
+
+"Is that the same as the Tree Pipit?" said my hostess, who seemed to know
+more about birds than I had hoped.
+
+"Oh, no," I said quickly.
+
+"What's the difference exactly?"
+
+"Well, one is tufted," I said, doing my best, "and the other--er--climbs
+trees."
+
+"Oh, I see."
+
+"And of course the eggs are more speckled," I added, gradually acquiring
+confidence.
+
+"I often wish I knew more about birds," she said regretfully. "You must
+tell us something about them now we've got you here."
+
+And all this because of one miserable Cuckoo!
+
+"By all means," I said, wondering how long it would take to get a book
+about birds down from London.
+
+However, it was easier than I thought. We had tea in the garden that
+afternoon, and a bird of some kind struck up in the plane-tree.
+
+"There, now," said my hostess, "what's that?"
+
+I listened with my head on one side. The bird said it again.
+
+"That's the Lesser Bunting," I said hopefully.
+
+"The Lesser Bunting," said an earnest-looking girl; "I shall always
+remember that."
+
+I hoped she wouldn't, but I could hardly say so. Fortunately the bird
+lesser-bunted again, and I seized the opportunity of playing for safety.
+
+"Or is it the Sardinian White-throat?" I wondered. "They have very much
+the same note during the breeding season. But of course the eggs are more
+speckled," I added casually.
+
+And so on for the rest of the evening. You see how easy it is.
+
+However, the next afternoon a more unfortunate occurrence occurred. A
+real Bird Authority came to tea. As soon as the information leaked out, I
+sent up a hasty prayer for bird-silence until we had got him safely out
+of the place; but it was not granted. Our feathered songster in the
+plane-tree broke into his little piece.
+
+"There," said my hostess--"there's that bird again." She turned to me.
+"What did you say it was?"
+
+I hoped that the Authority would speak first, and that the others would
+then accept my assurance that they had misunderstood me the day before;
+but he was entangled at that moment in a watercress sandwich, the loose
+ends of which were still waiting to be tucked away.
+
+I looked anxiously at the girl who had promised to remember, in case she
+wanted to say something, but she also was silent. Everybody was silent
+except that miserable bird.
+
+Well, I had to have another go at it. "Blackman's Warbler," I said
+firmly.
+
+"Oh, yes," said my hostess.
+
+"Blackman's Warbler; I shall always remember that," lied the
+earnest-looking girl.
+
+The Authority, who was free by this time, looked at me indignantly.
+
+"Nonsense," he said; "it's the Chiff-chaff."
+
+Everybody else looked at me reproachfully. I was about to say that
+"Blackman's Warbler" was the local name for the Chiff-chaff in our part
+of Somerset, when the Authority spoke again.
+
+"The Chiff-chaff," he said to our hostess with an insufferable air of
+knowledge.
+
+I wasn't going to stand that.
+
+"So _I_ thought when I heard it first," I said, giving him a gentle
+smile. It was now the Authority's turn to get the reproachful looks.
+
+"Are they very much alike?" my hostess asked me, much impressed.
+
+"Very much. Blackmail's Warbler is often mistaken for the Chiff-chaff,
+even by so-called experts"--and I turned to the Authority and
+added, "Have another sandwich, won't you?"--"particularly so, of course,
+during the breeding season. It is true that the eggs are more speckled,
+but--"
+
+"Bless my soul," said the Authority, but it was easy to see that he was
+shaken, "I should think I know a Chiff-chaff when I hear one."
+
+"Ah, but do you know a Blackman's Warbler? One doesn't often hear them in
+this country. Now in Algiers--"
+
+The bird said "Chiff-chaff" again with an almost indecent plainness of
+speech.
+
+"There you are!" I said triumphantly. "Listen," and I held up a finger.
+"You notice the difference? _Obviously_ a Blackman's Warbler."
+
+Everybody looked at the Authority. He was wondering how long it would
+take to get a book about birds down from London, and deciding that
+it couldn't be done that afternoon. Meanwhile he did not dare to
+repudiate me. For all he had caught of our mumbled introduction I might
+have been Blackman myself.
+
+"Possibly you're right," he said reluctantly.
+
+Another bird said "Chiff-chaff" from another tree and I thought it wise
+to be generous. "There," I said, "now that _was_ a Chiff-chaff."
+
+The earnest-looking girl remarked (silly creature) that it sounded just
+like the other one, but nobody took any notice of her. They were all
+busy admiring me.
+
+Of course I mustn't meet the Authority again, because you may be pretty
+sure that when he got back to his books he looked up Blackman's Warbler
+and found that there was no such animal. But if you mix in the right
+society, and only see the wrong people once, it is really quite easy to
+be an authority on birds--or, I imagine, on anything else.
+
+
+
+THE LAST STRAW
+
+
+It was one of those summer evenings with the chill on, so after dinner we
+lit the smoking-room fire and wondered what to do. There were eight of
+us; just the right number for two bridge tables, or four picquet pairs,
+or eight patience singles.
+
+"Oh, no, not cards," said Celia quickly. "They're so dull."
+
+"Not when you get a grand slam," said our host, thinking of an accident
+which had happened to him the night before.
+
+"Even then I don't suppose anybody laughed."
+
+Peter and I, who were partners on that occasion, admitted that we hadn't
+laughed.
+
+"Well, there you are," said Celia triumphantly. "Let's play proverbs."
+
+"I don't think I know it," said Herbert. (He wouldn't.)
+
+"Oh, it's quite easy. First you think of a proverb."
+
+"Like 'A burnt camel spoils the moss,'" I explained.
+
+"You mean 'A burnt child dreads the fire,'" corrected Herbert.
+
+Celia caught my eye and went on hurriedly, "Well, then somebody goes
+outside, and then he asks questions--"
+
+"From outside?" asked Mrs. Herbert.
+
+"From inside," I assured her. "Generally from very near the fire, because
+he has got so cold waiting in the hall."
+
+"Oh, yes, I see."
+
+"And then he asks questions, and we each have to get one of the words of
+the proverb into our answer, without letting him know what the proverb
+is. It's rather fun."
+
+Peter and his wife, who knew the game, agreed. Mrs. Herbert seemed
+resigned to the worst, but Herbert, though faint, was still pursuing.
+
+"But doesn't he _guess_ what the proverb is?" he asked.
+
+"Sometimes," I admitted. "But sometimes, if we are very, very clever, he
+doesn't. That, in fact, is the game."
+
+Our host got up and went to the door.
+
+"I think I see," he said; "and I want my pipe anyhow. So I'll go out
+first."
+
+"Now then," said Celia, when the door was safely closed, "what shall we
+have?"
+
+Of course you know this game, and you know the difficulty of thinking of
+a proverb which has no moss or stable-doors or glasshouses in it; all
+of them words which it is impossible to include naturally in an answer to
+an ordinary question. The proverbs which Mrs. Herbert suggested were
+full of moss.
+
+"What about 'It's never too late to mend?'" said Mrs. Peter. "The only
+difficult word is 'mend.'"
+
+"We mustn't have less than seven words, one for each of us."
+
+"Can't we get something from Solomon for a change?" said Peter. "'A
+roaring lion is a calamity to its father, but the cautious man cometh
+not again.' That sort of thing."
+
+"We might try it," said Celia doubtfully, not feeling quite sure if it
+were a real proverb; "but 'cometh' would be difficult."
+
+"I don't see why," said Herbert. "One could always work it in somehow."
+
+"Well, of course, if he asked you, 'By what train cometh thou up in the
+mornings?' you could answer, 'I cometh up by the ten-fifteen.' Only you
+don't get that sort of question as a rule."
+
+"Oh, I see," said Herbert. "I didn't quite understand."
+
+"After all, its really much more fun having camels and things," said
+Celia. "'It's the last straw that breaks the camel's back.' Who'll do
+'camels'? You'd better," she added kindly to me.
+
+Everybody but myself seemed to think that this was much more fun.
+
+"I'll do 'straw,'" said Peter generously, whereupon Celia volunteered for
+"breaks." There were seven of us for nine words. We gave Mrs. Herbert the
+second "the," fearing to trust her with anything more alarming and in
+order to keep it in the family we gave the other "the" to Herbert, who
+was also responsible for "back." Our hostess had "last" and Mrs. Peter
+had "that."
+
+All this being settled, our host was admitted into his smoking-room
+again.
+
+"You begin with me," I said, and I was promptly asked, "How many blue
+beans make five?" When I had made a suitable answer into which "it's"
+came without much difficulty, our host turned to Herbert. Herbert's face
+had already assumed a look of strained expectancy.
+
+"Well, Herbert, what do you think of Lloyd George?"
+
+"Yes," said Herbert. "Yes--er--yes." He wiped the perspiration from his
+brow. "He--er--that is to say--er--Lloyd George, yes."
+
+"Is that the answer?" said our host, rather surprised.
+
+Herbert explained hastily that he hadn't really begun yet, and with the
+aid of an anecdote about a cousin of his who had met Winston Churchill
+at Dieppe once, he managed to get "the" in several times before blowing
+his nose vigorously and announcing that he had finished.
+
+"I believe he's playing a different game," murmured Celia to Mrs. Peter.
+
+The next three words were disposed of easily enough, a lucky question to
+Peter about the weather giving him an opportunity to refer to his straw
+hat. It was now Celia's turn for "breaks."
+
+"Nervous?" I asked her.
+
+"All of a twitter," she said.
+
+"Well, Celia," said our host, "how long are you going to stay with us?"
+
+"Oh, a long time yet," said Celia confidently.
+
+"Till Wednesday, anyhow," I interrupted, thinking it a good opportunity
+to clinch the matter.
+
+"We generally stay," explained Celia, "until our host breaks it to us
+that he can't stick us any longer."
+
+"Not that that often happens," I added.
+
+"Look here, which of you is answering the question?"
+
+"I am," said Celia firmly.
+
+"Well, have you answered it yet?"
+
+"To tell the truth I've quite forgotten the word that--Oh, I remember
+now. Yes," she went on very distinctly and slowly, "I hope to remain
+under your roof until next Wednesday morn. Whew!" and she fanned herself
+with her handkerchief.
+
+Mrs. Herbert repeated her husband's triumph with "the," and then it was
+my turn again for these horrible camels. My only hope was that our host
+would ask me if I had been to the Zoo lately, but I didn't see why he
+should. He didn't.
+
+"Would it surprise you to hear," he asked, "that the President of
+Czecho-Slovakia has a very long beard?"
+
+"If it had only been 'goats,'" I murmured to myself. Aloud I said,
+"What?" in the hope of gaining a little more time.
+
+He repeated his question.
+
+"No," I said slowly, "no, it wouldn't," and I telegraphed an appeal to
+Celia for help. She nodded back at me.
+
+"Have you finished?" asked our host.
+
+"Good Lord, no, I shall be half an hour yet. The fact is you've asked the
+wrong question. You see, I've got to get in 'moss.'"
+
+"I thought it was 'camels,'" said Celia carelessly.
+
+"No, 'moss.' Now if you'd only asked me a question about gardening--You
+see, the proverb we wanted to have first of all was 'People who live in
+glass houses shouldn't throw stones,' only 'throw' was so difficult.
+Almost as difficult as--" I turned to Celia. "What was it you said just
+now? Oh yes, camels. Or stable doors, or frying-pans. However, there it
+is." And I enlarged a little more on the difficulty of getting in these
+difficult words.
+
+"Thank you very much," said our host faintly when I had finished.
+
+It was the last straw which broke the camel's back, and it was Herbert
+who stepped forward blithely with the last straw. Our host, as he
+admitted afterwards, was still quite in the dark, and with his last
+question he presented Herbert with an absolute gift.
+
+"When do you go back to Devonshire?" he asked.
+
+"We--er--return next month," answered Herbert. "I should say," he added
+hastily, "we go _back_ next month."
+
+My own private opinion was that the sooner he returned to Devonshire the
+better.
+
+
+
+DISILLUSIONED
+
+
+The card was just an ordinary card,
+The letter just an ordinary letter.
+The letter simply said "Dear Mr. Brown,
+I'm asked by Mrs. Phipp to send you this";
+The card said, "Mrs. Philby Phipp, At Home,"
+And in a corner, "Dancing, 10 p.m.,"
+No more--except a date, a hint in French
+That a reply would not be deemed offensive,
+And, most important, Mrs. Phipp's address.
+
+Destiny, as the poets have observed
+(Or will do shortly) is a mighty thing.
+It takes us by the ear and lugs us firmly
+Down different paths towards one common goal,
+Paths pre-appointed, not of our own choosing;
+Or sometimes throws two travellers together,
+Marches them side by side for half a mile,
+Then snatches them apart and hauls them onward.
+Thus happened it that Mrs. Phipp and I
+Had never met to any great extent,
+Had never met, as far as I remembered,
+At all.... And yet there must have been a time
+When she and I were very near together,
+When some one told her, "_That_ is Mr. Brown,"
+Or introduced us "_This_ is Mr. Brown,"
+Or asked her if she'd heard of Mr. Brown;
+I know not what, I only know that now
+She stood At Home in need of Mr. Brown,
+And I had pledged myself to her assistance.
+
+Behold me on the night, the latest word
+In all that separates the gentleman
+(And waiters) from the evening-dress-less mob,
+And graced, moreover, by the latest word
+In waistcoats such as mark one from the waiters.
+My shirt, I must not speak about my shirt;
+My tie, I cannot dwell upon my tie--
+Enough that all was neat, harmonious,
+And suitable to Mrs. Philby Phipp.
+Behold me, then, complete. A hasty search
+To find the card, and reassure myself
+That this is certainly the day--(It is)--
+And 10 p.m. the hour; "p.m.," not "a.m.,"
+Not after breakfast--good; and then outside,
+To jump into a cab and take the winds,
+The cold east winds of March, with beauty. So.
+
+Let us get on more quickly. Looms ahead
+Tragedy. Let us on and have it over.
+
+I hung with men and women on the stairs
+And watched the tall white footman take the names,
+And heard him shout them out, and there I shaped
+My own name ready for him, "Mr. Brown."
+And Mrs. Philby Phipp, hearing the name,
+Would, I imagined, brighten suddenly
+And smile and say, "How _are_ you, Mr. Brown?"
+And in an instant I'd remember her,
+And where we met, and who was Mr. Phipp,
+And all the jolly time at Grindelwald
+(If that was where it was); and she and I
+Would talk of Art and Politics and things
+As we had talked these many years ago....
+So "Mr. Brown" I murmured to the man,
+And he--the fool!--he took a mighty breath
+And shouted, "Mr. BROWNIE!"--Brownie! Yes,
+He shouted "Mr. BROWNIE" to the roof.
+And Mrs. Philby Phipp, hearing the name,
+Brightened up suddenly and smiled and said,
+"How _are_ you, Mr. Brownie?"--(Brownie! Lord!)
+And, while my mouth was open to protest,
+"_How_ do you do?" to some one at the back.
+So I was passed along into the crowd
+As Brownie!
+
+Who on earth is Mr. Brownie?
+Did he, I wonder, he and Mrs. Phipp
+Talk Art and Politics at Grindelwald,
+Or did one simply point him out to her
+With "_That_ is Mr. Brownie?" Were they friends,
+Dear friends, or casual acquaintances?
+She brightened at his name, some memory
+Came back to her that brought a happy smile--Why
+surely they were friends! But _I_ am Brown,
+A stranger, all unknown to Mrs. Phipp,
+As she to me, a common interloper--I
+see it now--an uninvited guest,
+Whose card was clearly meant for Mr. Brownie.
+Soft music fell, and the kaleidoscope
+Of lovely woman glided, swayed and turned
+Beneath the shaded lights; but Mr. Brownie
+(_Ne_ Brown, not Brownie) stood upon one side
+And brooded silently. Some spoke to him;
+Whether to Brown or Brownie mattered not,
+He did not answer, did not notice them,
+Just stood and brooded.... Then went home to bed.
+
+
+
+A FEW TRICKS FOR CHRISTMAS
+
+(_In the manner of many contemporaries_)
+
+
+Now that the "festive season" (_copyright_) is approaching, it behoves
+us all to prepare ourselves in some way to contribute to the gaiety of
+the Christmas house-party. A clever conjurer is welcome anywhere, and
+those of us whose powers of entertainment are limited to the setting of
+booby-traps or the arranging of apple-pie beds must view with envy the
+much greater tribute of laughter and applause which is the lot of the
+prestidigitator with some natural gift for legerdemain. Fortunately there
+are a few simple conjuring tricks which are within the reach of us all.
+With practice even the clumsiest of us can obtain sufficient dexterity in
+the art of illusion to puzzle the most observant of our fellow-guests.
+The few simple tricks which I am about to explain, if studied diligently
+for a few days before Christmas, will make a genuine addition to the
+gaiety of any gathering, and the amateur prestidigitator (if I may use
+that word again) will find that he is amply repaying the hospitality of
+his host and hostess by his contribution to the general festivity.
+
+So much by way of introduction. It is a difficult style of writing to
+keep up, particularly when the number of synonyms for "conjuring" is so
+strictly limited. Let me now get to the tricks. I call the first
+
+
+HOLDING THE LEMON
+
+For this trick you want a lemon and a pack of ordinary playing-cards.
+Cutting the lemon in two, you hand half to one member of your audience
+and half to another, asking them to hold the halves up in full view of
+the company. Then, taking the pack of cards in your own hands, you offer
+it to a third member of the party, requesting him to select a card and
+examine it carefully. When he has done this he puts it back in the pack,
+and you seize this opportunity to look hurriedly at the face of it,
+discovering (let us say) that it is the five of spades. Once more you
+shuffle the pack; and then, going through the cards one by one, you will
+have no difficulty in locating the five of spades, which you will hold up
+to the company with the words "I think this is your card, sir"--whereupon
+the audience will testify by its surprise and appreciation that you have
+guessed correctly.
+
+It will be noticed that, strictly speaking, the lemon is not a necessary
+adjunct of this trick; but the employment of it certainly adds an air of
+mystery to the initial stages of the illusion, and this air of mystery
+is, after all, the chief stock-in-trade of the successful conjurer.
+
+For my next trick, which I call
+
+
+THE ILLUSORY EGG
+
+and which is most complicated, you require a sponge, two tablecloths, a
+handful of nuts, a rabbit, five yards of coloured ribbon, a top-hat with
+a hole in it, a hard-boiled egg, two florins and a gentleman's watch.
+Having obtained all these things, which may take some time, you put the
+two tablecloths aside and separate the other articles into two heaps, the
+rabbit, the top-hat, the hard-boiled egg, and the handful of nuts being
+in one heap, and the ribbon, the sponge, the gentleman's watch and the
+two florins in the other. This being done, you cover each heap with a
+tablecloth, so that none of the objects beneath is in any way visible.
+Then you invite any gentleman in the audience to think of a number. Let
+us suppose he thinks of 38. In that case you ask any lady in the audience
+to think of an odd number, and she suggests (shall we say?) 29. Then,
+asking the company to watch you carefully, you--you--
+
+To tell the truth, I have forgotten just what it is you _do_ do, but I
+know that it is a very good trick, and never fails to create laughter and
+bewilderment. It is distinctly an illusion worth trying, and, if you
+begin it in the manner I have described, quite possibly some way of
+finishing it up will occur to you on the spur of the moment. By
+multiplying the two numbers together and passing the hard-boiled egg
+through the sponge and then taking the ... or is it the--Anyway,
+I'm certain you have to have a piece of elastic up the sleeve ... and I
+know one of the florins has to--No, it's no good, I can't remember it.
+
+But mention of the two numbers reminds me of a trick which I haven't
+forgotten. It is a thought-reading illusion, and always creates the
+_maximum_ of wonderment amongst the audience. It is called
+
+
+THE THREE QUESTIONS
+
+As before, you ask a gentleman in the company to write down a number on a
+piece of paper, and a lady to write down another number. These numbers
+they show to the other guests. You then inform the company that you will
+ask any one of them three questions, and by the way they are answered you
+will guess what the product of the two numbers is. (For instance, if the
+numbers were 13 and 17, then 13 multiplied by 17 is--let's see, thirteen
+sevens are--thirteen sevens--seven threes are twenty-one, seven times one
+is--well, look here, let's suppose the numbers are 10 and 17. Then the
+product is 170, and 170 is the number you have got to guess.)
+
+Well, the company selects a lady to answer your questions, and the first
+thing you ask her is: "When was Magna Charta signed?" Probably she says
+that she doesn't know. Then you say, "What is the capital of Persia?" She
+answers Timbuctoo, or Omar Khayyam, according to how well informed she
+is. Then comes your last question: "What makes lightning?" She is
+practically certain to say, "Oh, the thunder." Then you tell her that the
+two numbers multiplied together come to 170.
+
+How is this remarkable trick performed? It is quite simple. The two
+people whom you asked to think of the numbers are confederates, and you
+arranged with them beforehand that they should write down 10 and 17. Of
+course it would be a much better trick if they weren't confederates;
+but in that case I don't quite know how you would do it.
+
+I shall end up this interesting and instructive article with a rather
+more difficult illusion. For the tricks I have already explained it was
+sufficient that the amateur prestidigitator (I shall only say this once
+more) should know how it was done; for my last trick he will also require
+a certain aptitude for legerdemain in order to do it. But a week's quiet
+practice at home will give him all the skill that is necessary.
+
+
+THE MYSTERIOUS PUDDING
+
+is one of the oldest and most popular illusions. You begin by borrowing a
+gold watch from one of your audience. Having removed the works, you wrap
+the empty case up in a handkerchief and hand it back to him, asking him
+to put it in his waistcoat pocket. The works you place in an ordinary
+pudding basin and proceed to pound up with a hammer. Having reduced them
+to powder, you cover the basin with another handkerchief, which you
+borrow from a member of the company, and announce that you are about to
+make a plum-pudding. Cutting a small hole in the top of the handkerchief,
+you drop a lighted match through the aperture; whereupon the handkerchief
+flares up. When the flames have died down you exhibit the basin, wherein
+(to the surprise of all) is to be seen an excellent Christmas pudding,
+which you may ask your audience to sample. At the same time you tell the
+owner of the watch that if he feels in his pockets he will find his
+property restored to him intact; and to his amazement he discovers that
+the works in some mysterious way have got back into his watch, and that
+the handkerchief in which it was wrapped up has gone!
+
+Now for the explanation of this ingenious illusion. The secret of it is
+that you have a second basin, with a pudding in it, concealed in the palm
+of your right hand. At the critical moment, when the handkerchief flares
+up, you take advantage of the excitement produced to substitute the one
+basin for the other. The watch from which you extract the works is not
+the borrowed one, but one which you have had concealed between the third
+and fourth fingers of the left hand. You show the empty case of this
+watch to the company, before wrapping the watch in the handkerchief
+and handing it back to its owner. Meanwhile with the aid of a little wax
+you have attached an invisible hair to the handkerchief, the other end of
+it being fastened to the palm of your left hand. With a little practice
+it is not difficult to withdraw the handkerchief, by a series of trifling
+jerks, from, the pocket of your fellow-guest to its resting place between
+the first and second finger of your left hand.
+
+One word more. I am afraid that the borrowed handkerchief to which you
+applied the match really did get burnt, and you will probably have to
+offer the owner one of your own instead. That is the only weak spot in
+one of the most baffling tricks ever practised by the amateur
+prestidigitator (to use the word for the last time). It will make a
+fitting climax to your evening's entertainment--an entertainment which
+will ensure you another warm invitation next year when the "festive
+season" (_copyright_) comes upon us once again.
+
+
+
+
+VII. AND OTHERS
+
+
+
+MY FILM SCENARIO
+
+
+[Specially written for Economic Pictures, Limited, whose Manager
+has had the good fortune to pick up for a mere song (or, to be more
+accurate, for a few notes) several thousand miles of discarded cinema
+films from a bankrupt company. The films comprise the well-known
+"Baresark Basil, the Pride of the Ranch" (two miles long), "The Foiler
+Foiled" (one mile, three furlongs, two rods, poles or perches), "The
+Blood-stained Vest" (fragment--eighteen inches), "A Maniac's Revenge"
+(5,000 feet), "The Life of the Common Mosquito" (six legs), and so
+forth.]
+
+Twenty-five years before our film opens, Andrew Bellingham, a young man
+just about to enter his father's business, was spending a holiday in a
+little fishing village in Cornwall. The daughter of the sheep-farmer
+with whom he lodged was a girl of singular beauty, and Andrew's youthful
+blood was quickly stirred to admiration. Carried away by his passion for
+her, he--
+
+[MANAGER. _Just a reminder that Mr. T.P. O'Connor has to pass this before
+it can be produced_.]--he married her--
+
+[MANAGER. _Oh, I beg pardon_.]--and for some weeks they lived happily
+together. One day he informed Jessie that he would have to go back to his
+work in London, and that it might be a year or more before he could
+acknowledge her openly as his wife to his rich and proud parents. Jessie
+was prostrated with grief; and late that afternoon her hat and fringe-net
+were discovered by the edge of the waters. Realizing at once that she
+must have drowned herself in her distress, Andrew took an affecting
+farewell of her father and the sheep, and returned to London. A year
+later he married a distant cousin, and soon rose to a condition of
+prosperity. At the time our film begins to unwind, he was respected by
+everybody in the City, a widower, and the father of a beautiful girl of
+eighteen called Hyacinth.
+
+[MANAGER. _Now we're off. What do we start with?_]
+
+
+
+I
+
+
+On the sunny side of Fenchurch Street--
+
+[MANAGER. _Ah, then I suppose we'd better keep back the Rescue from the
+Alligator and the Plunge down Niagara in a Barrel_.]
+
+--Andrew Bellingham was dozing in his office. Suddenly he awoke to find a
+strange man standing over him.
+
+"Who are you?" asked Mr. Bellingham. "What do you want?"
+
+"My name is Jasper," was the answer, "and I have some information to give
+you." He bent down and hissed, "_Your first wife is still alive_!"
+
+Andrew started up in obvious horror. "My daughter," he gasped, "my little
+Hyacinth! She must never know."
+
+"Listen. Your wife is in Spain--
+
+[MANAGER. _Don't waste her. Make it somewhere where there are sharks_.
+
+AUTHOR. _It's all right, she's dead really_.]--and she will not trouble
+you. Give me a thousand pounds and you shall have these; and he held out
+a packet containing the marriage certificate, a photograph of Jessie's
+father dipping a sheep, a receipted bill for a pair of white gloves,
+size 9-1/2, two letters signed "Your own loving little Andy Pandy," and a
+peppermint with "Jess" on it in pink. Once these are locked up in your
+safe, no one need ever know that you were married in Cornwall twenty-five
+years ago."
+
+Without a moment's hesitation Mr. Bellingham took a handful of bank notes
+from his pocketbook, and the exchange was made. At all costs he must
+preserve his little Hyacinth from shame. Now she need never know. With a
+forced smile he bowed Jasper out, placed the packet in his safe and
+returned to his desk.
+
+But his mysterious visitor was not done with yet. As soon as the door had
+closed behind him Jasper re-entered softly, drugged Andrew hastily, and
+took possession again of the compromising documents. By the time Mr.
+Bellingham had regained his senses the thief was away. A hue-and-cry
+was raised, police whistles were blown, and Richard Harrington, Mr.
+Bellingham's private secretary, was smartly arrested.
+
+At the trial things looked black against Richard. He was poor and he was
+in love with Hyacinth; the chain of evidence was complete. In spite of
+his impassioned protest from the dock, in spite of Hyacinth's dramatic
+swoon in front of the solicitor's table, the judge with great solemnity
+passed sentence of twenty years' penal servitude. A loud "Hear, hear"
+from the gallery rang through the court, and, looking up, Mr. Bellingham
+caught the sardonic eye of the mysterious Jasper.
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+Richard had been in prison a month before the opportunity for his escape
+occurred. For a month he had been hewing stone in Portland, black
+despair at his heart. Then, like lightning, he saw his chance and took
+it. The warders were off guard for a moment. Hastily lifting his
+pickaxe--
+
+[MANAGER. _Sorry, but it's a spade in the only prison film we've got_.]
+
+Hastily borrowing a spade from a comrade who was digging potatoes, he
+struck several of his gaolers down, and, dodging the shots of others
+who hurried to the scene, he climbed the prison wall and dashed for
+freedom.
+
+Reaching Weymouth at nightfall, he made his way to the house which
+Hyacinth had taken in order to be near him, and, suitably disguised,
+travelled up to London with her in the powerful motor which she had kept
+ready. "At last, my love, we are together," he murmured as they
+neared Wimbledon. But he had spoken a moment too soon. An aeroplane
+swooped down upon them, and Hyacinth was snatched from his arms
+and disappeared with her captors into the clouds.
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+Richard's first act on arriving in London was to go to Mr. Bellingham's
+house. Andrew was out, but a note lying on his study carpet, "_Meet me at
+the Old Windmill to-night,"_ gave him a clue. On receipt of this note
+Andrew had gone to the rendezvous, and it was no surprise to him when
+Jasper stepped out and offered to sell him a packet containing a marriage
+certificate, a photograph of an old gentleman dipping a sheep, a
+peppermint lozenge with "Jess" on it, and various other documents for a
+thousand pounds.
+
+"You villain," cried Andrew, "even at the trial I suspected you," and he
+rushed at him fiercely.
+
+A desperate struggle ensued. Breaking free for a moment from the
+vice-like grip of the other, Jasper leapt with the spring of a panther at
+one of the sails of the windmill as it came round, and was whirled
+upwards; with the spring of another panther, Andrew leapt on to the next
+sail and was whirled after him. At that moment the wind dropped, and the
+combatants were suspended in mid-air.
+
+It was upon this terrible scene that Richard arrived. Already a crowd was
+collecting; and, though at present it did not seem greatly alarmed,
+feeling convinced that it was only assisting at another cinematograph
+rehearsal, its suspicions might at any moment be aroused. With a shout
+he dashed into the mill. Seeing him coming Jasper dropped his revolver
+and slid down the sail into the window. In a moment he reappeared at the
+door of the mill with Hyacinth under his arm. "Stop him!" cried Richard
+from underneath a sack of flour. It was no good. Jasper had leapt with
+his fair burden upon the back of his mustang and was gone....
+
+The usual pursuit followed.
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+It was the gala night at the Royal Circus. Ricardo Harringtoni, the
+wonderful new acrobat of whom everybody was talking, stood high above
+the crowd on his platform. His marvellous performance on the swinging
+horizontal bar was about to begin. Richard Harrington (for it was he) was
+troubled. Since he had entered on his new profession--as a disguise from
+the police who were still searching for him--he had had a vague suspicion
+that the lion-tamer was dogging him. _Who was the lion-tamer?_ Could it
+be Jasper?
+
+At that moment the band struck up and Richard leapt lightly on to the
+swinging bar. With a movement full of grace he let go of the bar and
+swung on to the opposite platform. And then, even as he was in mid-air,
+he realized what was happening.
+
+Jasper had let the lion loose!
+
+_It was waiting for him_.
+
+With a gasping cry Ricardo Harringtoni fainted.
+
+
+
+V
+
+
+When he recovered consciousness, Richard found himself on the S.S.
+"Boracic," which was forging her way through the--
+
+[MANAGER. _Somewhere where there are sharks_.]
+
+--the Indian Ocean. Mr. Bellingham was bathing his forehead with cooling
+drinks.
+
+"Forgive me, my boy," said Mr. Bellingham, "for the wrong I did you. It
+was Jasper who stole the compromising documents. He refuses to give them
+back unless I let him marry Hyacinth. What can I do?"
+
+"Where is she?" asked Richard.
+
+"Hidden away no one knows where. Find her, get back the documents for me,
+and she is yours."
+
+At that moment a terrible cry rang through the ship, "Man overboard!"
+Pushing over Mr. Bellingham and running on deck, Richard saw that
+a woman and her baby were battling for life in the shark-infested waters.
+In an instant he had plunged in and rescued them. As they were dragged
+together up the ship's side he heard her murmur, "Is little Jasper safe?"
+
+"Jasper?" cried Richard.
+
+"Yes, called after his daddy."
+
+"Where is daddy now?" asked Richard hoarsely.
+
+"In America."
+
+"Can't you see the likeness?" whispered Richard to Mr. Bellingham. "It
+must be. The villain is married to another. But now I will pursue
+him and get back the papers." And he left the boat at the next port and
+boarded one for America.
+
+The search through North and South America for Jasper was protracted.
+Accompanied sometimes by a band of cowboys, sometimes by a tribe of
+Indians, Richard scoured the continent for his enemy. There were hours
+when he would rest awhile and amuse himself by watching the antics of the
+common mosquito [Manager. _Good_!] or he would lie at full length and
+gaze at a bud bursting into flower. [Manager. _Excellent_!] Then he would
+leap on to his steed and pursue the trail relentlessly once more.
+
+One night he was dozing by his camp-fire, when he was awakened roughly by
+strong arms around his neck and Jasper's hot breath in his ear.
+
+"At last!" cried Jasper, and, knocking Richard heavily on the head with a
+boot, he picked up his unconscious enemy and carried him to a tributary
+of the Amazon noted for its alligators. Once there he tied him to a post
+in mid-stream and rode hastily off to the nearest town, where he spent
+the evening witnessing the first half of "The Merchant of Venice."
+[Manager. _Splendid_!] But in the morning a surprise awaited him. As he
+was proceeding along the top of a lonely cliff he was confronted suddenly
+by the enemy whom he had thought to kill.
+
+"Richard!" he cried, "escaped again!"
+
+"Now, Jasper, I have you."
+
+With a triumphant cry they rushed at each other; a terrible contest
+ensued; and then Jasper, with one blow of his palm, hurled his adversary
+over the precipice.
+
+
+
+VI
+
+
+How many times the two made an end of each other after this the pictures
+will show. Sometimes Jasper sealed Richard in a barrel and pushed him
+over Niagara; sometimes Richard tied Jasper to a stake and set light to
+him; sometimes they would both fall out of a balloon together. But
+the day of reckoning was at hand.
+
+[Manager. _We've only got the Burning House and the 1913 Derby left_.
+
+Author. _Right_.]
+
+It is the evening of the 3rd of June. A cry rends the air suddenly,
+whistles are blowing, there is a rattling of horses' hoofs. "Fire! Fire!"
+Richard, who was passing Soho Square at the time, heard the cry and
+dashed into the burning house. In a room full of smoke he perceived a
+cowering woman. Hyacinth! To pick her up was the work of a moment, but
+how shall he save her? Stay! The telegraph wire! His training at
+the Royal Circus stood him in good stead. Treading lightly on the swaying
+wire he carried Hyacinth across to the house opposite.
+
+"At last, my love," he breathed.
+
+"But the papers," she cried. "You must get them, or father will not let
+you marry me."
+
+Once more he treads the rocking wire; once more he re-crosses, with the
+papers on his back. Then the house behind him crumbles to the ground,
+with the wicked Jasper in its ruins....
+
+"Excellent," said Mr. Bellingham at dinner that evening. "Not only are
+the papers here, but a full confession by Jasper. My first wife was
+drowned all the time; he stole the documents from her father. Richard, my
+boy, when the Home Secretary knows everything he will give you a free
+pardon. And then you can marry my daughter."
+
+At these words Hyacinth and Richard were locked in a close embrace. On
+the next day they all went to the Derby together.
+
+
+
+THE FATAL GIFT
+
+
+People say to me sometimes, "Oh, _you_ know Woolman, don't you?" I
+acknowledge that I do, and, after the silence that always ensues, I add,
+"If you want to say anything against him, please go on." You can almost
+hear the sigh of relief that goes up. "I thought he was a friend of
+yours," they say cheerfully. "But, of course, if--" and then they
+begin.
+
+I think it is time I explained my supposed friendship for Ernest Merrowby
+Woolman--confound him.
+
+The affair began in a taxicab two years ago. Andrew had been dining with
+me that night; we walked out to the cab-rank together; I told the driver
+where to go, and Andrew stepped in, waved good-bye to me from the window,
+and sat down suddenly upon something hard. He drew it from beneath him,
+and found it was an extremely massive (and quite new) silver cigar-case.
+He put it in his pocket with the intention of giving it to the driver
+when he got out, but quite naturally forgot. Next morning he found it on
+his dressing-table. So he put it in his pocket again, meaning to leave it
+at Scotland Yard on his way to the City.
+
+Next morning it was on his dressing-table again.
+
+This went on for some days. After a week or so Andrew saw that it was
+hopeless to try to get a cigar-case back to Scotland Yard in this casual
+sort of way; it must be taken there deliberately by somebody who had a
+morning to spare and was willing to devote it to this special purpose.
+He placed the case, therefore, prominently on a small table in the
+dining-room to await the occasion; calling also the attention of his
+family to it, as an excuse for an outing when they were not otherwise
+engaged.
+
+At times he used to say, "I must really take that cigar-case to Scotland
+Yard to-morrow."
+
+At other times he would say, "Somebody must really take that cigar-case
+to Scotland Yard to-day."
+
+And so the weeks rolled on....
+
+It was about a year later that I first got mixed up with the thing. I
+must have dined with the Andrews several times without noticing the
+cigar-case, but on this occasion it caught my eye as we wandered out to
+join the ladies, and I picked it up carelessly. Well, not exactly
+carelessly; it was too heavy for that.
+
+"Why didn't you tell me," I said, "that you had stood for Parliament and
+that your supporters had consoled you with a large piece of plate? Hallo,
+they've put the wrong initials on it. How unbusiness-like."
+
+"Oh, _that_?" said Andrew. "Is it still there?"
+
+"Why not? It's quite a solid little table. But you haven't explained why
+your constituents, who must have seen your name on hundreds of posters,
+thought your initials were E.M.W."
+
+Andrew explained.
+
+"Then it isn't yours at all?" I said in amazement.
+
+"Of course not."
+
+"But, my dear man, this is theft. Stealing by finding, they call it. You
+could get"--I looked at him almost with admiration--"you could get two
+years for this"; and I weighed the cigar-case in my hand. "I believe
+you're the only one of my friends who could be certain of two years,"
+I went on musingly. "Let's see, there's--"
+
+"Nonsense," said Andrew uneasily. "But still, perhaps I'd better take it
+back to Scotland Yard to-morrow."
+
+"And tell them you've kept it for a year? They'd run you in at once. No,
+what you want to do is to get rid of it without their knowledge. But
+how--that's the question. You can't give it away because of the
+initials."
+
+"It's easy enough. I can leave it in another cab, or drop it in the
+river."
+
+"Andrew, Andrew," I cried, "you're determined to go to prison! Don't you
+know from all the humorous articles you've ever read that, if you _try_
+to lose anything, then you never can? It's one of the stock remarks one
+makes to women in the endeavour to keep them amused. No, you must think
+of some more subtle way of disposing of it."
+
+"I'll pretend it's yours," said Andrew more subtly, and he placed it in
+my pocket.
+
+"No, you don't," I said. "But I tell you what I will do. I'll take it for
+a week and see if I can get rid of it. If I can't, I shall give it you
+back and wash my hands of the whole business--except, of course, for the
+monthly letter or whatever it is they allow you at the Scrubbs. You may
+still count on me for that."
+
+And then the extraordinary thing happened. The next morning I received a
+letter from a stranger, asking for some simple information which I could
+have given him on a post-card. And so I should have done--or possibly, I
+am afraid, have forgotten to answer at all--but for the way that the
+letter ended up.
+
+"Yours very truly,
+ERNEST M. WOOLMAN."
+
+The magic initials! It was a chance not to be missed. I wrote
+enthusiastically back and asked him to lunch.
+
+He came. I gave him all the information he wanted, and more. Whether he
+was a pleasant sort of person or not I hardly noticed; I was so very
+pleasant myself.
+
+He returned my enthusiasm. He asked me to dine with him the following
+week. A little party at the Savoy--his birthday, you know.
+
+I accepted gladly. I rolled up at the party with my little present...a
+massive silver cigar-case...suitably engraved.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+So there you are. He clings to me. He seems to have formed the absurd
+idea that I am fond of him. A few months after that evening at the
+Savoy he was married. I was invited to the wedding--confound him. Of
+course I had to live up to my birthday present; the least I could do was
+an enormous silver cigar-box (not engraved), which bound me to him still
+more strongly.
+
+By that time I realized that I hated him. He was pushing, familiar,
+everything that I disliked. All my friends wondered how I had become so
+intimate with him....
+
+Well, now they know. And the original E.M.W., if he has the sense to read
+this, also knows. If he cares to prosecute Ernest Merrowby Woolman for
+being in possession of stolen goods, I shall be glad to give him any
+information. Woolman is generally to be found leaving my rooms at about
+6.30 in the evening, and a smart detective could easily nab him as he
+steps out.
+
+
+
+A MIDSUMMER MADNESS
+
+
+The girl who shared Herbert's meringue at dinner (a brittle one, which
+exploded just as he was getting into it) was kind and tactful.
+
+"It doesn't matter a bit," she said, removing fragments of shell from her
+lap; and, to put him at his ease again, went on "Are you interested in
+little problems at all?"
+
+Herbert, who would have been interested even in a photograph album just
+then, emerged from his apologies and swore that he was.
+
+"We're all worrying about one which Father saw in a paper. I do wish you
+could solve it for us. It goes like this." And she proceeded to explain
+it. Herbert decided that the small piece of meringue still in her hair
+was not worth mentioning, and he listened to her with interest.
+
+On the next morning I happened to drop in at Herbert's office.... And
+that, in short, is how I was entangled in the business.
+
+"Look here," said Herbert, "you used to be mathematical; here's something
+for you."
+
+"Let the dead past bury its dead," I implored. "I am now quite
+respectable."
+
+"It goes like this," he said, ignoring my appeal.
+
+He then gave me the problem, which I hand on to you.
+
+"A subaltern riding at the rear of a column of soldiers trotted up to the
+captain in front and challenged him to a game of billiards for half a
+crown a side, the loser to pay for the table. Having lost, he played
+another hundred, double or quits, and then rode back, the column by this
+time having travelled twice its own length, and a distance equal to the
+distance it would have travelled if it had been going in the other
+direction. What was the captain's name?"
+
+Perhaps I have not got it quite right, for I have had an eventful week
+since then; or perhaps Herbert didn't get it quite right; or perhaps the
+girl with the meringue in her hair didn't get it quite right; but anyhow,
+that was the idea of it.
+
+"And the answer," said Herbert, "ought to be 'four cows,' but I keep on
+making it 'eight and tuppence.' Just have a shot at it, there's a good
+fellow. I promised the girl, you know."
+
+I sat down, worked it out hastily on the back of an envelope, and made it
+a yard and a half.
+
+"No," said Herbert; "I know it's 'four cows,' but I can't get it."
+
+"Sorry," I said, "how stupid of me; I left out the table-money."
+
+I did it hastily again and made it three minutes twenty-five seconds.
+
+"It _is_ difficult, isn't it?" said Herbert. "I thought, as you used to
+be mathematical and as I'd promised the girl--"
+
+"Wait a moment," I said, still busy with my envelope. "I forgot the
+subaltern. Ah, that's right. The answer is a hundred and twenty-five
+men.... No, that's wrong--I never doubled the half-crown. Er--oh, look
+here, Herbert, I'm rather busy this morning. I'll send it to you."
+
+"Right," said Herbert. "I know I can depend on you, because you're
+mathematical." And he opened the door for me.
+
+I had meant to do a very important piece of work that day, but I couldn't
+get my mind off Herbert's wretched problem. Happening to see Carey at
+teatime, I mentioned it to him.
+
+"Ah," said Carey profoundly. "H'm. Have you tried it with an '_x_'?"
+
+"Of course."
+
+"Yes, it looks as though it wants a bit of an '_x_' somewhere. You
+stick to it with an '_x_' and you ought to do it. Let '_x_' be the
+subaltern--that's the way. I say, I didn't know you were interested in
+problems."
+
+"Well--"
+
+"Because I've got rather a tricky chess problem here I can't do." He
+produced his pocket chess-board. "White mates in four moves."
+
+I looked at it carelessly. Black had only left himself with a Pawn and a
+King, while White had a Queen and a couple of Knights about. Now, I know
+very little about chess, but I do understand the theory of chess
+problems.
+
+"Have you tried letting the Queen be taken by Black's pawn, then
+sacrificing the Knights, and finally mating him with the King alone?"
+
+"Yes," said Carey.
+
+Then I was baffled. If one can't solve a chess problem by starting off
+with the most unlikely-looking thing on the board, one can't solve it at
+all. However, I copied down the position and said I'd glance at it.... At
+eleven that night I rose from my glance, decided that Herbert's problem
+was the more immediately pressing, and took it to bed with me.
+
+I was lunching with William next day, and I told him about the subaltern.
+He dashed at it lightheartedly and made the answer seventeen.
+
+"Seventeen what?" I said.
+
+"Well, whatever we're talking about. I think you'll find it's seventeen
+all right. But look here, my son, here's a golf problem for you. A is
+playing B. At the fifth hole A falls off the tee into a pond--"
+
+I forget how it went on.
+
+When I got home to dinner, after a hard day with the subaltern, I found a
+letter from Norah waiting for me.
+
+"I hear from Mr. Carey," she wrote, "that you're keen on problems. Here's
+one I have cut out of our local paper. Do have a shot at it. The answer
+ought to be eight miles an hour."
+
+Luckily, however, she forgot to enclose the problem. For by this time,
+what with Herbert's subaltern, Carey's pawn, and a cistern left me by an
+uncle who was dining with us that night, I had more than enough to
+distract me.
+
+And so the business has gone on. The news that I am preparing a
+collection of interesting and tricky problems for a new "Encyclopaedia"
+has got about among my friends. Everybody who writes to me tells me of a
+relation of his who has been shearing sheep or rowing against the stream
+or dealing himself four aces. People who come to tea borrow a box of
+wooden matches and beg me to remove one match and leave a perfect square.
+I am asked to do absurd things with pennies....
+
+Meanwhile Herbert has forgotten both the problem and the girl. Three
+evenings later he shared his Hollandaise sauce with somebody in yellow
+(as luck would have it) and she changed the subject by wondering if he
+read Dickens. He is now going manfully through "Bleak House"--a chapter
+a night--and when he came to visit me to-day he asked me if I had ever
+heard of the man.
+
+However, I was not angry with him, for I had just made it come to "three
+cows." It is a cow short, but it is nearer than I have ever been before,
+and I think I shall leave it at that. Indeed, both the doctor and the
+nurse say that I had better leave it at that.
+
+
+
+TO THE DEATH
+
+_(In the Twentieth Century manner_)
+
+
+"Cauliflower!" shrieked Gaspard Volauvent across the little table in the
+_estaminet_. His face bristled with rage.
+
+"Serpent!" replied Jacques Rissole, bristling with equal dexterity.
+
+The two stout little men glared ferociously at each other. Then Jacques
+picked up his glass and poured the wine of the country over his friend's
+head.
+
+"Drown, serpent!" he said magnificently. He beckoned to the waiter.
+"Another bottle," he said. "My friend has drunk all this."
+
+Gaspard removed the wine from his whiskers with the local paper and leant
+over the table towards Jacques.
+
+"This must be wiped out in blood," he said slowly. "You understand?"
+
+"Perfectly," replied the other. "The only question is whose."
+
+"Name your weapons," said Gaspard Volauvent grandly.
+
+"Aeroplanes," replied Jacques Rissole after a moment's thought.
+
+"Bah! I cannot fly."
+
+"Then I win," said Jacques simply.
+
+The other looked at him in astonishment.
+
+"What! You fly?"
+
+"No; but I can learn."
+
+"Then I will learn too," said Gaspard with dignity. "We meet--in six
+months?"
+
+"Good." Jacques pointed to the ceiling. "Say three thousand feet up."
+
+"Three thousand four hundred," said Gaspard for the sake of disagreeing.
+
+"After all, that is for our seconds to arrange. My friend Epinard of the
+Roullens Aerodrome will act for me. He will also instruct me how to
+bring serpents to the ground."
+
+"With the idea of cleansing the sky of cauliflowers," said Gaspard, "I
+shall proceed to the flying-ground at Dormancourt; Blanchaille, the
+instructor there, will receive your friend."
+
+He bowed and walked out.
+
+Details were soon settled. On a date six months ahead the two combatants
+would meet three thousand two hundred feet above the little town in which
+they lived, and fight to the death. In the event of both crashing, the
+one who crashed last would be deemed the victor. It was Gaspard's second
+who insisted on this clause; Gaspard himself felt that it did not matter
+greatly.
+
+The first month of instruction went by. At the end of it Jacques Rissole
+had only one hope. It was that when he crashed he should crash on some of
+Gaspard's family. Gaspard had no hope, but one consolation. It was that
+no crash could involve his stomach, which he invariably left behind him
+as soon as the aeroplane rose.
+
+At the end of the second month Gaspard wrote to Jacques.
+
+"My friend," he wrote, "the hatred of you which I nurse in my bosom, and
+which fills me with the desire to purge you from the sky, is in danger of
+being transferred to my instructor. Let us therefore meet and renew our
+enmity."
+
+Jacques Rissole wrote back to Gaspard.
+
+"My enemy," he wrote, "there is nobody in the whole of the Roullens
+Aerodrome whom I do not detest with a detestation beside which my hatred
+for you seems as maudlin adoration. This is notwithstanding the fact that
+I make the most marvellous progress in the art of flying. It is merely
+something in their faces which annoys me. Let me therefore see yours
+again, in the hope that it will make me think more kindly of theirs."
+
+They met, poured wine over each other and parted. After another month the
+need of a further stimulant was felt. They met again, and agreed to
+insult each other weekly.
+
+On the last day of his training Gaspard spoke seriously to his
+instructor.
+
+"You see that I make nothing of it," he said. "My thoughts are ever with
+the stomach that I leave behind. Not once have I been in a position to
+take control. How then can I fight? My friend, I arrange it all. You
+shall take my place."
+
+"Is that quite fair to Rissole?" asked Blanchaille doubtfully.
+
+"Do not think that I want you to hurt him. That is not necessary. He will
+hurt himself. Keep out of his way until he has finished with himself, and
+then fly back here. It is easy."
+
+It seemed the best way; indeed the only way. Gaspard Volauvent could
+never get to the rendezvous alone, and it would be fatal to his honour
+if Jacques arrived there and found nobody to meet him. Reluctantly
+Blanchaille agreed.
+
+At the appointed hour Gaspard put his head cautiously out of his bedroom
+window and gazed up into the heavens. He saw two aeroplanes straight
+above him. At the thought that he might have been in one of them he
+shuddered violently. Indeed, he felt so unwell that the need for some
+slight restorative became pressing. He tripped off to the _estaminet_.
+
+It was empty save for one table. Gaspard walked towards it, hoping for a
+little conversation. The occupant lowered the newspaper from in front of
+his face and looked up.
+
+It was too much for Gaspard.
+
+"Coward!" he shrieked.
+
+Jacques, who had been going to say the same thing, hastily substituted
+"Serpent!"
+
+"I know you," cried Gaspard. "You send your instructor up in your place.
+Poltroon!"
+
+Jacques picked up his glass and poured the wine of the country over his
+friend's head.
+
+"Drown, serpent," he said magnificently. He beckoned to the waiter.
+"Another bottle," he said. "My friend has drunk all this."
+
+Gaspard removed the wine from his whiskers with Jacques' paper, and leant
+over him.
+
+"This must be wiped out in blood," he said slowly. "Name your weapons."
+
+"Submarines," said Jacques after a moment's thought.
+
+
+
+THE HANDICAP OF SEX
+
+
+I found myself in the same drawing-room with Anne the other day, so I
+offered her one of my favourite sandwiches. (I hadn't seen her for some
+time, and there were plenty in the plate.)
+
+"If you are coming to talk to me," she said, "I think I had better warn
+you that I am a Bolshevist."
+
+"Then you won't want a sandwich," I said gladly, and I withdrew the
+plate.
+
+"I suppose," said Anne, "that what I really want is a vote."
+
+"Haven't you got one? Sorry; I mean, of course you haven't got one."
+
+"But it isn't only that. I want to see the whole position of women
+altered. I want to see--"
+
+I looked round for her mother.
+
+"Tell me," I said gently; "when did this come over you?"
+
+"In the last few weeks," said Anne. "And I don't wonder."
+
+I settled down with the sandwiches to listen.
+
+Anne first noted symptoms of it at a luncheon-party at the beginning of
+the month. She had asked the young man on her right if she could have
+some of his salt, and as he passed it to her he covered up any
+embarrassment she might be feeling by saying genially, "Well, and how
+long is this coal strike going to last?"
+
+"I don't know," said Anne truthfully.
+
+"I suppose you're ready for the Revolution? The billiard-room and all the
+spare bedrooms well stocked?"
+
+Anne saw that this was meant humorously, and she laughed.
+
+"I expect we shall be all right," she said.
+
+"You'll have to give a coal-party, and invite all your friends. 'Fire,
+9--12.'"
+
+"What a lovely idea!" said Anne, smiling from sheer habit. "Mind you
+come." She got her face straight again with a jerk and turned to the
+solemn old gentleman on her other side.
+
+He was ready for her.
+
+"This is a terrible disaster for the country, this coal strike," he said.
+
+"Isn't it?" said Anne; and feeling that that was inadequate, added,
+"Terrible!"
+
+"I don't know what's happening to the country."
+
+Anne crumbled her bread, and having reviewed a succession of possible
+replies, each more fatuous than the last, decided to remain silent.
+
+"Everything will be at a standstill directly," her companion went on.
+"Already trade is leaving the country. America--"
+
+"I suppose so," said Anne gloomily.
+
+"Once stop the supplies of coal, you see, and you drain the life-blood of
+the country."
+
+"Of _course_," said Anne, and looked very serious.
+
+After lunch an extremely brisk little man took her in hand.
+
+"Have you been studying this coal strike question at all?" he began.
+
+"I read the papers," said Anne.
+
+"Ah, but you don't _get_ it there. They don't _tell_ you--they don't
+_tell_ you. Now I know a man who is actually _in_ it, and he _says_--and
+he knows this for a _fact_--that from the _moment_ when the _first man_
+downed tools--from the very moment when he _downed tools_..."
+
+Anne edged away from him nervously. Her face had assumed an expression of
+wild interest which she was certain couldn't last much longer.
+
+"Now, take coal at the pit's mouth," he went on--"at the _pit's
+mouth_"--he shook a forefinger at her--"at the _pit's mouth_--and I know
+this for a _fact_--the _royalties_, the royalties are--"
+
+"It's awful," said Anne. "I _know_."
+
+She went home feeling a little disturbed. There was something in her
+mind, a dim sense of foreboding, which kept casting its shadow across
+her pleasanter thoughts; "Just as you feel," she said, "when you _know_
+you've got to go to the dentist." But they had a big dinner-party that
+evening, and Anne, full of the joy of life, was not going to let anything
+stand in the way of her enjoyment of it.
+
+Her man began on the stairs.
+
+"Well," he said, "what about the coal strike? When are you going to start
+your coal-parties? 'Fire, 10--2.' They say that that's going to be the
+new rage." He smiled reassuringly at her. He was giving the impression
+that he _could_ have been very, very serious over this terrible business,
+but that for her sake he was wearing the mask. In the presence of women a
+man must make light of danger.
+
+Anne understood then what was troubling her; and as, half-way through
+dinner, the man on her other side turned to talk to her, she shot an
+urgent question at him. At any cost she must know the worst.
+
+"_How_ long will the strike last?" she said earnestly. "That's just what
+I was going to ask you," he said. "I fear it may be months."
+
+Anne sighed deeply.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I took the last sandwich and put down the plate.
+
+"And that," said Anne, "was three weeks ago."
+
+"It has been the same ever since?" I asked, beginning on a new plate.
+
+"Every day. I'm tired of it. I shrink from every new man I meet. I wait
+nervously for the word 'coal,' feeling that I shall scream when it
+comes. Oh, I want a vote or something. I don't know what I want, but I
+_hate_ men! Why should they think that everything they say to us
+is funny or clever or important? Why should they talk to us as if we were
+children? Why should they take it for granted that it's our duty to
+_listen_ always?"
+
+I rose with dignity. Dash it all, who had been doing the listening for
+the last half-hour?
+
+"You are run down," I said. "What you want is a tonic."
+
+Quite between ourselves, though, I really think--
+
+But no. We men must stick together.
+
+
+
+THE LEGEND OF HI-YOU
+
+I
+
+
+In the days of Good King Carraway (dead now, poor fellow, but he had a
+pleasant time while he lasted) there lived a certain swineherd commonly
+called Hi-You. It was the duty of Hi-You to bring up one hundred and
+forty-one pigs for his master, and this he did with as much enthusiasm as
+the work permitted. But there were times when his profession failed him.
+In the blue days of summer Princes and Princesses, Lords and Ladies,
+Chamberlains and Enchanters would ride past him and leave him vaguely
+dissatisfied with his company, so that he would remove the straw from his
+mouth and gaze after them, wondering what it would be like to have as
+little regard for a swineherd as they. But when they were out of sight,
+he would replace the straw in his mouth and fall with great diligence to
+the counting of his herd and such other duties as are required of the
+expert pigtender, assuring himself that, if a man could not be lively
+with one hundred and forty-one companions, he must indeed be a
+poor-spirited sort of fellow.
+
+Now there was one little black pig for whom Hi-You had a special
+tenderness. Just so, he often used to think, would he have felt towards
+a brother if this had been granted to him. It was not the colour of the
+little pig nor the curliness of his tail (endearing though this was), nor
+even the melting expression in his eyes which warmed the swineherd's
+heart, but the feeling that intellectually this pig was as solitary among
+the hundred and forty others as Hi-You himself. Frederick (for this was
+the name which he had given to it) shared their food, their sleeping
+apartments, much indeed as did Hi-You, but he lived, or so it seemed to
+the other, an inner life of his own. In short, Frederick was a soulful
+pig.
+
+There could be only one reason for this: Frederick was a Prince in
+disguise. Some enchanter--it was a common enough happening in those
+days--annoyed by Frederick's father, or his uncle, or even by Frederick
+himself, had turned him into a small black pig until such time as the
+feeling between them had passed away. There was a Prince Frederick of
+Milvania who had disappeared suddenly; probably this was he. His
+complexion was darker now, his tail more curly, but the royal bearing was
+unmistakable.
+
+It was natural then that, having little in common with his other hundred
+and forty charges, Hi-You should find himself drawn into ever closer
+companionship with Frederick. They would talk together in the intervals
+of acorn-hunting, Frederick's share of the conversation limited to
+"Humphs," unintelligible at first, but, as the days went on, seeming more
+and more charged with an inner meaning to Hi-You, until at last he could
+interpret every variation of grunt with which his small black friend
+responded. And indeed it was a pretty sight to see them sitting together
+on the top of a hill, the world at their feet, discussing at one time the
+political situation of Milvania, at another the latest ballad of the
+countryside, or even in their more hopeful moments planning what they
+should do when Frederick at last was restored to public life.
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+Now it chanced that one morning when Frederick and Hi-You were arguing
+together in a friendly manner over the new uniforms of the Town Guard
+(to the colours of which Frederick took exception) King Carraway himself
+passed that way, and being in a good humour stood for a moment listening
+to them.
+
+"Well, well," he said at last, "well, well, well."
+
+In great surprise Hi-You looked up, and then, seeing that it was the
+King, jumped to his feet and bowed several times.
+
+"Pardon, Your Majesty," he stammered, "I did not see Your Majesty. I
+was--I was talking."
+
+"To a pig," laughed the King.
+
+"To His Royal Highness Prince Frederick of Milvania," said Hi-You
+proudly.
+
+"I beg your pardon," said the King; "could I trouble you to say that
+again?"
+
+"His Royal Highness Prince Frederick of Milvania."
+
+"Yes, that was what it sounded like last time."
+
+"Frederick," murmured Hi-You in his friend's ear, "this is His Majesty
+King Carraway. He lets me call him Frederick," he added to the King.
+
+"You don't mean to tell me," said His Majesty, pointing to the pig, "that
+_this_ is Prince Frederick?"
+
+"It is indeed, Sire. Such distressing incidents must often have occurred
+within Your Majesty's recollection."
+
+"They have, yes. Dear me, dear me."
+
+"Humph," remarked Frederick, feeling it was time he said something.
+
+"His Royal Highness says that he is very proud to meet so distinguished a
+monarch as Your Majesty."
+
+"Did he say that?" asked the King, surprised.
+
+"Undoubtedly, Your Majesty."
+
+"Very good of him, I'm sure."
+
+"Humph," said Frederick again.
+
+"He adds," explained Hi-You, "that Your Majesty's great valour is only
+excelled by the distinction of Your Majesty's appearance."
+
+"Dear me," said the King, "I thought he was merely repeating himself. It
+seems to me very clever of you to understand so exactly what he is
+saying."
+
+"Humph," said Frederick, feeling that it was about acorn time again.
+
+"His Royal Highness is kind enough to say that we are very old friends."
+
+"Yes, of course, that must make a difference. One soon picks it up, no
+doubt. But we must not be inhospitable to so distinguished a visitor.
+Certainly he must stay with us at the Palace. And you had better come
+along too, my man, for it may well be that without your aid some of His
+Royal Highness's conversation would escape us. Prince Frederick of
+Milvania--dear me, dear me. This will be news for Her Royal Highness."
+
+So, leaving the rest of the herd to look after itself, as it was quite
+capable of doing, Frederick and Hi-You went to the Palace.
+
+Now Her Royal Highness Princess Amaril was of an age to be married. Many
+Princes had sought her hand, but in vain, for she was as proud as she was
+beautiful. Indeed, her beauty was so great that those who looked upon it
+were blinded, as if they had gazed upon the sun at noonday--or so the
+Court Poet said, and he would not be likely to exaggerate. Wherefore
+Hi-You was filled with a great apprehension as he walked to the Palace,
+and Frederick, to whom the matter had been explained, was, it may be
+presumed, equally stirred within, although outwardly impassive. And, as
+they went, Hi-You murmured to his companion that it was quite all right,
+for that in any event she could not eat them, the which assurance
+Frederick, no doubt, was peculiarly glad to receive.
+
+"Ah," said the King, as they were shown into the Royal Library, "that's
+right." He turned to the Princess. "My dear, prepare for a surprise."
+
+"Yes, Father," said Amaril dutifully.
+
+"This," said His Majesty dramatically, throwing out a hand, "is a Prince
+in disguise."
+
+"Which one, Father?" said Amaril.
+
+"The small black one, of course," said the King crossly; "the other is
+merely his attendant. Hi, you, what's your name?"
+
+The swineherd hastened to explain that His Majesty, with His Majesty's
+unfailing memory for names, had graciously mentioned it.
+
+"You don't say anything," said the King to his daughter.
+
+Princess Amaril sighed.
+
+"He is very handsome, Father," she said, looking at Hi-You.
+
+"Y-yes," said the King, regarding Frederick (who was combing himself
+thoughtfully behind the left ear) with considerable doubt. "But the
+real beauty of Prince Frederick's character does not lie upon the
+surface, or anyhow--er--not at the moment."
+
+"No, Father," sighed Amaril, and she looked at Hi-You again.
+
+Now the swineherd, who with instinctive good breeding had taken the straw
+from his mouth on entering the Palace, was a well-set-up young fellow,
+such as might please even a Princess.
+
+For a little while there was silence in the Royal Library, until
+Frederick realized that it was his turn to speak.
+
+"Humph!" said Frederick.
+
+"There!" said the King in great good humour. "Now, my dear, let me tell
+you what that means. That means that His Royal Highness is delighted
+to meet so beautiful and distinguished a Princess." He turned to Hi-You.
+"Isn't that right, my man?"
+
+"Perfectly correct, Your Majesty."
+
+"You see, my dear," said the King complacently, "one soon picks it up.
+Now in a few days--"
+
+"Humph!" said Frederick again.
+
+"What did that one mean, Father?" asked Amaril.
+
+"That meant--er--that meant--well, it's a little hard to put it
+colloquially, but roughly it means"--he made a gesture with his
+hand--"that we have--er--been having very charming weather lately." He
+frowned vigorously at the swineherd.
+
+"Exactly, Your Majesty," said Hi-You.
+
+"Charming weather for the time of year."
+
+"For the time of year, of course," said the King hastily. "One naturally
+assumes that. Well, my dear," he went on to his daughter, "I'm sure you
+will be glad to know that Prince Frederick has consented to stay with us
+for a little. You will give orders that suitable apartments are to be
+prepared."
+
+"Yes, Father. What _are_ suitable apartments?"
+
+The King pulled at his beard and regarded Frederick doubtfully.
+
+"Perhaps it would be better," the Princess went on, looking at Hi-You,
+"if this gentleman--"
+
+"Of course, my dear, of course. Naturally His Royal Highness would wish
+to retain his suite."
+
+"Humph!" said Frederick, meaning, I imagine, that things were looking up.
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+Of all the Princes who from time to time had visited the Court none
+endeared himself so rapidly to the people as did Frederick of Milvania.
+His complete lack of vanity, his thoughtfulness, the intense reserve
+which so obviously indicated a strong character, his power of listening
+placidly to even the most tedious of local dignitaries, all these were
+virtues of which previous royal visitors had given no sign. Moreover on
+set occasions Prince Frederick could make a very pretty speech. True,
+this was read for him, owing to a slight affection of the throat from
+which, as the Chancellor pointed out, His Royal Highness was temporarily
+suffering, but it would be couched in the most perfect taste and seasoned
+at suitable functions (such, for instance, as the opening of the first
+Public Baths) with a pleasantly restrained humour. Nor was there any
+doubt that the words were indeed the Prince's own, as dictated to Hi-You
+and by him put on paper for the Chancellor. But Hi-You himself never left
+the Palace.
+
+"My dear," said the King to his daughter one day, "have you ever thought
+of marriage?"
+
+"Often, Father," said Amaril.
+
+"I understand from the Chancellor that the people are expecting an
+announcement on the subject shortly."
+
+"We haven't got anything to announce, have we?"
+
+"It's a pity that you were so hasty with your other suitors," said the
+King thoughtfully. "There is hardly a Prince left who is in any way
+eligible."
+
+"Except Prince Frederick," said Amaril gently.
+
+The King looked at her suspiciously and then looked away again, pulling
+at his beard.
+
+"Of course," went on Amaril, "I don't know what your loving subjects
+would say about it."
+
+"My loving subjects," said the King grimly, "have been properly brought
+up. They believe--they have my authority for believing--that they
+are suffering from a disability of the eyesight laid upon them by a
+wicked enchanter, under which they see Princes as--er--pigs. That, if you
+remember, was this fellow Hi-You's suggestion. And a very sensible one."
+
+"But do you want Frederick as a son-in-law?"
+
+"Well, that's the question. In his present shape he is perhaps not
+quite--not quite--well, how shall I put it?"
+
+"Not quite," suggested Amaril.
+
+"Exactly. At the same time I think that there could be no harm in the
+announcement of a betrothal. The marriage, of course, would not be
+announced until--"
+
+"Until the enchanter had removed his spell from the eyes of the people?"
+
+"Quite so. You have no objection to that, my dear?"
+
+"I am His Majesty's subject," said Amaril dutifully.
+
+"That's a good girl." He patted the top of her head and dismissed her.
+
+So the betrothal of His Royal Highness Frederick of Milvania to the
+Princess Amaril was announced, to the great joy of the people. And
+in the depths of the Palace Hi-You the swineherd was hard at work
+compounding a potion which, he assured the King, would restore Frederick
+to his own princely form. And sometimes the Princess Amaril would help
+him at his work.
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+A month went by, and then Hi-You came to the King with news. He had
+compounded the magic potion. A few drops sprinkled discriminately on
+Frederick would restore him to his earlier shape, and the wedding could
+then be announced.
+
+"Well, my man," said His Majesty genially, "this is indeed pleasant
+hearing. We will sprinkle Frederick to-morrow. Really, I am very much
+in your debt; remind me after the ceremony to speak to the Lord Treasurer
+about the matter."
+
+"Say no more," begged Hi-You. "All I ask is to be allowed to depart in
+peace. Let me have a few hours alone with His Royal Highness in the form
+in which I have known him so long, and then, when he is himself again,
+let me go. For it is not meet that I should remain here as a perpetual
+reminder to His Royal Highness of what he would fain forget."
+
+"Well, that's very handsome of you, very handsome indeed. I see your
+point. Yes, it is better that you should go. But, before you go, there
+is just one thing. The people are under the impression that--er--an
+enchanter has--er--well, you remember what you yourself suggested."
+
+"I have thought of that," said Hi-You, who seemed to have thought of
+everything. "And I venture to propose that Your Majesty should
+announce that a great alchemist has been compounding a potion to relieve
+their blindness. A few drops of this will be introduced into the water
+of the Public Baths, and all those bathing therein will be healed."
+
+"A striking notion," said the King. "Indeed it was just about to occur to
+me. I will proclaim to-morrow a public holiday, and give orders that it
+be celebrated in the baths. Then in the evening, when they are all
+clean--I should say 'cured'--we will present their Prince to them."
+
+So it happened even as Hi-You had said, and in the evening the Prince, a
+model now of manly beauty, was presented to them, and they acclaimed
+him with cheers. And all noticed how lovingly the Princess regarded him,
+and how he smiled upon her.
+
+But the King gazed upon the Prince as one fascinated. Seven times he
+cleared his throat and seven times he failed to speak. And the eighth
+time he said, "Your face is strangely familiar to me."
+
+"Perchance we met in Milvania," said the Prince pleasantly.
+
+Now the King had never been in Milvania. Wherefore he still gazed at the
+Prince, and at length he said, "What has happened to that Hi-You fellow?"
+
+"You will never hear of him again," said the Prince pleasantly.
+
+"Oh!" said the King. And after that they feasted.
+
+And some say that they feasted upon roast pig, but I say not. And some
+say that Hi-You had planned it all from the beginning, but I say not.
+And some say that it was the Princess Amaril who planned it, from the day
+when first she saw Hi-You, and with them I agree. For indeed I am very
+sure that when Hi-You was a swineherd upon the hills he believed truly
+that the little black pig with the curly tail was a Prince. And, though
+events in the end were too much for him, I like to think that Hi-You
+remained loyal to his friend, and that in his plush-lined sty in a quiet
+corner of the Palace grounds Frederick passed a gentle old age, cheered
+from time to time by the visits of Amaril's children.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Sunny Side, by A. A. Milne
+
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