diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 269-0.txt | 7545 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 269-0.zip | bin | 0 -> 151432 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 269-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 155532 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 269-h/269-h.htm | 7482 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/beast10.txt | 8916 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/beast10.zip | bin | 0 -> 161523 bytes |
9 files changed, 23959 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/269-0.txt b/269-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4af2cc0 --- /dev/null +++ b/269-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7545 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Beasts and Super-Beasts, by Saki + + +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: Beasts and Super-Beasts + + +Author: Saki + + + +Release Date: December 26, 2011 [eBook #269] +This file was first posted in April 1995 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEASTS AND SUPER-BEASTS*** + + +Transcribed from the 1914 John Lane, The Bodley Head edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + + BEASTS AND + SUPER-BEASTS + + + By H. H. MUNRO (“SAKI”) + + * * * * * + + LONDON: JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD + NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY + TORONTO: BELL & COCKBURN MCMXIV + + + + +AUTHOR’S NOTE + + +“The Open Window,” “The Schartz-Metterklume Method,” and “Clovis on +Parental Responsibilities,” originally appeared in the _Westminster +Gazette_, “The Elk” in the _Bystander_, and the remaining stories in the +_Morning Post_. To the Editors of these papers I am indebted for their +courtesy in allowing me to reprint them. + + H. H. M. + + + + +THE SHE-WOLF + + +Leonard Bilsiter was one of those people who have failed to find this +world attractive or interesting, and who have sought compensation in an +“unseen world” of their own experience or imagination—or invention. +Children do that sort of thing successfully, but children are content to +convince themselves, and do not vulgarise their beliefs by trying to +convince other people. Leonard Bilsiter’s beliefs were for “the few,” +that is to say, anyone who would listen to him. + +His dabblings in the unseen might not have carried him beyond the +customary platitudes of the drawing-room visionary if accident had not +reinforced his stock-in-trade of mystical lore. In company with a +friend, who was interested in a Ural mining concern, he had made a trip +across Eastern Europe at a moment when the great Russian railway strike +was developing from a threat to a reality; its outbreak caught him on the +return journey, somewhere on the further side of Perm, and it was while +waiting for a couple of days at a wayside station in a state of suspended +locomotion that he made the acquaintance of a dealer in harness and +metalware, who profitably whiled away the tedium of the long halt by +initiating his English travelling companion in a fragmentary system of +folk-lore that he had picked up from Trans-Baikal traders and natives. +Leonard returned to his home circle garrulous about his Russian strike +experiences, but oppressively reticent about certain dark mysteries, +which he alluded to under the resounding title of Siberian Magic. The +reticence wore off in a week or two under the influence of an entire lack +of general curiosity, and Leonard began to make more detailed allusions +to the enormous powers which this new esoteric force, to use his own +description of it, conferred on the initiated few who knew how to wield +it. His aunt, Cecilia Hoops, who loved sensation perhaps rather better +than she loved the truth, gave him as clamorous an advertisement as +anyone could wish for by retailing an account of how he had turned a +vegetable marrow into a wood pigeon before her very eyes. As a +manifestation of the possession of supernatural powers, the story was +discounted in some quarters by the respect accorded to Mrs. Hoops’ powers +of imagination. + +However divided opinion might be on the question of Leonard’s status as a +wonderworker or a charlatan, he certainly arrived at Mary Hampton’s +house-party with a reputation for pre-eminence in one or other of those +professions, and he was not disposed to shun such publicity as might fall +to his share. Esoteric forces and unusual powers figured largely in +whatever conversation he or his aunt had a share in, and his own +performances, past and potential, were the subject of mysterious hints +and dark avowals. + +“I wish you would turn me into a wolf, Mr. Bilsiter,” said his hostess at +luncheon the day after his arrival. + +“My dear Mary,” said Colonel Hampton, “I never knew you had a craving in +that direction.” + +“A she-wolf, of course,” continued Mrs. Hampton; “it would be too +confusing to change one’s sex as well as one’s species at a moment’s +notice.” + +“I don’t think one should jest on these subjects,” said Leonard. + +“I’m not jesting, I’m quite serious, I assure you. Only don’t do it +to-day; we have only eight available bridge players, and it would break +up one of our tables. To-morrow we shall be a larger party. To-morrow +night, after dinner—” + +“In our present imperfect understanding of these hidden forces I think +one should approach them with humbleness rather than mockery,” observed +Leonard, with such severity that the subject was forthwith dropped. + +Clovis Sangrail had sat unusually silent during the discussion on the +possibilities of Siberian Magic; after lunch he side-tracked Lord Pabham +into the comparative seclusion of the billiard-room and delivered himself +of a searching question. + +“Have you such a thing as a she-wolf in your collection of wild animals? +A she-wolf of moderately good temper?” + +Lord Pabham considered. “There is Louisa,” he said, “a rather fine +specimen of the timber-wolf. I got her two years ago in exchange for +some Arctic foxes. Most of my animals get to be fairly tame before +they’ve been with me very long; I think I can say Louisa has an angelic +temper, as she-wolves go. Why do you ask?” + +“I was wondering whether you would lend her to me for to-morrow night,” +said Clovis, with the careless solicitude of one who borrows a collar +stud or a tennis racquet. + +“To-morrow night?” + +“Yes, wolves are nocturnal animals, so the late hours won’t hurt her,” +said Clovis, with the air of one who has taken everything into +consideration; “one of your men could bring her over from Pabham Park +after dusk, and with a little help he ought to be able to smuggle her +into the conservatory at the same moment that Mary Hampton makes an +unobtrusive exit.” + +Lord Pabham stared at Clovis for a moment in pardonable bewilderment; +then his face broke into a wrinkled network of laughter. + +“Oh, that’s your game, is it? You are going to do a little Siberian +Magic on your own account. And is Mrs. Hampton willing to be a +fellow-conspirator?” + +“Mary is pledged to see me through with it, if you will guarantee +Louisa’s temper.” + +“I’ll answer for Louisa,” said Lord Pabham. + +By the following day the house-party had swollen to larger proportions, +and Bilsiter’s instinct for self-advertisement expanded duly under the +stimulant of an increased audience. At dinner that evening he held forth +at length on the subject of unseen forces and untested powers, and his +flow of impressive eloquence continued unabated while coffee was being +served in the drawing-room preparatory to a general migration to the +card-room. + +His aunt ensured a respectful hearing for his utterances, but her +sensation-loving soul hankered after something more dramatic than mere +vocal demonstration. + +“Won’t you do something to _convince_ them of your powers, Leonard?” she +pleaded; “change something into another shape. He can, you know, if he +only chooses to,” she informed the company. + +“Oh, do,” said Mavis Pellington earnestly, and her request was echoed by +nearly everyone present. Even those who were not open to conviction were +perfectly willing to be entertained by an exhibition of amateur +conjuring. + +Leonard felt that something tangible was expected of him. + +“Has anyone present,” he asked, “got a three-penny bit or some small +object of no particular value—?” + +“You’re surely not going to make coins disappear, or something primitive +of that sort?” said Clovis contemptuously. + +“I think it very unkind of you not to carry out my suggestion of turning +me into a wolf,” said Mary Hampton, as she crossed over to the +conservatory to give her macaws their usual tribute from the dessert +dishes. + +“I have already warned you of the danger of treating these powers in a +mocking spirit,” said Leonard solemnly. + +“I don’t believe you can do it,” laughed Mary provocatively from the +conservatory; “I dare you to do it if you can. I defy you to turn me +into a wolf.” + +As she said this she was lost to view behind a clump of azaleas. + +“Mrs. Hampton—” began Leonard with increased solemnity, but he got no +further. A breath of chill air seemed to rush across the room, and at +the same time the macaws broke forth into ear-splitting screams. + +“What on earth is the matter with those confounded birds, Mary?” +exclaimed Colonel Hampton; at the same moment an even more piercing +scream from Mavis Pellington stampeded the entire company from their +seats. In various attitudes of helpless horror or instinctive defence +they confronted the evil-looking grey beast that was peering at them from +amid a setting of fern and azalea. + +Mrs. Hoops was the first to recover from the general chaos of fright and +bewilderment. + +“Leonard!” she screamed shrilly to her nephew, “turn it back into Mrs. +Hampton at once! It may fly at us at any moment. Turn it back!” + +“I—I don’t know how to,” faltered Leonard, who looked more scared and +horrified than anyone. + +“What!” shouted Colonel Hampton, “you’ve taken the abominable liberty of +turning my wife into a wolf, and now you stand there calmly and say you +can’t turn her back again!” + +To do strict justice to Leonard, calmness was not a distinguishing +feature of his attitude at the moment. + +“I assure you I didn’t turn Mrs. Hampton into a wolf; nothing was farther +from my intentions,” he protested. + +“Then where is she, and how came that animal into the conservatory?” +demanded the Colonel. + +“Of course we must accept your assurance that you didn’t turn Mrs. +Hampton into a wolf,” said Clovis politely, “but you will agree that +appearances are against you.” + +“Are we to have all these recriminations with that beast standing there +ready to tear us to pieces?” wailed Mavis indignantly. + +“Lord Pabham, you know a good deal about wild beasts—” suggested Colonel +Hampton. + +“The wild beasts that I have been accustomed to,” said Lord Pabham, “have +come with proper credentials from well-known dealers, or have been bred +in my own menagerie. I’ve never before been confronted with an animal +that walks unconcernedly out of an azalea bush, leaving a charming and +popular hostess unaccounted for. As far as one can judge from _outward_ +characteristics,” he continued, “it has the appearance of a well-grown +female of the North American timber-wolf, a variety of the common species +_canis lupus_.” + +“Oh, never mind its Latin name,” screamed Mavis, as the beast came a step +or two further into the room; “can’t you entice it away with food, and +shut it up where it can’t do any harm?” + +“If it is really Mrs. Hampton, who has just had a very good dinner, I +don’t suppose food will appeal to it very strongly,” said Clovis. + +“Leonard,” beseeched Mrs. Hoops tearfully, “even if this is none of your +doing can’t you use your great powers to turn this dreadful beast into +something harmless before it bites us all—a rabbit or something?” + +“I don’t suppose Colonel Hampton would care to have his wife turned into +a succession of fancy animals as though we were playing a round game with +her,” interposed Clovis. + +“I absolutely forbid it,” thundered the Colonel. + +“Most wolves that I’ve had anything to do with have been inordinately +fond of sugar,” said Lord Pabham; “if you like I’ll try the effect on +this one.” + +He took a piece of sugar from the saucer of his coffee cup and flung it +to the expectant Louisa, who snapped it in mid-air. There was a sigh of +relief from the company; a wolf that ate sugar when it might at the least +have been employed in tearing macaws to pieces had already shed some of +its terrors. The sigh deepened to a gasp of thanks-giving when Lord +Pabham decoyed the animal out of the room by a pretended largesse of +further sugar. There was an instant rush to the vacated conservatory. +There was no trace of Mrs. Hampton except the plate containing the +macaws’ supper. + +“The door is locked on the inside!” exclaimed Clovis, who had deftly +turned the key as he affected to test it. + +Everyone turned towards Bilsiter. + +“If you haven’t turned my wife into a wolf,” said Colonel Hampton, “will +you kindly explain where she has disappeared to, since she obviously +could not have gone through a locked door? I will not press you for an +explanation of how a North American timber-wolf suddenly appeared in the +conservatory, but I think I have some right to inquire what has become of +Mrs. Hampton.” + +Bilsiter’s reiterated disclaimer was met with a general murmur of +impatient disbelief. + +“I refuse to stay another hour under this roof,” declared Mavis +Pellington. + +“If our hostess has really vanished out of human form,” said Mrs. Hoops, +“none of the ladies of the party can very well remain. I absolutely +decline to be chaperoned by a wolf!” + +“It’s a she-wolf,” said Clovis soothingly. + +The correct etiquette to be observed under the unusual circumstances +received no further elucidation. The sudden entry of Mary Hampton +deprived the discussion of its immediate interest. + +“Some one has mesmerised me,” she exclaimed crossly; “I found myself in +the game larder, of all places, being fed with sugar by Lord Pabham. I +hate being mesmerised, and the doctor has forbidden me to touch sugar.” + +The situation was explained to her, as far as it permitted of anything +that could be called explanation. + +“Then you _really_ did turn me into a wolf, Mr. Bilsiter?” she exclaimed +excitedly. + +But Leonard had burned the boat in which he might now have embarked on a +sea of glory. He could only shake his head feebly. + +“It was I who took that liberty,” said Clovis; “you see, I happen to have +lived for a couple of years in North-Eastern Russia, and I have more than +a tourist’s acquaintance with the magic craft of that region. One does +not care to speak about these strange powers, but once in a way, when one +hears a lot of nonsense being talked about them, one is tempted to show +what Siberian magic can accomplish in the hands of someone who really +understands it. I yielded to that temptation. May I have some brandy? +the effort has left me rather faint.” + +If Leonard Bilsiter could at that moment have transformed Clovis into a +cockroach and then have stepped on him he would gladly have performed +both operations. + + + + +LAURA + + +“You are not really dying, are you?” asked Amanda. + +“I have the doctor’s permission to live till Tuesday,” said Laura. + +“But to-day is Saturday; this is serious!” gasped Amanda. + +“I don’t know about it being serious; it is certainly Saturday,” said +Laura. + +“Death is always serious,” said Amanda. + +“I never said I was going to die. I am presumably going to leave off +being Laura, but I shall go on being something. An animal of some kind, +I suppose. You see, when one hasn’t been very good in the life one has +just lived, one reincarnates in some lower organism. And I haven’t been +very good, when one comes to think of it. I’ve been petty and mean and +vindictive and all that sort of thing when circumstances have seemed to +warrant it.” + +“Circumstances never warrant that sort of thing,” said Amanda hastily. + +“If you don’t mind my saying so,” observed Laura, “Egbert is a +circumstance that would warrant any amount of that sort of thing. You’re +married to him—that’s different; you’ve sworn to love, honour, and endure +him: I haven’t.” + +“I don’t see what’s wrong with Egbert,” protested Amanda. + +“Oh, I daresay the wrongness has been on my part,” admitted Laura +dispassionately; “he has merely been the extenuating circumstance. He +made a thin, peevish kind of fuss, for instance, when I took the collie +puppies from the farm out for a run the other day.” + +“They chased his young broods of speckled Sussex and drove two sitting +hens off their nests, besides running all over the flower beds. You know +how devoted he is to his poultry and garden.” + +“Anyhow, he needn’t have gone on about it for the entire evening and then +have said, ‘Let’s say no more about it’ just when I was beginning to +enjoy the discussion. That’s where one of my petty vindictive revenges +came in,” added Laura with an unrepentant chuckle; “I turned the entire +family of speckled Sussex into his seedling shed the day after the puppy +episode.” + +“How could you?” exclaimed Amanda. + +“It came quite easy,” said Laura; “two of the hens pretended to be laying +at the time, but I was firm.” + +“And we thought it was an accident!” + +“You see,” resumed Laura, “I really _have_ some grounds for supposing +that my next incarnation will be in a lower organism. I shall be an +animal of some kind. On the other hand, I haven’t been a bad sort in my +way, so I think I may count on being a nice animal, something elegant and +lively, with a love of fun. An otter, perhaps.” + +“I can’t imagine you as an otter,” said Amanda. + +“Well, I don’t suppose you can imagine me as an angel, if it comes to +that,” said Laura. + +Amanda was silent. She couldn’t. + +“Personally I think an otter life would be rather enjoyable,” continued +Laura; “salmon to eat all the year round, and the satisfaction of being +able to fetch the trout in their own homes without having to wait for +hours till they condescend to rise to the fly you’ve been dangling before +them; and an elegant svelte figure—” + +“Think of the otter hounds,” interposed Amanda; “how dreadful to be +hunted and harried and finally worried to death!” + +“Rather fun with half the neighbourhood looking on, and anyhow not worse +than this Saturday-to-Tuesday business of dying by inches; and then I +should go on into something else. If I had been a moderately good otter +I suppose I should get back into human shape of some sort; probably +something rather primitive—a little brown, unclothed Nubian boy, I should +think.” + +“I wish you would be serious,” sighed Amanda; “you really ought to be if +you’re only going to live till Tuesday.” + +As a matter of fact Laura died on Monday. + +“So dreadfully upsetting,” Amanda complained to her uncle-in-law, Sir +Lulworth Quayne. “I’ve asked quite a lot of people down for golf and +fishing, and the rhododendrons are just looking their best.” + +“Laura always was inconsiderate,” said Sir Lulworth; “she was born during +Goodwood week, with an Ambassador staying in the house who hated babies.” + +“She had the maddest kind of ideas,” said Amanda; “do you know if there +was any insanity in her family?” + +“Insanity? No, I never heard of any. Her father lives in West +Kensington, but I believe he’s sane on all other subjects.” + +“She had an idea that she was going to be reincarnated as an otter,” said +Amanda. + +“One meets with those ideas of reincarnation so frequently, even in the +West,” said Sir Lulworth, “that one can hardly set them down as being +mad. And Laura was such an unaccountable person in this life that I +should not like to lay down definite rules as to what she might be doing +in an after state.” + +“You think she really might have passed into some animal form?” asked +Amanda. She was one of those who shape their opinions rather readily +from the standpoint of those around them. + +Just then Egbert entered the breakfast-room, wearing an air of +bereavement that Laura’s demise would have been insufficient, in itself, +to account for. + +“Four of my speckled Sussex have been killed,” he exclaimed; “the very +four that were to go to the show on Friday. One of them was dragged away +and eaten right in the middle of that new carnation bed that I’ve been to +such trouble and expense over. My best flower bed and my best fowls +singled out for destruction; it almost seems as if the brute that did the +deed had special knowledge how to be as devastating as possible in a +short space of time.” + +“Was it a fox, do you think?” asked Amanda. + +“Sounds more like a polecat,” said Sir Lulworth. + +“No,” said Egbert, “there were marks of webbed feet all over the place, +and we followed the tracks down to the stream at the bottom of the +garden; evidently an otter.” + +Amanda looked quickly and furtively across at Sir Lulworth. + +Egbert was too agitated to eat any breakfast, and went out to superintend +the strengthening of the poultry yard defences. + +“I think she might at least have waited till the funeral was over,” said +Amanda in a scandalised voice. + +“It’s her own funeral, you know,” said Sir Lulworth; “it’s a nice point +in etiquette how far one ought to show respect to one’s own mortal +remains.” + +Disregard for mortuary convention was carried to further lengths next +day; during the absence of the family at the funeral ceremony the +remaining survivors of the speckled Sussex were massacred. The +marauder’s line of retreat seemed to have embraced most of the flower +beds on the lawn, but the strawberry beds in the lower garden had also +suffered. + +“I shall get the otter hounds to come here at the earliest possible +moment,” said Egbert savagely. + +“On no account! You can’t dream of such a thing!” exclaimed Amanda. “I +mean, it wouldn’t do, so soon after a funeral in the house.” + +“It’s a case of necessity,” said Egbert; “once an otter takes to that +sort of thing it won’t stop.” + +“Perhaps it will go elsewhere now there are no more fowls left,” +suggested Amanda. + +“One would think you wanted to shield the beast,” said Egbert. + +“There’s been so little water in the stream lately,” objected Amanda; “it +seems hardly sporting to hunt an animal when it has so little chance of +taking refuge anywhere.” + +“Good gracious!” fumed Egbert, “I’m not thinking about sport. I want to +have the animal killed as soon as possible.” + +Even Amanda’s opposition weakened when, during church time on the +following Sunday, the otter made its way into the house, raided half a +salmon from the larder and worried it into scaly fragments on the Persian +rug in Egbert’s studio. + +“We shall have it hiding under our beds and biting pieces out of our feet +before long,” said Egbert, and from what Amanda knew of this particular +otter she felt that the possibility was not a remote one. + +On the evening preceding the day fixed for the hunt Amanda spent a +solitary hour walking by the banks of the stream, making what she +imagined to be hound noises. It was charitably supposed by those who +overheard her performance, that she was practising for farmyard +imitations at the forth-coming village entertainment. + +It was her friend and neighbour, Aurora Burret, who brought her news of +the day’s sport. + +“Pity you weren’t out; we had quite a good day. We found at once, in the +pool just below your garden.” + +“Did you—kill?” asked Amanda. + +“Rather. A fine she-otter. Your husband got rather badly bitten in +trying to ‘tail it.’ Poor beast, I felt quite sorry for it, it had such +a human look in its eyes when it was killed. You’ll call me silly, but +do you know who the look reminded me of? My dear woman, what is the +matter?” + +When Amanda had recovered to a certain extent from her attack of nervous +prostration Egbert took her to the Nile Valley to recuperate. Change of +scene speedily brought about the desired recovery of health and mental +balance. The escapades of an adventurous otter in search of a variation +of diet were viewed in their proper light. Amanda’s normally placid +temperament reasserted itself. Even a hurricane of shouted curses, +coming from her husband’s dressing-room, in her husband’s voice, but +hardly in his usual vocabulary, failed to disturb her serenity as she +made a leisurely toilet one evening in a Cairo hotel. + +“What is the matter? What has happened?” she asked in amused curiosity. + +“The little beast has thrown all my clean shirts into the bath! Wait +till I catch you, you little—” + +“What little beast?” asked Amanda, suppressing a desire to laugh; +Egbert’s language was so hopelessly inadequate to express his outraged +feelings. + +“A little beast of a naked brown Nubian boy,” spluttered Egbert. + +And now Amanda is seriously ill. + + + + +THE BOAR-PIG + + +“There is a back way on to the lawn,” said Mrs. Philidore Stossen to her +daughter, “through a small grass paddock and then through a walled fruit +garden full of gooseberry bushes. I went all over the place last year +when the family were away. There is a door that opens from the fruit +garden into a shrubbery, and once we emerge from there we can mingle with +the guests as if we had come in by the ordinary way. It’s much safer +than going in by the front entrance and running the risk of coming bang +up against the hostess; that would be so awkward when she doesn’t happen +to have invited us.” + +“Isn’t it a lot of trouble to take for getting admittance to a garden +party?” + +“To a garden party, yes; to _the_ garden party of the season, certainly +not. Every one of any consequence in the county, with the exception of +ourselves, has been asked to meet the Princess, and it would be far more +troublesome to invent explanations as to why we weren’t there than to get +in by a roundabout way. I stopped Mrs. Cuvering in the road yesterday +and talked very pointedly about the Princess. If she didn’t choose to +take the hint and send me an invitation it’s not my fault, is it? Here +we are: we just cut across the grass and through that little gate into +the garden.” + +Mrs. Stossen and her daughter, suitably arrayed for a county garden party +function with an infusion of Almanack de Gotha, sailed through the narrow +grass paddock and the ensuing gooseberry garden with the air of state +barges making an unofficial progress along a rural trout stream. There +was a certain amount of furtive haste mingled with the stateliness of +their advance, as though hostile search-lights might be turned on them at +any moment; and, as a matter of fact, they were not unobserved. Matilda +Cuvering, with the alert eyes of thirteen years old and the added +advantage of an exalted position in the branches of a medlar tree, had +enjoyed a good view of the Stossen flanking movement and had foreseen +exactly where it would break down in execution. + +“They’ll find the door locked, and they’ll jolly well have to go back the +way they came,” she remarked to herself. “Serves them right for not +coming in by the proper entrance. What a pity Tarquin Superbus isn’t +loose in the paddock. After all, as every one else is enjoying +themselves, I don’t see why Tarquin shouldn’t have an afternoon out.” + +Matilda was of an age when thought is action; she slid down from the +branches of the medlar tree, and when she clambered back again Tarquin, +the huge white Yorkshire boar-pig, had exchanged the narrow limits of his +stye for the wider range of the grass paddock. The discomfited Stossen +expedition, returning in recriminatory but otherwise orderly retreat from +the unyielding obstacle of the locked door, came to a sudden halt at the +gate dividing the paddock from the gooseberry garden. + +“What a villainous-looking animal,” exclaimed Mrs. Stossen; “it wasn’t +there when we came in.” + +“It’s there now, anyhow,” said her daughter. “What on earth are we to +do? I wish we had never come.” + +The boar-pig had drawn nearer to the gate for a closer inspection of the +human intruders, and stood champing his jaws and blinking his small red +eyes in a manner that was doubtless intended to be disconcerting, and, as +far as the Stossens were concerned, thoroughly achieved that result. + +“Shoo! Hish! Hish! Shoo!” cried the ladies in chorus. + +“If they think they’re going to drive him away by reciting lists of the +kings of Israel and Judah they’re laying themselves out for +disappointment,” observed Matilda from her seat in the medlar tree. As +she made the observation aloud Mrs. Stossen became for the first time +aware of her presence. A moment or two earlier she would have been +anything but pleased at the discovery that the garden was not as deserted +as it looked, but now she hailed the fact of the child’s presence on the +scene with absolute relief. + +“Little girl, can you find some one to drive away—” she began hopefully. + +“_Comment_? _Comprends pas_,” was the response. + +“Oh, are you French? _Êtes vous française_?” + +“_Pas de tous_. _’Suis anglaise_.” + +“Then why not talk English? I want to know if—” + +“_Permettez-moi expliquer_. You see, I’m rather under a cloud,” said +Matilda. “I’m staying with my aunt, and I was told I must behave +particularly well to-day, as lots of people were coming for a garden +party, and I was told to imitate Claude, that’s my young cousin, who +never does anything wrong except by accident, and then is always +apologetic about it. It seems they thought I ate too much raspberry +trifle at lunch, and they said Claude never eats too much raspberry +trifle. Well, Claude always goes to sleep for half an hour after lunch, +because he’s told to, and I waited till he was asleep, and tied his hands +and started forcible feeding with a whole bucketful of raspberry trifle +that they were keeping for the garden-party. Lots of it went on to his +sailor-suit and some of it on to the bed, but a good deal went down +Claude’s throat, and they can’t say again that he has never been known to +eat too much raspberry trifle. That is why I am not allowed to go to the +party, and as an additional punishment I must speak French all the +afternoon. I’ve had to tell you all this in English, as there were words +like ‘forcible feeding’ that I didn’t know the French for; of course I +could have invented them, but if I had said _nourriture obligatoire_ you +wouldn’t have had the least idea what I was talking about. _Mais +maintenant_, _nous parlons français_.” + +“Oh, very well, _trés bien_,” said Mrs. Stossen reluctantly; in moments +of flurry such French as she knew was not under very good control. +“_Là_, _à l’autre côté de la porte_, _est un cochon_—” + +“_Un cochon_? _Ah_, _le petit charmant_!” exclaimed Matilda with +enthusiasm. + +“_Mais non_, _pas du tout petit_, _et pas du tout charmant_; _un bête +féroce_—” + +“_Une bête_,” corrected Matilda; “a pig is masculine as long as you call +it a pig, but if you lose your temper with it and call it a ferocious +beast it becomes one of us at once. French is a dreadfully unsexing +language.” + +“For goodness’ sake let us talk English then,” said Mrs. Stossen. “Is +there any way out of this garden except through the paddock where the pig +is?” + +“I always go over the wall, by way of the plum tree,” said Matilda. + +“Dressed as we are we could hardly do that,” said Mrs. Stossen; it was +difficult to imagine her doing it in any costume. + +“Do you think you could go and get some one who would drive the pig +away?” asked Miss Stossen. + +“I promised my aunt I would stay here till five o’clock; it’s not four +yet.” + +“I am sure, under the circumstances, your aunt would permit—” + +“My conscience would not permit,” said Matilda with cold dignity. + +“We can’t stay here till five o’clock,” exclaimed Mrs. Stossen with +growing exasperation. + +“Shall I recite to you to make the time pass quicker?” asked Matilda +obligingly. “‘Belinda, the little Breadwinner,’ is considered my best +piece, or, perhaps, it ought to be something in French. Henri Quatre’s +address to his soldiers is the only thing I really know in that +language.” + +“If you will go and fetch some one to drive that animal away I will give +you something to buy yourself a nice present,” said Mrs. Stossen. + +Matilda came several inches lower down the medlar tree. + +“That is the most practical suggestion you have made yet for getting out +of the garden,” she remarked cheerfully; “Claude and I are collecting +money for the Children’s Fresh Air Fund, and we are seeing which of us +can collect the biggest sum.” + +“I shall be very glad to contribute half a crown, very glad indeed,” said +Mrs. Stossen, digging that coin out of the depths of a receptacle which +formed a detached outwork of her toilet. + +“Claude is a long way ahead of me at present,” continued Matilda, taking +no notice of the suggested offering; “you see, he’s only eleven, and has +golden hair, and those are enormous advantages when you’re on the +collecting job. Only the other day a Russian lady gave him ten +shillings. Russians understand the art of giving far better than we do. +I expect Claude will net quite twenty-five shillings this afternoon; +he’ll have the field to himself, and he’ll be able to do the pale, +fragile, not-long-for-this-world business to perfection after his +raspberry trifle experience. Yes, he’ll be _quite_ two pounds ahead of +me by now.” + +With much probing and plucking and many regretful murmurs the beleaguered +ladies managed to produce seven-and-sixpence between them. + +“I am afraid this is all we’ve got,” said Mrs. Stossen. + +Matilda showed no sign of coming down either to the earth or to their +figure. + +“I could not do violence to my conscience for anything less than ten +shillings,” she announced stiffly. + +Mother and daughter muttered certain remarks under their breath, in which +the word “beast” was prominent, and probably had no reference to Tarquin. + +“I find I _have_ got another half-crown,” said Mrs. Stossen in a shaking +voice; “here you are. Now please fetch some one quickly.” + +Matilda slipped down from the tree, took possession of the donation, and +proceeded to pick up a handful of over-ripe medlars from the grass at her +feet. Then she climbed over the gate and addressed herself +affectionately to the boar-pig. + +“Come, Tarquin, dear old boy; you know you can’t resist medlars when +they’re rotten and squashy.” + +Tarquin couldn’t. By dint of throwing the fruit in front of him at +judicious intervals Matilda decoyed him back to his stye, while the +delivered captives hurried across the paddock. + +“Well, I never! The little minx!” exclaimed Mrs. Stossen when she was +safely on the high road. “The animal wasn’t savage at all, and as for +the ten shillings, I don’t believe the Fresh Air Fund will see a penny of +it!” + +There she was unwarrantably harsh in her judgment. If you examine the +books of the fund you will find the acknowledgment: “Collected by Miss +Matilda Cuvering, 2s. 6d.” + + + + +THE BROGUE + + +The hunting season had come to an end, and the Mullets had not succeeded +in selling the Brogue. There had been a kind of tradition in the family +for the past three or four years, a sort of fatalistic hope, that the +Brogue would find a purchaser before the hunting was over; but seasons +came and went without anything happening to justify such ill-founded +optimism. The animal had been named Berserker in the earlier stages of +its career; it had been rechristened the Brogue later on, in recognition +of the fact that, once acquired, it was extremely difficult to get rid +of. The unkinder wits of the neighbourhood had been known to suggest +that the first letter of its name was superfluous. The Brogue had been +variously described in sale catalogues as a light-weight hunter, a lady’s +hack, and, more simply, but still with a touch of imagination, as a +useful brown gelding, standing 15.1. Toby Mullet had ridden him for four +seasons with the West Wessex; you can ride almost any sort of horse with +the West Wessex as long as it is an animal that knows the country. The +Brogue knew the country intimately, having personally created most of the +gaps that were to be met with in banks and hedges for many miles round. +His manners and characteristics were not ideal in the hunting field, but +he was probably rather safer to ride to hounds than he was as a hack on +country roads. According to the Mullet family, he was not really +road-shy, but there were one or two objects of dislike that brought on +sudden attacks of what Toby called the swerving sickness. Motors and +cycles he treated with tolerant disregard, but pigs, wheelbarrows, piles +of stones by the roadside, perambulators in a village street, gates +painted too aggressively white, and sometimes, but not always, the newer +kind of beehives, turned him aside from his tracks in vivid imitation of +the zigzag course of forked lightning. If a pheasant rose noisily from +the other side of a hedgerow the Brogue would spring into the air at the +same moment, but this may have been due to a desire to be companionable. +The Mullet family contradicted the widely prevalent report that the horse +was a confirmed crib-biter. + +It was about the third week in May that Mrs. Mullet, relict of the late +Sylvester Mullet, and mother of Toby and a bunch of daughters, assailed +Clovis Sangrail on the outskirts of the village with a breathless +catalogue of local happenings. + +“You know our new neighbour, Mr. Penricarde?” she vociferated; “awfully +rich, owns tin mines in Cornwall, middle-aged and rather quiet. He’s +taken the Red House on a long lease and spent a lot of money on +alterations and improvements. Well, Toby’s sold him the Brogue!” + +Clovis spent a moment or two in assimilating the astonishing news; then +he broke out into unstinted congratulation. If he had belonged to a more +emotional race he would probably have kissed Mrs. Mullet. + +“How wonderfully lucky to have pulled it off at last! Now you can buy a +decent animal. I’ve always said that Toby was clever. Ever so many +congratulations.” + +“Don’t congratulate me. It’s the most unfortunate thing that could have +happened!” said Mrs. Mullet dramatically. + +Clovis stared at her in amazement. + +“Mr. Penricarde,” said Mrs. Mullet, sinking her voice to what she +imagined to be an impressive whisper, though it rather resembled a +hoarse, excited squeak, “Mr. Penricarde has just begun to pay attentions +to Jessie. Slight at first, but now unmistakable. I was a fool not to +have seen it sooner. Yesterday, at the Rectory garden party, he asked +her what her favourite flowers were, and she told him carnations, and +to-day a whole stack of carnations has arrived, clove and malmaison and +lovely dark red ones, regular exhibition blooms, and a box of chocolates +that he must have got on purpose from London. And he’s asked her to go +round the links with him to-morrow. And now, just at this critical +moment, Toby has sold him that animal. It’s a calamity!” + +“But you’ve been trying to get the horse off your hands for years,” said +Clovis. + +“I’ve got a houseful of daughters,” said Mrs. Mullet, “and I’ve been +trying—well, not to get them off my hands, of course, but a husband or +two wouldn’t be amiss among the lot of them; there are six of them, you +know.” + +“I don’t know,” said Clovis, “I’ve never counted, but I expect you’re +right as to the number; mothers generally know these things.” + +“And now,” continued Mrs. Mullet, in her tragic whisper, “when there’s a +rich husband-in-prospect imminent on the horizon Toby goes and sells him +that miserable animal. It will probably kill him if he tries to ride it; +anyway it will kill any affection he might have felt towards any member +of our family. What is to be done? We can’t very well ask to have the +horse back; you see, we praised it up like anything when we thought there +was a chance of his buying it, and said it was just the animal to suit +him.” + +“Couldn’t you steal it out of his stable and send it to grass at some +farm miles away?” suggested Clovis; “write ‘Votes for Women’ on the +stable door, and the thing would pass for a Suffragette outrage. No one +who knew the horse could possibly suspect you of wanting to get it back +again.” + +“Every newspaper in the country would ring with the affair,” said Mrs. +Mullet; “can’t you imagine the headline, ‘Valuable Hunter Stolen by +Suffragettes’? The police would scour the countryside till they found +the animal.” + +“Well, Jessie must try and get it back from Penricarde on the plea that +it’s an old favourite. She can say it was only sold because the stable +had to be pulled down under the terms of an old repairing lease, and that +now it has been arranged that the stable is to stand for a couple of +years longer.” + +“It sounds a queer proceeding to ask for a horse back when you’ve just +sold him,” said Mrs. Mullet, “but something must be done, and done at +once. The man is not used to horses, and I believe I told him it was as +quiet as a lamb. After all, lambs go kicking and twisting about as if +they were demented, don’t they?” + +“The lamb has an entirely unmerited character for sedateness,” agreed +Clovis. + +Jessie came back from the golf links next day in a state of mingled +elation and concern. + +“It’s all right about the proposal,” she announced; “he came out with it +at the sixth hole. I said I must have time to think it over. I accepted +him at the seventh.” + +“My dear,” said her mother, “I think a little more maidenly reserve and +hesitation would have been advisable, as you’ve known him so short a +time. You might have waited till the ninth hole.” + +“The seventh is a very long hole,” said Jessie; “besides, the tension was +putting us both off our game. By the time we’d got to the ninth hole +we’d settled lots of things. The honeymoon is to be spent in Corsica, +with perhaps a flying visit to Naples if we feel like it, and a week in +London to wind up with. Two of his nieces are to be asked to be +bridesmaids, so with our lot there will be seven, which is rather a lucky +number. You are to wear your pearl grey, with any amount of Honiton lace +jabbed into it. By the way, he’s coming over this evening to ask your +consent to the whole affair. So far all’s well, but about the Brogue +it’s a different matter. I told him the legend about the stable, and how +keen we were about buying the horse back, but he seems equally keen on +keeping it. He said he must have horse exercise now that he’s living in +the country, and he’s going to start riding to-morrow. He’s ridden a few +times in the Row, on an animal that was accustomed to carry octogenarians +and people undergoing rest cures, and that’s about all his experience in +the saddle—oh, and he rode a pony once in Norfolk, when he was fifteen +and the pony twenty-four; and to-morrow he’s going to ride the Brogue! I +shall be a widow before I’m married, and I do so want to see what +Corsica’s like; it looks so silly on the map.” + +Clovis was sent for in haste, and the developments of the situation put +before him. + +“Nobody can ride that animal with any safety,” said Mrs. Mullet, “except +Toby, and he knows by long experience what it is going to shy at, and +manages to swerve at the same time.” + +“I did hint to Mr. Penricarde—to Vincent, I should say—that the Brogue +didn’t like white gates,” said Jessie. + +“White gates!” exclaimed Mrs. Mullet; “did you mention what effect a pig +has on him? He’ll have to go past Lockyer’s farm to get to the high +road, and there’s sure to be a pig or two grunting about in the lane.” + +“He’s taken rather a dislike to turkeys lately,” said Toby. + +“It’s obvious that Penricarde mustn’t be allowed to go out on that +animal,” said Clovis, “at least not till Jessie has married him, and +tired of him. I tell you what: ask him to a picnic to-morrow, starting +at an early hour; he’s not the sort to go out for a ride before +breakfast. The day after I’ll get the rector to drive him over to +Crowleigh before lunch, to see the new cottage hospital they’re building +there. The Brogue will be standing idle in the stable and Toby can offer +to exercise it; then it can pick up a stone or something of the sort and +go conveniently lame. If you hurry on the wedding a bit the lameness +fiction can be kept up till the ceremony is safely over.” + +Mrs. Mullet belonged to an emotional race, and she kissed Clovis. + +It was nobody’s fault that the rain came down in torrents the next +morning, making a picnic a fantastic impossibility. It was also nobody’s +fault, but sheer ill-luck, that the weather cleared up sufficiently in +the afternoon to tempt Mr. Penricarde to make his first essay with the +Brogue. They did not get as far as the pigs at Lockyer’s farm; the +rectory gate was painted a dull unobtrusive green, but it had been white +a year or two ago, and the Brogue never forgot that he had been in the +habit of making a violent curtsey, a back-pedal and a swerve at this +particular point of the road. Subsequently, there being apparently no +further call on his services, he broke his way into the rectory orchard, +where he found a hen turkey in a coop; later visitors to the orchard +found the coop almost intact, but very little left of the turkey. + +Mr. Penricarde, a little stunned and shaken, and suffering from a bruised +knee and some minor damages, good-naturedly ascribed the accident to his +own inexperience with horses and country roads, and allowed Jessie to +nurse him back into complete recovery and golf-fitness within something +less than a week. + +In the list of wedding presents which the local newspaper published a +fortnight or so later appeared the following item: + +“Brown saddle-horse, ‘The Brogue,’ bridegroom’s gift to bride.” + +“Which shows,” said Toby Mullet, “that he knew nothing.” + +“Or else,” said Clovis, “that he has a very pleasing wit.” + + + + +THE HEN + + +“Dora Bittholz is coming on Thursday,” said Mrs. Sangrail. + +“This next Thursday?” asked Clovis + +His mother nodded. + +“You’ve rather done it, haven’t you?” he chuckled; “Jane Martlet has only +been here five days, and she never stays less than a fortnight, even when +she’s asked definitely for a week. You’ll never get her out of the house +by Thursday.” + +“Why should I?” asked Mrs. Sangrail; “she and Dora are good friends, +aren’t they? They used to be, as far as I remember.” + +“They used to be; that’s what makes them all the more bitter now. Each +feels that she has nursed a viper in her bosom. Nothing fans the flame +of human resentment so much as the discovery that one’s bosom has been +utilised as a snake sanatorium.” + +“But what has happened? Has some one been making mischief?” + +“Not exactly,” said Clovis; “a hen came between them.” + +“A hen? What hen?” + +“It was a bronze Leghorn or some such exotic breed, and Dora sold it to +Jane at a rather exotic price. They both go in for prize poultry, you +know, and Jane thought she was going to get her money back in a large +family of pedigree chickens. The bird turned out to be an abstainer from +the egg habit, and I’m told that the letters which passed between the two +women were a revelation as to how much invective could be got on to a +sheet of notepaper.” + +“How ridiculous!” said Mrs. Sangrail. “Couldn’t some of their friends +compose the quarrel?” + +“People tried,” said Clovis, “but it must have been rather like composing +the storm music of the ‘Fliegende Holländer.’ Jane was willing to take +back some of her most libellous remarks if Dora would take back the hen, +but Dora said that would be owning herself in the wrong, and you know +she’d as soon think of owning slum property in Whitechapel as do that.” + +“It’s a most awkward situation,” said Mrs. Sangrail. “Do you suppose +they won’t speak to one another?” + +“On the contrary, the difficulty will be to get them to leave off. Their +remarks on each other’s conduct and character have hitherto been governed +by the fact that only four ounces of plain speaking can be sent through +the post for a penny.” + +“I can’t put Dora off,” said Mrs. Sangrail. “I’ve already postponed her +visit once, and nothing short of a miracle would make Jane leave before +her self-allotted fortnight is over.” + +“Miracles are rather in my line,” said Clovis. “I don’t pretend to be +very hopeful in this case but I’ll do my best.” + +“As long as you don’t drag me into it—” stipulated his mother. + + * * * * * + +“Servants are a bit of a nuisance,” muttered Clovis, as he sat in the +smoking-room after lunch, talking fitfully to Jane Martlet in the +intervals of putting together the materials of a cocktail, which he had +irreverently patented under the name of an Ella Wheeler Wilcox. It was +partly compounded of old brandy and partly of curaçoa; there were other +ingredients, but they were never indiscriminately revealed. + +“Servants a nuisance!” exclaimed Jane, bounding into the topic with the +exuberant plunge of a hunter when it leaves the high road and feels turf +under its hoofs; “I should think they were! The trouble I’ve had in +getting suited this year you would hardly believe. But I don’t see what +you have to complain of—your mother is so wonderfully lucky in her +servants. Sturridge, for instance—he’s been with you for years, and I’m +sure he’s a paragon as butlers go.” + +“That’s just the trouble,” said Clovis. “It’s when servants have been +with you for years that they become a really serious nuisance. The ‘here +to-day and gone to-morrow’ sort don’t matter—you’ve simply got to replace +them; it’s the stayers and the paragons that are the real worry.” + +“But if they give satisfaction—” + +“That doesn’t prevent them from giving trouble. Now, you’ve mentioned +Sturridge—it was Sturridge I was particularly thinking of when I made the +observation about servants being a nuisance.” + +“The excellent Sturridge a nuisance! I can’t believe it.” + +“I know he’s excellent, and we just couldn’t get along without him; he’s +the one reliable element in this rather haphazard household. But his +very orderliness has had an effect on him. Have you ever considered what +it must be like to go on unceasingly doing the correct thing in the +correct manner in the same surroundings for the greater part of a +lifetime? To know and ordain and superintend exactly what silver and +glass and table linen shall be used and set out on what occasions, to +have cellar and pantry and plate-cupboard under a minutely devised and +undeviating administration, to be noiseless, impalpable, omnipresent, +and, as far as your own department is concerned, omniscient?” + +“I should go mad,” said Jane with conviction. + +“Exactly,” said Clovis thoughtfully, swallowing his completed Ella +Wheeler Wilcox. + +“But Sturridge hasn’t gone mad,” said Jane with a flutter of inquiry in +her voice. + +“On most points he’s thoroughly sane and reliable,” said Clovis, “but at +times he is subject to the most obstinate delusions, and on those +occasions he becomes not merely a nuisance but a decided embarrassment.” + +“What sort of delusions?” + +“Unfortunately they usually centre round one of the guests of the house +party, and that is where the awkwardness comes in. For instance, he took +it into his head that Matilda Sheringham was the Prophet Elijah, and as +all that he remembered about Elijah’s history was the episode of the +ravens in the wilderness he absolutely declined to interfere with what he +imagined to be Matilda’s private catering arrangements, wouldn’t allow +any tea to be sent up to her in the morning, and if he was waiting at +table he passed her over altogether in handing round the dishes.” + +“How very unpleasant. Whatever did you do about it?” + +“Oh, Matilda got fed, after a fashion, but it was judged to be best for +her to cut her visit short. It was really the only thing to be done,” +said Clovis with some emphasis. + +“I shouldn’t have done that,” said Jane, “I should have humoured him in +some way. I certainly shouldn’t have gone away.” + +Clovis frowned. + +“It is not always wise to humour people when they get these ideas into +their heads. There’s no knowing to what lengths they may go if you +encourage them.” + +“You don’t mean to say he might be dangerous, do you?” asked Jane with +some anxiety. + +“One can never be certain,” said Clovis; “now and then he gets some idea +about a guest which might take an unfortunate turn. That is precisely +what is worrying me at the present moment.” + +“What, has he taken a fancy about some one here now?” asked Jane +excitedly; “how thrilling! Do tell me who it is.” + +“You,” said Clovis briefly. + +“Me?” + +Clovis nodded. + +“Who on earth does he think I am?” + +“Queen Anne,” was the unexpected answer. + +“Queen Anne! What an idea. But, anyhow, there’s nothing dangerous about +her; she’s such a colourless personality.” + +“What does posterity chiefly say about Queen Anne?” asked Clovis rather +sternly. + +“The only thing that I can remember about her,” said Jane, “is the saying +‘Queen Anne’s dead.’” + +“Exactly,” said Clovis, staring at the glass that had held the Ella +Wheeler Wilcox, “dead.” + +“Do you mean he takes me for the ghost of Queen Anne?” asked Jane. + +“Ghost? Dear no. No one ever heard of a ghost that came down to +breakfast and ate kidneys and toast and honey with a healthy appetite. +No, it’s the fact of you being so very much alive and flourishing that +perplexes and annoys him. All his life he has been accustomed to look on +Queen Anne as the personification of everything that is dead and done +with, ‘as dead as Queen Anne,’ you know; and now he has to fill your +glass at lunch and dinner and listen to your accounts of the gay time you +had at the Dublin Horse Show, and naturally he feels that something’s +very wrong with you.” + +“But he wouldn’t be downright hostile to me on that account, would he?” +Jane asked anxiously. + +“I didn’t get really alarmed about it till lunch to-day,” said Clovis; “I +caught him glowering at you with a very sinister look and muttering: +‘Ought to be dead long ago, she ought, and some one should see to it.’ +That’s why I mentioned the matter to you.” + +“This is awful,” said Jane; “your mother must be told about it at once.” + +“My mother mustn’t hear a word about it,” said Clovis earnestly; “it +would upset her dreadfully. She relies on Sturridge for everything.” + +“But he might kill me at any moment,” protested Jane. + +“Not at any moment; he’s busy with the silver all the afternoon.” + +“You’ll have to keep a sharp look-out all the time and be on your guard +to frustrate any murderous attack,” said Jane, adding in a tone of weak +obstinacy: “It’s a dreadful situation to be in, with a mad butler +dangling over you like the sword of What’s-his-name, but I’m certainly +not going to cut my visit short.” + +Clovis swore horribly under his breath; the miracle was an obvious +misfire. + +It was in the hall the next morning after a late breakfast that Clovis +had his final inspiration as he stood engaged in coaxing rust spots from +an old putter. + +“Where is Miss Martlet?” he asked the butler, who was at that moment +crossing the hall. + +“Writing letters in the morning-room, sir,” said Sturridge, announcing a +fact of which his questioner was already aware. + +“She wants to copy the inscription on that old basket-hilted sabre,” said +Clovis, pointing to a venerable weapon hanging on the wall. “I wish +you’d take it to her; my hands are all over oil. Take it without the +sheath, it will be less trouble.” + +The butler drew the blade, still keen and bright in its well-cared for +old age, and carried it into the morning-room. There was a door near the +writing-table leading to a back stairway; Jane vanished through it with +such lightning rapidity that the butler doubted whether she had seen him +come in. Half an hour later Clovis was driving her and her +hastily-packed luggage to the station. + +“Mother will be awfully vexed when she comes back from her ride and finds +you have gone,” he observed to the departing guest, “but I’ll make up +some story about an urgent wire having called you away. It wouldn’t do +to alarm her unnecessarily about Sturridge.” + +Jane sniffed slightly at Clovis’ ideas of unnecessary alarm, and was +almost rude to the young man who came round with thoughtful inquiries as +to luncheon-baskets. + +The miracle lost some of its usefulness from the fact that Dora wrote the +same day postponing the date of her visit, but, at any rate, Clovis holds +the record as the only human being who ever hustled Jane Martlet out of +the time-table of her migrations. + + + + +THE OPEN WINDOW + + +“My aunt will be down presently, Mr. Nuttel,” said a very self-possessed +young lady of fifteen; “in the meantime you must try and put up with me.” + +Framton Nuttel endeavoured to say the correct something which should duly +flatter the niece of the moment without unduly discounting the aunt that +was to come. Privately he doubted more than ever whether these formal +visits on a succession of total strangers would do much towards helping +the nerve cure which he was supposed to be undergoing. + +“I know how it will be,” his sister had said when he was preparing to +migrate to this rural retreat; “you will bury yourself down there and not +speak to a living soul, and your nerves will be worse than ever from +moping. I shall just give you letters of introduction to all the people +I know there. Some of them, as far as I can remember, were quite nice.” + +Framton wondered whether Mrs. Sappleton, the lady to whom he was +presenting one of the letters of introduction, came into the nice +division. + +“Do you know many of the people round here?” asked the niece, when she +judged that they had had sufficient silent communion. + +“Hardly a soul,” said Framton. “My sister was staying here, at the +rectory, you know, some four years ago, and she gave me letters of +introduction to some of the people here.” + +He made the last statement in a tone of distinct regret. + +“Then you know practically nothing about my aunt?” pursued the +self-possessed young lady. + +“Only her name and address,” admitted the caller. He was wondering +whether Mrs. Sappleton was in the married or widowed state. An +undefinable something about the room seemed to suggest masculine +habitation. + +“Her great tragedy happened just three years ago,” said the child; “that +would be since your sister’s time.” + +“Her tragedy?” asked Framton; somehow in this restful country spot +tragedies seemed out of place. + +“You may wonder why we keep that window wide open on an October +afternoon,” said the niece, indicating a large French window that opened +on to a lawn. + +“It is quite warm for the time of the year,” said Framton; “but has that +window got anything to do with the tragedy?” + +“Out through that window, three years ago to a day, her husband and her +two young brothers went off for their day’s shooting. They never came +back. In crossing the moor to their favourite snipe-shooting ground they +were all three engulfed in a treacherous piece of bog. It had been that +dreadful wet summer, you know, and places that were safe in other years +gave way suddenly without warning. Their bodies were never recovered. +That was the dreadful part of it.” Here the child’s voice lost its +self-possessed note and became falteringly human. “Poor aunt always +thinks that they will come back some day, they and the little brown +spaniel that was lost with them, and walk in at that window just as they +used to do. That is why the window is kept open every evening till it is +quite dusk. Poor dear aunt, she has often told me how they went out, her +husband with his white waterproof coat over his arm, and Ronnie, her +youngest brother, singing ‘Bertie, why do you bound?’ as he always did to +tease her, because she said it got on her nerves. Do you know, sometimes +on still, quiet evenings like this, I almost get a creepy feeling that +they will all walk in through that window—” + +She broke off with a little shudder. It was a relief to Framton when the +aunt bustled into the room with a whirl of apologies for being late in +making her appearance. + +“I hope Vera has been amusing you?” she said. + +“She has been very interesting,” said Framton. + +“I hope you don’t mind the open window,” said Mrs. Sappleton briskly; “my +husband and brothers will be home directly from shooting, and they always +come in this way. They’ve been out for snipe in the marshes to-day, so +they’ll make a fine mess over my poor carpets. So like you men-folk, +isn’t it?” + +She rattled on cheerfully about the shooting and the scarcity of birds, +and the prospects for duck in the winter. To Framton it was all purely +horrible. He made a desperate but only partially successful effort to +turn the talk on to a less ghastly topic; he was conscious that his +hostess was giving him only a fragment of her attention, and her eyes +were constantly straying past him to the open window and the lawn beyond. +It was certainly an unfortunate coincidence that he should have paid his +visit on this tragic anniversary. + +“The doctors agree in ordering me complete rest, an absence of mental +excitement, and avoidance of anything in the nature of violent physical +exercise,” announced Framton, who laboured under the tolerably widespread +delusion that total strangers and chance acquaintances are hungry for the +least detail of one’s ailments and infirmities, their cause and cure. +“On the matter of diet they are not so much in agreement,” he continued. + +“No?” said Mrs. Sappleton, in a voice which only replaced a yawn at the +last moment. Then she suddenly brightened into alert attention—but not +to what Framton was saying. + +“Here they are at last!” she cried. “Just in time for tea, and don’t +they look as if they were muddy up to the eyes!” + +Framton shivered slightly and turned towards the niece with a look +intended to convey sympathetic comprehension. The child was staring out +through the open window with dazed horror in her eyes. In a chill shock +of nameless fear Framton swung round in his seat and looked in the same +direction. + +In the deepening twilight three figures were walking across the lawn +towards the window; they all carried guns under their arms, and one of +them was additionally burdened with a white coat hung over his shoulders. +A tired brown spaniel kept close at their heels. Noiselessly they neared +the house, and then a hoarse young voice chanted out of the dusk: “I +said, Bertie, why do you bound?” + +Framton grabbed wildly at his stick and hat; the hall-door, the +gravel-drive, and the front gate were dimly-noted stages in his headlong +retreat. A cyclist coming along the road had to run into the hedge to +avoid an imminent collision. + +“Here we are, my dear,” said the bearer of the white mackintosh, coming +in through the window; “fairly muddy, but most of it’s dry. Who was that +who bolted out as we came up?” + +“A most extraordinary man, a Mr. Nuttel,” said Mrs. Sappleton; “could +only talk about his illnesses, and dashed off without a word of good-bye +or apology when you arrived. One would think he had seen a ghost.” + +“I expect it was the spaniel,” said the niece calmly; “he told me he had +a horror of dogs. He was once hunted into a cemetery somewhere on the +banks of the Ganges by a pack of pariah dogs, and had to spend the night +in a newly dug grave with the creatures snarling and grinning and foaming +just above him. Enough to make anyone lose their nerve.” + +Romance at short notice was her speciality. + + + + +THE TREASURE SHIP + + +The great galleon lay in semi-retirement under the sand and weed and +water of the northern bay where the fortune of war and weather had long +ago ensconced it. Three and a quarter centuries had passed since the day +when it had taken the high seas as an important unit of a fighting +squadron—precisely which squadron the learned were not agreed. The +galleon had brought nothing into the world, but it had, according to +tradition and report, taken much out of it. But how much? There again +the learned were in disagreement. Some were as generous in their +estimate as an income-tax assessor, others applied a species of higher +criticism to the submerged treasure chests, and debased their contents to +the currency of goblin gold. Of the former school was Lulu, Duchess of +Dulverton. + +The Duchess was not only a believer in the existence of a sunken treasure +of alluring proportions; she also believed that she knew of a method by +which the said treasure might be precisely located and cheaply +disembedded. An aunt on her mother’s side of the family had been Maid of +Honour at the Court of Monaco, and had taken a respectful interest in the +deep-sea researches in which the Throne of that country, impatient +perhaps of its terrestrial restrictions, was wont to immerse itself. It +was through the instrumentality of this relative that the Duchess learned +of an invention, perfected and very nearly patented by a Monegaskan +savant, by means of which the home-life of the Mediterranean sardine +might be studied at a depth of many fathoms in a cold white light of more +than ball-room brilliancy. Implicated in this invention (and, in the +Duchess’s eyes, the most attractive part of it) was an electric suction +dredge, specially designed for dragging to the surface such objects of +interest and value as might be found in the more accessible levels of the +ocean-bed. The rights of the invention were to be acquired for a matter +of eighteen hundred francs, and the apparatus for a few thousand more. +The Duchess of Dulverton was rich, as the world counted wealth; she +nursed the hope, of being one day rich at her own computation. Companies +had been formed and efforts had been made again and again during the +course of three centuries to probe for the alleged treasures of the +interesting galleon; with the aid of this invention she considered that +she might go to work on the wreck privately and independently. After +all, one of her ancestors on her mother’s side was descended from Medina +Sidonia, so she was of opinion that she had as much right to the treasure +as anyone. She acquired the invention and bought the apparatus. + +Among other family ties and encumbrances, Lulu possessed a nephew, Vasco +Honiton, a young gentleman who was blessed with a small income and a +large circle of relatives, and lived impartially and precariously on +both. The name Vasco had been given him possibly in the hope that he +might live up to its adventurous tradition, but he limited himself +strictly to the home industry of adventurer, preferring to exploit the +assured rather than to explore the unknown. Lulu’s intercourse with him +had been restricted of recent years to the negative processes of being +out of town when he called on her, and short of money when he wrote to +her. Now, however, she bethought herself of his eminent suitability for +the direction of a treasure-seeking experiment; if anyone could extract +gold from an unpromising situation it would certainly be Vasco—of course, +under the necessary safeguards in the way of supervision. Where money +was in question Vasco’s conscience was liable to fits of obstinate +silence. + +Somewhere on the west coast of Ireland the Dulverton property included a +few acres of shingle, rock, and heather, too barren to support even an +agrarian outrage, but embracing a small and fairly deep bay where the +lobster yield was good in most seasons. There was a bleak little house +on the property, and for those who liked lobsters and solitude, and were +able to accept an Irish cook’s ideas as to what might be perpetrated in +the name of mayonnaise, Innisgluther was a tolerable exile during the +summer months. Lulu seldom went there herself, but she lent the house +lavishly to friends and relations. She put it now at Vasco’s disposal. + +“It will be the very place to practise and experiment with the salvage +apparatus,” she said; “the bay is quite deep in places, and you will be +able to test everything thoroughly before starting on the treasure hunt.” + +In less than three weeks Vasco turned up in town to report progress. + +“The apparatus works beautifully,” he informed his aunt; “the deeper one +got the clearer everything grew. We found something in the way of a +sunken wreck to operate on, too!” + +“A wreck in Innisgluther Bay!” exclaimed Lulu. + +“A submerged motor-boat, the _Sub-Rosa_,” said Vasco. + +“No! really?” said Lulu; “poor Billy Yuttley’s boat. I remember it went +down somewhere off that coast some three years ago. His body was washed +ashore at the Point. People said at the time that the boat was capsized +intentionally—a case of suicide, you know. People always say that sort +of thing when anything tragic happens.” + +“In this case they were right,” said Vasco. + +“What do you mean?” asked the Duchess hurriedly. “What makes you think +so?” + +“I know,” said Vasco simply. + +“Know? How can you know? How can anyone know? The thing happened three +years ago.” + +“In a locker of the _Sub-Rosa_ I found a water-tight strong-box. It +contained papers.” Vasco paused with dramatic effect and searched for a +moment in the inner breast-pocket of his coat. He drew out a folded slip +of paper. The Duchess snatched at it in almost indecent haste and moved +appreciably nearer the fireplace. + +“Was this in the _Sub-Rosa’s_ strong-box?” she asked. + +“Oh no,” said Vasco carelessly, “that is a list of the well-known people +who would be involved in a very disagreeable scandal if the _Sub-Rosa’s_ +papers were made public. I’ve put you at the head of it, otherwise it +follows alphabetical order.” + +The Duchess gazed helplessly at the string of names, which seemed for the +moment to include nearly every one she knew. As a matter of fact, her +own name at the head of the list exercised an almost paralysing effect on +her thinking faculties. + +“Of course you have destroyed the papers?” she asked, when she had +somewhat recovered herself. She was conscious that she made the remark +with an entire lack of conviction. + +Vasco shook his head. + +“But you should have,” said Lulu angrily; “if, as you say, they are +highly compromising—” + +“Oh, they are, I assure you of that,” interposed the young man. + +“Then you should put them out of harm’s way at once. Supposing anything +should leak out, think of all these poor, unfortunate people who would be +involved in the disclosures,” and Lulu tapped the list with an agitated +gesture. + +“Unfortunate, perhaps, but not poor,” corrected Vasco; “if you read the +list carefully you’ll notice that I haven’t troubled to include anyone +whose financial standing isn’t above question.” + +Lulu glared at her nephew for some moments in silence. Then she asked +hoarsely: “What are you going to do?” + +“Nothing—for the remainder of my life,” he answered meaningly. “A little +hunting, perhaps,” he continued, “and I shall have a villa at Florence. +The Villa Sub-Rosa would sound rather quaint and picturesque, don’t you +think, and quite a lot of people would be able to attach a meaning to the +name. And I suppose I must have a hobby; I shall probably collect +Raeburns.” + +Lulu’s relative, who lived at the Court of Monaco, got quite a snappish +answer when she wrote recommending some further invention in the realm of +marine research. + + + + +THE COBWEB + + +The farmhouse kitchen probably stood where it did as a matter of accident +or haphazard choice; yet its situation might have been planned by a +master-strategist in farmhouse architecture. Dairy and poultry-yard, and +herb garden, and all the busy places of the farm seemed to lead by easy +access into its wide flagged haven, where there was room for everything +and where muddy boots left traces that were easily swept away. And yet, +for all that it stood so well in the centre of human bustle, its long, +latticed window, with the wide window-seat, built into an embrasure +beyond the huge fireplace, looked out on a wild spreading view of hill +and heather and wooded combe. The window nook made almost a little room +in itself, quite the pleasantest room in the farm as far as situation and +capabilities went. Young Mrs. Ladbruk, whose husband had just come into +the farm by way of inheritance, cast covetous eyes on this snug corner, +and her fingers itched to make it bright and cosy with chintz curtains +and bowls of flowers, and a shelf or two of old china. The musty farm +parlour, looking out on to a prim, cheerless garden imprisoned within +high, blank walls, was not a room that lent itself readily either to +comfort or decoration. + +“When we are more settled I shall work wonders in the way of making the +kitchen habitable,” said the young woman to her occasional visitors. +There was an unspoken wish in those words, a wish which was unconfessed +as well as unspoken. Emma Ladbruk was the mistress of the farm; jointly +with her husband she might have her say, and to a certain extent her way, +in ordering its affairs. But she was not mistress of the kitchen. + +On one of the shelves of an old dresser, in company with chipped +sauce-boats, pewter jugs, cheese-graters, and paid bills, rested a worn +and ragged Bible, on whose front page was the record, in faded ink, of a +baptism dated ninety-four years ago. “Martha Crale” was the name written +on that yellow page. The yellow, wrinkled old dame who hobbled and +muttered about the kitchen, looking like a dead autumn leaf which the +winter winds still pushed hither and thither, had once been Martha Crale; +for seventy odd years she had been Martha Mountjoy. For longer than +anyone could remember she had pattered to and fro between oven and +wash-house and dairy, and out to chicken-run and garden, grumbling and +muttering and scolding, but working unceasingly. Emma Ladbruk, of whose +coming she took as little notice as she would of a bee wandering in at a +window on a summer’s day, used at first to watch her with a kind of +frightened curiosity. She was so old and so much a part of the place, it +was difficult to think of her exactly as a living thing. Old Shep, the +white-nozzled, stiff-limbed collie, waiting for his time to die, seemed +almost more human than the withered, dried-up old woman. He had been a +riotous, roystering puppy, mad with the joy of life, when she was already +a tottering, hobbling dame; now he was just a blind, breathing carcase, +nothing more, and she still worked with frail energy, still swept and +baked and washed, fetched and carried. If there were something in these +wise old dogs that did not perish utterly with death, Emma used to think +to herself, what generations of ghost-dogs there must be out on those +hills, that Martha had reared and fed and tended and spoken a last +good-bye word to in that old kitchen. And what memories she must have of +human generations that had passed away in her time. It was difficult for +anyone, let alone a stranger like Emma, to get her to talk of the days +that had been; her shrill, quavering speech was of doors that had been +left unfastened, pails that had got mislaid, calves whose feeding-time +was overdue, and the various little faults and lapses that chequer a +farmhouse routine. Now and again, when election time came round, she +would unstore her recollections of the old names round which the fight +had waged in the days gone by. There had been a Palmerston, that had +been a name down Tiverton way; Tiverton was not a far journey as the crow +flies, but to Martha it was almost a foreign country. Later there had +been Northcotes and Aclands, and many other newer names that she had +forgotten; the names changed, but it was always Libruls and Toories, +Yellows and Blues. And they always quarrelled and shouted as to who was +right and who was wrong. The one they quarrelled about most was a fine +old gentleman with an angry face—she had seen his picture on the walls. +She had seen it on the floor too, with a rotten apple squashed over it, +for the farm had changed its politics from time to time. Martha had +never been on one side or the other; none of “they” had ever done the +farm a stroke of good. Such was her sweeping verdict, given with all a +peasant’s distrust of the outside world. + +When the half-frightened curiosity had somewhat faded away, Emma Ladbruk +was uncomfortably conscious of another feeling towards the old woman. +She was a quaint old tradition, lingering about the place, she was part +and parcel of the farm itself, she was something at once pathetic and +picturesque—but she was dreadfully in the way. Emma had come to the farm +full of plans for little reforms and improvements, in part the result of +training in the newest ways and methods, in part the outcome of her own +ideas and fancies. Reforms in the kitchen region, if those deaf old ears +could have been induced to give them even a hearing, would have met with +short shrift and scornful rejection, and the kitchen region spread over +the zone of dairy and market business and half the work of the household. +Emma, with the latest science of dead-poultry dressing at her +finger-tips, sat by, an unheeded watcher, while old Martha trussed the +chickens for the market-stall as she had trussed them for nearly +fourscore years—all leg and no breast. And the hundred hints anent +effective cleaning and labour-lightening and the things that make for +wholesomeness which the young woman was ready to impart or to put into +action dropped away into nothingness before that wan, muttering, +unheeding presence. Above all, the coveted window corner, that was to be +a dainty, cheerful oasis in the gaunt old kitchen, stood now choked and +lumbered with a litter of odds and ends that Emma, for all her nominal +authority, would not have dared or cared to displace; over them seemed to +be spun the protection of something that was like a human cobweb. +Decidedly Martha was in the way. It would have been an unworthy meanness +to have wished to see the span of that brave old life shortened by a few +paltry months, but as the days sped by Emma was conscious that the wish +was there, disowned though it might be, lurking at the back of her mind. + +She felt the meanness of the wish come over her with a qualm of +self-reproach one day when she came into the kitchen and found an +unaccustomed state of things in that usually busy quarter. Old Martha +was not working. A basket of corn was on the floor by her side, and out +in the yard the poultry were beginning to clamour a protest of overdue +feeding-time. But Martha sat huddled in a shrunken bunch on the window +seat, looking out with her dim old eyes as though she saw something +stranger than the autumn landscape. + +“Is anything the matter, Martha?” asked the young woman. + +“’Tis death, ’tis death a-coming,” answered the quavering voice; “I knew +’twere coming. I knew it. ’Tweren’t for nothing that old Shep’s been +howling all morning. An’ last night I heard the screech-owl give the +death-cry, and there were something white as run across the yard +yesterday; ’tweren’t a cat nor a stoat, ’twere something. The fowls knew +’twere something; they all drew off to one side. Ay, there’s been +warnings. I knew it were a-coming.” + +The young woman’s eyes clouded with pity. The old thing sitting there so +white and shrunken had once been a merry, noisy child, playing about in +lanes and hay-lofts and farmhouse garrets; that had been eighty odd years +ago, and now she was just a frail old body cowering under the approaching +chill of the death that was coming at last to take her. It was not +probable that much could be done for her, but Emma hastened away to get +assistance and counsel. Her husband, she knew, was down at a +tree-felling some little distance off, but she might find some other +intelligent soul who knew the old woman better than she did. The farm, +she soon found out, had that faculty common to farmyards of swallowing up +and losing its human population. The poultry followed her in interested +fashion, and swine grunted interrogations at her from behind the bars of +their styes, but barnyard and rickyard, orchard and stables and dairy, +gave no reward to her search. Then, as she retraced her steps towards +the kitchen, she came suddenly on her cousin, young Mr. Jim, as every one +called him, who divided his time between amateur horse-dealing, +rabbit-shooting, and flirting with the farm maids. + +“I’m afraid old Martha is dying,” said Emma. Jim was not the sort of +person to whom one had to break news gently. + +“Nonsense,” he said; “Martha means to live to a hundred. She told me so, +and she’ll do it.” + +“She may be actually dying at this moment, or it may just be the +beginning of the break-up,” persisted Emma, with a feeling of contempt +for the slowness and dulness of the young man. + +A grin spread over his good-natured features. + +“It don’t look like it,” he said, nodding towards the yard. Emma turned +to catch the meaning of his remark. Old Martha stood in the middle of a +mob of poultry scattering handfuls of grain around her. The turkey-cock, +with the bronzed sheen of his feathers and the purple-red of his wattles, +the gamecock, with the glowing metallic lustre of his Eastern plumage, +the hens, with their ochres and buffs and umbers and their scarlet combs, +and the drakes, with their bottle-green heads, made a medley of rich +colour, in the centre of which the old woman looked like a withered stalk +standing amid a riotous growth of gaily-hued flowers. But she threw the +grain deftly amid the wilderness of beaks, and her quavering voice +carried as far as the two people who were watching her. She was still +harping on the theme of death coming to the farm. + +“I knew ’twere a-coming. There’s been signs an’ warnings.” + +“Who’s dead, then, old Mother?” called out the young man. + +“’Tis young Mister Ladbruk,” she shrilled back; “they’ve just a-carried +his body in. Run out of the way of a tree that was coming down an’ ran +hisself on to an iron post. Dead when they picked un up. Aye, I knew +’twere coming.” + +And she turned to fling a handful of barley at a belated group of +guinea-fowl that came racing toward her. + + * * * * * + +The farm was a family property, and passed to the rabbit-shooting cousin +as the next-of-kin. Emma Ladbruk drifted out of its history as a bee +that had wandered in at an open window might flit its way out again. On +a cold grey morning she stood waiting, with her boxes already stowed in +the farm cart, till the last of the market produce should be ready, for +the train she was to catch was of less importance than the chickens and +butter and eggs that were to be offered for sale. From where she stood +she could see an angle of the long latticed window that was to have been +cosy with curtains and gay with bowls of flowers. Into her mind came the +thought that for months, perhaps for years, long after she had been +utterly forgotten, a white, unheeding face would be seen peering out +through those latticed panes, and a weak muttering voice would be heard +quavering up and down those flagged passages. She made her way to a +narrow barred casement that opened into the farm larder. Old Martha was +standing at a table trussing a pair of chickens for the market stall as +she had trussed them for nearly fourscore years. + + + + +THE LULL + + +“I’ve asked Latimer Springfield to spend Sunday with us and stop the +night,” announced Mrs. Durmot at the breakfast-table. + +“I thought he was in the throes of an election,” remarked her husband. + +“Exactly; the poll is on Wednesday, and the poor man will have worked +himself to a shadow by that time. Imagine what electioneering must be +like in this awful soaking rain, going along slushy country roads and +speaking to damp audiences in draughty schoolrooms, day after day for a +fortnight. He’ll have to put in an appearance at some place of worship +on Sunday morning, and he can come to us immediately afterwards and have +a thorough respite from everything connected with politics. I won’t let +him even think of them. I’ve had the picture of Cromwell dissolving the +Long Parliament taken down from the staircase, and even the portrait of +Lord Rosebery’s ‘Ladas’ removed from the smoking-room. And Vera,” added +Mrs. Durmot, turning to her sixteen-year-old niece, “be careful what +colour ribbon you wear in your hair; not blue or yellow on any account; +those are the rival party colours, and emerald green or orange would be +almost as bad, with this Home Rule business to the fore.” + +“On state occasions I always wear a black ribbon in my hair,” said Vera +with crushing dignity. + +Latimer Springfield was a rather cheerless, oldish young man, who went +into politics somewhat in the spirit in which other people might go into +half-mourning. Without being an enthusiast, however, he was a fairly +strenuous plodder, and Mrs. Durmot had been reasonably near the mark in +asserting that he was working at high pressure over this election. The +restful lull which his hostess enforced on him was decidedly welcome, and +yet the nervous excitement of the contest had too great a hold on him to +be totally banished. + +“I know he’s going to sit up half the night working up points for his +final speeches,” said Mrs. Durmot regretfully; “however, we’ve kept +politics at arm’s length all the afternoon and evening. More than that +we cannot do.” + +“That remains to be seen,” said Vera, but she said it to herself. + +Latimer had scarcely shut his bedroom door before he was immersed in a +sheaf of notes and pamphlets, while a fountain-pen and pocket-book were +brought into play for the due marshalling of useful facts and discreet +fictions. He had been at work for perhaps thirty-five minutes, and the +house was seemingly consecrated to the healthy slumber of country life, +when a stifled squealing and scuffling in the passage was followed by a +loud tap at his door. Before he had time to answer, a much-encumbered +Vera burst into the room with the question; “I say, can I leave these +here?” + +“These” were a small black pig and a lusty specimen of black-red +gamecock. + +Latimer was moderately fond of animals, and particularly interested in +small livestock rearing from the economic point of view; in fact, one of +the pamphlets on which he was at that moment engaged warmly advocated the +further development of the pig and poultry industry in our rural +districts; but he was pardonably unwilling to share even a commodious +bedroom with samples of henroost and stye products. + +“Wouldn’t they be happier somewhere outside?” he asked, tactfully +expressing his own preference in the matter in an apparent solicitude for +theirs. + +“There is no outside,” said Vera impressively, “nothing but a waste of +dark, swirling waters. The reservoir at Brinkley has burst.” + +“I didn’t know there was a reservoir at Brinkley,” said Latimer. + +“Well, there isn’t now, it’s jolly well all over the place, and as we +stand particularly low we’re the centre of an inland sea just at present. +You see the river has overflowed its banks as well.” + +“Good gracious! Have any lives been lost?” + +“Heaps, I should say. The second housemaid has already identified three +bodies that have floated past the billiard-room window as being the young +man she’s engaged to. Either she’s engaged to a large assortment of the +population round here or else she’s very careless at identification. Of +course it may be the same body coming round again and again in a swirl; I +hadn’t thought of that.” + +“But we ought to go out and do rescue work, oughtn’t we?” said Latimer, +with the instinct of a Parliamentary candidate for getting into the local +limelight. + +“We can’t,” said Vera decidedly, “we haven’t any boats and we’re cut off +by a raging torrent from any human habitation. My aunt particularly +hoped you would keep to your room and not add to the confusion, but she +thought it would be so kind of you if you would take in Hartlepool’s +Wonder, the gamecock, you know, for the night. You see, there are eight +other gamecocks, and they fight like furies if they get together, so +we’re putting one in each bedroom. The fowl-houses are all flooded out, +you know. And then I thought perhaps you wouldn’t mind taking in this +wee piggie; he’s rather a little love, but he has a vile temper. He gets +that from his mother—not that I like to say things against her when she’s +lying dead and drowned in her stye, poor thing. What he really wants is +a man’s firm hand to keep him in order. I’d try and grapple with him +myself, only I’ve got my chow in my room, you know, and he goes for pigs +wherever he finds them.” + +“Couldn’t the pig go in the bathroom?” asked Latimer faintly, wishing +that he had taken up as determined a stand on the subject of bedroom +swine as the chow had. + +“The bathroom?” Vera laughed shrilly. “It’ll be full of Boy Scouts till +morning if the hot water holds out.” + +“Boy Scouts?” + +“Yes, thirty of them came to rescue us while the water was only +waist-high; then it rose another three feet or so and we had to rescue +them. We’re giving them hot baths in batches and drying their clothes in +the hot-air cupboard, but, of course, drenched clothes don’t dry in a +minute, and the corridor and staircase are beginning to look like a bit +of coast scenery by Tuke. Two of the boys are wearing your Melton +overcoat; I hope you don’t mind.” + +“It’s a new overcoat,” said Latimer, with every indication of minding +dreadfully. + +“You’ll take every care of Hartlepool’s Wonder, won’t you?” said Vera. +“His mother took three firsts at Birmingham, and he was second in the +cockerel class last year at Gloucester. He’ll probably roost on the rail +at the bottom of your bed. I wonder if he’d feel more at home if some of +his wives were up here with him? The hens are all in the pantry, and I +think I could pick out Hartlepool Helen; she’s his favourite.” + +Latimer showed a belated firmness on the subject of Hartlepool Helen, and +Vera withdrew without pressing the point, having first settled the +gamecock on his extemporised perch and taken an affectionate farewell of +the pigling. Latimer undressed and got into bed with all due speed, +judging that the pig would abate its inquisitorial restlessness once the +light was turned out. As a substitute for a cosy, straw-bedded sty the +room offered, at first inspection, few attractions, but the disconsolate +animal suddenly discovered an appliance in which the most luxuriously +contrived piggeries were notably deficient. The sharp edge of the +underneath part of the bed was pitched at exactly the right elevation to +permit the pigling to scrape himself ecstatically backwards and forwards, +with an artistic humping of the back at the crucial moment and an +accompanying gurgle of long-drawn delight. The gamecock, who may have +fancied that he was being rocked in the branches of a pine-tree, bore the +motion with greater fortitude than Latimer was able to command. A series +of slaps directed at the pig’s body were accepted more as an additional +and pleasing irritant than as a criticism of conduct or a hint to desist; +evidently something more than a man’s firm hand was needed to deal with +the case. Latimer slipped out of bed in search of a weapon of +dissuasion. There was sufficient light in the room to enable the pig to +detect this manœuvre, and the vile temper, inherited from the drowned +mother, found full play. Latimer bounded back into bed, and his +conqueror, after a few threatening snorts and champings of its jaws, +resumed its massage operations with renewed zeal. During the long +wakeful hours which ensued Latimer tried to distract his mind from his +own immediate troubles by dwelling with decent sympathy on the second +housemaid’s bereavement, but he found himself more often wondering how +many Boy Scouts were sharing his Melton overcoat. The rôle of Saint +Martin malgré lui was not one which appealed to him. + +Towards dawn the pigling fell into a happy slumber, and Latimer might +have followed its example, but at about the same time Stupor Hartlepooli +gave a rousing crow, clattered down to the floor and forthwith commenced +a spirited combat with his reflection in the wardrobe mirror. +Remembering that the bird was more or less under his care Latimer +performed Hague Tribunal offices by draping a bath-towel over the +provocative mirror, but the ensuing peace was local and short-lived. The +deflected energies of the gamecock found new outlet in a sudden and +sustained attack on the sleeping and temporarily inoffensive pigling, and +the duel which followed was desperate and embittered beyond any +possibility of effective intervention. The feathered combatant had the +advantage of being able, when hard pressed, to take refuge on the bed, +and freely availed himself of this circumstance; the pigling never quite +succeeded in hurling himself on to the same eminence, but it was not from +want of trying. + +Neither side could claim any decisive success, and the struggle had been +practically fought to a standstill by the time that the maid appeared +with the early morning tea. + +“Lor, sir,” she exclaimed in undisguised astonishment, “do you want those +animals in your room?” + +_Want_! + +The pigling, as though aware that it might have outstayed its welcome, +dashed out at the door, and the gamecock followed it at a more dignified +pace. + +“If Miss Vera’s dog sees that pig—!” exclaimed the maid, and hurried off +to avert such a catastrophe. + +A cold suspicion was stealing over Latimer’s mind; he went to the window +and drew up the blind. A light, drizzling rain was falling, but there +was not the faintest trace of any inundation. + +Some half-hour later he met Vera on the way to the breakfast-room. + +“I should not like to think of you as a deliberate liar,” he observed +coldly, “but one occasionally has to do things one does not like.” + +“At any rate I kept your mind from dwelling on politics all the night,” +said Vera. + +Which was, of course, perfectly true. + + + + +THE UNKINDEST BLOW + + +The season of strikes seemed to have run itself to a standstill. Almost +every trade and industry and calling in which a dislocation could +possibly be engineered had indulged in that luxury. The last and least +successful convulsion had been the strike of the World’s Union of +Zoological Garden attendants, who, pending the settlement of certain +demands, refused to minister further to the wants of the animals +committed to their charge or to allow any other keepers to take their +place. In this case the threat of the Zoological Gardens authorities +that if the men “came out” the animals should come out also had +intensified and precipitated the crisis. The imminent prospect of the +larger carnivores, to say nothing of rhinoceroses and bull bison, roaming +at large and unfed in the heart of London, was not one which permitted of +prolonged conferences. The Government of the day, which from its +tendency to be a few hours behind the course of events had been nicknamed +the Government of the afternoon, was obliged to intervene with +promptitude and decision. A strong force of Bluejackets was despatched +to Regent’s Park to take over the temporarily abandoned duties of the +strikers. Bluejackets were chosen in preference to land forces, partly +on account of the traditional readiness of the British Navy to go +anywhere and do anything, partly by reason of the familiarity of the +average sailor with monkeys, parrots, and other tropical fauna, but +chiefly at the urgent request of the First Lord of the Admiralty, who was +keenly desirous of an opportunity for performing some personal act of +unobtrusive public service within the province of his department. + +“If he insists on feeding the infant jaguar himself, in defiance of its +mother’s wishes, there may be another by-election in the north,” said one +of his colleagues, with a hopeful inflection in his voice. “By-elections +are not very desirable at present, but we must not be selfish.” + +As a matter of fact the strike collapsed peacefully without any outside +intervention. The majority of the keepers had become so attached to +their charges that they returned to work of their own accord. + +And then the nation and the newspapers turned with a sense of relief to +happier things. It seemed as if a new era of contentment was about to +dawn. Everybody had struck who could possibly want to strike or who +could possibly be cajoled or bullied into striking, whether they wanted +to or not. The lighter and brighter side of life might now claim some +attention. And conspicuous among the other topics that sprang into +sudden prominence was the pending Falvertoon divorce suit. + +The Duke of Falvertoon was one of those human _hors d’œuvres_ that +stimulate the public appetite for sensation without giving it much to +feed on. As a mere child he had been precociously brilliant; he had +declined the editorship of the _Anglian Review_ at an age when most boys +are content to have declined _mensa_, a table, and though he could not +claim to have originated the Futurist movement in literature, his +“Letters to a possible Grandson,” written at the age of fourteen, had +attracted considerable notice. In later days his brilliancy had been +less conspicuously displayed. During a debate in the House of Lords on +affairs in Morocco, at a moment when that country, for the fifth time in +seven years, had brought half Europe to the verge of war, he had +interpolated the remark “a little Moor and how much it is,” but in spite +of the encouraging reception accorded to this one political utterance he +was never tempted to a further display in that direction. It began to be +generally understood that he did not intend to supplement his numerous +town and country residences by living overmuch in the public eye. + +And then had come the unlooked-for tidings of the imminent proceedings +for divorce. And such a divorce! There were cross-suits and allegations +and counter-allegations, charges of cruelty and desertion, everything in +fact that was necessary to make the case one of the most complicated and +sensational of its kind. And the number of distinguished people involved +or cited as witnesses not only embraced both political parties in the +realm and several Colonial governors, but included an exotic contingent +from France, Hungary, the United States of North America, and the Grand +Duchy of Baden. Hotel accommodation of the more expensive sort began to +experience a strain on its resources. “It will be quite like the Durbar +without the elephants,” exclaimed an enthusiastic lady who, to do her +justice, had never seen a Durbar. The general feeling was one of +thankfulness that the last of the strikes had been got over before the +date fixed for the hearing of the great suit. + +As a reaction from the season of gloom and industrial strife that had +just passed away the agencies that purvey and stage-manage sensations +laid themselves out to do their level best on this momentous occasion. +Men who had made their reputations as special descriptive writers were +mobilised from distant corners of Europe and the further side of the +Atlantic in order to enrich with their pens the daily printed records of +the case; one word-painter, who specialised in descriptions of how +witnesses turn pale under cross-examination, was summoned hurriedly back +from a famous and prolonged murder trial in Sicily, where indeed his +talents were being decidedly wasted. Thumb-nail artists and expert kodak +manipulators were retained at extravagant salaries, and special dress +reporters were in high demand. An enterprising Paris firm of costume +builders presented the defendant Duchess with three special creations, to +be worn, marked, learned, and extensively reported at various critical +stages of the trial; and as for the cinematograph agents, their industry +and persistence was untiring. Films representing the Duke saying +good-bye to his favourite canary on the eve of the trial were in +readiness weeks before the event was due to take place; other films +depicted the Duchess holding imaginary consultations with fictitious +lawyers or making a light repast off specially advertised vegetarian +sandwiches during a supposed luncheon interval. As far as human +foresight and human enterprise could go nothing was lacking to make the +trial a success. + +Two days before the case was down for hearing the advance reporter of an +important syndicate obtained an interview with the Duke for the purpose +of gleaning some final grains of information concerning his Grace’s +personal arrangements during the trial. + +“I suppose I may say this will be one of the biggest affairs of its kind +during the lifetime of a generation,” began the reporter as an excuse for +the unsparing minuteness of detail that he was about to make quest for. + +“I suppose so—if it comes off,” said the Duke lazily. + +“If?” queried the reporter, in a voice that was something between a gasp +and a scream. + +“The Duchess and I are both thinking of going on strike,” said the Duke. + +“Strike!” + +The baleful word flashed out in all its old hideous familiarity. Was +there to be no end to its recurrence? + +“Do you mean,” faltered the reporter, “that you are contemplating a +mutual withdrawal of the charges?” + +“Precisely,” said the Duke. + +“But think of the arrangements that have been made, the special +reporting, the cinematographs, the catering for the distinguished foreign +witnesses, the prepared music-hall allusions; think of all the money that +has been sunk—” + +“Exactly,” said the Duke coldly, “the Duchess and I have realised that it +is we who provide the material out of which this great far-reaching +industry has been built up. Widespread employment will be given and +enormous profits made during the duration of the case, and we, on whom +all the stress and racket falls, will get—what? An unenviable notoriety +and the privilege of paying heavy legal expenses whichever way the +verdict goes. Hence our decision to strike. We don’t wish to be +reconciled; we fully realise that it is a grave step to take, but unless +we get some reasonable consideration out of this vast stream of wealth +and industry that we have called into being we intend coming out of court +and staying out. Good afternoon.” + +The news of this latest strike spread universal dismay. Its +inaccessibility to the ordinary methods of persuasion made it peculiarly +formidable. If the Duke and Duchess persisted in being reconciled the +Government could hardly be called on to interfere. Public opinion in the +shape of social ostracism might be brought to bear on them, but that was +as far as coercive measures could go. There was nothing for it but a +conference, with powers to propose liberal terms. As it was, several of +the foreign witnesses had already departed and others had telegraphed +cancelling their hotel arrangements. + +The conference, protracted, uncomfortable, and occasionally acrimonious, +succeeded at last in arranging for a resumption of litigation, but it was +a fruitless victory. The Duke, with a touch of his earlier precocity, +died of premature decay a fortnight before the date fixed for the new +trial. + + + + +THE ROMANCERS + + +It was autumn in London, that blessed season between the harshness of +winter and the insincerities of summer; a trustful season when one buys +bulbs and sees to the registration of one’s vote, believing perpetually +in spring and a change of Government. + +Morton Crosby sat on a bench in a secluded corner of Hyde Park, lazily +enjoying a cigarette and watching the slow grazing promenade of a pair of +snow-geese, the male looking rather like an albino edition of the +russet-hued female. Out of the corner of his eye Crosby also noted with +some interest the hesitating hoverings of a human figure, which had +passed and repassed his seat two or three times at shortening intervals, +like a wary crow about to alight near some possibly edible morsel. +Inevitably the figure came to an anchorage on the bench, within easy +talking distance of its original occupant. The uncared-for clothes, the +aggressive, grizzled beard, and the furtive, evasive eye of the new-comer +bespoke the professional cadger, the man who would undergo hours of +humiliating tale-spinning and rebuff rather than adventure on half a +day’s decent work. + +For a while the new-comer fixed his eyes straight in front of him in a +strenuous, unseeing gaze; then his voice broke out with the insinuating +inflection of one who has a story to retail well worth any loiterer’s +while to listen to. + +“It’s a strange world,” he said. + +As the statement met with no response he altered it to the form of a +question. + +“I daresay you’ve found it to be a strange world, mister?” + +“As far as I am concerned,” said Crosby, “the strangeness has worn off in +the course of thirty-six years.” + +“Ah,” said the greybeard, “I could tell you things that you’d hardly +believe. Marvellous things that have really happened to me.” + +“Nowadays there is no demand for marvellous things that have really +happened,” said Crosby discouragingly; “the professional writers of +fiction turn these things out so much better. For instance, my +neighbours tell me wonderful, incredible things that their Aberdeens and +chows and borzois have done; I never listen to them. On the other hand, +I have read ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles’ three times.” + +The greybeard moved uneasily in his seat; then he opened up new country. + +“I take it that you are a professing Christian,” he observed. + +“I am a prominent and I think I may say an influential member of the +Mussulman community of Eastern Persia,” said Crosby, making an excursion +himself into the realms of fiction. + +The greybeard was obviously disconcerted at this new check to +introductory conversation, but the defeat was only momentary. + +“Persia. I should never have taken you for a Persian,” he remarked, with +a somewhat aggrieved air. + +“I am not,” said Crosby; “my father was an Afghan.” + +“An Afghan!” said the other, smitten into bewildered silence for a +moment. Then he recovered himself and renewed his attack. + +“Afghanistan. Ah! We’ve had some wars with that country; now, I +daresay, instead of fighting it we might have learned something from it. +A very wealthy country, I believe. No real poverty there.” + +He raised his voice on the word “poverty” with a suggestion of intense +feeling. Crosby saw the opening and avoided it. + +“It possesses, nevertheless, a number of highly talented and ingenious +beggars,” he said; “if I had not spoken so disparagingly of marvellous +things that have really happened I would tell you the story of Ibrahim +and the eleven camel-loads of blotting-paper. Also I have forgotten +exactly how it ended.” + +“My own life-story is a curious one,” said the stranger, apparently +stifling all desire to hear the history of Ibrahim; “I was not always as +you see me now.” + +“We are supposed to undergo complete change in the course of every seven +years,” said Crosby, as an explanation of the foregoing announcement. + +“I mean I was not always in such distressing circumstances as I am at +present,” pursued the stranger doggedly. + +“That sounds rather rude,” said Crosby stiffly, “considering that you are +at present talking to a man reputed to be one of the most gifted +conversationalists of the Afghan border.” + +“I don’t mean in that way,” said the greybeard hastily; “I’ve been very +much interested in your conversation. I was alluding to my unfortunate +financial situation. You mayn’t hardly believe it, but at the present +moment I am absolutely without a farthing. Don’t see any prospect of +getting any money, either, for the next few days. I don’t suppose you’ve +ever found yourself in such a position,” he added. + +“In the town of Yom,” said Crosby, “which is in Southern Afghanistan, and +which also happens to be my birthplace, there was a Chinese philosopher +who used to say that one of the three chiefest human blessings was to be +absolutely without money. I forget what the other two were.” + +“Ah, I daresay,” said the stranger, in a tone that betrayed no enthusiasm +for the philosopher’s memory; “and did he practise what he preached? +That’s the test.” + +“He lived happily with very little money or resources,” said Crosby. + +“Then I expect he had friends who would help him liberally whenever he +was in difficulties, such as I am in at present.” + +“In Yom,” said Crosby, “it is not necessary to have friends in order to +obtain help. Any citizen of Yom would help a stranger as a matter of +course.” + +The greybeard was now genuinely interested. + +The conversation had at last taken a favourable turn. + +“If someone, like me, for instance, who was in undeserved difficulties, +asked a citizen of that town you speak of for a small loan to tide over a +few days’ impecuniosity—five shillings, or perhaps a rather larger +sum—would it be given to him as a matter of course?” + +“There would be a certain preliminary,” said Crosby; “one would take him +to a wine-shop and treat him to a measure of wine, and then, after a +little high-flown conversation, one would put the desired sum in his hand +and wish him good-day. It is a roundabout way of performing a simple +transaction, but in the East all ways are roundabout.” + +The listener’s eyes were glittering. + +“Ah,” he exclaimed, with a thin sneer ringing meaningly through his +words, “I suppose you’ve given up all those generous customs since you +left your town. Don’t practise them now, I expect.” + +“No one who has lived in Yom,” said Crosby fervently, “and remembers its +green hills covered with apricot and almond trees, and the cold water +that rushes down like a caress from the upland snows and dashes under the +little wooden bridges, no one who remembers these things and treasures +the memory of them would ever give up a single one of its unwritten laws +and customs. To me they are as binding as though I still lived in that +hallowed home of my youth.” + +“Then if I was to ask you for a small loan—” began the greybeard +fawningly, edging nearer on the seat and hurriedly wondering how large he +might safely make his request, “if I was to ask you for, say—” + +“At any other time, certainly,” said Crosby; “in the months of November +and December, however, it is absolutely forbidden for anyone of our race +to give or receive loans or gifts; in fact, one does not willingly speak +of them. It is considered unlucky. We will therefore close this +discussion.” + +“But it is still October!” exclaimed the adventurer with an eager, angry +whine, as Crosby rose from his seat; “wants eight days to the end of the +month!” + +“The Afghan November began yesterday,” said Crosby severely, and in +another moment he was striding across the Park, leaving his recent +companion scowling and muttering furiously on the seat. + +“I don’t believe a word of his story,” he chattered to himself; “pack of +nasty lies from beginning to end. Wish I’d told him so to his face. +Calling himself an Afghan!” + +The snorts and snarls that escaped from him for the next quarter of an +hour went far to support the truth of the old saying that two of a trade +never agree. + + + + +THE SCHARTZ-METTERKLUME METHOD + + +Lady Carlotta stepped out on to the platform of the small wayside station +and took a turn or two up and down its uninteresting length, to kill time +till the train should be pleased to proceed on its way. Then, in the +roadway beyond, she saw a horse struggling with a more than ample load, +and a carter of the sort that seems to bear a sullen hatred against the +animal that helps him to earn a living. Lady Carlotta promptly betook +her to the roadway, and put rather a different complexion on the +struggle. Certain of her acquaintances were wont to give her plentiful +admonition as to the undesirability of interfering on behalf of a +distressed animal, such interference being “none of her business.” Only +once had she put the doctrine of non-interference into practice, when one +of its most eloquent exponents had been besieged for nearly three hours +in a small and extremely uncomfortable may-tree by an angry boar-pig, +while Lady Carlotta, on the other side of the fence, had proceeded with +the water-colour sketch she was engaged on, and refused to interfere +between the boar and his prisoner. It is to be feared that she lost the +friendship of the ultimately rescued lady. On this occasion she merely +lost the train, which gave way to the first sign of impatience it had +shown throughout the journey, and steamed off without her. She bore the +desertion with philosophical indifference; her friends and relations were +thoroughly well used to the fact of her luggage arriving without her. +She wired a vague non-committal message to her destination to say that +she was coming on “by another train.” Before she had time to think what +her next move might be she was confronted by an imposingly attired lady, +who seemed to be taking a prolonged mental inventory of her clothes and +looks. + +“You must be Miss Hope, the governess I’ve come to meet,” said the +apparition, in a tone that admitted of very little argument. + +“Very well, if I must I must,” said Lady Carlotta to herself with +dangerous meekness. + +“I am Mrs. Quabarl,” continued the lady; “and where, pray, is your +luggage?” + +“It’s gone astray,” said the alleged governess, falling in with the +excellent rule of life that the absent are always to blame; the luggage +had, in point of fact, behaved with perfect correctitude. “I’ve just +telegraphed about it,” she added, with a nearer approach to truth. + +“How provoking,” said Mrs. Quabarl; “these railway companies are so +careless. However, my maid can lend you things for the night,” and she +led the way to her car. + +During the drive to the Quabarl mansion Lady Carlotta was impressively +introduced to the nature of the charge that had been thrust upon her; she +learned that Claude and Wilfrid were delicate, sensitive young people, +that Irene had the artistic temperament highly developed, and that Viola +was something or other else of a mould equally commonplace among children +of that class and type in the twentieth century. + +“I wish them not only to be _taught_,” said Mrs. Quabarl, “but +_interested_ in what they learn. In their history lessons, for instance, +you must try to make them feel that they are being introduced to the +life-stories of men and women who really lived, not merely committing a +mass of names and dates to memory. French, of course, I shall expect you +to talk at meal-times several days in the week.” + +“I shall talk French four days of the week and Russian in the remaining +three.” + +“Russian? My dear Miss Hope, no one in the house speaks or understands +Russian.” + +“That will not embarrass me in the least,” said Lady Carlotta coldly. + +Mrs. Quabarl, to use a colloquial expression, was knocked off her perch. +She was one of those imperfectly self-assured individuals who are +magnificent and autocratic as long as they are not seriously opposed. +The least show of unexpected resistance goes a long way towards rendering +them cowed and apologetic. When the new governess failed to express +wondering admiration of the large newly-purchased and expensive car, and +lightly alluded to the superior advantages of one or two makes which had +just been put on the market, the discomfiture of her patroness became +almost abject. Her feelings were those which might have animated a +general of ancient warfaring days, on beholding his heaviest +battle-elephant ignominiously driven off the field by slingers and +javelin throwers. + +At dinner that evening, although reinforced by her husband, who usually +duplicated her opinions and lent her moral support generally, Mrs. +Quabarl regained none of her lost ground. The governess not only helped +herself well and truly to wine, but held forth with considerable show of +critical knowledge on various vintage matters, concerning which the +Quabarls were in no wise able to pose as authorities. Previous +governesses had limited their conversation on the wine topic to a +respectful and doubtless sincere expression of a preference for water. +When this one went as far as to recommend a wine firm in whose hands you +could not go very far wrong Mrs. Quabarl thought it time to turn the +conversation into more usual channels. + +“We got very satisfactory references about you from Canon Teep,” she +observed; “a very estimable man, I should think.” + +“Drinks like a fish and beats his wife, otherwise a very lovable +character,” said the governess imperturbably. + +“_My dear_ Miss Hope! I trust you are exaggerating,” exclaimed the +Quabarls in unison. + +“One must in justice admit that there is some provocation,” continued the +romancer. “Mrs. Teep is quite the most irritating bridge-player that I +have ever sat down with; her leads and declarations would condone a +certain amount of brutality in her partner, but to souse her with the +contents of the only soda-water syphon in the house on a Sunday +afternoon, when one couldn’t get another, argues an indifference to the +comfort of others which I cannot altogether overlook. You may think me +hasty in my judgments, but it was practically on account of the syphon +incident that I left.” + +“We will talk of this some other time,” said Mrs. Quabarl hastily. + +“I shall never allude to it again,” said the governess with decision. + +Mr. Quabarl made a welcome diversion by asking what studies the new +instructress proposed to inaugurate on the morrow. + +“History to begin with,” she informed him. + +“Ah, history,” he observed sagely; “now in teaching them history you must +take care to interest them in what they learn. You must make them feel +that they are being introduced to the life-stories of men and women who +really lived—” + +“I’ve told her all that,” interposed Mrs. Quabarl. + +“I teach history on the Schartz-Metterklume method,” said the governess +loftily. + +“Ah, yes,” said her listeners, thinking it expedient to assume an +acquaintance at least with the name. + + * * * * * + +“What are you children doing out here?” demanded Mrs. Quabarl the next +morning, on finding Irene sitting rather glumly at the head of the +stairs, while her sister was perched in an attitude of depressed +discomfort on the window-seat behind her, with a wolf-skin rug almost +covering her. + +“We are having a history lesson,” came the unexpected reply. “I am +supposed to be Rome, and Viola up there is the she-wolf; not a real wolf, +but the figure of one that the Romans used to set store by—I forget why. +Claude and Wilfrid have gone to fetch the shabby women.” + +“The shabby women?” + +“Yes, they’ve got to carry them off. They didn’t want to, but Miss Hope +got one of father’s fives-bats and said she’d give them a number nine +spanking if they didn’t, so they’ve gone to do it.” + +A loud, angry screaming from the direction of the lawn drew Mrs. Quabarl +thither in hot haste, fearful lest the threatened castigation might even +now be in process of infliction. The outcry, however, came principally +from the two small daughters of the lodge-keeper, who were being hauled +and pushed towards the house by the panting and dishevelled Claude and +Wilfrid, whose task was rendered even more arduous by the incessant, if +not very effectual, attacks of the captured maidens’ small brother. The +governess, fives-bat in hand, sat negligently on the stone balustrade, +presiding over the scene with the cold impartiality of a Goddess of +Battles. A furious and repeated chorus of “I’ll tell muvver” rose from +the lodge-children, but the lodge-mother, who was hard of hearing, was +for the moment immersed in the preoccupation of her washtub. + +After an apprehensive glance in the direction of the lodge (the good +woman was gifted with the highly militant temper which is sometimes the +privilege of deafness) Mrs. Quabarl flew indignantly to the rescue of the +struggling captives. + +“Wilfrid! Claude! Let those children go at once. Miss Hope, what on +earth is the meaning of this scene?” + +“Early Roman history; the Sabine Women, don’t you know? It’s the +Schartz-Metterklume method to make children understand history by acting +it themselves; fixes it in their memory, you know. Of course, if, thanks +to your interference, your boys go through life thinking that the Sabine +women ultimately escaped, I really cannot be held responsible.” + +“You may be very clever and modern, Miss Hope,” said Mrs. Quabarl firmly, +“but I should like you to leave here by the next train. Your luggage +will be sent after you as soon as it arrives.” + +“I’m not certain exactly where I shall be for the next few days,” said +the dismissed instructress of youth; “you might keep my luggage till I +wire my address. There are only a couple of trunks and some golf-clubs +and a leopard cub.” + +“A leopard cub!” gasped Mrs. Quabarl. Even in her departure this +extraordinary person seemed destined to leave a trail of embarrassment +behind her. + +“Well, it’s rather left off being a cub; it’s more than half-grown, you +know. A fowl every day and a rabbit on Sundays is what it usually gets. +Raw beef makes it too excitable. Don’t trouble about getting the car for +me, I’m rather inclined for a walk.” + +And Lady Carlotta strode out of the Quabarl horizon. + +The advent of the genuine Miss Hope, who had made a mistake as to the day +on which she was due to arrive, caused a turmoil which that good lady was +quite unused to inspiring. Obviously the Quabarl family had been +woefully befooled, but a certain amount of relief came with the +knowledge. + +“How tiresome for you, dear Carlotta,” said her hostess, when the overdue +guest ultimately arrived; “how very tiresome losing your train and having +to stop overnight in a strange place.” + +“Oh dear, no,” said Lady Carlotta; “not at all tiresome—for me.” + + + + +THE SEVENTH PULLET + + +“It’s not the daily grind that I complain of,” said Blenkinthrope +resentfully; “it’s the dull grey sameness of my life outside of office +hours. Nothing of interest comes my way, nothing remarkable or out of +the common. Even the little things that I do try to find some interest +in don’t seem to interest other people. Things in my garden, for +instance.” + +“The potato that weighed just over two pounds,” said his friend Gorworth. + +“Did I tell you about that?” said Blenkinthrope; “I was telling the +others in the train this morning. I forgot if I’d told you.” + +“To be exact you told me that it weighed just under two pounds, but I +took into account the fact that abnormal vegetables and freshwater fish +have an after-life, in which growth is not arrested.” + +“You’re just like the others,” said Blenkinthrope sadly, “you only make +fun of it.” + +“The fault is with the potato, not with us,” said Gorworth; “we are not +in the least interested in it because it is not in the least interesting. +The men you go up in the train with every day are just in the same case +as yourself; their lives are commonplace and not very interesting to +themselves, and they certainly are not going to wax enthusiastic over the +commonplace events in other men’s lives. Tell them something startling, +dramatic, piquant that has happened to yourself or to someone in your +family, and you will capture their interest at once. They will talk +about you with a certain personal pride to all their acquaintances. ‘Man +I know intimately, fellow called Blenkinthrope, lives down my way, had +two of his fingers clawed clean off by a lobster he was carrying home to +supper. Doctor says entire hand may have to come off.’ Now that is +conversation of a very high order. But imagine walking into a tennis +club with the remark: ‘I know a man who has grown a potato weighing two +and a quarter pounds.’” + +“But hang it all, my dear fellow,” said Blenkinthrope impatiently, +“haven’t I just told you that nothing of a remarkable nature ever happens +to me?” + +“Invent something,” said Gorworth. Since winning a prize for excellence +in Scriptural knowledge at a preparatory school he had felt licensed to +be a little more unscrupulous than the circle he moved in. Much might +surely be excused to one who in early life could give a list of seventeen +trees mentioned in the Old Testament. + +“What sort of thing?” asked Blenkinthrope, somewhat snappishly. + +“A snake got into your hen-run yesterday morning and killed six out of +seven pullets, first mesmerising them with its eyes and then biting them +as they stood helpless. The seventh pullet was one of that French sort, +with feathers all over its eyes, so it escaped the mesmeric snare, and +just flew at what it could see of the snake and pecked it to pieces.” + +“Thank you,” said Blenkinthrope stiffly; “it’s a very clever invention. +If such a thing had really happened in my poultry-run I admit I should +have been proud and interested to tell people about it. But I’d rather +stick to fact, even if it is plain fact.” All the same his mind dwelt +wistfully on the story of the Seventh Pullet. He could picture himself +telling it in the train amid the absorbed interest of his +fellow-passengers. Unconsciously all sorts of little details and +improvements began to suggest themselves. + +Wistfulness was still his dominant mood when he took his seat in the +railway carriage the next morning. Opposite him sat Stevenham, who had +attained to a recognised brevet of importance through the fact of an +uncle having dropped dead in the act of voting at a Parliamentary +election. That had happened three years ago, but Stevenham was still +deferred to on all questions of home and foreign politics. + +“Hullo, how’s the giant mushroom, or whatever it was?” was all the notice +Blenkinthrope got from his fellow travellers. + +Young Duckby, whom he mildly disliked, speedily monopolised the general +attention by an account of a domestic bereavement. + +“Had four young pigeons carried off last night by a whacking big rat. +Oh, a monster he must have been; you could tell by the size of the hole +he made breaking into the loft.” + +No moderate-sized rat ever seemed to carry out any predatory operations +in these regions; they were all enormous in their enormity. + +“Pretty hard lines that,” continued Duckby, seeing that he had secured +the attention and respect of the company; “four squeakers carried off at +one swoop. You’d find it rather hard to match that in the way of +unlooked-for bad luck.” + +“I had six pullets out of a pen of seven killed by a snake yesterday +afternoon,” said Blenkinthrope, in a voice which he hardly recognised as +his own. + +“By a snake?” came in excited chorus. + +“It fascinated them with its deadly, glittering eyes, one after the +other, and struck them down while they stood helpless. A bedridden +neighbour, who wasn’t able to call for assistance, witnessed it all from +her bedroom window.” + +“Well, I never!” broke in the chorus, with variations. + +“The interesting part of it is about the seventh pullet, the one that +didn’t get killed,” resumed Blenkinthrope, slowly lighting a cigarette. +His diffidence had left him, and he was beginning to realise how safe and +easy depravity can seem once one has the courage to begin. “The six dead +birds were Minorcas; the seventh was a Houdan with a mop of feathers all +over its eyes. It could hardly see the snake at all, so of course it +wasn’t mesmerised like the others. It just could see something wriggling +on the ground, and went for it and pecked it to death.” + +“Well, I’m blessed!” exclaimed the chorus. + +In the course of the next few days Blenkinthrope discovered how little +the loss of one’s self-respect affects one when one has gained the esteem +of the world. His story found its way into one of the poultry papers, +and was copied thence into a daily news-sheet as a matter of general +interest. A lady wrote from the North of Scotland recounting a similar +episode which she had witnessed as occurring between a stoat and a blind +grouse. Somehow a lie seems so much less reprehensible when one can call +it a lee. + +For awhile the adapter of the Seventh Pullet story enjoyed to the full +his altered standing as a person of consequence, one who had had some +share in the strange events of his times. Then he was thrust once again +into the cold grey background by the sudden blossoming into importance of +Smith-Paddon, a daily fellow-traveller, whose little girl had been +knocked down and nearly hurt by a car belonging to a musical-comedy +actress. The actress was not in the car at the time, but she was in +numerous photographs which appeared in the illustrated papers of Zoto +Dobreen inquiring after the well-being of Maisie, daughter of Edmund +Smith-Paddon, Esq. With this new human interest to absorb them the +travelling companions were almost rude when Blenkinthrope tried to +explain his contrivance for keeping vipers and peregrine falcons out of +his chicken-run. + +Gorworth, to whom he unburdened himself in private, gave him the same +counsel as heretofore. + +“Invent something.” + +“Yes, but what?” + +The ready affirmative coupled with the question betrayed a significant +shifting of the ethical standpoint. + +It was a few days later that Blenkinthrope revealed a chapter of family +history to the customary gathering in the railway carriage. + +“Curious thing happened to my aunt, the one who lives in Paris,” he +began. He had several aunts, but they were all geographically +distributed over Greater London. + +“She was sitting on a seat in the Bois the other afternoon, after +lunching at the Roumanian Legation.” + +Whatever the story gained in picturesqueness from the dragging-in of +diplomatic “atmosphere,” it ceased from that moment to command any +acceptance as a record of current events. Gorworth had warned his +neophyte that this would be the case, but the traditional enthusiasm of +the neophyte had triumphed over discretion. + +“She was feeling rather drowsy, the effect probably of the champagne, +which she’s not in the habit of taking in the middle of the day.” + +A subdued murmur of admiration went round the company. Blenkinthrope’s +aunts were not used to taking champagne in the middle of the year, +regarding it exclusively as a Christmas and New Year accessory. + +“Presently a rather portly gentleman passed by her seat and paused an +instant to light a cigar. At that moment a youngish man came up behind +him, drew the blade from a swordstick, and stabbed him half a dozen times +through and through. ‘Scoundrel,’ he cried to his victim, ‘you do not +know me. My name is Henri Leturc.’ The elder man wiped away some of the +blood that was spattering his clothes, turned to his assailant, and said: +‘And since when has an attempted assassination been considered an +introduction?’ Then he finished lighting his cigar and walked away. My +aunt had intended screaming for the police, but seeing the indifference +with which the principal in the affair treated the matter she felt that +it would be an impertinence on her part to interfere. Of course I need +hardly say she put the whole thing down to the effects of a warm, drowsy +afternoon and the Legation champagne. Now comes the astonishing part of +my story. A fortnight later a bank manager was stabbed to death with a +swordstick in that very part of the Bois. His assassin was the son of a +charwoman formerly working at the bank, who had been dismissed from her +job by the manager on account of chronic intemperance. His name was +Henri Leturc.” + +From that moment Blenkinthrope was tacitly accepted as the Munchausen of +the party. No effort was spared to draw him out from day to day in the +exercise of testing their powers of credulity, and Blenkinthrope, in the +false security of an assured and receptive audience, waxed industrious +and ingenious in supplying the demand for marvels. Duckby’s satirical +story of a tame otter that had a tank in the garden to swim in, and +whined restlessly whenever the water-rate was overdue, was scarcely an +unfair parody of some of Blenkinthrope’s wilder efforts. And then one +day came Nemesis. + +Returning to his villa one evening Blenkinthrope found his wife sitting +in front of a pack of cards, which she was scrutinising with unusual +concentration. + +“The same old patience-game?” he asked carelessly. + +“No, dear; this is the Death’s Head patience, the most difficult of them +all. I’ve never got it to work out, and somehow I should be rather +frightened if I did. Mother only got it out once in her life; she was +afraid of it, too. Her great-aunt had done it once and fallen dead from +excitement the next moment, and mother always had a feeling that she +would die if she ever got it out. She died the same night that she did +it. She was in bad health at the time, certainly, but it was a strange +coincidence.” + +“Don’t do it if it frightens you,” was Blenkinthrope’s practical comment +as he left the room. A few minutes later his wife called to him. + +“John, it gave me such a turn, I nearly got it out. Only the five of +diamonds held me up at the end. I really thought I’d done it.” + +“Why, you can do it,” said Blenkinthrope, who had come back to the room; +“if you shift the eight of clubs on to that open nine the five can be +moved on to the six.” + +His wife made the suggested move with hasty, trembling fingers, and piled +the outstanding cards on to their respective packs. Then she followed +the example of her mother and great-grand-aunt. + +Blenkinthrope had been genuinely fond of his wife, but in the midst of +his bereavement one dominant thought obtruded itself. Something +sensational and real had at last come into his life; no longer was it a +grey, colourless record. The headlines which might appropriately +describe his domestic tragedy kept shaping themselves in his brain. +“Inherited presentiment comes true.” “The Death’s Head patience: +Card-game that justified its sinister name in three generations.” He +wrote out a full story of the fatal occurrence for the _Essex Vedette_, +the editor of which was a friend of his, and to another friend he gave a +condensed account, to be taken up to the office of one of the halfpenny +dailies. But in both cases his reputation as a romancer stood fatally in +the way of the fulfilment of his ambitions. “Not the right thing to be +Munchausening in a time of sorrow” agreed his friends among themselves, +and a brief note of regret at the “sudden death of the wife of our +respected neighbour, Mr. John Blenkinthrope, from heart failure,” +appearing in the news column of the local paper was the forlorn outcome +of his visions of widespread publicity. + +Blenkinthrope shrank from the society of his erstwhile travelling +companions and took to travelling townwards by an earlier train. He +sometimes tries to enlist the sympathy and attention of a chance +acquaintance in details of the whistling prowess of his best canary or +the dimensions of his largest beetroot; he scarcely recognises himself as +the man who was once spoken about and pointed out as the owner of the +Seventh Pullet. + + + + +THE BLIND SPOT + + +“You’ve just come back from Adelaide’s funeral, haven’t you?” said Sir +Lulworth to his nephew; “I suppose it was very like most other funerals?” + +“I’ll tell you all about it at lunch,” said Egbert. + +“You’ll do nothing of the sort. It wouldn’t be respectful either to your +great-aunt’s memory or to the lunch. We begin with Spanish olives, then +a borshch, then more olives and a bird of some kind, and a rather +enticing Rhenish wine, not at all expensive as wines go in this country, +but still quite laudable in its way. Now there’s absolutely nothing in +that menu that harmonises in the least with the subject of your +great-aunt Adelaide or her funeral. She was a charming woman, and quite +as intelligent as she had any need to be, but somehow she always reminded +me of an English cook’s idea of a Madras curry.” + +“She used to say you were frivolous,” said Egbert. Something in his tone +suggested that he rather endorsed the verdict. + +“I believe I once considerably scandalised her by declaring that clear +soup was a more important factor in life than a clear conscience. She +had very little sense of proportion. By the way, she made you her +principal heir, didn’t she?” + +“Yes,” said Egbert, “and executor as well. It’s in that connection that +I particularly want to speak to you.” + +“Business is not my strong point at any time,” said Sir Lulworth, “and +certainly not when we’re on the immediate threshold of lunch.” + +“It isn’t exactly business,” explained Egbert, as he followed his uncle +into the dining-room. + +“It’s something rather serious. Very serious.” + +“Then we can’t possibly speak about it now,” said Sir Lulworth; “no one +could talk seriously during a borshch. A beautifully constructed +borshch, such as you are going to experience presently, ought not only to +banish conversation but almost to annihilate thought. Later on, when we +arrive at the second stage of olives, I shall be quite ready to discuss +that new book on Borrow, or, if you prefer it, the present situation in +the Grand Duchy of Luxemburg. But I absolutely decline to talk anything +approaching business till we have finished with the bird.” + +For the greater part of the meal Egbert sat in an abstracted silence, the +silence of a man whose mind is focussed on one topic. When the coffee +stage had been reached he launched himself suddenly athwart his uncle’s +reminiscences of the Court of Luxemburg. + +“I think I told you that great-aunt Adelaide had made me her executor. +There wasn’t very much to be done in the way of legal matters, but I had +to go through her papers.” + +“That would be a fairly heavy task in itself. I should imagine there +were reams of family letters.” + +“Stacks of them, and most of them highly uninteresting. There was one +packet, however, which I thought might repay a careful perusal. It was a +bundle of correspondence from her brother Peter.” + +“The Canon of tragic memory,” said Lulworth. + +“Exactly, of tragic memory, as you say; a tragedy that has never been +fathomed.” + +“Probably the simplest explanation was the correct one,” said Sir +Lulworth; “he slipped on the stone staircase and fractured his skull in +falling.” + +Egbert shook his head. “The medical evidence all went to prove that the +blow on the head was struck by some one coming up behind him. A wound +caused by violent contact with the steps could not possibly have been +inflicted at that angle of the skull. They experimented with a dummy +figure falling in every conceivable position.” + +“But the motive?” exclaimed Sir Lulworth; “no one had any interest in +doing away with him, and the number of people who destroy Canons of the +Established Church for the mere fun of killing must be extremely limited. +Of course there are individuals of weak mental balance who do that sort +of thing, but they seldom conceal their handiwork; they are more +generally inclined to parade it.” + +“His cook was under suspicion,” said Egbert shortly. + +“I know he was,” said Sir Lulworth, “simply because he was about the only +person on the premises at the time of the tragedy. But could anything be +sillier than trying to fasten a charge of murder on to Sebastien? He had +nothing to gain, in fact, a good deal to lose, from the death of his +employer. The Canon was paying him quite as good wages as I was able to +offer him when I took him over into my service. I have since raised them +to something a little more in accordance with his real worth, but at the +time he was glad to find a new place without troubling about an increase +of wages. People were fighting rather shy of him, and he had no friends +in this country. No; if anyone in the world was interested in the +prolonged life and unimpaired digestion of the Canon it would certainly +be Sebastien.” + +“People don’t always weigh the consequences of their rash acts,” said +Egbert, “otherwise there would be very few murders committed. Sebastien +is a man of hot temper.” + +“He is a southerner,” admitted Sir Lulworth; “to be geographically exact +I believe he hails from the French slopes of the Pyrenees. I took that +into consideration when he nearly killed the gardener’s boy the other day +for bringing him a spurious substitute for sorrel. One must always make +allowances for origin and locality and early environment; ‘Tell me your +longitude and I’ll know what latitude to allow you,’ is my motto.” + +“There, you see,” said Egbert, “he nearly killed the gardener’s boy.” + +“My dear Egbert, between nearly killing a gardener’s boy and altogether +killing a Canon there is a wide difference. No doubt you have often felt +a temporary desire to kill a gardener’s boy; you have never given way to +it, and I respect you for your self-control. But I don’t suppose you +have ever wanted to kill an octogenarian Canon. Besides, as far as we +know, there had never been any quarrel or disagreement between the two +men. The evidence at the inquest brought that out very clearly.” + +“Ah!” said Egbert, with the air of a man coming at last into a deferred +inheritance of conversational importance, “that is precisely what I want +to speak to you about.” + +He pushed away his coffee cup and drew a pocket-book from his inner +breast-pocket. From the depths of the pocket-book he produced an +envelope, and from the envelope he extracted a letter, closely written in +a small, neat handwriting. + +“One of the Canon’s numerous letters to Aunt Adelaide,” he explained, +“written a few days before his death. Her memory was already failing +when she received it, and I daresay she forgot the contents as soon as +she had read it; otherwise, in the light of what subsequently happened, +we should have heard something of this letter before now. If it had been +produced at the inquest I fancy it would have made some difference in the +course of affairs. The evidence, as you remarked just now, choked off +suspicion against Sebastien by disclosing an utter absence of anything +that could be considered a motive or provocation for the crime, if crime +there was.” + +“Oh, read the letter,” said Sir Lulworth impatiently. + +“It’s a long rambling affair, like most of his letters in his later +years,” said Egbert. “I’ll read the part that bears immediately on the +mystery. + +“‘I very much fear I shall have to get rid of Sebastien. He cooks +divinely, but he has the temper of a fiend or an anthropoid ape, and I am +really in bodily fear of him. We had a dispute the other day as to the +correct sort of lunch to be served on Ash Wednesday, and I got so +irritated and annoyed at his conceit and obstinacy that at last I threw a +cupful of coffee in his face and called him at the same time an impudent +jackanapes. Very little of the coffee went actually in his face, but I +have never seen a human being show such deplorable lack of self-control. +I laughed at the threat of killing me that he spluttered out in his rage, +and thought the whole thing would blow over, but I have several times +since caught him scowling and muttering in a highly unpleasant fashion, +and lately I have fancied that he was dogging my footsteps about the +grounds, particularly when I walk of an evening in the Italian Garden.’ + +“It was on the steps in the Italian Garden that the body was found,” +commented Egbert, and resumed reading. + +“‘I daresay the danger is imaginary; but I shall feel more at ease when +he has quitted my service.’” + +Egbert paused for a moment at the conclusion of the extract; then, as his +uncle made no remark, he added: “If lack of motive was the only factor +that saved Sebastien from prosecution I fancy this letter will put a +different complexion on matters.” + +“Have you shown it to anyone else?” asked Sir Lulworth, reaching out his +hand for the incriminating piece of paper. + +“No,” said Egbert, handing it across the table, “I thought I would tell +you about it first. Heavens, what are you doing?” + +Egbert’s voice rose almost to a scream. Sir Lulworth had flung the paper +well and truly into the glowing centre of the grate. The small, neat +handwriting shrivelled into black flaky nothingness. + +“What on earth did you do that for?” gasped Egbert. “That letter was our +one piece of evidence to connect Sebastien with the crime.” + +“That is why I destroyed it,” said Sir Lulworth. + +“But why should you want to shield him?” cried Egbert; “the man is a +common murderer.” + +“A common murderer, possibly, but a very uncommon cook.” + + + + +DUSK + + +Norman Gortsby sat on a bench in the Park, with his back to a strip of +bush-planted sward, fenced by the park railings, and the Row fronting him +across a wide stretch of carriage drive. Hyde Park Corner, with its +rattle and hoot of traffic, lay immediately to his right. It was some +thirty minutes past six on an early March evening, and dusk had fallen +heavily over the scene, dusk mitigated by some faint moonlight and many +street lamps. There was a wide emptiness over road and sidewalk, and yet +there were many unconsidered figures moving silently through the +half-light, or dotted unobtrusively on bench and chair, scarcely to be +distinguished from the shadowed gloom in which they sat. + +The scene pleased Gortsby and harmonised with his present mood. Dusk, to +his mind, was the hour of the defeated. Men and women, who had fought +and lost, who hid their fallen fortunes and dead hopes as far as possible +from the scrutiny of the curious, came forth in this hour of gloaming, +when their shabby clothes and bowed shoulders and unhappy eyes might pass +unnoticed, or, at any rate, unrecognised. + + A king that is conquered must see strange looks, + So bitter a thing is the heart of man. + +The wanderers in the dusk did not choose to have strange looks fasten on +them, therefore they came out in this bat-fashion, taking their pleasure +sadly in a pleasure-ground that had emptied of its rightful occupants. +Beyond the sheltering screen of bushes and palings came a realm of +brilliant lights and noisy, rushing traffic. A blazing, many-tiered +stretch of windows shone through the dusk and almost dispersed it, +marking the haunts of those other people, who held their own in life’s +struggle, or at any rate had not had to admit failure. So Gortsby’s +imagination pictured things as he sat on his bench in the almost deserted +walk. He was in the mood to count himself among the defeated. Money +troubles did not press on him; had he so wished he could have strolled +into the thoroughfares of light and noise, and taken his place among the +jostling ranks of those who enjoyed prosperity or struggled for it. He +had failed in a more subtle ambition, and for the moment he was heartsore +and disillusionised, and not disinclined to take a certain cynical +pleasure in observing and labelling his fellow wanderers as they went +their ways in the dark stretches between the lamp-lights. + +On the bench by his side sat an elderly gentleman with a drooping air of +defiance that was probably the remaining vestige of self-respect in an +individual who had ceased to defy successfully anybody or anything. His +clothes could scarcely be called shabby, at least they passed muster in +the half-light, but one’s imagination could not have pictured the wearer +embarking on the purchase of a half-crown box of chocolates or laying out +ninepence on a carnation buttonhole. He belonged unmistakably to that +forlorn orchestra to whose piping no one dances; he was one of the +world’s lamenters who induce no responsive weeping. As he rose to go +Gortsby imagined him returning to a home circle where he was snubbed and +of no account, or to some bleak lodging where his ability to pay a weekly +bill was the beginning and end of the interest he inspired. His +retreating figure vanished slowly into the shadows, and his place on the +bench was taken almost immediately by a young man, fairly well dressed +but scarcely more cheerful of mien than his predecessor. As if to +emphasise the fact that the world went badly with him the new-corner +unburdened himself of an angry and very audible expletive as he flung +himself into the seat. + +“You don’t seem in a very good temper,” said Gortsby, judging that he was +expected to take due notice of the demonstration. + +The young man turned to him with a look of disarming frankness which put +him instantly on his guard. + +“You wouldn’t be in a good temper if you were in the fix I’m in,” he +said; “I’ve done the silliest thing I’ve ever done in my life.” + +“Yes?” said Gortsby dispassionately. + +“Came up this afternoon, meaning to stay at the Patagonian Hotel in +Berkshire Square,” continued the young man; “when I got there I found it +had been pulled down some weeks ago and a cinema theatre run up on the +site. The taxi driver recommended me to another hotel some way off and I +went there. I just sent a letter to my people, giving them the address, +and then I went out to buy some soap—I’d forgotten to pack any and I hate +using hotel soap. Then I strolled about a bit, had a drink at a bar and +looked at the shops, and when I came to turn my steps back to the hotel I +suddenly realised that I didn’t remember its name or even what street it +was in. There’s a nice predicament for a fellow who hasn’t any friends +or connections in London! Of course I can wire to my people for the +address, but they won’t have got my letter till to-morrow; meantime I’m +without any money, came out with about a shilling on me, which went in +buying the soap and getting the drink, and here I am, wandering about +with twopence in my pocket and nowhere to go for the night.” + +There was an eloquent pause after the story had been told. “I suppose +you think I’ve spun you rather an impossible yarn,” said the young man +presently, with a suggestion of resentment in his voice. + +“Not at all impossible,” said Gortsby judicially; “I remember doing +exactly the same thing once in a foreign capital, and on that occasion +there were two of us, which made it more remarkable. Luckily we +remembered that the hotel was on a sort of canal, and when we struck the +canal we were able to find our way back to the hotel.” + +The youth brightened at the reminiscence. “In a foreign city I wouldn’t +mind so much,” he said; “one could go to one’s Consul and get the +requisite help from him. Here in one’s own land one is far more derelict +if one gets into a fix. Unless I can find some decent chap to swallow my +story and lend me some money I seem likely to spend the night on the +Embankment. I’m glad, anyhow, that you don’t think the story +outrageously improbable.” + +He threw a good deal of warmth into the last remark, as though perhaps to +indicate his hope that Gortsby did not fall far short of the requisite +decency. + +“Of course,” said Gortsby slowly, “the weak point of your story is that +you can’t produce the soap.” + +The young man sat forward hurriedly, felt rapidly in the pockets of his +overcoat, and then jumped to his feet. + +“I must have lost it,” he muttered angrily. + +“To lose an hotel and a cake of soap on one afternoon suggests wilful +carelessness,” said Gortsby, but the young man scarcely waited to hear +the end of the remark. He flitted away down the path, his head held +high, with an air of somewhat jaded jauntiness. + +“It was a pity,” mused Gortsby; “the going out to get one’s own soap was +the one convincing touch in the whole story, and yet it was just that +little detail that brought him to grief. If he had had the brilliant +forethought to provide himself with a cake of soap, wrapped and sealed +with all the solicitude of the chemist’s counter, he would have been a +genius in his particular line. In his particular line genius certainly +consists of an infinite capacity for taking precautions.” + +With that reflection Gortsby rose to go; as he did so an exclamation of +concern escaped him. Lying on the ground by the side of the bench was a +small oval packet, wrapped and sealed with the solicitude of a chemist’s +counter. It could be nothing else but a cake of soap, and it had +evidently fallen out of the youth’s overcoat pocket when he flung himself +down on the seat. In another moment Gortsby was scudding along the +dusk-shrouded path in anxious quest for a youthful figure in a light +overcoat. He had nearly given up the search when he caught sight of the +object of his pursuit standing irresolutely on the border of the carriage +drive, evidently uncertain whether to strike across the Park or make for +the bustling pavements of Knightsbridge. He turned round sharply with an +air of defensive hostility when he found Gortsby hailing him. + +“The important witness to the genuineness of your story has turned up,” +said Gortsby, holding out the cake of soap; “it must have slid out of +your overcoat pocket when you sat down on the seat. I saw it on the +ground after you left. You must excuse my disbelief, but appearances +were really rather against you, and now, as I appealed to the testimony +of the soap I think I ought to abide by its verdict. If the loan of a +sovereign is any good to you—” + +The young man hastily removed all doubt on the subject by pocketing the +coin. + +“Here is my card with my address,” continued Gortsby; “any day this week +will do for returning the money, and here is the soap—don’t lose it again +it’s been a good friend to you.” + +“Lucky thing your finding it,” said the youth, and then, with a catch in +his voice, he blurted out a word or two of thanks and fled headlong in +the direction of Knightsbridge. + +“Poor boy, he as nearly as possible broke down,” said Gortsby to himself. +“I don’t wonder either; the relief from his quandary must have been +acute. It’s a lesson to me not to be too clever in judging by +circumstances.” + +As Gortsby retraced his steps past the seat where the little drama had +taken place he saw an elderly gentleman poking and peering beneath it and +on all sides of it, and recognised his earlier fellow occupant. + +“Have you lost anything, sir?” he asked. + +“Yes, sir, a cake of soap.” + + + + +A TOUCH OF REALISM + + +“I hope you’ve come full of suggestions for Christmas,” said Lady Blonze +to her latest arrived guest; “the old-fashioned Christmas and the +up-to-date Christmas are both so played out. I want to have something +really original this year.” + +“I was staying with the Mathesons last month,” said Blanche Boveal +eagerly, “and we had such a good idea. Every one in the house-party had +to be a character and behave consistently all the time, and at the end of +the visit one had to guess what every one’s character was. The one who +was voted to have acted his or her character best got a prize.” + +“It sounds amusing,” said Lady Blonze. + +“I was St. Francis of Assisi,” continued Blanche; “we hadn’t got to keep +to our right sexes. I kept getting up in the middle of a meal, and +throwing out food to the birds; you see, the chief thing that one +remembers of St. Francis is that he was fond of the birds. Every one was +so stupid about it, and thought that I was the old man who feeds the +sparrows in the Tuileries Gardens. Then Colonel Pentley was the Jolly +Miller on the banks of Dee.” + +“How on earth did he do that?” asked Bertie van Tahn. + +“‘He laughed and sang from morn till night,’” explained Blanche. + +“How dreadful for the rest of you,” said Bertie; “and anyway he wasn’t on +the banks of Dee.” + +“One had to imagine that,” said Blanche. + +“If you could imagine all that you might as well imagine cattle on the +further bank and keep on calling them home, Mary-fashion, across the +sands of Dee. Or you might change the river to the Yarrow and imagine it +was on the top of you, and say you were Willie, or whoever it was, +drowned in Yarrow.” + +“Of course it’s easy to make fun of it,” said Blanche sharply, “but it +was extremely interesting and amusing. The prize was rather a fiasco, +though. You see, Millie Matheson said her character was Lady Bountiful, +and as she was our hostess of course we all had to vote that she had +carried out her character better than anyone. Otherwise I ought to have +got the prize.” + +“It’s quite an idea for a Christmas party,” said Lady Blonze; “we must +certainly do it here.” + +Sir Nicholas was not so enthusiastic. “Are you quite sure, my dear, that +you’re wise in doing this thing?” he said to his wife when they were +alone together. “It might do very well at the Mathesons, where they had +rather a staid, elderly house-party, but here it will be a different +matter. There is the Durmot flapper, for instance, who simply stops at +nothing, and you know what Van Tahn is like. Then there is Cyril +Skatterly; he has madness on one side of his family and a Hungarian +grandmother on the other.” + +“I don’t see what they could do that would matter,” said Lady Blonze. + +“It’s the unknown that is to be dreaded,” said Sir Nicholas. “If +Skatterly took it into his head to represent a Bull of Bashan, well, I’d +rather not be here.” + +“Of course we shan’t allow any Bible characters. Besides, I don’t know +what the Bulls of Bashan really did that was so very dreadful; they just +came round and gaped, as far as I remember.” + +“My dear, you don’t know what Skatterly’s Hungarian imagination mightn’t +read into the part; it would be small satisfaction to say to him +afterwards: ‘You’ve behaved as no Bull of Bashan would have behaved.’” + +“Oh, you’re an alarmist,” said Lady Blonze; “I particularly want to have +this idea carried out. It will be sure to be talked about a lot.” + +“That is quite possible,” said Sir Nicholas. + + * * * * * + +Dinner that evening was not a particularly lively affair; the strain of +trying to impersonate a self-imposed character or to glean hints of +identity from other people’s conduct acted as a check on the natural +festivity of such a gathering. There was a general feeling of gratitude +and acquiescence when good-natured Rachel Klammerstein suggested that +there should be an hour or two’s respite from “the game” while they all +listened to a little piano-playing after dinner. Rachel’s love of piano +music was not indiscriminate, and concentrated itself chiefly on +selections rendered by her idolised offspring, Moritz and Augusta, who, +to do them justice, played remarkably well. + +The Klammersteins were deservedly popular as Christmas guests; they gave +expensive gifts lavishly on Christmas Day and New Year, and Mrs. +Klammerstein had already dropped hints of her intention to present the +prize for the best enacted character in the game competition. Every one +had brightened at this prospect; if it had fallen to Lady Blonze, as +hostess, to provide the prize, she would have considered that a little +souvenir of some twenty or twenty-five shillings’ value would meet the +case, whereas coming from a Klammerstein source it would certainly run to +several guineas. + +The close time for impersonation efforts came to an end with the final +withdrawal of Moritz and Augusta from the piano. Blanche Boveal retired +early, leaving the room in a series of laboured leaps that she hoped +might be recognised as a tolerable imitation of Pavlova. Vera Durmot, +the sixteen-year-old flapper, expressed her confident opinion that the +performance was intended to typify Mark Twain’s famous jumping frog, and +her diagnosis of the case found general acceptance. Another guest to set +an example of early bed-going was Waldo Plubley, who conducted his life +on a minutely regulated system of time-tables and hygienic routine. +Waldo was a plump, indolent young man of seven-and-twenty, whose mother +had early in his life decided for him that he was unusually delicate, and +by dint of much coddling and home-keeping had succeeded in making him +physically soft and mentally peevish. Nine hours’ unbroken sleep, +preceded by elaborate breathing exercises and other hygienic ritual, was +among the indispensable regulations which Waldo imposed on himself, and +there were innumerable small observances which he exacted from those who +were in any way obliged to minister to his requirements; a special teapot +for the decoction of his early tea was always solemnly handed over to the +bedroom staff of any house in which he happened to be staying. No one +had ever quite mastered the mechanism of this precious vessel, but Bertie +van Tahn was responsible for the legend that its spout had to be kept +facing north during the process of infusion. + +On this particular night the irreducible nine hours were severely +mutilated by the sudden and by no means noiseless incursion of a +pyjama-clad figure into Waldo’s room at an hour midway between midnight +and dawn. + +“What is the matter? What are you looking for?” asked the awakened and +astonished Waldo, slowly recognising Van Tahn, who appeared to be +searching hastily for something he had lost. + +“Looking for sheep,” was the reply. + +“Sheep?” exclaimed Waldo. + +“Yes, sheep. You don’t suppose I’m looking for giraffes, do you?” + +“I don’t see why you should expect to find either in my room,” retorted +Waldo furiously. + +“I can’t argue the matter at this hour of the night,” said Bertie, and +began hastily rummaging in the chest of drawers. Shirts and underwear +went flying on to the floor. + +“There are no sheep here, I tell you,” screamed Waldo. + +“I’ve only got your word for it,” said Bertie, whisking most of the +bedclothes on to the floor; “if you weren’t concealing something you +wouldn’t be so agitated.” + +Waldo was by this time convinced that Van Tahn was raving mad, and made +an anxious effort to humour him. + +“Go back to bed like a dear fellow,” he pleaded, “and your sheep will +turn up all right in the morning.” + +“I daresay,” said Bertie gloomily, “without their tails. Nice fool I +shall look with a lot of Manx sheep.” + +And by way of emphasising his annoyance at the prospect he sent Waldo’s +pillows flying to the top of the wardrobe. + +“But _why_ no tails?” asked Waldo, whose teeth were chattering with fear +and rage and lowered temperature. + +“My dear boy, have you never heard the ballad of Little Bo-Peep?” said +Bertie with a chuckle. “It’s my character in the Game, you know. If I +didn’t go hunting about for my lost sheep no one would be able to guess +who I was; and now go to sleepy weeps like a good child or I shall be +cross with you.” + +“I leave you to imagine,” wrote Waldo in the course of a long letter to +his mother, “how much sleep I was able to recover that night, and you +know how essential nine uninterrupted hours of slumber are to my health.” + +On the other hand he was able to devote some wakeful hours to exercises +in breathing wrath and fury against Bertie van Tahn. + +Breakfast at Blonzecourt was a scattered meal, on the “come when you +please” principle, but the house-party was supposed to gather in full +strength at lunch. On the day after the “Game” had been started there +were, however, some notable absentees. Waldo Plubley, for instance, was +reported to be nursing a headache. A large breakfast and an “A.B.C.” had +been taken up to his room, but he had made no appearance in the flesh. + +“I expect he’s playing up to some character,” said Vera Durmot; “isn’t +there a thing of Molière’s, ‘_Le Malade Imaginaire_’? I expect he’s +that.” + +Eight or nine lists came out, and were duly pencilled with the +suggestion. + +“And where are the Klammersteins?” asked Lady Blonze; “they’re usually so +punctual.” + +“Another character pose, perhaps,” said Bertie van Tahn; “‘the Lost Ten +Tribes.’” + +“But there are only three of them. Besides, they’ll want their lunch. +Hasn’t anyone seen anything of them?” + +“Didn’t you take them out in your car?” asked Blanche Boveal, addressing +herself to Cyril Skatterly. + +“Yes, took them out to Slogberry Moor immediately after breakfast. Miss +Durmot came too.” + +“I saw you and Vera come back,” said Lady Blonze, “but I didn’t see the +Klammersteins. Did you put them down in the village?” + +“No,” said Skatterly shortly. + +“But where are they? Where did you leave them?” + +“We left them on Slogberry Moor,” said Vera calmly. + +“On Slogberry Moor? Why, it’s more than thirty miles away! How are they +going to get back?” + +“We didn’t stop to consider that,” said Skatterly; “we asked them to get +out for a moment, on the pretence that the car had stuck, and then we +dashed off full speed and left them there.” + +“But how dare you do such a thing? It’s most inhuman! Why, it’s been +snowing for the last hour.” + +“I expect there’ll be a cottage or farmhouse somewhere if they walk a +mile or two.” + +“But why on earth have you done it?” + +The question came in a chorus of indignant bewilderment. + +“_That_ would be telling what our characters are meant to be,” said Vera. + +“Didn’t I warn you?” said Sir Nicholas tragically to his wife. + +“It’s something to do with Spanish history; we don’t mind giving you that +clue,” said Skatterly, helping himself cheerfully to salad, and then +Bertie van Tahn broke forth into peals of joyous laughter. + +“I’ve got it! Ferdinand and Isabella deporting the Jews! Oh, lovely! +Those two have certainly won the prize; we shan’t get anything to beat +that for thoroughness.” + +Lady Blonze’s Christmas party was talked about and written about to an +extent that she had not anticipated in her most ambitious moments. The +letters from Waldo’s mother would alone have made it memorable. + + + + +COUSIN TERESA + + +Basset Harrowcluff returned to the home of his fathers, after an absence +of four years, distinctly well pleased with himself. He was only +thirty-one, but he had put in some useful service in an out-of-the-way, +though not unimportant, corner of the world. He had quieted a province, +kept open a trade route, enforced the tradition of respect which is worth +the ransom of many kings in out-of-the-way regions, and done the whole +business on rather less expenditure than would be requisite for +organising a charity in the home country. In Whitehall and places where +they think, they doubtless thought well of him. It was not +inconceivable, his father allowed himself to imagine, that Basset’s name +might figure in the next list of Honours. + +Basset was inclined to be rather contemptuous of his half-brother, Lucas, +whom he found feverishly engrossed in the same medley of elaborate +futilities that had claimed his whole time and energies, such as they +were, four years ago, and almost as far back before that as he could +remember. It was the contempt of the man of action for the man of +activities, and it was probably reciprocated. Lucas was an over-well +nourished individual, some nine years Basset’s senior, with a colouring +that would have been accepted as a sign of intensive culture in an +asparagus, but probably meant in this case mere abstention from exercise. +His hair and forehead furnished a recessional note in a personality that +was in all other respects obtrusive and assertive. There was certainly +no Semitic blood in Lucas’s parentage, but his appearance contrived to +convey at least a suggestion of Jewish extraction. Clovis Sangrail, who +knew most of his associates by sight, said it was undoubtedly a case of +protective mimicry. + +Two days after Basset’s return, Lucas frisked in to lunch in a state of +twittering excitement that could not be restrained even for the immediate +consideration of soup, but had to be verbally discharged in spluttering +competition with mouthfuls of vermicelli. + +“I’ve got hold of an idea for something immense,” he babbled, “something +that is simply It.” + +Basset gave a short laugh that would have done equally well as a snort, +if one had wanted to make the exchange. His half-brother was in the +habit of discovering futilities that were “simply It” at frequently +recurring intervals. The discovery generally meant that he flew up to +town, preceded by glowingly-worded telegrams, to see some one connected +with the stage or the publishing world, got together one or two momentous +luncheon parties, flitted in and out of “Gambrinus” for one or two +evenings, and returned home with an air of subdued importance and the +asparagus tint slightly intensified. The great idea was generally +forgotten a few weeks later in the excitement of some new discovery. + +“The inspiration came to me whilst I was dressing,” announced Lucas; “it +will be _the_ thing in the next music-hall _revue_. All London will go +mad over it. It’s just a couplet; of course there will be other words, +but they won’t matter. Listen: + + Cousin Teresa takes out Cæsar, + Fido, Jock, and the big borzoi. + +A lifting, catchy sort of refrain, you see, and big-drum business on the +two syllables of bor-zoi. It’s immense. And I’ve thought out all the +business of it; the singer will sing the first verse alone, then during +the second verse Cousin Teresa will walk through, followed by four wooden +dogs on wheels; Cæsar will be an Irish terrier, Fido a black poodle, Jock +a fox-terrier, and the borzoi, of course, will be a borzoi. During the +third verse Cousin Teresa will come on alone, and the dogs will be drawn +across by themselves from the opposite wing; then Cousin Teresa will +catch on to the singer and go off-stage in one direction, while the dogs’ +procession goes off in the other, crossing en route, which is always very +effective. There’ll be a lot of applause there, and for the fourth verse +Cousin Teresa will come on in sables and the dogs will all have coats on. +Then I’ve got a great idea for the fifth verse; each of the dogs will be +led on by a Nut, and Cousin Teresa will come on from the opposite side, +crossing en route, always effective, and then she turns round and leads +the whole lot of them off on a string, and all the time every one singing +like mad: + + Cousin Teresa takes out Cæsar + Fido, Jock, and the big borzoi. + +Tum-Tum! Drum business on the two last syllables. I’m so excited, I +shan’t sleep a wink to-night. I’m off to-morrow by the ten-fifteen. +I’ve wired to Hermanova to lunch with me.” + +If any of the rest of the family felt any excitement over the creation of +Cousin Teresa, they were signally successful in concealing the fact. + +“Poor Lucas does take his silly little ideas seriously,” said Colonel +Harrowcluff afterwards in the smoking-room. + +“Yes,” said his younger son, in a slightly less tolerant tone, “in a day +or two he’ll come back and tell us that his sensational masterpiece is +above the heads of the public, and in about three weeks’ time he’ll be +wild with enthusiasm over a scheme to dramatise the poems of Herrick or +something equally promising.” + +And then an extraordinary thing befell. In defiance of all precedent +Lucas’s glowing anticipations were justified and endorsed by the course +of events. If Cousin Teresa was above the heads of the public, the +public heroically adapted itself to her altitude. Introduced as an +experiment at a dull moment in a new _revue_, the success of the item was +unmistakable; the calls were so insistent and uproarious that even Lucas’ +ample devisings of additional “business” scarcely sufficed to keep pace +with the demand. Packed houses on successive evenings confirmed the +verdict of the first night audience, stalls and boxes filled +significantly just before the turn came on, and emptied significantly +after the last _encore_ had been given. The manager tearfully +acknowledged that Cousin Teresa was It. Stage hands and supers and +programme sellers acknowledged it to one another without the least +reservation. The name of the _revue_ dwindled to secondary importance, +and vast letters of electric blue blazoned the words “Cousin Teresa” from +the front of the great palace of pleasure. And, of course, the magic of +the famous refrain laid its spell all over the Metropolis. Restaurant +proprietors were obliged to provide the members of their orchestras with +painted wooden dogs on wheels, in order that the much-demanded and always +conceded melody should be rendered with the necessary spectacular +effects, and the crash of bottles and forks on the tables at the mention +of the big borzoi usually drowned the sincerest efforts of drum or +cymbals. Nowhere and at no time could one get away from the double thump +that brought up the rear of the refrain; revellers reeling home at night +banged it on doors and hoardings, milkmen clashed their cans to its +cadence, messenger boys hit smaller messenger boys resounding double +smacks on the same principle. And the more thoughtful circles of the +great city were not deaf to the claims and significance of the popular +melody. An enterprising and emancipated preacher discoursed from his +pulpit on the inner meaning of “Cousin Teresa,” and Lucas Harrowcluff was +invited to lecture on the subject of his great achievement to members of +the Young Mens’ Endeavour League, the Nine Arts Club, and other learned +and willing-to-learn bodies. In Society it seemed to be the one thing +people really cared to talk about; men and women of middle age and +average education might be seen together in corners earnestly discussing, +not the question whether Servia should have an outlet on the Adriatic, or +the possibilities of a British success in international polo contests, +but the more absorbing topic of the problematic Aztec or Nilotic origin +of the Teresa _motiv_. + +“Politics and patriotism are so boring and so out of date,” said a +revered lady who had some pretensions to oracular utterance; “we are too +cosmopolitan nowadays to be really moved by them. That is why one +welcomes an intelligible production like ‘Cousin Teresa,’ that has a +genuine message for one. One can’t understand the message all at once, +of course, but one felt from the very first that it was there. I’ve been +to see it eighteen times and I’m going again to-morrow and on Thursday. +One can’t see it often enough.” + + * * * * * + +“It would be rather a popular move if we gave this Harrowcluff person a +knighthood or something of the sort,” said the Minister reflectively. + +“Which Harrowcluff?” asked his secretary. + +“Which? There is only one, isn’t there?” said the Minister; “the ‘Cousin +Teresa’ man, of course. I think every one would be pleased if we +knighted him. Yes, you can put him down on the list of certainties—under +the letter L.” + +“The letter L,” said the secretary, who was new to his job; “does that +stand for Liberalism or liberality?” + +Most of the recipients of Ministerial favour were expected to qualify in +both of those subjects. + +“Literature,” explained the Minister. + +And thus, after a fashion, Colonel Harrowcluff’s expectation of seeing +his son’s name in the list of Honours was gratified. + + + + +THE YARKAND MANNER + + +Sir Lulworth Quayne was making a leisurely progress through the +Zoological Society’s Gardens in company with his nephew, recently +returned from Mexico. The latter was interested in comparing and +contrasting allied types of animals occurring in the North American and +Old World fauna. + +“One of the most remarkable things in the wanderings of species,” he +observed, “is the sudden impulse to trek and migrate that breaks out now +and again, for no apparent reason, in communities of hitherto +stay-at-home animals.” + +“In human affairs the same phenomenon is occasionally noticeable,” said +Sir Lulworth; “perhaps the most striking instance of it occurred in this +country while you were away in the wilds of Mexico. I mean the wander +fever which suddenly displayed itself in the managing and editorial +staffs of certain London newspapers. It began with the stampede of the +entire staff of one of our most brilliant and enterprising weeklies to +the banks of the Seine and the heights of Montmartre. The migration was +a brief one, but it heralded an era of restlessness in the Press world +which lent quite a new meaning to the phrase ‘newspaper circulation.’ +Other editorial staffs were not slow to imitate the example that had been +set them. Paris soon dropped out of fashion as being too near home; +Nürnberg, Seville, and Salonica became more favoured as planting-out +grounds for the personnel of not only weekly but daily papers as well. +The localities were perhaps not always well chosen; the fact of a leading +organ of Evangelical thought being edited for two successive fortnights +from Trouville and Monte Carlo was generally admitted to have been a +mistake. And even when enterprising and adventurous editors took +themselves and their staffs further afield there were some unavoidable +clashings. For instance, the _Scrutator_, _Sporting Bluff_, and _The +Damsels’ Own Paper_ all pitched on Khartoum for the same week. It was, +perhaps, a desire to out-distance all possible competition that +influenced the management of the _Daily Intelligencer_, one of the most +solid and respected organs of Liberal opinion, in its decision to +transfer its offices for three or four weeks from Fleet Street to Eastern +Turkestan, allowing, of course, a necessary margin of time for the +journey there and back. This was, in many respects, the most remarkable +of all the Press stampedes that were experienced at this time. There was +no make-believe about the undertaking; proprietor, manager, editor, +sub-editors, leader-writers, principal reporters, and so forth, all took +part in what was popularly alluded to as the _Drang nach Osten_; an +intelligent and efficient office-boy was all that was left in the +deserted hive of editorial industry.” + +“That was doing things rather thoroughly, wasn’t it?” said the nephew. + +“Well, you see,” said Sir Lulworth, “the migration idea was falling +somewhat into disrepute from the half-hearted manner in which it was +occasionally carried out. You were not impressed by the information that +such and such a paper was being edited and brought out at Lisbon or +Innsbruck if you chanced to see the principal leader-writer or the art +editor lunching as usual at their accustomed restaurants. The _Daily +Intelligencer_ was determined to give no loophole for cavil at the +genuineness of its pilgrimage, and it must be admitted that to a certain +extent the arrangements made for transmitting copy and carrying on the +usual features of the paper during the long outward journey worked +smoothly and well. The series of articles which commenced at Baku on +‘What Cobdenism might do for the camel industry’ ranks among the best of +the recent contributions to Free Trade literature, while the views on +foreign policy enunciated ‘from a roof in Yarkand’ showed at least as +much grasp of the international situation as those that had germinated +within half a mile of Downing Street. Quite in keeping, too, with the +older and better traditions of British journalism was the manner of the +home-coming; no bombast, no personal advertisement, no flamboyant +interviews. Even a complimentary luncheon at the Voyagers’ Club was +courteously declined. Indeed, it began to be felt that the +self-effacement of the returned pressmen was being carried to a pedantic +length. Foreman compositors, advertisement clerks, and other members of +the non-editorial staff, who had, of course, taken no part in the great +trek, found it as impossible to get into direct communication with the +editor and his satellites now that they had returned as when they had +been excusably inaccessible in Central Asia. The sulky, overworked +office-boy, who was the one connecting link between the editorial brain +and the business departments of the paper, sardonically explained the new +aloofness as the ‘Yarkand manner.’ Most of the reporters and sub-editors +seemed to have been dismissed in autocratic fashion since their return +and new ones engaged by letter; to these the editor and his immediate +associates remained an unseen presence, issuing its instructions solely +through the medium of curt typewritten notes. Something mystic and +Tibetan and forbidden had replaced the human bustle and democratic +simplicity of pre-migration days, and the same experience was encountered +by those who made social overtures to the returned wanderers. The most +brilliant hostess of Twentieth Century London flung the pearl of her +hospitality into the unresponsive trough of the editorial letter-box; it +seemed as if nothing short of a Royal command would drag the +hermit-souled _revenants_ from their self-imposed seclusion. People +began to talk unkindly of the effect of high altitudes and Eastern +atmosphere on minds and temperaments unused to such luxuries. The +Yarkand manner was not popular.” + +“And the contents of the paper,” said the nephew, “did they show the +influence of the new style?” + +“Ah!” said Sir Lulworth, “that was the exciting thing. In home affairs, +social questions, and the ordinary events of the day not much change was +noticeable. A certain Oriental carelessness seemed to have crept into +the editorial department, and perhaps a note of lassitude not unnatural +in the work of men who had returned from what had been a fairly arduous +journey. The aforetime standard of excellence was scarcely maintained, +but at any rate the general lines of policy and outlook were not departed +from. It was in the realm of foreign affairs that a startling change +took place. Blunt, forcible, outspoken articles appeared, couched in +language which nearly turned the autumn manœuvres of six important Powers +into mobilisations. Whatever else the _Daily Intelligencer_ had learned +in the East, it had not acquired the art of diplomatic ambiguity. The +man in the street enjoyed the articles and bought the paper as he had +never bought it before; the men in Downing Street took a different view. +The Foreign Secretary, hitherto accounted a rather reticent man, became +positively garrulous in the course of perpetually disavowing the +sentiments expressed in the _Daily Intelligencer’s_ leaders; and then one +day the Government came to the conclusion that something definite and +drastic must be done. A deputation, consisting of the Prime Minister, +the Foreign Secretary, four leading financiers, and a well-known +Nonconformist divine, made its way to the offices of the paper. At the +door leading to the editorial department the way was barred by a nervous +but defiant office-boy. + +“‘You can’t see the editor nor any of the staff,’ he announced. + +“‘We insist on seeing the editor or some responsible person,’ said the +Prime Minister, and the deputation forced its way in. The boy had spoken +truly; there was no one to be seen. In the whole suite of rooms there +was no sign of human life. + +“‘Where is the editor?’ ‘Or the foreign editor?’ ‘Or the chief +leader-writer? Or anybody?’ + +“In answer to the shower of questions the boy unlocked a drawer and +produced a strange-looking envelope, which bore a Khokand postmark, and a +date of some seven or eight months back. It contained a scrap of paper +on which was written the following message: + + “‘Entire party captured by brigand tribe on homeward journey. + Quarter of million demanded as ransom, but would probably take less. + Inform Government, relations, and friends.’ + +“There followed the signatures of the principal members of the party and +instructions as to how and where the money was to be paid. + +“The letter had been directed to the office-boy-in-charge, who had +quietly suppressed it. No one is a hero to one’s own office-boy, and he +evidently considered that a quarter of a million was an unwarrantable +outlay for such a doubtfully advantageous object as the repatriation of +an errant newspaper staff. So he drew the editorial and other salaries, +forged what signatures were necessary, engaged new reporters, did what +sub-editing he could, and made as much use as possible of the large +accumulation of special articles that was held in reserve for +emergencies. The articles on foreign affairs were entirely his own +composition. + +“Of course the whole thing had to be kept as quiet as possible; an +interim staff, pledged to secrecy, was appointed to keep the paper going +till the pining captives could be sought out, ransomed, and brought home, +in twos and threes to escape notice, and gradually things were put back +on their old footing. The articles on foreign affairs reverted to the +wonted traditions of the paper.” + +“But,” interposed the nephew, “how on earth did the boy account to the +relatives all those months for the non-appearance—” + +“That,” said Sir Lulworth, “was the most brilliant stroke of all. To the +wife or nearest relative of each of the missing men he forwarded a +letter, copying the handwriting of the supposed writer as well as he +could, and making excuses about vile pens and ink; in each letter he told +the same story, varying only the locality, to the effect that the writer, +alone of the whole party, was unable to tear himself away from the wild +liberty and allurements of Eastern life, and was going to spend several +months roaming in some selected region. Many of the wives started off +immediately in pursuit of their errant husbands, and it took the +Government a considerable time and much trouble to reclaim them from +their fruitless quests along the banks of the Oxus, the Gobi Desert, the +Orenburg steppe, and other outlandish places. One of them, I believe, is +still lost somewhere in the Tigris Valley.” + +“And the boy?” + +“Is still in journalism.” + + + + +THE BYZANTINE OMELETTE + + +Sophie Chattel-Monkheim was a Socialist by conviction and a +Chattel-Monkheim by marriage. The particular member of that wealthy +family whom she had married was rich, even as his relatives counted +riches. Sophie had very advanced and decided views as to the +distribution of money: it was a pleasing and fortunate circumstance that +she also had the money. When she inveighed eloquently against the evils +of capitalism at drawing-room meetings and Fabian conferences she was +conscious of a comfortable feeling that the system, with all its +inequalities and iniquities, would probably last her time. It is one of +the consolations of middle-aged reformers that the good they inculcate +must live after them if it is to live at all. + +On a certain spring evening, somewhere towards the dinner-hour, Sophie +sat tranquilly between her mirror and her maid, undergoing the process of +having her hair built into an elaborate reflection of the prevailing +fashion. She was hedged round with a great peace, the peace of one who +has attained a desired end with much effort and perseverance, and who has +found it still eminently desirable in its attainment. The Duke of Syria +had consented to come beneath her roof as a guest, was even now installed +beneath her roof, and would shortly be sitting at her dining-table. As a +good Socialist, Sophie disapproved of social distinctions, and derided +the idea of a princely caste, but if there were to be these artificial +gradations of rank and dignity she was pleased and anxious to have an +exalted specimen of an exalted order included in her house-party. She +was broad-minded enough to love the sinner while hating the sin—not that +she entertained any warm feeling of personal affection for the Duke of +Syria, who was a comparative stranger, but still, as Duke of Syria, he +was very, very welcome beneath her roof. She could not have explained +why, but no one was likely to ask her for an explanation, and most +hostesses envied her. + +“You must surpass yourself to-night, Richardson,” she said complacently +to her maid; “I must be looking my very best. We must all surpass +ourselves.” + +The maid said nothing, but from the concentrated look in her eyes and the +deft play of her fingers it was evident that she was beset with the +ambition to surpass herself. + +A knock came at the door, a quiet but peremptory knock, as of some one +who would not be denied. + +“Go and see who it is,” said Sophie; “it may be something about the +wine.” + +Richardson held a hurried conference with an invisible messenger at the +door; when she returned there was noticeable a curious listlessness in +place of her hitherto alert manner. + +“What is it?” asked Sophie. + +“The household servants have ‘downed tools,’ madame,” said Richardson. + +“Downed tools!” exclaimed Sophie; “do you mean to say they’ve gone on +strike?” + +“Yes, madame,” said Richardson, adding the information: “It’s Gaspare +that the trouble is about.” + +“Gaspare?” said Sophie wanderingly; “the emergency chef! The omelette +specialist!” + +“Yes, madame. Before he became an omelette specialist he was a valet, +and he was one of the strike-breakers in the great strike at Lord +Grimford’s two years ago. As soon as the household staff here learned +that you had engaged him they resolved to ‘down tools’ as a protest. +They haven’t got any grievance against you personally, but they demand +that Gaspare should be immediately dismissed.” + +“But,” protested Sophie, “he is the only man in England who understands +how to make a Byzantine omelette. I engaged him specially for the Duke +of Syria’s visit, and it would be impossible to replace him at short +notice. I should have to send to Paris, and the Duke loves Byzantine +omelettes. It was the one thing we talked about coming from the +station.” + +“He was one of the strike-breakers at Lord Grimford’s,” reiterated +Richardson. + +“This is too awful,” said Sophie; “a strike of servants at a moment like +this, with the Duke of Syria staying in the house. Something must be +done immediately. Quick, finish my hair and I’ll go and see what I can +do to bring them round.” + +“I can’t finish your hair, madame,” said Richardson quietly, but with +immense decision. “I belong to the union and I can’t do another +half-minute’s work till the strike is settled. I’m sorry to be +disobliging.” + +“But this is inhuman!” exclaimed Sophie tragically; “I’ve always been a +model mistress and I’ve refused to employ any but union servants, and +this is the result. I can’t finish my hair myself; I don’t know how to. +What am I to do? It’s wicked!” + +“Wicked is the word,” said Richardson; “I’m a good Conservative and I’ve +no patience with this Socialist foolery, asking your pardon. It’s +tyranny, that’s what it is, all along the line, but I’ve my living to +make, same as other people, and I’ve got to belong to the union. I +couldn’t touch another hair-pin without a strike permit, not if you was +to double my wages.” + +The door burst open and Catherine Malsom raged into the room. + +“Here’s a nice affair,” she screamed, “a strike of household servants +without a moment’s warning, and I’m left like this! I can’t appear in +public in this condition.” + +After a very hasty scrutiny Sophie assured her that she could not. + +“Have they all struck?” she asked her maid. + +“Not the kitchen staff,” said Richardson, “they belong to a different +union.” + +“Dinner at least will be assured,” said Sophie, “that is something to be +thankful for.” + +“Dinner!” snorted Catherine, “what on earth is the good of dinner when +none of us will be able to appear at it? Look at your hair—and look at +me! or rather, don’t.” + +“I know it’s difficult to manage without a maid; can’t your husband be +any help to you?” asked Sophie despairingly. + +“Henry? He’s in worse case than any of us. His man is the only person +who really understands that ridiculous new-fangled Turkish bath that he +insists on taking with him everywhere.” + +“Surely he could do without a Turkish bath for one evening,” said Sophie; +“I can’t appear without hair, but a Turkish bath is a luxury.” + +“My good woman,” said Catherine, speaking with a fearful intensity, +“Henry was in the bath when the strike started. In it, do you +understand? He’s there now.” + +“Can’t he get out?” + +“He doesn’t know how to. Every time he pulls the lever marked ‘release’ +he only releases hot steam. There are two kinds of steam in the bath, +‘bearable’ and ‘scarcely bearable’; he has released them both. By this +time I’m probably a widow.” + +“I simply can’t send away Gaspare,” wailed Sophie; “I should never be +able to secure another omelette specialist.” + +“Any difficulty that I may experience in securing another husband is of +course a trifle beneath anyone’s consideration,” said Catherine bitterly. + +Sophie capitulated. “Go,” she said to Richardson, “and tell the Strike +Committee, or whoever are directing this affair, that Gaspare is herewith +dismissed. And ask Gaspare to see me presently in the library, when I +will pay him what is due to him and make what excuses I can; and then fly +back and finish my hair.” + +Some half an hour later Sophie marshalled her guests in the Grand Salon +preparatory to the formal march to the dining-room. Except that Henry +Malsom was of the ripe raspberry tint that one sometimes sees at private +theatricals representing the human complexion, there was little outward +sign among those assembled of the crisis that had just been encountered +and surmounted. But the tension had been too stupefying while it lasted +not to leave some mental effects behind it. Sophie talked at random to +her illustrious guest, and found her eyes straying with increasing +frequency towards the great doors through which would presently come the +blessed announcement that dinner was served. Now and again she glanced +mirror-ward at the reflection of her wonderfully coiffed hair, as an +insurance underwriter might gaze thankfully at an overdue vessel that had +ridden safely into harbour in the wake of a devastating hurricane. Then +the doors opened and the welcome figure of the butler entered the room. +But he made no general announcement of a banquet in readiness, and the +doors closed behind him; his message was for Sophie alone. + +“There is no dinner, madame,” he said gravely; “the kitchen staff have +‘downed tools.’ Gaspare belongs to the Union of Cooks and Kitchen +Employees, and as soon as they heard of his summary dismissal at a +moment’s notice they struck work. They demand his instant reinstatement +and an apology to the union. I may add, madame, that they are very firm; +I’ve been obliged even to hand back the dinner rolls that were already on +the table.” + +After the lapse of eighteen months Sophie Chattel-Monkheim is beginning +to go about again among her old haunts and associates, but she still has +to be very careful. The doctors will not let her attend anything at all +exciting, such as a drawing-room meeting or a Fabian conference; it is +doubtful, indeed, whether she wants to. + + + + +THE FEAST OF NEMESIS + + +“It’s a good thing that Saint Valentine’s Day has dropped out of vogue,” +said Mrs. Thackenbury; “what with Christmas and New Year and Easter, not +to speak of birthdays, there are quite enough remembrance days as it is. +I tried to save myself trouble at Christmas by just sending flowers to +all my friends, but it wouldn’t work; Gertrude has eleven hot-houses and +about thirty gardeners, so it would have been ridiculous to send flowers +to her, and Milly has just started a florist’s shop, so it was equally +out of the question there. The stress of having to decide in a hurry +what to give to Gertrude and Milly just when I thought I’d got the whole +question nicely off my mind completely ruined my Christmas, and then the +awful monotony of the letters of thanks: ‘Thank you so much for your +lovely flowers. It was so good of you to think of me.’ Of course in the +majority of cases I hadn’t thought about the recipients at all; their +names were down in my list of ‘people who must not be left out.’ If I +trusted to remembering them there would be some awful sins of omission.” + +“The trouble is,” said Clovis to his aunt, “all these days of intrusive +remembrance harp so persistently on one aspect of human nature and +entirely ignore the other; that is why they become so perfunctory and +artificial. At Christmas and New Year you are emboldened and encouraged +by convention to send gushing messages of optimistic goodwill and servile +affection to people whom you would scarcely ask to lunch unless some one +else had failed you at the last moment; if you are supping at a +restaurant on New Year’s Eve you are permitted and expected to join hands +and sing ‘For Auld Lang Syne’ with strangers whom you have never seen +before and never want to see again. But no licence is allowed in the +opposite direction.” + +“Opposite direction; what opposite direction?” queried Mrs. Thackenbury. + +“There is no outlet for demonstrating your feelings towards people whom +you simply loathe. That is really the crying need of our modern +civilisation. Just think how jolly it would be if a recognised day were +set apart for the paying off of old scores and grudges, a day when one +could lay oneself out to be gracefully vindictive to a carefully +treasured list of ‘people who must not be let off.’ I remember when I +was at a private school we had one day, the last Monday of the term I +think it was, consecrated to the settlement of feuds and grudges; of +course we did not appreciate it as much as it deserved, because, after +all, any day of the term could be used for that purpose. Still, if one +had chastised a smaller boy for being cheeky weeks before, one was always +permitted on that day to recall the episode to his memory by chastising +him again. That is what the French call reconstructing the crime.” + +“I should call it reconstructing the punishment,” said Mrs. Thackenbury; +“and, anyhow, I don’t see how you could introduce a system of primitive +schoolboy vengeance into civilised adult life. We haven’t outgrown our +passions, but we are supposed to have learned how to keep them within +strictly decorous limits.” + +“Of course the thing would have to be done furtively and politely,” said +Clovis; “the charm of it would be that it would never be perfunctory like +the other thing. Now, for instance, you say to yourself: ‘I must show +the Webleys some attention at Christmas, they were kind to dear Bertie at +Bournemouth,’ and you send them a calendar, and daily for six days after +Christmas the male Webley asks the female Webley if she has remembered to +thank you for the calendar you sent them. Well, transplant that idea to +the other and more human side of your nature, and say to yourself: ‘Next +Thursday is Nemesis Day; what on earth can I do to those odious people +next door who made such an absurd fuss when Ping Yang bit their youngest +child?’ Then you’d get up awfully early on the allotted day and climb +over into their garden and dig for truffles on their tennis court with a +good gardening fork, choosing, of course, that part of the court that was +screened from observation by the laurel bushes. You wouldn’t find any +truffles but you would find a great peace, such as no amount of +present-giving could ever bestow.” + +“I shouldn’t,” said Mrs. Thackenbury, though her air of protest sounded a +bit forced; “I should feel rather a worm for doing such a thing.” + +“You exaggerate the power of upheaval which a worm would be able to bring +into play in the limited time available,” said Clovis; “if you put in a +strenuous ten minutes with a really useful fork, the result ought to +suggest the operations of an unusually masterful mole or a badger in a +hurry.” + +“They might guess I had done it,” said Mrs. Thackenbury. + +“Of course they would,” said Clovis; “that would be half the satisfaction +of the thing, just as you like people at Christmas to know what presents +or cards you’ve sent them. The thing would be much easier to manage, of +course, when you were on outwardly friendly terms with the object of your +dislike. That greedy little Agnes Blaik, for instance, who thinks of +nothing but her food, it would be quite simple to ask her to a picnic in +some wild woodland spot and lose her just before lunch was served; when +you found her again every morsel of food could have been eaten up.” + +“It would require no ordinary human strategy to lose Agnes Blaik when +luncheon was imminent: in fact, I don’t believe it could be done.” + +“Then have all the other guests, people whom you dislike, and lose the +luncheon. It could have been sent by accident in the wrong direction.” + +“It would be a ghastly picnic,” said Mrs. Thackenbury. + +“For them, but not for you,” said Clovis; “you would have had an early +and comforting lunch before you started, and you could improve the +occasion by mentioning in detail the items of the missing banquet—the +lobster Newburg and the egg mayonnaise, and the curry that was to have +been heated in a chafing-dish. Agnes Blaik would be delirious long +before you got to the list of wines, and in the long interval of waiting, +before they had quite abandoned hope of the lunch turning up, you could +induce them to play silly games, such as that idiotic one of ‘the Lord +Mayor’s dinner-party,’ in which every one has to choose the name of a +dish and do something futile when it is called out. In this case they +would probably burst into tears when their dish is mentioned. It would +be a heavenly picnic.” + +Mrs. Thackenbury was silent for a moment; she was probably making a +mental list of the people she would like to invite to the Duke Humphrey +picnic. Presently she asked: “And that odious young man, Waldo Plubley, +who is always coddling himself—have you thought of anything that one +could do to him?” Evidently she was beginning to see the possibilities +of Nemesis Day. + +“If there was anything like a general observance of the festival,” said +Clovis, “Waldo would be in such demand that you would have to bespeak him +weeks beforehand, and even then, if there were an east wind blowing or a +cloud or two in the sky he might be too careful of his precious self to +come out. It would be rather jolly if you could lure him into a hammock +in the orchard, just near the spot where there is a wasps’ nest every +summer. A comfortable hammock on a warm afternoon would appeal to his +indolent tastes, and then, when he was getting drowsy, a lighted fusee +thrown into the nest would bring the wasps out in an indignant mass, and +they would soon find a ‘home away from home’ on Waldo’s fat body. It +takes some doing to get out of a hammock in a hurry.” + +“They might sting him to death,” protested Mrs. Thackenbury. + +“Waldo is one of those people who would be enormously improved by death,” +said Clovis; “but if you didn’t want to go as far as that, you could have +some wet straw ready to hand, and set it alight under the hammock at the +same time that the fusee was thrown into the nest; the smoke would keep +all but the most militant of the wasps just outside the stinging line, +and as long as Waldo remained within its protection he would escape +serious damage, and could be eventually restored to his mother, kippered +all over and swollen in places, but still perfectly recognisable.” + +“His mother would be my enemy for life,” said Mrs. Thackenbury. + +“That would be one greeting less to exchange at Christmas,” said Clovis. + + + + +THE DREAMER + + +It was the season of sales. The august establishment of Walpurgis and +Nettlepink had lowered its prices for an entire week as a concession to +trade observances, much as an Arch-duchess might protestingly contract an +attack of influenza for the unsatisfactory reason that influenza was +locally prevalent. Adela Chemping, who considered herself in some +measure superior to the allurements of an ordinary bargain sale, made a +point of attending the reduction week at Walpurgis and Nettlepink’s. + +“I’m not a bargain hunter,” she said, “but I like to go where bargains +are.” + +Which showed that beneath her surface strength of character there flowed +a gracious undercurrent of human weakness. + +With a view to providing herself with a male escort Mrs. Chemping had +invited her youngest nephew to accompany her on the first day of the +shopping expedition, throwing in the additional allurement of a +cinematograph theatre and the prospect of light refreshment. As Cyprian +was not yet eighteen she hoped he might not have reached that stage in +masculine development when parcel-carrying is looked on as a thing +abhorrent. + +“Meet me just outside the floral department,” she wrote to him, “and +don’t be a moment later than eleven.” + +Cyprian was a boy who carried with him through early life the wondering +look of a dreamer, the eyes of one who sees things that are not visible +to ordinary mortals, and invests the commonplace things of this world +with qualities unsuspected by plainer folk—the eyes of a poet or a house +agent. He was quietly dressed—that sartorial quietude which frequently +accompanies early adolescence, and is usually attributed by novel-writers +to the influence of a widowed mother. His hair was brushed back in a +smoothness as of ribbon seaweed and seamed with a narrow furrow that +scarcely aimed at being a parting. His aunt particularly noted this item +of his toilet when they met at the appointed rendezvous, because he was +standing waiting for her bareheaded. + +“Where is your hat?” she asked. + +“I didn’t bring one with me,” he replied. + +Adela Chemping was slightly scandalised. + +“You are not going to be what they call a Nut, are you?” she inquired +with some anxiety, partly with the idea that a Nut would be an +extravagance which her sister’s small household would scarcely be +justified in incurring, partly, perhaps, with the instinctive +apprehension that a Nut, even in its embryo stage, would refuse to carry +parcels. + +Cyprian looked at her with his wondering, dreamy eyes. + +“I didn’t bring a hat,” he said, “because it is such a nuisance when one +is shopping; I mean it is so awkward if one meets anyone one knows and +has to take one’s hat off when one’s hands are full of parcels. If one +hasn’t got a hat on one can’t take it off.” + +Mrs. Chemping sighed with great relief; her worst fear had been laid at +rest. + +“It is more orthodox to wear a hat,” she observed, and then turned her +attention briskly to the business in hand. + +“We will go first to the table-linen counter,” she said, leading the way +in that direction; “I should like to look at some napkins.” + +The wondering look deepened in Cyprian’s eyes as he followed his aunt; he +belonged to a generation that is supposed to be over-fond of the rôle of +mere spectator, but looking at napkins that one did not mean to buy was a +pleasure beyond his comprehension. Mrs. Chemping held one or two napkins +up to the light and stared fixedly at them, as though she half expected +to find some revolutionary cypher written on them in scarcely visible +ink; then she suddenly broke away in the direction of the glassware +department. + +“Millicent asked me to get her a couple of decanters if there were any +going really cheap,” she explained on the way, “and I really do want a +salad bowl. I can come back to the napkins later on.” + +She handled and scrutinised a large number of decanters and a long series +of salad bowls, and finally bought seven chrysanthemum vases. + +“No one uses that kind of vase nowadays,” she informed Cyprian, “but they +will do for presents next Christmas.” + +Two sunshades that were marked down to a price that Mrs. Chemping +considered absurdly cheap were added to her purchases. + +“One of them will do for Ruth Colson; she is going out to the Malay +States, and a sunshade will always be useful there. And I must get her +some thin writing paper. It takes up no room in one’s baggage.” + +Mrs. Chemping bought stacks of writing paper; it was so cheap, and it +went so flat in a trunk or portmanteau. She also bought a few +envelopes—envelopes somehow seemed rather an extragavance compared with +notepaper. + +“Do you think Ruth will like blue or grey paper?” she asked Cyprian. + +“Grey,” said Cyprian, who had never met the lady in question. + +“Have you any mauve notepaper of this quality?” Adela asked the +assistant. + +“We haven’t any mauve,” said the assistant, “but we’ve two shades of +green and a darker shade of grey.” + +Mrs. Chemping inspected the greens and the darker grey, and chose the +blue. + +“Now we can have some lunch,” she said. + +Cyprian behaved in an exemplary fashion in the refreshment department, +and cheerfully accepted a fish cake and a mince pie and a small cup of +coffee as adequate restoratives after two hours of concentrated shopping. +He was adamant, however, in resisting his aunt’s suggestion that a hat +should be bought for him at the counter where men’s headwear was being +disposed of at temptingly reduced prices. + +“I’ve got as many hats as I want at home,” he said, “and besides, it +rumples one’s hair so, trying them on.” + +Perhaps he was going to develop into a Nut after all. It was a +disquieting symptom that he left all the parcels in charge of the +cloak-room attendant. + +“We shall be getting more parcels presently,” he said, “so we need not +collect these till we have finished our shopping.” + +His aunt was doubtfully appeased; some of the pleasure and excitement of +a shopping expedition seemed to evaporate when one was deprived of +immediate personal contact with one’s purchases. + +“I’m going to look at those napkins again,” she said, as they descended +the stairs to the ground floor. “You need not come,” she added, as the +dreaming look in the boy’s eyes changed for a moment into one of mute +protest, “you can meet me afterwards in the cutlery department; I’ve just +remembered that I haven’t a corkscrew in the house that can be depended +on.” + +Cyprian was not to be found in the cutlery department when his aunt in +due course arrived there, but in the crush and bustle of anxious shoppers +and busy attendants it was an easy matter to miss anyone. It was in the +leather goods department some quarter of an hour later that Adela +Chemping caught sight of her nephew, separated from her by a rampart of +suit-cases and portmanteaux and hemmed in by the jostling crush of human +beings that now invaded every corner of the great shopping emporium. She +was just in time to witness a pardonable but rather embarrassing mistake +on the part of a lady who had wriggled her way with unstayable +determination towards the bareheaded Cyprian, and was now breathlessly +demanding the sale price of a handbag which had taken her fancy. + +“There now,” exclaimed Adela to herself, “she takes him for one of the +shop assistants because he hasn’t got a hat on. I wonder it hasn’t +happened before.” + +Perhaps it had. Cyprian, at any rate, seemed neither startled nor +embarrassed by the error into which the good lady had fallen. Examining +the ticket on the bag, he announced in a clear, dispassionate voice: + +“Black seal, thirty-four shillings, marked down to twenty-eight. As a +matter of fact, we are clearing them out at a special reduction price of +twenty-six shillings. They are going off rather fast.” + +“I’ll take it,” said the lady, eagerly digging some coins out of her +purse. + +“Will you take it as it is?” asked Cyprian; “it will be a matter of a few +minutes to get it wrapped up, there is such a crush.” + +“Never mind, I’ll take it as it is,” said the purchaser, clutching her +treasure and counting the money into Cyprian’s palm. + +Several kind strangers helped Adela into the open air. + +“It’s the crush and the heat,” said one sympathiser to another; “it’s +enough to turn anyone giddy.” + +When she next came across Cyprian he was standing in the crowd that +pushed and jostled around the counters of the book department. The dream +look was deeper than ever in his eyes. He had just sold two books of +devotion to an elderly Canon. + + + + +THE QUINCE TREE + + +“I’ve just been to see old Betsy Mullen,” announced Vera to her aunt, +Mrs. Bebberly Cumble; “she seems in rather a bad way about her rent. She +owes about fifteen weeks of it, and says she doesn’t know where any of it +is to come from.” + +“Betsy Mullen always is in difficulties with her rent, and the more +people help her with it the less she troubles about it,” said the aunt. +“I certainly am not going to assist her any more. The fact is, she will +have to go into a smaller and cheaper cottage; there are several to be +had at the other end of the village for half the rent that she is paying, +or supposed to be paying, now. I told her a year ago that she ought to +move.” + +“But she wouldn’t get such a nice garden anywhere else,” protested Vera, +“and there’s such a jolly quince tree in the corner. I don’t suppose +there’s another quince tree in the whole parish. And she never makes any +quince jam; I think to have a quince tree and not to make quince jam +shows such strength of character. Oh, she can’t possibly move away from +that garden.” + +“When one is sixteen,” said Mrs. Bebberly Cumble severely, “one talks of +things being impossible which are merely uncongenial. It is not only +possible but it is desirable that Betsy Mullen should move into smaller +quarters; she has scarcely enough furniture to fill that big cottage.” + +“As far as value goes,” said Vera after a short pause, “there is more in +Betsy’s cottage than in any other house for miles round.” + +“Nonsense,” said the aunt; “she parted with whatever old china ware she +had long ago.” + +“I’m not talking about anything that belongs to Betsy herself,” said Vera +darkly; “but, of course, you don’t know what I know, and I don’t suppose +I ought to tell you.” + +“You must tell me at once,” exclaimed the aunt, her senses leaping into +alertness like those of a terrier suddenly exchanging a bored drowsiness +for the lively anticipation of an immediate rat hunt. + +“I’m perfectly certain that I oughtn’t to tell you anything about it,” +said Vera, “but, then, I often do things that I oughtn’t to do.” + +“I should be the last person to suggest that you should do anything that +you ought not to do to—” began Mrs. Bebberly Cumble impressively. + +“And I am always swayed by the last person who speaks to me,” admitted +Vera, “so I’ll do what I ought not to do and tell you.” + +Mrs. Bebberley Cumble thrust a very pardonable sense of exasperation into +the background of her mind and demanded impatiently: + +“What is there in Betsy Mullen’s cottage that you are making such a fuss +about?” + +“It’s hardly fair to say that _I’ve_ made a fuss about it,” said Vera; +“this is the first time I’ve mentioned the matter, but there’s been no +end of trouble and mystery and newspaper speculation about it. It’s +rather amusing to think of the columns of conjecture in the Press and the +police and detectives hunting about everywhere at home and abroad, and +all the while that innocent-looking little cottage has held the secret.” + +“You don’t mean to say it’s the Louvre picture, La Something or other, +the woman with the smile, that disappeared about two years ago?” +exclaimed the aunt with rising excitement. + +“Oh no, not that,” said Vera, “but something quite as important and just +as mysterious—if anything, rather more scandalous.” + +“Not the Dublin—?” + +Vera nodded. + +“The whole jolly lot of them.” + +“In Betsy’s cottage? Incredible!” + +“Of course Betsy hasn’t an idea as to what they are,” said Vera; “she +just knows that they are something valuable and that she must keep quiet +about them. I found out quite by accident what they were and how they +came to be there. You see, the people who had them were at their wits’ +end to know where to stow them away for safe keeping, and some one who +was motoring through the village was struck by the snug loneliness of the +cottage and thought it would be just the thing. Mrs. Lamper arranged the +matter with Betsy and smuggled the things in.” + +“Mrs. Lamper?” + +“Yes; she does a lot of district visiting, you know.” + +“I am quite aware that she takes soup and flannel and improving +literature to the poorer cottagers,” said Mrs. Bebberly Cumble, “but that +is hardly the same sort of thing as disposing of stolen goods, and she +must have known something about their history; anyone who reads the +papers, even casually, must have been aware of the theft, and I should +think the things were not hard to recognise. Mrs. Lamper has always had +the reputation of being a very conscientious woman.” + +“Of course she was screening some one else,” said Vera. “A remarkable +feature of the affair is the extraordinary number of quite respectable +people who have involved themselves in its meshes by trying to shield +others. You would be really astonished if you knew some of the names of +the individuals mixed up in it, and I don’t suppose a tithe of them know +who the original culprits were; and now I’ve got you entangled in the +mess by letting you into the secret of the cottage.” + +“You most certainly have not entangled me,” said Mrs. Bebberly Cumble +indignantly. “I have no intention of shielding anybody. The police must +know about it at once; a theft is a theft, whoever is involved. If +respectable people choose to turn themselves into receivers and disposers +of stolen goods, well, they’ve ceased to be respectable, that’s all. I +shall telephone immediately—” + +“Oh, aunt,” said Vera reproachfully, “it would break the poor Canon’s +heart if Cuthbert were to be involved in a scandal of this sort. You +know it would.” + +“Cuthbert involved! How can you say such things when you know how much +we all think of him?” + +“Of course I know you think a lot of him, and that he’s engaged to marry +Beatrice, and that it will be a frightfully good match, and that he’s +your ideal of what a son-in-law ought to be. All the same, it was +Cuthbert’s idea to stow the things away in the cottage, and it was his +motor that brought them. He was only doing it to help his friend +Pegginson, you know—the Quaker man, who is always agitating for a smaller +Navy. I forget how he got involved in it. I warned you that there were +lots of quite respectable people mixed up in it, didn’t I? That’s what I +meant when I said it would be impossible for old Betsy to leave the +cottage; the things take up a good bit of room, and she couldn’t go +carrying them about with her other goods and chattels without attracting +notice. Of course if she were to fall ill and die it would be equally +unfortunate. Her mother lived to be over ninety, she tells me, so with +due care and an absence of worry she ought to last for another dozen +years at least. By that time perhaps some other arrangements will have +been made for disposing of the wretched things.” + +“I shall speak to Cuthbert about it—after the wedding,” said Mrs. +Bebberly Cumble. + +“The wedding isn’t till next year,” said Vera, in recounting the story to +her best girl friend, “and meanwhile old Betsy is living rent free, with +soup twice a week and my aunt’s doctor to see her whenever she has a +finger ache.” + +“But how on earth did you get to know about it all?” asked her friend, in +admiring wonder. + +“It was a mystery—” said Vera. + +“Of course it was a mystery, a mystery that baffled everybody. What +beats me is how you found out—” + +“Oh, about the jewels? I invented that part,” explained Vera; “I mean +the mystery was where old Betsy’s arrears of rent were to come from; and +she would have hated leaving that jolly quince tree.” + + + + +THE FORBIDDEN BUZZARDS + + +“Is matchmaking at all in your line?” + +Hugo Peterby asked the question with a certain amount of personal +interest. + +“I don’t specialise in it,” said Clovis; “it’s all right while you’re +doing it, but the after-effects are sometimes so disconcerting—the mute +reproachful looks of the people you’ve aided and abetted in matrimonial +experiments. It’s as bad as selling a man a horse with half a dozen +latent vices and watching him discover them piecemeal in the course of +the hunting season. I suppose you’re thinking of the Coulterneb girl. +She’s certainly jolly, and quite all right as far as looks go, and I +believe a certain amount of money adheres to her. What I don’t see is +how you will ever manage to propose to her. In all the time I’ve known +her I don’t remember her to have stopped talking for three consecutive +minutes. You’ll have to race her six times round the grass paddock for a +bet, and then blurt your proposal out before she’s got her wind back. +The paddock is laid up for hay, but if you’re really in love with her you +won’t let a consideration of that sort stop you, especially as it’s not +your hay.” + +“I think I could manage the proposing part right enough,” said Hugo, “if +I could count on being left alone with her for four or five hours. The +trouble is that I’m not likely to get anything like that amount of grace. +That fellow Lanner is showing signs of interesting himself in the same +quarter. He’s quite heartbreakingly rich and is rather a swell in his +way; in fact, our hostess is obviously a bit flattered at having him +here. If she gets wind of the fact that he’s inclined to be attracted by +Betty Coulterneb she’ll think it a splendid match and throw them into +each other’s arms all day long, and then where will my opportunities come +in? My one anxiety is to keep him out of the girl’s way as much as +possible, and if you could help me—” + +“If you want me to trot Lanner round the countryside, inspecting alleged +Roman remains and studying local methods of bee culture and crop raising, +I’m afraid I can’t oblige you,” said Clovis. “You see, he’s taken +something like an aversion to me since the other night in the +smoking-room.” + +“What happened in the smoking-room?” + +“He trotted out some well-worn chestnut as the latest thing in good +stories, and I remarked, quite innocently, that I never could remember +whether it was George II. or James II. who was so fond of that particular +story, and now he regards me with politely-draped dislike. I’ll do my +best for you, if the opportunity arises, but it will have to be in a +roundabout, impersonal manner.” + + * * * * * + +“It’s so nice having Mr. Lanner here,” confided Mrs. Olston to Clovis the +next afternoon; “he’s always been engaged when I’ve asked him before. +Such a nice man; he really ought to be married to some nice girl. +Between you and me, I have an idea that he came down here for a certain +reason.” + +“I’ve had much the same idea,” said Clovis, lowering his voice; “in fact, +I’m almost certain of it.” + +“You mean he’s attracted by—” began Mrs. Olston eagerly. + +“I mean he’s here for what he can get,” said Clovis. + +“For what he can _get_?” said the hostess with a touch of indignation in +her voice; “what do you mean? He’s a very rich man. What should he want +to get here?” + +“He has one ruling passion,” said Clovis, “and there’s something he can +get here that is not to be had for love nor for money anywhere else in +the country, as far as I know.” + +“But what? Whatever do you mean? What is his ruling passion?” + +“Egg-collecting,” said Clovis. “He has agents all over the world getting +rare eggs for him, and his collection is one of the finest in Europe; but +his great ambition is to collect his treasures personally. He stops at +no expense nor trouble to achieve that end.” + +“Good heavens! The buzzards, the rough-legged buzzards!” exclaimed Mrs. +Olston; “you don’t think he’s going to raid their nest?” + +“What do you think yourself?” asked Clovis; “the only pair of +rough-legged buzzards known to breed in this country are nesting in your +woods. Very few people know about them, but as a member of the league +for protecting rare birds that information would be at his disposal. I +came down in the train with him, and I noticed that a bulky volume of +Dresser’s ‘Birds of Europe’ was one of the requisites that he had packed +in his travelling-kit. It was the volume dealing with short-winged hawks +and buzzards.” + +Clovis believed that if a lie was worth telling it was worth telling +well. + +“This is appalling,” said Mrs. Olston; “my husband would never forgive me +if anything happened to those birds. They’ve been seen about the woods +for the last year or two, but this is the first time they’ve nested. As +you say, they are almost the only pair known to be breeding in the whole +of Great Britain; and now their nest is going to be harried by a guest +staying under my roof. I must do something to stop it. Do you think if +I appealed to him—” + +Clovis laughed. + +“There is a story going about, which I fancy is true in most of its +details, of something that happened not long ago somewhere on the coast +of the Sea of Marmora, in which our friend had a hand. A Syrian +nightjar, or some such bird, was known to be breeding in the olive +gardens of a rich Armenian, who for some reason or other wouldn’t allow +Lanner to go in and take the eggs, though he offered cash down for the +permission. The Armenian was found beaten nearly to death a day or two +later, and his fences levelled. It was assumed to be a case of Mussulman +aggression, and noted as such in all the Consular reports, but the eggs +are in the Lanner collection. No, I don’t think I should appeal to his +better feelings if I were you.” + +“I must do something,” said Mrs. Olston tearfully; “my husband’s parting +words when he went off to Norway were an injunction to see that those +birds were not disturbed, and he’s asked about them every time he’s +written. Do suggest something.” + +“I was going to suggest picketing,” said Clovis. + +“Picketing! You mean setting guards round the birds?” + +“No; round Lanner. He can’t find his way through those woods by night, +and you could arrange that you or Evelyn or Jack or the German governess +should be by his side in relays all day long. A fellow guest he could +get rid of, but he couldn’t very well shake off members of the household, +and even the most determined collector would hardly go climbing after +forbidden buzzards’ eggs with a German governess hanging round his neck, +so to speak.” + +Lanner, who had been lazily watching for an opportunity for prosecuting +his courtship of the Coulterneb girl, found presently that his chances of +getting her to himself for ten minutes even were non-existent. If the +girl was ever alone he never was. His hostess had changed suddenly, as +far as he was concerned, from the desirable type that lets her guests do +nothing in the way that best pleases them, to the sort that drags them +over the ground like so many harrows. She showed him the herb garden and +the greenhouses, the village church, some water-colour sketches that her +sister had done in Corsica, and the place where it was hoped that celery +would grow later in the year. + +He was shown all the Aylesbury ducklings and the row of wooden hives +where there would have been bees if there had not been bee disease. He +was also taken to the end of a long lane and shown a distant mound +whereon local tradition reported that the Danes had once pitched a camp. +And when his hostess had to desert him temporarily for other duties he +would find Evelyn walking solemnly by his side. Evelyn was fourteen and +talked chiefly about good and evil, and of how much one might accomplish +in the way of regenerating the world if one was thoroughly determined to +do one’s utmost. It was generally rather a relief when she was displaced +by Jack, who was nine years old, and talked exclusively about the Balkan +War without throwing any fresh light on its political or military +history. The German governess told Lanner more about Schiller than he +had ever heard in his life about any one person; it was perhaps his own +fault for having told her that he was not interested in Goethe. When the +governess went off picket duty the hostess was again on hand with a +not-to-be-gainsaid invitation to visit the cottage of an old woman who +remembered Charles James Fox; the woman had been dead for two or three +years, but the cottage was still there. Lanner was called back to town +earlier than he had originally intended. + +Hugo did not bring off his affair with Betty Coulterneb. Whether she +refused him or whether, as was more generally supposed, he did not get a +chance of saying three consecutive words, has never been exactly +ascertained. Anyhow, she is still the jolly Coulterneb girl. + +The buzzards successfully reared two young ones, which were shot by a +local hairdresser. + + + + +THE STAKE + + +“Ronnie is a great trial to me,” said Mrs. Attray plaintively. “Only +eighteen years old last February and already a confirmed gambler. I am +sure I don’t know where he inherits it from; his father never touched +cards, and you know how little I play—a game of bridge on Wednesday +afternoons in the winter, for three-pence a hundred, and even that I +shouldn’t do if it wasn’t that Edith always wants a fourth and would be +certain to ask that detestable Jenkinham woman if she couldn’t get me. I +would much rather sit and talk any day than play bridge; cards are such a +waste of time, I think. But as to Ronnie, bridge and baccarat and +poker-patience are positively all that he thinks about. Of course I’ve +done my best to stop it; I’ve asked the Norridrums not to let him play +cards when he’s over there, but you might as well ask the Atlantic Ocean +to keep quiet for a crossing as expect them to bother about a mother’s +natural anxieties.” + +“Why do you let him go there?” asked Eleanor Saxelby. + +“My dear,” said Mrs. Attray, “I don’t want to offend them. After all, +they are my landlords and I have to look to them for anything I want done +about the place; they were very accommodating about the new roof for the +orchid house. And they lend me one of their cars when mine is out of +order; you know how often it gets out of order.” + +“I don’t know how often,” said Eleanor, “but it must happen very +frequently. Whenever I want you to take me anywhere in your car I am +always told that there is something wrong with it, or else that the +chauffeur has got neuralgia and you don’t like to ask him to go out.” + +“He suffers quite a lot from neuralgia,” said Mrs. Attray hastily. +“Anyhow,” she continued, “you can understand that I don’t want to offend +the Norridrums. Their household is the most rackety one in the county, +and I believe no one ever knows to an hour or two when any particular +meal will appear on the table or what it will consist of when it does +appear.” + +Eleanor Saxelby shuddered. She liked her meals to be of regular +occurrence and assured proportions. + +“Still,” pursued Mrs. Attray, “whatever their own home life may be, as +landlords and neighbours they are considerate and obliging, so I don’t +want to quarrel with them. Besides, if Ronnie didn’t play cards there +he’d be playing somewhere else.” + +“Not if you were firm with him,” said Eleanor “I believe in being firm.” + +“Firm? I am firm,” exclaimed Mrs. Attray; “I am more than firm—I am +farseeing. I’ve done everything I can think of to prevent Ronnie from +playing for money. I’ve stopped his allowance for the rest of the year, +so he can’t even gamble on credit, and I’ve subscribed a lump sum to the +church offertory in his name instead of giving him instalments of small +silver to put in the bag on Sundays. I wouldn’t even let him have the +money to tip the hunt servants with, but sent it by postal order. He was +furiously sulky about it, but I reminded him of what happened to the ten +shillings that I gave him for the Young Men’s Endeavour League +‘Self-Denial Week.’” + +“What did happen to it?” asked Eleanor. + +“Well, Ronnie did some preliminary endeavouring with it, on his own +account, in connection with the Grand National. If it had come off, as +he expressed it, he would have given the League twenty-five shillings and +netted a comfortable commission for himself; as it was, that ten +shillings was one of the things the League had to deny itself. Since +then I’ve been careful not to let him have a penny piece in his hands.” + +“He’ll get round that in some way,” said Eleanor with quiet conviction; +“he’ll sell things.” + +“My dear, he’s done all that is to be done in that direction already. +He’s got rid of his wrist-watch and his hunting flask and both his +cigarette cases, and I shouldn’t be surprised if he’s wearing +imitation-gold sleeve links instead of those his Aunt Rhoda gave him on +his seventeenth birthday. He can’t sell his clothes, of course, except +his winter overcoat, and I’ve locked that up in the camphor cupboard on +the pretext of preserving it from moth. I really don’t see what else he +can raise money on. I consider that I’ve been both firm and farseeing.” + +“Has he been at the Norridrums lately?” asked Eleanor. + +“He was there yesterday afternoon and stayed to dinner,” said Mrs. +Attray. “I don’t quite know when he came home, but I fancy it was late.” + +“Then depend on it he was gambling,” said Eleanor, with the assured air +of one who has few ideas and makes the most of them. “Late hours in the +country always mean gambling.” + +“He can’t gamble if he has no money and no chance of getting any,” argued +Mrs. Attray; “even if one plays for small stakes one must have a decent +prospect of paying one’s losses.” + +“He may have sold some of the Amherst pheasant chicks,” suggested +Eleanor; “they would fetch about ten or twelve shillings each, I +daresay.” + +“Ronnie wouldn’t do such a thing,” said Mrs. Attray; “and anyhow I went +and counted them this morning and they’re all there. No,” she continued, +with the quiet satisfaction that comes from a sense of painstaking and +merited achievement, “I fancy that Ronnie had to content himself with the +rôle of onlooker last night, as far as the card-table was concerned.” + +“Is that clock right?” asked Eleanor, whose eyes had been straying +restlessly towards the mantel-piece for some little time; “lunch is +usually so punctual in your establishment.” + +“Three minutes past the half-hour,” exclaimed Mrs. Attray; “cook must be +preparing something unusually sumptuous in your honour. I am not in the +secret; I’ve been out all the morning, you know.” + +Eleanor smiled forgivingly. A special effort by Mrs. Attray’s cook was +worth waiting a few minutes for. + +As a matter of fact, the luncheon fare, when it made its tardy +appearance, was distinctly unworthy of the reputation which the +justly-treasured cook had built up for herself. The soup alone would +have sufficed to cast a gloom over any meal that it had inaugurated, and +it was not redeemed by anything that followed. Eleanor said little, but +when she spoke there was a hint of tears in her voice that was far more +eloquent than outspoken denunciation would have been, and even the +insouciant Ronald showed traces of depression when he tasted the rognons +Saltikoff. + +“Not quite the best luncheon I’ve enjoyed in your house,” said Eleanor at +last, when her final hope had flickered out with the savoury. + +“My dear, it’s the worst meal I’ve sat down to for years,” said her +hostess; “that last dish tasted principally of red pepper and wet toast. +I’m awfully sorry. Is anything the matter in the kitchen, Pellin?” she +asked of the attendant maid. + +“Well, ma’am, the new cook hadn’t hardly time to see to things properly, +coming in so sudden—” commenced Pellin by way of explanation. + +“The new cook!” screamed Mrs. Attray. + +“Colonel Norridrum’s cook, ma’am,” said Pellin. + +“What on earth do you mean? What is Colonel Norridrum’s cook doing in my +kitchen—and where is my cook?” + +“Perhaps I can explain better than Pellin can,” said Ronald hurriedly; +“the fact is, I was dining at the Norridrums’ yesterday, and they were +wishing they had a swell cook like yours, just for to-day and to-morrow, +while they’ve got some gourmet staying with them: their own cook is no +earthly good—well, you’ve seen what she turns out when she’s at all +flurried. So I thought it would be rather sporting to play them at +baccarat for the loan of our cook against a money stake, and I lost, +that’s all. I have had rotten luck at baccarat all this year.” + +The remainder of his explanation, of how he had assured the cooks that +the temporary transfer had his mother’s sanction, and had smuggled the +one out and the other in during the maternal absence, was drowned in the +outcry of scandalised upbraiding. + +“If I had sold the woman into slavery there couldn’t have been a bigger +fuss about it,” he confided afterwards to Bertie Norridrum, “and Eleanor +Saxelby raged and ramped the louder of the two. I tell you what, I’ll +bet you two of the Amherst pheasants to five shillings that she refuses +to have me as a partner at the croquet tournament. We’re drawn together, +you know.” + +This time he won his bet. + + + + +CLOVIS ON PARENTAL RESPONSIBILITIES + + +Marion Eggelby sat talking to Clovis on the only subject that she ever +willingly talked about—her offspring and their varied perfections and +accomplishments. Clovis was not in what could be called a receptive +mood; the younger generation of Eggelby, depicted in the glowing +improbable colours of parent impressionism, aroused in him no enthusiasm. +Mrs. Eggelby, on the other hand, was furnished with enthusiasm enough for +two. + +“You would like Eric,” she said, argumentatively rather than hopefully. +Clovis had intimated very unmistakably that he was unlikely to care +extravagantly for either Amy or Willie. “Yes, I feel sure you would like +Eric. Every one takes to him at once. You know, he always reminds me of +that famous picture of the youthful David—I forget who it’s by, but it’s +very well known.” + +“That would be sufficient to set me against him, if I saw much of him,” +said Clovis. “Just imagine at auction bridge, for instance, when one was +trying to concentrate one’s mind on what one’s partner’s original +declaration had been, and to remember what suits one’s opponents had +originally discarded, what it would be like to have some one persistently +reminding one of a picture of the youthful David. It would be simply +maddening. If Eric did that I should detest him.” + +“Eric doesn’t play bridge,” said Mrs. Eggelby with dignity. + +“Doesn’t he?” asked Clovis; “why not?” + +“None of my children have been brought up to play card games,” said Mrs. +Eggelby; “draughts and halma and those sorts of games I encourage. Eric +is considered quite a wonderful draughts-player.” + +“You are strewing dreadful risks in the path of your family,” said +Clovis; “a friend of mine who is a prison chaplain told me that among the +worst criminal cases that have come under his notice, men condemned to +death or to long periods of penal servitude, there was not a single +bridge-player. On the other hand, he knew at least two expert +draughts-players among them.” + +“I really don’t see what my boys have got to do with the criminal +classes,” said Mrs. Eggelby resentfully. “They have been most carefully +brought up, I can assure you that.” + +“That shows that you were nervous as to how they would turn out,” said +Clovis. “Now, my mother never bothered about bringing me up. She just +saw to it that I got whacked at decent intervals and was taught the +difference between right and wrong; there is some difference, you know, +but I’ve forgotten what it is.” + +“Forgotten the difference between right and wrong!” exclaimed Mrs. +Eggelby. + +“Well, you see, I took up natural history and a whole lot of other +subjects at the same time, and one can’t remember everything, can one? I +used to know the difference between the Sardinian dormouse and the +ordinary kind, and whether the wry-neck arrives at our shores earlier +than the cuckoo, or the other way round, and how long the walrus takes in +growing to maturity; I daresay you knew all those sorts of things once, +but I bet you’ve forgotten them.” + +“Those things are not important,” said Mrs. Eggelby, “but—” + +“The fact that we’ve both forgotten them proves that they are important,” +said Clovis; “you must have noticed that it’s always the important things +that one forgets, while the trivial, unnecessary facts of life stick in +one’s memory. There’s my cousin, Editha Clubberley, for instance; I can +never forget that her birthday is on the 12th of October. It’s a matter +of utter indifference to me on what date her birthday falls, or whether +she was born at all; either fact seems to me absolutely trivial, or +unnecessary—I’ve heaps of other cousins to go on with. On the other +hand, when I’m staying with Hildegarde Shrubley I can never remember the +important circumstance whether her first husband got his unenviable +reputation on the Turf or the Stock Exchange, and that uncertainty rules +Sport and Finance out of the conversation at once. One can never mention +travel, either, because her second husband had to live permanently +abroad.” + +“Mrs. Shrubley and I move in very different circles,” said Mrs. Eggelby +stiffly. + +“No one who knows Hildegarde could possibly accuse her of moving in a +circle,” said Clovis; “her view of life seems to be a non-stop run with +an inexhaustible supply of petrol. If she can get some one else to pay +for the petrol so much the better. I don’t mind confessing to you that +she has taught me more than any other woman I can think of.” + +“What kind of knowledge?” demanded Mrs. Eggelby, with the air a jury +might collectively wear when finding a verdict without leaving the box. + +“Well, among other things, she’s introduced me to at least four different +ways of cooking lobster,” said Clovis gratefully. “That, of course, +wouldn’t appeal to you; people who abstain from the pleasures of the +card-table never really appreciate the finer possibilities of the +dining-table. I suppose their powers of enlightened enjoyment get +atrophied from disuse.” + +“An aunt of mine was very ill after eating a lobster,” said Mrs. Eggelby. + +“I daresay, if we knew more of her history, we should find out that she’d +often been ill before eating the lobster. Aren’t you concealing the fact +that she’d had measles and influenza and nervous headache and hysteria, +and other things that aunts do have, long before she ate the lobster? +Aunts that have never known a day’s illness are very rare; in fact, I +don’t personally know of any. Of course if she ate it as a child of two +weeks old it might have been her first illness—and her last. But if that +was the case I think you should have said so.” + +“I must be going,” said Mrs. Eggelby, in a tone which had been thoroughly +sterilised of even perfunctory regret. + +Clovis rose with an air of graceful reluctance. + +“I have so enjoyed our little talk about Eric,” he said; “I quite look +forward to meeting him some day.” + +“Good-bye,” said Mrs. Eggelby frostily; the supplementary remark which +she made at the back of her throat was— + +“I’ll take care that you never shall!” + + + + +A HOLIDAY TASK + + +Kenelm Jerton entered the dining-hall of the Golden Galleon Hotel in the +full crush of the luncheon hour. Nearly every seat was occupied, and +small additional tables had been brought in, where floor space permitted, +to accommodate latecomers, with the result that many of the tables were +almost touching each other. Jerton was beckoned by a waiter to the only +vacant table that was discernible, and took his seat with the +uncomfortable and wholly groundless idea that nearly every one in the +room was staring at him. He was a youngish man of ordinary appearance, +quiet of dress and unobtrusive of manner, and he could never wholly rid +himself of the idea that a fierce light of public scrutiny beat on him as +though he had been a notability or a super-nut. After he had ordered his +lunch there came the unavoidable interval of waiting, with nothing to do +but to stare at the flower-vase on his table and to be stared at (in +imagination) by several flappers, some maturer beings of the same sex, +and a satirical-looking Jew. In order to carry off the situation with +some appearance of unconcern he became spuriously interested in the +contents of the flower-vase. + +“What is the name of these roses, d’you know?” he asked the waiter. The +waiter was ready at all times to conceal his ignorance concerning items +of the wine-list or menu; he was frankly ignorant as to the specific name +of the roses. + +“_Amy Sylvester Partington_,” said a voice at Jerton’s elbow. + +The voice came from a pleasant-faced, well-dressed young woman who was +sitting at a table that almost touched Jerton’s. He thanked her +hurriedly and nervously for the information, and made some inconsequent +remark about the flowers. + +“It is a curious thing,” said the young woman, that, “I should be able to +tell you the name of those roses without an effort of memory, because if +you were to ask me my name I should be utterly unable to give it to you.” + +Jerton had not harboured the least intention of extending his thirst for +name-labels to his neighbour. After her rather remarkable announcement, +however, he was obliged to say something in the way of polite inquiry. + +“Yes,” answered the lady, “I suppose it is a case of partial loss of +memory. I was in the train coming down here; my ticket told me that I +had come from Victoria and was bound for this place. I had a couple of +five-pound notes and a sovereign on me, no visiting cards or any other +means of identification, and no idea as to who I am. I can only hazily +recollect that I have a title; I am Lady Somebody—beyond that my mind is +a blank.” + +“Hadn’t you any luggage with you?” asked Jerton. + +“That is what I didn’t know. I knew the name of this hotel and made up +my mind to come here, and when the hotel porter who meets the trains +asked if I had any luggage I had to invent a dressing-bag and +dress-basket; I could always pretend that they had gone astray. I gave +him the name of Smith, and presently he emerged from a confused pile of +luggage and passengers with a dressing-bag and dress-basket labelled +Kestrel-Smith. I had to take them; I don’t see what else I could have +done.” + +Jerton said nothing, but he rather wondered what the lawful owner of the +baggage would do. + +“Of course it was dreadful arriving at a strange hotel with the name of +Kestrel-Smith, but it would have been worse to have arrived without +luggage. Anyhow, I hate causing trouble.” + +Jerton had visions of harassed railway officials and distraught +Kestrel-Smiths, but he made no attempt to clothe his mental picture in +words. The lady continued her story. + +“Naturally, none of my keys would fit the things, but I told an +intelligent page boy that I had lost my key-ring, and he had the locks +forced in a twinkling. Rather too intelligent, that boy; he will +probably end in Dartmoor. The Kestrel-Smith toilet tools aren’t up to +much, but they are better than nothing.” + +“If you feel sure that you have a title,” said Jerton, “why not get hold +of a peerage and go right through it?” + +“I tried that. I skimmed through the list of the House of Lords in +‘Whitaker,’ but a mere printed string of names conveys awfully little to +one, you know. If you were an army officer and had lost your identity +you might pore over the Army List for months without finding out who your +were. I’m going on another tack; I’m trying to find out by various +little tests who I am _not_—that will narrow the range of uncertainty +down a bit. You may have noticed, for instance, that I’m lunching +principally off lobster Newburg.” + +Jerton had not ventured to notice anything of the sort. + +“It’s an extravagance, because it’s one of the most expensive dishes on +the menu, but at any rate it proves that I’m not Lady Starping; she never +touches shell-fish, and poor Lady Braddleshrub has no digestion at all; +if I am _her_ I shall certainly die in agony in the course of the +afternoon, and the duty of finding out who I am will devolve on the press +and the police and those sort of people; I shall be past caring. Lady +Knewford doesn’t know one rose from another and she hates men, so she +wouldn’t have spoken to you in any case; and Lady Mousehilton flirts with +every man she meets—I haven’t flirted with you, have I?” + +Jerton hastily gave the required assurance. + +“Well, you see,” continued the lady, “that knocks four off the list at +once.” + +“It’ll be rather a lengthy process bringing the list down to one,” said +Jerton. + +“Oh, but, of course, there are heaps of them that I couldn’t possibly +be—women who’ve got grandchildren or sons old enough to have celebrated +their coming of age. I’ve only got to consider the ones about my own +age. I tell you how you might help me this afternoon, if you don’t mind; +go through any of the back numbers of _Country Life_ and those sort of +papers that you can find in the smoking-room, and see if you come across +my portrait with infant son or anything of that sort. It won’t take you +ten minutes. I’ll meet you in the lounge about tea-time. Thanks +awfully.” + +And the Fair Unknown, having graciously pressed Jerton into the search +for her lost identity, rose and left the room. As she passed the young +man’s table she halted for a moment and whispered: + +“Did you notice that I tipped the waiter a shilling? We can cross Lady +Ulwight off the list; she would have died rather than do that.” + +At five o’clock Jerton made his way to the hotel lounge; he had spent a +diligent but fruitless quarter of an hour among the illustrated weeklies +in the smoking-room. His new acquaintance was seated at a small +tea-table, with a waiter hovering in attendance. + +“China tea or Indian?” she asked as Jerton came up. + +“China, please, and nothing to eat. Have you discovered anything?” + +“Only negative information. I’m not Lady Befnal. She disapproves +dreadfully of any form of gambling, so when I recognised a well-known +book maker in the hotel lobby I went and put a tenner on an unnamed filly +by William the Third out of Mitrovitza for the three-fifteen race. I +suppose the fact of the animal being nameless was what attracted me.” + +“Did it win?” asked Jerton. + +“No, came in fourth, the most irritating thing a horse can do when you’ve +backed it win or place. Anyhow, I know now that I’m not Lady Befnal.” + +“It seems to me that the knowledge was rather dearly bought,” commented +Jerton. + +“Well, yes, it has rather cleared me out,” admitted the identity-seeker; +“a florin is about all I’ve got left on me. The lobster Newburg made my +lunch rather an expensive one, and, of course, I had to tip that boy for +what he did to the Kestrel-Smith locks. I’ve got rather a useful idea, +though. I feel certain that I belong to the Pivot Club; I’ll go back to +town and ask the hall porter there if there are any letters for me. He +knows all the members by sight, and if there are any letters or telephone +messages waiting for me of course that will solve the problem. If he +says there aren’t any I shall say: ‘You know who I am, don’t you?’ so +I’ll find out anyway.” + +The plan seemed a sound one; a difficulty in its execution suggested +itself to Jerton. + +“Of course,” said the lady, when he hinted at the obstacle, “there’s my +fare back to town, and my bill here and cabs and things. If you’ll lend +me three pounds that ought to see me through comfortably. Thanks ever +so. Then there is the question of that luggage: I don’t want to be +saddled with that for the rest of my life. I’ll have it brought down to +the hall and you can pretend to mount guard over it while I’m writing a +letter. Then I shall just slip away to the station, and you can wander +off to the smoking-room, and they can do what they like with the things. +They’ll advertise them after a bit and the owner can claim them.” + +Jerton acquiesced in the manœuvre, and duly mounted guard over the +luggage while its temporary owner slipped unobtrusively out of the hotel. +Her departure was not, however, altogether unnoticed. Two gentlemen were +strolling past Jerton, and one of them remarked to the other: + +“Did you see that tall young woman in grey who went out just now? She is +the Lady—” + +His promenade carried him out of earshot at the critical moment when he +was about to disclose the elusive identity. The Lady Who? Jerton could +scarcely run after a total stranger, break into his conversation, and ask +him for information concerning a chance passer-by. Besides, it was +desirable that he should keep up the appearance of looking after the +luggage. In a minute or two, however, the important personage, the man +who knew, came strolling back alone. Jerton summoned up all his courage +and waylaid him. + +“I think I heard you say you knew the lady who went out of the hotel a +few minutes ago, a tall lady, dressed in grey. Excuse me for asking if +you could tell me her name; I’ve been talking to her for half an hour; +she—er—she knows all my people and seems to know me, so I suppose I’ve +met her somewhere before, but I’m blest if I can put a name to her. +Could you—?” + +“Certainly. She’s a Mrs. Stroope.” + +“_Mrs._?” queried Jerton. + +“Yes, she’s the Lady Champion at golf in my part of the world. An awful +good sort, and goes about a good deal in Society, but she has an awkward +habit of losing her memory every now and then, and gets into all sorts of +fixes. She’s furious, too, if you make any allusion to it afterwards. +Good day, sir.” + +The stranger passed on his way, and before Jerton had had time to +assimilate his information he found his whole attention centred on an +angry-looking lady who was making loud and fretful-seeming inquiries of +the hotel clerks. + +“Has any luggage been brought here from the station by mistake, a +dress-basket and dressing-case, with the name Kestrel-Smith? It can’t be +traced anywhere. I saw it put in at Victoria, that I’ll swear. +Why—there is my luggage! and the locks have been tampered with!” + +Jerton heard no more. He fled down to the Turkish bath, and stayed there +for hours. + + + + +THE STALLED OX + + +Theophil Eshley was an artist by profession, a cattle painter by force of +environment. It is not to be supposed that he lived on a ranche or a +dairy farm, in an atmosphere pervaded with horn and hoof, milking-stool, +and branding-iron. His home was in a park-like, villa-dotted district +that only just escaped the reproach of being suburban. On one side of +his garden there abutted a small, picturesque meadow, in which an +enterprising neighbour pastured some small picturesque cows of the +Channel Island persuasion. At noonday in summertime the cows stood +knee-deep in tall meadow-grass under the shade of a group of walnut +trees, with the sunlight falling in dappled patches on their mouse-sleek +coats. Eshley had conceived and executed a dainty picture of two +reposeful milch-cows in a setting of walnut tree and meadow-grass and +filtered sunbeam, and the Royal Academy had duly exposed the same on the +walls of its Summer Exhibition. The Royal Academy encourages orderly, +methodical habits in its children. Eshley had painted a successful and +acceptable picture of cattle drowsing picturesquely under walnut trees, +and as he had begun, so, of necessity, he went on. His “Noontide Peace,” +a study of two dun cows under a walnut tree, was followed by “A Mid-day +Sanctuary,” a study of a walnut tree, with two dun cows under it. In due +succession there came “Where the Gad-Flies Cease from Troubling,” “The +Haven of the Herd,” and “A-dream in Dairyland,” studies of walnut trees +and dun cows. His two attempts to break away from his own tradition were +signal failures: “Turtle Doves alarmed by Sparrow-hawk” and “Wolves on +the Roman Campagna” came back to his studio in the guise of abominable +heresies, and Eshley climbed back into grace and the public gaze with “A +Shaded Nook where Drowsy Milkers Dream.” + +On a fine afternoon in late autumn he was putting some finishing touches +to a study of meadow weeds when his neighbour, Adela Pingsford, assailed +the outer door of his studio with loud peremptory knockings. + +“There is an ox in my garden,” she announced, in explanation of the +tempestuous intrusion. + +“An ox,” said Eshley blankly, and rather fatuously; “what kind of ox?” + +“Oh, I don’t know what kind,” snapped the lady. “A common or garden ox, +to use the slang expression. It is the garden part of it that I object +to. My garden has just been put straight for the winter, and an ox +roaming about in it won’t improve matters. Besides, there are the +chrysanthemums just coming into flower.” + +“How did it get into the garden?” asked Eshley. + +“I imagine it came in by the gate,” said the lady impatiently; “it +couldn’t have climbed the walls, and I don’t suppose anyone dropped it +from an aeroplane as a Bovril advertisement. The immediately important +question is not how it got in, but how to get it out.” + +“Won’t it go?” said Eshley. + +“If it was anxious to go,” said Adela Pingsford rather angrily, “I should +not have come here to chat with you about it. I’m practically all alone; +the housemaid is having her afternoon out and the cook is lying down with +an attack of neuralgia. Anything that I may have learned at school or in +after life about how to remove a large ox from a small garden seems to +have escaped from my memory now. All I could think of was that you were +a near neighbour and a cattle painter, presumably more or less familiar +with the subjects that you painted, and that you might be of some slight +assistance. Possibly I was mistaken.” + +“I paint dairy cows, certainly,” admitted Eshley, “but I cannot claim to +have had any experience in rounding-up stray oxen. I’ve seen it done on +a cinema film, of course, but there were always horses and lots of other +accessories; besides, one never knows how much of those pictures are +faked.” + +Adela Pingsford said nothing, but led the way to her garden. It was +normally a fair-sized garden, but it looked small in comparison with the +ox, a huge mottled brute, dull red about the head and shoulders, passing +to dirty white on the flanks and hind-quarters, with shaggy ears and +large blood-shot eyes. It bore about as much resemblance to the dainty +paddock heifers that Eshley was accustomed to paint as the chief of a +Kurdish nomad clan would to a Japanese tea-shop girl. Eshley stood very +near the gate while he studied the animal’s appearance and demeanour. +Adela Pingsford continued to say nothing. + +“It’s eating a chrysanthemum,” said Eshley at last, when the silence had +become unbearable. + +“How observant you are,” said Adela bitterly. “You seem to notice +everything. As a matter of fact, it has got six chrysanthemums in its +mouth at the present moment.” + +The necessity for doing something was becoming imperative. Eshley took a +step or two in the direction of the animal, clapped his hands, and made +noises of the “Hish” and “Shoo” variety. If the ox heard them it gave no +outward indication of the fact. + +“If any hens should ever stray into my garden,” said Adela, “I should +certainly send for you to frighten them out. You ‘shoo’ beautifully. +Meanwhile, do you mind trying to drive that ox away? That is a +_Mademoiselle Louise Bichot_ that he’s begun on now,” she added in icy +calm, as a glowing orange head was crushed into the huge munching mouth. + +“Since you have been so frank about the variety of the chrysanthemum,” +said Eshley, “I don’t mind telling you that this is an Ayrshire ox.” + +The icy calm broke down; Adela Pingsford used language that sent the +artist instinctively a few feet nearer to the ox. He picked up a +pea-stick and flung it with some determination against the animal’s +mottled flanks. The operation of mashing _Mademoiselle Louise Bichot_ +into a petal salad was suspended for a long moment, while the ox gazed +with concentrated inquiry at the stick-thrower. Adela gazed with equal +concentration and more obvious hostility at the same focus. As the beast +neither lowered its head nor stamped its feet Eshley ventured on another +javelin exercise with another pea-stick. The ox seemed to realise at +once that it was to go; it gave a hurried final pluck at the bed where +the chrysanthemums had been, and strode swiftly up the garden. Eshley +ran to head it towards the gate, but only succeeded in quickening its +pace from a walk to a lumbering trot. With an air of inquiry, but with +no real hesitation, it crossed the tiny strip of turf that the charitable +called the croquet lawn, and pushed its way through the open French +window into the morning-room. Some chrysanthemums and other autumn +herbage stood about the room in vases, and the animal resumed its +browsing operations; all the same, Eshley fancied that the beginnings of +a hunted look had come into its eyes, a look that counselled respect. He +discontinued his attempt to interfere with its choice of surroundings. + +“Mr. Eshley,” said Adela in a shaking voice, “I asked you to drive that +beast out of my garden, but I did not ask you to drive it into my house. +If I must have it anywhere on the premises I prefer the garden to the +morning-room.” + +“Cattle drives are not in my line,” said Eshley; “if I remember I told +you so at the outset.” “I quite agree,” retorted the lady, “painting +pretty pictures of pretty little cows is what you’re suited for. Perhaps +you’d like to do a nice sketch of that ox making itself at home in my +morning-room?” + +This time it seemed as if the worm had turned; Eshley began striding +away. + +“Where are you going?” screamed Adela. + +“To fetch implements,” was the answer. + +“Implements? I won’t have you use a lasso. The room will be wrecked if +there’s a struggle.” + +But the artist marched out of the garden. In a couple of minutes he +returned, laden with easel, sketching-stool, and painting materials. + +“Do you mean to say that you’re going to sit quietly down and paint that +brute while it’s destroying my morning-room?” gasped Adela. + +“It was your suggestion,” said Eshley, setting his canvas in position. + +“I forbid it; I absolutely forbid it!” stormed Adela. + +“I don’t see what standing you have in the matter,” said the artist; “you +can hardly pretend that it’s your ox, even by adoption.” + +“You seem to forget that it’s in my morning-room, eating my flowers,” +came the raging retort. + +“You seem to forget that the cook has neuralgia,” said Eshley; “she may +be just dozing off into a merciful sleep and your outcry will waken her. +Consideration for others should be the guiding principle of people in our +station of life.” + +“The man is mad!” exclaimed Adela tragically. A moment later it was +Adela herself who appeared to go mad. The ox had finished the +vase-flowers and the cover of “Israel Kalisch,” and appeared to be +thinking of leaving its rather restricted quarters. Eshley noticed its +restlessness and promptly flung it some bunches of Virginia creeper +leaves as an inducement to continue the sitting. + +“I forget how the proverb runs,” he observed; “of something about ‘better +a dinner of herbs than a stalled ox where hate is.’ We seem to have all +the ingredients for the proverb ready to hand.” + +“I shall go to the Public Library and get them to telephone for the +police,” announced Adela, and, raging audibly, she departed. + +Some minutes later the ox, awakening probably to the suspicion that oil +cake and chopped mangold was waiting for it in some appointed byre, +stepped with much precaution out of the morning-room, stared with grave +inquiry at the no longer obtrusive and pea-stick-throwing human, and then +lumbered heavily but swiftly out of the garden. Eshley packed up his +tools and followed the animal’s example and “Larkdene” was left to +neuralgia and the cook. + +The episode was the turning-point in Eshley’s artistic career. His +remarkable picture, “Ox in a morning-room, late autumn,” was one of the +sensations and successes of the next Paris Salon, and when it was +subsequently exhibited at Munich it was bought by the Bavarian +Government, in the teeth of the spirited bidding of three meat-extract +firms. From that moment his success was continuous and assured, and the +Royal Academy was thankful, two years later, to give a conspicuous +position on its walls to his large canvas “Barbary Apes Wrecking a +Boudoir.” + +Eshley presented Adela Pingsford with a new copy of “Israel Kalisch,” and +a couple of finely flowering plants of _Madame Adnré Blusset_, but +nothing in the nature of a real reconciliation has taken place between +them. + + + + +THE STORY-TELLER + + +It was a hot afternoon, and the railway carriage was correspondingly +sultry, and the next stop was at Templecombe, nearly an hour ahead. The +occupants of the carriage were a small girl, and a smaller girl, and a +small boy. An aunt belonging to the children occupied one corner seat, +and the further corner seat on the opposite side was occupied by a +bachelor who was a stranger to their party, but the small girls and the +small boy emphatically occupied the compartment. Both the aunt and the +children were conversational in a limited, persistent way, reminding one +of the attentions of a housefly that refuses to be discouraged. Most of +the aunt’s remarks seemed to begin with “Don’t,” and nearly all of the +children’s remarks began with “Why?” The bachelor said nothing out loud. +“Don’t, Cyril, don’t,” exclaimed the aunt, as the small boy began +smacking the cushions of the seat, producing a cloud of dust at each +blow. + +“Come and look out of the window,” she added. + +The child moved reluctantly to the window. “Why are those sheep being +driven out of that field?” he asked. + +“I expect they are being driven to another field where there is more +grass,” said the aunt weakly. + +“But there is lots of grass in that field,” protested the boy; “there’s +nothing else but grass there. Aunt, there’s lots of grass in that +field.” + +“Perhaps the grass in the other field is better,” suggested the aunt +fatuously. + +“Why is it better?” came the swift, inevitable question. + +“Oh, look at those cows!” exclaimed the aunt. Nearly every field along +the line had contained cows or bullocks, but she spoke as though she were +drawing attention to a rarity. + +“Why is the grass in the other field better?” persisted Cyril. + +The frown on the bachelor’s face was deepening to a scowl. He was a +hard, unsympathetic man, the aunt decided in her mind. She was utterly +unable to come to any satisfactory decision about the grass in the other +field. + +The smaller girl created a diversion by beginning to recite “On the Road +to Mandalay.” She only knew the first line, but she put her limited +knowledge to the fullest possible use. She repeated the line over and +over again in a dreamy but resolute and very audible voice; it seemed to +the bachelor as though some one had had a bet with her that she could not +repeat the line aloud two thousand times without stopping. Whoever it +was who had made the wager was likely to lose his bet. + +“Come over here and listen to a story,” said the aunt, when the bachelor +had looked twice at her and once at the communication cord. + +The children moved listlessly towards the aunt’s end of the carriage. +Evidently her reputation as a story-teller did not rank high in their +estimation. + +In a low, confidential voice, interrupted at frequent intervals by loud, +petulant questionings from her listeners, she began an unenterprising and +deplorably uninteresting story about a little girl who was good, and made +friends with every one on account of her goodness, and was finally saved +from a mad bull by a number of rescuers who admired her moral character. + +“Wouldn’t they have saved her if she hadn’t been good?” demanded the +bigger of the small girls. It was exactly the question that the bachelor +had wanted to ask. + +“Well, yes,” admitted the aunt lamely, “but I don’t think they would have +run quite so fast to her help if they had not liked her so much.” + +“It’s the stupidest story I’ve ever heard,” said the bigger of the small +girls, with immense conviction. + +“I didn’t listen after the first bit, it was so stupid,” said Cyril. + +The smaller girl made no actual comment on the story, but she had long +ago recommenced a murmured repetition of her favourite line. + +“You don’t seem to be a success as a story-teller,” said the bachelor +suddenly from his corner. + +The aunt bristled in instant defence at this unexpected attack. + +“It’s a very difficult thing to tell stories that children can both +understand and appreciate,” she said stiffly. + +“I don’t agree with you,” said the bachelor. + +“Perhaps you would like to tell them a story,” was the aunt’s retort. + +“Tell us a story,” demanded the bigger of the small girls. + +“Once upon a time,” began the bachelor, “there was a little girl called +Bertha, who was extraordinarily good.” + +The children’s momentarily-aroused interest began at once to flicker; all +stories seemed dreadfully alike, no matter who told them. + +“She did all that she was told, she was always truthful, she kept her +clothes clean, ate milk puddings as though they were jam tarts, learned +her lessons perfectly, and was polite in her manners.” + +“Was she pretty?” asked the bigger of the small girls. + +“Not as pretty as any of you,” said the bachelor, “but she was horribly +good.” + +There was a wave of reaction in favour of the story; the word horrible in +connection with goodness was a novelty that commended itself. It seemed +to introduce a ring of truth that was absent from the aunt’s tales of +infant life. + +“She was so good,” continued the bachelor, “that she won several medals +for goodness, which she always wore, pinned on to her dress. There was a +medal for obedience, another medal for punctuality, and a third for good +behaviour. They were large metal medals and they clicked against one +another as she walked. No other child in the town where she lived had as +many as three medals, so everybody knew that she must be an extra good +child.” + +“Horribly good,” quoted Cyril. + +“Everybody talked about her goodness, and the Prince of the country got +to hear about it, and he said that as she was so very good she might be +allowed once a week to walk in his park, which was just outside the town. +It was a beautiful park, and no children were ever allowed in it, so it +was a great honour for Bertha to be allowed to go there.” + +“Were there any sheep in the park?” demanded Cyril. + +“No;” said the bachelor, “there were no sheep.” + +“Why weren’t there any sheep?” came the inevitable question arising out +of that answer. + +The aunt permitted herself a smile, which might almost have been +described as a grin. + +“There were no sheep in the park,” said the bachelor, “because the +Prince’s mother had once had a dream that her son would either be killed +by a sheep or else by a clock falling on him. For that reason the Prince +never kept a sheep in his park or a clock in his palace.” + +The aunt suppressed a gasp of admiration. + +“Was the Prince killed by a sheep or by a clock?” asked Cyril. + +“He is still alive, so we can’t tell whether the dream will come true,” +said the bachelor unconcernedly; “anyway, there were no sheep in the +park, but there were lots of little pigs running all over the place.” + +“What colour were they?” + +“Black with white faces, white with black spots, black all over, grey +with white patches, and some were white all over.” + +The story-teller paused to let a full idea of the park’s treasures sink +into the children’s imaginations; then he resumed: + +“Bertha was rather sorry to find that there were no flowers in the park. +She had promised her aunts, with tears in her eyes, that she would not +pick any of the kind Prince’s flowers, and she had meant to keep her +promise, so of course it made her feel silly to find that there were no +flowers to pick.” + +“Why weren’t there any flowers?” + +“Because the pigs had eaten them all,” said the bachelor promptly. “The +gardeners had told the Prince that you couldn’t have pigs and flowers, so +he decided to have pigs and no flowers.” + +There was a murmur of approval at the excellence of the Prince’s +decision; so many people would have decided the other way. + +“There were lots of other delightful things in the park. There were +ponds with gold and blue and green fish in them, and trees with beautiful +parrots that said clever things at a moment’s notice, and humming birds +that hummed all the popular tunes of the day. Bertha walked up and down +and enjoyed herself immensely, and thought to herself: ‘If I were not so +extraordinarily good I should not have been allowed to come into this +beautiful park and enjoy all that there is to be seen in it,’ and her +three medals clinked against one another as she walked and helped to +remind her how very good she really was. Just then an enormous wolf came +prowling into the park to see if it could catch a fat little pig for its +supper.” + +“What colour was it?” asked the children, amid an immediate quickening of +interest. + +“Mud-colour all over, with a black tongue and pale grey eyes that gleamed +with unspeakable ferocity. The first thing that it saw in the park was +Bertha; her pinafore was so spotlessly white and clean that it could be +seen from a great distance. Bertha saw the wolf and saw that it was +stealing towards her, and she began to wish that she had never been +allowed to come into the park. She ran as hard as she could, and the +wolf came after her with huge leaps and bounds. She managed to reach a +shrubbery of myrtle bushes and she hid herself in one of the thickest of +the bushes. The wolf came sniffing among the branches, its black tongue +lolling out of its mouth and its pale grey eyes glaring with rage. +Bertha was terribly frightened, and thought to herself: ‘If I had not +been so extraordinarily good I should have been safe in the town at this +moment.’ However, the scent of the myrtle was so strong that the wolf +could not sniff out where Bertha was hiding, and the bushes were so thick +that he might have hunted about in them for a long time without catching +sight of her, so he thought he might as well go off and catch a little +pig instead. Bertha was trembling very much at having the wolf prowling +and sniffing so near her, and as she trembled the medal for obedience +clinked against the medals for good conduct and punctuality. The wolf +was just moving away when he heard the sound of the medals clinking and +stopped to listen; they clinked again in a bush quite near him. He +dashed into the bush, his pale grey eyes gleaming with ferocity and +triumph, and dragged Bertha out and devoured her to the last morsel. All +that was left of her were her shoes, bits of clothing, and the three +medals for goodness.” + +“Were any of the little pigs killed?” + +“No, they all escaped.” + +“The story began badly,” said the smaller of the small girls, “but it had +a beautiful ending.” + +“It is the most beautiful story that I ever heard,” said the bigger of +the small girls, with immense decision. + +“It is the _only_ beautiful story I have ever heard,” said Cyril. + +A dissentient opinion came from the aunt. + +“A most improper story to tell to young children! You have undermined +the effect of years of careful teaching.” + +“At any rate,” said the bachelor, collecting his belongings preparatory +to leaving the carriage, “I kept them quiet for ten minutes, which was +more than you were able to do.” + +“Unhappy woman!” he observed to himself as he walked down the platform of +Templecombe station; “for the next six months or so those children will +assail her in public with demands for an improper story!” + + + + +A DEFENSIVE DIAMOND + + +Treddleford sat in an easeful arm-chair in front of a slumberous fire, +with a volume of verse in his hand and the comfortable consciousness that +outside the club windows the rain was dripping and pattering with +persistent purpose. A chill, wet October afternoon was merging into a +bleak, wet October evening, and the club smoking-room seemed warmer and +cosier by contrast. It was an afternoon on which to be wafted away from +one’s climatic surroundings, and “The Golden Journey to Samarkand” +promised to bear Treddleford well and bravely into other lands and under +other skies. He had already migrated from London the rain-swept to +Bagdad the Beautiful, and stood by the Sun Gate “in the olden time” when +an icy breath of imminent annoyance seemed to creep between the book and +himself. Amblecope, the man with the restless, prominent eyes and the +mouth ready mobilised for conversational openings, had planted himself in +a neighbouring arm-chair. For a twelvemonth and some odd weeks +Treddleford had skilfully avoided making the acquaintance of his voluble +fellow-clubman; he had marvellously escaped from the infliction of his +relentless record of tedious personal achievements, or alleged +achievements, on golf links, turf, and gaming table, by flood and field +and covert-side. Now his season of immunity was coming to an end. There +was no escape; in another moment he would be numbered among those who +knew Amblecope to speak to—or rather, to suffer being spoken to. + +The intruder was armed with a copy of _Country Life_, not for purposes of +reading, but as an aid to conversational ice-breaking. + +“Rather a good portrait of Throstlewing,” he remarked explosively, +turning his large challenging eyes on Treddleford; “somehow it reminds me +very much of Yellowstep, who was supposed to be such a good thing for the +Grand Prix in 1903. Curious race that was; I suppose I’ve seen every +race for the Grand Prix for the last—” + +“Be kind enough never to mention the Grand Prix in my hearing,” said +Treddleford desperately; “it awakens acutely distressing memories. I +can’t explain why without going into a long and complicated story.” + +“Oh, certainly, certainly,” said Amblecope hastily; long and complicated +stories that were not told by himself were abominable in his eyes. He +turned the pages of _Country Life_ and became spuriously interested in +the picture of a Mongolian pheasant. + +“Not a bad representation of the Mongolian variety,” he exclaimed, +holding it up for his neighbour’s inspection. “They do very well in some +covers. Take some stopping too, once they’re fairly on the wing. I +suppose the biggest bag I ever made in two successive days—” + +“My aunt, who owns the greater part of Lincolnshire,” broke in +Treddleford, with dramatic abruptness, “possesses perhaps the most +remarkable record in the way of a pheasant bag that has ever been +achieved. She is seventy-five and can’t hit a thing, but she always goes +out with the guns. When I say she can’t hit a thing, I don’t mean to say +that she doesn’t occasionally endanger the lives of her fellow-guns, +because that wouldn’t be true. In fact, the chief Government Whip won’t +allow Ministerial M.P.’s to go out with her; ‘We don’t want to incur +by-elections needlessly,’ he quite reasonably observed. Well, the other +day she winged a pheasant, and brought it to earth with a feather or two +knocked out of it; it was a runner, and my aunt saw herself in danger of +being done out of about the only bird she’d hit during the present reign. +Of course she wasn’t going to stand that; she followed it through bracken +and brushwood, and when it took to the open country and started across a +ploughed field she jumped on to the shooting pony and went after it. The +chase was a long one, and when my aunt at last ran the bird to a +standstill she was nearer home than she was to the shooting party; she +had left that some five miles behind her.” + +“Rather a long run for a wounded pheasant,” snapped Amblecope. + +“The story rests on my aunt’s authority,” said Treddleford coldly, “and +she is local vice-president of the Young Women’s Christian Association. +She trotted three miles or so to her home, and it was not till the middle +of the afternoon that it was discovered that the lunch for the entire +shooting party was in a pannier attached to the pony’s saddle. Anyway, +she got her bird.” + +“Some birds, of course, take a lot of killing,” said Amblecope; “so do +some fish. I remember once I was fishing in the Exe, lovely trout +stream, lots of fish, though they don’t run to any great size—” + +“One of them did,” announced Treddleford, with emphasis. “My uncle, the +Bishop of Southmolton, came across a giant trout in a pool just off the +main stream of the Exe near Ugworthy; he tried it with every kind of fly +and worm every day for three weeks without an atom of success, and then +Fate intervened on his behalf. There was a low stone bridge just over +this pool, and on the last day of his fishing holiday a motor van ran +violently into the parapet and turned completely over; no one was hurt, +but part of the parapet was knocked away, and the entire load that the +van was carrying was pitched over and fell a little way into the pool. +In a couple of minutes the giant trout was flapping and twisting on bare +mud at the bottom of a waterless pool, and my uncle was able to walk down +to him and fold him to his breast. The van-load consisted of +blotting-paper, and every drop of water in that pool had been sucked up +into the mass of spilt cargo.” + +There was silence for nearly half a minute in the smoking-room, and +Treddleford began to let his mind steal back towards the golden road that +led to Samarkand. Amblecope, however, rallied, and remarked in a rather +tired and dispirited voice: + +“Talking of motor accidents, the narrowest squeak I ever had was the +other day, motoring with old Tommy Yarby in North Wales. Awfully good +sort, old Yarby, thorough good sportsman, and the best—” + +“It was in North Wales,” said Treddleford, “that my sister met with her +sensational carriage accident last year. She was on her way to a +garden-party at Lady Nineveh’s, about the only garden-party that ever +comes to pass in those parts in the course of the year, and therefore a +thing that she would have been very sorry to miss. She was driving a +young horse that she’d only bought a week or two previously, warranted to +be perfectly steady with motor traffic, bicycles, and other common +objects of the roadside. The animal lived up to its reputation, and +passed the most explosive of motor-bikes with an indifference that almost +amounted to apathy. However, I suppose we all draw the line somewhere, +and this particular cob drew it at travelling wild beast shows. Of +course my sister didn’t know that, but she knew it very distinctly when +she turned a sharp corner and found herself in a mixed company of camels, +piebald horses, and canary-coloured vans. The dogcart was overturned in +a ditch and kicked to splinters, and the cob went home across country. +Neither my sister nor the groom was hurt, but the problem of how to get +to the Nineveh garden-party, some three miles distant, seemed rather +difficult to solve; once there, of course, my sister would easily find +some one to drive her home. ‘I suppose you wouldn’t care for the loan of +a couple of my camels?’ the showman suggested, in humorous sympathy. ‘I +would,’ said my sister, who had ridden camel-back in Egypt, and she +overruled the objections of the groom, who hadn’t. She picked out two of +the most presentable-looking of the beasts and had them dusted and made +as tidy as was possible at short notice, and set out for the Nineveh +mansion. You may imagine the sensation that her small but imposing +caravan created when she arrived at the hall door. The entire +garden-party flocked up to gape. My sister was rather glad to slip down +from her camel, and the groom was thankful to scramble down from his. +Then young Billy Doulton, of the Dragoon Guards, who has been a lot at +Aden and thinks he knows camel-language backwards, thought he would show +off by making the beasts kneel down in orthodox fashion. Unfortunately +camel words-of-command are not the same all the world over; these were +magnificent Turkestan camels, accustomed to stride up the stony terraces +of mountain passes, and when Doulton shouted at them they went side by +side up the front steps, into the entrance hall, and up the grand +staircase. The German governess met them just at the turn of the +corridor. The Ninevehs nursed her with devoted attention for weeks, and +when I last heard from them she was well enough to go about her duties +again, but the doctor says she will always suffer from Hagenbeck heart.” + +Amblecope got up from his chair and moved to another part of the room. +Treddleford reopened his book and betook himself once more across + + The dragon-green, the luminous, the dark, the serpent-haunted sea. + +For a blessed half-hour he disported himself in imagination by the “gay +Aleppo-Gate,” and listened to the bird-voiced singing-man. Then the +world of to-day called him back; a page summoned him to speak with a +friend on the telephone. + +As Treddleford was about to pass out of the room he encountered +Amblecope, also passing out, on his way to the billiard-room, where, +perchance, some luckless wight might be secured and held fast to listen +to the number of his attendances at the Grand Prix, with subsequent +remarks on Newmarket and the Cambridgeshire. Amblecope made as if to +pass out first, but a new-born pride was surging in Treddleford’s breast +and he waved him back. + +“I believe I take precedence,” he said coldly; “you are merely the club +Bore; I am the club Liar.” + + + + +THE ELK + + +Teresa, Mrs. Thropplestance, was the richest and most intractable old +woman in the county of Woldshire. In her dealings with the world in +general her manner suggested a blend between a Mistress of the Robes and +a Master of Foxhounds, with the vocabulary of both. In her domestic +circle she comported herself in the arbitrary style that one attributes, +probably without the least justification, to an American political Boss +in the bosom of his caucus. The late Theodore Thropplestance had left +her, some thirty-five years ago, in absolute possession of a considerable +fortune, a large landed property, and a gallery full of valuable +pictures. In those intervening years she had outlived her son and +quarrelled with her elder grandson, who had married without her consent +or approval. Bertie Thropplestance, her younger grandson, was the +heir-designate to her property, and as such he was a centre of interest +and concern to some half-hundred ambitious mothers with daughters of +marriageable age. Bertie was an amiable, easy-going young man, who was +quite ready to marry anyone who was favourably recommended to his notice, +but he was not going to waste his time in falling in love with anyone who +would come under his grandmother’s veto. The favourable recommendation +would have to come from Mrs. Thropplestance. + +Teresa’s house-parties were always rounded off with a plentiful +garnishing of presentable young women and alert, attendant mothers, but +the old lady was emphatically discouraging whenever any one of her girl +guests became at all likely to outbid the others as a possible +granddaughter-in-law. It was the inheritance of her fortune and estate +that was in question, and she was evidently disposed to exercise and +enjoy her powers of selection and rejection to the utmost. Bertie’s +preferences did not greatly matter; he was of the sort who can be +stolidly happy with any kind of wife; he had cheerfully put up with his +grandmother all his life, so was not likely to fret and fume over +anything that might befall him in the way of a helpmate. + +The party that gathered under Teresa’s roof in Christmas week of the year +nineteen-hundred-and-something was of smaller proportions than usual, and +Mrs. Yonelet, who formed one of the party, was inclined to deduce hopeful +augury from this circumstance. Dora Yonelet and Bertie were so obviously +made for one another, she confided to the vicar’s wife, and if the old +lady were accustomed to seeing them about a lot together she might adopt +the view that they would make a suitable married couple. + +“People soon get used to an idea if it is dangled constantly before their +eyes,” said Mrs. Yonelet hopefully, “and the more often Teresa sees those +young people together, happy in each other’s company, the more she will +get to take a kindly interest in Dora as a possible and desirable wife +for Bertie.” + +“My dear,” said the vicar’s wife resignedly, “my own Sybil was thrown +together with Bertie under the most romantic circumstances—I’ll tell you +about it some day—but it made no impression whatever on Teresa; she put +her foot down in the most uncompromising fashion, and Sybil married an +Indian civilian.” + +“Quite right of her,” said Mrs. Yonelet with vague approval; “it’s what +any girl of spirit would have done. Still, that was a year or two ago, I +believe; Bertie is older now, and so is Teresa. Naturally she must be +anxious to see him settled.” + +The vicar’s wife reflected that Teresa seemed to be the one person who +showed no immediate anxiety to supply Bertie with a wife, but she kept +the thought to herself. + +Mrs. Yonelet was a woman of resourceful energy and generalship; she +involved the other members of the house-party, the deadweight, so to +speak, in all manner of exercises and occupations that segregated them +from Bertie and Dora, who were left to their own devisings—that is to +say, to Dora’s devisings and Bertie’s accommodating acquiescence. Dora +helped in the Christmas decorations of the parish church, and Bertie +helped her to help. Together they fed the swans, till the birds went on +a dyspepsia-strike, together they played billiards, together they +photographed the village almshouses, and, at a respectful distance, the +tame elk that browsed in solitary aloofness in the park. It was “tame” +in the sense that it had long ago discarded the least vestige of fear of +the human race; nothing in its record encouraged its human neighbours to +feel a reciprocal confidence. + +Whatever sport or exercise or occupation Bertie and Dora indulged in +together was unfailingly chronicled and advertised by Mrs. Yonelet for +the due enlightenment of Bertie’s grandmother. + +“Those two inseparables have just come in from a bicycle ride,” she would +announce; “quite a picture they make, so fresh and glowing after their +spin.” + +“A picture needing words,” would be Teresa’s private comment, and as far +as Bertie was concerned she was determined that the words should remain +unspoken. + +On the afternoon after Christmas Day Mrs. Yonelet dashed into the +drawing-room, where her hostess was sitting amid a circle of guests and +teacups and muffin-dishes. Fate had placed what seemed like a trump-card +in the hands of the patiently-manoeuvring mother. With eyes blazing with +excitement and a voice heavily escorted with exclamation marks she made a +dramatic announcement. + +“Bertie has saved Dora from the elk!” + +In swift, excited sentences, broken with maternal emotion, she gave +supplementary information as to how the treacherous animal had ambushed +Dora as she was hunting for a strayed golf ball, and how Bertie had +dashed to her rescue with a stable fork and driven the beast off in the +nick of time. + +“It was touch and go! She threw her niblick at it, but that didn’t stop +it. In another moment she would have been crushed beneath its hoofs,” +panted Mrs. Yonelet. + +“The animal is not safe,” said Teresa, handing her agitated guest a cup +of tea. “I forget if you take sugar. I suppose the solitary life it +leads has soured its temper. There are muffins in the grate. It’s not +my fault; I’ve tried to get it a mate for ever so long. You don’t know +of anyone with a lady elk for sale or exchange, do you?” she asked the +company generally. + +But Mrs. Yonelet was in no humour to listen to talk of elk marriages. +The mating of two human beings was the subject uppermost in her mind, and +the opportunity for advancing her pet project was too valuable to be +neglected. + +“Teresa,” she exclaimed impressively, “after those two young people have +been thrown together so dramatically, nothing can be quite the same again +between them. Bertie has done more than save Dora’s life; he has earned +her affection. One cannot help feeling that Fate has consecrated them +for one another.” + +“Exactly what the vicar’s wife said when Bertie saved Sybil from the elk +a year or two ago,” observed Teresa placidly; “I pointed out to her that +he had rescued Mirabel Hicks from the same predicement a few months +previously, and that priority really belonged to the gardener’s boy, who +had been rescued in the January of that year. There is a good deal of +sameness in country life, you know.” + +“It seems to be a very dangerous animal,” said one of the guests. + +“That’s what the mother of the gardener’s boy said,” remarked Teresa; +“she wanted me to have it destroyed, but I pointed out to her that she +had eleven children and I had only one elk. I also gave her a black silk +skirt; she said that though there hadn’t been a funeral in her family she +felt as if there had been. Anyhow, we parted friends. I can’t offer you +a silk skirt, Emily, but you may have another cup of tea. As I have +already remarked, there are muffins in the grate.” + +Teresa closed the discussion, having deftly conveyed the impression that +she considered the mother of the gardener’s boy had shown a far more +reasonable spirit than the parents of other elk-assaulted victims. + +“Teresa is devoid of feeling,” said Mrs. Yonelet afterwards to the +vicar’s wife; “to sit there, talking of muffins, with an appalling +tragedy only narrowly averted—” + +“Of course you know whom she really intends Bertie to marry?” asked the +vicar’s wife; “I’ve noticed it for some time. The Bickelbys’ German +governess.” + +“A German governess! What an idea!” gasped Mrs. Yonelet. + +“She’s of quite good family, I believe,” said the vicar’s wife, “and not +at all the mouse-in-the-back-ground sort of person that governesses are +usually supposed to be. In fact, next to Teresa, she’s about the most +assertive and combative personality in the neighbourhood. She’s pointed +out to my husband all sorts of errors in his sermons, and she gave Sir +Laurence a public lecture on how he ought to handle the hounds. You know +how sensitive Sir Laurence is about any criticism of his Mastership, and +to have a governess laying down the law to him nearly drove him into a +fit. She’s behaved like that to every one, except, of course, Teresa, +and every one has been defensively rude to her in return. The Bickelbys +are simply too afraid of her to get rid of her. Now isn’t that exactly +the sort of woman whom Teresa would take a delight in installing as her +successor? Imagine the discomfort and awkwardness in the county if we +suddenly found that she was to be the future hostess at the Hall. +Teresa’s only regret will be that she won’t be alive to see it.” + +“But,” objected Mrs. Yonelet, “surely Bertie hasn’t shown the least sign +of being attracted in that quarter?” + +“Oh, she’s quite nice-looking in a way, and dresses well, and plays a +good game of tennis. She often comes across the park with messages from +the Bickelby mansion, and one of these days Bertie will rescue her from +the elk, which has become almost a habit with him, and Teresa will say +that Fate has consecrated them to one another. Bertie might not be +disposed to pay much attention to the consecrations of Fate, but he would +not dream of opposing his grandmother.” + +The vicar’s wife spoke with the quiet authority of one who has intuitive +knowledge, and in her heart of hearts Mrs. Yonelet believed her. + +Six months later the elk had to be destroyed. In a fit of exceptional +moroseness it had killed the Bickelbys’ German governess. It was an +irony of its fate that it should achieve popularity in the last moments +of its career; at any rate, it established the record of being the only +living thing that had permanently thwarted Teresa Thropplestance’s plans. + +Dora Yonelet broke off her engagement with an Indian civilian, and +married Bertie three months after his grandmother’s death—Teresa did not +long survive the German governess fiasco. At Christmas time every year +young Mrs. Thropplestance hangs an extra large festoon of evergreens on +the elk horns that decorate the hall. + +“It was a fearsome beast,” she observes to Bertie, “but I always feel +that it was instrumental in bringing us together.” + +Which, of course, was true. + + + + +“DOWN PENS” + + +“Have you written to thank the Froplinsons for what they sent us?” asked +Egbert. + +“No,” said Janetta, with a note of tired defiance in her voice; “I’ve +written eleven letters to-day expressing surprise and gratitude for +sundry unmerited gifts, but I haven’t written to the Froplinsons.” + +“Some one will have to write to them,” said Egbert. + +“I don’t dispute the necessity, but I don’t think the some one should be +me,” said Janetta. “I wouldn’t mind writing a letter of angry +recrimination or heartless satire to some suitable recipient; in fact, I +should rather enjoy it, but I’ve come to the end of my capacity for +expressing servile amiability. Eleven letters to-day and nine yesterday, +all couched in the same strain of ecstatic thankfulness: really, you +can’t expect me to sit down to another. There is such a thing as writing +oneself out.” + +“I’ve written nearly as many,” said Egbert, “and I’ve had my usual +business correspondence to get through, too. Besides, I don’t know what +it was that the Froplinsons sent us.” + +“A William the Conqueror calendar,” said Janetta, “with a quotation of +one of his great thoughts for every day in the year.” + +“Impossible,” said Egbert; “he didn’t have three hundred and sixty-five +thoughts in the whole of his life, or, if he did, he kept them to +himself. He was a man of action, not of introspection.” + +“Well, it was William Wordsworth, then,” said Janetta; “I know William +came into it somewhere.” + +“That sounds more probable,” said Egbert; “well, let’s collaborate on +this letter of thanks and get it done. I’ll dictate, and you can +scribble it down. ‘Dear Mrs. Froplinson—thank you and your husband so +much for the very pretty calendar you sent us. It was very good of you +to think of us.’” + +“You can’t possibly say that,” said Janetta, laying down her pen. + +“It’s what I always do say, and what every one says to me,” protested +Egbert. + +“We sent them something on the twenty-second,” said Janetta, “so they +simply _had_ to think of us. There was no getting away from it.” + +“What did we send them?” asked Egbert gloomily. + +“Bridge-markers,” said Janetta, “in a cardboard case, with some inanity +about ‘digging for fortune with a royal spade’ emblazoned on the cover. +The moment I saw it in the shop I said to myself ‘Froplinsons’ and to the +attendant ‘How much?’ When he said ‘Ninepence,’ I gave him their +address, jabbed our card in, paid tenpence or elevenpence to cover the +postage, and thanked heaven. With less sincerity and infinitely more +trouble they eventually thanked me.” + +“The Froplinsons don’t play bridge,” said Egbert. + +“One is not supposed to notice social deformities of that sort,” said +Janetta; “it wouldn’t be polite. Besides, what trouble did they take to +find out whether we read Wordsworth with gladness? For all they knew or +cared we might be frantically embedded in the belief that all poetry +begins and ends with John Masefield, and it might infuriate or depress us +to have a daily sample of Wordsworthian products flung at us.” + +“Well, let’s get on with the letter of thanks,” said Egbert. + +“Proceed,” said Janetta. + +“‘How clever of you to guess that Wordsworth is our favourite poet,’” +dictated Egbert. + +Again Janetta laid down her pen. + +“Do you realise what that means?” she asked; “a Wordsworth booklet next +Christmas, and another calendar the Christmas after, with the same +problem of having to write suitable letters of thankfulness. No, the +best thing to do is to drop all further allusion to the calendar and +switch off on to some other topic.” + +“But what other topic?” + +“Oh, something like this: ‘What do you think of the New Year Honours +List? A friend of ours made such a clever remark when he read it.’ Then +you can stick in any remark that comes into your head; it needn’t be +clever. The Froplinsons won’t know whether it is or isn’t.” + +“We don’t even know on which side they are in politics,” objected Egbert; +“and anyhow you can’t suddenly dismiss the subject of the calendar. +Surely there must be some intelligent remark that can be made about it.” + +“Well, we can’t think of one,” said Janetta wearily; “the fact is, we’ve +both written ourselves out. Heavens! I’ve just remembered Mrs. Stephen +Ludberry. I haven’t thanked her for what she sent.” + +“What did she send?” + +“I forget; I think it was a calendar.” + +There was a long silence, the forlorn silence of those who are bereft of +hope and have almost ceased to care. + +Presently Egbert started from his seat with an air of resolution. The +light of battle was in his eyes. + +“Let me come to the writing-table,” he exclaimed. + +“Gladly,” said Janetta. “Are you going to write to Mrs. Ludberry or the +Froplinsons?” + +“To neither,” said Egbert, drawing a stack of notepaper towards him; “I’m +going to write to the editor of every enlightened and influential +newspaper in the Kingdom, I’m going to suggest that there should be a +sort of epistolary Truce of God during the festivities of Christmas and +New Year. From the twenty-fourth of December to the third or fourth of +January it shall be considered an offence against good sense and good +feeling to write or expect any letter or communication that does not deal +with the necessary events of the moment. Answers to invitations, +arrangements about trains, renewal of club subscriptions, and, of course, +all the ordinary everyday affairs of business, sickness, engaging new +cooks, and so forth, these will be dealt with in the usual manner as +something inevitable, a legitimate part of our daily life. But all the +devastating accretions of correspondence, incident to the festive season, +these should be swept away to give the season a chance of being really +festive, a time of untroubled, unpunctuated peace and good will.” + +“But you would have to make some acknowledgment of presents received,” +objected Janetta; “otherwise people would never know whether they had +arrived safely.” + +“Of course, I have thought of that,” said Egbert; “every present that was +sent off would be accompanied by a ticket bearing the date of dispatch +and the signature of the sender, and some conventional hieroglyphic to +show that it was intended to be a Christmas or New Year gift; there would +be a counterfoil with space for the recipient’s name and the date of +arrival, and all you would have to do would be to sign and date the +counterfoil, add a conventional hieroglyphic indicating heartfelt thanks +and gratified surprise, put the thing into an envelope and post it.” + +“It sounds delightfully simple,” said Janetta wistfully, “but people +would consider it too cut-and-dried, too perfunctory.” + +“It is not a bit more perfunctory than the present system,” said Egbert; +“I have only the same conventional language of gratitude at my disposal +with which to thank dear old Colonel Chuttle for his perfectly delicious +Stilton, which we shall devour to the last morsel, and the Froplinsons +for their calendar, which we shall never look at. Colonel Chuttle knows +that we are grateful for the Stilton, without having to be told so, and +the Froplinsons know that we are bored with their calendar, whatever we +may say to the contrary, just as we know that they are bored with the +bridge-markers in spite of their written assurance that they thanked us +for our charming little gift. What is more, the Colonel knows that even +if we had taken a sudden aversion to Stilton or been forbidden it by the +doctor, we should still have written a letter of hearty thanks around it. +So you see the present system of acknowledgment is just as perfunctory +and conventional as the counterfoil business would be, only ten times +more tiresome and brain-racking.” + +“Your plan would certainly bring the ideal of a Happy Christmas a step +nearer realisation,” said Janetta. + +“There are exceptions, of course,” said Egbert, “people who really try to +infuse a breath of reality into their letters of acknowledgment. Aunt +Susan, for instance, who writes: ‘Thank you very much for the ham; not +such a good flavour as the one you sent last year, which itself was not a +particularly good one. Hams are not what they used to be.’ It would be +a pity to be deprived of her Christmas comments, but that loss would be +swallowed up in the general gain.” + +“Meanwhile,” said Janetta, “what am I to say to the Froplinsons?” + + + + +THE NAME-DAY + + +Adventures, according to the proverb, are to the adventurous. Quite as +often they are to the non-adventurous, to the retiring, to the +constitutionally timid. John James Abbleway had been endowed by Nature +with the sort of disposition that instinctively avoids Carlist intrigues, +slum crusades, the tracking of wounded wild beasts, and the moving of +hostile amendments at political meetings. If a mad dog or a Mad Mullah +had come his way he would have surrendered the way without hesitation. +At school he had unwillingly acquired a thorough knowledge of the German +tongue out of deference to the plainly-expressed wishes of a +foreign-languages master, who, though he taught modern subjects, employed +old-fashioned methods in driving his lessons home. It was this enforced +familiarity with an important commercial language which thrust Abbleway +in later years into strange lands where adventures were less easy to +guard against than in the ordered atmosphere of an English country town. +The firm that he worked for saw fit to send him one day on a prosaic +business errand to the far city of Vienna, and, having sent him there, +continued to keep him there, still engaged in humdrum affairs of +commerce, but with the possibilities of romance and adventure, or even +misadventure, jostling at his elbow. After two and a half years of +exile, however, John James Abbleway had embarked on only one hazardous +undertaking, and that was of a nature which would assuredly have +overtaken him sooner or later if he had been leading a sheltered, +stay-at-home existence at Dorking or Huntingdon. He fell placidly in +love with a placidly lovable English girl, the sister of one of his +commercial colleagues, who was improving her mind by a short trip to +foreign parts, and in due course he was formally accepted as the young +man she was engaged to. The further step by which she was to become Mrs. +John Abbleway was to take place a twelvemonth hence in a town in the +English midlands, by which time the firm that employed John James would +have no further need for his presence in the Austrian capital. + +It was early in April, two months after the installation of Abbleway as +the young man Miss Penning was engaged to, when he received a letter from +her, written from Venice. She was still peregrinating under the wing of +her brother, and as the latter’s business arrangements would take him +across to Fiume for a day or two, she had conceived the idea that it +would be rather jolly if John could obtain leave of absence and run down +to the Adriatic coast to meet them. She had looked up the route on the +map, and the journey did not appear likely to be expensive. Between the +lines of her communication there lay a hint that if he really cared for +her— + +Abbleway obtained leave of absence and added a journey to Fiume to his +life’s adventures. He left Vienna on a cold, cheerless day. The flower +shops were full of spring blooms, and the weekly organs of illustrated +humour were full of spring topics, but the skies were heavy with clouds +that looked like cotton-wool that has been kept over long in a shop +window. + +“Snow comes,” said the train official to the station officials; and they +agreed that snow was about to come. And it came, rapidly, plenteously. +The train had not been more than an hour on its journey when the +cotton-wool clouds commenced to dissolve in a blinding downpour of +snowflakes. The forest trees on either side of the line were speedily +coated with a heavy white mantle, the telegraph wires became thick +glistening ropes, the line itself was buried more and more completely +under a carpeting of snow, through which the not very powerful engine +ploughed its way with increasing difficulty. The Vienna-Fiume line is +scarcely the best equipped of the Austrian State railways, and Abbleway +began to have serious fears for a breakdown. The train had slowed down +to a painful and precarious crawl and presently came to a halt at a spot +where the drifting snow had accumulated in a formidable barrier. The +engine made a special effort and broke through the obstruction, but in +the course of another twenty minutes it was again held up. The process +of breaking through was renewed, and the train doggedly resumed its way, +encountering and surmounting fresh hindrances at frequent intervals. +After a standstill of unusually long duration in a particularly deep +drift the compartment in which Abbleway was sitting gave a huge jerk and +a lurch, and then seemed to remain stationary; it undoubtedly was not +moving, and yet he could hear the puffing of the engine and the slow +rumbling and jolting of wheels. The puffing and rumbling grew fainter, +as though it were dying away through the agency of intervening distance. +Abbleway suddenly gave vent to an exclamation of scandalised alarm, +opened the window, and peered out into the snowstorm. The flakes perched +on his eyelashes and blurred his vision, but he saw enough to help him to +realise what had happened. The engine had made a mighty plunge through +the drift and had gone merrily forward, lightened of the load of its rear +carriage, whose coupling had snapped under the strain. Abbleway was +alone, or almost alone, with a derelict railway waggon, in the heart of +some Styrian or Croatian forest. In the third-class compartment next to +his own he remembered to have seen a peasant woman, who had entered the +train at a small wayside station. “With the exception of that woman,” he +exclaimed dramatically to himself, “the nearest living beings are +probably a pack of wolves.” + +Before making his way to the third-class compartment to acquaint his +fellow-traveller with the extent of the disaster Abbleway hurriedly +pondered the question of the woman’s nationality. He had acquired a +smattering of Slavonic tongues during his residence in Vienna, and felt +competent to grapple with several racial possibilities. + +“If she is Croat or Serb or Bosniak I shall be able to make her +understand,” he promised himself. “If she is Magyar, heaven help me! We +shall have to converse entirely by signs.” + +He entered the carriage and made his momentous announcement in the best +approach to Croat speech that he could achieve. + +“The train has broken away and left us!” + +The woman shook her head with a movement that might be intended to convey +resignation to the will of heaven, but probably meant noncomprehension. +Abbleway repeated his information with variations of Slavonic tongues and +generous displays of pantomime. + +“Ah,” said the woman at last in German dialect, “the train has gone? We +are left. Ah, so.” + +She seemed about as much interested as though Abbleway had told her the +result of the municipal elections in Amsterdam. + +“They will find out at some station, and when the line is clear of snow +they will send an engine. It happens that way sometimes.” + +“We may be here all night!” exclaimed Abbleway. + +The woman nodded as though she thought it possible. + +“Are there wolves in these parts?” asked Abbleway hurriedly. + +“Many,” said the woman; “just outside this forest my aunt was devoured +three years ago, as she was coming home from market. The horse and a +young pig that was in the cart were eaten too. The horse was a very old +one, but it was a beautiful young pig, oh, so fat. I cried when I heard +that it was taken. They spare nothing.” + +“They may attack us here,” said Abbleway tremulously; “they could easily +break in, these carriages are like matchwood. We may both be devoured.” + +“You, perhaps,” said the woman calmly; “not me.” + +“Why not you?” demanded Abbleway. + +“It is the day of Saint Mariä Kleophä, my name-day. She would not allow +me to be eaten by wolves on her day. Such a thing could not be thought +of. You, yes, but not me.” + +Abbleway changed the subject. + +“It is only afternoon now; if we are to be left here till morning we +shall be starving.” + +“I have here some good eatables,” said the woman tranquilly; “on my +festival day it is natural that I should have provision with me. I have +five good blood-sausages; in the town shops they cost twenty-five heller +each. Things are dear in the town shops.” + +“I will give you fifty heller apiece for a couple of them,” said Abbleway +with some enthusiasm. + +“In a railway accident things become very dear,” said the woman; “these +blood-sausages are four kronen apiece.” + +“Four kronen!” exclaimed Abbleway; “four kronen for a blood-sausage!” + +“You cannot get them any cheaper on this train,” said the woman, with +relentless logic, “because there aren’t any others to get. In Agram you +can buy them cheaper, and in Paradise no doubt they will be given to us +for nothing, but here they cost four kronen each. I have a small piece +of Emmenthaler cheese and a honey-cake and a piece of bread that I can +let you have. That will be another three kronen, eleven kronen in all. +There is a piece of ham, but that I cannot let you have on my name-day.” + +Abbleway wondered to himself what price she would have put on the ham, +and hurried to pay her the eleven kronen before her emergency tariff +expanded into a famine tariff. As he was taking possession of his modest +store of eatables he suddenly heard a noise which set his heart thumping +in a miserable fever of fear. ‘There was a scraping and shuffling as of +some animal or animals trying to climb up to the footboard. In another +moment, through the snow-encrusted glass of the carriage window, he saw a +gaunt prick-eared head, with gaping jaw and lolling tongue and gleaming +teeth; a second later another head shot up. + +“There are hundreds of them,” whispered Abbleway; “they have scented us. +They will tear the carriage to pieces. We shall be devoured.” + +“Not me, on my name-day. The holy Mariä Kleophä would not permit it,” +said the woman with provoking calm. + +The heads dropped down from the window and an uncanny silence fell on the +beleaguered carriage. Abbleway neither moved nor spoke. Perhaps the +brutes had not clearly seen or winded the human occupants of the +carriage, and had prowled away on some other errand of rapine. + +The long torture-laden minutes passed slowly away. + +“It grows cold,” said the woman suddenly, crossing over to the far end of +the carriage, where the heads had appeared. “The heating apparatus does +not work any longer. See, over there beyond the trees, there is a +chimney with smoke coming from it. It is not far, and the snow has +nearly stopped, I shall find a path through the forest to that house with +the chimney.” + +“But the wolves!” exclaimed Abbleway; “they may—” + +“Not on my name-day,” said the woman obstinately, and before he could +stop her she had opened the door and climbed down into the snow. A +moment later he hid his face in his hands; two gaunt lean figures rushed +upon her from the forest. No doubt she had courted her fate, but +Abbleway had no wish to see a human being torn to pieces and devoured +before his eyes. + +When he looked at last a new sensation of scandalised astonishment took +possession of him. He had been straitly brought up in a small English +town, and he was not prepared to be the witness of a miracle. The wolves +were not doing anything worse to the woman than drench her with snow as +they gambolled round her. + +A short, joyous bark revealed the clue to the situation. + +“Are those—dogs?” he called weakly. + +“My cousin Karl’s dogs, yes,” she answered; “that is his inn, over beyond +the trees. I knew it was there, but I did not want to take you there; he +is always grasping with strangers. However, it grows too cold to remain +in the train. Ah, ah, see what comes!” + +A whistle sounded, and a relief engine made its appearance, snorting its +way sulkily through the snow. Abbleway did not have the opportunity for +finding out whether Karl was really avaricious. + + + + +THE LUMBER ROOM + + +The children were to be driven, as a special treat, to the sands at +Jagborough. Nicholas was not to be of the party; he was in disgrace. +Only that morning he had refused to eat his wholesome bread-and-milk on +the seemingly frivolous ground that there was a frog in it. Older and +wiser and better people had told him that there could not possibly be a +frog in his bread-and-milk and that he was not to talk nonsense; he +continued, nevertheless, to talk what seemed the veriest nonsense, and +described with much detail the colouration and markings of the alleged +frog. The dramatic part of the incident was that there really was a frog +in Nicholas’ basin of bread-and-milk; he had put it there himself, so he +felt entitled to know something about it. The sin of taking a frog from +the garden and putting it into a bowl of wholesome bread-and-milk was +enlarged on at great length, but the fact that stood out clearest in the +whole affair, as it presented itself to the mind of Nicholas, was that +the older, wiser, and better people had been proved to be profoundly in +error in matters about which they had expressed the utmost assurance. + +“You said there couldn’t possibly be a frog in my bread-and-milk; there +_was_ a frog in my bread-and-milk,” he repeated, with the insistence of a +skilled tactician who does not intend to shift from favourable ground. + +So his boy-cousin and girl-cousin and his quite uninteresting younger +brother were to be taken to Jagborough sands that afternoon and he was to +stay at home. His cousins’ aunt, who insisted, by an unwarranted stretch +of imagination, in styling herself his aunt also, had hastily invented +the Jagborough expedition in order to impress on Nicholas the delights +that he had justly forfeited by his disgraceful conduct at the +breakfast-table. It was her habit, whenever one of the children fell +from grace, to improvise something of a festival nature from which the +offender would be rigorously debarred; if all the children sinned +collectively they were suddenly informed of a circus in a neighbouring +town, a circus of unrivalled merit and uncounted elephants, to which, but +for their depravity, they would have been taken that very day. + +A few decent tears were looked for on the part of Nicholas when the +moment for the departure of the expedition arrived. As a matter of fact, +however, all the crying was done by his girl-cousin, who scraped her knee +rather painfully against the step of the carriage as she was scrambling +in. + +“How she did howl,” said Nicholas cheerfully, as the party drove off +without any of the elation of high spirits that should have characterised +it. + +“She’ll soon get over that,” said the _soi-disant_ aunt; “it will be a +glorious afternoon for racing about over those beautiful sands. How they +will enjoy themselves!” + +“Bobby won’t enjoy himself much, and he won’t race much either,” said +Nicholas with a grim chuckle; “his boots are hurting him. They’re too +tight.” + +“Why didn’t he tell me they were hurting?” asked the aunt with some +asperity. + +“He told you twice, but you weren’t listening. You often don’t listen +when we tell you important things.” + +“You are not to go into the gooseberry garden,” said the aunt, changing +the subject. + +“Why not?” demanded Nicholas. + +“Because you are in disgrace,” said the aunt loftily. + +Nicholas did not admit the flawlessness of the reasoning; he felt +perfectly capable of being in disgrace and in a gooseberry garden at the +same moment. His face took on an expression of considerable obstinacy. +It was clear to his aunt that he was determined to get into the +gooseberry garden, “only,” as she remarked to herself, “because I have +told him he is not to.” + +Now the gooseberry garden had two doors by which it might be entered, and +once a small person like Nicholas could slip in there he could +effectually disappear from view amid the masking growth of artichokes, +raspberry canes, and fruit bushes. The aunt had many other things to do +that afternoon, but she spent an hour or two in trivial gardening +operations among flower beds and shrubberies, whence she could keep a +watchful eye on the two doors that led to the forbidden paradise. She +was a woman of few ideas, with immense powers of concentration. + +Nicholas made one or two sorties into the front garden, wriggling his way +with obvious stealth of purpose towards one or other of the doors, but +never able for a moment to evade the aunt’s watchful eye. As a matter of +fact, he had no intention of trying to get into the gooseberry garden, +but it was extremely convenient for him that his aunt should believe that +he had; it was a belief that would keep her on self-imposed sentry-duty +for the greater part of the afternoon. Having thoroughly confirmed and +fortified her suspicions Nicholas slipped back into the house and rapidly +put into execution a plan of action that had long germinated in his +brain. By standing on a chair in the library one could reach a shelf on +which reposed a fat, important-looking key. The key was as important as +it looked; it was the instrument which kept the mysteries of the +lumber-room secure from unauthorised intrusion, which opened a way only +for aunts and such-like privileged persons. Nicholas had not had much +experience of the art of fitting keys into keyholes and turning locks, +but for some days past he had practised with the key of the schoolroom +door; he did not believe in trusting too much to luck and accident. The +key turned stiffly in the lock, but it turned. The door opened, and +Nicholas was in an unknown land, compared with which the gooseberry +garden was a stale delight, a mere material pleasure. + +Often and often Nicholas had pictured to himself what the lumber-room +might be like, that region that was so carefully sealed from youthful +eyes and concerning which no questions were ever answered. It came up to +his expectations. In the first place it was large and dimly lit, one +high window opening on to the forbidden garden being its only source of +illumination. In the second place it was a storehouse of unimagined +treasures. The aunt-by-assertion was one of those people who think that +things spoil by use and consign them to dust and damp by way of +preserving them. Such parts of the house as Nicholas knew best were +rather bare and cheerless, but here there were wonderful things for the +eye to feast on. First and foremost there was a piece of framed tapestry +that was evidently meant to be a fire-screen. To Nicholas it was a +living, breathing story; he sat down on a roll of Indian hangings, +glowing in wonderful colours beneath a layer of dust, and took in all the +details of the tapestry picture. A man, dressed in the hunting costume +of some remote period, had just transfixed a stag with an arrow; it could +not have been a difficult shot because the stag was only one or two paces +away from him; in the thickly-growing vegetation that the picture +suggested it would not have been difficult to creep up to a feeding stag, +and the two spotted dogs that were springing forward to join in the chase +had evidently been trained to keep to heel till the arrow was discharged. +That part of the picture was simple, if interesting, but did the huntsman +see, what Nicholas saw, that four galloping wolves were coming in his +direction through the wood? There might be more than four of them hidden +behind the trees, and in any case would the man and his dogs be able to +cope with the four wolves if they made an attack? The man had only two +arrows left in his quiver, and he might miss with one or both of them; +all one knew about his skill in shooting was that he could hit a large +stag at a ridiculously short range. Nicholas sat for many golden minutes +revolving the possibilities of the scene; he was inclined to think that +there were more than four wolves and that the man and his dogs were in a +tight corner. + +But there were other objects of delight and interest claiming his instant +attention: there were quaint twisted candlesticks in the shape of snakes, +and a teapot fashioned like a china duck, out of whose open beak the tea +was supposed to come. How dull and shapeless the nursery teapot seemed +in comparison! And there was a carved sandal-wood box packed tight with +aromatic cotton-wool, and between the layers of cotton-wool were little +brass figures, hump-necked bulls, and peacocks and goblins, delightful to +see and to handle. Less promising in appearance was a large square book +with plain black covers; Nicholas peeped into it, and, behold, it was +full of coloured pictures of birds. And such birds! In the garden, and +in the lanes when he went for a walk, Nicholas came across a few birds, +of which the largest were an occasional magpie or wood-pigeon; here were +herons and bustards, kites, toucans, tiger-bitterns, brush turkeys, +ibises, golden pheasants, a whole portrait gallery of undreamed-of +creatures. And as he was admiring the colouring of the mandarin duck and +assigning a life-history to it, the voice of his aunt in shrill +vociferation of his name came from the gooseberry garden without. She +had grown suspicious at his long disappearance, and had leapt to the +conclusion that he had climbed over the wall behind the sheltering screen +of the lilac bushes; she was now engaged in energetic and rather hopeless +search for him among the artichokes and raspberry canes. + +“Nicholas, Nicholas!” she screamed, “you are to come out of this at once. +It’s no use trying to hide there; I can see you all the time.” + +It was probably the first time for twenty years that anyone had smiled in +that lumber-room. + +Presently the angry repetitions of Nicholas’ name gave way to a shriek, +and a cry for somebody to come quickly. Nicholas shut the book, restored +it carefully to its place in a corner, and shook some dust from a +neighbouring pile of newspapers over it. Then he crept from the room, +locked the door, and replaced the key exactly where he had found it. His +aunt was still calling his name when he sauntered into the front garden. + +“Who’s calling?” he asked. + +“Me,” came the answer from the other side of the wall; “didn’t you hear +me? I’ve been looking for you in the gooseberry garden, and I’ve slipped +into the rain-water tank. Luckily there’s no water in it, but the sides +are slippery and I can’t get out. Fetch the little ladder from under the +cherry tree—” + +“I was told I wasn’t to go into the gooseberry garden,” said Nicholas +promptly. + +“I told you not to, and now I tell you that you may,” came the voice from +the rain-water tank, rather impatiently. + +“Your voice doesn’t sound like aunt’s,” objected Nicholas; “you may be +the Evil One tempting me to be disobedient. Aunt often tells me that the +Evil One tempts me and that I always yield. This time I’m not going to +yield.” + +“Don’t talk nonsense,” said the prisoner in the tank; “go and fetch the +ladder.” + +“Will there be strawberry jam for tea?” asked Nicholas innocently. + +“Certainly there will be,” said the aunt, privately resolving that +Nicholas should have none of it. + +“Now I know that you are the Evil One and not aunt,” shouted Nicholas +gleefully; “when we asked aunt for strawberry jam yesterday she said +there wasn’t any. I know there are four jars of it in the store +cupboard, because I looked, and of course you know it’s there, but she +doesn’t, because she said there wasn’t any. Oh, Devil, you _have_ sold +yourself!” + +There was an unusual sense of luxury in being able to talk to an aunt as +though one was talking to the Evil One, but Nicholas knew, with childish +discernment, that such luxuries were not to be over-indulged in. He +walked noisily away, and it was a kitchenmaid, in search of parsley, who +eventually rescued the aunt from the rain-water tank. + +Tea that evening was partaken of in a fearsome silence. The tide had +been at its highest when the children had arrived at Jagborough Cove, so +there had been no sands to play on—a circumstance that the aunt had +overlooked in the haste of organising her punitive expedition. The +tightness of Bobby’s boots had had disastrous effect on his temper the +whole of the afternoon, and altogether the children could not have been +said to have enjoyed themselves. The aunt maintained the frozen muteness +of one who has suffered undignified and unmerited detention in a +rain-water tank for thirty-five minutes. As for Nicholas, he, too, was +silent, in the absorption of one who has much to think about; it was just +possible, he considered, that the huntsman would escape with his hounds +while the wolves feasted on the stricken stag. + + + + +FUR + + +“You look worried, dear,” said Eleanor. + +“I am worried,” admitted Suzanne; “not worried exactly, but anxious. You +see, my birthday happens next week—” + +“You lucky person,” interrupted Eleanor; “my birthday doesn’t come till +the end of March.” + +“Well, old Bertram Kneyght is over in England just now from the +Argentine. He’s a kind of distant cousin of my mother’s, and so +enormously rich that we’ve never let the relationship drop out of sight. +Even if we don’t see him or hear from him for years he is always Cousin +Bertram when he does turn up. I can’t say he’s ever been of much solid +use to us, but yesterday the subject of my birthday cropped up, and he +asked me to let him know what I wanted for a present.” + +“Now I understand the anxiety,” observed Eleanor. + +“As a rule when one is confronted with a problem like that,” said +Suzanne, “all one’s ideas vanish; one doesn’t seem to have a desire in +the world. Now it so happens that I have been very keen on a little +Dresden figure that I saw somewhere in Kensington; about thirty-six +shillings, quite beyond my means. I was very nearly describing the +figure, and giving Bertram the address of the shop. And then it suddenly +struck me that thirty-six shillings was such a ridiculously inadequate +sum for a man of his immense wealth to spend on a birthday present. He +could give thirty-six pounds as easily as you or I could buy a bunch of +violets. I don’t want to be greedy, of course, but I don’t like being +wasteful.” + +“The question is,” said Eleanor, “what are his ideas as to +present-giving? Some of the wealthiest people have curiously cramped +views on that subject. When people grow gradually rich their +requirements and standard of living expand in proportion, while their +present-giving instincts often remain in the undeveloped condition of +their earlier days. Something showy and not-too-expensive in a shop is +their only conception of the ideal gift. That is why even quite good +shops have their counters and windows crowded with things worth about +four shillings that look as if they might be worth seven-and-six, and are +priced at ten shillings and labelled seasonable gifts.’” + +“I know,” said Suzanne; “that is why it is so risky to be vague when one +is giving indications of one’s wants. Now if I say to him: ‘I am going +out to Davos this winter, so anything in the travelling line would be +acceptable,’ he might give me a dressing-bag with gold-mounted fittings, +but, on the other hand, he might give me Baedeker’s Switzerland, or +‘Skiing without Tears,’ or something of that sort.” + +“He would be more likely to say: ‘She’ll be going to lots of dances, a +fan will be sure to be useful.’” + +“Yes, and I’ve got tons of fans, so you see where the danger and anxiety +lies. Now if there is one thing more than another that I really urgently +want it is furs. I simply haven’t any. I’m told that Davos is full of +Russians, and they are sure to wear the most lovely sables and things. +To be among people who are smothered in furs when one hasn’t any oneself +makes one want to break most of the Commandments.” + +“If it’s furs that you’re out for,” said Eleanor, “you will have to +superintend the choice of them in person. You can’t be sure that your +cousin knows the difference between silver-fox and ordinary squirrel.” + +“There are some heavenly silver-fox stoles at Goliath and Mastodon’s,” +said Suzanne, with a sigh; “if I could only inveigle Bertram into their +building and take him for a stroll through the fur department!” + +“He lives somewhere near there, doesn’t he?” said Eleanor. “Do you know +what his habits are? Does he take a walk at any particular time of day?” + +“He usually walks down to his club about three o’clock, if it’s a fine +day. That takes him right past Goliath and Mastodon’s.” + +“Let us two meet him accidentally at the street corner to-morrow,” said +Eleanor; “we can walk a little way with him, and with luck we ought to be +able to side-track him into the shop. You can say you want to get a +hair-net or something. When we’re safely there I can say: ‘I wish you’d +tell me what you want for your birthday.’ Then you’ll have everything +ready to hand—the rich cousin, the fur department, and the topic of +birthday presents.” + +“It’s a great idea,” said Suzanne; “you really are a brick. Come round +to-morrow at twenty to three; don’t be late, we must carry out our ambush +to the minute.” + +At a few minutes to three the next afternoon the fur-trappers walked +warily towards the selected corner. In the near distance rose the +colossal pile of Messrs. Goliath and Mastodon’s famed establishment. +The afternoon was brilliantly fine, exactly the sort of weather to tempt +a gentleman of advancing years into the discreet exercise of a leisurely +walk. + +“I say, dear, I wish you’d do something for me this evening,” said +Eleanor to her companion; “just drop in after dinner on some pretext or +other, and stay on to make a fourth at bridge with Adela and the aunts. +Otherwise I shall have to play, and Harry Scarisbrooke is going to come +in unexpectedly about nine-fifteen, and I particularly want to be free to +talk to him while the others are playing.” + +“Sorry, my dear, no can do,” said Suzanne; “ordinary bridge at +three-pence a hundred, with such dreadfully slow players as your aunts, +bores me to tears. I nearly go to sleep over it.” + +“But I most particularly want an opportunity to talk with Harry,” urged +Eleanor, an angry glint coming into her eyes. + +“Sorry, anything to oblige, but not that,” said Suzanne cheerfully; the +sacrifices of friendship were beautiful in her eyes as long as she was +not asked to make them. + +Eleanor said nothing further on the subject, but the corners of her mouth +rearranged themselves. + +“There’s our man!” exclaimed Suzanne suddenly; “hurry!” + +Mr. Bertram Kneyght greeted his cousin and her friend with genuine +heartiness, and readily accepted their invitation to explore the crowded +mart that stood temptingly at their elbow. The plate-glass doors swung +open and the trio plunged bravely into the jostling throng of buyers and +loiterers. + +“Is it always as full as this?” asked Bertram of Eleanor. + +“More or less, and autumn sales are on just now,” she replied. + +Suzanne, in her anxiety to pilot her cousin to the desired haven of the +fur department, was usually a few paces ahead of the others, coming back +to them now and then if they lingered for a moment at some attractive +counter, with the nervous solicitude of a parent rook encouraging its +young ones on their first flying expedition. + +“It’s Suzanne’s birthday on Wednesday next,” confided Eleanor to Bertram +Kneyght at a moment when Suzanne had left them unusually far behind; “my +birthday comes the day before, so we are both on the look-out for +something to give each other.” + +“Ah,” said Bertram. “Now, perhaps you can advise me on that very point. +I want to give Suzanne something, and I haven’t the least idea what she +wants.” + +“She’s rather a problem,” said Eleanor. “She seems to have everything +one can think of, lucky girl. A fan is always useful; she’ll be going to +a lot of dances at Davos this winter. Yes, I should think a fan would +please her more than anything. After our birthdays are over we inspect +each other’s muster of presents, and I always feel dreadfully humble. +She gets such nice things, and I never have anything worth showing. You +see, none of my relations or any of the people who give me presents are +at all well off, so I can’t expect them to do anything more than just +remember the day with some little trifle. Two years ago an uncle on my +mother’s side of the family, who had come into a small legacy, promised +me a silver-fox stole for my birthday. I can’t tell you how excited I +was about it, how I pictured myself showing it off to all my friends and +enemies. Then just at that moment his wife died, and, of course, poor +man, he could not be expected to think of birthday presents at such a +time. He has lived abroad ever since, and I never got my fur. Do you +know, to this day I can scarcely look at a silver-fox pelt in a shop +window or round anyone’s neck without feeling ready to burst into tears. +I suppose if I hadn’t had the prospect of getting one I shouldn’t feel +that way. Look, there is the fan counter, on your left; you can easily +slip away in the crowd. Get her as nice a one as you can see—she is such +a dear, dear girl.” + +“Hullo, I thought I had lost you,” said Suzanne, making her way through +an obstructive knot of shoppers. “Where is Bertram?” + +“I got separated from him long ago. I thought he was on ahead with you,” +said Eleanor. “We shall never find him in this crush.” + +Which turned out to be a true prediction. + +“All our trouble and forethought thrown away,” said Suzanne sulkily, when +they had pushed their way fruitlessly through half a dozen departments. + +“I can’t think why you didn’t grab him by the arm,” said Eleanor; “I +would have if I’d known him longer, but I’d only just been introduced. +It’s nearly four now, we’d better have tea.” + +Some days later Suzanne rang Eleanor up on the telephone. + +“Thank you very much for the photograph frame. It was just what I +wanted. Very good of you. I say, do you know what that Kneyght person +has given me? Just what you said he would—a wretched fan. What? Oh +yes, quite a good enough fan in its way, but still . . .” + +“You must come and see what he’s given me,” came in Eleanor’s voice over +the ’phone. + +“You! Why should he give you anything?” + +“Your cousin appears to be one of those rare people of wealth who take a +pleasure in giving good presents,” came the reply. + +“I wondered why he was so anxious to know where she lived,” snapped +Suzanne to herself as she rang off. + +A cloud has arisen between the friendships of the two young women; as far +as Eleanor is concerned the cloud has a silver-fox lining. + + + + +THE PHILANTHROPIST AND THE HAPPY CAT + + +Jocantha Bessbury was in the mood to be serenely and graciously happy. +Her world was a pleasant place, and it was wearing one of its pleasantest +aspects. Gregory had managed to get home for a hurried lunch and a smoke +afterwards in the little snuggery; the lunch had been a good one, and +there was just time to do justice to the coffee and cigarettes. Both +were excellent in their way, and Gregory was, in his way, an excellent +husband. Jocantha rather suspected herself of making him a very charming +wife, and more than suspected herself of having a first-rate dressmaker. + +“I don’t suppose a more thoroughly contented personality is to be found +in all Chelsea,” observed Jocantha in allusion to herself; “except +perhaps Attab,” she continued, glancing towards the large tabby-marked +cat that lay in considerable ease in a corner of the divan. “He lies +there, purring and dreaming, shifting his limbs now and then in an +ecstasy of cushioned comfort. He seems the incarnation of everything +soft and silky and velvety, without a sharp edge in his composition, a +dreamer whose philosophy is sleep and let sleep; and then, as evening +draws on, he goes out into the garden with a red glint in his eyes and +slays a drowsy sparrow.” + +“As every pair of sparrows hatches out ten or more young ones in the +year, while their food supply remains stationary, it is just as well that +the Attabs of the community should have that idea of how to pass an +amusing afternoon,” said Gregory. Having delivered himself of this sage +comment he lit another cigarette, bade Jocantha a playfully affectionate +good-bye, and departed into the outer world. + +“Remember, dinner’s a wee bit earlier to-night, as we’re going to the +Haymarket,” she called after him. + +Left to herself, Jocantha continued the process of looking at her life +with placid, introspective eyes. If she had not everything she wanted in +this world, at least she was very well pleased with what she had got. +She was very well pleased, for instance, with the snuggery, which +contrived somehow to be cosy and dainty and expensive all at once. The +porcelain was rare and beautiful, the Chinese enamels took on wonderful +tints in the firelight, the rugs and hangings led the eye through +sumptuous harmonies of colouring. It was a room in which one might have +suitably entertained an ambassador or an archbishop, but it was also a +room in which one could cut out pictures for a scrap-book without feeling +that one was scandalising the deities of the place with one’s litter. +And as with the snuggery, so with the rest of the house, and as with the +house, so with the other departments of Jocantha’s life; she really had +good reason for being one of the most contented women in Chelsea. + +From being in a mood of simmering satisfaction with her lot she passed to +the phase of being generously commiserating for those thousands around +her whose lives and circumstances were dull, cheap, pleasureless, and +empty. Work girls, shop assistants and so forth, the class that have +neither the happy-go-lucky freedom of the poor nor the leisured freedom +of the rich, came specially within the range of her sympathy. It was sad +to think that there were young people who, after a long day’s work, had +to sit alone in chill, dreary bedrooms because they could not afford the +price of a cup of coffee and a sandwich in a restaurant, still less a +shilling for a theatre gallery. + +Jocantha’s mind was still dwelling on this theme when she started forth +on an afternoon campaign of desultory shopping; it would be rather a +comforting thing, she told herself, if she could do something, on the +spur of the moment, to bring a gleam of pleasure and interest into the +life of even one or two wistful-hearted, empty-pocketed workers; it would +add a good deal to her sense of enjoyment at the theatre that night. She +would get two upper circle tickets for a popular play, make her way into +some cheap tea-shop, and present the tickets to the first couple of +interesting work girls with whom she could casually drop into +conversation. She could explain matters by saying that she was unable to +use the tickets herself and did not want them to be wasted, and, on the +other hand, did not want the trouble of sending them back. On further +reflection she decided that it might be better to get only one ticket and +give it to some lonely-looking girl sitting eating her frugal meal by +herself; the girl might scrape acquaintance with her next-seat neighbour +at the theatre and lay the foundations of a lasting friendship. + +With the Fairy Godmother impulse strong upon her, Jocantha marched into a +ticket agency and selected with immense care an upper circle seat for the +“Yellow Peacock,” a play that was attracting a considerable amount of +discussion and criticism. Then she went forth in search of a tea-shop +and philanthropic adventure, at about the same time that Attab sauntered +into the garden with a mind attuned to sparrow stalking. In a corner of +an A.B.C. shop she found an unoccupied table, whereat she promptly +installed herself, impelled by the fact that at the next table was +sitting a young girl, rather plain of feature, with tired, listless eyes, +and a general air of uncomplaining forlornness. Her dress was of poor +material, but aimed at being in the fashion, her hair was pretty, and her +complexion bad; she was finishing a modest meal of tea and scone, and she +was not very different in her way from thousands of other girls who were +finishing, or beginning, or continuing their teas in London tea-shops at +that exact moment. The odds were enormously in favour of the supposition +that she had never seen the “Yellow Peacock”; obviously she supplied +excellent material for Jocantha’s first experiment in haphazard +benefaction. + +Jocantha ordered some tea and a muffin, and then turned a friendly +scrutiny on her neighbour with a view to catching her eye. At that +precise moment the girl’s face lit up with sudden pleasure, her eyes +sparkled, a flush came into her cheeks, and she looked almost pretty. A +young man, whom she greeted with an affectionate “Hullo, Bertie,” came up +to her table and took his seat in a chair facing her. Jocantha looked +hard at the new-comer; he was in appearance a few years younger than +herself, very much better looking than Gregory, rather better looking, in +fact, than any of the young men of her set. She guessed him to be a +well-mannered young clerk in some wholesale warehouse, existing and +amusing himself as best he might on a tiny salary, and commanding a +holiday of about two weeks in the year. He was aware, of course, of his +good looks, but with the shy self-consciousness of the Anglo-Saxon, not +the blatant complacency of the Latin or Semite. He was obviously on +terms of friendly intimacy with the girl he was talking to, probably they +were drifting towards a formal engagement. Jocantha pictured the boy’s +home, in a rather narrow circle, with a tiresome mother who always wanted +to know how and where he spent his evenings. He would exchange that +humdrum thraldom in due course for a home of his own, dominated by a +chronic scarcity of pounds, shillings, and pence, and a dearth of most of +the things that made life attractive or comfortable. Jocantha felt +extremely sorry for him. She wondered if he had seen the “Yellow +Peacock”; the odds were enormously in favour of the supposition that he +had not. The girl had finished her tea and would shortly be going back +to her work; when the boy was alone it would be quite easy for Jocantha +to say: “My husband has made other arrangements for me this evening; +would you care to make use of this ticket, which would otherwise be +wasted?” Then she could come there again one afternoon for tea, and, if +she saw him, ask him how he liked the play. If he was a nice boy and +improved on acquaintance he could be given more theatre tickets, and +perhaps asked to come one Sunday to tea at Chelsea. Jocantha made up her +mind that he would improve on acquaintance, and that Gregory would like +him, and that the Fairy Godmother business would prove far more +entertaining than she had originally anticipated. The boy was distinctly +presentable; he knew how to brush his hair, which was possibly an +imitative faculty; he knew what colour of tie suited him, which might be +intuition; he was exactly the type that Jocantha admired, which of course +was accident. Altogether she was rather pleased when the girl looked at +the clock and bade a friendly but hurried farewell to her companion. +Bertie nodded “good-bye,” gulped down a mouthful of tea, and then +produced from his overcoat pocket a paper-covered book, bearing the title +“Sepoy and Sahib, a tale of the great Mutiny.” + +The laws of tea-shop etiquette forbid that you should offer theatre +tickets to a stranger without having first caught the stranger’s eye. It +is even better if you can ask to have a sugar basin passed to you, having +previously concealed the fact that you have a large and well-filled sugar +basin on your own table; this is not difficult to manage, as the printed +menu is generally nearly as large as the table, and can be made to stand +on end. Jocantha set to work hopefully; she had a long and rather +high-pitched discussion with the waitress concerning alleged defects in +an altogether blameless muffin, she made loud and plaintive inquiries +about the tube service to some impossibly remote suburb, she talked with +brilliant insincerity to the tea-shop kitten, and as a last resort she +upset a milk-jug and swore at it daintily. Altogether she attracted a +good deal of attention, but never for a moment did she attract the +attention of the boy with the beautifully-brushed hair, who was some +thousands of miles away in the baking plains of Hindostan, amid deserted +bungalows, seething bazaars, and riotous barrack squares, listening to +the throbbing of tom-toms and the distant rattle of musketry. + +Jocantha went back to her house in Chelsea, which struck her for the +first time as looking dull and over-furnished. She had a resentful +conviction that Gregory would be uninteresting at dinner, and that the +play would be stupid after dinner. On the whole her frame of mind showed +a marked divergence from the purring complacency of Attab, who was again +curled up in his corner of the divan with a great peace radiating from +every curve of his body. + +But then he had killed his sparrow. + + + + +ON APPROVAL + + +Of all the genuine Bohemians who strayed from time to time into the +would-be Bohemian circle of the Restaurant Nuremberg, Owl Street, Soho, +none was more interesting and more elusive than Gebhard Knopfschrank. He +had no friends, and though he treated all the restaurant frequenters as +acquaintances he never seemed to wish to carry the acquaintanceship +beyond the door that led into Owl Street and the outer world. He dealt +with them all rather as a market woman might deal with chance passers-by, +exhibiting her wares and chattering about the weather and the slackness +of business, occasionally about rheumatism, but never showing a desire to +penetrate into their daily lives or to dissect their ambitions. + +He was understood to belong to a family of peasant farmers, somewhere in +Pomerania; some two years ago, according to all that was known of him, he +had abandoned the labours and responsibilities of swine tending and goose +rearing to try his fortune as an artist in London. + +“Why London and not Paris or Munich?” he had been asked by the curious. + +Well, there was a ship that left Stolpmünde for London twice a month, +that carried few passengers, but carried them cheaply; the railway fares +to Munich or Paris were not cheap. Thus it was that he came to select +London as the scene of his great adventure. + +The question that had long and seriously agitated the frequenters of the +Nuremberg was whether this goose-boy migrant was really a soul-driven +genius, spreading his wings to the light, or merely an enterprising young +man who fancied he could paint and was pardonably anxious to escape from +the monotony of rye bread diet and the sandy, swine-bestrewn plains of +Pomerania. There was reasonable ground for doubt and caution; the +artistic groups that foregathered at the little restaurant contained so +many young women with short hair and so many young men with long hair, +who supposed themselves to be abnormally gifted in the domain of music, +poetry, painting, or stagecraft, with little or nothing to support the +supposition, that a self-announced genius of any sort in their midst was +inevitably suspect. On the other hand, there was the ever-imminent +danger of entertaining, and snubbing, an angel unawares. There had been +the lamentable case of Sledonti, the dramatic poet, who had been +belittled and cold-shouldered in the Owl Street hall of judgment, and had +been afterwards hailed as a master singer by the Grand Duke Constantine +Constantinovitch—“the most educated of the Romanoffs,” according to +Sylvia Strubble, who spoke rather as one who knew every individual member +of the Russian imperial family; as a matter of fact, she knew a newspaper +correspondent, a young man who ate _bortsch_ with the air of having +invented it. Sledonti’s “Poems of Death and Passion” were now being sold +by the thousand in seven European languages, and were about to be +translated into Syrian, a circumstance which made the discerning critics +of the Nuremberg rather shy of maturing their future judgments too +rapidly and too irrevocably. + +As regards Knopfschrank’s work, they did not lack opportunity for +inspecting and appraising it. However resolutely he might hold himself +aloof from the social life of his restaurant acquaintances, he was not +minded to hide his artistic performances from their inquiring gaze. +Every evening, or nearly every evening, at about seven o’clock, he would +make his appearance, sit himself down at his accustomed table, throw a +bulky black portfolio on to the chair opposite him, nod round +indiscriminately at his fellow-guests, and commence the serious business +of eating and drinking. When the coffee stage was reached he would light +a cigarette, draw the portfolio over to him, and begin to rummage among +its contents. With slow deliberation he would select a few of his more +recent studies and sketches, and silently pass them round from table to +table, paying especial attention to any new diners who might be present. +On the back of each sketch was marked in plain figures the announcement +“Price ten shillings.” + +If his work was not obviously stamped with the hall-mark of genius, at +any rate it was remarkable for its choice of an unusual and unvarying +theme. His pictures always represented some well-known street or public +place in London, fallen into decay and denuded of its human population, +in the place of which there roamed a wild fauna, which, from its wealth +of exotic species, must have originally escaped from Zoological Gardens +and travelling beast shows. “Giraffes drinking at the fountain pools, +Trafalgar Square,” was one of the most notable and characteristic of his +studies, while even more sensational was the gruesome picture of +“Vultures attacking dying camel in Upper Berkeley Street.” There were +also photographs of the large canvas on which he had been engaged for +some months, and which he was now endeavouring to sell to some +enterprising dealer or adventurous amateur. The subject was “Hyænas +asleep in Euston Station,” a composition that left nothing to be desired +in the way of suggesting unfathomed depths of desolation. + +“Of course it may be immensely clever, it may be something epoch-making +in the realm of art,” said Sylvia Strubble to her own particular circle +of listeners, “but, on the other hand, it may be merely mad. One mustn’t +pay too much attention to the commercial aspect of the case, of course, +but still, if some dealer would make a bid for that hyæna picture, or +even for some of the sketches, we should know better how to place the man +and his work.” + +“We may all be cursing ourselves one of these days,” said Mrs. +Nougat-Jones, “for not having bought up his entire portfolio of sketches. +At the same time, when there is so much real talent going about, one does +not feel like planking down ten shillings for what looks like a bit of +whimsical oddity. Now that picture that he showed us last week, +‘Sand-grouse roosting on the Albert Memorial,’ was very impressive, and +of course I could see there was good workmanship in it and breadth of +treatment; but it didn’t in the least convey the Albert Memorial to me, +and Sir James Beanquest tells me that sand-grouse don’t roost, they sleep +on the ground.” + +Whatever talent or genius the Pomeranian artist might possess, it +certainly failed to receive commercial sanction. The portfolio remained +bulky with unsold sketches, and the “Euston Siesta,” as the wits of the +Nuremberg nicknamed the large canvas, was still in the market. The +outward and visible signs of financial embarrassment began to be +noticeable; the half-bottle of cheap claret at dinner-time gave way to a +small glass of lager, and this in turn was displaced by water. The +one-and-sixpenny set dinner receded from an everyday event to a Sunday +extravagance; on ordinary days the artist contented himself with a +sevenpenny omelette and some bread and cheese, and there were evenings +when he did not put in an appearance at all. On the rare occasions when +he spoke of his own affairs it was observed that he began to talk more +about Pomerania and less about the great world of art. + +“It is a busy time there now with us,” he said wistfully; “the schwines +are driven out into the fields after harvest, and must be looked after. +I could be helping to look after if I was there. Here it is difficult to +live; art is not appreciate.” + +“Why don’t you go home on a visit?” some one asked tactfully. + +“Ah, it cost money! There is the ship passage to Stolpmünde, and there +is money that I owe at my lodgings. Even here I owe a few schillings. +If I could sell some of my sketches—” + +“Perhaps,” suggested Mrs. Nougat-Jones, “if you were to offer them for a +little less, some of us would be glad to buy a few. Ten shillings is +always a consideration, you know, to people who are not over well off. +Perhaps if you were to ask six or seven shillings—” + +Once a peasant, always a peasant. The mere suggestion of a bargain to be +struck brought a twinkle of awakened alertness into the artist’s eyes, +and hardened the lines of his mouth. + +“Nine schilling nine pence each,” he snapped, and seemed disappointed +that Mrs. Nougat-Jones did not pursue the subject further. He had +evidently expected her to offer seven and fourpence. + +The weeks sped by, and Knopfschrank came more rarely to the restaurant in +Owl Street, while his meals on those occasions became more and more +meagre. And then came a triumphal day, when he appeared early in the +evening in a high state of elation, and ordered an elaborate meal that +scarcely stopped short of being a banquet. The ordinary resources of the +kitchen were supplemented by an imported dish of smoked goosebreast, a +Pomeranian delicacy that was luckily procurable at a firm of +_delikatessen_ merchants in Coventry Street, while a long-necked bottle +of Rhine wine gave a finishing touch of festivity and good cheer to the +crowded table. + +“He has evidently sold his masterpiece,” whispered Sylvia Strubble to +Mrs. Nougat-Jones, who had come in late. + +“Who has bought it?” she whispered back. + +“Don’t know; he hasn’t said anything yet, but it must be some American. +Do you see, he has got a little American flag on the dessert dish, and he +has put pennies in the music box three times, once to play the +‘Star-spangled Banner,’ then a Sousa march, and then the ‘Star-spangled +Banner’ again. It must be an American millionaire, and he’s evidently +got a very big price for it; he’s just beaming and chuckling with +satisfaction.” + +“We must ask him who has bought it,” said Mrs. Nougat-Jones. + +“Hush! no, don’t. Let’s buy some of his sketches, quick, before we are +supposed to know that he’s famous; otherwise he’ll be doubling the +prices. I am so glad he’s had a success at last. I always believed in +him, you know.” + +For the sum of ten shillings each Miss Strubble acquired the drawings of +the camel dying in Upper Berkeley Street and of the giraffes quenching +their thirst in Trafalgar Square; at the same price Mrs. Nougat-Jones +secured the study of roosting sand-grouse. A more ambitious picture, +“Wolves and wapiti fighting on the steps of the Athenæum Club,” found a +purchaser at fifteen shillings. + +“And now what are your plans?” asked a young man who contributed +occasional paragraphs to an artistic weekly. + +“I go back to Stolpmünde as soon as the ship sails,” said the artist, +“and I do not return. Never.” + +“But your work? Your career as painter?” + +“Ah, there is nossing in it. One starves. Till to-day I have sold not +one of my sketches. To-night you have bought a few, because I am going +away from you, but at other times, not one.” + +“But has not some American—?” + +“Ah, the rich American,” chuckled the artist. “God be thanked. He dash +his car right into our herd of schwines as they were being driven out to +the fields. Many of our best schwines he killed, but he paid all +damages. He paid perhaps more than they were worth, many times more than +they would have fetched in the market after a month of fattening, but he +was in a hurry to get on to Dantzig. When one is in a hurry one must pay +what one is asked. God be thanked for rich Americans, who are always in +a hurry to get somewhere else. My father and mother, they have now so +plenty of money; they send me some to pay my debts and come home. I +start on Monday for Stolpmünde and I do not come back. Never.” + +“But your picture, the hyænas?” + +“No good. It is too big to carry to Stolpmünde. I burn it.” + +In time he will be forgotten, but at present Knopfschrank is almost as +sore a subject as Sledonti with some of the frequenters of the Nuremberg +Restaurant, Owl Street, Soho. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEASTS AND SUPER-BEASTS*** + + +******* This file should be named 269-0.txt or 269-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/6/269 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://www.gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://www.gutenberg.org/about/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: +http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + diff --git a/269-0.zip b/269-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b66026f --- /dev/null +++ b/269-0.zip diff --git a/269-h.zip b/269-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..64713b7 --- /dev/null +++ b/269-h.zip diff --git a/269-h/269-h.htm b/269-h/269-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c681e22 --- /dev/null +++ b/269-h/269-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7482 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Beasts and Super-Beasts, by Saki</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Beasts and Super-Beasts, by Saki + + +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: Beasts and Super-Beasts + + +Author: Saki + + + +Release Date: December 26, 2011 [eBook #269] +This file was first posted in April 1995 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEASTS AND SUPER-BEASTS*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1914 John Lane, The Bodley Head edition +by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1>BEASTS AND<br /> +SUPER-BEASTS</h1> +<p style="text-align: center">By H. H. MUNRO +(“SAKI”)</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">LONDON: JOHN +LANE THE BODLEY HEAD</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">TORONTO: BELL & COCKBURN +MCMXIV</span></p> +<h2>AUTHOR’S NOTE</h2> +<p>“The Open Window,” “The Schartz-Metterklume +Method,” and “Clovis on Parental +Responsibilities,” originally appeared in the +<i>Westminster Gazette</i>, “The Elk” in the +<i>Bystander</i>, and the remaining stories in the <i>Morning +Post</i>. To the Editors of these papers I am indebted for +their courtesy in allowing me to reprint them.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">H. H. M.</p> +<h2>THE SHE-WOLF</h2> +<p>Leonard Bilsiter was one of those people who have failed to +find this world attractive or interesting, and who have sought +compensation in an “unseen world” of their own +experience or imagination—or invention. Children do +that sort of thing successfully, but children are content to +convince themselves, and do not vulgarise their beliefs by trying +to convince other people. Leonard Bilsiter’s beliefs +were for “the few,” that is to say, anyone who would +listen to him.</p> +<p>His dabblings in the unseen might not have carried him beyond +the customary platitudes of the drawing-room visionary if +accident had not reinforced his stock-in-trade of mystical +lore. In company with a friend, who was interested in a +Ural mining concern, he had made a trip across Eastern Europe at +a moment when the great Russian railway strike was developing +from a threat to a reality; its outbreak caught him on the return +journey, somewhere on the further side of Perm, and it was while +waiting for a couple of days at a wayside station in a state of +suspended locomotion that he made the acquaintance of a dealer in +harness and metalware, who profitably whiled away the tedium of +the long halt by initiating his English travelling companion in a +fragmentary system of folk-lore that he had picked up from +Trans-Baikal traders and natives. Leonard returned to his +home circle garrulous about his Russian strike experiences, but +oppressively reticent about certain dark mysteries, which he +alluded to under the resounding title of Siberian Magic. +The reticence wore off in a week or two under the influence of an +entire lack of general curiosity, and Leonard began to make more +detailed allusions to the enormous powers which this new esoteric +force, to use his own description of it, conferred on the +initiated few who knew how to wield it. His aunt, Cecilia +Hoops, who loved sensation perhaps rather better than she loved +the truth, gave him as clamorous an advertisement as anyone could +wish for by retailing an account of how he had turned a vegetable +marrow into a wood pigeon before her very eyes. As a +manifestation of the possession of supernatural powers, the story +was discounted in some quarters by the respect accorded to Mrs. +Hoops’ powers of imagination.</p> +<p>However divided opinion might be on the question of +Leonard’s status as a wonderworker or a charlatan, he +certainly arrived at Mary Hampton’s house-party with a +reputation for pre-eminence in one or other of those professions, +and he was not disposed to shun such publicity as might fall to +his share. Esoteric forces and unusual powers figured +largely in whatever conversation he or his aunt had a share in, +and his own performances, past and potential, were the subject of +mysterious hints and dark avowals.</p> +<p>“I wish you would turn me into a wolf, Mr. +Bilsiter,” said his hostess at luncheon the day after his +arrival.</p> +<p>“My dear Mary,” said Colonel Hampton, “I +never knew you had a craving in that direction.”</p> +<p>“A she-wolf, of course,” continued Mrs. Hampton; +“it would be too confusing to change one’s sex as +well as one’s species at a moment’s +notice.”</p> +<p>“I don’t think one should jest on these +subjects,” said Leonard.</p> +<p>“I’m not jesting, I’m quite serious, I +assure you. Only don’t do it to-day; we have only +eight available bridge players, and it would break up one of our +tables. To-morrow we shall be a larger party. +To-morrow night, after dinner—”</p> +<p>“In our present imperfect understanding of these hidden +forces I think one should approach them with humbleness rather +than mockery,” observed Leonard, with such severity that +the subject was forthwith dropped.</p> +<p>Clovis Sangrail had sat unusually silent during the discussion +on the possibilities of Siberian Magic; after lunch he +side-tracked Lord Pabham into the comparative seclusion of the +billiard-room and delivered himself of a searching question.</p> +<p>“Have you such a thing as a she-wolf in your collection +of wild animals? A she-wolf of moderately good +temper?”</p> +<p>Lord Pabham considered. “There is Louisa,” +he said, “a rather fine specimen of the timber-wolf. +I got her two years ago in exchange for some Arctic foxes. +Most of my animals get to be fairly tame before they’ve +been with me very long; I think I can say Louisa has an angelic +temper, as she-wolves go. Why do you ask?”</p> +<p>“I was wondering whether you would lend her to me for +to-morrow night,” said Clovis, with the careless solicitude +of one who borrows a collar stud or a tennis racquet.</p> +<p>“To-morrow night?”</p> +<p>“Yes, wolves are nocturnal animals, so the late hours +won’t hurt her,” said Clovis, with the air of one who +has taken everything into consideration; “one of your men +could bring her over from Pabham Park after dusk, and with a +little help he ought to be able to smuggle her into the +conservatory at the same moment that Mary Hampton makes an +unobtrusive exit.”</p> +<p>Lord Pabham stared at Clovis for a moment in pardonable +bewilderment; then his face broke into a wrinkled network of +laughter.</p> +<p>“Oh, that’s your game, is it? You are going +to do a little Siberian Magic on your own account. And is +Mrs. Hampton willing to be a fellow-conspirator?”</p> +<p>“Mary is pledged to see me through with it, if you will +guarantee Louisa’s temper.”</p> +<p>“I’ll answer for Louisa,” said Lord +Pabham.</p> +<p>By the following day the house-party had swollen to larger +proportions, and Bilsiter’s instinct for self-advertisement +expanded duly under the stimulant of an increased audience. +At dinner that evening he held forth at length on the subject of +unseen forces and untested powers, and his flow of impressive +eloquence continued unabated while coffee was being served in the +drawing-room preparatory to a general migration to the +card-room.</p> +<p>His aunt ensured a respectful hearing for his utterances, but +her sensation-loving soul hankered after something more dramatic +than mere vocal demonstration.</p> +<p>“Won’t you do something to <i>convince</i> them of +your powers, Leonard?” she pleaded; “change something +into another shape. He can, you know, if he only chooses +to,” she informed the company.</p> +<p>“Oh, do,” said Mavis Pellington earnestly, and her +request was echoed by nearly everyone present. Even those +who were not open to conviction were perfectly willing to be +entertained by an exhibition of amateur conjuring.</p> +<p>Leonard felt that something tangible was expected of him.</p> +<p>“Has anyone present,” he asked, “got a +three-penny bit or some small object of no particular +value—?”</p> +<p>“You’re surely not going to make coins disappear, +or something primitive of that sort?” said Clovis +contemptuously.</p> +<p>“I think it very unkind of you not to carry out my +suggestion of turning me into a wolf,” said Mary Hampton, +as she crossed over to the conservatory to give her macaws their +usual tribute from the dessert dishes.</p> +<p>“I have already warned you of the danger of treating +these powers in a mocking spirit,” said Leonard +solemnly.</p> +<p>“I don’t believe you can do it,” laughed +Mary provocatively from the conservatory; “I dare you to do +it if you can. I defy you to turn me into a +wolf.”</p> +<p>As she said this she was lost to view behind a clump of +azaleas.</p> +<p>“Mrs. Hampton—” began Leonard with increased +solemnity, but he got no further. A breath of chill air +seemed to rush across the room, and at the same time the macaws +broke forth into ear-splitting screams.</p> +<p>“What on earth is the matter with those confounded +birds, Mary?” exclaimed Colonel Hampton; at the same moment +an even more piercing scream from Mavis Pellington stampeded the +entire company from their seats. In various attitudes of +helpless horror or instinctive defence they confronted the +evil-looking grey beast that was peering at them from amid a +setting of fern and azalea.</p> +<p>Mrs. Hoops was the first to recover from the general chaos of +fright and bewilderment.</p> +<p>“Leonard!” she screamed shrilly to her nephew, +“turn it back into Mrs. Hampton at once! It may fly +at us at any moment. Turn it back!”</p> +<p>“I—I don’t know how to,” faltered +Leonard, who looked more scared and horrified than anyone.</p> +<p>“What!” shouted Colonel Hampton, +“you’ve taken the abominable liberty of turning my +wife into a wolf, and now you stand there calmly and say you +can’t turn her back again!”</p> +<p>To do strict justice to Leonard, calmness was not a +distinguishing feature of his attitude at the moment.</p> +<p>“I assure you I didn’t turn Mrs. Hampton into a +wolf; nothing was farther from my intentions,” he +protested.</p> +<p>“Then where is she, and how came that animal into the +conservatory?” demanded the Colonel.</p> +<p>“Of course we must accept your assurance that you +didn’t turn Mrs. Hampton into a wolf,” said Clovis +politely, “but you will agree that appearances are against +you.”</p> +<p>“Are we to have all these recriminations with that beast +standing there ready to tear us to pieces?” wailed Mavis +indignantly.</p> +<p>“Lord Pabham, you know a good deal about wild +beasts—” suggested Colonel Hampton.</p> +<p>“The wild beasts that I have been accustomed to,” +said Lord Pabham, “have come with proper credentials from +well-known dealers, or have been bred in my own menagerie. +I’ve never before been confronted with an animal that walks +unconcernedly out of an azalea bush, leaving a charming and +popular hostess unaccounted for. As far as one can judge +from <i>outward</i> characteristics,” he continued, +“it has the appearance of a well-grown female of the North +American timber-wolf, a variety of the common species <i>canis +lupus</i>.”</p> +<p>“Oh, never mind its Latin name,” screamed Mavis, +as the beast came a step or two further into the room; +“can’t you entice it away with food, and shut it up +where it can’t do any harm?”</p> +<p>“If it is really Mrs. Hampton, who has just had a very +good dinner, I don’t suppose food will appeal to it very +strongly,” said Clovis.</p> +<p>“Leonard,” beseeched Mrs. Hoops tearfully, +“even if this is none of your doing can’t you use +your great powers to turn this dreadful beast into something +harmless before it bites us all—a rabbit or +something?”</p> +<p>“I don’t suppose Colonel Hampton would care to +have his wife turned into a succession of fancy animals as though +we were playing a round game with her,” interposed +Clovis.</p> +<p>“I absolutely forbid it,” thundered the +Colonel.</p> +<p>“Most wolves that I’ve had anything to do with +have been inordinately fond of sugar,” said Lord Pabham; +“if you like I’ll try the effect on this +one.”</p> +<p>He took a piece of sugar from the saucer of his coffee cup and +flung it to the expectant Louisa, who snapped it in +mid-air. There was a sigh of relief from the company; a +wolf that ate sugar when it might at the least have been employed +in tearing macaws to pieces had already shed some of its +terrors. The sigh deepened to a gasp of thanks-giving when +Lord Pabham decoyed the animal out of the room by a pretended +largesse of further sugar. There was an instant rush to the +vacated conservatory. There was no trace of Mrs. Hampton +except the plate containing the macaws’ supper.</p> +<p>“The door is locked on the inside!” exclaimed +Clovis, who had deftly turned the key as he affected to test +it.</p> +<p>Everyone turned towards Bilsiter.</p> +<p>“If you haven’t turned my wife into a wolf,” +said Colonel Hampton, “will you kindly explain where she +has disappeared to, since she obviously could not have gone +through a locked door? I will not press you for an +explanation of how a North American timber-wolf suddenly appeared +in the conservatory, but I think I have some right to inquire +what has become of Mrs. Hampton.”</p> +<p>Bilsiter’s reiterated disclaimer was met with a general +murmur of impatient disbelief.</p> +<p>“I refuse to stay another hour under this roof,” +declared Mavis Pellington.</p> +<p>“If our hostess has really vanished out of human +form,” said Mrs. Hoops, “none of the ladies of the +party can very well remain. I absolutely decline to be +chaperoned by a wolf!”</p> +<p>“It’s a she-wolf,” said Clovis +soothingly.</p> +<p>The correct etiquette to be observed under the unusual +circumstances received no further elucidation. The sudden +entry of Mary Hampton deprived the discussion of its immediate +interest.</p> +<p>“Some one has mesmerised me,” she exclaimed +crossly; “I found myself in the game larder, of all places, +being fed with sugar by Lord Pabham. I hate being +mesmerised, and the doctor has forbidden me to touch +sugar.”</p> +<p>The situation was explained to her, as far as it permitted of +anything that could be called explanation.</p> +<p>“Then you <i>really</i> did turn me into a wolf, Mr. +Bilsiter?” she exclaimed excitedly.</p> +<p>But Leonard had burned the boat in which he might now have +embarked on a sea of glory. He could only shake his head +feebly.</p> +<p>“It was I who took that liberty,” said Clovis; +“you see, I happen to have lived for a couple of years in +North-Eastern Russia, and I have more than a tourist’s +acquaintance with the magic craft of that region. One does +not care to speak about these strange powers, but once in a way, +when one hears a lot of nonsense being talked about them, one is +tempted to show what Siberian magic can accomplish in the hands +of someone who really understands it. I yielded to that +temptation. May I have some brandy? the effort has left me +rather faint.”</p> +<p>If Leonard Bilsiter could at that moment have transformed +Clovis into a cockroach and then have stepped on him he would +gladly have performed both operations.</p> +<h2>LAURA</h2> +<p>“You are not really dying, are you?” asked +Amanda.</p> +<p>“I have the doctor’s permission to live till +Tuesday,” said Laura.</p> +<p>“But to-day is Saturday; this is serious!” gasped +Amanda.</p> +<p>“I don’t know about it being serious; it is +certainly Saturday,” said Laura.</p> +<p>“Death is always serious,” said Amanda.</p> +<p>“I never said I was going to die. I am presumably +going to leave off being Laura, but I shall go on being +something. An animal of some kind, I suppose. You +see, when one hasn’t been very good in the life one has +just lived, one reincarnates in some lower organism. And I +haven’t been very good, when one comes to think of +it. I’ve been petty and mean and vindictive and all +that sort of thing when circumstances have seemed to warrant +it.”</p> +<p>“Circumstances never warrant that sort of thing,” +said Amanda hastily.</p> +<p>“If you don’t mind my saying so,” observed +Laura, “Egbert is a circumstance that would warrant any +amount of that sort of thing. You’re married to +him—that’s different; you’ve sworn to love, +honour, and endure him: I haven’t.”</p> +<p>“I don’t see what’s wrong with +Egbert,” protested Amanda.</p> +<p>“Oh, I daresay the wrongness has been on my part,” +admitted Laura dispassionately; “he has merely been the +extenuating circumstance. He made a thin, peevish kind of +fuss, for instance, when I took the collie puppies from the farm +out for a run the other day.”</p> +<p>“They chased his young broods of speckled Sussex and +drove two sitting hens off their nests, besides running all over +the flower beds. You know how devoted he is to his poultry +and garden.”</p> +<p>“Anyhow, he needn’t have gone on about it for the +entire evening and then have said, ‘Let’s say no more +about it’ just when I was beginning to enjoy the +discussion. That’s where one of my petty vindictive +revenges came in,” added Laura with an unrepentant chuckle; +“I turned the entire family of speckled Sussex into his +seedling shed the day after the puppy episode.”</p> +<p>“How could you?” exclaimed Amanda.</p> +<p>“It came quite easy,” said Laura; “two of +the hens pretended to be laying at the time, but I was +firm.”</p> +<p>“And we thought it was an accident!”</p> +<p>“You see,” resumed Laura, “I really +<i>have</i> some grounds for supposing that my next incarnation +will be in a lower organism. I shall be an animal of some +kind. On the other hand, I haven’t been a bad sort in +my way, so I think I may count on being a nice animal, something +elegant and lively, with a love of fun. An otter, +perhaps.”</p> +<p>“I can’t imagine you as an otter,” said +Amanda.</p> +<p>“Well, I don’t suppose you can imagine me as an +angel, if it comes to that,” said Laura.</p> +<p>Amanda was silent. She couldn’t.</p> +<p>“Personally I think an otter life would be rather +enjoyable,” continued Laura; “salmon to eat all the +year round, and the satisfaction of being able to fetch the trout +in their own homes without having to wait for hours till they +condescend to rise to the fly you’ve been dangling before +them; and an elegant svelte figure—”</p> +<p>“Think of the otter hounds,” interposed Amanda; +“how dreadful to be hunted and harried and finally worried +to death!”</p> +<p>“Rather fun with half the neighbourhood looking on, and +anyhow not worse than this Saturday-to-Tuesday business of dying +by inches; and then I should go on into something else. If +I had been a moderately good otter I suppose I should get back +into human shape of some sort; probably something rather +primitive—a little brown, unclothed Nubian boy, I should +think.”</p> +<p>“I wish you would be serious,” sighed Amanda; +“you really ought to be if you’re only going to live +till Tuesday.”</p> +<p>As a matter of fact Laura died on Monday.</p> +<p>“So dreadfully upsetting,” Amanda complained to +her uncle-in-law, Sir Lulworth Quayne. “I’ve +asked quite a lot of people down for golf and fishing, and the +rhododendrons are just looking their best.”</p> +<p>“Laura always was inconsiderate,” said Sir +Lulworth; “she was born during Goodwood week, with an +Ambassador staying in the house who hated babies.”</p> +<p>“She had the maddest kind of ideas,” said Amanda; +“do you know if there was any insanity in her +family?”</p> +<p>“Insanity? No, I never heard of any. Her +father lives in West Kensington, but I believe he’s sane on +all other subjects.”</p> +<p>“She had an idea that she was going to be reincarnated +as an otter,” said Amanda.</p> +<p>“One meets with those ideas of reincarnation so +frequently, even in the West,” said Sir Lulworth, +“that one can hardly set them down as being mad. And +Laura was such an unaccountable person in this life that I should +not like to lay down definite rules as to what she might be doing +in an after state.”</p> +<p>“You think she really might have passed into some animal +form?” asked Amanda. She was one of those who shape +their opinions rather readily from the standpoint of those around +them.</p> +<p>Just then Egbert entered the breakfast-room, wearing an air of +bereavement that Laura’s demise would have been +insufficient, in itself, to account for.</p> +<p>“Four of my speckled Sussex have been killed,” he +exclaimed; “the very four that were to go to the show on +Friday. One of them was dragged away and eaten right in the +middle of that new carnation bed that I’ve been to such +trouble and expense over. My best flower bed and my best +fowls singled out for destruction; it almost seems as if the +brute that did the deed had special knowledge how to be as +devastating as possible in a short space of time.”</p> +<p>“Was it a fox, do you think?” asked Amanda.</p> +<p>“Sounds more like a polecat,” said Sir +Lulworth.</p> +<p>“No,” said Egbert, “there were marks of +webbed feet all over the place, and we followed the tracks down +to the stream at the bottom of the garden; evidently an +otter.”</p> +<p>Amanda looked quickly and furtively across at Sir +Lulworth.</p> +<p>Egbert was too agitated to eat any breakfast, and went out to +superintend the strengthening of the poultry yard defences.</p> +<p>“I think she might at least have waited till the funeral +was over,” said Amanda in a scandalised voice.</p> +<p>“It’s her own funeral, you know,” said Sir +Lulworth; “it’s a nice point in etiquette how far one +ought to show respect to one’s own mortal +remains.”</p> +<p>Disregard for mortuary convention was carried to further +lengths next day; during the absence of the family at the funeral +ceremony the remaining survivors of the speckled Sussex were +massacred. The marauder’s line of retreat seemed to +have embraced most of the flower beds on the lawn, but the +strawberry beds in the lower garden had also suffered.</p> +<p>“I shall get the otter hounds to come here at the +earliest possible moment,” said Egbert savagely.</p> +<p>“On no account! You can’t dream of such a +thing!” exclaimed Amanda. “I mean, it +wouldn’t do, so soon after a funeral in the +house.”</p> +<p>“It’s a case of necessity,” said Egbert; +“once an otter takes to that sort of thing it won’t +stop.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps it will go elsewhere now there are no more +fowls left,” suggested Amanda.</p> +<p>“One would think you wanted to shield the beast,” +said Egbert.</p> +<p>“There’s been so little water in the stream +lately,” objected Amanda; “it seems hardly sporting +to hunt an animal when it has so little chance of taking refuge +anywhere.”</p> +<p>“Good gracious!” fumed Egbert, “I’m +not thinking about sport. I want to have the animal killed +as soon as possible.”</p> +<p>Even Amanda’s opposition weakened when, during church +time on the following Sunday, the otter made its way into the +house, raided half a salmon from the larder and worried it into +scaly fragments on the Persian rug in Egbert’s studio.</p> +<p>“We shall have it hiding under our beds and biting +pieces out of our feet before long,” said Egbert, and from +what Amanda knew of this particular otter she felt that the +possibility was not a remote one.</p> +<p>On the evening preceding the day fixed for the hunt Amanda +spent a solitary hour walking by the banks of the stream, making +what she imagined to be hound noises. It was charitably +supposed by those who overheard her performance, that she was +practising for farmyard imitations at the forth-coming village +entertainment.</p> +<p>It was her friend and neighbour, Aurora Burret, who brought +her news of the day’s sport.</p> +<p>“Pity you weren’t out; we had quite a good +day. We found at once, in the pool just below your +garden.”</p> +<p>“Did you—kill?” asked Amanda.</p> +<p>“Rather. A fine she-otter. Your husband got +rather badly bitten in trying to ‘tail it.’ +Poor beast, I felt quite sorry for it, it had such a human look +in its eyes when it was killed. You’ll call me silly, +but do you know who the look reminded me of? My dear woman, +what is the matter?”</p> +<p>When Amanda had recovered to a certain extent from her attack +of nervous prostration Egbert took her to the Nile Valley to +recuperate. Change of scene speedily brought about the +desired recovery of health and mental balance. The +escapades of an adventurous otter in search of a variation of +diet were viewed in their proper light. Amanda’s +normally placid temperament reasserted itself. Even a +hurricane of shouted curses, coming from her husband’s +dressing-room, in her husband’s voice, but hardly in his +usual vocabulary, failed to disturb her serenity as she made a +leisurely toilet one evening in a Cairo hotel.</p> +<p>“What is the matter? What has happened?” she +asked in amused curiosity.</p> +<p>“The little beast has thrown all my clean shirts into +the bath! Wait till I catch you, you +little—”</p> +<p>“What little beast?” asked Amanda, suppressing a +desire to laugh; Egbert’s language was so hopelessly +inadequate to express his outraged feelings.</p> +<p>“A little beast of a naked brown Nubian boy,” +spluttered Egbert.</p> +<p>And now Amanda is seriously ill.</p> +<h2>THE BOAR-PIG</h2> +<p>“There is a back way on to the lawn,” said Mrs. +Philidore Stossen to her daughter, “through a small grass +paddock and then through a walled fruit garden full of gooseberry +bushes. I went all over the place last year when the family +were away. There is a door that opens from the fruit garden +into a shrubbery, and once we emerge from there we can mingle +with the guests as if we had come in by the ordinary way. +It’s much safer than going in by the front entrance and +running the risk of coming bang up against the hostess; that +would be so awkward when she doesn’t happen to have invited +us.”</p> +<p>“Isn’t it a lot of trouble to take for getting +admittance to a garden party?”</p> +<p>“To a garden party, yes; to <i>the</i> garden party of +the season, certainly not. Every one of any consequence in +the county, with the exception of ourselves, has been asked to +meet the Princess, and it would be far more troublesome to invent +explanations as to why we weren’t there than to get in by a +roundabout way. I stopped Mrs. Cuvering in the road +yesterday and talked very pointedly about the Princess. If +she didn’t choose to take the hint and send me an +invitation it’s not my fault, is it? Here we are: we +just cut across the grass and through that little gate into the +garden.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Stossen and her daughter, suitably arrayed for a county +garden party function with an infusion of Almanack de Gotha, +sailed through the narrow grass paddock and the ensuing +gooseberry garden with the air of state barges making an +unofficial progress along a rural trout stream. There was a +certain amount of furtive haste mingled with the stateliness of +their advance, as though hostile search-lights might be turned on +them at any moment; and, as a matter of fact, they were not +unobserved. Matilda Cuvering, with the alert eyes of +thirteen years old and the added advantage of an exalted position +in the branches of a medlar tree, had enjoyed a good view of the +Stossen flanking movement and had foreseen exactly where it would +break down in execution.</p> +<p>“They’ll find the door locked, and they’ll +jolly well have to go back the way they came,” she remarked +to herself. “Serves them right for not coming in by +the proper entrance. What a pity Tarquin Superbus +isn’t loose in the paddock. After all, as every one +else is enjoying themselves, I don’t see why Tarquin +shouldn’t have an afternoon out.”</p> +<p>Matilda was of an age when thought is action; she slid down +from the branches of the medlar tree, and when she clambered back +again Tarquin, the huge white Yorkshire boar-pig, had exchanged +the narrow limits of his stye for the wider range of the grass +paddock. The discomfited Stossen expedition, returning in +recriminatory but otherwise orderly retreat from the unyielding +obstacle of the locked door, came to a sudden halt at the gate +dividing the paddock from the gooseberry garden.</p> +<p>“What a villainous-looking animal,” exclaimed Mrs. +Stossen; “it wasn’t there when we came in.”</p> +<p>“It’s there now, anyhow,” said her +daughter. “What on earth are we to do? I wish +we had never come.”</p> +<p>The boar-pig had drawn nearer to the gate for a closer +inspection of the human intruders, and stood champing his jaws +and blinking his small red eyes in a manner that was doubtless +intended to be disconcerting, and, as far as the Stossens were +concerned, thoroughly achieved that result.</p> +<p>“Shoo! Hish! Hish! Shoo!” cried +the ladies in chorus.</p> +<p>“If they think they’re going to drive him away by +reciting lists of the kings of Israel and Judah they’re +laying themselves out for disappointment,” observed Matilda +from her seat in the medlar tree. As she made the +observation aloud Mrs. Stossen became for the first time aware of +her presence. A moment or two earlier she would have been +anything but pleased at the discovery that the garden was not as +deserted as it looked, but now she hailed the fact of the +child’s presence on the scene with absolute relief.</p> +<p>“Little girl, can you find some one to drive +away—” she began hopefully.</p> +<p>“<i>Comment</i>? <i>Comprends pas</i>,” was +the response.</p> +<p>“Oh, are you French? <i>Êtes vous +française</i>?”</p> +<p>“<i>Pas de tous</i>. <i>’Suis +anglaise</i>.”</p> +<p>“Then why not talk English? I want to know +if—”</p> +<p>“<i>Permettez-moi expliquer</i>. You see, +I’m rather under a cloud,” said Matilda. +“I’m staying with my aunt, and I was told I must +behave particularly well to-day, as lots of people were coming +for a garden party, and I was told to imitate Claude, +that’s my young cousin, who never does anything wrong +except by accident, and then is always apologetic about it. +It seems they thought I ate too much raspberry trifle at lunch, +and they said Claude never eats too much raspberry trifle. +Well, Claude always goes to sleep for half an hour after lunch, +because he’s told to, and I waited till he was asleep, and +tied his hands and started forcible feeding with a whole +bucketful of raspberry trifle that they were keeping for the +garden-party. Lots of it went on to his sailor-suit and +some of it on to the bed, but a good deal went down +Claude’s throat, and they can’t say again that he has +never been known to eat too much raspberry trifle. That is +why I am not allowed to go to the party, and as an additional +punishment I must speak French all the afternoon. +I’ve had to tell you all this in English, as there were +words like ‘forcible feeding’ that I didn’t +know the French for; of course I could have invented them, but if +I had said <i>nourriture obligatoire</i> you wouldn’t have +had the least idea what I was talking about. <i>Mais +maintenant</i>, <i>nous parlons français</i>.”</p> +<p>“Oh, very well, <i>trés bien</i>,” said +Mrs. Stossen reluctantly; in moments of flurry such French as she +knew was not under very good control. +“<i>Là</i>, <i>à l’autre +côté de la porte</i>, <i>est un +cochon</i>—”</p> +<p>“<i>Un cochon</i>? <i>Ah</i>, <i>le petit +charmant</i>!” exclaimed Matilda with enthusiasm.</p> +<p>“<i>Mais non</i>, <i>pas du tout petit</i>, <i>et pas du +tout charmant</i>; <i>un bête +féroce</i>—”</p> +<p>“<i>Une bête</i>,” corrected Matilda; +“a pig is masculine as long as you call it a pig, but if +you lose your temper with it and call it a ferocious beast it +becomes one of us at once. French is a dreadfully unsexing +language.”</p> +<p>“For goodness’ sake let us talk English +then,” said Mrs. Stossen. “Is there any way out +of this garden except through the paddock where the pig +is?”</p> +<p>“I always go over the wall, by way of the plum +tree,” said Matilda.</p> +<p>“Dressed as we are we could hardly do that,” said +Mrs. Stossen; it was difficult to imagine her doing it in any +costume.</p> +<p>“Do you think you could go and get some one who would +drive the pig away?” asked Miss Stossen.</p> +<p>“I promised my aunt I would stay here till five +o’clock; it’s not four yet.”</p> +<p>“I am sure, under the circumstances, your aunt would +permit—”</p> +<p>“My conscience would not permit,” said Matilda +with cold dignity.</p> +<p>“We can’t stay here till five +o’clock,” exclaimed Mrs. Stossen with growing +exasperation.</p> +<p>“Shall I recite to you to make the time pass +quicker?” asked Matilda obligingly. +“‘Belinda, the little Breadwinner,’ is +considered my best piece, or, perhaps, it ought to be something +in French. Henri Quatre’s address to his soldiers is +the only thing I really know in that language.”</p> +<p>“If you will go and fetch some one to drive that animal +away I will give you something to buy yourself a nice +present,” said Mrs. Stossen.</p> +<p>Matilda came several inches lower down the medlar tree.</p> +<p>“That is the most practical suggestion you have made yet +for getting out of the garden,” she remarked cheerfully; +“Claude and I are collecting money for the Children’s +Fresh Air Fund, and we are seeing which of us can collect the +biggest sum.”</p> +<p>“I shall be very glad to contribute half a crown, very +glad indeed,” said Mrs. Stossen, digging that coin out of +the depths of a receptacle which formed a detached outwork of her +toilet.</p> +<p>“Claude is a long way ahead of me at present,” +continued Matilda, taking no notice of the suggested offering; +“you see, he’s only eleven, and has golden hair, and +those are enormous advantages when you’re on the collecting +job. Only the other day a Russian lady gave him ten +shillings. Russians understand the art of giving far better +than we do. I expect Claude will net quite twenty-five +shillings this afternoon; he’ll have the field to himself, +and he’ll be able to do the pale, fragile, +not-long-for-this-world business to perfection after his +raspberry trifle experience. Yes, he’ll be +<i>quite</i> two pounds ahead of me by now.”</p> +<p>With much probing and plucking and many regretful murmurs the +beleaguered ladies managed to produce seven-and-sixpence between +them.</p> +<p>“I am afraid this is all we’ve got,” said +Mrs. Stossen.</p> +<p>Matilda showed no sign of coming down either to the earth or +to their figure.</p> +<p>“I could not do violence to my conscience for anything +less than ten shillings,” she announced stiffly.</p> +<p>Mother and daughter muttered certain remarks under their +breath, in which the word “beast” was prominent, and +probably had no reference to Tarquin.</p> +<p>“I find I <i>have</i> got another half-crown,” +said Mrs. Stossen in a shaking voice; “here you are. +Now please fetch some one quickly.”</p> +<p>Matilda slipped down from the tree, took possession of the +donation, and proceeded to pick up a handful of over-ripe medlars +from the grass at her feet. Then she climbed over the gate +and addressed herself affectionately to the boar-pig.</p> +<p>“Come, Tarquin, dear old boy; you know you can’t +resist medlars when they’re rotten and squashy.”</p> +<p>Tarquin couldn’t. By dint of throwing the fruit in +front of him at judicious intervals Matilda decoyed him back to +his stye, while the delivered captives hurried across the +paddock.</p> +<p>“Well, I never! The little minx!” exclaimed +Mrs. Stossen when she was safely on the high road. +“The animal wasn’t savage at all, and as for the ten +shillings, I don’t believe the Fresh Air Fund will see a +penny of it!”</p> +<p>There she was unwarrantably harsh in her judgment. If +you examine the books of the fund you will find the +acknowledgment: “Collected by Miss Matilda Cuvering, 2s. +6d.”</p> +<h2>THE BROGUE</h2> +<p>The hunting season had come to an end, and the Mullets had not +succeeded in selling the Brogue. There had been a kind of +tradition in the family for the past three or four years, a sort +of fatalistic hope, that the Brogue would find a purchaser before +the hunting was over; but seasons came and went without anything +happening to justify such ill-founded optimism. The animal +had been named Berserker in the earlier stages of its career; it +had been rechristened the Brogue later on, in recognition of the +fact that, once acquired, it was extremely difficult to get rid +of. The unkinder wits of the neighbourhood had been known +to suggest that the first letter of its name was +superfluous. The Brogue had been variously described in +sale catalogues as a light-weight hunter, a lady’s hack, +and, more simply, but still with a touch of imagination, as a +useful brown gelding, standing 15.1. Toby Mullet had ridden +him for four seasons with the West Wessex; you can ride almost +any sort of horse with the West Wessex as long as it is an animal +that knows the country. The Brogue knew the country +intimately, having personally created most of the gaps that were +to be met with in banks and hedges for many miles round. +His manners and characteristics were not ideal in the hunting +field, but he was probably rather safer to ride to hounds than he +was as a hack on country roads. According to the Mullet +family, he was not really road-shy, but there were one or two +objects of dislike that brought on sudden attacks of what Toby +called the swerving sickness. Motors and cycles he treated +with tolerant disregard, but pigs, wheelbarrows, piles of stones +by the roadside, perambulators in a village street, gates painted +too aggressively white, and sometimes, but not always, the newer +kind of beehives, turned him aside from his tracks in vivid +imitation of the zigzag course of forked lightning. If a +pheasant rose noisily from the other side of a hedgerow the +Brogue would spring into the air at the same moment, but this may +have been due to a desire to be companionable. The Mullet +family contradicted the widely prevalent report that the horse +was a confirmed crib-biter.</p> +<p>It was about the third week in May that Mrs. Mullet, relict of +the late Sylvester Mullet, and mother of Toby and a bunch of +daughters, assailed Clovis Sangrail on the outskirts of the +village with a breathless catalogue of local happenings.</p> +<p>“You know our new neighbour, Mr. Penricarde?” she +vociferated; “awfully rich, owns tin mines in Cornwall, +middle-aged and rather quiet. He’s taken the Red +House on a long lease and spent a lot of money on alterations and +improvements. Well, Toby’s sold him the +Brogue!”</p> +<p>Clovis spent a moment or two in assimilating the astonishing +news; then he broke out into unstinted congratulation. If +he had belonged to a more emotional race he would probably have +kissed Mrs. Mullet.</p> +<p>“How wonderfully lucky to have pulled it off at +last! Now you can buy a decent animal. I’ve +always said that Toby was clever. Ever so many +congratulations.”</p> +<p>“Don’t congratulate me. It’s the most +unfortunate thing that could have happened!” said Mrs. +Mullet dramatically.</p> +<p>Clovis stared at her in amazement.</p> +<p>“Mr. Penricarde,” said Mrs. Mullet, sinking her +voice to what she imagined to be an impressive whisper, though it +rather resembled a hoarse, excited squeak, “Mr. Penricarde +has just begun to pay attentions to Jessie. Slight at +first, but now unmistakable. I was a fool not to have seen +it sooner. Yesterday, at the Rectory garden party, he asked +her what her favourite flowers were, and she told him carnations, +and to-day a whole stack of carnations has arrived, clove and +malmaison and lovely dark red ones, regular exhibition blooms, +and a box of chocolates that he must have got on purpose from +London. And he’s asked her to go round the links with +him to-morrow. And now, just at this critical moment, Toby +has sold him that animal. It’s a calamity!”</p> +<p>“But you’ve been trying to get the horse off your +hands for years,” said Clovis.</p> +<p>“I’ve got a houseful of daughters,” said +Mrs. Mullet, “and I’ve been trying—well, not to +get them off my hands, of course, but a husband or two +wouldn’t be amiss among the lot of them; there are six of +them, you know.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” said Clovis, +“I’ve never counted, but I expect you’re right +as to the number; mothers generally know these things.”</p> +<p>“And now,” continued Mrs. Mullet, in her tragic +whisper, “when there’s a rich husband-in-prospect +imminent on the horizon Toby goes and sells him that miserable +animal. It will probably kill him if he tries to ride it; +anyway it will kill any affection he might have felt towards any +member of our family. What is to be done? We +can’t very well ask to have the horse back; you see, we +praised it up like anything when we thought there was a chance of +his buying it, and said it was just the animal to suit +him.”</p> +<p>“Couldn’t you steal it out of his stable and send +it to grass at some farm miles away?” suggested Clovis; +“write ‘Votes for Women’ on the stable door, +and the thing would pass for a Suffragette outrage. No one +who knew the horse could possibly suspect you of wanting to get +it back again.”</p> +<p>“Every newspaper in the country would ring with the +affair,” said Mrs. Mullet; “can’t you imagine +the headline, ‘Valuable Hunter Stolen by +Suffragettes’? The police would scour the countryside +till they found the animal.”</p> +<p>“Well, Jessie must try and get it back from Penricarde +on the plea that it’s an old favourite. She can say +it was only sold because the stable had to be pulled down under +the terms of an old repairing lease, and that now it has been +arranged that the stable is to stand for a couple of years +longer.”</p> +<p>“It sounds a queer proceeding to ask for a horse back +when you’ve just sold him,” said Mrs. Mullet, +“but something must be done, and done at once. The +man is not used to horses, and I believe I told him it was as +quiet as a lamb. After all, lambs go kicking and twisting +about as if they were demented, don’t they?”</p> +<p>“The lamb has an entirely unmerited character for +sedateness,” agreed Clovis.</p> +<p>Jessie came back from the golf links next day in a state of +mingled elation and concern.</p> +<p>“It’s all right about the proposal,” she +announced; “he came out with it at the sixth hole. I +said I must have time to think it over. I accepted him at +the seventh.”</p> +<p>“My dear,” said her mother, “I think a +little more maidenly reserve and hesitation would have been +advisable, as you’ve known him so short a time. You +might have waited till the ninth hole.”</p> +<p>“The seventh is a very long hole,” said Jessie; +“besides, the tension was putting us both off our +game. By the time we’d got to the ninth hole +we’d settled lots of things. The honeymoon is to be +spent in Corsica, with perhaps a flying visit to Naples if we +feel like it, and a week in London to wind up with. Two of +his nieces are to be asked to be bridesmaids, so with our lot +there will be seven, which is rather a lucky number. You +are to wear your pearl grey, with any amount of Honiton lace +jabbed into it. By the way, he’s coming over this +evening to ask your consent to the whole affair. So far +all’s well, but about the Brogue it’s a different +matter. I told him the legend about the stable, and how +keen we were about buying the horse back, but he seems equally +keen on keeping it. He said he must have horse exercise now +that he’s living in the country, and he’s going to +start riding to-morrow. He’s ridden a few times in +the Row, on an animal that was accustomed to carry octogenarians +and people undergoing rest cures, and that’s about all his +experience in the saddle—oh, and he rode a pony once in +Norfolk, when he was fifteen and the pony twenty-four; and +to-morrow he’s going to ride the Brogue! I shall be a +widow before I’m married, and I do so want to see what +Corsica’s like; it looks so silly on the map.”</p> +<p>Clovis was sent for in haste, and the developments of the +situation put before him.</p> +<p>“Nobody can ride that animal with any safety,” +said Mrs. Mullet, “except Toby, and he knows by long +experience what it is going to shy at, and manages to swerve at +the same time.”</p> +<p>“I did hint to Mr. Penricarde—to Vincent, I should +say—that the Brogue didn’t like white gates,” +said Jessie.</p> +<p>“White gates!” exclaimed Mrs. Mullet; “did +you mention what effect a pig has on him? He’ll have +to go past Lockyer’s farm to get to the high road, and +there’s sure to be a pig or two grunting about in the +lane.”</p> +<p>“He’s taken rather a dislike to turkeys +lately,” said Toby.</p> +<p>“It’s obvious that Penricarde mustn’t be +allowed to go out on that animal,” said Clovis, “at +least not till Jessie has married him, and tired of him. I +tell you what: ask him to a picnic to-morrow, starting at an +early hour; he’s not the sort to go out for a ride before +breakfast. The day after I’ll get the rector to drive +him over to Crowleigh before lunch, to see the new cottage +hospital they’re building there. The Brogue will be +standing idle in the stable and Toby can offer to exercise it; +then it can pick up a stone or something of the sort and go +conveniently lame. If you hurry on the wedding a bit the +lameness fiction can be kept up till the ceremony is safely +over.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Mullet belonged to an emotional race, and she kissed +Clovis.</p> +<p>It was nobody’s fault that the rain came down in +torrents the next morning, making a picnic a fantastic +impossibility. It was also nobody’s fault, but sheer +ill-luck, that the weather cleared up sufficiently in the +afternoon to tempt Mr. Penricarde to make his first essay with +the Brogue. They did not get as far as the pigs at +Lockyer’s farm; the rectory gate was painted a dull +unobtrusive green, but it had been white a year or two ago, and +the Brogue never forgot that he had been in the habit of making a +violent curtsey, a back-pedal and a swerve at this particular +point of the road. Subsequently, there being apparently no +further call on his services, he broke his way into the rectory +orchard, where he found a hen turkey in a coop; later visitors to +the orchard found the coop almost intact, but very little left of +the turkey.</p> +<p>Mr. Penricarde, a little stunned and shaken, and suffering +from a bruised knee and some minor damages, good-naturedly +ascribed the accident to his own inexperience with horses and +country roads, and allowed Jessie to nurse him back into complete +recovery and golf-fitness within something less than a week.</p> +<p>In the list of wedding presents which the local newspaper +published a fortnight or so later appeared the following +item:</p> +<p>“Brown saddle-horse, ‘The Brogue,’ +bridegroom’s gift to bride.”</p> +<p>“Which shows,” said Toby Mullet, “that he +knew nothing.”</p> +<p>“Or else,” said Clovis, “that he has a very +pleasing wit.”</p> +<h2>THE HEN</h2> +<p>“Dora Bittholz is coming on Thursday,” said Mrs. +Sangrail.</p> +<p>“This next Thursday?” asked Clovis</p> +<p>His mother nodded.</p> +<p>“You’ve rather done it, haven’t you?” +he chuckled; “Jane Martlet has only been here five days, +and she never stays less than a fortnight, even when she’s +asked definitely for a week. You’ll never get her out +of the house by Thursday.”</p> +<p>“Why should I?” asked Mrs. Sangrail; “she +and Dora are good friends, aren’t they? They used to +be, as far as I remember.”</p> +<p>“They used to be; that’s what makes them all the +more bitter now. Each feels that she has nursed a viper in +her bosom. Nothing fans the flame of human resentment so +much as the discovery that one’s bosom has been utilised as +a snake sanatorium.”</p> +<p>“But what has happened? Has some one been making +mischief?”</p> +<p>“Not exactly,” said Clovis; “a hen came +between them.”</p> +<p>“A hen? What hen?”</p> +<p>“It was a bronze Leghorn or some such exotic breed, and +Dora sold it to Jane at a rather exotic price. They both go +in for prize poultry, you know, and Jane thought she was going to +get her money back in a large family of pedigree chickens. +The bird turned out to be an abstainer from the egg habit, and +I’m told that the letters which passed between the two +women were a revelation as to how much invective could be got on +to a sheet of notepaper.”</p> +<p>“How ridiculous!” said Mrs. Sangrail. +“Couldn’t some of their friends compose the +quarrel?”</p> +<p>“People tried,” said Clovis, “but it must +have been rather like composing the storm music of the +‘Fliegende Holländer.’ Jane was willing to +take back some of her most libellous remarks if Dora would take +back the hen, but Dora said that would be owning herself in the +wrong, and you know she’d as soon think of owning slum +property in Whitechapel as do that.”</p> +<p>“It’s a most awkward situation,” said Mrs. +Sangrail. “Do you suppose they won’t speak to +one another?”</p> +<p>“On the contrary, the difficulty will be to get them to +leave off. Their remarks on each other’s conduct and +character have hitherto been governed by the fact that only four +ounces of plain speaking can be sent through the post for a +penny.”</p> +<p>“I can’t put Dora off,” said Mrs. +Sangrail. “I’ve already postponed her visit +once, and nothing short of a miracle would make Jane leave before +her self-allotted fortnight is over.”</p> +<p>“Miracles are rather in my line,” said +Clovis. “I don’t pretend to be very hopeful in +this case but I’ll do my best.”</p> +<p>“As long as you don’t drag me into +it—” stipulated his mother.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>“Servants are a bit of a nuisance,” muttered +Clovis, as he sat in the smoking-room after lunch, talking +fitfully to Jane Martlet in the intervals of putting together the +materials of a cocktail, which he had irreverently patented under +the name of an Ella Wheeler Wilcox. It was partly +compounded of old brandy and partly of curaçoa; there were +other ingredients, but they were never indiscriminately +revealed.</p> +<p>“Servants a nuisance!” exclaimed Jane, bounding +into the topic with the exuberant plunge of a hunter when it +leaves the high road and feels turf under its hoofs; “I +should think they were! The trouble I’ve had in +getting suited this year you would hardly believe. But I +don’t see what you have to complain of—your mother is +so wonderfully lucky in her servants. Sturridge, for +instance—he’s been with you for years, and I’m +sure he’s a paragon as butlers go.”</p> +<p>“That’s just the trouble,” said +Clovis. “It’s when servants have been with you +for years that they become a really serious nuisance. The +‘here to-day and gone to-morrow’ sort don’t +matter—you’ve simply got to replace them; it’s +the stayers and the paragons that are the real worry.”</p> +<p>“But if they give satisfaction—”</p> +<p>“That doesn’t prevent them from giving +trouble. Now, you’ve mentioned Sturridge—it was +Sturridge I was particularly thinking of when I made the +observation about servants being a nuisance.”</p> +<p>“The excellent Sturridge a nuisance! I can’t +believe it.”</p> +<p>“I know he’s excellent, and we just couldn’t +get along without him; he’s the one reliable element in +this rather haphazard household. But his very orderliness +has had an effect on him. Have you ever considered what it +must be like to go on unceasingly doing the correct thing in the +correct manner in the same surroundings for the greater part of a +lifetime? To know and ordain and superintend exactly what +silver and glass and table linen shall be used and set out on +what occasions, to have cellar and pantry and plate-cupboard +under a minutely devised and undeviating administration, to be +noiseless, impalpable, omnipresent, and, as far as your own +department is concerned, omniscient?”</p> +<p>“I should go mad,” said Jane with conviction.</p> +<p>“Exactly,” said Clovis thoughtfully, swallowing +his completed Ella Wheeler Wilcox.</p> +<p>“But Sturridge hasn’t gone mad,” said Jane +with a flutter of inquiry in her voice.</p> +<p>“On most points he’s thoroughly sane and +reliable,” said Clovis, “but at times he is subject +to the most obstinate delusions, and on those occasions he +becomes not merely a nuisance but a decided +embarrassment.”</p> +<p>“What sort of delusions?”</p> +<p>“Unfortunately they usually centre round one of the +guests of the house party, and that is where the awkwardness +comes in. For instance, he took it into his head that +Matilda Sheringham was the Prophet Elijah, and as all that he +remembered about Elijah’s history was the episode of the +ravens in the wilderness he absolutely declined to interfere with +what he imagined to be Matilda’s private catering +arrangements, wouldn’t allow any tea to be sent up to her +in the morning, and if he was waiting at table he passed her over +altogether in handing round the dishes.”</p> +<p>“How very unpleasant. Whatever did you do about +it?”</p> +<p>“Oh, Matilda got fed, after a fashion, but it was judged +to be best for her to cut her visit short. It was really +the only thing to be done,” said Clovis with some +emphasis.</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t have done that,” said Jane, +“I should have humoured him in some way. I certainly +shouldn’t have gone away.”</p> +<p>Clovis frowned.</p> +<p>“It is not always wise to humour people when they get +these ideas into their heads. There’s no knowing to +what lengths they may go if you encourage them.”</p> +<p>“You don’t mean to say he might be dangerous, do +you?” asked Jane with some anxiety.</p> +<p>“One can never be certain,” said Clovis; +“now and then he gets some idea about a guest which might +take an unfortunate turn. That is precisely what is +worrying me at the present moment.”</p> +<p>“What, has he taken a fancy about some one here +now?” asked Jane excitedly; “how thrilling! Do +tell me who it is.”</p> +<p>“You,” said Clovis briefly.</p> +<p>“Me?”</p> +<p>Clovis nodded.</p> +<p>“Who on earth does he think I am?”</p> +<p>“Queen Anne,” was the unexpected answer.</p> +<p>“Queen Anne! What an idea. But, anyhow, +there’s nothing dangerous about her; she’s such a +colourless personality.”</p> +<p>“What does posterity chiefly say about Queen +Anne?” asked Clovis rather sternly.</p> +<p>“The only thing that I can remember about her,” +said Jane, “is the saying ‘Queen Anne’s +dead.’”</p> +<p>“Exactly,” said Clovis, staring at the glass that +had held the Ella Wheeler Wilcox, “dead.”</p> +<p>“Do you mean he takes me for the ghost of Queen +Anne?” asked Jane.</p> +<p>“Ghost? Dear no. No one ever heard of a +ghost that came down to breakfast and ate kidneys and toast and +honey with a healthy appetite. No, it’s the fact of +you being so very much alive and flourishing that perplexes and +annoys him. All his life he has been accustomed to look on +Queen Anne as the personification of everything that is dead and +done with, ‘as dead as Queen Anne,’ you know; and now +he has to fill your glass at lunch and dinner and listen to your +accounts of the gay time you had at the Dublin Horse Show, and +naturally he feels that something’s very wrong with +you.”</p> +<p>“But he wouldn’t be downright hostile to me on +that account, would he?” Jane asked anxiously.</p> +<p>“I didn’t get really alarmed about it till lunch +to-day,” said Clovis; “I caught him glowering at you +with a very sinister look and muttering: ‘Ought to be dead +long ago, she ought, and some one should see to it.’ +That’s why I mentioned the matter to you.”</p> +<p>“This is awful,” said Jane; “your mother +must be told about it at once.”</p> +<p>“My mother mustn’t hear a word about it,” +said Clovis earnestly; “it would upset her +dreadfully. She relies on Sturridge for +everything.”</p> +<p>“But he might kill me at any moment,” protested +Jane.</p> +<p>“Not at any moment; he’s busy with the silver all +the afternoon.”</p> +<p>“You’ll have to keep a sharp look-out all the time +and be on your guard to frustrate any murderous attack,” +said Jane, adding in a tone of weak obstinacy: “It’s +a dreadful situation to be in, with a mad butler dangling over +you like the sword of What’s-his-name, but I’m +certainly not going to cut my visit short.”</p> +<p>Clovis swore horribly under his breath; the miracle was an +obvious misfire.</p> +<p>It was in the hall the next morning after a late breakfast +that Clovis had his final inspiration as he stood engaged in +coaxing rust spots from an old putter.</p> +<p>“Where is Miss Martlet?” he asked the butler, who +was at that moment crossing the hall.</p> +<p>“Writing letters in the morning-room, sir,” said +Sturridge, announcing a fact of which his questioner was already +aware.</p> +<p>“She wants to copy the inscription on that old +basket-hilted sabre,” said Clovis, pointing to a venerable +weapon hanging on the wall. “I wish you’d take +it to her; my hands are all over oil. Take it without the +sheath, it will be less trouble.”</p> +<p>The butler drew the blade, still keen and bright in its +well-cared for old age, and carried it into the +morning-room. There was a door near the writing-table +leading to a back stairway; Jane vanished through it with such +lightning rapidity that the butler doubted whether she had seen +him come in. Half an hour later Clovis was driving her and +her hastily-packed luggage to the station.</p> +<p>“Mother will be awfully vexed when she comes back from +her ride and finds you have gone,” he observed to the +departing guest, “but I’ll make up some story about +an urgent wire having called you away. It wouldn’t do +to alarm her unnecessarily about Sturridge.”</p> +<p>Jane sniffed slightly at Clovis’ ideas of unnecessary +alarm, and was almost rude to the young man who came round with +thoughtful inquiries as to luncheon-baskets.</p> +<p>The miracle lost some of its usefulness from the fact that +Dora wrote the same day postponing the date of her visit, but, at +any rate, Clovis holds the record as the only human being who +ever hustled Jane Martlet out of the time-table of her +migrations.</p> +<h2>THE OPEN WINDOW</h2> +<p>“My aunt will be down presently, Mr. Nuttel,” said +a very self-possessed young lady of fifteen; “in the +meantime you must try and put up with me.”</p> +<p>Framton Nuttel endeavoured to say the correct something which +should duly flatter the niece of the moment without unduly +discounting the aunt that was to come. Privately he doubted +more than ever whether these formal visits on a succession of +total strangers would do much towards helping the nerve cure +which he was supposed to be undergoing.</p> +<p>“I know how it will be,” his sister had said when +he was preparing to migrate to this rural retreat; “you +will bury yourself down there and not speak to a living soul, and +your nerves will be worse than ever from moping. I shall +just give you letters of introduction to all the people I know +there. Some of them, as far as I can remember, were quite +nice.”</p> +<p>Framton wondered whether Mrs. Sappleton, the lady to whom he +was presenting one of the letters of introduction, came into the +nice division.</p> +<p>“Do you know many of the people round here?” asked +the niece, when she judged that they had had sufficient silent +communion.</p> +<p>“Hardly a soul,” said Framton. “My +sister was staying here, at the rectory, you know, some four +years ago, and she gave me letters of introduction to some of the +people here.”</p> +<p>He made the last statement in a tone of distinct regret.</p> +<p>“Then you know practically nothing about my aunt?” +pursued the self-possessed young lady.</p> +<p>“Only her name and address,” admitted the +caller. He was wondering whether Mrs. Sappleton was in the +married or widowed state. An undefinable something about +the room seemed to suggest masculine habitation.</p> +<p>“Her great tragedy happened just three years ago,” +said the child; “that would be since your sister’s +time.”</p> +<p>“Her tragedy?” asked Framton; somehow in this +restful country spot tragedies seemed out of place.</p> +<p>“You may wonder why we keep that window wide open on an +October afternoon,” said the niece, indicating a large +French window that opened on to a lawn.</p> +<p>“It is quite warm for the time of the year,” said +Framton; “but has that window got anything to do with the +tragedy?”</p> +<p>“Out through that window, three years ago to a day, her +husband and her two young brothers went off for their day’s +shooting. They never came back. In crossing the moor +to their favourite snipe-shooting ground they were all three +engulfed in a treacherous piece of bog. It had been that +dreadful wet summer, you know, and places that were safe in other +years gave way suddenly without warning. Their bodies were +never recovered. That was the dreadful part of +it.” Here the child’s voice lost its +self-possessed note and became falteringly human. +“Poor aunt always thinks that they will come back some day, +they and the little brown spaniel that was lost with them, and +walk in at that window just as they used to do. That is why +the window is kept open every evening till it is quite +dusk. Poor dear aunt, she has often told me how they went +out, her husband with his white waterproof coat over his arm, and +Ronnie, her youngest brother, singing ‘Bertie, why do you +bound?’ as he always did to tease her, because she said it +got on her nerves. Do you know, sometimes on still, quiet +evenings like this, I almost get a creepy feeling that they will +all walk in through that window—”</p> +<p>She broke off with a little shudder. It was a relief to +Framton when the aunt bustled into the room with a whirl of +apologies for being late in making her appearance.</p> +<p>“I hope Vera has been amusing you?” she said.</p> +<p>“She has been very interesting,” said Framton.</p> +<p>“I hope you don’t mind the open window,” +said Mrs. Sappleton briskly; “my husband and brothers will +be home directly from shooting, and they always come in this +way. They’ve been out for snipe in the marshes +to-day, so they’ll make a fine mess over my poor +carpets. So like you men-folk, isn’t it?”</p> +<p>She rattled on cheerfully about the shooting and the scarcity +of birds, and the prospects for duck in the winter. To +Framton it was all purely horrible. He made a desperate but +only partially successful effort to turn the talk on to a less +ghastly topic; he was conscious that his hostess was giving him +only a fragment of her attention, and her eyes were constantly +straying past him to the open window and the lawn beyond. +It was certainly an unfortunate coincidence that he should have +paid his visit on this tragic anniversary.</p> +<p>“The doctors agree in ordering me complete rest, an +absence of mental excitement, and avoidance of anything in the +nature of violent physical exercise,” announced Framton, +who laboured under the tolerably widespread delusion that total +strangers and chance acquaintances are hungry for the least +detail of one’s ailments and infirmities, their cause and +cure. “On the matter of diet they are not so much in +agreement,” he continued.</p> +<p>“No?” said Mrs. Sappleton, in a voice which only +replaced a yawn at the last moment. Then she suddenly +brightened into alert attention—but not to what Framton was +saying.</p> +<p>“Here they are at last!” she cried. +“Just in time for tea, and don’t they look as if they +were muddy up to the eyes!”</p> +<p>Framton shivered slightly and turned towards the niece with a +look intended to convey sympathetic comprehension. The +child was staring out through the open window with dazed horror +in her eyes. In a chill shock of nameless fear Framton +swung round in his seat and looked in the same direction.</p> +<p>In the deepening twilight three figures were walking across +the lawn towards the window; they all carried guns under their +arms, and one of them was additionally burdened with a white coat +hung over his shoulders. A tired brown spaniel kept close +at their heels. Noiselessly they neared the house, and then +a hoarse young voice chanted out of the dusk: “I said, +Bertie, why do you bound?”</p> +<p>Framton grabbed wildly at his stick and hat; the hall-door, +the gravel-drive, and the front gate were dimly-noted stages in +his headlong retreat. A cyclist coming along the road had +to run into the hedge to avoid an imminent collision.</p> +<p>“Here we are, my dear,” said the bearer of the +white mackintosh, coming in through the window; “fairly +muddy, but most of it’s dry. Who was that who bolted +out as we came up?”</p> +<p>“A most extraordinary man, a Mr. Nuttel,” said +Mrs. Sappleton; “could only talk about his illnesses, and +dashed off without a word of good-bye or apology when you +arrived. One would think he had seen a ghost.”</p> +<p>“I expect it was the spaniel,” said the niece +calmly; “he told me he had a horror of dogs. He was +once hunted into a cemetery somewhere on the banks of the Ganges +by a pack of pariah dogs, and had to spend the night in a newly +dug grave with the creatures snarling and grinning and foaming +just above him. Enough to make anyone lose their +nerve.”</p> +<p>Romance at short notice was her speciality.</p> +<h2>THE TREASURE SHIP</h2> +<p>The great galleon lay in semi-retirement under the sand and +weed and water of the northern bay where the fortune of war and +weather had long ago ensconced it. Three and a quarter +centuries had passed since the day when it had taken the high +seas as an important unit of a fighting squadron—precisely +which squadron the learned were not agreed. The galleon had +brought nothing into the world, but it had, according to +tradition and report, taken much out of it. But how +much? There again the learned were in disagreement. +Some were as generous in their estimate as an income-tax +assessor, others applied a species of higher criticism to the +submerged treasure chests, and debased their contents to the +currency of goblin gold. Of the former school was Lulu, +Duchess of Dulverton.</p> +<p>The Duchess was not only a believer in the existence of a +sunken treasure of alluring proportions; she also believed that +she knew of a method by which the said treasure might be +precisely located and cheaply disembedded. An aunt on her +mother’s side of the family had been Maid of Honour at the +Court of Monaco, and had taken a respectful interest in the +deep-sea researches in which the Throne of that country, +impatient perhaps of its terrestrial restrictions, was wont to +immerse itself. It was through the instrumentality of this +relative that the Duchess learned of an invention, perfected and +very nearly patented by a Monegaskan savant, by means of which +the home-life of the Mediterranean sardine might be studied at a +depth of many fathoms in a cold white light of more than +ball-room brilliancy. Implicated in this invention (and, in +the Duchess’s eyes, the most attractive part of it) was an +electric suction dredge, specially designed for dragging to the +surface such objects of interest and value as might be found in +the more accessible levels of the ocean-bed. The rights of +the invention were to be acquired for a matter of eighteen +hundred francs, and the apparatus for a few thousand more. +The Duchess of Dulverton was rich, as the world counted wealth; +she nursed the hope, of being one day rich at her own +computation. Companies had been formed and efforts had been +made again and again during the course of three centuries to +probe for the alleged treasures of the interesting galleon; with +the aid of this invention she considered that she might go to +work on the wreck privately and independently. After all, +one of her ancestors on her mother’s side was descended +from Medina Sidonia, so she was of opinion that she had as much +right to the treasure as anyone. She acquired the invention +and bought the apparatus.</p> +<p>Among other family ties and encumbrances, Lulu possessed a +nephew, Vasco Honiton, a young gentleman who was blessed with a +small income and a large circle of relatives, and lived +impartially and precariously on both. The name Vasco had +been given him possibly in the hope that he might live up to its +adventurous tradition, but he limited himself strictly to the +home industry of adventurer, preferring to exploit the assured +rather than to explore the unknown. Lulu’s +intercourse with him had been restricted of recent years to the +negative processes of being out of town when he called on her, +and short of money when he wrote to her. Now, however, she +bethought herself of his eminent suitability for the direction of +a treasure-seeking experiment; if anyone could extract gold from +an unpromising situation it would certainly be Vasco—of +course, under the necessary safeguards in the way of +supervision. Where money was in question Vasco’s +conscience was liable to fits of obstinate silence.</p> +<p>Somewhere on the west coast of Ireland the Dulverton property +included a few acres of shingle, rock, and heather, too barren to +support even an agrarian outrage, but embracing a small and +fairly deep bay where the lobster yield was good in most +seasons. There was a bleak little house on the property, +and for those who liked lobsters and solitude, and were able to +accept an Irish cook’s ideas as to what might be +perpetrated in the name of mayonnaise, Innisgluther was a +tolerable exile during the summer months. Lulu seldom went +there herself, but she lent the house lavishly to friends and +relations. She put it now at Vasco’s disposal.</p> +<p>“It will be the very place to practise and experiment +with the salvage apparatus,” she said; “the bay is +quite deep in places, and you will be able to test everything +thoroughly before starting on the treasure hunt.”</p> +<p>In less than three weeks Vasco turned up in town to report +progress.</p> +<p>“The apparatus works beautifully,” he informed his +aunt; “the deeper one got the clearer everything +grew. We found something in the way of a sunken wreck to +operate on, too!”</p> +<p>“A wreck in Innisgluther Bay!” exclaimed Lulu.</p> +<p>“A submerged motor-boat, the <i>Sub-Rosa</i>,” +said Vasco.</p> +<p>“No! really?” said Lulu; “poor Billy +Yuttley’s boat. I remember it went down somewhere off +that coast some three years ago. His body was washed ashore +at the Point. People said at the time that the boat was +capsized intentionally—a case of suicide, you know. +People always say that sort of thing when anything tragic +happens.”</p> +<p>“In this case they were right,” said Vasco.</p> +<p>“What do you mean?” asked the Duchess +hurriedly. “What makes you think so?”</p> +<p>“I know,” said Vasco simply.</p> +<p>“Know? How can you know? How can anyone +know? The thing happened three years ago.”</p> +<p>“In a locker of the <i>Sub-Rosa</i> I found a +water-tight strong-box. It contained papers.” +Vasco paused with dramatic effect and searched for a moment in +the inner breast-pocket of his coat. He drew out a folded +slip of paper. The Duchess snatched at it in almost +indecent haste and moved appreciably nearer the fireplace.</p> +<p>“Was this in the <i>Sub-Rosa’s</i> +strong-box?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Oh no,” said Vasco carelessly, “that is a +list of the well-known people who would be involved in a very +disagreeable scandal if the <i>Sub-Rosa’s</i> papers were +made public. I’ve put you at the head of it, +otherwise it follows alphabetical order.”</p> +<p>The Duchess gazed helplessly at the string of names, which +seemed for the moment to include nearly every one she knew. +As a matter of fact, her own name at the head of the list +exercised an almost paralysing effect on her thinking +faculties.</p> +<p>“Of course you have destroyed the papers?” she +asked, when she had somewhat recovered herself. She was +conscious that she made the remark with an entire lack of +conviction.</p> +<p>Vasco shook his head.</p> +<p>“But you should have,” said Lulu angrily; +“if, as you say, they are highly +compromising—”</p> +<p>“Oh, they are, I assure you of that,” interposed +the young man.</p> +<p>“Then you should put them out of harm’s way at +once. Supposing anything should leak out, think of all +these poor, unfortunate people who would be involved in the +disclosures,” and Lulu tapped the list with an agitated +gesture.</p> +<p>“Unfortunate, perhaps, but not poor,” corrected +Vasco; “if you read the list carefully you’ll notice +that I haven’t troubled to include anyone whose financial +standing isn’t above question.”</p> +<p>Lulu glared at her nephew for some moments in silence. +Then she asked hoarsely: “What are you going to +do?”</p> +<p>“Nothing—for the remainder of my life,” he +answered meaningly. “A little hunting, +perhaps,” he continued, “and I shall have a villa at +Florence. The Villa Sub-Rosa would sound rather quaint and +picturesque, don’t you think, and quite a lot of people +would be able to attach a meaning to the name. And I +suppose I must have a hobby; I shall probably collect +Raeburns.”</p> +<p>Lulu’s relative, who lived at the Court of Monaco, got +quite a snappish answer when she wrote recommending some further +invention in the realm of marine research.</p> +<h2>THE COBWEB</h2> +<p>The farmhouse kitchen probably stood where it did as a matter +of accident or haphazard choice; yet its situation might have +been planned by a master-strategist in farmhouse +architecture. Dairy and poultry-yard, and herb garden, and +all the busy places of the farm seemed to lead by easy access +into its wide flagged haven, where there was room for everything +and where muddy boots left traces that were easily swept +away. And yet, for all that it stood so well in the centre +of human bustle, its long, latticed window, with the wide +window-seat, built into an embrasure beyond the huge fireplace, +looked out on a wild spreading view of hill and heather and +wooded combe. The window nook made almost a little room in +itself, quite the pleasantest room in the farm as far as +situation and capabilities went. Young Mrs. Ladbruk, whose +husband had just come into the farm by way of inheritance, cast +covetous eyes on this snug corner, and her fingers itched to make +it bright and cosy with chintz curtains and bowls of flowers, and +a shelf or two of old china. The musty farm parlour, +looking out on to a prim, cheerless garden imprisoned within +high, blank walls, was not a room that lent itself readily either +to comfort or decoration.</p> +<p>“When we are more settled I shall work wonders in the +way of making the kitchen habitable,” said the young woman +to her occasional visitors. There was an unspoken wish in +those words, a wish which was unconfessed as well as +unspoken. Emma Ladbruk was the mistress of the farm; +jointly with her husband she might have her say, and to a certain +extent her way, in ordering its affairs. But she was not +mistress of the kitchen.</p> +<p>On one of the shelves of an old dresser, in company with +chipped sauce-boats, pewter jugs, cheese-graters, and paid bills, +rested a worn and ragged Bible, on whose front page was the +record, in faded ink, of a baptism dated ninety-four years +ago. “Martha Crale” was the name written on +that yellow page. The yellow, wrinkled old dame who hobbled +and muttered about the kitchen, looking like a dead autumn leaf +which the winter winds still pushed hither and thither, had once +been Martha Crale; for seventy odd years she had been Martha +Mountjoy. For longer than anyone could remember she had +pattered to and fro between oven and wash-house and dairy, and +out to chicken-run and garden, grumbling and muttering and +scolding, but working unceasingly. Emma Ladbruk, of whose +coming she took as little notice as she would of a bee wandering +in at a window on a summer’s day, used at first to watch +her with a kind of frightened curiosity. She was so old and +so much a part of the place, it was difficult to think of her +exactly as a living thing. Old Shep, the white-nozzled, +stiff-limbed collie, waiting for his time to die, seemed almost +more human than the withered, dried-up old woman. He had +been a riotous, roystering puppy, mad with the joy of life, when +she was already a tottering, hobbling dame; now he was just a +blind, breathing carcase, nothing more, and she still worked with +frail energy, still swept and baked and washed, fetched and +carried. If there were something in these wise old dogs +that did not perish utterly with death, Emma used to think to +herself, what generations of ghost-dogs there must be out on +those hills, that Martha had reared and fed and tended and spoken +a last good-bye word to in that old kitchen. And what +memories she must have of human generations that had passed away +in her time. It was difficult for anyone, let alone a +stranger like Emma, to get her to talk of the days that had been; +her shrill, quavering speech was of doors that had been left +unfastened, pails that had got mislaid, calves whose feeding-time +was overdue, and the various little faults and lapses that +chequer a farmhouse routine. Now and again, when election +time came round, she would unstore her recollections of the old +names round which the fight had waged in the days gone by. +There had been a Palmerston, that had been a name down Tiverton +way; Tiverton was not a far journey as the crow flies, but to +Martha it was almost a foreign country. Later there had +been Northcotes and Aclands, and many other newer names that she +had forgotten; the names changed, but it was always Libruls and +Toories, Yellows and Blues. And they always quarrelled and +shouted as to who was right and who was wrong. The one they +quarrelled about most was a fine old gentleman with an angry +face—she had seen his picture on the walls. She had +seen it on the floor too, with a rotten apple squashed over it, +for the farm had changed its politics from time to time. +Martha had never been on one side or the other; none of +“they” had ever done the farm a stroke of good. +Such was her sweeping verdict, given with all a peasant’s +distrust of the outside world.</p> +<p>When the half-frightened curiosity had somewhat faded away, +Emma Ladbruk was uncomfortably conscious of another feeling +towards the old woman. She was a quaint old tradition, +lingering about the place, she was part and parcel of the farm +itself, she was something at once pathetic and +picturesque—but she was dreadfully in the way. Emma +had come to the farm full of plans for little reforms and +improvements, in part the result of training in the newest ways +and methods, in part the outcome of her own ideas and +fancies. Reforms in the kitchen region, if those deaf old +ears could have been induced to give them even a hearing, would +have met with short shrift and scornful rejection, and the +kitchen region spread over the zone of dairy and market business +and half the work of the household. Emma, with the latest +science of dead-poultry dressing at her finger-tips, sat by, an +unheeded watcher, while old Martha trussed the chickens for the +market-stall as she had trussed them for nearly fourscore +years—all leg and no breast. And the hundred hints +anent effective cleaning and labour-lightening and the things +that make for wholesomeness which the young woman was ready to +impart or to put into action dropped away into nothingness before +that wan, muttering, unheeding presence. Above all, the +coveted window corner, that was to be a dainty, cheerful oasis in +the gaunt old kitchen, stood now choked and lumbered with a +litter of odds and ends that Emma, for all her nominal authority, +would not have dared or cared to displace; over them seemed to be +spun the protection of something that was like a human +cobweb. Decidedly Martha was in the way. It would +have been an unworthy meanness to have wished to see the span of +that brave old life shortened by a few paltry months, but as the +days sped by Emma was conscious that the wish was there, disowned +though it might be, lurking at the back of her mind.</p> +<p>She felt the meanness of the wish come over her with a qualm +of self-reproach one day when she came into the kitchen and found +an unaccustomed state of things in that usually busy +quarter. Old Martha was not working. A basket of corn +was on the floor by her side, and out in the yard the poultry +were beginning to clamour a protest of overdue +feeding-time. But Martha sat huddled in a shrunken bunch on +the window seat, looking out with her dim old eyes as though she +saw something stranger than the autumn landscape.</p> +<p>“Is anything the matter, Martha?” asked the young +woman.</p> +<p>“’Tis death, ’tis death a-coming,” +answered the quavering voice; “I knew ’twere +coming. I knew it. ’Tweren’t for nothing +that old Shep’s been howling all morning. An’ +last night I heard the screech-owl give the death-cry, and there +were something white as run across the yard yesterday; +’tweren’t a cat nor a stoat, ’twere +something. The fowls knew ’twere something; they all +drew off to one side. Ay, there’s been +warnings. I knew it were a-coming.”</p> +<p>The young woman’s eyes clouded with pity. The old +thing sitting there so white and shrunken had once been a merry, +noisy child, playing about in lanes and hay-lofts and farmhouse +garrets; that had been eighty odd years ago, and now she was just +a frail old body cowering under the approaching chill of the +death that was coming at last to take her. It was not +probable that much could be done for her, but Emma hastened away +to get assistance and counsel. Her husband, she knew, was +down at a tree-felling some little distance off, but she might +find some other intelligent soul who knew the old woman better +than she did. The farm, she soon found out, had that +faculty common to farmyards of swallowing up and losing its human +population. The poultry followed her in interested fashion, +and swine grunted interrogations at her from behind the bars of +their styes, but barnyard and rickyard, orchard and stables and +dairy, gave no reward to her search. Then, as she retraced +her steps towards the kitchen, she came suddenly on her cousin, +young Mr. Jim, as every one called him, who divided his time +between amateur horse-dealing, rabbit-shooting, and flirting with +the farm maids.</p> +<p>“I’m afraid old Martha is dying,” said +Emma. Jim was not the sort of person to whom one had to +break news gently.</p> +<p>“Nonsense,” he said; “Martha means to live +to a hundred. She told me so, and she’ll do +it.”</p> +<p>“She may be actually dying at this moment, or it may +just be the beginning of the break-up,” persisted Emma, +with a feeling of contempt for the slowness and dulness of the +young man.</p> +<p>A grin spread over his good-natured features.</p> +<p>“It don’t look like it,” he said, nodding +towards the yard. Emma turned to catch the meaning of his +remark. Old Martha stood in the middle of a mob of poultry +scattering handfuls of grain around her. The turkey-cock, +with the bronzed sheen of his feathers and the purple-red of his +wattles, the gamecock, with the glowing metallic lustre of his +Eastern plumage, the hens, with their ochres and buffs and umbers +and their scarlet combs, and the drakes, with their bottle-green +heads, made a medley of rich colour, in the centre of which the +old woman looked like a withered stalk standing amid a riotous +growth of gaily-hued flowers. But she threw the grain +deftly amid the wilderness of beaks, and her quavering voice +carried as far as the two people who were watching her. She +was still harping on the theme of death coming to the farm.</p> +<p>“I knew ’twere a-coming. There’s been +signs an’ warnings.”</p> +<p>“Who’s dead, then, old Mother?” called out +the young man.</p> +<p>“’Tis young Mister Ladbruk,” she shrilled +back; “they’ve just a-carried his body in. Run +out of the way of a tree that was coming down an’ ran +hisself on to an iron post. Dead when they picked un +up. Aye, I knew ’twere coming.”</p> +<p>And she turned to fling a handful of barley at a belated group +of guinea-fowl that came racing toward her.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>The farm was a family property, and passed to the +rabbit-shooting cousin as the next-of-kin. Emma Ladbruk +drifted out of its history as a bee that had wandered in at an +open window might flit its way out again. On a cold grey +morning she stood waiting, with her boxes already stowed in the +farm cart, till the last of the market produce should be ready, +for the train she was to catch was of less importance than the +chickens and butter and eggs that were to be offered for +sale. From where she stood she could see an angle of the +long latticed window that was to have been cosy with curtains and +gay with bowls of flowers. Into her mind came the thought +that for months, perhaps for years, long after she had been +utterly forgotten, a white, unheeding face would be seen peering +out through those latticed panes, and a weak muttering voice +would be heard quavering up and down those flagged +passages. She made her way to a narrow barred casement that +opened into the farm larder. Old Martha was standing at a +table trussing a pair of chickens for the market stall as she had +trussed them for nearly fourscore years.</p> +<h2>THE LULL</h2> +<p>“I’ve asked Latimer Springfield to spend Sunday +with us and stop the night,” announced Mrs. Durmot at the +breakfast-table.</p> +<p>“I thought he was in the throes of an election,” +remarked her husband.</p> +<p>“Exactly; the poll is on Wednesday, and the poor man +will have worked himself to a shadow by that time. Imagine +what electioneering must be like in this awful soaking rain, +going along slushy country roads and speaking to damp audiences +in draughty schoolrooms, day after day for a fortnight. +He’ll have to put in an appearance at some place of worship +on Sunday morning, and he can come to us immediately afterwards +and have a thorough respite from everything connected with +politics. I won’t let him even think of them. +I’ve had the picture of Cromwell dissolving the Long +Parliament taken down from the staircase, and even the portrait +of Lord Rosebery’s ‘Ladas’ removed from the +smoking-room. And Vera,” added Mrs. Durmot, turning +to her sixteen-year-old niece, “be careful what colour +ribbon you wear in your hair; not blue or yellow on any account; +those are the rival party colours, and emerald green or orange +would be almost as bad, with this Home Rule business to the +fore.”</p> +<p>“On state occasions I always wear a black ribbon in my +hair,” said Vera with crushing dignity.</p> +<p>Latimer Springfield was a rather cheerless, oldish young man, +who went into politics somewhat in the spirit in which other +people might go into half-mourning. Without being an +enthusiast, however, he was a fairly strenuous plodder, and Mrs. +Durmot had been reasonably near the mark in asserting that he was +working at high pressure over this election. The restful +lull which his hostess enforced on him was decidedly welcome, and +yet the nervous excitement of the contest had too great a hold on +him to be totally banished.</p> +<p>“I know he’s going to sit up half the night +working up points for his final speeches,” said Mrs. Durmot +regretfully; “however, we’ve kept politics at +arm’s length all the afternoon and evening. More than +that we cannot do.”</p> +<p>“That remains to be seen,” said Vera, but she said +it to herself.</p> +<p>Latimer had scarcely shut his bedroom door before he was +immersed in a sheaf of notes and pamphlets, while a fountain-pen +and pocket-book were brought into play for the due marshalling of +useful facts and discreet fictions. He had been at work for +perhaps thirty-five minutes, and the house was seemingly +consecrated to the healthy slumber of country life, when a +stifled squealing and scuffling in the passage was followed by a +loud tap at his door. Before he had time to answer, a +much-encumbered Vera burst into the room with the question; +“I say, can I leave these here?”</p> +<p>“These” were a small black pig and a lusty +specimen of black-red gamecock.</p> +<p>Latimer was moderately fond of animals, and particularly +interested in small livestock rearing from the economic point of +view; in fact, one of the pamphlets on which he was at that +moment engaged warmly advocated the further development of the +pig and poultry industry in our rural districts; but he was +pardonably unwilling to share even a commodious bedroom with +samples of henroost and stye products.</p> +<p>“Wouldn’t they be happier somewhere +outside?” he asked, tactfully expressing his own preference +in the matter in an apparent solicitude for theirs.</p> +<p>“There is no outside,” said Vera impressively, +“nothing but a waste of dark, swirling waters. The +reservoir at Brinkley has burst.”</p> +<p>“I didn’t know there was a reservoir at +Brinkley,” said Latimer.</p> +<p>“Well, there isn’t now, it’s jolly well all +over the place, and as we stand particularly low we’re the +centre of an inland sea just at present. You see the river +has overflowed its banks as well.”</p> +<p>“Good gracious! Have any lives been +lost?”</p> +<p>“Heaps, I should say. The second housemaid has +already identified three bodies that have floated past the +billiard-room window as being the young man she’s engaged +to. Either she’s engaged to a large assortment of the +population round here or else she’s very careless at +identification. Of course it may be the same body coming +round again and again in a swirl; I hadn’t thought of +that.”</p> +<p>“But we ought to go out and do rescue work, +oughtn’t we?” said Latimer, with the instinct of a +Parliamentary candidate for getting into the local limelight.</p> +<p>“We can’t,” said Vera decidedly, “we +haven’t any boats and we’re cut off by a raging +torrent from any human habitation. My aunt particularly +hoped you would keep to your room and not add to the confusion, +but she thought it would be so kind of you if you would take in +Hartlepool’s Wonder, the gamecock, you know, for the +night. You see, there are eight other gamecocks, and they +fight like furies if they get together, so we’re putting +one in each bedroom. The fowl-houses are all flooded out, +you know. And then I thought perhaps you wouldn’t +mind taking in this wee piggie; he’s rather a little love, +but he has a vile temper. He gets that from his +mother—not that I like to say things against her when +she’s lying dead and drowned in her stye, poor thing. +What he really wants is a man’s firm hand to keep him in +order. I’d try and grapple with him myself, only +I’ve got my chow in my room, you know, and he goes for pigs +wherever he finds them.”</p> +<p>“Couldn’t the pig go in the bathroom?” asked +Latimer faintly, wishing that he had taken up as determined a +stand on the subject of bedroom swine as the chow had.</p> +<p>“The bathroom?” Vera laughed shrilly. +“It’ll be full of Boy Scouts till morning if the hot +water holds out.”</p> +<p>“Boy Scouts?”</p> +<p>“Yes, thirty of them came to rescue us while the water +was only waist-high; then it rose another three feet or so and we +had to rescue them. We’re giving them hot baths in +batches and drying their clothes in the hot-air cupboard, but, of +course, drenched clothes don’t dry in a minute, and the +corridor and staircase are beginning to look like a bit of coast +scenery by Tuke. Two of the boys are wearing your Melton +overcoat; I hope you don’t mind.”</p> +<p>“It’s a new overcoat,” said Latimer, with +every indication of minding dreadfully.</p> +<p>“You’ll take every care of Hartlepool’s +Wonder, won’t you?” said Vera. “His +mother took three firsts at Birmingham, and he was second in the +cockerel class last year at Gloucester. He’ll +probably roost on the rail at the bottom of your bed. I +wonder if he’d feel more at home if some of his wives were +up here with him? The hens are all in the pantry, and I +think I could pick out Hartlepool Helen; she’s his +favourite.”</p> +<p>Latimer showed a belated firmness on the subject of Hartlepool +Helen, and Vera withdrew without pressing the point, having first +settled the gamecock on his extemporised perch and taken an +affectionate farewell of the pigling. Latimer undressed and +got into bed with all due speed, judging that the pig would abate +its inquisitorial restlessness once the light was turned +out. As a substitute for a cosy, straw-bedded sty the room +offered, at first inspection, few attractions, but the +disconsolate animal suddenly discovered an appliance in which the +most luxuriously contrived piggeries were notably +deficient. The sharp edge of the underneath part of the bed +was pitched at exactly the right elevation to permit the pigling +to scrape himself ecstatically backwards and forwards, with an +artistic humping of the back at the crucial moment and an +accompanying gurgle of long-drawn delight. The gamecock, +who may have fancied that he was being rocked in the branches of +a pine-tree, bore the motion with greater fortitude than Latimer +was able to command. A series of slaps directed at the +pig’s body were accepted more as an additional and pleasing +irritant than as a criticism of conduct or a hint to desist; +evidently something more than a man’s firm hand was needed +to deal with the case. Latimer slipped out of bed in search +of a weapon of dissuasion. There was sufficient light in +the room to enable the pig to detect this manœuvre, and the +vile temper, inherited from the drowned mother, found full +play. Latimer bounded back into bed, and his conqueror, +after a few threatening snorts and champings of its jaws, resumed +its massage operations with renewed zeal. During the long +wakeful hours which ensued Latimer tried to distract his mind +from his own immediate troubles by dwelling with decent sympathy +on the second housemaid’s bereavement, but he found himself +more often wondering how many Boy Scouts were sharing his Melton +overcoat. The rôle of Saint Martin malgré lui +was not one which appealed to him.</p> +<p>Towards dawn the pigling fell into a happy slumber, and +Latimer might have followed its example, but at about the same +time Stupor Hartlepooli gave a rousing crow, clattered down to +the floor and forthwith commenced a spirited combat with his +reflection in the wardrobe mirror. Remembering that the +bird was more or less under his care Latimer performed Hague +Tribunal offices by draping a bath-towel over the provocative +mirror, but the ensuing peace was local and short-lived. +The deflected energies of the gamecock found new outlet in a +sudden and sustained attack on the sleeping and temporarily +inoffensive pigling, and the duel which followed was desperate +and embittered beyond any possibility of effective +intervention. The feathered combatant had the advantage of +being able, when hard pressed, to take refuge on the bed, and +freely availed himself of this circumstance; the pigling never +quite succeeded in hurling himself on to the same eminence, but +it was not from want of trying.</p> +<p>Neither side could claim any decisive success, and the +struggle had been practically fought to a standstill by the time +that the maid appeared with the early morning tea.</p> +<p>“Lor, sir,” she exclaimed in undisguised +astonishment, “do you want those animals in your +room?”</p> +<p><i>Want</i>!</p> +<p>The pigling, as though aware that it might have outstayed its +welcome, dashed out at the door, and the gamecock followed it at +a more dignified pace.</p> +<p>“If Miss Vera’s dog sees that pig—!” +exclaimed the maid, and hurried off to avert such a +catastrophe.</p> +<p>A cold suspicion was stealing over Latimer’s mind; he +went to the window and drew up the blind. A light, +drizzling rain was falling, but there was not the faintest trace +of any inundation.</p> +<p>Some half-hour later he met Vera on the way to the +breakfast-room.</p> +<p>“I should not like to think of you as a deliberate +liar,” he observed coldly, “but one occasionally has +to do things one does not like.”</p> +<p>“At any rate I kept your mind from dwelling on politics +all the night,” said Vera.</p> +<p>Which was, of course, perfectly true.</p> +<h2>THE UNKINDEST BLOW</h2> +<p>The season of strikes seemed to have run itself to a +standstill. Almost every trade and industry and calling in +which a dislocation could possibly be engineered had indulged in +that luxury. The last and least successful convulsion had +been the strike of the World’s Union of Zoological Garden +attendants, who, pending the settlement of certain demands, +refused to minister further to the wants of the animals committed +to their charge or to allow any other keepers to take their +place. In this case the threat of the Zoological Gardens +authorities that if the men “came out” the animals +should come out also had intensified and precipitated the +crisis. The imminent prospect of the larger carnivores, to +say nothing of rhinoceroses and bull bison, roaming at large and +unfed in the heart of London, was not one which permitted of +prolonged conferences. The Government of the day, which +from its tendency to be a few hours behind the course of events +had been nicknamed the Government of the afternoon, was obliged +to intervene with promptitude and decision. A strong force +of Bluejackets was despatched to Regent’s Park to take over +the temporarily abandoned duties of the strikers. +Bluejackets were chosen in preference to land forces, partly on +account of the traditional readiness of the British Navy to go +anywhere and do anything, partly by reason of the familiarity of +the average sailor with monkeys, parrots, and other tropical +fauna, but chiefly at the urgent request of the First Lord of the +Admiralty, who was keenly desirous of an opportunity for +performing some personal act of unobtrusive public service within +the province of his department.</p> +<p>“If he insists on feeding the infant jaguar himself, in +defiance of its mother’s wishes, there may be another +by-election in the north,” said one of his colleagues, with +a hopeful inflection in his voice. “By-elections are +not very desirable at present, but we must not be +selfish.”</p> +<p>As a matter of fact the strike collapsed peacefully without +any outside intervention. The majority of the keepers had +become so attached to their charges that they returned to work of +their own accord.</p> +<p>And then the nation and the newspapers turned with a sense of +relief to happier things. It seemed as if a new era of +contentment was about to dawn. Everybody had struck who +could possibly want to strike or who could possibly be cajoled or +bullied into striking, whether they wanted to or not. The +lighter and brighter side of life might now claim some +attention. And conspicuous among the other topics that +sprang into sudden prominence was the pending Falvertoon divorce +suit.</p> +<p>The Duke of Falvertoon was one of those human <i>hors +d’œuvres</i> that stimulate the public appetite for +sensation without giving it much to feed on. As a mere +child he had been precociously brilliant; he had declined the +editorship of the <i>Anglian Review</i> at an age when most boys +are content to have declined <i>mensa</i>, a table, and though he +could not claim to have originated the Futurist movement in +literature, his “Letters to a possible Grandson,” +written at the age of fourteen, had attracted considerable +notice. In later days his brilliancy had been less +conspicuously displayed. During a debate in the House of +Lords on affairs in Morocco, at a moment when that country, for +the fifth time in seven years, had brought half Europe to the +verge of war, he had interpolated the remark “a little Moor +and how much it is,” but in spite of the encouraging +reception accorded to this one political utterance he was never +tempted to a further display in that direction. It began to +be generally understood that he did not intend to supplement his +numerous town and country residences by living overmuch in the +public eye.</p> +<p>And then had come the unlooked-for tidings of the imminent +proceedings for divorce. And such a divorce! There +were cross-suits and allegations and counter-allegations, charges +of cruelty and desertion, everything in fact that was necessary +to make the case one of the most complicated and sensational of +its kind. And the number of distinguished people involved +or cited as witnesses not only embraced both political parties in +the realm and several Colonial governors, but included an exotic +contingent from France, Hungary, the United States of North +America, and the Grand Duchy of Baden. Hotel accommodation +of the more expensive sort began to experience a strain on its +resources. “It will be quite like the Durbar without +the elephants,” exclaimed an enthusiastic lady who, to do +her justice, had never seen a Durbar. The general feeling +was one of thankfulness that the last of the strikes had been got +over before the date fixed for the hearing of the great suit.</p> +<p>As a reaction from the season of gloom and industrial strife +that had just passed away the agencies that purvey and +stage-manage sensations laid themselves out to do their level +best on this momentous occasion. Men who had made their +reputations as special descriptive writers were mobilised from +distant corners of Europe and the further side of the Atlantic in +order to enrich with their pens the daily printed records of the +case; one word-painter, who specialised in descriptions of how +witnesses turn pale under cross-examination, was summoned +hurriedly back from a famous and prolonged murder trial in +Sicily, where indeed his talents were being decidedly +wasted. Thumb-nail artists and expert kodak manipulators +were retained at extravagant salaries, and special dress +reporters were in high demand. An enterprising Paris firm +of costume builders presented the defendant Duchess with three +special creations, to be worn, marked, learned, and extensively +reported at various critical stages of the trial; and as for the +cinematograph agents, their industry and persistence was +untiring. Films representing the Duke saying good-bye to +his favourite canary on the eve of the trial were in readiness +weeks before the event was due to take place; other films +depicted the Duchess holding imaginary consultations with +fictitious lawyers or making a light repast off specially +advertised vegetarian sandwiches during a supposed luncheon +interval. As far as human foresight and human enterprise +could go nothing was lacking to make the trial a success.</p> +<p>Two days before the case was down for hearing the advance +reporter of an important syndicate obtained an interview with the +Duke for the purpose of gleaning some final grains of information +concerning his Grace’s personal arrangements during the +trial.</p> +<p>“I suppose I may say this will be one of the biggest +affairs of its kind during the lifetime of a generation,” +began the reporter as an excuse for the unsparing minuteness of +detail that he was about to make quest for.</p> +<p>“I suppose so—if it comes off,” said the +Duke lazily.</p> +<p>“If?” queried the reporter, in a voice that was +something between a gasp and a scream.</p> +<p>“The Duchess and I are both thinking of going on +strike,” said the Duke.</p> +<p>“Strike!”</p> +<p>The baleful word flashed out in all its old hideous +familiarity. Was there to be no end to its recurrence?</p> +<p>“Do you mean,” faltered the reporter, “that +you are contemplating a mutual withdrawal of the +charges?”</p> +<p>“Precisely,” said the Duke.</p> +<p>“But think of the arrangements that have been made, the +special reporting, the cinematographs, the catering for the +distinguished foreign witnesses, the prepared music-hall +allusions; think of all the money that has been +sunk—”</p> +<p>“Exactly,” said the Duke coldly, “the +Duchess and I have realised that it is we who provide the +material out of which this great far-reaching industry has been +built up. Widespread employment will be given and enormous +profits made during the duration of the case, and we, on whom all +the stress and racket falls, will get—what? An +unenviable notoriety and the privilege of paying heavy legal +expenses whichever way the verdict goes. Hence our decision +to strike. We don’t wish to be reconciled; we fully +realise that it is a grave step to take, but unless we get some +reasonable consideration out of this vast stream of wealth and +industry that we have called into being we intend coming out of +court and staying out. Good afternoon.”</p> +<p>The news of this latest strike spread universal dismay. +Its inaccessibility to the ordinary methods of persuasion made it +peculiarly formidable. If the Duke and Duchess persisted in +being reconciled the Government could hardly be called on to +interfere. Public opinion in the shape of social ostracism +might be brought to bear on them, but that was as far as coercive +measures could go. There was nothing for it but a +conference, with powers to propose liberal terms. As it +was, several of the foreign witnesses had already departed and +others had telegraphed cancelling their hotel arrangements.</p> +<p>The conference, protracted, uncomfortable, and occasionally +acrimonious, succeeded at last in arranging for a resumption of +litigation, but it was a fruitless victory. The Duke, with +a touch of his earlier precocity, died of premature decay a +fortnight before the date fixed for the new trial.</p> +<h2>THE ROMANCERS</h2> +<p>It was autumn in London, that blessed season between the +harshness of winter and the insincerities of summer; a trustful +season when one buys bulbs and sees to the registration of +one’s vote, believing perpetually in spring and a change of +Government.</p> +<p>Morton Crosby sat on a bench in a secluded corner of Hyde +Park, lazily enjoying a cigarette and watching the slow grazing +promenade of a pair of snow-geese, the male looking rather like +an albino edition of the russet-hued female. Out of the +corner of his eye Crosby also noted with some interest the +hesitating hoverings of a human figure, which had passed and +repassed his seat two or three times at shortening intervals, +like a wary crow about to alight near some possibly edible +morsel. Inevitably the figure came to an anchorage on the +bench, within easy talking distance of its original +occupant. The uncared-for clothes, the aggressive, grizzled +beard, and the furtive, evasive eye of the new-comer bespoke the +professional cadger, the man who would undergo hours of +humiliating tale-spinning and rebuff rather than adventure on +half a day’s decent work.</p> +<p>For a while the new-comer fixed his eyes straight in front of +him in a strenuous, unseeing gaze; then his voice broke out with +the insinuating inflection of one who has a story to retail well +worth any loiterer’s while to listen to.</p> +<p>“It’s a strange world,” he said.</p> +<p>As the statement met with no response he altered it to the +form of a question.</p> +<p>“I daresay you’ve found it to be a strange world, +mister?”</p> +<p>“As far as I am concerned,” said Crosby, +“the strangeness has worn off in the course of thirty-six +years.”</p> +<p>“Ah,” said the greybeard, “I could tell you +things that you’d hardly believe. Marvellous things +that have really happened to me.”</p> +<p>“Nowadays there is no demand for marvellous things that +have really happened,” said Crosby discouragingly; +“the professional writers of fiction turn these things out +so much better. For instance, my neighbours tell me +wonderful, incredible things that their Aberdeens and chows and +borzois have done; I never listen to them. On the other +hand, I have read ‘The Hound of the Baskervilles’ +three times.”</p> +<p>The greybeard moved uneasily in his seat; then he opened up +new country.</p> +<p>“I take it that you are a professing Christian,” +he observed.</p> +<p>“I am a prominent and I think I may say an influential +member of the Mussulman community of Eastern Persia,” said +Crosby, making an excursion himself into the realms of +fiction.</p> +<p>The greybeard was obviously disconcerted at this new check to +introductory conversation, but the defeat was only momentary.</p> +<p>“Persia. I should never have taken you for a +Persian,” he remarked, with a somewhat aggrieved air.</p> +<p>“I am not,” said Crosby; “my father was an +Afghan.”</p> +<p>“An Afghan!” said the other, smitten into +bewildered silence for a moment. Then he recovered himself +and renewed his attack.</p> +<p>“Afghanistan. Ah! We’ve had some wars +with that country; now, I daresay, instead of fighting it we +might have learned something from it. A very wealthy +country, I believe. No real poverty there.”</p> +<p>He raised his voice on the word “poverty” with a +suggestion of intense feeling. Crosby saw the opening and +avoided it.</p> +<p>“It possesses, nevertheless, a number of highly talented +and ingenious beggars,” he said; “if I had not spoken +so disparagingly of marvellous things that have really happened I +would tell you the story of Ibrahim and the eleven camel-loads of +blotting-paper. Also I have forgotten exactly how it +ended.”</p> +<p>“My own life-story is a curious one,” said the +stranger, apparently stifling all desire to hear the history of +Ibrahim; “I was not always as you see me now.”</p> +<p>“We are supposed to undergo complete change in the +course of every seven years,” said Crosby, as an +explanation of the foregoing announcement.</p> +<p>“I mean I was not always in such distressing +circumstances as I am at present,” pursued the stranger +doggedly.</p> +<p>“That sounds rather rude,” said Crosby stiffly, +“considering that you are at present talking to a man +reputed to be one of the most gifted conversationalists of the +Afghan border.”</p> +<p>“I don’t mean in that way,” said the +greybeard hastily; “I’ve been very much interested in +your conversation. I was alluding to my unfortunate +financial situation. You mayn’t hardly believe it, +but at the present moment I am absolutely without a +farthing. Don’t see any prospect of getting any +money, either, for the next few days. I don’t suppose +you’ve ever found yourself in such a position,” he +added.</p> +<p>“In the town of Yom,” said Crosby, “which is +in Southern Afghanistan, and which also happens to be my +birthplace, there was a Chinese philosopher who used to say that +one of the three chiefest human blessings was to be absolutely +without money. I forget what the other two were.”</p> +<p>“Ah, I daresay,” said the stranger, in a tone that +betrayed no enthusiasm for the philosopher’s memory; +“and did he practise what he preached? That’s +the test.”</p> +<p>“He lived happily with very little money or +resources,” said Crosby.</p> +<p>“Then I expect he had friends who would help him +liberally whenever he was in difficulties, such as I am in at +present.”</p> +<p>“In Yom,” said Crosby, “it is not necessary +to have friends in order to obtain help. Any citizen of Yom +would help a stranger as a matter of course.”</p> +<p>The greybeard was now genuinely interested.</p> +<p>The conversation had at last taken a favourable turn.</p> +<p>“If someone, like me, for instance, who was in +undeserved difficulties, asked a citizen of that town you speak +of for a small loan to tide over a few days’ +impecuniosity—five shillings, or perhaps a rather larger +sum—would it be given to him as a matter of +course?”</p> +<p>“There would be a certain preliminary,” said +Crosby; “one would take him to a wine-shop and treat him to +a measure of wine, and then, after a little high-flown +conversation, one would put the desired sum in his hand and wish +him good-day. It is a roundabout way of performing a simple +transaction, but in the East all ways are roundabout.”</p> +<p>The listener’s eyes were glittering.</p> +<p>“Ah,” he exclaimed, with a thin sneer ringing +meaningly through his words, “I suppose you’ve given +up all those generous customs since you left your town. +Don’t practise them now, I expect.”</p> +<p>“No one who has lived in Yom,” said Crosby +fervently, “and remembers its green hills covered with +apricot and almond trees, and the cold water that rushes down +like a caress from the upland snows and dashes under the little +wooden bridges, no one who remembers these things and treasures +the memory of them would ever give up a single one of its +unwritten laws and customs. To me they are as binding as +though I still lived in that hallowed home of my +youth.”</p> +<p>“Then if I was to ask you for a small loan—” +began the greybeard fawningly, edging nearer on the seat and +hurriedly wondering how large he might safely make his request, +“if I was to ask you for, say—”</p> +<p>“At any other time, certainly,” said Crosby; +“in the months of November and December, however, it is +absolutely forbidden for anyone of our race to give or receive +loans or gifts; in fact, one does not willingly speak of +them. It is considered unlucky. We will therefore +close this discussion.”</p> +<p>“But it is still October!” exclaimed the +adventurer with an eager, angry whine, as Crosby rose from his +seat; “wants eight days to the end of the month!”</p> +<p>“The Afghan November began yesterday,” said Crosby +severely, and in another moment he was striding across the Park, +leaving his recent companion scowling and muttering furiously on +the seat.</p> +<p>“I don’t believe a word of his story,” he +chattered to himself; “pack of nasty lies from beginning to +end. Wish I’d told him so to his face. Calling +himself an Afghan!”</p> +<p>The snorts and snarls that escaped from him for the next +quarter of an hour went far to support the truth of the old +saying that two of a trade never agree.</p> +<h2>THE SCHARTZ-METTERKLUME METHOD</h2> +<p>Lady Carlotta stepped out on to the platform of the small +wayside station and took a turn or two up and down its +uninteresting length, to kill time till the train should be +pleased to proceed on its way. Then, in the roadway beyond, +she saw a horse struggling with a more than ample load, and a +carter of the sort that seems to bear a sullen hatred against the +animal that helps him to earn a living. Lady Carlotta +promptly betook her to the roadway, and put rather a different +complexion on the struggle. Certain of her acquaintances +were wont to give her plentiful admonition as to the +undesirability of interfering on behalf of a distressed animal, +such interference being “none of her business.” +Only once had she put the doctrine of non-interference into +practice, when one of its most eloquent exponents had been +besieged for nearly three hours in a small and extremely +uncomfortable may-tree by an angry boar-pig, while Lady Carlotta, +on the other side of the fence, had proceeded with the +water-colour sketch she was engaged on, and refused to interfere +between the boar and his prisoner. It is to be feared that +she lost the friendship of the ultimately rescued lady. On +this occasion she merely lost the train, which gave way to the +first sign of impatience it had shown throughout the journey, and +steamed off without her. She bore the desertion with +philosophical indifference; her friends and relations were +thoroughly well used to the fact of her luggage arriving without +her. She wired a vague non-committal message to her +destination to say that she was coming on “by another +train.” Before she had time to think what her next +move might be she was confronted by an imposingly attired lady, +who seemed to be taking a prolonged mental inventory of her +clothes and looks.</p> +<p>“You must be Miss Hope, the governess I’ve come to +meet,” said the apparition, in a tone that admitted of very +little argument.</p> +<p>“Very well, if I must I must,” said Lady Carlotta +to herself with dangerous meekness.</p> +<p>“I am Mrs. Quabarl,” continued the lady; +“and where, pray, is your luggage?”</p> +<p>“It’s gone astray,” said the alleged +governess, falling in with the excellent rule of life that the +absent are always to blame; the luggage had, in point of fact, +behaved with perfect correctitude. “I’ve just +telegraphed about it,” she added, with a nearer approach to +truth.</p> +<p>“How provoking,” said Mrs. Quabarl; “these +railway companies are so careless. However, my maid can +lend you things for the night,” and she led the way to her +car.</p> +<p>During the drive to the Quabarl mansion Lady Carlotta was +impressively introduced to the nature of the charge that had been +thrust upon her; she learned that Claude and Wilfrid were +delicate, sensitive young people, that Irene had the artistic +temperament highly developed, and that Viola was something or +other else of a mould equally commonplace among children of that +class and type in the twentieth century.</p> +<p>“I wish them not only to be <i>taught</i>,” said +Mrs. Quabarl, “but <i>interested</i> in what they +learn. In their history lessons, for instance, you must try +to make them feel that they are being introduced to the +life-stories of men and women who really lived, not merely +committing a mass of names and dates to memory. French, of +course, I shall expect you to talk at meal-times several days in +the week.”</p> +<p>“I shall talk French four days of the week and Russian +in the remaining three.”</p> +<p>“Russian? My dear Miss Hope, no one in the house +speaks or understands Russian.”</p> +<p>“That will not embarrass me in the least,” said +Lady Carlotta coldly.</p> +<p>Mrs. Quabarl, to use a colloquial expression, was knocked off +her perch. She was one of those imperfectly self-assured +individuals who are magnificent and autocratic as long as they +are not seriously opposed. The least show of unexpected +resistance goes a long way towards rendering them cowed and +apologetic. When the new governess failed to express +wondering admiration of the large newly-purchased and expensive +car, and lightly alluded to the superior advantages of one or two +makes which had just been put on the market, the discomfiture of +her patroness became almost abject. Her feelings were those +which might have animated a general of ancient warfaring days, on +beholding his heaviest battle-elephant ignominiously driven off +the field by slingers and javelin throwers.</p> +<p>At dinner that evening, although reinforced by her husband, +who usually duplicated her opinions and lent her moral support +generally, Mrs. Quabarl regained none of her lost ground. +The governess not only helped herself well and truly to wine, but +held forth with considerable show of critical knowledge on +various vintage matters, concerning which the Quabarls were in no +wise able to pose as authorities. Previous governesses had +limited their conversation on the wine topic to a respectful and +doubtless sincere expression of a preference for water. +When this one went as far as to recommend a wine firm in whose +hands you could not go very far wrong Mrs. Quabarl thought it +time to turn the conversation into more usual channels.</p> +<p>“We got very satisfactory references about you from +Canon Teep,” she observed; “a very estimable man, I +should think.”</p> +<p>“Drinks like a fish and beats his wife, otherwise a very +lovable character,” said the governess imperturbably.</p> +<p>“<i>My dear</i> Miss Hope! I trust you are +exaggerating,” exclaimed the Quabarls in unison.</p> +<p>“One must in justice admit that there is some +provocation,” continued the romancer. “Mrs. +Teep is quite the most irritating bridge-player that I have ever +sat down with; her leads and declarations would condone a certain +amount of brutality in her partner, but to souse her with the +contents of the only soda-water syphon in the house on a Sunday +afternoon, when one couldn’t get another, argues an +indifference to the comfort of others which I cannot altogether +overlook. You may think me hasty in my judgments, but it +was practically on account of the syphon incident that I +left.”</p> +<p>“We will talk of this some other time,” said Mrs. +Quabarl hastily.</p> +<p>“I shall never allude to it again,” said the +governess with decision.</p> +<p>Mr. Quabarl made a welcome diversion by asking what studies +the new instructress proposed to inaugurate on the morrow.</p> +<p>“History to begin with,” she informed him.</p> +<p>“Ah, history,” he observed sagely; “now in +teaching them history you must take care to interest them in what +they learn. You must make them feel that they are being +introduced to the life-stories of men and women who really +lived—”</p> +<p>“I’ve told her all that,” interposed Mrs. +Quabarl.</p> +<p>“I teach history on the Schartz-Metterklume +method,” said the governess loftily.</p> +<p>“Ah, yes,” said her listeners, thinking it +expedient to assume an acquaintance at least with the name.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>“What are you children doing out here?” demanded +Mrs. Quabarl the next morning, on finding Irene sitting rather +glumly at the head of the stairs, while her sister was perched in +an attitude of depressed discomfort on the window-seat behind +her, with a wolf-skin rug almost covering her.</p> +<p>“We are having a history lesson,” came the +unexpected reply. “I am supposed to be Rome, and +Viola up there is the she-wolf; not a real wolf, but the figure +of one that the Romans used to set store by—I forget +why. Claude and Wilfrid have gone to fetch the shabby +women.”</p> +<p>“The shabby women?”</p> +<p>“Yes, they’ve got to carry them off. They +didn’t want to, but Miss Hope got one of father’s +fives-bats and said she’d give them a number nine spanking +if they didn’t, so they’ve gone to do it.”</p> +<p>A loud, angry screaming from the direction of the lawn drew +Mrs. Quabarl thither in hot haste, fearful lest the threatened +castigation might even now be in process of infliction. The +outcry, however, came principally from the two small daughters of +the lodge-keeper, who were being hauled and pushed towards the +house by the panting and dishevelled Claude and Wilfrid, whose +task was rendered even more arduous by the incessant, if not very +effectual, attacks of the captured maidens’ small +brother. The governess, fives-bat in hand, sat negligently +on the stone balustrade, presiding over the scene with the cold +impartiality of a Goddess of Battles. A furious and +repeated chorus of “I’ll tell muvver” rose from +the lodge-children, but the lodge-mother, who was hard of +hearing, was for the moment immersed in the preoccupation of her +washtub.</p> +<p>After an apprehensive glance in the direction of the lodge +(the good woman was gifted with the highly militant temper which +is sometimes the privilege of deafness) Mrs. Quabarl flew +indignantly to the rescue of the struggling captives.</p> +<p>“Wilfrid! Claude! Let those children go at +once. Miss Hope, what on earth is the meaning of this +scene?”</p> +<p>“Early Roman history; the Sabine Women, don’t you +know? It’s the Schartz-Metterklume method to make +children understand history by acting it themselves; fixes it in +their memory, you know. Of course, if, thanks to your +interference, your boys go through life thinking that the Sabine +women ultimately escaped, I really cannot be held +responsible.”</p> +<p>“You may be very clever and modern, Miss Hope,” +said Mrs. Quabarl firmly, “but I should like you to leave +here by the next train. Your luggage will be sent after you +as soon as it arrives.”</p> +<p>“I’m not certain exactly where I shall be for the +next few days,” said the dismissed instructress of youth; +“you might keep my luggage till I wire my address. +There are only a couple of trunks and some golf-clubs and a +leopard cub.”</p> +<p>“A leopard cub!” gasped Mrs. Quabarl. Even +in her departure this extraordinary person seemed destined to +leave a trail of embarrassment behind her.</p> +<p>“Well, it’s rather left off being a cub; +it’s more than half-grown, you know. A fowl every day +and a rabbit on Sundays is what it usually gets. Raw beef +makes it too excitable. Don’t trouble about getting +the car for me, I’m rather inclined for a walk.”</p> +<p>And Lady Carlotta strode out of the Quabarl horizon.</p> +<p>The advent of the genuine Miss Hope, who had made a mistake as +to the day on which she was due to arrive, caused a turmoil which +that good lady was quite unused to inspiring. Obviously the +Quabarl family had been woefully befooled, but a certain amount +of relief came with the knowledge.</p> +<p>“How tiresome for you, dear Carlotta,” said her +hostess, when the overdue guest ultimately arrived; “how +very tiresome losing your train and having to stop overnight in a +strange place.”</p> +<p>“Oh dear, no,” said Lady Carlotta; “not at +all tiresome—for me.”</p> +<h2>THE SEVENTH PULLET</h2> +<p>“It’s not the daily grind that I complain +of,” said Blenkinthrope resentfully; “it’s the +dull grey sameness of my life outside of office hours. +Nothing of interest comes my way, nothing remarkable or out of +the common. Even the little things that I do try to find +some interest in don’t seem to interest other people. +Things in my garden, for instance.”</p> +<p>“The potato that weighed just over two pounds,” +said his friend Gorworth.</p> +<p>“Did I tell you about that?” said Blenkinthrope; +“I was telling the others in the train this morning. +I forgot if I’d told you.”</p> +<p>“To be exact you told me that it weighed just under two +pounds, but I took into account the fact that abnormal vegetables +and freshwater fish have an after-life, in which growth is not +arrested.”</p> +<p>“You’re just like the others,” said +Blenkinthrope sadly, “you only make fun of it.”</p> +<p>“The fault is with the potato, not with us,” said +Gorworth; “we are not in the least interested in it because +it is not in the least interesting. The men you go up in +the train with every day are just in the same case as yourself; +their lives are commonplace and not very interesting to +themselves, and they certainly are not going to wax enthusiastic +over the commonplace events in other men’s lives. +Tell them something startling, dramatic, piquant that has +happened to yourself or to someone in your family, and you will +capture their interest at once. They will talk about you +with a certain personal pride to all their acquaintances. +‘Man I know intimately, fellow called Blenkinthrope, lives +down my way, had two of his fingers clawed clean off by a lobster +he was carrying home to supper. Doctor says entire hand may +have to come off.’ Now that is conversation of a very +high order. But imagine walking into a tennis club with the +remark: ‘I know a man who has grown a potato weighing two +and a quarter pounds.’”</p> +<p>“But hang it all, my dear fellow,” said +Blenkinthrope impatiently, “haven’t I just told you +that nothing of a remarkable nature ever happens to +me?”</p> +<p>“Invent something,” said Gorworth. Since +winning a prize for excellence in Scriptural knowledge at a +preparatory school he had felt licensed to be a little more +unscrupulous than the circle he moved in. Much might surely +be excused to one who in early life could give a list of +seventeen trees mentioned in the Old Testament.</p> +<p>“What sort of thing?” asked Blenkinthrope, +somewhat snappishly.</p> +<p>“A snake got into your hen-run yesterday morning and +killed six out of seven pullets, first mesmerising them with its +eyes and then biting them as they stood helpless. The +seventh pullet was one of that French sort, with feathers all +over its eyes, so it escaped the mesmeric snare, and just flew at +what it could see of the snake and pecked it to +pieces.”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” said Blenkinthrope stiffly; +“it’s a very clever invention. If such a thing +had really happened in my poultry-run I admit I should have been +proud and interested to tell people about it. But I’d +rather stick to fact, even if it is plain fact.” All +the same his mind dwelt wistfully on the story of the Seventh +Pullet. He could picture himself telling it in the train +amid the absorbed interest of his fellow-passengers. +Unconsciously all sorts of little details and improvements began +to suggest themselves.</p> +<p>Wistfulness was still his dominant mood when he took his seat +in the railway carriage the next morning. Opposite him sat +Stevenham, who had attained to a recognised brevet of importance +through the fact of an uncle having dropped dead in the act of +voting at a Parliamentary election. That had happened three +years ago, but Stevenham was still deferred to on all questions +of home and foreign politics.</p> +<p>“Hullo, how’s the giant mushroom, or whatever it +was?” was all the notice Blenkinthrope got from his fellow +travellers.</p> +<p>Young Duckby, whom he mildly disliked, speedily monopolised +the general attention by an account of a domestic +bereavement.</p> +<p>“Had four young pigeons carried off last night by a +whacking big rat. Oh, a monster he must have been; you +could tell by the size of the hole he made breaking into the +loft.”</p> +<p>No moderate-sized rat ever seemed to carry out any predatory +operations in these regions; they were all enormous in their +enormity.</p> +<p>“Pretty hard lines that,” continued Duckby, seeing +that he had secured the attention and respect of the company; +“four squeakers carried off at one swoop. You’d +find it rather hard to match that in the way of unlooked-for bad +luck.”</p> +<p>“I had six pullets out of a pen of seven killed by a +snake yesterday afternoon,” said Blenkinthrope, in a voice +which he hardly recognised as his own.</p> +<p>“By a snake?” came in excited chorus.</p> +<p>“It fascinated them with its deadly, glittering eyes, +one after the other, and struck them down while they stood +helpless. A bedridden neighbour, who wasn’t able to +call for assistance, witnessed it all from her bedroom +window.”</p> +<p>“Well, I never!” broke in the chorus, with +variations.</p> +<p>“The interesting part of it is about the seventh pullet, +the one that didn’t get killed,” resumed +Blenkinthrope, slowly lighting a cigarette. His diffidence +had left him, and he was beginning to realise how safe and easy +depravity can seem once one has the courage to begin. +“The six dead birds were Minorcas; the seventh was a Houdan +with a mop of feathers all over its eyes. It could hardly +see the snake at all, so of course it wasn’t mesmerised +like the others. It just could see something wriggling on +the ground, and went for it and pecked it to death.”</p> +<p>“Well, I’m blessed!” exclaimed the +chorus.</p> +<p>In the course of the next few days Blenkinthrope discovered +how little the loss of one’s self-respect affects one when +one has gained the esteem of the world. His story found its +way into one of the poultry papers, and was copied thence into a +daily news-sheet as a matter of general interest. A lady +wrote from the North of Scotland recounting a similar episode +which she had witnessed as occurring between a stoat and a blind +grouse. Somehow a lie seems so much less reprehensible when +one can call it a lee.</p> +<p>For awhile the adapter of the Seventh Pullet story enjoyed to +the full his altered standing as a person of consequence, one who +had had some share in the strange events of his times. Then +he was thrust once again into the cold grey background by the +sudden blossoming into importance of Smith-Paddon, a daily +fellow-traveller, whose little girl had been knocked down and +nearly hurt by a car belonging to a musical-comedy actress. +The actress was not in the car at the time, but she was in +numerous photographs which appeared in the illustrated papers of +Zoto Dobreen inquiring after the well-being of Maisie, daughter +of Edmund Smith-Paddon, Esq. With this new human interest +to absorb them the travelling companions were almost rude when +Blenkinthrope tried to explain his contrivance for keeping vipers +and peregrine falcons out of his chicken-run.</p> +<p>Gorworth, to whom he unburdened himself in private, gave him +the same counsel as heretofore.</p> +<p>“Invent something.”</p> +<p>“Yes, but what?”</p> +<p>The ready affirmative coupled with the question betrayed a +significant shifting of the ethical standpoint.</p> +<p>It was a few days later that Blenkinthrope revealed a chapter +of family history to the customary gathering in the railway +carriage.</p> +<p>“Curious thing happened to my aunt, the one who lives in +Paris,” he began. He had several aunts, but they were +all geographically distributed over Greater London.</p> +<p>“She was sitting on a seat in the Bois the other +afternoon, after lunching at the Roumanian Legation.”</p> +<p>Whatever the story gained in picturesqueness from the +dragging-in of diplomatic “atmosphere,” it ceased +from that moment to command any acceptance as a record of current +events. Gorworth had warned his neophyte that this would be +the case, but the traditional enthusiasm of the neophyte had +triumphed over discretion.</p> +<p>“She was feeling rather drowsy, the effect probably of +the champagne, which she’s not in the habit of taking in +the middle of the day.”</p> +<p>A subdued murmur of admiration went round the company. +Blenkinthrope’s aunts were not used to taking champagne in +the middle of the year, regarding it exclusively as a Christmas +and New Year accessory.</p> +<p>“Presently a rather portly gentleman passed by her seat +and paused an instant to light a cigar. At that moment a +youngish man came up behind him, drew the blade from a +swordstick, and stabbed him half a dozen times through and +through. ‘Scoundrel,’ he cried to his victim, +‘you do not know me. My name is Henri +Leturc.’ The elder man wiped away some of the blood +that was spattering his clothes, turned to his assailant, and +said: ‘And since when has an attempted assassination been +considered an introduction?’ Then he finished +lighting his cigar and walked away. My aunt had intended +screaming for the police, but seeing the indifference with which +the principal in the affair treated the matter she felt that it +would be an impertinence on her part to interfere. Of +course I need hardly say she put the whole thing down to the +effects of a warm, drowsy afternoon and the Legation +champagne. Now comes the astonishing part of my +story. A fortnight later a bank manager was stabbed to +death with a swordstick in that very part of the Bois. His +assassin was the son of a charwoman formerly working at the bank, +who had been dismissed from her job by the manager on account of +chronic intemperance. His name was Henri Leturc.”</p> +<p>From that moment Blenkinthrope was tacitly accepted as the +Munchausen of the party. No effort was spared to draw him +out from day to day in the exercise of testing their powers of +credulity, and Blenkinthrope, in the false security of an assured +and receptive audience, waxed industrious and ingenious in +supplying the demand for marvels. Duckby’s satirical +story of a tame otter that had a tank in the garden to swim in, +and whined restlessly whenever the water-rate was overdue, was +scarcely an unfair parody of some of Blenkinthrope’s wilder +efforts. And then one day came Nemesis.</p> +<p>Returning to his villa one evening Blenkinthrope found his +wife sitting in front of a pack of cards, which she was +scrutinising with unusual concentration.</p> +<p>“The same old patience-game?” he asked +carelessly.</p> +<p>“No, dear; this is the Death’s Head patience, the +most difficult of them all. I’ve never got it to work +out, and somehow I should be rather frightened if I did. +Mother only got it out once in her life; she was afraid of it, +too. Her great-aunt had done it once and fallen dead from +excitement the next moment, and mother always had a feeling that +she would die if she ever got it out. She died the same +night that she did it. She was in bad health at the time, +certainly, but it was a strange coincidence.”</p> +<p>“Don’t do it if it frightens you,” was +Blenkinthrope’s practical comment as he left the +room. A few minutes later his wife called to him.</p> +<p>“John, it gave me such a turn, I nearly got it +out. Only the five of diamonds held me up at the end. +I really thought I’d done it.”</p> +<p>“Why, you can do it,” said Blenkinthrope, who had +come back to the room; “if you shift the eight of clubs on +to that open nine the five can be moved on to the six.”</p> +<p>His wife made the suggested move with hasty, trembling +fingers, and piled the outstanding cards on to their respective +packs. Then she followed the example of her mother and +great-grand-aunt.</p> +<p>Blenkinthrope had been genuinely fond of his wife, but in the +midst of his bereavement one dominant thought obtruded +itself. Something sensational and real had at last come +into his life; no longer was it a grey, colourless record. +The headlines which might appropriately describe his domestic +tragedy kept shaping themselves in his brain. +“Inherited presentiment comes true.” “The +Death’s Head patience: Card-game that justified its +sinister name in three generations.” He wrote out a +full story of the fatal occurrence for the <i>Essex Vedette</i>, +the editor of which was a friend of his, and to another friend he +gave a condensed account, to be taken up to the office of one of +the halfpenny dailies. But in both cases his reputation as +a romancer stood fatally in the way of the fulfilment of his +ambitions. “Not the right thing to be Munchausening +in a time of sorrow” agreed his friends among themselves, +and a brief note of regret at the “sudden death of the wife +of our respected neighbour, Mr. John Blenkinthrope, from heart +failure,” appearing in the news column of the local paper +was the forlorn outcome of his visions of widespread +publicity.</p> +<p>Blenkinthrope shrank from the society of his erstwhile +travelling companions and took to travelling townwards by an +earlier train. He sometimes tries to enlist the sympathy +and attention of a chance acquaintance in details of the +whistling prowess of his best canary or the dimensions of his +largest beetroot; he scarcely recognises himself as the man who +was once spoken about and pointed out as the owner of the Seventh +Pullet.</p> +<h2>THE BLIND SPOT</h2> +<p>“You’ve just come back from Adelaide’s +funeral, haven’t you?” said Sir Lulworth to his +nephew; “I suppose it was very like most other +funerals?”</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you all about it at lunch,” said +Egbert.</p> +<p>“You’ll do nothing of the sort. It +wouldn’t be respectful either to your great-aunt’s +memory or to the lunch. We begin with Spanish olives, then +a borshch, then more olives and a bird of some kind, and a rather +enticing Rhenish wine, not at all expensive as wines go in this +country, but still quite laudable in its way. Now +there’s absolutely nothing in that menu that harmonises in +the least with the subject of your great-aunt Adelaide or her +funeral. She was a charming woman, and quite as intelligent +as she had any need to be, but somehow she always reminded me of +an English cook’s idea of a Madras curry.”</p> +<p>“She used to say you were frivolous,” said +Egbert. Something in his tone suggested that he rather +endorsed the verdict.</p> +<p>“I believe I once considerably scandalised her by +declaring that clear soup was a more important factor in life +than a clear conscience. She had very little sense of +proportion. By the way, she made you her principal heir, +didn’t she?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Egbert, “and executor as +well. It’s in that connection that I particularly +want to speak to you.”</p> +<p>“Business is not my strong point at any time,” +said Sir Lulworth, “and certainly not when we’re on +the immediate threshold of lunch.”</p> +<p>“It isn’t exactly business,” explained +Egbert, as he followed his uncle into the dining-room.</p> +<p>“It’s something rather serious. Very +serious.”</p> +<p>“Then we can’t possibly speak about it now,” +said Sir Lulworth; “no one could talk seriously during a +borshch. A beautifully constructed borshch, such as you are +going to experience presently, ought not only to banish +conversation but almost to annihilate thought. Later on, +when we arrive at the second stage of olives, I shall be quite +ready to discuss that new book on Borrow, or, if you prefer it, +the present situation in the Grand Duchy of Luxemburg. But +I absolutely decline to talk anything approaching business till +we have finished with the bird.”</p> +<p>For the greater part of the meal Egbert sat in an abstracted +silence, the silence of a man whose mind is focussed on one +topic. When the coffee stage had been reached he launched +himself suddenly athwart his uncle’s reminiscences of the +Court of Luxemburg.</p> +<p>“I think I told you that great-aunt Adelaide had made me +her executor. There wasn’t very much to be done in +the way of legal matters, but I had to go through her +papers.”</p> +<p>“That would be a fairly heavy task in itself. I +should imagine there were reams of family letters.”</p> +<p>“Stacks of them, and most of them highly +uninteresting. There was one packet, however, which I +thought might repay a careful perusal. It was a bundle of +correspondence from her brother Peter.”</p> +<p>“The Canon of tragic memory,” said Lulworth.</p> +<p>“Exactly, of tragic memory, as you say; a tragedy that +has never been fathomed.”</p> +<p>“Probably the simplest explanation was the correct +one,” said Sir Lulworth; “he slipped on the stone +staircase and fractured his skull in falling.”</p> +<p>Egbert shook his head. “The medical evidence all +went to prove that the blow on the head was struck by some one +coming up behind him. A wound caused by violent contact +with the steps could not possibly have been inflicted at that +angle of the skull. They experimented with a dummy figure +falling in every conceivable position.”</p> +<p>“But the motive?” exclaimed Sir Lulworth; +“no one had any interest in doing away with him, and the +number of people who destroy Canons of the Established Church for +the mere fun of killing must be extremely limited. Of +course there are individuals of weak mental balance who do that +sort of thing, but they seldom conceal their handiwork; they are +more generally inclined to parade it.”</p> +<p>“His cook was under suspicion,” said Egbert +shortly.</p> +<p>“I know he was,” said Sir Lulworth, “simply +because he was about the only person on the premises at the time +of the tragedy. But could anything be sillier than trying +to fasten a charge of murder on to Sebastien? He had +nothing to gain, in fact, a good deal to lose, from the death of +his employer. The Canon was paying him quite as good wages +as I was able to offer him when I took him over into my +service. I have since raised them to something a little +more in accordance with his real worth, but at the time he was +glad to find a new place without troubling about an increase of +wages. People were fighting rather shy of him, and he had +no friends in this country. No; if anyone in the world was +interested in the prolonged life and unimpaired digestion of the +Canon it would certainly be Sebastien.”</p> +<p>“People don’t always weigh the consequences of +their rash acts,” said Egbert, “otherwise there would +be very few murders committed. Sebastien is a man of hot +temper.”</p> +<p>“He is a southerner,” admitted Sir Lulworth; +“to be geographically exact I believe he hails from the +French slopes of the Pyrenees. I took that into +consideration when he nearly killed the gardener’s boy the +other day for bringing him a spurious substitute for +sorrel. One must always make allowances for origin and +locality and early environment; ‘Tell me your longitude and +I’ll know what latitude to allow you,’ is my +motto.”</p> +<p>“There, you see,” said Egbert, “he nearly +killed the gardener’s boy.”</p> +<p>“My dear Egbert, between nearly killing a +gardener’s boy and altogether killing a Canon there is a +wide difference. No doubt you have often felt a temporary +desire to kill a gardener’s boy; you have never given way +to it, and I respect you for your self-control. But I +don’t suppose you have ever wanted to kill an octogenarian +Canon. Besides, as far as we know, there had never been any +quarrel or disagreement between the two men. The evidence +at the inquest brought that out very clearly.”</p> +<p>“Ah!” said Egbert, with the air of a man coming at +last into a deferred inheritance of conversational importance, +“that is precisely what I want to speak to you +about.”</p> +<p>He pushed away his coffee cup and drew a pocket-book from his +inner breast-pocket. From the depths of the pocket-book he +produced an envelope, and from the envelope he extracted a +letter, closely written in a small, neat handwriting.</p> +<p>“One of the Canon’s numerous letters to Aunt +Adelaide,” he explained, “written a few days before +his death. Her memory was already failing when she received +it, and I daresay she forgot the contents as soon as she had read +it; otherwise, in the light of what subsequently happened, we +should have heard something of this letter before now. If +it had been produced at the inquest I fancy it would have made +some difference in the course of affairs. The evidence, as +you remarked just now, choked off suspicion against Sebastien by +disclosing an utter absence of anything that could be considered +a motive or provocation for the crime, if crime there +was.”</p> +<p>“Oh, read the letter,” said Sir Lulworth +impatiently.</p> +<p>“It’s a long rambling affair, like most of his +letters in his later years,” said Egbert. +“I’ll read the part that bears immediately on the +mystery.</p> +<p>“‘I very much fear I shall have to get rid of +Sebastien. He cooks divinely, but he has the temper of a +fiend or an anthropoid ape, and I am really in bodily fear of +him. We had a dispute the other day as to the correct sort +of lunch to be served on Ash Wednesday, and I got so irritated +and annoyed at his conceit and obstinacy that at last I threw a +cupful of coffee in his face and called him at the same time an +impudent jackanapes. Very little of the coffee went +actually in his face, but I have never seen a human being show +such deplorable lack of self-control. I laughed at the +threat of killing me that he spluttered out in his rage, and +thought the whole thing would blow over, but I have several times +since caught him scowling and muttering in a highly unpleasant +fashion, and lately I have fancied that he was dogging my +footsteps about the grounds, particularly when I walk of an +evening in the Italian Garden.’</p> +<p>“It was on the steps in the Italian Garden that the body +was found,” commented Egbert, and resumed reading.</p> +<p>“‘I daresay the danger is imaginary; but I shall +feel more at ease when he has quitted my +service.’”</p> +<p>Egbert paused for a moment at the conclusion of the extract; +then, as his uncle made no remark, he added: “If lack of +motive was the only factor that saved Sebastien from prosecution +I fancy this letter will put a different complexion on +matters.”</p> +<p>“Have you shown it to anyone else?” asked Sir +Lulworth, reaching out his hand for the incriminating piece of +paper.</p> +<p>“No,” said Egbert, handing it across the table, +“I thought I would tell you about it first. Heavens, +what are you doing?”</p> +<p>Egbert’s voice rose almost to a scream. Sir +Lulworth had flung the paper well and truly into the glowing +centre of the grate. The small, neat handwriting shrivelled +into black flaky nothingness.</p> +<p>“What on earth did you do that for?” gasped +Egbert. “That letter was our one piece of evidence to +connect Sebastien with the crime.”</p> +<p>“That is why I destroyed it,” said Sir +Lulworth.</p> +<p>“But why should you want to shield him?” cried +Egbert; “the man is a common murderer.”</p> +<p>“A common murderer, possibly, but a very uncommon +cook.”</p> +<h2>DUSK</h2> +<p>Norman Gortsby sat on a bench in the Park, with his back to a +strip of bush-planted sward, fenced by the park railings, and the +Row fronting him across a wide stretch of carriage drive. +Hyde Park Corner, with its rattle and hoot of traffic, lay +immediately to his right. It was some thirty minutes past +six on an early March evening, and dusk had fallen heavily over +the scene, dusk mitigated by some faint moonlight and many street +lamps. There was a wide emptiness over road and sidewalk, +and yet there were many unconsidered figures moving silently +through the half-light, or dotted unobtrusively on bench and +chair, scarcely to be distinguished from the shadowed gloom in +which they sat.</p> +<p>The scene pleased Gortsby and harmonised with his present +mood. Dusk, to his mind, was the hour of the +defeated. Men and women, who had fought and lost, who hid +their fallen fortunes and dead hopes as far as possible from the +scrutiny of the curious, came forth in this hour of gloaming, +when their shabby clothes and bowed shoulders and unhappy eyes +might pass unnoticed, or, at any rate, unrecognised.</p> +<blockquote><p>A king that is conquered must see strange +looks,<br /> +So bitter a thing is the heart of man.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The wanderers in the dusk did not choose to have strange looks +fasten on them, therefore they came out in this bat-fashion, +taking their pleasure sadly in a pleasure-ground that had emptied +of its rightful occupants. Beyond the sheltering screen of +bushes and palings came a realm of brilliant lights and noisy, +rushing traffic. A blazing, many-tiered stretch of windows +shone through the dusk and almost dispersed it, marking the +haunts of those other people, who held their own in life’s +struggle, or at any rate had not had to admit failure. So +Gortsby’s imagination pictured things as he sat on his +bench in the almost deserted walk. He was in the mood to +count himself among the defeated. Money troubles did not +press on him; had he so wished he could have strolled into the +thoroughfares of light and noise, and taken his place among the +jostling ranks of those who enjoyed prosperity or struggled for +it. He had failed in a more subtle ambition, and for the +moment he was heartsore and disillusionised, and not disinclined +to take a certain cynical pleasure in observing and labelling his +fellow wanderers as they went their ways in the dark stretches +between the lamp-lights.</p> +<p>On the bench by his side sat an elderly gentleman with a +drooping air of defiance that was probably the remaining vestige +of self-respect in an individual who had ceased to defy +successfully anybody or anything. His clothes could +scarcely be called shabby, at least they passed muster in the +half-light, but one’s imagination could not have pictured +the wearer embarking on the purchase of a half-crown box of +chocolates or laying out ninepence on a carnation +buttonhole. He belonged unmistakably to that forlorn +orchestra to whose piping no one dances; he was one of the +world’s lamenters who induce no responsive weeping. +As he rose to go Gortsby imagined him returning to a home circle +where he was snubbed and of no account, or to some bleak lodging +where his ability to pay a weekly bill was the beginning and end +of the interest he inspired. His retreating figure vanished +slowly into the shadows, and his place on the bench was taken +almost immediately by a young man, fairly well dressed but +scarcely more cheerful of mien than his predecessor. As if +to emphasise the fact that the world went badly with him the +new-corner unburdened himself of an angry and very audible +expletive as he flung himself into the seat.</p> +<p>“You don’t seem in a very good temper,” said +Gortsby, judging that he was expected to take due notice of the +demonstration.</p> +<p>The young man turned to him with a look of disarming frankness +which put him instantly on his guard.</p> +<p>“You wouldn’t be in a good temper if you were in +the fix I’m in,” he said; “I’ve done the +silliest thing I’ve ever done in my life.”</p> +<p>“Yes?” said Gortsby dispassionately.</p> +<p>“Came up this afternoon, meaning to stay at the +Patagonian Hotel in Berkshire Square,” continued the young +man; “when I got there I found it had been pulled down some +weeks ago and a cinema theatre run up on the site. The taxi +driver recommended me to another hotel some way off and I went +there. I just sent a letter to my people, giving them the +address, and then I went out to buy some soap—I’d +forgotten to pack any and I hate using hotel soap. Then I +strolled about a bit, had a drink at a bar and looked at the +shops, and when I came to turn my steps back to the hotel I +suddenly realised that I didn’t remember its name or even +what street it was in. There’s a nice predicament for +a fellow who hasn’t any friends or connections in +London! Of course I can wire to my people for the address, +but they won’t have got my letter till to-morrow; meantime +I’m without any money, came out with about a shilling on +me, which went in buying the soap and getting the drink, and here +I am, wandering about with twopence in my pocket and nowhere to +go for the night.”</p> +<p>There was an eloquent pause after the story had been +told. “I suppose you think I’ve spun you rather +an impossible yarn,” said the young man presently, with a +suggestion of resentment in his voice.</p> +<p>“Not at all impossible,” said Gortsby judicially; +“I remember doing exactly the same thing once in a foreign +capital, and on that occasion there were two of us, which made it +more remarkable. Luckily we remembered that the hotel was +on a sort of canal, and when we struck the canal we were able to +find our way back to the hotel.”</p> +<p>The youth brightened at the reminiscence. “In a +foreign city I wouldn’t mind so much,” he said; +“one could go to one’s Consul and get the requisite +help from him. Here in one’s own land one is far more +derelict if one gets into a fix. Unless I can find some +decent chap to swallow my story and lend me some money I seem +likely to spend the night on the Embankment. I’m +glad, anyhow, that you don’t think the story outrageously +improbable.”</p> +<p>He threw a good deal of warmth into the last remark, as though +perhaps to indicate his hope that Gortsby did not fall far short +of the requisite decency.</p> +<p>“Of course,” said Gortsby slowly, “the weak +point of your story is that you can’t produce the +soap.”</p> +<p>The young man sat forward hurriedly, felt rapidly in the +pockets of his overcoat, and then jumped to his feet.</p> +<p>“I must have lost it,” he muttered angrily.</p> +<p>“To lose an hotel and a cake of soap on one afternoon +suggests wilful carelessness,” said Gortsby, but the young +man scarcely waited to hear the end of the remark. He +flitted away down the path, his head held high, with an air of +somewhat jaded jauntiness.</p> +<p>“It was a pity,” mused Gortsby; “the going +out to get one’s own soap was the one convincing touch in +the whole story, and yet it was just that little detail that +brought him to grief. If he had had the brilliant +forethought to provide himself with a cake of soap, wrapped and +sealed with all the solicitude of the chemist’s counter, he +would have been a genius in his particular line. In his +particular line genius certainly consists of an infinite capacity +for taking precautions.”</p> +<p>With that reflection Gortsby rose to go; as he did so an +exclamation of concern escaped him. Lying on the ground by +the side of the bench was a small oval packet, wrapped and sealed +with the solicitude of a chemist’s counter. It could +be nothing else but a cake of soap, and it had evidently fallen +out of the youth’s overcoat pocket when he flung himself +down on the seat. In another moment Gortsby was scudding +along the dusk-shrouded path in anxious quest for a youthful +figure in a light overcoat. He had nearly given up the +search when he caught sight of the object of his pursuit standing +irresolutely on the border of the carriage drive, evidently +uncertain whether to strike across the Park or make for the +bustling pavements of Knightsbridge. He turned round +sharply with an air of defensive hostility when he found Gortsby +hailing him.</p> +<p>“The important witness to the genuineness of your story +has turned up,” said Gortsby, holding out the cake of soap; +“it must have slid out of your overcoat pocket when you sat +down on the seat. I saw it on the ground after you +left. You must excuse my disbelief, but appearances were +really rather against you, and now, as I appealed to the +testimony of the soap I think I ought to abide by its +verdict. If the loan of a sovereign is any good to +you—”</p> +<p>The young man hastily removed all doubt on the subject by +pocketing the coin.</p> +<p>“Here is my card with my address,” continued +Gortsby; “any day this week will do for returning the +money, and here is the soap—don’t lose it again +it’s been a good friend to you.”</p> +<p>“Lucky thing your finding it,” said the youth, and +then, with a catch in his voice, he blurted out a word or two of +thanks and fled headlong in the direction of Knightsbridge.</p> +<p>“Poor boy, he as nearly as possible broke down,” +said Gortsby to himself. “I don’t wonder +either; the relief from his quandary must have been acute. +It’s a lesson to me not to be too clever in judging by +circumstances.”</p> +<p>As Gortsby retraced his steps past the seat where the little +drama had taken place he saw an elderly gentleman poking and +peering beneath it and on all sides of it, and recognised his +earlier fellow occupant.</p> +<p>“Have you lost anything, sir?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Yes, sir, a cake of soap.”</p> +<h2>A TOUCH OF REALISM</h2> +<p>“I hope you’ve come full of suggestions for +Christmas,” said Lady Blonze to her latest arrived guest; +“the old-fashioned Christmas and the up-to-date Christmas +are both so played out. I want to have something really +original this year.”</p> +<p>“I was staying with the Mathesons last month,” +said Blanche Boveal eagerly, “and we had such a good +idea. Every one in the house-party had to be a character +and behave consistently all the time, and at the end of the visit +one had to guess what every one’s character was. The +one who was voted to have acted his or her character best got a +prize.”</p> +<p>“It sounds amusing,” said Lady Blonze.</p> +<p>“I was St. Francis of Assisi,” continued Blanche; +“we hadn’t got to keep to our right sexes. I +kept getting up in the middle of a meal, and throwing out food to +the birds; you see, the chief thing that one remembers of St. +Francis is that he was fond of the birds. Every one was so +stupid about it, and thought that I was the old man who feeds the +sparrows in the Tuileries Gardens. Then Colonel Pentley was +the Jolly Miller on the banks of Dee.”</p> +<p>“How on earth did he do that?” asked Bertie van +Tahn.</p> +<p>“‘He laughed and sang from morn till +night,’” explained Blanche.</p> +<p>“How dreadful for the rest of you,” said Bertie; +“and anyway he wasn’t on the banks of Dee.”</p> +<p>“One had to imagine that,” said Blanche.</p> +<p>“If you could imagine all that you might as well imagine +cattle on the further bank and keep on calling them home, +Mary-fashion, across the sands of Dee. Or you might change +the river to the Yarrow and imagine it was on the top of you, and +say you were Willie, or whoever it was, drowned in +Yarrow.”</p> +<p>“Of course it’s easy to make fun of it,” +said Blanche sharply, “but it was extremely interesting and +amusing. The prize was rather a fiasco, though. You +see, Millie Matheson said her character was Lady Bountiful, and +as she was our hostess of course we all had to vote that she had +carried out her character better than anyone. Otherwise I +ought to have got the prize.”</p> +<p>“It’s quite an idea for a Christmas party,” +said Lady Blonze; “we must certainly do it here.”</p> +<p>Sir Nicholas was not so enthusiastic. “Are you +quite sure, my dear, that you’re wise in doing this +thing?” he said to his wife when they were alone +together. “It might do very well at the Mathesons, +where they had rather a staid, elderly house-party, but here it +will be a different matter. There is the Durmot flapper, +for instance, who simply stops at nothing, and you know what Van +Tahn is like. Then there is Cyril Skatterly; he has madness +on one side of his family and a Hungarian grandmother on the +other.”</p> +<p>“I don’t see what they could do that would +matter,” said Lady Blonze.</p> +<p>“It’s the unknown that is to be dreaded,” +said Sir Nicholas. “If Skatterly took it into his +head to represent a Bull of Bashan, well, I’d rather not be +here.”</p> +<p>“Of course we shan’t allow any Bible +characters. Besides, I don’t know what the Bulls of +Bashan really did that was so very dreadful; they just came round +and gaped, as far as I remember.”</p> +<p>“My dear, you don’t know what Skatterly’s +Hungarian imagination mightn’t read into the part; it would +be small satisfaction to say to him afterwards: +‘You’ve behaved as no Bull of Bashan would have +behaved.’”</p> +<p>“Oh, you’re an alarmist,” said Lady Blonze; +“I particularly want to have this idea carried out. +It will be sure to be talked about a lot.”</p> +<p>“That is quite possible,” said Sir Nicholas.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>Dinner that evening was not a particularly lively affair; the +strain of trying to impersonate a self-imposed character or to +glean hints of identity from other people’s conduct acted +as a check on the natural festivity of such a gathering. +There was a general feeling of gratitude and acquiescence when +good-natured Rachel Klammerstein suggested that there should be +an hour or two’s respite from “the game” while +they all listened to a little piano-playing after dinner. +Rachel’s love of piano music was not indiscriminate, and +concentrated itself chiefly on selections rendered by her +idolised offspring, Moritz and Augusta, who, to do them justice, +played remarkably well.</p> +<p>The Klammersteins were deservedly popular as Christmas guests; +they gave expensive gifts lavishly on Christmas Day and New Year, +and Mrs. Klammerstein had already dropped hints of her intention +to present the prize for the best enacted character in the game +competition. Every one had brightened at this prospect; if +it had fallen to Lady Blonze, as hostess, to provide the prize, +she would have considered that a little souvenir of some twenty +or twenty-five shillings’ value would meet the case, +whereas coming from a Klammerstein source it would certainly run +to several guineas.</p> +<p>The close time for impersonation efforts came to an end with +the final withdrawal of Moritz and Augusta from the piano. +Blanche Boveal retired early, leaving the room in a series of +laboured leaps that she hoped might be recognised as a tolerable +imitation of Pavlova. Vera Durmot, the sixteen-year-old +flapper, expressed her confident opinion that the performance was +intended to typify Mark Twain’s famous jumping frog, and +her diagnosis of the case found general acceptance. Another +guest to set an example of early bed-going was Waldo Plubley, who +conducted his life on a minutely regulated system of time-tables +and hygienic routine. Waldo was a plump, indolent young man +of seven-and-twenty, whose mother had early in his life decided +for him that he was unusually delicate, and by dint of much +coddling and home-keeping had succeeded in making him physically +soft and mentally peevish. Nine hours’ unbroken +sleep, preceded by elaborate breathing exercises and other +hygienic ritual, was among the indispensable regulations which +Waldo imposed on himself, and there were innumerable small +observances which he exacted from those who were in any way +obliged to minister to his requirements; a special teapot for the +decoction of his early tea was always solemnly handed over to the +bedroom staff of any house in which he happened to be +staying. No one had ever quite mastered the mechanism of +this precious vessel, but Bertie van Tahn was responsible for the +legend that its spout had to be kept facing north during the +process of infusion.</p> +<p>On this particular night the irreducible nine hours were +severely mutilated by the sudden and by no means noiseless +incursion of a pyjama-clad figure into Waldo’s room at an +hour midway between midnight and dawn.</p> +<p>“What is the matter? What are you looking +for?” asked the awakened and astonished Waldo, slowly +recognising Van Tahn, who appeared to be searching hastily for +something he had lost.</p> +<p>“Looking for sheep,” was the reply.</p> +<p>“Sheep?” exclaimed Waldo.</p> +<p>“Yes, sheep. You don’t suppose I’m +looking for giraffes, do you?”</p> +<p>“I don’t see why you should expect to find either +in my room,” retorted Waldo furiously.</p> +<p>“I can’t argue the matter at this hour of the +night,” said Bertie, and began hastily rummaging in the +chest of drawers. Shirts and underwear went flying on to +the floor.</p> +<p>“There are no sheep here, I tell you,” screamed +Waldo.</p> +<p>“I’ve only got your word for it,” said +Bertie, whisking most of the bedclothes on to the floor; +“if you weren’t concealing something you +wouldn’t be so agitated.”</p> +<p>Waldo was by this time convinced that Van Tahn was raving mad, +and made an anxious effort to humour him.</p> +<p>“Go back to bed like a dear fellow,” he pleaded, +“and your sheep will turn up all right in the +morning.”</p> +<p>“I daresay,” said Bertie gloomily, “without +their tails. Nice fool I shall look with a lot of Manx +sheep.”</p> +<p>And by way of emphasising his annoyance at the prospect he +sent Waldo’s pillows flying to the top of the wardrobe.</p> +<p>“But <i>why</i> no tails?” asked Waldo, whose +teeth were chattering with fear and rage and lowered +temperature.</p> +<p>“My dear boy, have you never heard the ballad of Little +Bo-Peep?” said Bertie with a chuckle. +“It’s my character in the Game, you know. If I +didn’t go hunting about for my lost sheep no one would be +able to guess who I was; and now go to sleepy weeps like a good +child or I shall be cross with you.”</p> +<p>“I leave you to imagine,” wrote Waldo in the +course of a long letter to his mother, “how much sleep I +was able to recover that night, and you know how essential nine +uninterrupted hours of slumber are to my health.”</p> +<p>On the other hand he was able to devote some wakeful hours to +exercises in breathing wrath and fury against Bertie van +Tahn.</p> +<p>Breakfast at Blonzecourt was a scattered meal, on the +“come when you please” principle, but the house-party +was supposed to gather in full strength at lunch. On the +day after the “Game” had been started there were, +however, some notable absentees. Waldo Plubley, for +instance, was reported to be nursing a headache. A large +breakfast and an “A.B.C.” had been taken up to his +room, but he had made no appearance in the flesh.</p> +<p>“I expect he’s playing up to some +character,” said Vera Durmot; “isn’t there a +thing of Molière’s, ‘<i>Le Malade +Imaginaire</i>’? I expect he’s that.”</p> +<p>Eight or nine lists came out, and were duly pencilled with the +suggestion.</p> +<p>“And where are the Klammersteins?” asked Lady +Blonze; “they’re usually so punctual.”</p> +<p>“Another character pose, perhaps,” said Bertie van +Tahn; “‘the Lost Ten Tribes.’”</p> +<p>“But there are only three of them. Besides, +they’ll want their lunch. Hasn’t anyone seen +anything of them?”</p> +<p>“Didn’t you take them out in your car?” +asked Blanche Boveal, addressing herself to Cyril Skatterly.</p> +<p>“Yes, took them out to Slogberry Moor immediately after +breakfast. Miss Durmot came too.”</p> +<p>“I saw you and Vera come back,” said Lady Blonze, +“but I didn’t see the Klammersteins. Did you +put them down in the village?”</p> +<p>“No,” said Skatterly shortly.</p> +<p>“But where are they? Where did you leave +them?”</p> +<p>“We left them on Slogberry Moor,” said Vera +calmly.</p> +<p>“On Slogberry Moor? Why, it’s more than +thirty miles away! How are they going to get +back?”</p> +<p>“We didn’t stop to consider that,” said +Skatterly; “we asked them to get out for a moment, on the +pretence that the car had stuck, and then we dashed off full +speed and left them there.”</p> +<p>“But how dare you do such a thing? It’s most +inhuman! Why, it’s been snowing for the last +hour.”</p> +<p>“I expect there’ll be a cottage or farmhouse +somewhere if they walk a mile or two.”</p> +<p>“But why on earth have you done it?”</p> +<p>The question came in a chorus of indignant bewilderment.</p> +<p>“<i>That</i> would be telling what our characters are +meant to be,” said Vera.</p> +<p>“Didn’t I warn you?” said Sir Nicholas +tragically to his wife.</p> +<p>“It’s something to do with Spanish history; we +don’t mind giving you that clue,” said Skatterly, +helping himself cheerfully to salad, and then Bertie van Tahn +broke forth into peals of joyous laughter.</p> +<p>“I’ve got it! Ferdinand and Isabella +deporting the Jews! Oh, lovely! Those two have +certainly won the prize; we shan’t get anything to beat +that for thoroughness.”</p> +<p>Lady Blonze’s Christmas party was talked about and +written about to an extent that she had not anticipated in her +most ambitious moments. The letters from Waldo’s +mother would alone have made it memorable.</p> +<h2>COUSIN TERESA</h2> +<p>Basset Harrowcluff returned to the home of his fathers, after +an absence of four years, distinctly well pleased with +himself. He was only thirty-one, but he had put in some +useful service in an out-of-the-way, though not unimportant, +corner of the world. He had quieted a province, kept open a +trade route, enforced the tradition of respect which is worth the +ransom of many kings in out-of-the-way regions, and done the +whole business on rather less expenditure than would be requisite +for organising a charity in the home country. In Whitehall +and places where they think, they doubtless thought well of +him. It was not inconceivable, his father allowed himself +to imagine, that Basset’s name might figure in the next +list of Honours.</p> +<p>Basset was inclined to be rather contemptuous of his +half-brother, Lucas, whom he found feverishly engrossed in the +same medley of elaborate futilities that had claimed his whole +time and energies, such as they were, four years ago, and almost +as far back before that as he could remember. It was the +contempt of the man of action for the man of activities, and it +was probably reciprocated. Lucas was an over-well nourished +individual, some nine years Basset’s senior, with a +colouring that would have been accepted as a sign of intensive +culture in an asparagus, but probably meant in this case mere +abstention from exercise. His hair and forehead furnished a +recessional note in a personality that was in all other respects +obtrusive and assertive. There was certainly no Semitic +blood in Lucas’s parentage, but his appearance contrived to +convey at least a suggestion of Jewish extraction. Clovis +Sangrail, who knew most of his associates by sight, said it was +undoubtedly a case of protective mimicry.</p> +<p>Two days after Basset’s return, Lucas frisked in to +lunch in a state of twittering excitement that could not be +restrained even for the immediate consideration of soup, but had +to be verbally discharged in spluttering competition with +mouthfuls of vermicelli.</p> +<p>“I’ve got hold of an idea for something +immense,” he babbled, “something that is simply +It.”</p> +<p>Basset gave a short laugh that would have done equally well as +a snort, if one had wanted to make the exchange. His +half-brother was in the habit of discovering futilities that were +“simply It” at frequently recurring intervals. +The discovery generally meant that he flew up to town, preceded +by glowingly-worded telegrams, to see some one connected with the +stage or the publishing world, got together one or two momentous +luncheon parties, flitted in and out of “Gambrinus” +for one or two evenings, and returned home with an air of subdued +importance and the asparagus tint slightly intensified. The +great idea was generally forgotten a few weeks later in the +excitement of some new discovery.</p> +<p>“The inspiration came to me whilst I was +dressing,” announced Lucas; “it will be <i>the</i> +thing in the next music-hall <i>revue</i>. All London will +go mad over it. It’s just a couplet; of course there +will be other words, but they won’t matter. +Listen:</p> +<blockquote><p>Cousin Teresa takes out Cæsar,<br /> +Fido, Jock, and the big borzoi.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>A lifting, catchy sort of refrain, you see, and big-drum +business on the two syllables of bor-zoi. It’s +immense. And I’ve thought out all the business of it; +the singer will sing the first verse alone, then during the +second verse Cousin Teresa will walk through, followed by four +wooden dogs on wheels; Cæsar will be an Irish terrier, Fido +a black poodle, Jock a fox-terrier, and the borzoi, of course, +will be a borzoi. During the third verse Cousin Teresa will +come on alone, and the dogs will be drawn across by themselves +from the opposite wing; then Cousin Teresa will catch on to the +singer and go off-stage in one direction, while the dogs’ +procession goes off in the other, crossing en route, which is +always very effective. There’ll be a lot of applause +there, and for the fourth verse Cousin Teresa will come on in +sables and the dogs will all have coats on. Then I’ve +got a great idea for the fifth verse; each of the dogs will be +led on by a Nut, and Cousin Teresa will come on from the opposite +side, crossing en route, always effective, and then she turns +round and leads the whole lot of them off on a string, and all +the time every one singing like mad:</p> +<blockquote><p>Cousin Teresa takes out Cæsar<br /> +Fido, Jock, and the big borzoi.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Tum-Tum! Drum business on the two last syllables. +I’m so excited, I shan’t sleep a wink to-night. +I’m off to-morrow by the ten-fifteen. I’ve +wired to Hermanova to lunch with me.”</p> +<p>If any of the rest of the family felt any excitement over the +creation of Cousin Teresa, they were signally successful in +concealing the fact.</p> +<p>“Poor Lucas does take his silly little ideas +seriously,” said Colonel Harrowcluff afterwards in the +smoking-room.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said his younger son, in a slightly less +tolerant tone, “in a day or two he’ll come back and +tell us that his sensational masterpiece is above the heads of +the public, and in about three weeks’ time he’ll be +wild with enthusiasm over a scheme to dramatise the poems of +Herrick or something equally promising.”</p> +<p>And then an extraordinary thing befell. In defiance of +all precedent Lucas’s glowing anticipations were justified +and endorsed by the course of events. If Cousin Teresa was +above the heads of the public, the public heroically adapted +itself to her altitude. Introduced as an experiment at a +dull moment in a new <i>revue</i>, the success of the item was +unmistakable; the calls were so insistent and uproarious that +even Lucas’ ample devisings of additional +“business” scarcely sufficed to keep pace with the +demand. Packed houses on successive evenings confirmed the +verdict of the first night audience, stalls and boxes filled +significantly just before the turn came on, and emptied +significantly after the last <i>encore</i> had been given. +The manager tearfully acknowledged that Cousin Teresa was +It. Stage hands and supers and programme sellers +acknowledged it to one another without the least +reservation. The name of the <i>revue</i> dwindled to +secondary importance, and vast letters of electric blue blazoned +the words “Cousin Teresa” from the front of the great +palace of pleasure. And, of course, the magic of the famous +refrain laid its spell all over the Metropolis. Restaurant +proprietors were obliged to provide the members of their +orchestras with painted wooden dogs on wheels, in order that the +much-demanded and always conceded melody should be rendered with +the necessary spectacular effects, and the crash of bottles and +forks on the tables at the mention of the big borzoi usually +drowned the sincerest efforts of drum or cymbals. Nowhere +and at no time could one get away from the double thump that +brought up the rear of the refrain; revellers reeling home at +night banged it on doors and hoardings, milkmen clashed their +cans to its cadence, messenger boys hit smaller messenger boys +resounding double smacks on the same principle. And the +more thoughtful circles of the great city were not deaf to the +claims and significance of the popular melody. An +enterprising and emancipated preacher discoursed from his pulpit +on the inner meaning of “Cousin Teresa,” and Lucas +Harrowcluff was invited to lecture on the subject of his great +achievement to members of the Young Mens’ Endeavour League, +the Nine Arts Club, and other learned and willing-to-learn +bodies. In Society it seemed to be the one thing people +really cared to talk about; men and women of middle age and +average education might be seen together in corners earnestly +discussing, not the question whether Servia should have an outlet +on the Adriatic, or the possibilities of a British success in +international polo contests, but the more absorbing topic of the +problematic Aztec or Nilotic origin of the Teresa +<i>motiv</i>.</p> +<p>“Politics and patriotism are so boring and so out of +date,” said a revered lady who had some pretensions to +oracular utterance; “we are too cosmopolitan nowadays to be +really moved by them. That is why one welcomes an +intelligible production like ‘Cousin Teresa,’ that +has a genuine message for one. One can’t understand +the message all at once, of course, but one felt from the very +first that it was there. I’ve been to see it eighteen +times and I’m going again to-morrow and on Thursday. +One can’t see it often enough.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>“It would be rather a popular move if we gave this +Harrowcluff person a knighthood or something of the sort,” +said the Minister reflectively.</p> +<p>“Which Harrowcluff?” asked his secretary.</p> +<p>“Which? There is only one, isn’t +there?” said the Minister; “the ‘Cousin +Teresa’ man, of course. I think every one would be +pleased if we knighted him. Yes, you can put him down on +the list of certainties—under the letter L.”</p> +<p>“The letter L,” said the secretary, who was new to +his job; “does that stand for Liberalism or +liberality?”</p> +<p>Most of the recipients of Ministerial favour were expected to +qualify in both of those subjects.</p> +<p>“Literature,” explained the Minister.</p> +<p>And thus, after a fashion, Colonel Harrowcluff’s +expectation of seeing his son’s name in the list of Honours +was gratified.</p> +<h2>THE YARKAND MANNER</h2> +<p>Sir Lulworth Quayne was making a leisurely progress through +the Zoological Society’s Gardens in company with his +nephew, recently returned from Mexico. The latter was +interested in comparing and contrasting allied types of animals +occurring in the North American and Old World fauna.</p> +<p>“One of the most remarkable things in the wanderings of +species,” he observed, “is the sudden impulse to trek +and migrate that breaks out now and again, for no apparent +reason, in communities of hitherto stay-at-home +animals.”</p> +<p>“In human affairs the same phenomenon is occasionally +noticeable,” said Sir Lulworth; “perhaps the most +striking instance of it occurred in this country while you were +away in the wilds of Mexico. I mean the wander fever which +suddenly displayed itself in the managing and editorial staffs of +certain London newspapers. It began with the stampede of +the entire staff of one of our most brilliant and enterprising +weeklies to the banks of the Seine and the heights of +Montmartre. The migration was a brief one, but it heralded +an era of restlessness in the Press world which lent quite a new +meaning to the phrase ‘newspaper circulation.’ +Other editorial staffs were not slow to imitate the example that +had been set them. Paris soon dropped out of fashion as +being too near home; Nürnberg, Seville, and Salonica became +more favoured as planting-out grounds for the personnel of not +only weekly but daily papers as well. The localities were +perhaps not always well chosen; the fact of a leading organ of +Evangelical thought being edited for two successive fortnights +from Trouville and Monte Carlo was generally admitted to have +been a mistake. And even when enterprising and adventurous +editors took themselves and their staffs further afield there +were some unavoidable clashings. For instance, the +<i>Scrutator</i>, <i>Sporting Bluff</i>, and <i>The +Damsels’ Own Paper</i> all pitched on Khartoum for the same +week. It was, perhaps, a desire to out-distance all +possible competition that influenced the management of the +<i>Daily Intelligencer</i>, one of the most solid and respected +organs of Liberal opinion, in its decision to transfer its +offices for three or four weeks from Fleet Street to Eastern +Turkestan, allowing, of course, a necessary margin of time for +the journey there and back. This was, in many respects, the +most remarkable of all the Press stampedes that were experienced +at this time. There was no make-believe about the +undertaking; proprietor, manager, editor, sub-editors, +leader-writers, principal reporters, and so forth, all took part +in what was popularly alluded to as the <i>Drang nach Osten</i>; +an intelligent and efficient office-boy was all that was left in +the deserted hive of editorial industry.”</p> +<p>“That was doing things rather thoroughly, wasn’t +it?” said the nephew.</p> +<p>“Well, you see,” said Sir Lulworth, “the +migration idea was falling somewhat into disrepute from the +half-hearted manner in which it was occasionally carried +out. You were not impressed by the information that such +and such a paper was being edited and brought out at Lisbon or +Innsbruck if you chanced to see the principal leader-writer or +the art editor lunching as usual at their accustomed +restaurants. The <i>Daily Intelligencer</i> was determined +to give no loophole for cavil at the genuineness of its +pilgrimage, and it must be admitted that to a certain extent the +arrangements made for transmitting copy and carrying on the usual +features of the paper during the long outward journey worked +smoothly and well. The series of articles which commenced +at Baku on ‘What Cobdenism might do for the camel +industry’ ranks among the best of the recent contributions +to Free Trade literature, while the views on foreign policy +enunciated ‘from a roof in Yarkand’ showed at least +as much grasp of the international situation as those that had +germinated within half a mile of Downing Street. Quite in +keeping, too, with the older and better traditions of British +journalism was the manner of the home-coming; no bombast, no +personal advertisement, no flamboyant interviews. Even a +complimentary luncheon at the Voyagers’ Club was +courteously declined. Indeed, it began to be felt that the +self-effacement of the returned pressmen was being carried to a +pedantic length. Foreman compositors, advertisement clerks, +and other members of the non-editorial staff, who had, of course, +taken no part in the great trek, found it as impossible to get +into direct communication with the editor and his satellites now +that they had returned as when they had been excusably +inaccessible in Central Asia. The sulky, overworked +office-boy, who was the one connecting link between the editorial +brain and the business departments of the paper, sardonically +explained the new aloofness as the ‘Yarkand +manner.’ Most of the reporters and sub-editors seemed +to have been dismissed in autocratic fashion since their return +and new ones engaged by letter; to these the editor and his +immediate associates remained an unseen presence, issuing its +instructions solely through the medium of curt typewritten +notes. Something mystic and Tibetan and forbidden had +replaced the human bustle and democratic simplicity of +pre-migration days, and the same experience was encountered by +those who made social overtures to the returned wanderers. +The most brilliant hostess of Twentieth Century London flung the +pearl of her hospitality into the unresponsive trough of the +editorial letter-box; it seemed as if nothing short of a Royal +command would drag the hermit-souled <i>revenants</i> from their +self-imposed seclusion. People began to talk unkindly of +the effect of high altitudes and Eastern atmosphere on minds and +temperaments unused to such luxuries. The Yarkand manner +was not popular.”</p> +<p>“And the contents of the paper,” said the nephew, +“did they show the influence of the new style?”</p> +<p>“Ah!” said Sir Lulworth, “that was the +exciting thing. In home affairs, social questions, and the +ordinary events of the day not much change was noticeable. +A certain Oriental carelessness seemed to have crept into the +editorial department, and perhaps a note of lassitude not +unnatural in the work of men who had returned from what had been +a fairly arduous journey. The aforetime standard of +excellence was scarcely maintained, but at any rate the general +lines of policy and outlook were not departed from. It was +in the realm of foreign affairs that a startling change took +place. Blunt, forcible, outspoken articles appeared, +couched in language which nearly turned the autumn +manœuvres of six important Powers into mobilisations. +Whatever else the <i>Daily Intelligencer</i> had learned in the +East, it had not acquired the art of diplomatic ambiguity. +The man in the street enjoyed the articles and bought the paper +as he had never bought it before; the men in Downing Street took +a different view. The Foreign Secretary, hitherto accounted +a rather reticent man, became positively garrulous in the course +of perpetually disavowing the sentiments expressed in the +<i>Daily Intelligencer’s</i> leaders; and then one day the +Government came to the conclusion that something definite and +drastic must be done. A deputation, consisting of the Prime +Minister, the Foreign Secretary, four leading financiers, and a +well-known Nonconformist divine, made its way to the offices of +the paper. At the door leading to the editorial department +the way was barred by a nervous but defiant office-boy.</p> +<p>“‘You can’t see the editor nor any of the +staff,’ he announced.</p> +<p>“‘We insist on seeing the editor or some +responsible person,’ said the Prime Minister, and the +deputation forced its way in. The boy had spoken truly; +there was no one to be seen. In the whole suite of rooms +there was no sign of human life.</p> +<p>“‘Where is the editor?’ ‘Or the +foreign editor?’ ‘Or the chief +leader-writer? Or anybody?’</p> +<p>“In answer to the shower of questions the boy unlocked a +drawer and produced a strange-looking envelope, which bore a +Khokand postmark, and a date of some seven or eight months +back. It contained a scrap of paper on which was written +the following message:</p> +<blockquote><p>“‘Entire party captured by brigand +tribe on homeward journey. Quarter of million demanded as +ransom, but would probably take less. Inform Government, +relations, and friends.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“There followed the signatures of the principal members +of the party and instructions as to how and where the money was +to be paid.</p> +<p>“The letter had been directed to the +office-boy-in-charge, who had quietly suppressed it. No one +is a hero to one’s own office-boy, and he evidently +considered that a quarter of a million was an unwarrantable +outlay for such a doubtfully advantageous object as the +repatriation of an errant newspaper staff. So he drew the +editorial and other salaries, forged what signatures were +necessary, engaged new reporters, did what sub-editing he could, +and made as much use as possible of the large accumulation of +special articles that was held in reserve for emergencies. +The articles on foreign affairs were entirely his own +composition.</p> +<p>“Of course the whole thing had to be kept as quiet as +possible; an interim staff, pledged to secrecy, was appointed to +keep the paper going till the pining captives could be sought +out, ransomed, and brought home, in twos and threes to escape +notice, and gradually things were put back on their old +footing. The articles on foreign affairs reverted to the +wonted traditions of the paper.”</p> +<p>“But,” interposed the nephew, “how on earth +did the boy account to the relatives all those months for the +non-appearance—”</p> +<p>“That,” said Sir Lulworth, “was the most +brilliant stroke of all. To the wife or nearest relative of +each of the missing men he forwarded a letter, copying the +handwriting of the supposed writer as well as he could, and +making excuses about vile pens and ink; in each letter he told +the same story, varying only the locality, to the effect that the +writer, alone of the whole party, was unable to tear himself away +from the wild liberty and allurements of Eastern life, and was +going to spend several months roaming in some selected +region. Many of the wives started off immediately in +pursuit of their errant husbands, and it took the Government a +considerable time and much trouble to reclaim them from their +fruitless quests along the banks of the Oxus, the Gobi Desert, +the Orenburg steppe, and other outlandish places. One of +them, I believe, is still lost somewhere in the Tigris +Valley.”</p> +<p>“And the boy?”</p> +<p>“Is still in journalism.”</p> +<h2>THE BYZANTINE OMELETTE</h2> +<p>Sophie Chattel-Monkheim was a Socialist by conviction and a +Chattel-Monkheim by marriage. The particular member of that +wealthy family whom she had married was rich, even as his +relatives counted riches. Sophie had very advanced and +decided views as to the distribution of money: it was a pleasing +and fortunate circumstance that she also had the money. +When she inveighed eloquently against the evils of capitalism at +drawing-room meetings and Fabian conferences she was conscious of +a comfortable feeling that the system, with all its inequalities +and iniquities, would probably last her time. It is one of +the consolations of middle-aged reformers that the good they +inculcate must live after them if it is to live at all.</p> +<p>On a certain spring evening, somewhere towards the +dinner-hour, Sophie sat tranquilly between her mirror and her +maid, undergoing the process of having her hair built into an +elaborate reflection of the prevailing fashion. She was +hedged round with a great peace, the peace of one who has +attained a desired end with much effort and perseverance, and who +has found it still eminently desirable in its attainment. +The Duke of Syria had consented to come beneath her roof as a +guest, was even now installed beneath her roof, and would shortly +be sitting at her dining-table. As a good Socialist, Sophie +disapproved of social distinctions, and derided the idea of a +princely caste, but if there were to be these artificial +gradations of rank and dignity she was pleased and anxious to +have an exalted specimen of an exalted order included in her +house-party. She was broad-minded enough to love the sinner +while hating the sin—not that she entertained any warm +feeling of personal affection for the Duke of Syria, who was a +comparative stranger, but still, as Duke of Syria, he was very, +very welcome beneath her roof. She could not have explained +why, but no one was likely to ask her for an explanation, and +most hostesses envied her.</p> +<p>“You must surpass yourself to-night, Richardson,” +she said complacently to her maid; “I must be looking my +very best. We must all surpass ourselves.”</p> +<p>The maid said nothing, but from the concentrated look in her +eyes and the deft play of her fingers it was evident that she was +beset with the ambition to surpass herself.</p> +<p>A knock came at the door, a quiet but peremptory knock, as of +some one who would not be denied.</p> +<p>“Go and see who it is,” said Sophie; “it may +be something about the wine.”</p> +<p>Richardson held a hurried conference with an invisible +messenger at the door; when she returned there was noticeable a +curious listlessness in place of her hitherto alert manner.</p> +<p>“What is it?” asked Sophie.</p> +<p>“The household servants have ‘downed tools,’ +madame,” said Richardson.</p> +<p>“Downed tools!” exclaimed Sophie; “do you +mean to say they’ve gone on strike?”</p> +<p>“Yes, madame,” said Richardson, adding the +information: “It’s Gaspare that the trouble is +about.”</p> +<p>“Gaspare?” said Sophie wanderingly; “the +emergency chef! The omelette specialist!”</p> +<p>“Yes, madame. Before he became an omelette +specialist he was a valet, and he was one of the strike-breakers +in the great strike at Lord Grimford’s two years ago. +As soon as the household staff here learned that you had engaged +him they resolved to ‘down tools’ as a protest. +They haven’t got any grievance against you personally, but +they demand that Gaspare should be immediately +dismissed.”</p> +<p>“But,” protested Sophie, “he is the only man +in England who understands how to make a Byzantine +omelette. I engaged him specially for the Duke of +Syria’s visit, and it would be impossible to replace him at +short notice. I should have to send to Paris, and the Duke +loves Byzantine omelettes. It was the one thing we talked +about coming from the station.”</p> +<p>“He was one of the strike-breakers at Lord +Grimford’s,” reiterated Richardson.</p> +<p>“This is too awful,” said Sophie; “a strike +of servants at a moment like this, with the Duke of Syria staying +in the house. Something must be done immediately. +Quick, finish my hair and I’ll go and see what I can do to +bring them round.”</p> +<p>“I can’t finish your hair, madame,” said +Richardson quietly, but with immense decision. “I +belong to the union and I can’t do another +half-minute’s work till the strike is settled. +I’m sorry to be disobliging.”</p> +<p>“But this is inhuman!” exclaimed Sophie +tragically; “I’ve always been a model mistress and +I’ve refused to employ any but union servants, and this is +the result. I can’t finish my hair myself; I +don’t know how to. What am I to do? It’s +wicked!”</p> +<p>“Wicked is the word,” said Richardson; +“I’m a good Conservative and I’ve no patience +with this Socialist foolery, asking your pardon. It’s +tyranny, that’s what it is, all along the line, but +I’ve my living to make, same as other people, and +I’ve got to belong to the union. I couldn’t +touch another hair-pin without a strike permit, not if you was to +double my wages.”</p> +<p>The door burst open and Catherine Malsom raged into the +room.</p> +<p>“Here’s a nice affair,” she screamed, +“a strike of household servants without a moment’s +warning, and I’m left like this! I can’t appear +in public in this condition.”</p> +<p>After a very hasty scrutiny Sophie assured her that she could +not.</p> +<p>“Have they all struck?” she asked her maid.</p> +<p>“Not the kitchen staff,” said Richardson, +“they belong to a different union.”</p> +<p>“Dinner at least will be assured,” said Sophie, +“that is something to be thankful for.”</p> +<p>“Dinner!” snorted Catherine, “what on earth +is the good of dinner when none of us will be able to appear at +it? Look at your hair—and look at me! or rather, +don’t.”</p> +<p>“I know it’s difficult to manage without a maid; +can’t your husband be any help to you?” asked Sophie +despairingly.</p> +<p>“Henry? He’s in worse case than any of +us. His man is the only person who really understands that +ridiculous new-fangled Turkish bath that he insists on taking +with him everywhere.”</p> +<p>“Surely he could do without a Turkish bath for one +evening,” said Sophie; “I can’t appear without +hair, but a Turkish bath is a luxury.”</p> +<p>“My good woman,” said Catherine, speaking with a +fearful intensity, “Henry was in the bath when the strike +started. In it, do you understand? He’s there +now.”</p> +<p>“Can’t he get out?”</p> +<p>“He doesn’t know how to. Every time he pulls +the lever marked ‘release’ he only releases hot +steam. There are two kinds of steam in the bath, +‘bearable’ and ‘scarcely bearable’; he +has released them both. By this time I’m probably a +widow.”</p> +<p>“I simply can’t send away Gaspare,” wailed +Sophie; “I should never be able to secure another omelette +specialist.”</p> +<p>“Any difficulty that I may experience in securing +another husband is of course a trifle beneath anyone’s +consideration,” said Catherine bitterly.</p> +<p>Sophie capitulated. “Go,” she said to +Richardson, “and tell the Strike Committee, or whoever are +directing this affair, that Gaspare is herewith dismissed. +And ask Gaspare to see me presently in the library, when I will +pay him what is due to him and make what excuses I can; and then +fly back and finish my hair.”</p> +<p>Some half an hour later Sophie marshalled her guests in the +Grand Salon preparatory to the formal march to the +dining-room. Except that Henry Malsom was of the ripe +raspberry tint that one sometimes sees at private theatricals +representing the human complexion, there was little outward sign +among those assembled of the crisis that had just been +encountered and surmounted. But the tension had been too +stupefying while it lasted not to leave some mental effects +behind it. Sophie talked at random to her illustrious +guest, and found her eyes straying with increasing frequency +towards the great doors through which would presently come the +blessed announcement that dinner was served. Now and again +she glanced mirror-ward at the reflection of her wonderfully +coiffed hair, as an insurance underwriter might gaze thankfully +at an overdue vessel that had ridden safely into harbour in the +wake of a devastating hurricane. Then the doors opened and +the welcome figure of the butler entered the room. But he +made no general announcement of a banquet in readiness, and the +doors closed behind him; his message was for Sophie alone.</p> +<p>“There is no dinner, madame,” he said gravely; +“the kitchen staff have ‘downed tools.’ +Gaspare belongs to the Union of Cooks and Kitchen Employees, and +as soon as they heard of his summary dismissal at a +moment’s notice they struck work. They demand his +instant reinstatement and an apology to the union. I may +add, madame, that they are very firm; I’ve been obliged +even to hand back the dinner rolls that were already on the +table.”</p> +<p>After the lapse of eighteen months Sophie Chattel-Monkheim is +beginning to go about again among her old haunts and associates, +but she still has to be very careful. The doctors will not +let her attend anything at all exciting, such as a drawing-room +meeting or a Fabian conference; it is doubtful, indeed, whether +she wants to.</p> +<h2>THE FEAST OF NEMESIS</h2> +<p>“It’s a good thing that Saint Valentine’s +Day has dropped out of vogue,” said Mrs. Thackenbury; +“what with Christmas and New Year and Easter, not to speak +of birthdays, there are quite enough remembrance days as it +is. I tried to save myself trouble at Christmas by just +sending flowers to all my friends, but it wouldn’t work; +Gertrude has eleven hot-houses and about thirty gardeners, so it +would have been ridiculous to send flowers to her, and Milly has +just started a florist’s shop, so it was equally out of the +question there. The stress of having to decide in a hurry +what to give to Gertrude and Milly just when I thought I’d +got the whole question nicely off my mind completely ruined my +Christmas, and then the awful monotony of the letters of thanks: +‘Thank you so much for your lovely flowers. It was so +good of you to think of me.’ Of course in the +majority of cases I hadn’t thought about the recipients at +all; their names were down in my list of ‘people who must +not be left out.’ If I trusted to remembering them +there would be some awful sins of omission.”</p> +<p>“The trouble is,” said Clovis to his aunt, +“all these days of intrusive remembrance harp so +persistently on one aspect of human nature and entirely ignore +the other; that is why they become so perfunctory and +artificial. At Christmas and New Year you are emboldened +and encouraged by convention to send gushing messages of +optimistic goodwill and servile affection to people whom you +would scarcely ask to lunch unless some one else had failed you +at the last moment; if you are supping at a restaurant on New +Year’s Eve you are permitted and expected to join hands and +sing ‘For Auld Lang Syne’ with strangers whom you +have never seen before and never want to see again. But no +licence is allowed in the opposite direction.”</p> +<p>“Opposite direction; what opposite direction?” +queried Mrs. Thackenbury.</p> +<p>“There is no outlet for demonstrating your feelings +towards people whom you simply loathe. That is really the +crying need of our modern civilisation. Just think how +jolly it would be if a recognised day were set apart for the +paying off of old scores and grudges, a day when one could lay +oneself out to be gracefully vindictive to a carefully treasured +list of ‘people who must not be let off.’ I +remember when I was at a private school we had one day, the last +Monday of the term I think it was, consecrated to the settlement +of feuds and grudges; of course we did not appreciate it as much +as it deserved, because, after all, any day of the term could be +used for that purpose. Still, if one had chastised a +smaller boy for being cheeky weeks before, one was always +permitted on that day to recall the episode to his memory by +chastising him again. That is what the French call +reconstructing the crime.”</p> +<p>“I should call it reconstructing the punishment,” +said Mrs. Thackenbury; “and, anyhow, I don’t see how +you could introduce a system of primitive schoolboy vengeance +into civilised adult life. We haven’t outgrown our +passions, but we are supposed to have learned how to keep them +within strictly decorous limits.”</p> +<p>“Of course the thing would have to be done furtively and +politely,” said Clovis; “the charm of it would be +that it would never be perfunctory like the other thing. +Now, for instance, you say to yourself: ‘I must show the +Webleys some attention at Christmas, they were kind to dear +Bertie at Bournemouth,’ and you send them a calendar, and +daily for six days after Christmas the male Webley asks the +female Webley if she has remembered to thank you for the calendar +you sent them. Well, transplant that idea to the other and +more human side of your nature, and say to yourself: ‘Next +Thursday is Nemesis Day; what on earth can I do to those odious +people next door who made such an absurd fuss when Ping Yang bit +their youngest child?’ Then you’d get up +awfully early on the allotted day and climb over into their +garden and dig for truffles on their tennis court with a good +gardening fork, choosing, of course, that part of the court that +was screened from observation by the laurel bushes. You +wouldn’t find any truffles but you would find a great +peace, such as no amount of present-giving could ever +bestow.”</p> +<p>“I shouldn’t,” said Mrs. Thackenbury, though +her air of protest sounded a bit forced; “I should feel +rather a worm for doing such a thing.”</p> +<p>“You exaggerate the power of upheaval which a worm would +be able to bring into play in the limited time available,” +said Clovis; “if you put in a strenuous ten minutes with a +really useful fork, the result ought to suggest the operations of +an unusually masterful mole or a badger in a hurry.”</p> +<p>“They might guess I had done it,” said Mrs. +Thackenbury.</p> +<p>“Of course they would,” said Clovis; “that +would be half the satisfaction of the thing, just as you like +people at Christmas to know what presents or cards you’ve +sent them. The thing would be much easier to manage, of +course, when you were on outwardly friendly terms with the object +of your dislike. That greedy little Agnes Blaik, for +instance, who thinks of nothing but her food, it would be quite +simple to ask her to a picnic in some wild woodland spot and lose +her just before lunch was served; when you found her again every +morsel of food could have been eaten up.”</p> +<p>“It would require no ordinary human strategy to lose +Agnes Blaik when luncheon was imminent: in fact, I don’t +believe it could be done.”</p> +<p>“Then have all the other guests, people whom you +dislike, and lose the luncheon. It could have been sent by +accident in the wrong direction.”</p> +<p>“It would be a ghastly picnic,” said Mrs. +Thackenbury.</p> +<p>“For them, but not for you,” said Clovis; +“you would have had an early and comforting lunch before +you started, and you could improve the occasion by mentioning in +detail the items of the missing banquet—the lobster Newburg +and the egg mayonnaise, and the curry that was to have been +heated in a chafing-dish. Agnes Blaik would be delirious +long before you got to the list of wines, and in the long +interval of waiting, before they had quite abandoned hope of the +lunch turning up, you could induce them to play silly games, such +as that idiotic one of ‘the Lord Mayor’s +dinner-party,’ in which every one has to choose the name of +a dish and do something futile when it is called out. In +this case they would probably burst into tears when their dish is +mentioned. It would be a heavenly picnic.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Thackenbury was silent for a moment; she was probably +making a mental list of the people she would like to invite to +the Duke Humphrey picnic. Presently she asked: “And +that odious young man, Waldo Plubley, who is always coddling +himself—have you thought of anything that one could do to +him?” Evidently she was beginning to see the +possibilities of Nemesis Day.</p> +<p>“If there was anything like a general observance of the +festival,” said Clovis, “Waldo would be in such +demand that you would have to bespeak him weeks beforehand, and +even then, if there were an east wind blowing or a cloud or two +in the sky he might be too careful of his precious self to come +out. It would be rather jolly if you could lure him into a +hammock in the orchard, just near the spot where there is a +wasps’ nest every summer. A comfortable hammock on a +warm afternoon would appeal to his indolent tastes, and then, +when he was getting drowsy, a lighted fusee thrown into the nest +would bring the wasps out in an indignant mass, and they would +soon find a ‘home away from home’ on Waldo’s +fat body. It takes some doing to get out of a hammock in a +hurry.”</p> +<p>“They might sting him to death,” protested Mrs. +Thackenbury.</p> +<p>“Waldo is one of those people who would be enormously +improved by death,” said Clovis; “but if you +didn’t want to go as far as that, you could have some wet +straw ready to hand, and set it alight under the hammock at the +same time that the fusee was thrown into the nest; the smoke +would keep all but the most militant of the wasps just outside +the stinging line, and as long as Waldo remained within its +protection he would escape serious damage, and could be +eventually restored to his mother, kippered all over and swollen +in places, but still perfectly recognisable.”</p> +<p>“His mother would be my enemy for life,” said Mrs. +Thackenbury.</p> +<p>“That would be one greeting less to exchange at +Christmas,” said Clovis.</p> +<h2>THE DREAMER</h2> +<p>It was the season of sales. The august establishment of +Walpurgis and Nettlepink had lowered its prices for an entire +week as a concession to trade observances, much as an +Arch-duchess might protestingly contract an attack of influenza +for the unsatisfactory reason that influenza was locally +prevalent. Adela Chemping, who considered herself in some +measure superior to the allurements of an ordinary bargain sale, +made a point of attending the reduction week at Walpurgis and +Nettlepink’s.</p> +<p>“I’m not a bargain hunter,” she said, +“but I like to go where bargains are.”</p> +<p>Which showed that beneath her surface strength of character +there flowed a gracious undercurrent of human weakness.</p> +<p>With a view to providing herself with a male escort Mrs. +Chemping had invited her youngest nephew to accompany her on the +first day of the shopping expedition, throwing in the additional +allurement of a cinematograph theatre and the prospect of light +refreshment. As Cyprian was not yet eighteen she hoped he +might not have reached that stage in masculine development when +parcel-carrying is looked on as a thing abhorrent.</p> +<p>“Meet me just outside the floral department,” she +wrote to him, “and don’t be a moment later than +eleven.”</p> +<p>Cyprian was a boy who carried with him through early life the +wondering look of a dreamer, the eyes of one who sees things that +are not visible to ordinary mortals, and invests the commonplace +things of this world with qualities unsuspected by plainer +folk—the eyes of a poet or a house agent. He was +quietly dressed—that sartorial quietude which frequently +accompanies early adolescence, and is usually attributed by +novel-writers to the influence of a widowed mother. His +hair was brushed back in a smoothness as of ribbon seaweed and +seamed with a narrow furrow that scarcely aimed at being a +parting. His aunt particularly noted this item of his +toilet when they met at the appointed rendezvous, because he was +standing waiting for her bareheaded.</p> +<p>“Where is your hat?” she asked.</p> +<p>“I didn’t bring one with me,” he +replied.</p> +<p>Adela Chemping was slightly scandalised.</p> +<p>“You are not going to be what they call a Nut, are +you?” she inquired with some anxiety, partly with the idea +that a Nut would be an extravagance which her sister’s +small household would scarcely be justified in incurring, partly, +perhaps, with the instinctive apprehension that a Nut, even in +its embryo stage, would refuse to carry parcels.</p> +<p>Cyprian looked at her with his wondering, dreamy eyes.</p> +<p>“I didn’t bring a hat,” he said, +“because it is such a nuisance when one is shopping; I mean +it is so awkward if one meets anyone one knows and has to take +one’s hat off when one’s hands are full of +parcels. If one hasn’t got a hat on one can’t +take it off.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Chemping sighed with great relief; her worst fear had +been laid at rest.</p> +<p>“It is more orthodox to wear a hat,” she observed, +and then turned her attention briskly to the business in +hand.</p> +<p>“We will go first to the table-linen counter,” she +said, leading the way in that direction; “I should like to +look at some napkins.”</p> +<p>The wondering look deepened in Cyprian’s eyes as he +followed his aunt; he belonged to a generation that is supposed +to be over-fond of the rôle of mere spectator, but looking +at napkins that one did not mean to buy was a pleasure beyond his +comprehension. Mrs. Chemping held one or two napkins up to +the light and stared fixedly at them, as though she half expected +to find some revolutionary cypher written on them in scarcely +visible ink; then she suddenly broke away in the direction of the +glassware department.</p> +<p>“Millicent asked me to get her a couple of decanters if +there were any going really cheap,” she explained on the +way, “and I really do want a salad bowl. I can come +back to the napkins later on.”</p> +<p>She handled and scrutinised a large number of decanters and a +long series of salad bowls, and finally bought seven +chrysanthemum vases.</p> +<p>“No one uses that kind of vase nowadays,” she +informed Cyprian, “but they will do for presents next +Christmas.”</p> +<p>Two sunshades that were marked down to a price that Mrs. +Chemping considered absurdly cheap were added to her +purchases.</p> +<p>“One of them will do for Ruth Colson; she is going out +to the Malay States, and a sunshade will always be useful +there. And I must get her some thin writing paper. It +takes up no room in one’s baggage.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Chemping bought stacks of writing paper; it was so cheap, +and it went so flat in a trunk or portmanteau. She also +bought a few envelopes—envelopes somehow seemed rather an +extragavance compared with notepaper.</p> +<p>“Do you think Ruth will like blue or grey paper?” +she asked Cyprian.</p> +<p>“Grey,” said Cyprian, who had never met the lady +in question.</p> +<p>“Have you any mauve notepaper of this quality?” +Adela asked the assistant.</p> +<p>“We haven’t any mauve,” said the assistant, +“but we’ve two shades of green and a darker shade of +grey.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Chemping inspected the greens and the darker grey, and +chose the blue.</p> +<p>“Now we can have some lunch,” she said.</p> +<p>Cyprian behaved in an exemplary fashion in the refreshment +department, and cheerfully accepted a fish cake and a mince pie +and a small cup of coffee as adequate restoratives after two +hours of concentrated shopping. He was adamant, however, in +resisting his aunt’s suggestion that a hat should be bought +for him at the counter where men’s headwear was being +disposed of at temptingly reduced prices.</p> +<p>“I’ve got as many hats as I want at home,” +he said, “and besides, it rumples one’s hair so, +trying them on.”</p> +<p>Perhaps he was going to develop into a Nut after all. It +was a disquieting symptom that he left all the parcels in charge +of the cloak-room attendant.</p> +<p>“We shall be getting more parcels presently,” he +said, “so we need not collect these till we have finished +our shopping.”</p> +<p>His aunt was doubtfully appeased; some of the pleasure and +excitement of a shopping expedition seemed to evaporate when one +was deprived of immediate personal contact with one’s +purchases.</p> +<p>“I’m going to look at those napkins again,” +she said, as they descended the stairs to the ground floor. +“You need not come,” she added, as the dreaming look +in the boy’s eyes changed for a moment into one of mute +protest, “you can meet me afterwards in the cutlery +department; I’ve just remembered that I haven’t a +corkscrew in the house that can be depended on.”</p> +<p>Cyprian was not to be found in the cutlery department when his +aunt in due course arrived there, but in the crush and bustle of +anxious shoppers and busy attendants it was an easy matter to +miss anyone. It was in the leather goods department some +quarter of an hour later that Adela Chemping caught sight of her +nephew, separated from her by a rampart of suit-cases and +portmanteaux and hemmed in by the jostling crush of human beings +that now invaded every corner of the great shopping +emporium. She was just in time to witness a pardonable but +rather embarrassing mistake on the part of a lady who had +wriggled her way with unstayable determination towards the +bareheaded Cyprian, and was now breathlessly demanding the sale +price of a handbag which had taken her fancy.</p> +<p>“There now,” exclaimed Adela to herself, +“she takes him for one of the shop assistants because he +hasn’t got a hat on. I wonder it hasn’t +happened before.”</p> +<p>Perhaps it had. Cyprian, at any rate, seemed neither +startled nor embarrassed by the error into which the good lady +had fallen. Examining the ticket on the bag, he announced +in a clear, dispassionate voice:</p> +<p>“Black seal, thirty-four shillings, marked down to +twenty-eight. As a matter of fact, we are clearing them out +at a special reduction price of twenty-six shillings. They +are going off rather fast.”</p> +<p>“I’ll take it,” said the lady, eagerly +digging some coins out of her purse.</p> +<p>“Will you take it as it is?” asked Cyprian; +“it will be a matter of a few minutes to get it wrapped up, +there is such a crush.”</p> +<p>“Never mind, I’ll take it as it is,” said +the purchaser, clutching her treasure and counting the money into +Cyprian’s palm.</p> +<p>Several kind strangers helped Adela into the open air.</p> +<p>“It’s the crush and the heat,” said one +sympathiser to another; “it’s enough to turn anyone +giddy.”</p> +<p>When she next came across Cyprian he was standing in the crowd +that pushed and jostled around the counters of the book +department. The dream look was deeper than ever in his +eyes. He had just sold two books of devotion to an elderly +Canon.</p> +<h2>THE QUINCE TREE</h2> +<p>“I’ve just been to see old Betsy Mullen,” +announced Vera to her aunt, Mrs. Bebberly Cumble; “she +seems in rather a bad way about her rent. She owes about +fifteen weeks of it, and says she doesn’t know where any of +it is to come from.”</p> +<p>“Betsy Mullen always is in difficulties with her rent, +and the more people help her with it the less she troubles about +it,” said the aunt. “I certainly am not going +to assist her any more. The fact is, she will have to go +into a smaller and cheaper cottage; there are several to be had +at the other end of the village for half the rent that she is +paying, or supposed to be paying, now. I told her a year +ago that she ought to move.”</p> +<p>“But she wouldn’t get such a nice garden anywhere +else,” protested Vera, “and there’s such a +jolly quince tree in the corner. I don’t suppose +there’s another quince tree in the whole parish. And +she never makes any quince jam; I think to have a quince tree and +not to make quince jam shows such strength of character. +Oh, she can’t possibly move away from that +garden.”</p> +<p>“When one is sixteen,” said Mrs. Bebberly Cumble +severely, “one talks of things being impossible which are +merely uncongenial. It is not only possible but it is +desirable that Betsy Mullen should move into smaller quarters; +she has scarcely enough furniture to fill that big +cottage.”</p> +<p>“As far as value goes,” said Vera after a short +pause, “there is more in Betsy’s cottage than in any +other house for miles round.”</p> +<p>“Nonsense,” said the aunt; “she parted with +whatever old china ware she had long ago.”</p> +<p>“I’m not talking about anything that belongs to +Betsy herself,” said Vera darkly; “but, of course, +you don’t know what I know, and I don’t suppose I +ought to tell you.”</p> +<p>“You must tell me at once,” exclaimed the aunt, +her senses leaping into alertness like those of a terrier +suddenly exchanging a bored drowsiness for the lively +anticipation of an immediate rat hunt.</p> +<p>“I’m perfectly certain that I oughtn’t to +tell you anything about it,” said Vera, “but, then, I +often do things that I oughtn’t to do.”</p> +<p>“I should be the last person to suggest that you should +do anything that you ought not to do to—” began Mrs. +Bebberly Cumble impressively.</p> +<p>“And I am always swayed by the last person who speaks to +me,” admitted Vera, “so I’ll do what I ought +not to do and tell you.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Bebberley Cumble thrust a very pardonable sense of +exasperation into the background of her mind and demanded +impatiently:</p> +<p>“What is there in Betsy Mullen’s cottage that you +are making such a fuss about?”</p> +<p>“It’s hardly fair to say that <i>I’ve</i> +made a fuss about it,” said Vera; “this is the first +time I’ve mentioned the matter, but there’s been no +end of trouble and mystery and newspaper speculation about +it. It’s rather amusing to think of the columns of +conjecture in the Press and the police and detectives hunting +about everywhere at home and abroad, and all the while that +innocent-looking little cottage has held the secret.”</p> +<p>“You don’t mean to say it’s the Louvre +picture, La Something or other, the woman with the smile, that +disappeared about two years ago?” exclaimed the aunt with +rising excitement.</p> +<p>“Oh no, not that,” said Vera, “but something +quite as important and just as mysterious—if anything, +rather more scandalous.”</p> +<p>“Not the Dublin—?”</p> +<p>Vera nodded.</p> +<p>“The whole jolly lot of them.”</p> +<p>“In Betsy’s cottage? Incredible!”</p> +<p>“Of course Betsy hasn’t an idea as to what they +are,” said Vera; “she just knows that they are +something valuable and that she must keep quiet about them. +I found out quite by accident what they were and how they came to +be there. You see, the people who had them were at their +wits’ end to know where to stow them away for safe keeping, +and some one who was motoring through the village was struck by +the snug loneliness of the cottage and thought it would be just +the thing. Mrs. Lamper arranged the matter with Betsy and +smuggled the things in.”</p> +<p>“Mrs. Lamper?”</p> +<p>“Yes; she does a lot of district visiting, you +know.”</p> +<p>“I am quite aware that she takes soup and flannel and +improving literature to the poorer cottagers,” said Mrs. +Bebberly Cumble, “but that is hardly the same sort of thing +as disposing of stolen goods, and she must have known something +about their history; anyone who reads the papers, even casually, +must have been aware of the theft, and I should think the things +were not hard to recognise. Mrs. Lamper has always had the +reputation of being a very conscientious woman.”</p> +<p>“Of course she was screening some one else,” said +Vera. “A remarkable feature of the affair is the +extraordinary number of quite respectable people who have +involved themselves in its meshes by trying to shield +others. You would be really astonished if you knew some of +the names of the individuals mixed up in it, and I don’t +suppose a tithe of them know who the original culprits were; and +now I’ve got you entangled in the mess by letting you into +the secret of the cottage.”</p> +<p>“You most certainly have not entangled me,” said +Mrs. Bebberly Cumble indignantly. “I have no +intention of shielding anybody. The police must know about +it at once; a theft is a theft, whoever is involved. If +respectable people choose to turn themselves into receivers and +disposers of stolen goods, well, they’ve ceased to be +respectable, that’s all. I shall telephone +immediately—”</p> +<p>“Oh, aunt,” said Vera reproachfully, “it +would break the poor Canon’s heart if Cuthbert were to be +involved in a scandal of this sort. You know it +would.”</p> +<p>“Cuthbert involved! How can you say such things +when you know how much we all think of him?”</p> +<p>“Of course I know you think a lot of him, and that +he’s engaged to marry Beatrice, and that it will be a +frightfully good match, and that he’s your ideal of what a +son-in-law ought to be. All the same, it was +Cuthbert’s idea to stow the things away in the cottage, and +it was his motor that brought them. He was only doing it to +help his friend Pegginson, you know—the Quaker man, who is +always agitating for a smaller Navy. I forget how he got +involved in it. I warned you that there were lots of quite +respectable people mixed up in it, didn’t I? +That’s what I meant when I said it would be impossible for +old Betsy to leave the cottage; the things take up a good bit of +room, and she couldn’t go carrying them about with her +other goods and chattels without attracting notice. Of +course if she were to fall ill and die it would be equally +unfortunate. Her mother lived to be over ninety, she tells +me, so with due care and an absence of worry she ought to last +for another dozen years at least. By that time perhaps some +other arrangements will have been made for disposing of the +wretched things.”</p> +<p>“I shall speak to Cuthbert about it—after the +wedding,” said Mrs. Bebberly Cumble.</p> +<p>“The wedding isn’t till next year,” said +Vera, in recounting the story to her best girl friend, “and +meanwhile old Betsy is living rent free, with soup twice a week +and my aunt’s doctor to see her whenever she has a finger +ache.”</p> +<p>“But how on earth did you get to know about it +all?” asked her friend, in admiring wonder.</p> +<p>“It was a mystery—” said Vera.</p> +<p>“Of course it was a mystery, a mystery that baffled +everybody. What beats me is how you found +out—”</p> +<p>“Oh, about the jewels? I invented that +part,” explained Vera; “I mean the mystery was where +old Betsy’s arrears of rent were to come from; and she +would have hated leaving that jolly quince tree.”</p> +<h2>THE FORBIDDEN BUZZARDS</h2> +<p>“Is matchmaking at all in your line?”</p> +<p>Hugo Peterby asked the question with a certain amount of +personal interest.</p> +<p>“I don’t specialise in it,” said Clovis; +“it’s all right while you’re doing it, but the +after-effects are sometimes so disconcerting—the mute +reproachful looks of the people you’ve aided and abetted in +matrimonial experiments. It’s as bad as selling a man +a horse with half a dozen latent vices and watching him discover +them piecemeal in the course of the hunting season. I +suppose you’re thinking of the Coulterneb girl. +She’s certainly jolly, and quite all right as far as looks +go, and I believe a certain amount of money adheres to her. +What I don’t see is how you will ever manage to propose to +her. In all the time I’ve known her I don’t +remember her to have stopped talking for three consecutive +minutes. You’ll have to race her six times round the +grass paddock for a bet, and then blurt your proposal out before +she’s got her wind back. The paddock is laid up for +hay, but if you’re really in love with her you won’t +let a consideration of that sort stop you, especially as +it’s not your hay.”</p> +<p>“I think I could manage the proposing part right +enough,” said Hugo, “if I could count on being left +alone with her for four or five hours. The trouble is that +I’m not likely to get anything like that amount of +grace. That fellow Lanner is showing signs of interesting +himself in the same quarter. He’s quite +heartbreakingly rich and is rather a swell in his way; in fact, +our hostess is obviously a bit flattered at having him +here. If she gets wind of the fact that he’s inclined +to be attracted by Betty Coulterneb she’ll think it a +splendid match and throw them into each other’s arms all +day long, and then where will my opportunities come in? My +one anxiety is to keep him out of the girl’s way as much as +possible, and if you could help me—”</p> +<p>“If you want me to trot Lanner round the countryside, +inspecting alleged Roman remains and studying local methods of +bee culture and crop raising, I’m afraid I can’t +oblige you,” said Clovis. “You see, he’s +taken something like an aversion to me since the other night in +the smoking-room.”</p> +<p>“What happened in the smoking-room?”</p> +<p>“He trotted out some well-worn chestnut as the latest +thing in good stories, and I remarked, quite innocently, that I +never could remember whether it was George II. or James II. who +was so fond of that particular story, and now he regards me with +politely-draped dislike. I’ll do my best for you, if +the opportunity arises, but it will have to be in a roundabout, +impersonal manner.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>“It’s so nice having Mr. Lanner here,” +confided Mrs. Olston to Clovis the next afternoon; +“he’s always been engaged when I’ve asked him +before. Such a nice man; he really ought to be married to +some nice girl. Between you and me, I have an idea that he +came down here for a certain reason.”</p> +<p>“I’ve had much the same idea,” said Clovis, +lowering his voice; “in fact, I’m almost certain of +it.”</p> +<p>“You mean he’s attracted by—” began +Mrs. Olston eagerly.</p> +<p>“I mean he’s here for what he can get,” said +Clovis.</p> +<p>“For what he can <i>get</i>?” said the hostess +with a touch of indignation in her voice; “what do you +mean? He’s a very rich man. What should he want +to get here?”</p> +<p>“He has one ruling passion,” said Clovis, +“and there’s something he can get here that is not to +be had for love nor for money anywhere else in the country, as +far as I know.”</p> +<p>“But what? Whatever do you mean? What is his +ruling passion?”</p> +<p>“Egg-collecting,” said Clovis. “He has +agents all over the world getting rare eggs for him, and his +collection is one of the finest in Europe; but his great ambition +is to collect his treasures personally. He stops at no +expense nor trouble to achieve that end.”</p> +<p>“Good heavens! The buzzards, the rough-legged +buzzards!” exclaimed Mrs. Olston; “you don’t +think he’s going to raid their nest?”</p> +<p>“What do you think yourself?” asked Clovis; +“the only pair of rough-legged buzzards known to breed in +this country are nesting in your woods. Very few people +know about them, but as a member of the league for protecting +rare birds that information would be at his disposal. I +came down in the train with him, and I noticed that a bulky +volume of Dresser’s ‘Birds of Europe’ was one +of the requisites that he had packed in his travelling-kit. +It was the volume dealing with short-winged hawks and +buzzards.”</p> +<p>Clovis believed that if a lie was worth telling it was worth +telling well.</p> +<p>“This is appalling,” said Mrs. Olston; “my +husband would never forgive me if anything happened to those +birds. They’ve been seen about the woods for the last +year or two, but this is the first time they’ve +nested. As you say, they are almost the only pair known to +be breeding in the whole of Great Britain; and now their nest is +going to be harried by a guest staying under my roof. I +must do something to stop it. Do you think if I appealed to +him—”</p> +<p>Clovis laughed.</p> +<p>“There is a story going about, which I fancy is true in +most of its details, of something that happened not long ago +somewhere on the coast of the Sea of Marmora, in which our friend +had a hand. A Syrian nightjar, or some such bird, was known +to be breeding in the olive gardens of a rich Armenian, who for +some reason or other wouldn’t allow Lanner to go in and +take the eggs, though he offered cash down for the +permission. The Armenian was found beaten nearly to death a +day or two later, and his fences levelled. It was assumed +to be a case of Mussulman aggression, and noted as such in all +the Consular reports, but the eggs are in the Lanner +collection. No, I don’t think I should appeal to his +better feelings if I were you.”</p> +<p>“I must do something,” said Mrs. Olston tearfully; +“my husband’s parting words when he went off to +Norway were an injunction to see that those birds were not +disturbed, and he’s asked about them every time he’s +written. Do suggest something.”</p> +<p>“I was going to suggest picketing,” said +Clovis.</p> +<p>“Picketing! You mean setting guards round the +birds?”</p> +<p>“No; round Lanner. He can’t find his way +through those woods by night, and you could arrange that you or +Evelyn or Jack or the German governess should be by his side in +relays all day long. A fellow guest he could get rid of, +but he couldn’t very well shake off members of the +household, and even the most determined collector would hardly go +climbing after forbidden buzzards’ eggs with a German +governess hanging round his neck, so to speak.”</p> +<p>Lanner, who had been lazily watching for an opportunity for +prosecuting his courtship of the Coulterneb girl, found presently +that his chances of getting her to himself for ten minutes even +were non-existent. If the girl was ever alone he never +was. His hostess had changed suddenly, as far as he was +concerned, from the desirable type that lets her guests do +nothing in the way that best pleases them, to the sort that drags +them over the ground like so many harrows. She showed him +the herb garden and the greenhouses, the village church, some +water-colour sketches that her sister had done in Corsica, and +the place where it was hoped that celery would grow later in the +year.</p> +<p>He was shown all the Aylesbury ducklings and the row of wooden +hives where there would have been bees if there had not been bee +disease. He was also taken to the end of a long lane and +shown a distant mound whereon local tradition reported that the +Danes had once pitched a camp. And when his hostess had to +desert him temporarily for other duties he would find Evelyn +walking solemnly by his side. Evelyn was fourteen and +talked chiefly about good and evil, and of how much one might +accomplish in the way of regenerating the world if one was +thoroughly determined to do one’s utmost. It was +generally rather a relief when she was displaced by Jack, who was +nine years old, and talked exclusively about the Balkan War +without throwing any fresh light on its political or military +history. The German governess told Lanner more about +Schiller than he had ever heard in his life about any one person; +it was perhaps his own fault for having told her that he was not +interested in Goethe. When the governess went off picket +duty the hostess was again on hand with a not-to-be-gainsaid +invitation to visit the cottage of an old woman who remembered +Charles James Fox; the woman had been dead for two or three +years, but the cottage was still there. Lanner was called +back to town earlier than he had originally intended.</p> +<p>Hugo did not bring off his affair with Betty Coulterneb. +Whether she refused him or whether, as was more generally +supposed, he did not get a chance of saying three consecutive +words, has never been exactly ascertained. Anyhow, she is +still the jolly Coulterneb girl.</p> +<p>The buzzards successfully reared two young ones, which were +shot by a local hairdresser.</p> +<h2>THE STAKE</h2> +<p>“Ronnie is a great trial to me,” said Mrs. Attray +plaintively. “Only eighteen years old last February +and already a confirmed gambler. I am sure I don’t +know where he inherits it from; his father never touched cards, +and you know how little I play—a game of bridge on +Wednesday afternoons in the winter, for three-pence a hundred, +and even that I shouldn’t do if it wasn’t that Edith +always wants a fourth and would be certain to ask that detestable +Jenkinham woman if she couldn’t get me. I would much +rather sit and talk any day than play bridge; cards are such a +waste of time, I think. But as to Ronnie, bridge and +baccarat and poker-patience are positively all that he thinks +about. Of course I’ve done my best to stop it; +I’ve asked the Norridrums not to let him play cards when +he’s over there, but you might as well ask the Atlantic +Ocean to keep quiet for a crossing as expect them to bother about +a mother’s natural anxieties.”</p> +<p>“Why do you let him go there?” asked Eleanor +Saxelby.</p> +<p>“My dear,” said Mrs. Attray, “I don’t +want to offend them. After all, they are my landlords and I +have to look to them for anything I want done about the place; +they were very accommodating about the new roof for the orchid +house. And they lend me one of their cars when mine is out +of order; you know how often it gets out of order.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know how often,” said Eleanor, +“but it must happen very frequently. Whenever I want +you to take me anywhere in your car I am always told that there +is something wrong with it, or else that the chauffeur has got +neuralgia and you don’t like to ask him to go +out.”</p> +<p>“He suffers quite a lot from neuralgia,” said Mrs. +Attray hastily. “Anyhow,” she continued, +“you can understand that I don’t want to offend the +Norridrums. Their household is the most rackety one in the +county, and I believe no one ever knows to an hour or two when +any particular meal will appear on the table or what it will +consist of when it does appear.”</p> +<p>Eleanor Saxelby shuddered. She liked her meals to be of +regular occurrence and assured proportions.</p> +<p>“Still,” pursued Mrs. Attray, “whatever +their own home life may be, as landlords and neighbours they are +considerate and obliging, so I don’t want to quarrel with +them. Besides, if Ronnie didn’t play cards there +he’d be playing somewhere else.”</p> +<p>“Not if you were firm with him,” said Eleanor +“I believe in being firm.”</p> +<p>“Firm? I am firm,” exclaimed Mrs. Attray; +“I am more than firm—I am farseeing. I’ve +done everything I can think of to prevent Ronnie from playing for +money. I’ve stopped his allowance for the rest of the +year, so he can’t even gamble on credit, and I’ve +subscribed a lump sum to the church offertory in his name instead +of giving him instalments of small silver to put in the bag on +Sundays. I wouldn’t even let him have the money to +tip the hunt servants with, but sent it by postal order. He +was furiously sulky about it, but I reminded him of what happened +to the ten shillings that I gave him for the Young Men’s +Endeavour League ‘Self-Denial Week.’”</p> +<p>“What did happen to it?” asked Eleanor.</p> +<p>“Well, Ronnie did some preliminary endeavouring with it, +on his own account, in connection with the Grand National. +If it had come off, as he expressed it, he would have given the +League twenty-five shillings and netted a comfortable commission +for himself; as it was, that ten shillings was one of the things +the League had to deny itself. Since then I’ve been +careful not to let him have a penny piece in his +hands.”</p> +<p>“He’ll get round that in some way,” said +Eleanor with quiet conviction; “he’ll sell +things.”</p> +<p>“My dear, he’s done all that is to be done in that +direction already. He’s got rid of his wrist-watch +and his hunting flask and both his cigarette cases, and I +shouldn’t be surprised if he’s wearing imitation-gold +sleeve links instead of those his Aunt Rhoda gave him on his +seventeenth birthday. He can’t sell his clothes, of +course, except his winter overcoat, and I’ve locked that up +in the camphor cupboard on the pretext of preserving it from +moth. I really don’t see what else he can raise money +on. I consider that I’ve been both firm and +farseeing.”</p> +<p>“Has he been at the Norridrums lately?” asked +Eleanor.</p> +<p>“He was there yesterday afternoon and stayed to +dinner,” said Mrs. Attray. “I don’t quite +know when he came home, but I fancy it was late.”</p> +<p>“Then depend on it he was gambling,” said Eleanor, +with the assured air of one who has few ideas and makes the most +of them. “Late hours in the country always mean +gambling.”</p> +<p>“He can’t gamble if he has no money and no chance +of getting any,” argued Mrs. Attray; “even if one +plays for small stakes one must have a decent prospect of paying +one’s losses.”</p> +<p>“He may have sold some of the Amherst pheasant +chicks,” suggested Eleanor; “they would fetch about +ten or twelve shillings each, I daresay.”</p> +<p>“Ronnie wouldn’t do such a thing,” said Mrs. +Attray; “and anyhow I went and counted them this morning +and they’re all there. No,” she continued, with +the quiet satisfaction that comes from a sense of painstaking and +merited achievement, “I fancy that Ronnie had to content +himself with the rôle of onlooker last night, as far as the +card-table was concerned.”</p> +<p>“Is that clock right?” asked Eleanor, whose eyes +had been straying restlessly towards the mantel-piece for some +little time; “lunch is usually so punctual in your +establishment.”</p> +<p>“Three minutes past the half-hour,” exclaimed Mrs. +Attray; “cook must be preparing something unusually +sumptuous in your honour. I am not in the secret; +I’ve been out all the morning, you know.”</p> +<p>Eleanor smiled forgivingly. A special effort by Mrs. +Attray’s cook was worth waiting a few minutes for.</p> +<p>As a matter of fact, the luncheon fare, when it made its tardy +appearance, was distinctly unworthy of the reputation which the +justly-treasured cook had built up for herself. The soup +alone would have sufficed to cast a gloom over any meal that it +had inaugurated, and it was not redeemed by anything that +followed. Eleanor said little, but when she spoke there was +a hint of tears in her voice that was far more eloquent than +outspoken denunciation would have been, and even the insouciant +Ronald showed traces of depression when he tasted the rognons +Saltikoff.</p> +<p>“Not quite the best luncheon I’ve enjoyed in your +house,” said Eleanor at last, when her final hope had +flickered out with the savoury.</p> +<p>“My dear, it’s the worst meal I’ve sat down +to for years,” said her hostess; “that last dish +tasted principally of red pepper and wet toast. I’m +awfully sorry. Is anything the matter in the kitchen, +Pellin?” she asked of the attendant maid.</p> +<p>“Well, ma’am, the new cook hadn’t hardly +time to see to things properly, coming in so sudden—” +commenced Pellin by way of explanation.</p> +<p>“The new cook!” screamed Mrs. Attray.</p> +<p>“Colonel Norridrum’s cook, ma’am,” +said Pellin.</p> +<p>“What on earth do you mean? What is Colonel +Norridrum’s cook doing in my kitchen—and where is my +cook?”</p> +<p>“Perhaps I can explain better than Pellin can,” +said Ronald hurriedly; “the fact is, I was dining at the +Norridrums’ yesterday, and they were wishing they had a +swell cook like yours, just for to-day and to-morrow, while +they’ve got some gourmet staying with them: their own cook +is no earthly good—well, you’ve seen what she turns +out when she’s at all flurried. So I thought it would +be rather sporting to play them at baccarat for the loan of our +cook against a money stake, and I lost, that’s all. I +have had rotten luck at baccarat all this year.”</p> +<p>The remainder of his explanation, of how he had assured the +cooks that the temporary transfer had his mother’s +sanction, and had smuggled the one out and the other in during +the maternal absence, was drowned in the outcry of scandalised +upbraiding.</p> +<p>“If I had sold the woman into slavery there +couldn’t have been a bigger fuss about it,” he +confided afterwards to Bertie Norridrum, “and Eleanor +Saxelby raged and ramped the louder of the two. I tell you +what, I’ll bet you two of the Amherst pheasants to five +shillings that she refuses to have me as a partner at the croquet +tournament. We’re drawn together, you +know.”</p> +<p>This time he won his bet.</p> +<h2>CLOVIS ON PARENTAL RESPONSIBILITIES</h2> +<p>Marion Eggelby sat talking to Clovis on the only subject that +she ever willingly talked about—her offspring and their +varied perfections and accomplishments. Clovis was not in +what could be called a receptive mood; the younger generation of +Eggelby, depicted in the glowing improbable colours of parent +impressionism, aroused in him no enthusiasm. Mrs. Eggelby, +on the other hand, was furnished with enthusiasm enough for +two.</p> +<p>“You would like Eric,” she said, argumentatively +rather than hopefully. Clovis had intimated very +unmistakably that he was unlikely to care extravagantly for +either Amy or Willie. “Yes, I feel sure you would +like Eric. Every one takes to him at once. You know, +he always reminds me of that famous picture of the youthful +David—I forget who it’s by, but it’s very well +known.”</p> +<p>“That would be sufficient to set me against him, if I +saw much of him,” said Clovis. “Just imagine at +auction bridge, for instance, when one was trying to concentrate +one’s mind on what one’s partner’s original +declaration had been, and to remember what suits one’s +opponents had originally discarded, what it would be like to have +some one persistently reminding one of a picture of the youthful +David. It would be simply maddening. If Eric did that +I should detest him.”</p> +<p>“Eric doesn’t play bridge,” said Mrs. +Eggelby with dignity.</p> +<p>“Doesn’t he?” asked Clovis; “why +not?”</p> +<p>“None of my children have been brought up to play card +games,” said Mrs. Eggelby; “draughts and halma and +those sorts of games I encourage. Eric is considered quite +a wonderful draughts-player.”</p> +<p>“You are strewing dreadful risks in the path of your +family,” said Clovis; “a friend of mine who is a +prison chaplain told me that among the worst criminal cases that +have come under his notice, men condemned to death or to long +periods of penal servitude, there was not a single +bridge-player. On the other hand, he knew at least two +expert draughts-players among them.”</p> +<p>“I really don’t see what my boys have got to do +with the criminal classes,” said Mrs. Eggelby +resentfully. “They have been most carefully brought +up, I can assure you that.”</p> +<p>“That shows that you were nervous as to how they would +turn out,” said Clovis. “Now, my mother never +bothered about bringing me up. She just saw to it that I +got whacked at decent intervals and was taught the difference +between right and wrong; there is some difference, you know, but +I’ve forgotten what it is.”</p> +<p>“Forgotten the difference between right and +wrong!” exclaimed Mrs. Eggelby.</p> +<p>“Well, you see, I took up natural history and a whole +lot of other subjects at the same time, and one can’t +remember everything, can one? I used to know the difference +between the Sardinian dormouse and the ordinary kind, and whether +the wry-neck arrives at our shores earlier than the cuckoo, or +the other way round, and how long the walrus takes in growing to +maturity; I daresay you knew all those sorts of things once, but +I bet you’ve forgotten them.”</p> +<p>“Those things are not important,” said Mrs. +Eggelby, “but—”</p> +<p>“The fact that we’ve both forgotten them proves +that they are important,” said Clovis; “you must have +noticed that it’s always the important things that one +forgets, while the trivial, unnecessary facts of life stick in +one’s memory. There’s my cousin, Editha +Clubberley, for instance; I can never forget that her birthday is +on the 12th of October. It’s a matter of utter +indifference to me on what date her birthday falls, or whether +she was born at all; either fact seems to me absolutely trivial, +or unnecessary—I’ve heaps of other cousins to go on +with. On the other hand, when I’m staying with +Hildegarde Shrubley I can never remember the important +circumstance whether her first husband got his unenviable +reputation on the Turf or the Stock Exchange, and that +uncertainty rules Sport and Finance out of the conversation at +once. One can never mention travel, either, because her +second husband had to live permanently abroad.”</p> +<p>“Mrs. Shrubley and I move in very different +circles,” said Mrs. Eggelby stiffly.</p> +<p>“No one who knows Hildegarde could possibly accuse her +of moving in a circle,” said Clovis; “her view of +life seems to be a non-stop run with an inexhaustible supply of +petrol. If she can get some one else to pay for the petrol +so much the better. I don’t mind confessing to you +that she has taught me more than any other woman I can think +of.”</p> +<p>“What kind of knowledge?” demanded Mrs. Eggelby, +with the air a jury might collectively wear when finding a +verdict without leaving the box.</p> +<p>“Well, among other things, she’s introduced me to +at least four different ways of cooking lobster,” said +Clovis gratefully. “That, of course, wouldn’t +appeal to you; people who abstain from the pleasures of the +card-table never really appreciate the finer possibilities of the +dining-table. I suppose their powers of enlightened +enjoyment get atrophied from disuse.”</p> +<p>“An aunt of mine was very ill after eating a +lobster,” said Mrs. Eggelby.</p> +<p>“I daresay, if we knew more of her history, we should +find out that she’d often been ill before eating the +lobster. Aren’t you concealing the fact that +she’d had measles and influenza and nervous headache and +hysteria, and other things that aunts do have, long before she +ate the lobster? Aunts that have never known a day’s +illness are very rare; in fact, I don’t personally know of +any. Of course if she ate it as a child of two weeks old it +might have been her first illness—and her last. But +if that was the case I think you should have said so.”</p> +<p>“I must be going,” said Mrs. Eggelby, in a tone +which had been thoroughly sterilised of even perfunctory +regret.</p> +<p>Clovis rose with an air of graceful reluctance.</p> +<p>“I have so enjoyed our little talk about Eric,” he +said; “I quite look forward to meeting him some +day.”</p> +<p>“Good-bye,” said Mrs. Eggelby frostily; the +supplementary remark which she made at the back of her throat +was—</p> +<p>“I’ll take care that you never shall!”</p> +<h2>A HOLIDAY TASK</h2> +<p>Kenelm Jerton entered the dining-hall of the Golden Galleon +Hotel in the full crush of the luncheon hour. Nearly every +seat was occupied, and small additional tables had been brought +in, where floor space permitted, to accommodate latecomers, with +the result that many of the tables were almost touching each +other. Jerton was beckoned by a waiter to the only vacant +table that was discernible, and took his seat with the +uncomfortable and wholly groundless idea that nearly every one in +the room was staring at him. He was a youngish man of +ordinary appearance, quiet of dress and unobtrusive of manner, +and he could never wholly rid himself of the idea that a fierce +light of public scrutiny beat on him as though he had been a +notability or a super-nut. After he had ordered his lunch +there came the unavoidable interval of waiting, with nothing to +do but to stare at the flower-vase on his table and to be stared +at (in imagination) by several flappers, some maturer beings of +the same sex, and a satirical-looking Jew. In order to +carry off the situation with some appearance of unconcern he +became spuriously interested in the contents of the +flower-vase.</p> +<p>“What is the name of these roses, d’you +know?” he asked the waiter. The waiter was ready at +all times to conceal his ignorance concerning items of the +wine-list or menu; he was frankly ignorant as to the specific +name of the roses.</p> +<p>“<i>Amy Sylvester Partington</i>,” said a voice at +Jerton’s elbow.</p> +<p>The voice came from a pleasant-faced, well-dressed young woman +who was sitting at a table that almost touched +Jerton’s. He thanked her hurriedly and nervously for +the information, and made some inconsequent remark about the +flowers.</p> +<p>“It is a curious thing,” said the young woman, +that, “I should be able to tell you the name of those roses +without an effort of memory, because if you were to ask me my +name I should be utterly unable to give it to you.”</p> +<p>Jerton had not harboured the least intention of extending his +thirst for name-labels to his neighbour. After her rather +remarkable announcement, however, he was obliged to say something +in the way of polite inquiry.</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered the lady, “I suppose it is a +case of partial loss of memory. I was in the train coming +down here; my ticket told me that I had come from Victoria and +was bound for this place. I had a couple of five-pound +notes and a sovereign on me, no visiting cards or any other means +of identification, and no idea as to who I am. I can only +hazily recollect that I have a title; I am Lady +Somebody—beyond that my mind is a blank.”</p> +<p>“Hadn’t you any luggage with you?” asked +Jerton.</p> +<p>“That is what I didn’t know. I knew the name +of this hotel and made up my mind to come here, and when the +hotel porter who meets the trains asked if I had any luggage I +had to invent a dressing-bag and dress-basket; I could always +pretend that they had gone astray. I gave him the name of +Smith, and presently he emerged from a confused pile of luggage +and passengers with a dressing-bag and dress-basket labelled +Kestrel-Smith. I had to take them; I don’t see what +else I could have done.”</p> +<p>Jerton said nothing, but he rather wondered what the lawful +owner of the baggage would do.</p> +<p>“Of course it was dreadful arriving at a strange hotel +with the name of Kestrel-Smith, but it would have been worse to +have arrived without luggage. Anyhow, I hate causing +trouble.”</p> +<p>Jerton had visions of harassed railway officials and +distraught Kestrel-Smiths, but he made no attempt to clothe his +mental picture in words. The lady continued her story.</p> +<p>“Naturally, none of my keys would fit the things, but I +told an intelligent page boy that I had lost my key-ring, and he +had the locks forced in a twinkling. Rather too +intelligent, that boy; he will probably end in Dartmoor. +The Kestrel-Smith toilet tools aren’t up to much, but they +are better than nothing.”</p> +<p>“If you feel sure that you have a title,” said +Jerton, “why not get hold of a peerage and go right through +it?”</p> +<p>“I tried that. I skimmed through the list of the +House of Lords in ‘Whitaker,’ but a mere printed +string of names conveys awfully little to one, you know. If +you were an army officer and had lost your identity you might +pore over the Army List for months without finding out who your +were. I’m going on another tack; I’m trying to +find out by various little tests who I am <i>not</i>—that +will narrow the range of uncertainty down a bit. You may +have noticed, for instance, that I’m lunching principally +off lobster Newburg.”</p> +<p>Jerton had not ventured to notice anything of the sort.</p> +<p>“It’s an extravagance, because it’s one of +the most expensive dishes on the menu, but at any rate it proves +that I’m not Lady Starping; she never touches shell-fish, +and poor Lady Braddleshrub has no digestion at all; if I am +<i>her</i> I shall certainly die in agony in the course of the +afternoon, and the duty of finding out who I am will devolve on +the press and the police and those sort of people; I shall be +past caring. Lady Knewford doesn’t know one rose from +another and she hates men, so she wouldn’t have spoken to +you in any case; and Lady Mousehilton flirts with every man she +meets—I haven’t flirted with you, have I?”</p> +<p>Jerton hastily gave the required assurance.</p> +<p>“Well, you see,” continued the lady, “that +knocks four off the list at once.”</p> +<p>“It’ll be rather a lengthy process bringing the +list down to one,” said Jerton.</p> +<p>“Oh, but, of course, there are heaps of them that I +couldn’t possibly be—women who’ve got +grandchildren or sons old enough to have celebrated their coming +of age. I’ve only got to consider the ones about my +own age. I tell you how you might help me this afternoon, +if you don’t mind; go through any of the back numbers of +<i>Country Life</i> and those sort of papers that you can find in +the smoking-room, and see if you come across my portrait with +infant son or anything of that sort. It won’t take +you ten minutes. I’ll meet you in the lounge about +tea-time. Thanks awfully.”</p> +<p>And the Fair Unknown, having graciously pressed Jerton into +the search for her lost identity, rose and left the room. +As she passed the young man’s table she halted for a moment +and whispered:</p> +<p>“Did you notice that I tipped the waiter a +shilling? We can cross Lady Ulwight off the list; she would +have died rather than do that.”</p> +<p>At five o’clock Jerton made his way to the hotel lounge; +he had spent a diligent but fruitless quarter of an hour among +the illustrated weeklies in the smoking-room. His new +acquaintance was seated at a small tea-table, with a waiter +hovering in attendance.</p> +<p>“China tea or Indian?” she asked as Jerton came +up.</p> +<p>“China, please, and nothing to eat. Have you +discovered anything?”</p> +<p>“Only negative information. I’m not Lady +Befnal. She disapproves dreadfully of any form of gambling, +so when I recognised a well-known book maker in the hotel lobby I +went and put a tenner on an unnamed filly by William the Third +out of Mitrovitza for the three-fifteen race. I suppose the +fact of the animal being nameless was what attracted +me.”</p> +<p>“Did it win?” asked Jerton.</p> +<p>“No, came in fourth, the most irritating thing a horse +can do when you’ve backed it win or place. Anyhow, I +know now that I’m not Lady Befnal.”</p> +<p>“It seems to me that the knowledge was rather dearly +bought,” commented Jerton.</p> +<p>“Well, yes, it has rather cleared me out,” +admitted the identity-seeker; “a florin is about all +I’ve got left on me. The lobster Newburg made my +lunch rather an expensive one, and, of course, I had to tip that +boy for what he did to the Kestrel-Smith locks. I’ve +got rather a useful idea, though. I feel certain that I +belong to the Pivot Club; I’ll go back to town and ask the +hall porter there if there are any letters for me. He knows +all the members by sight, and if there are any letters or +telephone messages waiting for me of course that will solve the +problem. If he says there aren’t any I shall say: +‘You know who I am, don’t you?’ so I’ll +find out anyway.”</p> +<p>The plan seemed a sound one; a difficulty in its execution +suggested itself to Jerton.</p> +<p>“Of course,” said the lady, when he hinted at the +obstacle, “there’s my fare back to town, and my bill +here and cabs and things. If you’ll lend me three +pounds that ought to see me through comfortably. Thanks +ever so. Then there is the question of that luggage: I +don’t want to be saddled with that for the rest of my +life. I’ll have it brought down to the hall and you +can pretend to mount guard over it while I’m writing a +letter. Then I shall just slip away to the station, and you +can wander off to the smoking-room, and they can do what they +like with the things. They’ll advertise them after a +bit and the owner can claim them.”</p> +<p>Jerton acquiesced in the manœuvre, and duly mounted +guard over the luggage while its temporary owner slipped +unobtrusively out of the hotel. Her departure was not, +however, altogether unnoticed. Two gentlemen were strolling +past Jerton, and one of them remarked to the other:</p> +<p>“Did you see that tall young woman in grey who went out +just now? She is the Lady—”</p> +<p>His promenade carried him out of earshot at the critical +moment when he was about to disclose the elusive identity. +The Lady Who? Jerton could scarcely run after a total +stranger, break into his conversation, and ask him for +information concerning a chance passer-by. Besides, it was +desirable that he should keep up the appearance of looking after +the luggage. In a minute or two, however, the important +personage, the man who knew, came strolling back alone. +Jerton summoned up all his courage and waylaid him.</p> +<p>“I think I heard you say you knew the lady who went out +of the hotel a few minutes ago, a tall lady, dressed in +grey. Excuse me for asking if you could tell me her name; +I’ve been talking to her for half an hour; +she—er—she knows all my people and seems to know me, +so I suppose I’ve met her somewhere before, but I’m +blest if I can put a name to her. Could +you—?”</p> +<p>“Certainly. She’s a Mrs. Stroope.”</p> +<p>“<i>Mrs.</i>?” queried Jerton.</p> +<p>“Yes, she’s the Lady Champion at golf in my part +of the world. An awful good sort, and goes about a good +deal in Society, but she has an awkward habit of losing her +memory every now and then, and gets into all sorts of +fixes. She’s furious, too, if you make any allusion +to it afterwards. Good day, sir.”</p> +<p>The stranger passed on his way, and before Jerton had had time +to assimilate his information he found his whole attention +centred on an angry-looking lady who was making loud and +fretful-seeming inquiries of the hotel clerks.</p> +<p>“Has any luggage been brought here from the station by +mistake, a dress-basket and dressing-case, with the name +Kestrel-Smith? It can’t be traced anywhere. I +saw it put in at Victoria, that I’ll swear. +Why—there is my luggage! and the locks have been tampered +with!”</p> +<p>Jerton heard no more. He fled down to the Turkish bath, +and stayed there for hours.</p> +<h2>THE STALLED OX</h2> +<p>Theophil Eshley was an artist by profession, a cattle painter +by force of environment. It is not to be supposed that he +lived on a ranche or a dairy farm, in an atmosphere pervaded with +horn and hoof, milking-stool, and branding-iron. His home +was in a park-like, villa-dotted district that only just escaped +the reproach of being suburban. On one side of his garden +there abutted a small, picturesque meadow, in which an +enterprising neighbour pastured some small picturesque cows of +the Channel Island persuasion. At noonday in summertime the +cows stood knee-deep in tall meadow-grass under the shade of a +group of walnut trees, with the sunlight falling in dappled +patches on their mouse-sleek coats. Eshley had conceived +and executed a dainty picture of two reposeful milch-cows in a +setting of walnut tree and meadow-grass and filtered sunbeam, and +the Royal Academy had duly exposed the same on the walls of its +Summer Exhibition. The Royal Academy encourages orderly, +methodical habits in its children. Eshley had painted a +successful and acceptable picture of cattle drowsing +picturesquely under walnut trees, and as he had begun, so, of +necessity, he went on. His “Noontide Peace,” a +study of two dun cows under a walnut tree, was followed by +“A Mid-day Sanctuary,” a study of a walnut tree, with +two dun cows under it. In due succession there came +“Where the Gad-Flies Cease from Troubling,” +“The Haven of the Herd,” and “A-dream in +Dairyland,” studies of walnut trees and dun cows. His +two attempts to break away from his own tradition were signal +failures: “Turtle Doves alarmed by Sparrow-hawk” and +“Wolves on the Roman Campagna” came back to his +studio in the guise of abominable heresies, and Eshley climbed +back into grace and the public gaze with “A Shaded Nook +where Drowsy Milkers Dream.”</p> +<p>On a fine afternoon in late autumn he was putting some +finishing touches to a study of meadow weeds when his neighbour, +Adela Pingsford, assailed the outer door of his studio with loud +peremptory knockings.</p> +<p>“There is an ox in my garden,” she announced, in +explanation of the tempestuous intrusion.</p> +<p>“An ox,” said Eshley blankly, and rather +fatuously; “what kind of ox?”</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t know what kind,” snapped the +lady. “A common or garden ox, to use the slang +expression. It is the garden part of it that I object +to. My garden has just been put straight for the winter, +and an ox roaming about in it won’t improve matters. +Besides, there are the chrysanthemums just coming into +flower.”</p> +<p>“How did it get into the garden?” asked +Eshley.</p> +<p>“I imagine it came in by the gate,” said the lady +impatiently; “it couldn’t have climbed the walls, and +I don’t suppose anyone dropped it from an aeroplane as a +Bovril advertisement. The immediately important question is +not how it got in, but how to get it out.”</p> +<p>“Won’t it go?” said Eshley.</p> +<p>“If it was anxious to go,” said Adela Pingsford +rather angrily, “I should not have come here to chat with +you about it. I’m practically all alone; the +housemaid is having her afternoon out and the cook is lying down +with an attack of neuralgia. Anything that I may have +learned at school or in after life about how to remove a large ox +from a small garden seems to have escaped from my memory +now. All I could think of was that you were a near +neighbour and a cattle painter, presumably more or less familiar +with the subjects that you painted, and that you might be of some +slight assistance. Possibly I was mistaken.”</p> +<p>“I paint dairy cows, certainly,” admitted Eshley, +“but I cannot claim to have had any experience in +rounding-up stray oxen. I’ve seen it done on a cinema +film, of course, but there were always horses and lots of other +accessories; besides, one never knows how much of those pictures +are faked.”</p> +<p>Adela Pingsford said nothing, but led the way to her +garden. It was normally a fair-sized garden, but it looked +small in comparison with the ox, a huge mottled brute, dull red +about the head and shoulders, passing to dirty white on the +flanks and hind-quarters, with shaggy ears and large blood-shot +eyes. It bore about as much resemblance to the dainty +paddock heifers that Eshley was accustomed to paint as the chief +of a Kurdish nomad clan would to a Japanese tea-shop girl. +Eshley stood very near the gate while he studied the +animal’s appearance and demeanour. Adela Pingsford +continued to say nothing.</p> +<p>“It’s eating a chrysanthemum,” said Eshley +at last, when the silence had become unbearable.</p> +<p>“How observant you are,” said Adela +bitterly. “You seem to notice everything. As a +matter of fact, it has got six chrysanthemums in its mouth at the +present moment.”</p> +<p>The necessity for doing something was becoming +imperative. Eshley took a step or two in the direction of +the animal, clapped his hands, and made noises of the +“Hish” and “Shoo” variety. If the +ox heard them it gave no outward indication of the fact.</p> +<p>“If any hens should ever stray into my garden,” +said Adela, “I should certainly send for you to frighten +them out. You ‘shoo’ beautifully. +Meanwhile, do you mind trying to drive that ox away? That +is a <i>Mademoiselle Louise Bichot</i> that he’s begun on +now,” she added in icy calm, as a glowing orange head was +crushed into the huge munching mouth.</p> +<p>“Since you have been so frank about the variety of the +chrysanthemum,” said Eshley, “I don’t mind +telling you that this is an Ayrshire ox.”</p> +<p>The icy calm broke down; Adela Pingsford used language that +sent the artist instinctively a few feet nearer to the ox. +He picked up a pea-stick and flung it with some determination +against the animal’s mottled flanks. The operation of +mashing <i>Mademoiselle Louise Bichot</i> into a petal salad was +suspended for a long moment, while the ox gazed with concentrated +inquiry at the stick-thrower. Adela gazed with equal +concentration and more obvious hostility at the same focus. +As the beast neither lowered its head nor stamped its feet Eshley +ventured on another javelin exercise with another +pea-stick. The ox seemed to realise at once that it was to +go; it gave a hurried final pluck at the bed where the +chrysanthemums had been, and strode swiftly up the garden. +Eshley ran to head it towards the gate, but only succeeded in +quickening its pace from a walk to a lumbering trot. With +an air of inquiry, but with no real hesitation, it crossed the +tiny strip of turf that the charitable called the croquet lawn, +and pushed its way through the open French window into the +morning-room. Some chrysanthemums and other autumn herbage +stood about the room in vases, and the animal resumed its +browsing operations; all the same, Eshley fancied that the +beginnings of a hunted look had come into its eyes, a look that +counselled respect. He discontinued his attempt to +interfere with its choice of surroundings.</p> +<p>“Mr. Eshley,” said Adela in a shaking voice, +“I asked you to drive that beast out of my garden, but I +did not ask you to drive it into my house. If I must have +it anywhere on the premises I prefer the garden to the +morning-room.”</p> +<p>“Cattle drives are not in my line,” said Eshley; +“if I remember I told you so at the outset.” +“I quite agree,” retorted the lady, “painting +pretty pictures of pretty little cows is what you’re suited +for. Perhaps you’d like to do a nice sketch of that +ox making itself at home in my morning-room?”</p> +<p>This time it seemed as if the worm had turned; Eshley began +striding away.</p> +<p>“Where are you going?” screamed Adela.</p> +<p>“To fetch implements,” was the answer.</p> +<p>“Implements? I won’t have you use a +lasso. The room will be wrecked if there’s a +struggle.”</p> +<p>But the artist marched out of the garden. In a couple of +minutes he returned, laden with easel, sketching-stool, and +painting materials.</p> +<p>“Do you mean to say that you’re going to sit +quietly down and paint that brute while it’s destroying my +morning-room?” gasped Adela.</p> +<p>“It was your suggestion,” said Eshley, setting his +canvas in position.</p> +<p>“I forbid it; I absolutely forbid it!” stormed +Adela.</p> +<p>“I don’t see what standing you have in the +matter,” said the artist; “you can hardly pretend +that it’s your ox, even by adoption.”</p> +<p>“You seem to forget that it’s in my morning-room, +eating my flowers,” came the raging retort.</p> +<p>“You seem to forget that the cook has neuralgia,” +said Eshley; “she may be just dozing off into a merciful +sleep and your outcry will waken her. Consideration for +others should be the guiding principle of people in our station +of life.”</p> +<p>“The man is mad!” exclaimed Adela +tragically. A moment later it was Adela herself who +appeared to go mad. The ox had finished the vase-flowers +and the cover of “Israel Kalisch,” and appeared to be +thinking of leaving its rather restricted quarters. Eshley +noticed its restlessness and promptly flung it some bunches of +Virginia creeper leaves as an inducement to continue the +sitting.</p> +<p>“I forget how the proverb runs,” he observed; +“of something about ‘better a dinner of herbs than a +stalled ox where hate is.’ We seem to have all the +ingredients for the proverb ready to hand.”</p> +<p>“I shall go to the Public Library and get them to +telephone for the police,” announced Adela, and, raging +audibly, she departed.</p> +<p>Some minutes later the ox, awakening probably to the suspicion +that oil cake and chopped mangold was waiting for it in some +appointed byre, stepped with much precaution out of the +morning-room, stared with grave inquiry at the no longer +obtrusive and pea-stick-throwing human, and then lumbered heavily +but swiftly out of the garden. Eshley packed up his tools +and followed the animal’s example and +“Larkdene” was left to neuralgia and the cook.</p> +<p>The episode was the turning-point in Eshley’s artistic +career. His remarkable picture, “Ox in a +morning-room, late autumn,” was one of the sensations and +successes of the next Paris Salon, and when it was subsequently +exhibited at Munich it was bought by the Bavarian Government, in +the teeth of the spirited bidding of three meat-extract +firms. From that moment his success was continuous and +assured, and the Royal Academy was thankful, two years later, to +give a conspicuous position on its walls to his large canvas +“Barbary Apes Wrecking a Boudoir.”</p> +<p>Eshley presented Adela Pingsford with a new copy of +“Israel Kalisch,” and a couple of finely flowering +plants of <i>Madame Adnré Blusset</i>, but nothing in the +nature of a real reconciliation has taken place between them.</p> +<h2>THE STORY-TELLER</h2> +<p>It was a hot afternoon, and the railway carriage was +correspondingly sultry, and the next stop was at Templecombe, +nearly an hour ahead. The occupants of the carriage were a +small girl, and a smaller girl, and a small boy. An aunt +belonging to the children occupied one corner seat, and the +further corner seat on the opposite side was occupied by a +bachelor who was a stranger to their party, but the small girls +and the small boy emphatically occupied the compartment. +Both the aunt and the children were conversational in a limited, +persistent way, reminding one of the attentions of a housefly +that refuses to be discouraged. Most of the aunt’s +remarks seemed to begin with “Don’t,” and +nearly all of the children’s remarks began with +“Why?” The bachelor said nothing out +loud. “Don’t, Cyril, don’t,” +exclaimed the aunt, as the small boy began smacking the cushions +of the seat, producing a cloud of dust at each blow.</p> +<p>“Come and look out of the window,” she added.</p> +<p>The child moved reluctantly to the window. “Why +are those sheep being driven out of that field?” he +asked.</p> +<p>“I expect they are being driven to another field where +there is more grass,” said the aunt weakly.</p> +<p>“But there is lots of grass in that field,” +protested the boy; “there’s nothing else but grass +there. Aunt, there’s lots of grass in that +field.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps the grass in the other field is better,” +suggested the aunt fatuously.</p> +<p>“Why is it better?” came the swift, inevitable +question.</p> +<p>“Oh, look at those cows!” exclaimed the +aunt. Nearly every field along the line had contained cows +or bullocks, but she spoke as though she were drawing attention +to a rarity.</p> +<p>“Why is the grass in the other field better?” +persisted Cyril.</p> +<p>The frown on the bachelor’s face was deepening to a +scowl. He was a hard, unsympathetic man, the aunt decided +in her mind. She was utterly unable to come to any +satisfactory decision about the grass in the other field.</p> +<p>The smaller girl created a diversion by beginning to recite +“On the Road to Mandalay.” She only knew the +first line, but she put her limited knowledge to the fullest +possible use. She repeated the line over and over again in +a dreamy but resolute and very audible voice; it seemed to the +bachelor as though some one had had a bet with her that she could +not repeat the line aloud two thousand times without +stopping. Whoever it was who had made the wager was likely +to lose his bet.</p> +<p>“Come over here and listen to a story,” said the +aunt, when the bachelor had looked twice at her and once at the +communication cord.</p> +<p>The children moved listlessly towards the aunt’s end of +the carriage. Evidently her reputation as a story-teller +did not rank high in their estimation.</p> +<p>In a low, confidential voice, interrupted at frequent +intervals by loud, petulant questionings from her listeners, she +began an unenterprising and deplorably uninteresting story about +a little girl who was good, and made friends with every one on +account of her goodness, and was finally saved from a mad bull by +a number of rescuers who admired her moral character.</p> +<p>“Wouldn’t they have saved her if she hadn’t +been good?” demanded the bigger of the small girls. +It was exactly the question that the bachelor had wanted to +ask.</p> +<p>“Well, yes,” admitted the aunt lamely, “but +I don’t think they would have run quite so fast to her help +if they had not liked her so much.”</p> +<p>“It’s the stupidest story I’ve ever +heard,” said the bigger of the small girls, with immense +conviction.</p> +<p>“I didn’t listen after the first bit, it was so +stupid,” said Cyril.</p> +<p>The smaller girl made no actual comment on the story, but she +had long ago recommenced a murmured repetition of her favourite +line.</p> +<p>“You don’t seem to be a success as a +story-teller,” said the bachelor suddenly from his +corner.</p> +<p>The aunt bristled in instant defence at this unexpected +attack.</p> +<p>“It’s a very difficult thing to tell stories that +children can both understand and appreciate,” she said +stiffly.</p> +<p>“I don’t agree with you,” said the +bachelor.</p> +<p>“Perhaps you would like to tell them a story,” was +the aunt’s retort.</p> +<p>“Tell us a story,” demanded the bigger of the +small girls.</p> +<p>“Once upon a time,” began the bachelor, +“there was a little girl called Bertha, who was +extraordinarily good.”</p> +<p>The children’s momentarily-aroused interest began at +once to flicker; all stories seemed dreadfully alike, no matter +who told them.</p> +<p>“She did all that she was told, she was always truthful, +she kept her clothes clean, ate milk puddings as though they were +jam tarts, learned her lessons perfectly, and was polite in her +manners.”</p> +<p>“Was she pretty?” asked the bigger of the small +girls.</p> +<p>“Not as pretty as any of you,” said the bachelor, +“but she was horribly good.”</p> +<p>There was a wave of reaction in favour of the story; the word +horrible in connection with goodness was a novelty that commended +itself. It seemed to introduce a ring of truth that was +absent from the aunt’s tales of infant life.</p> +<p>“She was so good,” continued the bachelor, +“that she won several medals for goodness, which she always +wore, pinned on to her dress. There was a medal for +obedience, another medal for punctuality, and a third for good +behaviour. They were large metal medals and they clicked +against one another as she walked. No other child in the +town where she lived had as many as three medals, so everybody +knew that she must be an extra good child.”</p> +<p>“Horribly good,” quoted Cyril.</p> +<p>“Everybody talked about her goodness, and the Prince of +the country got to hear about it, and he said that as she was so +very good she might be allowed once a week to walk in his park, +which was just outside the town. It was a beautiful park, +and no children were ever allowed in it, so it was a great honour +for Bertha to be allowed to go there.”</p> +<p>“Were there any sheep in the park?” demanded +Cyril.</p> +<p>“No;” said the bachelor, “there were no +sheep.”</p> +<p>“Why weren’t there any sheep?” came the +inevitable question arising out of that answer.</p> +<p>The aunt permitted herself a smile, which might almost have +been described as a grin.</p> +<p>“There were no sheep in the park,” said the +bachelor, “because the Prince’s mother had once had a +dream that her son would either be killed by a sheep or else by a +clock falling on him. For that reason the Prince never kept +a sheep in his park or a clock in his palace.”</p> +<p>The aunt suppressed a gasp of admiration.</p> +<p>“Was the Prince killed by a sheep or by a clock?” +asked Cyril.</p> +<p>“He is still alive, so we can’t tell whether the +dream will come true,” said the bachelor unconcernedly; +“anyway, there were no sheep in the park, but there were +lots of little pigs running all over the place.”</p> +<p>“What colour were they?”</p> +<p>“Black with white faces, white with black spots, black +all over, grey with white patches, and some were white all +over.”</p> +<p>The story-teller paused to let a full idea of the park’s +treasures sink into the children’s imaginations; then he +resumed:</p> +<p>“Bertha was rather sorry to find that there were no +flowers in the park. She had promised her aunts, with tears +in her eyes, that she would not pick any of the kind +Prince’s flowers, and she had meant to keep her promise, so +of course it made her feel silly to find that there were no +flowers to pick.”</p> +<p>“Why weren’t there any flowers?”</p> +<p>“Because the pigs had eaten them all,” said the +bachelor promptly. “The gardeners had told the Prince +that you couldn’t have pigs and flowers, so he decided to +have pigs and no flowers.”</p> +<p>There was a murmur of approval at the excellence of the +Prince’s decision; so many people would have decided the +other way.</p> +<p>“There were lots of other delightful things in the +park. There were ponds with gold and blue and green fish in +them, and trees with beautiful parrots that said clever things at +a moment’s notice, and humming birds that hummed all the +popular tunes of the day. Bertha walked up and down and +enjoyed herself immensely, and thought to herself: ‘If I +were not so extraordinarily good I should not have been allowed +to come into this beautiful park and enjoy all that there is to +be seen in it,’ and her three medals clinked against one +another as she walked and helped to remind her how very good she +really was. Just then an enormous wolf came prowling into +the park to see if it could catch a fat little pig for its +supper.”</p> +<p>“What colour was it?” asked the children, amid an +immediate quickening of interest.</p> +<p>“Mud-colour all over, with a black tongue and pale grey +eyes that gleamed with unspeakable ferocity. The first +thing that it saw in the park was Bertha; her pinafore was so +spotlessly white and clean that it could be seen from a great +distance. Bertha saw the wolf and saw that it was stealing +towards her, and she began to wish that she had never been +allowed to come into the park. She ran as hard as she +could, and the wolf came after her with huge leaps and +bounds. She managed to reach a shrubbery of myrtle bushes +and she hid herself in one of the thickest of the bushes. +The wolf came sniffing among the branches, its black tongue +lolling out of its mouth and its pale grey eyes glaring with +rage. Bertha was terribly frightened, and thought to +herself: ‘If I had not been so extraordinarily good I +should have been safe in the town at this moment.’ +However, the scent of the myrtle was so strong that the wolf +could not sniff out where Bertha was hiding, and the bushes were +so thick that he might have hunted about in them for a long time +without catching sight of her, so he thought he might as well go +off and catch a little pig instead. Bertha was trembling +very much at having the wolf prowling and sniffing so near her, +and as she trembled the medal for obedience clinked against the +medals for good conduct and punctuality. The wolf was just +moving away when he heard the sound of the medals clinking and +stopped to listen; they clinked again in a bush quite near +him. He dashed into the bush, his pale grey eyes gleaming +with ferocity and triumph, and dragged Bertha out and devoured +her to the last morsel. All that was left of her were her +shoes, bits of clothing, and the three medals for +goodness.”</p> +<p>“Were any of the little pigs killed?”</p> +<p>“No, they all escaped.”</p> +<p>“The story began badly,” said the smaller of the +small girls, “but it had a beautiful ending.”</p> +<p>“It is the most beautiful story that I ever +heard,” said the bigger of the small girls, with immense +decision.</p> +<p>“It is the <i>only</i> beautiful story I have ever +heard,” said Cyril.</p> +<p>A dissentient opinion came from the aunt.</p> +<p>“A most improper story to tell to young children! +You have undermined the effect of years of careful +teaching.”</p> +<p>“At any rate,” said the bachelor, collecting his +belongings preparatory to leaving the carriage, “I kept +them quiet for ten minutes, which was more than you were able to +do.”</p> +<p>“Unhappy woman!” he observed to himself as he +walked down the platform of Templecombe station; “for the +next six months or so those children will assail her in public +with demands for an improper story!”</p> +<h2>A DEFENSIVE DIAMOND</h2> +<p>Treddleford sat in an easeful arm-chair in front of a +slumberous fire, with a volume of verse in his hand and the +comfortable consciousness that outside the club windows the rain +was dripping and pattering with persistent purpose. A +chill, wet October afternoon was merging into a bleak, wet +October evening, and the club smoking-room seemed warmer and +cosier by contrast. It was an afternoon on which to be +wafted away from one’s climatic surroundings, and +“The Golden Journey to Samarkand” promised to bear +Treddleford well and bravely into other lands and under other +skies. He had already migrated from London the rain-swept +to Bagdad the Beautiful, and stood by the Sun Gate “in the +olden time” when an icy breath of imminent annoyance seemed +to creep between the book and himself. Amblecope, the man +with the restless, prominent eyes and the mouth ready mobilised +for conversational openings, had planted himself in a +neighbouring arm-chair. For a twelvemonth and some odd +weeks Treddleford had skilfully avoided making the acquaintance +of his voluble fellow-clubman; he had marvellously escaped from +the infliction of his relentless record of tedious personal +achievements, or alleged achievements, on golf links, turf, and +gaming table, by flood and field and covert-side. Now his +season of immunity was coming to an end. There was no +escape; in another moment he would be numbered among those who +knew Amblecope to speak to—or rather, to suffer being +spoken to.</p> +<p>The intruder was armed with a copy of <i>Country Life</i>, not +for purposes of reading, but as an aid to conversational +ice-breaking.</p> +<p>“Rather a good portrait of Throstlewing,” he +remarked explosively, turning his large challenging eyes on +Treddleford; “somehow it reminds me very much of +Yellowstep, who was supposed to be such a good thing for the +Grand Prix in 1903. Curious race that was; I suppose +I’ve seen every race for the Grand Prix for the +last—”</p> +<p>“Be kind enough never to mention the Grand Prix in my +hearing,” said Treddleford desperately; “it awakens +acutely distressing memories. I can’t explain why +without going into a long and complicated story.”</p> +<p>“Oh, certainly, certainly,” said Amblecope +hastily; long and complicated stories that were not told by +himself were abominable in his eyes. He turned the pages of +<i>Country Life</i> and became spuriously interested in the +picture of a Mongolian pheasant.</p> +<p>“Not a bad representation of the Mongolian +variety,” he exclaimed, holding it up for his +neighbour’s inspection. “They do very well in +some covers. Take some stopping too, once they’re +fairly on the wing. I suppose the biggest bag I ever made +in two successive days—”</p> +<p>“My aunt, who owns the greater part of +Lincolnshire,” broke in Treddleford, with dramatic +abruptness, “possesses perhaps the most remarkable record +in the way of a pheasant bag that has ever been achieved. +She is seventy-five and can’t hit a thing, but she always +goes out with the guns. When I say she can’t hit a +thing, I don’t mean to say that she doesn’t +occasionally endanger the lives of her fellow-guns, because that +wouldn’t be true. In fact, the chief Government Whip +won’t allow Ministerial M.P.’s to go out with her; +‘We don’t want to incur by-elections +needlessly,’ he quite reasonably observed. Well, the +other day she winged a pheasant, and brought it to earth with a +feather or two knocked out of it; it was a runner, and my aunt +saw herself in danger of being done out of about the only bird +she’d hit during the present reign. Of course she +wasn’t going to stand that; she followed it through bracken +and brushwood, and when it took to the open country and started +across a ploughed field she jumped on to the shooting pony and +went after it. The chase was a long one, and when my aunt +at last ran the bird to a standstill she was nearer home than she +was to the shooting party; she had left that some five miles +behind her.”</p> +<p>“Rather a long run for a wounded pheasant,” +snapped Amblecope.</p> +<p>“The story rests on my aunt’s authority,” +said Treddleford coldly, “and she is local vice-president +of the Young Women’s Christian Association. She +trotted three miles or so to her home, and it was not till the +middle of the afternoon that it was discovered that the lunch for +the entire shooting party was in a pannier attached to the +pony’s saddle. Anyway, she got her bird.”</p> +<p>“Some birds, of course, take a lot of killing,” +said Amblecope; “so do some fish. I remember once I +was fishing in the Exe, lovely trout stream, lots of fish, though +they don’t run to any great size—”</p> +<p>“One of them did,” announced Treddleford, with +emphasis. “My uncle, the Bishop of Southmolton, came +across a giant trout in a pool just off the main stream of the +Exe near Ugworthy; he tried it with every kind of fly and worm +every day for three weeks without an atom of success, and then +Fate intervened on his behalf. There was a low stone bridge +just over this pool, and on the last day of his fishing holiday a +motor van ran violently into the parapet and turned completely +over; no one was hurt, but part of the parapet was knocked away, +and the entire load that the van was carrying was pitched over +and fell a little way into the pool. In a couple of minutes +the giant trout was flapping and twisting on bare mud at the +bottom of a waterless pool, and my uncle was able to walk down to +him and fold him to his breast. The van-load consisted of +blotting-paper, and every drop of water in that pool had been +sucked up into the mass of spilt cargo.”</p> +<p>There was silence for nearly half a minute in the +smoking-room, and Treddleford began to let his mind steal back +towards the golden road that led to Samarkand. Amblecope, +however, rallied, and remarked in a rather tired and dispirited +voice:</p> +<p>“Talking of motor accidents, the narrowest squeak I ever +had was the other day, motoring with old Tommy Yarby in North +Wales. Awfully good sort, old Yarby, thorough good +sportsman, and the best—”</p> +<p>“It was in North Wales,” said Treddleford, +“that my sister met with her sensational carriage accident +last year. She was on her way to a garden-party at Lady +Nineveh’s, about the only garden-party that ever comes to +pass in those parts in the course of the year, and therefore a +thing that she would have been very sorry to miss. She was +driving a young horse that she’d only bought a week or two +previously, warranted to be perfectly steady with motor traffic, +bicycles, and other common objects of the roadside. The +animal lived up to its reputation, and passed the most explosive +of motor-bikes with an indifference that almost amounted to +apathy. However, I suppose we all draw the line somewhere, +and this particular cob drew it at travelling wild beast +shows. Of course my sister didn’t know that, but she +knew it very distinctly when she turned a sharp corner and found +herself in a mixed company of camels, piebald horses, and +canary-coloured vans. The dogcart was overturned in a ditch +and kicked to splinters, and the cob went home across +country. Neither my sister nor the groom was hurt, but the +problem of how to get to the Nineveh garden-party, some three +miles distant, seemed rather difficult to solve; once there, of +course, my sister would easily find some one to drive her +home. ‘I suppose you wouldn’t care for the loan +of a couple of my camels?’ the showman suggested, in +humorous sympathy. ‘I would,’ said my sister, +who had ridden camel-back in Egypt, and she overruled the +objections of the groom, who hadn’t. She picked out +two of the most presentable-looking of the beasts and had them +dusted and made as tidy as was possible at short notice, and set +out for the Nineveh mansion. You may imagine the sensation +that her small but imposing caravan created when she arrived at +the hall door. The entire garden-party flocked up to +gape. My sister was rather glad to slip down from her +camel, and the groom was thankful to scramble down from +his. Then young Billy Doulton, of the Dragoon Guards, who +has been a lot at Aden and thinks he knows camel-language +backwards, thought he would show off by making the beasts kneel +down in orthodox fashion. Unfortunately camel +words-of-command are not the same all the world over; these were +magnificent Turkestan camels, accustomed to stride up the stony +terraces of mountain passes, and when Doulton shouted at them +they went side by side up the front steps, into the entrance +hall, and up the grand staircase. The German governess met +them just at the turn of the corridor. The Ninevehs nursed +her with devoted attention for weeks, and when I last heard from +them she was well enough to go about her duties again, but the +doctor says she will always suffer from Hagenbeck +heart.”</p> +<p>Amblecope got up from his chair and moved to another part of +the room. Treddleford reopened his book and betook himself +once more across</p> +<blockquote><p>The dragon-green, the luminous, the dark, the +serpent-haunted sea.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>For a blessed half-hour he disported himself in imagination by +the “gay Aleppo-Gate,” and listened to the +bird-voiced singing-man. Then the world of to-day called +him back; a page summoned him to speak with a friend on the +telephone.</p> +<p>As Treddleford was about to pass out of the room he +encountered Amblecope, also passing out, on his way to the +billiard-room, where, perchance, some luckless wight might be +secured and held fast to listen to the number of his attendances +at the Grand Prix, with subsequent remarks on Newmarket and the +Cambridgeshire. Amblecope made as if to pass out first, but +a new-born pride was surging in Treddleford’s breast and he +waved him back.</p> +<p>“I believe I take precedence,” he said coldly; +“you are merely the club Bore; I am the club +Liar.”</p> +<h2>THE ELK</h2> +<p>Teresa, Mrs. Thropplestance, was the richest and most +intractable old woman in the county of Woldshire. In her +dealings with the world in general her manner suggested a blend +between a Mistress of the Robes and a Master of Foxhounds, with +the vocabulary of both. In her domestic circle she +comported herself in the arbitrary style that one attributes, +probably without the least justification, to an American +political Boss in the bosom of his caucus. The late +Theodore Thropplestance had left her, some thirty-five years ago, +in absolute possession of a considerable fortune, a large landed +property, and a gallery full of valuable pictures. In those +intervening years she had outlived her son and quarrelled with +her elder grandson, who had married without her consent or +approval. Bertie Thropplestance, her younger grandson, was +the heir-designate to her property, and as such he was a centre +of interest and concern to some half-hundred ambitious mothers +with daughters of marriageable age. Bertie was an amiable, +easy-going young man, who was quite ready to marry anyone who was +favourably recommended to his notice, but he was not going to +waste his time in falling in love with anyone who would come +under his grandmother’s veto. The favourable +recommendation would have to come from Mrs. Thropplestance.</p> +<p>Teresa’s house-parties were always rounded off with a +plentiful garnishing of presentable young women and alert, +attendant mothers, but the old lady was emphatically discouraging +whenever any one of her girl guests became at all likely to +outbid the others as a possible granddaughter-in-law. It +was the inheritance of her fortune and estate that was in +question, and she was evidently disposed to exercise and enjoy +her powers of selection and rejection to the utmost. +Bertie’s preferences did not greatly matter; he was of the +sort who can be stolidly happy with any kind of wife; he had +cheerfully put up with his grandmother all his life, so was not +likely to fret and fume over anything that might befall him in +the way of a helpmate.</p> +<p>The party that gathered under Teresa’s roof in Christmas +week of the year nineteen-hundred-and-something was of smaller +proportions than usual, and Mrs. Yonelet, who formed one of the +party, was inclined to deduce hopeful augury from this +circumstance. Dora Yonelet and Bertie were so obviously +made for one another, she confided to the vicar’s wife, and +if the old lady were accustomed to seeing them about a lot +together she might adopt the view that they would make a suitable +married couple.</p> +<p>“People soon get used to an idea if it is dangled +constantly before their eyes,” said Mrs. Yonelet hopefully, +“and the more often Teresa sees those young people +together, happy in each other’s company, the more she will +get to take a kindly interest in Dora as a possible and desirable +wife for Bertie.”</p> +<p>“My dear,” said the vicar’s wife resignedly, +“my own Sybil was thrown together with Bertie under the +most romantic circumstances—I’ll tell you about it +some day—but it made no impression whatever on Teresa; she +put her foot down in the most uncompromising fashion, and Sybil +married an Indian civilian.”</p> +<p>“Quite right of her,” said Mrs. Yonelet with vague +approval; “it’s what any girl of spirit would have +done. Still, that was a year or two ago, I believe; Bertie +is older now, and so is Teresa. Naturally she must be +anxious to see him settled.”</p> +<p>The vicar’s wife reflected that Teresa seemed to be the +one person who showed no immediate anxiety to supply Bertie with +a wife, but she kept the thought to herself.</p> +<p>Mrs. Yonelet was a woman of resourceful energy and +generalship; she involved the other members of the house-party, +the deadweight, so to speak, in all manner of exercises and +occupations that segregated them from Bertie and Dora, who were +left to their own devisings—that is to say, to Dora’s +devisings and Bertie’s accommodating acquiescence. +Dora helped in the Christmas decorations of the parish church, +and Bertie helped her to help. Together they fed the swans, +till the birds went on a dyspepsia-strike, together they played +billiards, together they photographed the village almshouses, +and, at a respectful distance, the tame elk that browsed in +solitary aloofness in the park. It was “tame” +in the sense that it had long ago discarded the least vestige of +fear of the human race; nothing in its record encouraged its +human neighbours to feel a reciprocal confidence.</p> +<p>Whatever sport or exercise or occupation Bertie and Dora +indulged in together was unfailingly chronicled and advertised by +Mrs. Yonelet for the due enlightenment of Bertie’s +grandmother.</p> +<p>“Those two inseparables have just come in from a bicycle +ride,” she would announce; “quite a picture they +make, so fresh and glowing after their spin.”</p> +<p>“A picture needing words,” would be Teresa’s +private comment, and as far as Bertie was concerned she was +determined that the words should remain unspoken.</p> +<p>On the afternoon after Christmas Day Mrs. Yonelet dashed into +the drawing-room, where her hostess was sitting amid a circle of +guests and teacups and muffin-dishes. Fate had placed what +seemed like a trump-card in the hands of the +patiently-manoeuvring mother. With eyes blazing with +excitement and a voice heavily escorted with exclamation marks +she made a dramatic announcement.</p> +<p>“Bertie has saved Dora from the elk!”</p> +<p>In swift, excited sentences, broken with maternal emotion, she +gave supplementary information as to how the treacherous animal +had ambushed Dora as she was hunting for a strayed golf ball, and +how Bertie had dashed to her rescue with a stable fork and driven +the beast off in the nick of time.</p> +<p>“It was touch and go! She threw her niblick at it, +but that didn’t stop it. In another moment she would +have been crushed beneath its hoofs,” panted Mrs. +Yonelet.</p> +<p>“The animal is not safe,” said Teresa, handing her +agitated guest a cup of tea. “I forget if you take +sugar. I suppose the solitary life it leads has soured its +temper. There are muffins in the grate. It’s +not my fault; I’ve tried to get it a mate for ever so +long. You don’t know of anyone with a lady elk for +sale or exchange, do you?” she asked the company +generally.</p> +<p>But Mrs. Yonelet was in no humour to listen to talk of elk +marriages. The mating of two human beings was the subject +uppermost in her mind, and the opportunity for advancing her pet +project was too valuable to be neglected.</p> +<p>“Teresa,” she exclaimed impressively, “after +those two young people have been thrown together so dramatically, +nothing can be quite the same again between them. Bertie +has done more than save Dora’s life; he has earned her +affection. One cannot help feeling that Fate has +consecrated them for one another.”</p> +<p>“Exactly what the vicar’s wife said when Bertie +saved Sybil from the elk a year or two ago,” observed +Teresa placidly; “I pointed out to her that he had rescued +Mirabel Hicks from the same predicement a few months previously, +and that priority really belonged to the gardener’s boy, +who had been rescued in the January of that year. There is +a good deal of sameness in country life, you know.”</p> +<p>“It seems to be a very dangerous animal,” said one +of the guests.</p> +<p>“That’s what the mother of the gardener’s +boy said,” remarked Teresa; “she wanted me to have it +destroyed, but I pointed out to her that she had eleven children +and I had only one elk. I also gave her a black silk skirt; +she said that though there hadn’t been a funeral in her +family she felt as if there had been. Anyhow, we parted +friends. I can’t offer you a silk skirt, Emily, but +you may have another cup of tea. As I have already +remarked, there are muffins in the grate.”</p> +<p>Teresa closed the discussion, having deftly conveyed the +impression that she considered the mother of the gardener’s +boy had shown a far more reasonable spirit than the parents of +other elk-assaulted victims.</p> +<p>“Teresa is devoid of feeling,” said Mrs. Yonelet +afterwards to the vicar’s wife; “to sit there, +talking of muffins, with an appalling tragedy only narrowly +averted—”</p> +<p>“Of course you know whom she really intends Bertie to +marry?” asked the vicar’s wife; “I’ve +noticed it for some time. The Bickelbys’ German +governess.”</p> +<p>“A German governess! What an idea!” gasped +Mrs. Yonelet.</p> +<p>“She’s of quite good family, I believe,” +said the vicar’s wife, “and not at all the +mouse-in-the-back-ground sort of person that governesses are +usually supposed to be. In fact, next to Teresa, +she’s about the most assertive and combative personality in +the neighbourhood. She’s pointed out to my husband +all sorts of errors in his sermons, and she gave Sir Laurence a +public lecture on how he ought to handle the hounds. You +know how sensitive Sir Laurence is about any criticism of his +Mastership, and to have a governess laying down the law to him +nearly drove him into a fit. She’s behaved like that +to every one, except, of course, Teresa, and every one has been +defensively rude to her in return. The Bickelbys are simply +too afraid of her to get rid of her. Now isn’t that +exactly the sort of woman whom Teresa would take a delight in +installing as her successor? Imagine the discomfort and +awkwardness in the county if we suddenly found that she was to be +the future hostess at the Hall. Teresa’s only regret +will be that she won’t be alive to see it.”</p> +<p>“But,” objected Mrs. Yonelet, “surely Bertie +hasn’t shown the least sign of being attracted in that +quarter?”</p> +<p>“Oh, she’s quite nice-looking in a way, and +dresses well, and plays a good game of tennis. She often +comes across the park with messages from the Bickelby mansion, +and one of these days Bertie will rescue her from the elk, which +has become almost a habit with him, and Teresa will say that Fate +has consecrated them to one another. Bertie might not be +disposed to pay much attention to the consecrations of Fate, but +he would not dream of opposing his grandmother.”</p> +<p>The vicar’s wife spoke with the quiet authority of one +who has intuitive knowledge, and in her heart of hearts Mrs. +Yonelet believed her.</p> +<p>Six months later the elk had to be destroyed. In a fit +of exceptional moroseness it had killed the Bickelbys’ +German governess. It was an irony of its fate that it +should achieve popularity in the last moments of its career; at +any rate, it established the record of being the only living +thing that had permanently thwarted Teresa Thropplestance’s +plans.</p> +<p>Dora Yonelet broke off her engagement with an Indian civilian, +and married Bertie three months after his grandmother’s +death—Teresa did not long survive the German governess +fiasco. At Christmas time every year young Mrs. +Thropplestance hangs an extra large festoon of evergreens on the +elk horns that decorate the hall.</p> +<p>“It was a fearsome beast,” she observes to Bertie, +“but I always feel that it was instrumental in bringing us +together.”</p> +<p>Which, of course, was true.</p> +<h2>“DOWN PENS”</h2> +<p>“Have you written to thank the Froplinsons for what they +sent us?” asked Egbert.</p> +<p>“No,” said Janetta, with a note of tired defiance +in her voice; “I’ve written eleven letters to-day +expressing surprise and gratitude for sundry unmerited gifts, but +I haven’t written to the Froplinsons.”</p> +<p>“Some one will have to write to them,” said +Egbert.</p> +<p>“I don’t dispute the necessity, but I don’t +think the some one should be me,” said Janetta. +“I wouldn’t mind writing a letter of angry +recrimination or heartless satire to some suitable recipient; in +fact, I should rather enjoy it, but I’ve come to the end of +my capacity for expressing servile amiability. Eleven +letters to-day and nine yesterday, all couched in the same strain +of ecstatic thankfulness: really, you can’t expect me to +sit down to another. There is such a thing as writing +oneself out.”</p> +<p>“I’ve written nearly as many,” said Egbert, +“and I’ve had my usual business correspondence to get +through, too. Besides, I don’t know what it was that +the Froplinsons sent us.”</p> +<p>“A William the Conqueror calendar,” said Janetta, +“with a quotation of one of his great thoughts for every +day in the year.”</p> +<p>“Impossible,” said Egbert; “he didn’t +have three hundred and sixty-five thoughts in the whole of his +life, or, if he did, he kept them to himself. He was a man +of action, not of introspection.”</p> +<p>“Well, it was William Wordsworth, then,” said +Janetta; “I know William came into it somewhere.”</p> +<p>“That sounds more probable,” said Egbert; +“well, let’s collaborate on this letter of thanks and +get it done. I’ll dictate, and you can scribble it +down. ‘Dear Mrs. Froplinson—thank you and your +husband so much for the very pretty calendar you sent us. +It was very good of you to think of us.’”</p> +<p>“You can’t possibly say that,” said Janetta, +laying down her pen.</p> +<p>“It’s what I always do say, and what every one +says to me,” protested Egbert.</p> +<p>“We sent them something on the twenty-second,” +said Janetta, “so they simply <i>had</i> to think of +us. There was no getting away from it.”</p> +<p>“What did we send them?” asked Egbert +gloomily.</p> +<p>“Bridge-markers,” said Janetta, “in a +cardboard case, with some inanity about ‘digging for +fortune with a royal spade’ emblazoned on the cover. +The moment I saw it in the shop I said to myself +‘Froplinsons’ and to the attendant ‘How +much?’ When he said ‘Ninepence,’ I gave +him their address, jabbed our card in, paid tenpence or +elevenpence to cover the postage, and thanked heaven. With +less sincerity and infinitely more trouble they eventually +thanked me.”</p> +<p>“The Froplinsons don’t play bridge,” said +Egbert.</p> +<p>“One is not supposed to notice social deformities of +that sort,” said Janetta; “it wouldn’t be +polite. Besides, what trouble did they take to find out +whether we read Wordsworth with gladness? For all +they knew or cared we might be frantically embedded in the belief +that all poetry begins and ends with John Masefield, and it might +infuriate or depress us to have a daily sample of Wordsworthian +products flung at us.”</p> +<p>“Well, let’s get on with the letter of +thanks,” said Egbert.</p> +<p>“Proceed,” said Janetta.</p> +<p>“‘How clever of you to guess that Wordsworth is +our favourite poet,’” dictated Egbert.</p> +<p>Again Janetta laid down her pen.</p> +<p>“Do you realise what that means?” she asked; +“a Wordsworth booklet next Christmas, and another calendar +the Christmas after, with the same problem of having to write +suitable letters of thankfulness. No, the best thing to do +is to drop all further allusion to the calendar and switch off on +to some other topic.”</p> +<p>“But what other topic?”</p> +<p>“Oh, something like this: ‘What do you think of +the New Year Honours List? A friend of ours made such a +clever remark when he read it.’ Then you can stick in +any remark that comes into your head; it needn’t be +clever. The Froplinsons won’t know whether it is or +isn’t.”</p> +<p>“We don’t even know on which side they are in +politics,” objected Egbert; “and anyhow you +can’t suddenly dismiss the subject of the calendar. +Surely there must be some intelligent remark that can be made +about it.”</p> +<p>“Well, we can’t think of one,” said Janetta +wearily; “the fact is, we’ve both written ourselves +out. Heavens! I’ve just remembered Mrs. Stephen +Ludberry. I haven’t thanked her for what she +sent.”</p> +<p>“What did she send?”</p> +<p>“I forget; I think it was a calendar.”</p> +<p>There was a long silence, the forlorn silence of those who are +bereft of hope and have almost ceased to care.</p> +<p>Presently Egbert started from his seat with an air of +resolution. The light of battle was in his eyes.</p> +<p>“Let me come to the writing-table,” he +exclaimed.</p> +<p>“Gladly,” said Janetta. “Are you going +to write to Mrs. Ludberry or the Froplinsons?”</p> +<p>“To neither,” said Egbert, drawing a stack of +notepaper towards him; “I’m going to write to the +editor of every enlightened and influential newspaper in the +Kingdom, I’m going to suggest that there should be a sort +of epistolary Truce of God during the festivities of Christmas +and New Year. From the twenty-fourth of December to the +third or fourth of January it shall be considered an offence +against good sense and good feeling to write or expect any letter +or communication that does not deal with the necessary events of +the moment. Answers to invitations, arrangements about +trains, renewal of club subscriptions, and, of course, all the +ordinary everyday affairs of business, sickness, engaging new +cooks, and so forth, these will be dealt with in the usual manner +as something inevitable, a legitimate part of our daily +life. But all the devastating accretions of correspondence, +incident to the festive season, these should be swept away to +give the season a chance of being really festive, a time of +untroubled, unpunctuated peace and good will.”</p> +<p>“But you would have to make some acknowledgment of +presents received,” objected Janetta; “otherwise +people would never know whether they had arrived +safely.”</p> +<p>“Of course, I have thought of that,” said Egbert; +“every present that was sent off would be accompanied by a +ticket bearing the date of dispatch and the signature of the +sender, and some conventional hieroglyphic to show that it was +intended to be a Christmas or New Year gift; there would be a +counterfoil with space for the recipient’s name and the +date of arrival, and all you would have to do would be to sign +and date the counterfoil, add a conventional hieroglyphic +indicating heartfelt thanks and gratified surprise, put the thing +into an envelope and post it.”</p> +<p>“It sounds delightfully simple,” said Janetta +wistfully, “but people would consider it too cut-and-dried, +too perfunctory.”</p> +<p>“It is not a bit more perfunctory than the present +system,” said Egbert; “I have only the same +conventional language of gratitude at my disposal with which to +thank dear old Colonel Chuttle for his perfectly delicious +Stilton, which we shall devour to the last morsel, and the +Froplinsons for their calendar, which we shall never look +at. Colonel Chuttle knows that we are grateful for the +Stilton, without having to be told so, and the Froplinsons know +that we are bored with their calendar, whatever we may say to the +contrary, just as we know that they are bored with the +bridge-markers in spite of their written assurance that they +thanked us for our charming little gift. What is more, the +Colonel knows that even if we had taken a sudden aversion to +Stilton or been forbidden it by the doctor, we should still have +written a letter of hearty thanks around it. So you see the +present system of acknowledgment is just as perfunctory and +conventional as the counterfoil business would be, only ten times +more tiresome and brain-racking.”</p> +<p>“Your plan would certainly bring the ideal of a Happy +Christmas a step nearer realisation,” said Janetta.</p> +<p>“There are exceptions, of course,” said Egbert, +“people who really try to infuse a breath of reality into +their letters of acknowledgment. Aunt Susan, for instance, +who writes: ‘Thank you very much for the ham; not such a +good flavour as the one you sent last year, which itself was not +a particularly good one. Hams are not what they used to +be.’ It would be a pity to be deprived of her +Christmas comments, but that loss would be swallowed up in the +general gain.”</p> +<p>“Meanwhile,” said Janetta, “what am I to say +to the Froplinsons?”</p> +<h2>THE NAME-DAY</h2> +<p>Adventures, according to the proverb, are to the +adventurous. Quite as often they are to the +non-adventurous, to the retiring, to the constitutionally +timid. John James Abbleway had been endowed by Nature with +the sort of disposition that instinctively avoids Carlist +intrigues, slum crusades, the tracking of wounded wild beasts, +and the moving of hostile amendments at political meetings. +If a mad dog or a Mad Mullah had come his way he would have +surrendered the way without hesitation. At school he had +unwillingly acquired a thorough knowledge of the German tongue +out of deference to the plainly-expressed wishes of a +foreign-languages master, who, though he taught modern subjects, +employed old-fashioned methods in driving his lessons home. +It was this enforced familiarity with an important commercial +language which thrust Abbleway in later years into strange lands +where adventures were less easy to guard against than in the +ordered atmosphere of an English country town. The firm +that he worked for saw fit to send him one day on a prosaic +business errand to the far city of Vienna, and, having sent him +there, continued to keep him there, still engaged in humdrum +affairs of commerce, but with the possibilities of romance and +adventure, or even misadventure, jostling at his elbow. +After two and a half years of exile, however, John James Abbleway +had embarked on only one hazardous undertaking, and that was of a +nature which would assuredly have overtaken him sooner or later +if he had been leading a sheltered, stay-at-home existence at +Dorking or Huntingdon. He fell placidly in love with a +placidly lovable English girl, the sister of one of his +commercial colleagues, who was improving her mind by a short trip +to foreign parts, and in due course he was formally accepted as +the young man she was engaged to. The further step by which +she was to become Mrs. John Abbleway was to take place a +twelvemonth hence in a town in the English midlands, by which +time the firm that employed John James would have no further need +for his presence in the Austrian capital.</p> +<p>It was early in April, two months after the installation of +Abbleway as the young man Miss Penning was engaged to, when he +received a letter from her, written from Venice. She was +still peregrinating under the wing of her brother, and as the +latter’s business arrangements would take him across to +Fiume for a day or two, she had conceived the idea that it would +be rather jolly if John could obtain leave of absence and run +down to the Adriatic coast to meet them. She had looked up +the route on the map, and the journey did not appear likely to be +expensive. Between the lines of her communication there lay +a hint that if he really cared for her—</p> +<p>Abbleway obtained leave of absence and added a journey to +Fiume to his life’s adventures. He left Vienna on a +cold, cheerless day. The flower shops were full of spring +blooms, and the weekly organs of illustrated humour were full of +spring topics, but the skies were heavy with clouds that looked +like cotton-wool that has been kept over long in a shop +window.</p> +<p>“Snow comes,” said the train official to the +station officials; and they agreed that snow was about to +come. And it came, rapidly, plenteously. The train +had not been more than an hour on its journey when the +cotton-wool clouds commenced to dissolve in a blinding downpour +of snowflakes. The forest trees on either side of the line +were speedily coated with a heavy white mantle, the telegraph +wires became thick glistening ropes, the line itself was buried +more and more completely under a carpeting of snow, through which +the not very powerful engine ploughed its way with increasing +difficulty. The Vienna-Fiume line is scarcely the best +equipped of the Austrian State railways, and Abbleway began to +have serious fears for a breakdown. The train had slowed +down to a painful and precarious crawl and presently came to a +halt at a spot where the drifting snow had accumulated in a +formidable barrier. The engine made a special effort and +broke through the obstruction, but in the course of another +twenty minutes it was again held up. The process of +breaking through was renewed, and the train doggedly resumed its +way, encountering and surmounting fresh hindrances at frequent +intervals. After a standstill of unusually long duration in +a particularly deep drift the compartment in which Abbleway was +sitting gave a huge jerk and a lurch, and then seemed to remain +stationary; it undoubtedly was not moving, and yet he could hear +the puffing of the engine and the slow rumbling and jolting of +wheels. The puffing and rumbling grew fainter, as though it +were dying away through the agency of intervening distance. +Abbleway suddenly gave vent to an exclamation of scandalised +alarm, opened the window, and peered out into the +snowstorm. The flakes perched on his eyelashes and blurred +his vision, but he saw enough to help him to realise what had +happened. The engine had made a mighty plunge through the +drift and had gone merrily forward, lightened of the load of its +rear carriage, whose coupling had snapped under the strain. +Abbleway was alone, or almost alone, with a derelict railway +waggon, in the heart of some Styrian or Croatian forest. In +the third-class compartment next to his own he remembered to have +seen a peasant woman, who had entered the train at a small +wayside station. “With the exception of that +woman,” he exclaimed dramatically to himself, “the +nearest living beings are probably a pack of wolves.”</p> +<p>Before making his way to the third-class compartment to +acquaint his fellow-traveller with the extent of the disaster +Abbleway hurriedly pondered the question of the woman’s +nationality. He had acquired a smattering of Slavonic +tongues during his residence in Vienna, and felt competent to +grapple with several racial possibilities.</p> +<p>“If she is Croat or Serb or Bosniak I shall be able to +make her understand,” he promised himself. “If +she is Magyar, heaven help me! We shall have to converse +entirely by signs.”</p> +<p>He entered the carriage and made his momentous announcement in +the best approach to Croat speech that he could achieve.</p> +<p>“The train has broken away and left us!”</p> +<p>The woman shook her head with a movement that might be +intended to convey resignation to the will of heaven, but +probably meant noncomprehension. Abbleway repeated his +information with variations of Slavonic tongues and generous +displays of pantomime.</p> +<p>“Ah,” said the woman at last in German dialect, +“the train has gone? We are left. Ah, +so.”</p> +<p>She seemed about as much interested as though Abbleway had +told her the result of the municipal elections in Amsterdam.</p> +<p>“They will find out at some station, and when the line +is clear of snow they will send an engine. It happens that +way sometimes.”</p> +<p>“We may be here all night!” exclaimed +Abbleway.</p> +<p>The woman nodded as though she thought it possible.</p> +<p>“Are there wolves in these parts?” asked Abbleway +hurriedly.</p> +<p>“Many,” said the woman; “just outside this +forest my aunt was devoured three years ago, as she was coming +home from market. The horse and a young pig that was in the +cart were eaten too. The horse was a very old one, but it +was a beautiful young pig, oh, so fat. I cried when I heard +that it was taken. They spare nothing.”</p> +<p>“They may attack us here,” said Abbleway +tremulously; “they could easily break in, these carriages +are like matchwood. We may both be devoured.”</p> +<p>“You, perhaps,” said the woman calmly; “not +me.”</p> +<p>“Why not you?” demanded Abbleway.</p> +<p>“It is the day of Saint Mariä Kleophä, my +name-day. She would not allow me to be eaten by wolves on +her day. Such a thing could not be thought of. You, +yes, but not me.”</p> +<p>Abbleway changed the subject.</p> +<p>“It is only afternoon now; if we are to be left here +till morning we shall be starving.”</p> +<p>“I have here some good eatables,” said the woman +tranquilly; “on my festival day it is natural that I should +have provision with me. I have five good blood-sausages; in +the town shops they cost twenty-five heller each. Things +are dear in the town shops.”</p> +<p>“I will give you fifty heller apiece for a couple of +them,” said Abbleway with some enthusiasm.</p> +<p>“In a railway accident things become very dear,” +said the woman; “these blood-sausages are four kronen +apiece.”</p> +<p>“Four kronen!” exclaimed Abbleway; “four +kronen for a blood-sausage!”</p> +<p>“You cannot get them any cheaper on this train,” +said the woman, with relentless logic, “because there +aren’t any others to get. In Agram you can buy them +cheaper, and in Paradise no doubt they will be given to us for +nothing, but here they cost four kronen each. I have a +small piece of Emmenthaler cheese and a honey-cake and a piece of +bread that I can let you have. That will be another three +kronen, eleven kronen in all. There is a piece of ham, but +that I cannot let you have on my name-day.”</p> +<p>Abbleway wondered to himself what price she would have put on +the ham, and hurried to pay her the eleven kronen before her +emergency tariff expanded into a famine tariff. As he was +taking possession of his modest store of eatables he suddenly +heard a noise which set his heart thumping in a miserable fever +of fear. ‘There was a scraping and shuffling as of +some animal or animals trying to climb up to the footboard. +In another moment, through the snow-encrusted glass of the +carriage window, he saw a gaunt prick-eared head, with gaping jaw +and lolling tongue and gleaming teeth; a second later another +head shot up.</p> +<p>“There are hundreds of them,” whispered Abbleway; +“they have scented us. They will tear the carriage to +pieces. We shall be devoured.”</p> +<p>“Not me, on my name-day. The holy Mariä +Kleophä would not permit it,” said the woman with +provoking calm.</p> +<p>The heads dropped down from the window and an uncanny silence +fell on the beleaguered carriage. Abbleway neither moved +nor spoke. Perhaps the brutes had not clearly seen or +winded the human occupants of the carriage, and had prowled away +on some other errand of rapine.</p> +<p>The long torture-laden minutes passed slowly away.</p> +<p>“It grows cold,” said the woman suddenly, crossing +over to the far end of the carriage, where the heads had +appeared. “The heating apparatus does not work any +longer. See, over there beyond the trees, there is a +chimney with smoke coming from it. It is not far, and the +snow has nearly stopped, I shall find a path through the forest +to that house with the chimney.”</p> +<p>“But the wolves!” exclaimed Abbleway; “they +may—”</p> +<p>“Not on my name-day,” said the woman obstinately, +and before he could stop her she had opened the door and climbed +down into the snow. A moment later he hid his face in his +hands; two gaunt lean figures rushed upon her from the +forest. No doubt she had courted her fate, but Abbleway had +no wish to see a human being torn to pieces and devoured before +his eyes.</p> +<p>When he looked at last a new sensation of scandalised +astonishment took possession of him. He had been straitly +brought up in a small English town, and he was not prepared to be +the witness of a miracle. The wolves were not doing +anything worse to the woman than drench her with snow as they +gambolled round her.</p> +<p>A short, joyous bark revealed the clue to the situation.</p> +<p>“Are those—dogs?” he called weakly.</p> +<p>“My cousin Karl’s dogs, yes,” she answered; +“that is his inn, over beyond the trees. I knew it +was there, but I did not want to take you there; he is always +grasping with strangers. However, it grows too cold to +remain in the train. Ah, ah, see what comes!”</p> +<p>A whistle sounded, and a relief engine made its appearance, +snorting its way sulkily through the snow. Abbleway did not +have the opportunity for finding out whether Karl was really +avaricious.</p> +<h2>THE LUMBER ROOM</h2> +<p>The children were to be driven, as a special treat, to the +sands at Jagborough. Nicholas was not to be of the party; +he was in disgrace. Only that morning he had refused to eat +his wholesome bread-and-milk on the seemingly frivolous ground +that there was a frog in it. Older and wiser and better +people had told him that there could not possibly be a frog in +his bread-and-milk and that he was not to talk nonsense; he +continued, nevertheless, to talk what seemed the veriest +nonsense, and described with much detail the colouration and +markings of the alleged frog. The dramatic part of the +incident was that there really was a frog in Nicholas’ +basin of bread-and-milk; he had put it there himself, so he felt +entitled to know something about it. The sin of taking a +frog from the garden and putting it into a bowl of wholesome +bread-and-milk was enlarged on at great length, but the fact that +stood out clearest in the whole affair, as it presented itself to +the mind of Nicholas, was that the older, wiser, and better +people had been proved to be profoundly in error in matters about +which they had expressed the utmost assurance.</p> +<p>“You said there couldn’t possibly be a frog in my +bread-and-milk; there <i>was</i> a frog in my +bread-and-milk,” he repeated, with the insistence of a +skilled tactician who does not intend to shift from favourable +ground.</p> +<p>So his boy-cousin and girl-cousin and his quite uninteresting +younger brother were to be taken to Jagborough sands that +afternoon and he was to stay at home. His cousins’ +aunt, who insisted, by an unwarranted stretch of imagination, in +styling herself his aunt also, had hastily invented the +Jagborough expedition in order to impress on Nicholas the +delights that he had justly forfeited by his disgraceful conduct +at the breakfast-table. It was her habit, whenever one of +the children fell from grace, to improvise something of a +festival nature from which the offender would be rigorously +debarred; if all the children sinned collectively they were +suddenly informed of a circus in a neighbouring town, a circus of +unrivalled merit and uncounted elephants, to which, but for their +depravity, they would have been taken that very day.</p> +<p>A few decent tears were looked for on the part of Nicholas +when the moment for the departure of the expedition +arrived. As a matter of fact, however, all the crying was +done by his girl-cousin, who scraped her knee rather painfully +against the step of the carriage as she was scrambling in.</p> +<p>“How she did howl,” said Nicholas cheerfully, as +the party drove off without any of the elation of high spirits +that should have characterised it.</p> +<p>“She’ll soon get over that,” said the +<i>soi-disant</i> aunt; “it will be a glorious afternoon +for racing about over those beautiful sands. How they will +enjoy themselves!”</p> +<p>“Bobby won’t enjoy himself much, and he +won’t race much either,” said Nicholas with a grim +chuckle; “his boots are hurting him. They’re +too tight.”</p> +<p>“Why didn’t he tell me they were hurting?” +asked the aunt with some asperity.</p> +<p>“He told you twice, but you weren’t +listening. You often don’t listen when we tell you +important things.”</p> +<p>“You are not to go into the gooseberry garden,” +said the aunt, changing the subject.</p> +<p>“Why not?” demanded Nicholas.</p> +<p>“Because you are in disgrace,” said the aunt +loftily.</p> +<p>Nicholas did not admit the flawlessness of the reasoning; he +felt perfectly capable of being in disgrace and in a gooseberry +garden at the same moment. His face took on an expression +of considerable obstinacy. It was clear to his aunt that he +was determined to get into the gooseberry garden, +“only,” as she remarked to herself, “because I +have told him he is not to.”</p> +<p>Now the gooseberry garden had two doors by which it might be +entered, and once a small person like Nicholas could slip in +there he could effectually disappear from view amid the masking +growth of artichokes, raspberry canes, and fruit bushes. +The aunt had many other things to do that afternoon, but she +spent an hour or two in trivial gardening operations among flower +beds and shrubberies, whence she could keep a watchful eye on the +two doors that led to the forbidden paradise. She was a +woman of few ideas, with immense powers of concentration.</p> +<p>Nicholas made one or two sorties into the front garden, +wriggling his way with obvious stealth of purpose towards one or +other of the doors, but never able for a moment to evade the +aunt’s watchful eye. As a matter of fact, he had no +intention of trying to get into the gooseberry garden, but it was +extremely convenient for him that his aunt should believe that he +had; it was a belief that would keep her on self-imposed +sentry-duty for the greater part of the afternoon. Having +thoroughly confirmed and fortified her suspicions Nicholas +slipped back into the house and rapidly put into execution a plan +of action that had long germinated in his brain. By +standing on a chair in the library one could reach a shelf on +which reposed a fat, important-looking key. The key was as +important as it looked; it was the instrument which kept the +mysteries of the lumber-room secure from unauthorised intrusion, +which opened a way only for aunts and such-like privileged +persons. Nicholas had not had much experience of the art of +fitting keys into keyholes and turning locks, but for some days +past he had practised with the key of the schoolroom door; he did +not believe in trusting too much to luck and accident. The +key turned stiffly in the lock, but it turned. The door +opened, and Nicholas was in an unknown land, compared with which +the gooseberry garden was a stale delight, a mere material +pleasure.</p> +<p>Often and often Nicholas had pictured to himself what the +lumber-room might be like, that region that was so carefully +sealed from youthful eyes and concerning which no questions were +ever answered. It came up to his expectations. In the +first place it was large and dimly lit, one high window opening +on to the forbidden garden being its only source of +illumination. In the second place it was a storehouse of +unimagined treasures. The aunt-by-assertion was one of +those people who think that things spoil by use and consign them +to dust and damp by way of preserving them. Such parts of +the house as Nicholas knew best were rather bare and cheerless, +but here there were wonderful things for the eye to feast +on. First and foremost there was a piece of framed tapestry +that was evidently meant to be a fire-screen. To Nicholas +it was a living, breathing story; he sat down on a roll of Indian +hangings, glowing in wonderful colours beneath a layer of dust, +and took in all the details of the tapestry picture. A man, +dressed in the hunting costume of some remote period, had just +transfixed a stag with an arrow; it could not have been a +difficult shot because the stag was only one or two paces away +from him; in the thickly-growing vegetation that the picture +suggested it would not have been difficult to creep up to a +feeding stag, and the two spotted dogs that were springing +forward to join in the chase had evidently been trained to keep +to heel till the arrow was discharged. That part of the +picture was simple, if interesting, but did the huntsman see, +what Nicholas saw, that four galloping wolves were coming in his +direction through the wood? There might be more than four +of them hidden behind the trees, and in any case would the man +and his dogs be able to cope with the four wolves if they made an +attack? The man had only two arrows left in his quiver, and +he might miss with one or both of them; all one knew about his +skill in shooting was that he could hit a large stag at a +ridiculously short range. Nicholas sat for many golden +minutes revolving the possibilities of the scene; he was inclined +to think that there were more than four wolves and that the man +and his dogs were in a tight corner.</p> +<p>But there were other objects of delight and interest claiming +his instant attention: there were quaint twisted candlesticks in +the shape of snakes, and a teapot fashioned like a china duck, +out of whose open beak the tea was supposed to come. How +dull and shapeless the nursery teapot seemed in comparison! +And there was a carved sandal-wood box packed tight with aromatic +cotton-wool, and between the layers of cotton-wool were little +brass figures, hump-necked bulls, and peacocks and goblins, +delightful to see and to handle. Less promising in +appearance was a large square book with plain black covers; +Nicholas peeped into it, and, behold, it was full of coloured +pictures of birds. And such birds! In the garden, and +in the lanes when he went for a walk, Nicholas came across a few +birds, of which the largest were an occasional magpie or +wood-pigeon; here were herons and bustards, kites, toucans, +tiger-bitterns, brush turkeys, ibises, golden pheasants, a whole +portrait gallery of undreamed-of creatures. And as he was +admiring the colouring of the mandarin duck and assigning a +life-history to it, the voice of his aunt in shrill vociferation +of his name came from the gooseberry garden without. She +had grown suspicious at his long disappearance, and had leapt to +the conclusion that he had climbed over the wall behind the +sheltering screen of the lilac bushes; she was now engaged in +energetic and rather hopeless search for him among the artichokes +and raspberry canes.</p> +<p>“Nicholas, Nicholas!” she screamed, “you are +to come out of this at once. It’s no use trying to +hide there; I can see you all the time.”</p> +<p>It was probably the first time for twenty years that anyone +had smiled in that lumber-room.</p> +<p>Presently the angry repetitions of Nicholas’ name gave +way to a shriek, and a cry for somebody to come quickly. +Nicholas shut the book, restored it carefully to its place in a +corner, and shook some dust from a neighbouring pile of +newspapers over it. Then he crept from the room, locked the +door, and replaced the key exactly where he had found it. +His aunt was still calling his name when he sauntered into the +front garden.</p> +<p>“Who’s calling?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Me,” came the answer from the other side of the +wall; “didn’t you hear me? I’ve been +looking for you in the gooseberry garden, and I’ve slipped +into the rain-water tank. Luckily there’s no water in +it, but the sides are slippery and I can’t get out. +Fetch the little ladder from under the cherry +tree—”</p> +<p>“I was told I wasn’t to go into the gooseberry +garden,” said Nicholas promptly.</p> +<p>“I told you not to, and now I tell you that you +may,” came the voice from the rain-water tank, rather +impatiently.</p> +<p>“Your voice doesn’t sound like +aunt’s,” objected Nicholas; “you may be the +Evil One tempting me to be disobedient. Aunt often tells me +that the Evil One tempts me and that I always yield. This +time I’m not going to yield.”</p> +<p>“Don’t talk nonsense,” said the prisoner in +the tank; “go and fetch the ladder.”</p> +<p>“Will there be strawberry jam for tea?” asked +Nicholas innocently.</p> +<p>“Certainly there will be,” said the aunt, +privately resolving that Nicholas should have none of it.</p> +<p>“Now I know that you are the Evil One and not +aunt,” shouted Nicholas gleefully; “when we asked +aunt for strawberry jam yesterday she said there wasn’t +any. I know there are four jars of it in the store +cupboard, because I looked, and of course you know it’s +there, but she doesn’t, because she said there wasn’t +any. Oh, Devil, you <i>have</i> sold yourself!”</p> +<p>There was an unusual sense of luxury in being able to talk to +an aunt as though one was talking to the Evil One, but Nicholas +knew, with childish discernment, that such luxuries were not to +be over-indulged in. He walked noisily away, and it was a +kitchenmaid, in search of parsley, who eventually rescued the +aunt from the rain-water tank.</p> +<p>Tea that evening was partaken of in a fearsome silence. +The tide had been at its highest when the children had arrived at +Jagborough Cove, so there had been no sands to play on—a +circumstance that the aunt had overlooked in the haste of +organising her punitive expedition. The tightness of +Bobby’s boots had had disastrous effect on his temper the +whole of the afternoon, and altogether the children could not +have been said to have enjoyed themselves. The aunt +maintained the frozen muteness of one who has suffered +undignified and unmerited detention in a rain-water tank for +thirty-five minutes. As for Nicholas, he, too, was silent, +in the absorption of one who has much to think about; it was just +possible, he considered, that the huntsman would escape with his +hounds while the wolves feasted on the stricken stag.</p> +<h2>FUR</h2> +<p>“You look worried, dear,” said Eleanor.</p> +<p>“I am worried,” admitted Suzanne; “not +worried exactly, but anxious. You see, my birthday happens +next week—”</p> +<p>“You lucky person,” interrupted Eleanor; “my +birthday doesn’t come till the end of March.”</p> +<p>“Well, old Bertram Kneyght is over in England just now +from the Argentine. He’s a kind of distant cousin of +my mother’s, and so enormously rich that we’ve never +let the relationship drop out of sight. Even if we +don’t see him or hear from him for years he is always +Cousin Bertram when he does turn up. I can’t say +he’s ever been of much solid use to us, but yesterday the +subject of my birthday cropped up, and he asked me to let him +know what I wanted for a present.”</p> +<p>“Now I understand the anxiety,” observed +Eleanor.</p> +<p>“As a rule when one is confronted with a problem like +that,” said Suzanne, “all one’s ideas vanish; +one doesn’t seem to have a desire in the world. Now +it so happens that I have been very keen on a little Dresden +figure that I saw somewhere in Kensington; about thirty-six +shillings, quite beyond my means. I was very nearly +describing the figure, and giving Bertram the address of the +shop. And then it suddenly struck me that thirty-six +shillings was such a ridiculously inadequate sum for a man of his +immense wealth to spend on a birthday present. He could +give thirty-six pounds as easily as you or I could buy a bunch of +violets. I don’t want to be greedy, of course, but I +don’t like being wasteful.”</p> +<p>“The question is,” said Eleanor, “what are +his ideas as to present-giving? Some of the wealthiest +people have curiously cramped views on that subject. When +people grow gradually rich their requirements and standard of +living expand in proportion, while their present-giving instincts +often remain in the undeveloped condition of their earlier +days. Something showy and not-too-expensive in a shop is +their only conception of the ideal gift. That is why even +quite good shops have their counters and windows crowded with +things worth about four shillings that look as if they might be +worth seven-and-six, and are priced at ten shillings and labelled +seasonable gifts.’”</p> +<p>“I know,” said Suzanne; “that is why it is +so risky to be vague when one is giving indications of +one’s wants. Now if I say to him: ‘I am going +out to Davos this winter, so anything in the travelling line +would be acceptable,’ he might give me a dressing-bag with +gold-mounted fittings, but, on the other hand, he might give me +Baedeker’s Switzerland, or ‘Skiing without +Tears,’ or something of that sort.”</p> +<p>“He would be more likely to say: ‘She’ll be +going to lots of dances, a fan will be sure to be +useful.’”</p> +<p>“Yes, and I’ve got tons of fans, so you see where +the danger and anxiety lies. Now if there is one thing more +than another that I really urgently want it is furs. I +simply haven’t any. I’m told that Davos is full +of Russians, and they are sure to wear the most lovely sables and +things. To be among people who are smothered in furs when +one hasn’t any oneself makes one want to break most of the +Commandments.”</p> +<p>“If it’s furs that you’re out for,” +said Eleanor, “you will have to superintend the choice of +them in person. You can’t be sure that your cousin +knows the difference between silver-fox and ordinary +squirrel.”</p> +<p>“There are some heavenly silver-fox stoles at Goliath +and Mastodon’s,” said Suzanne, with a sigh; “if +I could only inveigle Bertram into their building and take him +for a stroll through the fur department!”</p> +<p>“He lives somewhere near there, doesn’t he?” +said Eleanor. “Do you know what his habits are? +Does he take a walk at any particular time of day?”</p> +<p>“He usually walks down to his club about three +o’clock, if it’s a fine day. That takes him +right past Goliath and Mastodon’s.”</p> +<p>“Let us two meet him accidentally at the street corner +to-morrow,” said Eleanor; “we can walk a little way +with him, and with luck we ought to be able to side-track him +into the shop. You can say you want to get a hair-net or +something. When we’re safely there I can say: +‘I wish you’d tell me what you want for your +birthday.’ Then you’ll have everything ready to +hand—the rich cousin, the fur department, and the topic of +birthday presents.”</p> +<p>“It’s a great idea,” said Suzanne; +“you really are a brick. Come round to-morrow at +twenty to three; don’t be late, we must carry out our +ambush to the minute.”</p> +<p>At a few minutes to three the next afternoon the fur-trappers +walked warily towards the selected corner. In the near +distance rose the colossal pile of Messrs. Goliath and +Mastodon’s famed establishment. The afternoon was +brilliantly fine, exactly the sort of weather to tempt a +gentleman of advancing years into the discreet exercise of a +leisurely walk.</p> +<p>“I say, dear, I wish you’d do something for me +this evening,” said Eleanor to her companion; “just +drop in after dinner on some pretext or other, and stay on to +make a fourth at bridge with Adela and the aunts. Otherwise +I shall have to play, and Harry Scarisbrooke is going to come in +unexpectedly about nine-fifteen, and I particularly want to be +free to talk to him while the others are playing.”</p> +<p>“Sorry, my dear, no can do,” said Suzanne; +“ordinary bridge at three-pence a hundred, with such +dreadfully slow players as your aunts, bores me to tears. I +nearly go to sleep over it.”</p> +<p>“But I most particularly want an opportunity to talk +with Harry,” urged Eleanor, an angry glint coming into her +eyes.</p> +<p>“Sorry, anything to oblige, but not that,” said +Suzanne cheerfully; the sacrifices of friendship were beautiful +in her eyes as long as she was not asked to make them.</p> +<p>Eleanor said nothing further on the subject, but the corners +of her mouth rearranged themselves.</p> +<p>“There’s our man!” exclaimed Suzanne +suddenly; “hurry!”</p> +<p>Mr. Bertram Kneyght greeted his cousin and her friend with +genuine heartiness, and readily accepted their invitation to +explore the crowded mart that stood temptingly at their +elbow. The plate-glass doors swung open and the trio +plunged bravely into the jostling throng of buyers and +loiterers.</p> +<p>“Is it always as full as this?” asked Bertram of +Eleanor.</p> +<p>“More or less, and autumn sales are on just now,” +she replied.</p> +<p>Suzanne, in her anxiety to pilot her cousin to the desired +haven of the fur department, was usually a few paces ahead of the +others, coming back to them now and then if they lingered for a +moment at some attractive counter, with the nervous solicitude of +a parent rook encouraging its young ones on their first flying +expedition.</p> +<p>“It’s Suzanne’s birthday on Wednesday +next,” confided Eleanor to Bertram Kneyght at a moment when +Suzanne had left them unusually far behind; “my birthday +comes the day before, so we are both on the look-out for +something to give each other.”</p> +<p>“Ah,” said Bertram. “Now, perhaps you +can advise me on that very point. I want to give Suzanne +something, and I haven’t the least idea what she +wants.”</p> +<p>“She’s rather a problem,” said +Eleanor. “She seems to have everything one can think +of, lucky girl. A fan is always useful; she’ll be +going to a lot of dances at Davos this winter. Yes, I +should think a fan would please her more than anything. +After our birthdays are over we inspect each other’s muster +of presents, and I always feel dreadfully humble. She gets +such nice things, and I never have anything worth showing. +You see, none of my relations or any of the people who give me +presents are at all well off, so I can’t expect them to do +anything more than just remember the day with some little +trifle. Two years ago an uncle on my mother’s side of +the family, who had come into a small legacy, promised me a +silver-fox stole for my birthday. I can’t tell you +how excited I was about it, how I pictured myself showing it off +to all my friends and enemies. Then just at that moment his +wife died, and, of course, poor man, he could not be expected to +think of birthday presents at such a time. He has lived +abroad ever since, and I never got my fur. Do you know, to +this day I can scarcely look at a silver-fox pelt in a shop +window or round anyone’s neck without feeling ready to +burst into tears. I suppose if I hadn’t had the +prospect of getting one I shouldn’t feel that way. +Look, there is the fan counter, on your left; you can easily slip +away in the crowd. Get her as nice a one as you can +see—she is such a dear, dear girl.”</p> +<p>“Hullo, I thought I had lost you,” said Suzanne, +making her way through an obstructive knot of shoppers. +“Where is Bertram?”</p> +<p>“I got separated from him long ago. I thought he +was on ahead with you,” said Eleanor. “We shall +never find him in this crush.”</p> +<p>Which turned out to be a true prediction.</p> +<p>“All our trouble and forethought thrown away,” +said Suzanne sulkily, when they had pushed their way fruitlessly +through half a dozen departments.</p> +<p>“I can’t think why you didn’t grab him by +the arm,” said Eleanor; “I would have if I’d +known him longer, but I’d only just been introduced. +It’s nearly four now, we’d better have +tea.”</p> +<p>Some days later Suzanne rang Eleanor up on the telephone.</p> +<p>“Thank you very much for the photograph frame. It +was just what I wanted. Very good of you. I say, do +you know what that Kneyght person has given me? Just what +you said he would—a wretched fan. What? Oh yes, +quite a good enough fan in its way, but still . . .”</p> +<p>“You must come and see what he’s given me,” +came in Eleanor’s voice over the ’phone.</p> +<p>“You! Why should he give you anything?”</p> +<p>“Your cousin appears to be one of those rare people of +wealth who take a pleasure in giving good presents,” came +the reply.</p> +<p>“I wondered why he was so anxious to know where she +lived,” snapped Suzanne to herself as she rang off.</p> +<p>A cloud has arisen between the friendships of the two young +women; as far as Eleanor is concerned the cloud has a silver-fox +lining.</p> +<h2>THE PHILANTHROPIST AND THE HAPPY CAT</h2> +<p>Jocantha Bessbury was in the mood to be serenely and +graciously happy. Her world was a pleasant place, and it +was wearing one of its pleasantest aspects. Gregory had +managed to get home for a hurried lunch and a smoke afterwards in +the little snuggery; the lunch had been a good one, and there was +just time to do justice to the coffee and cigarettes. Both +were excellent in their way, and Gregory was, in his way, an +excellent husband. Jocantha rather suspected herself of +making him a very charming wife, and more than suspected herself +of having a first-rate dressmaker.</p> +<p>“I don’t suppose a more thoroughly contented +personality is to be found in all Chelsea,” observed +Jocantha in allusion to herself; “except perhaps +Attab,” she continued, glancing towards the large +tabby-marked cat that lay in considerable ease in a corner of the +divan. “He lies there, purring and dreaming, shifting +his limbs now and then in an ecstasy of cushioned comfort. +He seems the incarnation of everything soft and silky and +velvety, without a sharp edge in his composition, a dreamer whose +philosophy is sleep and let sleep; and then, as evening draws on, +he goes out into the garden with a red glint in his eyes and +slays a drowsy sparrow.”</p> +<p>“As every pair of sparrows hatches out ten or more young +ones in the year, while their food supply remains stationary, it +is just as well that the Attabs of the community should have that +idea of how to pass an amusing afternoon,” said +Gregory. Having delivered himself of this sage comment he +lit another cigarette, bade Jocantha a playfully affectionate +good-bye, and departed into the outer world.</p> +<p>“Remember, dinner’s a wee bit earlier to-night, as +we’re going to the Haymarket,” she called after +him.</p> +<p>Left to herself, Jocantha continued the process of looking at +her life with placid, introspective eyes. If she had not +everything she wanted in this world, at least she was very well +pleased with what she had got. She was very well pleased, +for instance, with the snuggery, which contrived somehow to be +cosy and dainty and expensive all at once. The porcelain +was rare and beautiful, the Chinese enamels took on wonderful +tints in the firelight, the rugs and hangings led the eye through +sumptuous harmonies of colouring. It was a room in which +one might have suitably entertained an ambassador or an +archbishop, but it was also a room in which one could cut out +pictures for a scrap-book without feeling that one was +scandalising the deities of the place with one’s +litter. And as with the snuggery, so with the rest of the +house, and as with the house, so with the other departments of +Jocantha’s life; she really had good reason for being one +of the most contented women in Chelsea.</p> +<p>From being in a mood of simmering satisfaction with her lot +she passed to the phase of being generously commiserating for +those thousands around her whose lives and circumstances were +dull, cheap, pleasureless, and empty. Work girls, shop +assistants and so forth, the class that have neither the +happy-go-lucky freedom of the poor nor the leisured freedom of +the rich, came specially within the range of her sympathy. +It was sad to think that there were young people who, after a +long day’s work, had to sit alone in chill, dreary bedrooms +because they could not afford the price of a cup of coffee and a +sandwich in a restaurant, still less a shilling for a theatre +gallery.</p> +<p>Jocantha’s mind was still dwelling on this theme when +she started forth on an afternoon campaign of desultory shopping; +it would be rather a comforting thing, she told herself, if she +could do something, on the spur of the moment, to bring a gleam +of pleasure and interest into the life of even one or two +wistful-hearted, empty-pocketed workers; it would add a good deal +to her sense of enjoyment at the theatre that night. She +would get two upper circle tickets for a popular play, make her +way into some cheap tea-shop, and present the tickets to the +first couple of interesting work girls with whom she could +casually drop into conversation. She could explain matters +by saying that she was unable to use the tickets herself and did +not want them to be wasted, and, on the other hand, did not want +the trouble of sending them back. On further reflection she +decided that it might be better to get only one ticket and give +it to some lonely-looking girl sitting eating her frugal meal by +herself; the girl might scrape acquaintance with her next-seat +neighbour at the theatre and lay the foundations of a lasting +friendship.</p> +<p>With the Fairy Godmother impulse strong upon her, Jocantha +marched into a ticket agency and selected with immense care an +upper circle seat for the “Yellow Peacock,” a play +that was attracting a considerable amount of discussion and +criticism. Then she went forth in search of a tea-shop and +philanthropic adventure, at about the same time that Attab +sauntered into the garden with a mind attuned to sparrow +stalking. In a corner of an A.B.C. shop she found an +unoccupied table, whereat she promptly installed herself, +impelled by the fact that at the next table was sitting a young +girl, rather plain of feature, with tired, listless eyes, and a +general air of uncomplaining forlornness. Her dress was of +poor material, but aimed at being in the fashion, her hair was +pretty, and her complexion bad; she was finishing a modest meal +of tea and scone, and she was not very different in her way from +thousands of other girls who were finishing, or beginning, or +continuing their teas in London tea-shops at that exact +moment. The odds were enormously in favour of the +supposition that she had never seen the “Yellow +Peacock”; obviously she supplied excellent material for +Jocantha’s first experiment in haphazard benefaction.</p> +<p>Jocantha ordered some tea and a muffin, and then turned a +friendly scrutiny on her neighbour with a view to catching her +eye. At that precise moment the girl’s face lit up +with sudden pleasure, her eyes sparkled, a flush came into her +cheeks, and she looked almost pretty. A young man, whom she +greeted with an affectionate “Hullo, Bertie,” came up +to her table and took his seat in a chair facing her. +Jocantha looked hard at the new-comer; he was in appearance a few +years younger than herself, very much better looking than +Gregory, rather better looking, in fact, than any of the young +men of her set. She guessed him to be a well-mannered young +clerk in some wholesale warehouse, existing and amusing himself +as best he might on a tiny salary, and commanding a holiday of +about two weeks in the year. He was aware, of course, of +his good looks, but with the shy self-consciousness of the +Anglo-Saxon, not the blatant complacency of the Latin or +Semite. He was obviously on terms of friendly intimacy with +the girl he was talking to, probably they were drifting towards a +formal engagement. Jocantha pictured the boy’s home, +in a rather narrow circle, with a tiresome mother who always +wanted to know how and where he spent his evenings. He +would exchange that humdrum thraldom in due course for a home of +his own, dominated by a chronic scarcity of pounds, shillings, +and pence, and a dearth of most of the things that made life +attractive or comfortable. Jocantha felt extremely sorry +for him. She wondered if he had seen the “Yellow +Peacock”; the odds were enormously in favour of the +supposition that he had not. The girl had finished her tea +and would shortly be going back to her work; when the boy was +alone it would be quite easy for Jocantha to say: “My +husband has made other arrangements for me this evening; would +you care to make use of this ticket, which would otherwise be +wasted?” Then she could come there again one +afternoon for tea, and, if she saw him, ask him how he liked the +play. If he was a nice boy and improved on acquaintance he +could be given more theatre tickets, and perhaps asked to come +one Sunday to tea at Chelsea. Jocantha made up her mind +that he would improve on acquaintance, and that Gregory would +like him, and that the Fairy Godmother business would prove far +more entertaining than she had originally anticipated. The +boy was distinctly presentable; he knew how to brush his hair, +which was possibly an imitative faculty; he knew what colour of +tie suited him, which might be intuition; he was exactly the type +that Jocantha admired, which of course was accident. +Altogether she was rather pleased when the girl looked at the +clock and bade a friendly but hurried farewell to her +companion. Bertie nodded “good-bye,” gulped +down a mouthful of tea, and then produced from his overcoat +pocket a paper-covered book, bearing the title “Sepoy and +Sahib, a tale of the great Mutiny.”</p> +<p>The laws of tea-shop etiquette forbid that you should offer +theatre tickets to a stranger without having first caught the +stranger’s eye. It is even better if you can ask to +have a sugar basin passed to you, having previously concealed the +fact that you have a large and well-filled sugar basin on your +own table; this is not difficult to manage, as the printed menu +is generally nearly as large as the table, and can be made to +stand on end. Jocantha set to work hopefully; she had a +long and rather high-pitched discussion with the waitress +concerning alleged defects in an altogether blameless muffin, she +made loud and plaintive inquiries about the tube service to some +impossibly remote suburb, she talked with brilliant insincerity +to the tea-shop kitten, and as a last resort she upset a milk-jug +and swore at it daintily. Altogether she attracted a good +deal of attention, but never for a moment did she attract the +attention of the boy with the beautifully-brushed hair, who was +some thousands of miles away in the baking plains of Hindostan, +amid deserted bungalows, seething bazaars, and riotous barrack +squares, listening to the throbbing of tom-toms and the distant +rattle of musketry.</p> +<p>Jocantha went back to her house in Chelsea, which struck her +for the first time as looking dull and over-furnished. She +had a resentful conviction that Gregory would be uninteresting at +dinner, and that the play would be stupid after dinner. On +the whole her frame of mind showed a marked divergence from the +purring complacency of Attab, who was again curled up in his +corner of the divan with a great peace radiating from every curve +of his body.</p> +<p>But then he had killed his sparrow.</p> +<h2>ON APPROVAL</h2> +<p>Of all the genuine Bohemians who strayed from time to time +into the would-be Bohemian circle of the Restaurant Nuremberg, +Owl Street, Soho, none was more interesting and more elusive than +Gebhard Knopfschrank. He had no friends, and though he +treated all the restaurant frequenters as acquaintances he never +seemed to wish to carry the acquaintanceship beyond the door that +led into Owl Street and the outer world. He dealt with them +all rather as a market woman might deal with chance passers-by, +exhibiting her wares and chattering about the weather and the +slackness of business, occasionally about rheumatism, but never +showing a desire to penetrate into their daily lives or to +dissect their ambitions.</p> +<p>He was understood to belong to a family of peasant farmers, +somewhere in Pomerania; some two years ago, according to all that +was known of him, he had abandoned the labours and +responsibilities of swine tending and goose rearing to try his +fortune as an artist in London.</p> +<p>“Why London and not Paris or Munich?” he had been +asked by the curious.</p> +<p>Well, there was a ship that left Stolpmünde for London +twice a month, that carried few passengers, but carried them +cheaply; the railway fares to Munich or Paris were not +cheap. Thus it was that he came to select London as the +scene of his great adventure.</p> +<p>The question that had long and seriously agitated the +frequenters of the Nuremberg was whether this goose-boy migrant +was really a soul-driven genius, spreading his wings to the +light, or merely an enterprising young man who fancied he could +paint and was pardonably anxious to escape from the monotony of +rye bread diet and the sandy, swine-bestrewn plains of +Pomerania. There was reasonable ground for doubt and +caution; the artistic groups that foregathered at the little +restaurant contained so many young women with short hair and so +many young men with long hair, who supposed themselves to be +abnormally gifted in the domain of music, poetry, painting, or +stagecraft, with little or nothing to support the supposition, +that a self-announced genius of any sort in their midst was +inevitably suspect. On the other hand, there was the +ever-imminent danger of entertaining, and snubbing, an angel +unawares. There had been the lamentable case of Sledonti, +the dramatic poet, who had been belittled and cold-shouldered in +the Owl Street hall of judgment, and had been afterwards hailed +as a master singer by the Grand Duke Constantine +Constantinovitch—“the most educated of the +Romanoffs,” according to Sylvia Strubble, who spoke rather +as one who knew every individual member of the Russian imperial +family; as a matter of fact, she knew a newspaper correspondent, +a young man who ate <i>bortsch</i> with the air of having +invented it. Sledonti’s “Poems of Death and +Passion” were now being sold by the thousand in seven +European languages, and were about to be translated into Syrian, +a circumstance which made the discerning critics of the Nuremberg +rather shy of maturing their future judgments too rapidly and too +irrevocably.</p> +<p>As regards Knopfschrank’s work, they did not lack +opportunity for inspecting and appraising it. However +resolutely he might hold himself aloof from the social life of +his restaurant acquaintances, he was not minded to hide his +artistic performances from their inquiring gaze. Every +evening, or nearly every evening, at about seven o’clock, +he would make his appearance, sit himself down at his accustomed +table, throw a bulky black portfolio on to the chair opposite +him, nod round indiscriminately at his fellow-guests, and +commence the serious business of eating and drinking. When +the coffee stage was reached he would light a cigarette, draw the +portfolio over to him, and begin to rummage among its +contents. With slow deliberation he would select a few of +his more recent studies and sketches, and silently pass them +round from table to table, paying especial attention to any new +diners who might be present. On the back of each sketch was +marked in plain figures the announcement “Price ten +shillings.”</p> +<p>If his work was not obviously stamped with the hall-mark of +genius, at any rate it was remarkable for its choice of an +unusual and unvarying theme. His pictures always +represented some well-known street or public place in London, +fallen into decay and denuded of its human population, in the +place of which there roamed a wild fauna, which, from its wealth +of exotic species, must have originally escaped from Zoological +Gardens and travelling beast shows. “Giraffes +drinking at the fountain pools, Trafalgar Square,” was one +of the most notable and characteristic of his studies, while even +more sensational was the gruesome picture of “Vultures +attacking dying camel in Upper Berkeley Street.” +There were also photographs of the large canvas on which he had +been engaged for some months, and which he was now endeavouring +to sell to some enterprising dealer or adventurous amateur. +The subject was “Hyænas asleep in Euston +Station,” a composition that left nothing to be desired in +the way of suggesting unfathomed depths of desolation.</p> +<p>“Of course it may be immensely clever, it may be +something epoch-making in the realm of art,” said Sylvia +Strubble to her own particular circle of listeners, “but, +on the other hand, it may be merely mad. One mustn’t +pay too much attention to the commercial aspect of the case, of +course, but still, if some dealer would make a bid for that +hyæna picture, or even for some of the sketches, we should +know better how to place the man and his work.”</p> +<p>“We may all be cursing ourselves one of these +days,” said Mrs. Nougat-Jones, “for not having bought +up his entire portfolio of sketches. At the same time, when +there is so much real talent going about, one does not feel like +planking down ten shillings for what looks like a bit of +whimsical oddity. Now that picture that he showed us last +week, ‘Sand-grouse roosting on the Albert Memorial,’ +was very impressive, and of course I could see there was good +workmanship in it and breadth of treatment; but it didn’t +in the least convey the Albert Memorial to me, and Sir James +Beanquest tells me that sand-grouse don’t roost, they sleep +on the ground.”</p> +<p>Whatever talent or genius the Pomeranian artist might possess, +it certainly failed to receive commercial sanction. The +portfolio remained bulky with unsold sketches, and the +“Euston Siesta,” as the wits of the Nuremberg +nicknamed the large canvas, was still in the market. The +outward and visible signs of financial embarrassment began to be +noticeable; the half-bottle of cheap claret at dinner-time gave +way to a small glass of lager, and this in turn was displaced by +water. The one-and-sixpenny set dinner receded from an +everyday event to a Sunday extravagance; on ordinary days the +artist contented himself with a sevenpenny omelette and some +bread and cheese, and there were evenings when he did not put in +an appearance at all. On the rare occasions when he spoke +of his own affairs it was observed that he began to talk more +about Pomerania and less about the great world of art.</p> +<p>“It is a busy time there now with us,” he said +wistfully; “the schwines are driven out into the fields +after harvest, and must be looked after. I could be helping +to look after if I was there. Here it is difficult to live; +art is not appreciate.”</p> +<p>“Why don’t you go home on a visit?” some one +asked tactfully.</p> +<p>“Ah, it cost money! There is the ship passage to +Stolpmünde, and there is money that I owe at my +lodgings. Even here I owe a few schillings. If I +could sell some of my sketches—”</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” suggested Mrs. Nougat-Jones, “if +you were to offer them for a little less, some of us would be +glad to buy a few. Ten shillings is always a consideration, +you know, to people who are not over well off. Perhaps if +you were to ask six or seven shillings—”</p> +<p>Once a peasant, always a peasant. The mere suggestion of +a bargain to be struck brought a twinkle of awakened alertness +into the artist’s eyes, and hardened the lines of his +mouth.</p> +<p>“Nine schilling nine pence each,” he snapped, and +seemed disappointed that Mrs. Nougat-Jones did not pursue the +subject further. He had evidently expected her to offer +seven and fourpence.</p> +<p>The weeks sped by, and Knopfschrank came more rarely to the +restaurant in Owl Street, while his meals on those occasions +became more and more meagre. And then came a triumphal day, +when he appeared early in the evening in a high state of elation, +and ordered an elaborate meal that scarcely stopped short of +being a banquet. The ordinary resources of the kitchen were +supplemented by an imported dish of smoked goosebreast, a +Pomeranian delicacy that was luckily procurable at a firm of +<i>delikatessen</i> merchants in Coventry Street, while a +long-necked bottle of Rhine wine gave a finishing touch of +festivity and good cheer to the crowded table.</p> +<p>“He has evidently sold his masterpiece,” whispered +Sylvia Strubble to Mrs. Nougat-Jones, who had come in late.</p> +<p>“Who has bought it?” she whispered back.</p> +<p>“Don’t know; he hasn’t said anything yet, +but it must be some American. Do you see, he has got a +little American flag on the dessert dish, and he has put pennies +in the music box three times, once to play the +‘Star-spangled Banner,’ then a Sousa march, and then +the ‘Star-spangled Banner’ again. It must be an +American millionaire, and he’s evidently got a very big +price for it; he’s just beaming and chuckling with +satisfaction.”</p> +<p>“We must ask him who has bought it,” said Mrs. +Nougat-Jones.</p> +<p>“Hush! no, don’t. Let’s buy some of +his sketches, quick, before we are supposed to know that +he’s famous; otherwise he’ll be doubling the +prices. I am so glad he’s had a success at +last. I always believed in him, you know.”</p> +<p>For the sum of ten shillings each Miss Strubble acquired the +drawings of the camel dying in Upper Berkeley Street and of the +giraffes quenching their thirst in Trafalgar Square; at the same +price Mrs. Nougat-Jones secured the study of roosting +sand-grouse. A more ambitious picture, “Wolves and +wapiti fighting on the steps of the Athenæum Club,” +found a purchaser at fifteen shillings.</p> +<p>“And now what are your plans?” asked a young man +who contributed occasional paragraphs to an artistic weekly.</p> +<p>“I go back to Stolpmünde as soon as the ship +sails,” said the artist, “and I do not return. +Never.”</p> +<p>“But your work? Your career as painter?”</p> +<p>“Ah, there is nossing in it. One starves. +Till to-day I have sold not one of my sketches. To-night +you have bought a few, because I am going away from you, but at +other times, not one.”</p> +<p>“But has not some American—?”</p> +<p>“Ah, the rich American,” chuckled the +artist. “God be thanked. He dash his car right +into our herd of schwines as they were being driven out to the +fields. Many of our best schwines he killed, but he paid +all damages. He paid perhaps more than they were worth, +many times more than they would have fetched in the market after +a month of fattening, but he was in a hurry to get on to +Dantzig. When one is in a hurry one must pay what one is +asked. God be thanked for rich Americans, who are always in +a hurry to get somewhere else. My father and mother, they +have now so plenty of money; they send me some to pay my debts +and come home. I start on Monday for Stolpmünde and I +do not come back. Never.”</p> +<p>“But your picture, the hyænas?”</p> +<p>“No good. It is too big to carry to +Stolpmünde. I burn it.”</p> +<p>In time he will be forgotten, but at present Knopfschrank is +almost as sore a subject as Sledonti with some of the frequenters +of the Nuremberg Restaurant, Owl Street, Soho.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEASTS AND SUPER-BEASTS***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 269-h.htm or 269-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/6/269 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://www.gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://www.gutenberg.org/about/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: +http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +</pre></body> +</html> diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4726b56 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #269 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/269) diff --git a/old/beast10.txt b/old/beast10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5671613 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/beast10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8916 @@ +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Beasts and Super-Beasts, by Saki + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. We need your donations. + + +BEASTS AND SUPER-BEASTS - H. H. MUNRO ("SAKI") + +May, 1995 [Etext #269] + + +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Beasts and Super-Beasts by Saki +*****This file should be named beast10.txt or beast10.zip****** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, beast11.txt. +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, beast10a.txt. + + + +Scanner: Hewlett-Packard Scanjet IICX +OCR: WordScan Version 3.00 +Spell-check: Word for Windows 6.0 - UK Dictionary +Scanned by: David Price + + +We are now trying to release all our books one month in advance +of the official release dates, for time for better editing. + +Please note: neither this list nor its contents are final till +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. To be sure you have an +up to date first edition [xxxxx10x.xxx] please check file sizes +in the first week of the next month. Since our ftp program has +a bug in it that scrambles the date [tried to fix and failed] a +look at the file size will have to do, but we will try to see a +new copy has at least one byte more or less. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +fifty hours is one conservative estimate for how long it we take +to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. This +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If our value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $4 +million dollars per hour this year as we release some eight text +files per month: thus upping our productivity from $2 million. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext +Files by the December 31, 2001. [10,000 x 100,000,000=Trillion] +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is 10% of the expected number of computer users by the end +of the year 2001. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +All donations should be made to "Project Gutenberg/IBC", and are +tax deductible to the extent allowable by law ("IBC" is Illinois +Benedictine College). (Subscriptions to our paper newsletter go +to IBC, too) + +For these and other matters, please mail to: + +Project Gutenberg +P. O. Box 2782 +Champaign, IL 61825 + +When all other email fails try our Michael S. Hart, Executive +Director: +hart@vmd.cso.uiuc.edu (internet) hart@uiucvmd (bitnet) + +We would prefer to send you this information by email +(Internet, Bitnet, Compuserve, ATTMAIL or MCImail). + +****** +If you have an FTP program (or emulator), please +FTP directly to the Project Gutenberg archives: +[Mac users, do NOT point and click. . .type] + +ftp mrcnext.cso.uiuc.edu +login: anonymous +password: your@login +cd etext/etext90 through /etext95 +or cd etext/articles [get suggest gut for more information] +dir [to see files] +get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files] +GET INDEX?00.GUT +for a list of books +and +GET NEW GUT for general information +and +MGET GUT* for newsletters. + +**Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor** +(Three Pages) + + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you can distribute copies of this etext if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this etext on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG- +tm etexts, is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor +Michael S. Hart through the Project Gutenberg Association at +Illinois Benedictine College (the "Project"). Among other +things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext +under the Project's "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] the Project (and any other party you may receive this +etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold the Project, its directors, +officers, members and agents harmless from all liability, cost +and expense, including legal fees, that arise directly or +indirectly from any of the following that you do or cause: +[1] distribution of this etext, [2] alteration, modification, +or addition to the etext, or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + etext or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word pro- + cessing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the etext (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the + net profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Association / Illinois + Benedictine College" within the 60 days following each + date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) + your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, +scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty +free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution +you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg +Association / Illinois Benedictine College". + +*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + +BEASTS AND SUPER-BEASTS - H. H. MUNRO ("SAKI") + +Scanner: Hewlett-Packard Scanjet IICX +OCR: WordScan Version 3.00 +Spell-check: Word for Windows 6.0 - UK Dictionary +Scanned by: David Price + +CONTENTS + +THE SHE-WOLF +LAURA +THE BOAR-PIG +THE BROGUE +THE HEN +THE OPEN WINDOW +THE TREASURE-SHIP +THE COBWEB +THE LULL +THE UNKINDEST BLOW +THE ROMANCERS +THE SCHARTZ-METTERKLUME METHOD +THE SEVENTH PULLET +THE BLIND SPOT +DUSK +A TOUCH OF REALISM +COUSIN TERESA +THE YARKAND MANNER +THE BYZANTINE OMELETTE +THE FEAST OF NEMESIS +THE DREAMER +THE QUINCE TREE +THE FORBIDDEN BUZZARDS +THE STAKE +CLOVIS ON PARENTAL RESPONSIBILITIES +A HOLIDAY TASK +THE STALLED OX +THE STORY-TELLER +A DEFENSIVE DIAMOND +THE ELK +"DOWN PENS" +THE NAME-DAY +THE LUMBER ROOM +FUR +THE PHILANTHROPIST AND THE HAPPY CAT +ON APPROVAL + + + + + +Beasts and Super-Beasts + + + + +THE SHE-WOLF + + +LEONARD BILSITER was one of those people who have +failed to find this world attractive or interesting, and +who have sought compensation in an "unseen world" of +their own experience or imagination - or invention. +Children do that sort of thing successfully, but children +are content to convince themselves, and do not vulgarise +their beliefs by trying to convince other people. +Leonard Bilsiter's beliefs were for "the few," that is to +say, anyone who would listen to him. + +His dabblings in the unseen might not have carried +him beyond the customary platitudes of the drawing-room +visionary if accident had not reinforced his stock-in- +trade of mystical lore. In company with a friend, who +was interested in a Ural mining concern, he had made a +trip across Eastern Europe at a moment when the great +Russian railway strike was developing from a threat to a +reality; its outbreak caught him on the return journey, +somewhere on the further side of Perm, and it was while +waiting for a couple of days at a wayside station in a +state of suspended locomotion that he made the +acquaintance of a dealer in harness and metalware, who +profitably whiled away the tedium of the long halt by +initiating his English travelling companion in a +fragmentary system of folk-lore that he had picked up +from Trans-Baikal traders and natives. Leonard returned +to his home circle garrulous about his Russian strike +experiences, but oppressively reticent about certain dark +mysteries, which he alluded to under the resounding title +of Siberian Magic. The reticence wore off in a week or +two under the influence of an entire lack of general +curiosity, and Leonard began to make more detailed +allusions to the enormous powers which this new esoteric +force, to use his own description of it, conferred on the +initiated few who knew how to wield it. His aunt, +Cecilia Hoops, who loved sensation perhaps rather better +than she loved the truth, gave him as clamorous an +advertisement as anyone could wish for by retailing an +account of how he had turned a vegetable marrow into a +wood pigeon before her very eyes. As a manifestation of +the possession of supernatural powers, the story was +discounted in some quarters by the respect accorded to +Mrs. Hoops' powers of imagination. + +However divided opinion might be on the question of +Leonard's status as a wonderworker or a charlatan, he +certainly arrived at Mary Hampton's house-party with a +reputation for pre-eminence in one or other of those +professions, and he was not disposed to shun such +publicity as might fall to his share. Esoteric forces +and unusual powers figured largely in whatever +conversation he or his aunt had a share in, and his own +performances, past and potential, were the subject of +mysterious hints and dark avowals. + +"I wish you would turn me into a wolf, Mr. +Bilsiter," said his hostess at luncheon the day after his +arrival. + +"My dear Mary," said Colonel Hampton, "I never knew +you had a craving in that direction." + +"A she-wolf, of course," continued Mrs. Hampton; it +would be too confusing to change one's sex as well as +one's species at a moment's notice." + +"I don't think one should jest on these subjects," +said Leonard. + +"I'm not jesting, I'm quite serious, I assure you. +Only don't do it to-day; we have only eight available +bridge players, and it would break up one of our tables. +To-morrow we shall be a larger party. To-morrow night, +after dinner - " + +"In our present imperfect understanding of these +hidden forces I think one should approach them with +humbleness rather than mockery," observed Leonard, with +such severity that the subject was forthwith dropped. + +Clovis Sangrail had sat unusually silent during the +discussion on the possibilities of Siberian Magic; after +lunch he side-tracked Lord Pabham into the comparative +seclusion of the billiard-room and delivered himself of a +searching question. + +"Have you such a thing as a she-wolf in your +collection of wild animals? A she-wolf of moderately +good temper?" + +Lord Pabham considered. "There is Loiusa," he said, +"a rather fine specimen of the timber-wolf. I got her +two years ago in exchange for some Arctic foxes. Most of +my animals get to be fairly tame before they've been with +me very long; I think I can say Louisa has an angelic +temper, as she-wolves go. Why do you ask?" + +"I was wondering whether you would lend her to me +for to-morrow night," said Clovis, with the careless +solicitude of one who borrows a collar stud or a tennis +racquet. + +"To-morrow night?" + +"Yes, wolves are nocturnal animals, so the late +hours won't hurt her," said Clovis, with the air of one +who has taken everything into consideration; "one of your +men could bring her over from Pabham Park after dusk, and +with a little help he ought to be able to smuggle her +into the conservatory at the same moment that Mary +Hampton makes an unobtrusive exit." + +Lord Pabham stared at Clovis for a moment in +pardonable bewilderment; then his face broke into a +wrinkled network of laughter. + +"Oh, that's your game, is it? You are going to do a +little Siberian Magic on your own account. And is Mrs. +Hampton willing to be a fellow-conspirator?" + +"Mary is pledged to see me through with it, if you +will guarantee Louisa's temper." + +"I'll answer for Louisa," said Lord Pabham. + +By the following day the house-party had swollen to +larger proportions, and Bilsiter's instinct for self- +advertisement expanded duly under the stimulant of an +increased audience. At dinner that evening he held forth +at length on the subject of unseen forces and untested +powers, and his flow of impressive eloquence continued +unabated while coffee was being served in the drawing- +room preparatory to a general migration to the card-room. + +His aunt ensured a respectful hearing for his +utterances, but her sensation-loving soul hankered after +something more dramatic than mere vocal demonstration. + +"Won't you do something to CONVINCE them of your +powers, Leonard?" she pleaded; "change something into +another shape. He can, you know, if he only chooses to," +she informed the company. + +"Oh, do," said Mavis Pellington earnestly, and her +request was echoed by nearly everyone present. Even +those who were not open to conviction were perfectly +willing to be entertained by an exhibition of amateur +conjuring. + +Leonard felt that something tangible was expected of +him. + +"Has anyone present," he asked, "got a three-penny +bit or some small object of no particular value -?" + +"You're surely not going to make coins disappear, or +something primitive of that sort?" said Clovis +contemptuously. + +"I think it very unkind of you not to carry out my +suggestion of turning me into a wolf," said Mary Hampton, +as she crossed over to the conservatory to give her +macaws their usual tribute from the dessert dishes. + +"I have already warned you of the danger of treating +these powers in a mocking spirit," said Leonard solemnly. + +"I don't believe you can do it," laughed Mary +provocatively from the conservatory; "I dare you to do it +if you can. I defy you to turn me into a wolf." + +As she said this she was lost to view behind a clump +of azaleas. + +"Mrs. Hampton - " began Leonard with increased +solemnity, but he got no further. A breath of chill air +seemed to rush across the room, and at the same time the +macaws broke forth into ear-splitting screams. + +"What on earth is the matter with those confounded +birds, Mary?" exclaimed Colonel Hampton; at the same +moment an even more piercing scream from Mavis Pellington +stampeded the entire company from their seats. In +various attitudes of helpless horror or instinctive +defence they confronted the evil-looking grey beast that +was peering at them from amid a setting of fern and +azalea. + +Mrs. Hoops was the first to recover from the general +chaos of fright and bewilderment. + +"Leonard!" she screamed shrilly to her nephew, "turn +it back into Mrs. Hampton at once! It may fly at us at +any moment. Turn it back!" + +"I - I don't know how to," faltered Leonard, who +looked more scared and horrified than anyone. + +"What!" shouted Colonel Hampton, "you've taken the +abominable liberty of turning my wife into a wolf, and +now you stand there calmly and say you can't turn her +back again!" + +To do strict justice to Leonard, calmness was not a +distinguishing feature of his attitude at the moment. + +"I assure you I didn't turn Mrs. Hampton into a +wolf; nothing was farther from my intentions," he +protested. + +"Then where is she, and how came that animal into +the conservatory?" demanded the Colonel. + +"Of course we must accept your assurance that you +didn't turn Mrs. Hampton into a wolf," said Clovis +politely, "but you will agree that appearances are +against you." + +"Are we to have all these recriminations with that +beast standing there ready to tear us to pieces?" wailed +Mavis indignantly. + +"Lord Pabham, you know a good deal about wild beasts +- " suggested Colonel Hampton. + +"The wild beasts that I have been accustomed to," +said Lord Pabham, "have come with proper credentials from +well-known dealers, or have been bred in my own +menagerie. I've never before been confronted with an +animal that walks unconcernedly out of an azalea bush, +leaving a charming and popular hostess unaccounted for. +As far as one can judge from OUTWARD characteristics," he +continued, "it has the appearance of a well-grown female +of the North American timber-wolf, a variety of the +common species CANIS LUPUS." + +"Oh, never mind its Latin name," screamed Mavis, as +the beast came a step or two further into the room; +"can't you entice it away with food, and shut it up where +it can't do any harm?" + +"If it is really Mrs. Hampton, who has just had a +very good dinner, I don't suppose food will appeal to it +very strongly," said Clovis. + +"Leonard," beseeched Mrs. Hoops tearfully, "even if +this is none of your doing can't you use your great +powers to turn this dreadful beast into something +harmless before it bites us all - a rabbit or something?" + +"I don't suppose Colonel Hampton would care to have +his wife turned into a succession of fancy animals as +though we were playing a round game with her," interposed +Clovis. + +"I absolutely forbid it," thundered the Colonel. + +"Most wolves that I've had anything to do with have +been inordinately fond of sugar," said Lord Pabham; "if +you like I'll try the effect on this one." + +He took a piece of sugar from the saucer of his +coffee cup and flung it to the expectant Louisa, who +snapped it in mid-air. There was a sigh of relief from +the company; a wolf that ate sugar when it might at the +least have been employed in tearing macaws to pieces had +already shed some of its terrors. The sigh deepened to a +gasp of thanks-giving when Lord Pabham decoyed the animal +out of the room by a pretended largesse of further sugar. +There was an instant rush to the vacated conservatory. +There was no trace of Mrs. Hampton except the plate +containing the macaws' supper. + +"The door is locked on the inside!" exclaimed +Clovis, who had deftly turned the key as he affected to +test it. + +Everyone turned towards Bilsiter. + +"If you haven't turned my wife into a wolf," said +Colonel Hampton, "will you kindly explain where she has +disappeared to, since she obviously could not have gone +through a locked door? I will not press you for an +explanation of how a North American timber-wolf suddenly +appeared in the conservatory, but I think I have some +right to inquire what has become of Mrs. Hampton." + +Bilsiter's reiterated disclaimer was met with a +general murmur of impatient disbelief. + +"I refuse to stay another hour under this roof," +declared Mavis Pellington. + +"If our hostess has really vanished out of human +form," said Mrs. Hoops, "none of the ladies of the party +can very well remain. I absolutely decline to be +chaperoned by a wolf!" + +"It's a she-wolf," said Clovis soothingly. + +The correct etiquette to be observed under the +unusual circumstances received no further elucidation. +The sudden entry of Mary Hampton deprived the discussion +of its immediate interest. + +"Some one has mesmerised me," she exclaimed crossly; +"I found myself in the game larder, of all places, being +fed with sugar by Lord Pabham. I hate being mesmerised, +and the doctor has forbidden me to touch sugar." + +The situation was explained to her, as far as it +permitted of anything that could be called explanation. + +"Then you REALLY did turn me into a wolf, Mr. +Bilsiter?" she exclaimed excitedly. + +But Leonard had burned the boat in which he might +now have embarked on a sea of glory. He could only shake +his head feebly. + +"It was I who took that liberty," said Clovis; "you +see, I happen to have lived for a couple of years in +North-Eastern Russia, and I have more than a tourist's +acquaintance with the magic craft of that region. One +does not care to speak about these strange powers, but +once in a way, when one hears a lot of nonsense being +talked about them, one is tempted to show what Siberian +magic can accomplish in the hands of someone who really +understands it. I yielded to that temptation. May I +have some brandy? the effort has left me rather faint." + +If Leonard Bilsiter could at that moment have +transformed Clovis into a cockroach and then have stepped +on him he would gladly have performed both operations. + +LAURA + + +"YOU are not really dying, are you?" asked Amanda. + +"I have the doctor's permission to live till +Tuesday," said Laura. + +"But to-day is Saturday; this is serious!" gasped +Amanda. + +"I don't know about it being serious; it is +certainly Saturday," said Laura. + +"Death is always serious," said Amanda. + +"I never said I was going to die. I am presumably +going to leave off being Laura, but I shall go on being +something. An animal of some kind, I suppose. You see, +when one hasn't been very good in the life one has just +lived, one reincarnates in some lower organism. And I +haven't been very good, when one comes to think of it. +I've been petty and mean and vindictive and all that sort +of thing when circumstances have seemed to warrant it." + +"Circumstances never warrant that sort of thing," +said Amanda hastily. + +"If you don't mind my saying so," observed Laura, +"Egbert is a circumstance that would warrant any amount +of that sort of thing. You're married to him - that's +different; you've sworn to love, honour, and endure him: +I haven't." + +"I don't see what's wrong with Egbert," protested +Amanda. + +"Oh, I daresay the wrongness has been on my part," +admitted Laura dispassionately; "he has merely been the +extenuating circumstance. He made a thin, peevish kind +of fuss, for instance, when I took the collie puppies +from the farm out for a run the other day." + +"They chased his young broods of speckled Sussex and +drove two sitting hens off their nests, besides running +all over the flower beds. You know how devoted he is to +his poultry and garden." + +"Anyhow, he needn't have gone on about it for the +entire evening and then have said, `Let's say no more +about it' just when I was beginning to enjoy the +discussion. That's where one of my petty vindictive +revenges came in," added Laura with an unrepentant +chuckle; "I turned the entire family of speckled Sussex +into his seedling shed the day after the puppy episode." + +"How could you?" exclaimed Amanda. + +"It came quite easy," said Laura; "two of the hens +pretended to be laying at the time, but I was firm." + +"And we thought it was an accident!" + +"You see," resumed Laura, "I really HAVE some +grounds for supposing that my next incarnation will be in +a lower organism. I shall be an animal of some kind. On +the other hand, I haven't been a bad sort in my way, so I +think I may count on being a nice animal, something +elegant and lively, with a love of fun. An otter, +perhaps." + +"I can't imagine you as an otter," said Amanda. + +"Well, I don't suppose you can imagine me as an +angel, if it comes to that," said Laura. + +Amanda was silent. She couldn't. + +"Personally I think an otter life would be rather +enjoyable," continued Laura; "salmon to eat all the year +round, and the satisfaction of being able to fetch the +trout in their own homes without having to wait for hours +till they condescend to rise to the fly you've been +dangling before them; and an elegant svelte figure - " + +"Think of the otter hounds," interposed Amanda; "how +dreadful to be hunted and harried and finally worried to +death!" + +"Rather fun with half the neighbourhood looking on, +and anyhow not worse than this Saturday-to-Tuesday +business of dying by inches; and then I should go on into +something else. If I had been a moderately good otter I +suppose I should get back into human shape of some sort; +probably something rather primitive - a little brown, +unclothed Nubian boy, I should think." + +"I wish you would be serious," sighed Amanda; "you +really ought to be if you're only going to live till +Tuesday." + +As a matter of fact Laura died on Monday. + +"So dreadfully upsetting," Amanda complained to her +uncle-in-law, Sir Lulworth Quayne. "I've asked quite a +lot of people down for golf and fishing, and the +rhododendrons are just looking their best." + +"Laura always was inconsiderate," said Sir Lulworth; +"she was born during Goodwood week, with an Ambassador +staying in the house who hated babies." + +"She had the maddest kind of ideas," said Amanda; +"do you know if there was any insanity in her family?" + +"Insanity? No, I never heard of any. Her father +lives in West Kensington, but I believe he's sane on all +other subjects." + +"She had an idea that she was going to be +reincarnated as an otter," said Amanda. + +"One meets with those ideas of reincarnation so +frequently, even in the West," said Sir Lulworth, "that +one can hardly set them down as being mad. And Laura was +such an unaccountable person in this life that I should +not like to lay down definite rules as to what she might +be doing in an after state." + +"You think she really might have passed into some +animal form?" asked Amanda. She was one of those who +shape their opinions rather readily from the standpoint +of those around them. + +Just then Egbert entered the breakfast-room, wearing +an air of bereavement that Laura's demise would have been +insufficient, in itself, to account for. + +"Four of my speckled Sussex have been killed," he +exclaimed; "the very four that were to go to the show on +Friday. One of them was dragged away and eaten right in +the middle of that new carnation bed that I've been to +such trouble and expense over. My best flower bed and my +best fowls singled out for destruction; it almost seems +as if the brute that did the deed had special knowledge +how to be as devastating as possible in a short space of +time." + +"Was it a fox, do you think?" asked Amanda. + +"Sounds more like a polecat," said Sir Lulworth. + +"No," said Egbert, "there were marks of webbed feet +all over the place, and we followed the tracks down to +the stream at the bottom of the garden; evidently an +otter." + +Amanda looked quickly and furtively across at Sir +Lulworth. + +Egbert was too agitated to eat any breakfast, and +went out to superintend the strengthening of the poultry +yard defences. + +"I think she might at least have waited till the +funeral was over," said Amanda in a scandalised voice. + +"It's her own funeral, you know," said Sir Lulworth; +"it's a nice point in etiquette how far one ought to show +respect to one's own mortal remains." + +Disregard for mortuary convention was carried to +further lengths next day; during the absence of the +family at the funeral ceremony the remaining survivors of +the speckled Sussex were massacred. The marauder's line +of retreat seemed to have embraced most of the flower +beds on the lawn, but the strawberry beds in the lower +garden had also suffered. + +"I shall get the otter hounds to come here at the +earliest possible moment," said Egbert savagely. + +"On no account! You can't dream of such a thing!" +exclaimed Amanda. "I mean, it wouldn't do, so soon after +a funeral in the house." + +"It's a case of necessity," said Egbert; "once an +otter takes to that sort of thing it won't stop." + +"Perhaps it will go elsewhere now there are no more +fowls left," suggested Amanda. + +"One would think you wanted to shield the beast," +said Egbert. + +"There's been so little water in the stream lately," +objected Amanda; "it seems hardly sporting to hunt an +animal when it has so little chance of taking refuge +anywhere." + +"Good gracious!" fumed Egbert, "I'm not thinking +about sport. I want to have the animal killed as soon as +possible." + +Even Amanda's opposition weakened when, during +church time on the following Sunday, the otter made its +way into the house, raided half a salmon from the larder +and worried it into scaly fragments on the Persian rug in +Egbert's studio. + +"We shall have it hiding under our beds and biting +pieces out of our feet before long," said Egbert, and +from what Amanda knew of this particular otter she felt +that the possibility was not a remote one. + +On the evening preceding the day fixed for the hunt +Amanda spent a solitary hour walking by the banks of the +stream, making what she imagined to be hound noises. It +was charitably supposed by those who overheard her +performance, that she was practising for farmyard +imitations at the forth-coming village entertainment. + +It was her friend and neighbour, Aurora Burret, who +brought her news of the day's sport. + +"Pity you weren't out; we had quite a good day. We +found at once, in the pool just below your garden." + +"Did you - kill?" asked Amanda. + +"Rather. A fine she-otter. Your husband got rather +badly bitten in trying to 'tail it.' Poor beast, I felt +quite sorry for it, it had such a human look in its eyes +when it was killed. You'll call me silly, but do you +know who the look reminded me of? My dear woman, what is +the matter?" + +When Amanda had recovered to a certain extent from +her attack of nervous prostration Egbert took her to the +Nile Valley to recuperate. Change of scene speedily +brought about the desired recovery of health and mental +balance. The escapades of an adventurous otter in search +of a variation of diet were viewed in their proper light. +Amanda's normally placid temperament reasserted itself. +Even a hurricane of shouted curses, coming from her +husband's dressing-room, in her husband's voice, but +hardly in his usual vocabulary, failed to disturb her +serenity as she made a leisurely toilet one evening in a +Cairo hotel. + +"What is the matter? What has happened?" she asked +in amused curiosity. + +"The little beast has thrown all my clean shirts +into the bath! Wait till I catch you, you little - " + +"What little beast?" asked Amanda, suppressing a +desire to laugh; Egbert's language was so hopelessly +inadequate to express his outraged feelings. + +"A little beast of a naked brown Nubian boy," +spluttered Egbert. + +And now Amanda is seriously ill. + + +THE BOAR-PIG + +"THERE is a back way on to the lawn," said Mrs. +Philidore Stossen to her daughter, "through a small grass +paddock and then through a walled fruit garden full of +gooseberry bushes. I went all over the place last year +when the family were away. There is a door that opens +from the fruit garden into a shrubbery, and once we +emerge from there we can mingle with the guests as if we +had come in by the ordinary way. It's much safer than +going in by the front entrance and running the risk of +coming bang up against the hostess; that would be so +awkward when she doesn't happen to have invited us." + +"Isn't it a lot of trouble to take for getting +admittance to a garden party?" + +"To a garden party, yes; to THE garden party of the +season, certainly not. Every one of any consequence in +the county, with the exception of ourselves, has been +asked to meet the Princess, and it would be far more +troublesome to invent explanations as to why we weren't +there than to get in by a roundabout way. I stopped Mrs. +Cuvering in the road yesterday and talked very pointedly +about the Princess. If she didn't choose to take the +hint and send me an invitation it's not my fault, is it? +Here we are: we just cut across the grass and through +that little gate into the garden." + +Mrs. Stossen and her daughter, suitably arrayed for +a county garden party function with an infusion of +Almanack de Gotha, sailed through the narrow grass +paddock and the ensuing gooseberry garden with the air of +state barges making an unofficial progress along a rural +trout stream. There was a certain amount of furtive +haste mingled with the stateliness of their advance, as +though hostile search-lights might be turned on them at +any moment; and, as a matter of fact, they were not +unobserved. Matilda Cuvering, with the alert eyes of +thirteen years old and the added advantage of an exalted +position in the branches of a medlar tree, had enjoyed a +good view of the Stossen flanking movement and had +foreseen exactly where it would break down in execution. + +"They'll find the door locked, and they'll jolly +well have to go back the way they came," she remarked to +herself. "Serves them right for not coming in by the +proper entrance. What a pity Tarquin Superbus isn't +loose in the paddock. After all, as every one else is +enjoying themselves, I don't see why Tarquin shouldn't +have an afternoon out." + +Matilda was of an age when thought is action; she +slid down from the branches of the medlar tree, and when +she clambered back again Tarquin, the huge white +Yorkshire boar-pig, had exchanged the narrow limits of +his stye for the wider range of the grass paddock. The +discomfited Stossen expedition, returning in +recriminatory but otherwise orderly retreat from the +unyielding obstacle of the locked door, came to a sudden +halt at the gate dividing the paddock from the gooseberry +garden. + +"What a villainous-looking animal," exclaimed Mrs. +Stossen; "it wasn't there when we came in." + +"It's there now, anyhow," said her daughter. "What +on earth are we to do? I wish we had never come." + +The boar-pig had drawn nearer to the gate for a +closer inspection of the human intruders, and stood +champing his jaws and blinking his small red eyes in a +manner that was doubtless intended to be disconcerting, +and, as far as the Stossens were concerned, thoroughly +achieved that result. + +"Shoo! Hish! Hish! Shoo!" cried the ladies in +chorus. + +"If they think they're going to drive him away by +reciting lists of the kings of Israel and Judah they're +laying themselves out for disappointment," observed +Matilda from her seat in the medlar tree. As she made +the observation aloud Mrs. Stossen became for the first +time aware of her presence. A moment or two earlier she +would have been anything but pleased at the discovery +that the garden was not as deserted as it looked, but now +she hailed the fact of the child's presence on the scene +with absolute relief. + +"Little girl, can you find some one to drive away - +" she began hopefully. + +"COMMENT? COMPRENDS PAS," was the response. + +"Oh, are you French? ETES VOUS FRANCAISE?" + +"PAS DE TOUS. 'SUIS ANGLAISE." + +"Then why not talk English? I want to know if - " + +"PERMETTEZ-MOI EXPLIQUER. You see, I'm rather under +a cloud," said Matilda. "I'm staying with my aunt, and I +was told I must behave particularly well to-day, as lots +of people were coming for a garden party, and I was told +to imitate Claude, that's my young cousin, who never does +anything wrong except by accident, and then is always +apologetic about it. It seems they thought I ate too +much raspberry trifle at lunch, and they said Claude +never eats too much raspberry trifle. Well, Claude +always goes to sleep for half an hour after lunch, +because he's told to, and I waited till he was asleep, +and tied his hands and started forcible feeding with a +whole bucketful of raspberry trifle that they were +keeping for the garden-party. Lots of it went on to his +sailor-suit and some of it on to the bed, but a good deal +went down Claude's throat, and they can't say again that +he has never been known to eat too much raspberry trifle. +That is why I am not allowed to go to the party, and as +an additional punishment I must speak French all the +afternoon. I've had to tell you all this in English, as +there were words like `forcible feeding' that I didn't +know the French for; of course I could have invented +them, but if I had said NOURRITURE OBLIGATOIRE you +wouldn't have had the least idea what I was talking +about. MAIS MAINTENANT, NOUS PARLONS FRANCAIS." + +"Oh, very well, TRES BIEN," said Mrs. Stossen +reluctantly; in moments of flurry such French as she knew +was not under very good control. "LA, A L'AUTRE COTE DE +LA PORTE, EST UN COCHON - " + +"UN COCHON? AH, LE PETIT CHARMANT!" exclaimed +Matilda with enthusiasm. + +"MAIS NON, PAS DU TOUT PETIT, ET PAS DU TOUT +CHARMANT; UN BETE FEROCE - " + +"UNE BETE," corrected Matilda; "a pig is masculine +as long as you call it a pig, but if you lose your temper +with it and call it a ferocious beast it becomes one of +us at once. French is a dreadfully unsexing language." + +"For goodness' sake let us talk English then," said +Mrs. Stossen. "Is there any way out of this garden +except through the paddock where the pig is?" + +"I always go over the wall, by way of the plum +tree," said Matilda. + +"Dressed as we are we could hardly do that," said +Mrs. Stossen; it was difficult to imagine her doing it in +any costume. + +"Do you think you could go and get some one who +would drive the pig away?" asked Miss Stossen. + +"I promised my aunt I would stay here till five +o'clock; it's not four yet." + +"I am sure, under the circumstances, your aunt would +permit - " + +"My conscience would not permit," said Matilda with +cold dignity. + +"We can't stay here till five o'clock," exclaimed +Mrs. Stossen with growing exasperation. + +"Shall I recite to you to make the time pass +quicker?" asked Matilda obligingly. " `Belinda, the +little Breadwinner,' is considered my best piece, or, +perhaps, it ought to be something in French. Henri +Quatre's address to his soldiers is the only thing I +really know in that language." + +"If you will go and fetch some one to drive that +animal away I will give you something to buy yourself a +nice present," said Mrs. Stossen. + +Matilda came several inches lower down the medlar +tree. + +"That is the most practical suggestion you have made +yet for getting out of the garden," she remarked +cheerfully; "Claude and I are collecting money for the +Children's Fresh Air Fund, and we are seeing which of us +can collect the biggest sum." + +"I shall be very glad to contribute half a crown, +very glad indeed," said Mrs. Stossen, digging that coin +out of the depths of a receptacle which formed a detached +outwork of her toilet. + +"Claude is a long way ahead of me at present," +continued Matilda, taking no notice of the suggested +offering; "you see, he's only eleven, and has golden +hair, and those are enormous advantages when you're on +the collecting job. Only the other day a Russian lady +gave him ten shillings. Russians understand the art of +giving far better than we do. I expect Claude will net +quite twenty-five shillings this afternoon; he'll have +the field to himself, and he'll be able to do the pale, +fragile, not-long-for-this-world business to perfection +after his raspberry trifle experience. Yes, he'll be +QUITE two pounds ahead of me by now." + +With much probing and plucking and many regretful +murmurs the beleaguered ladies managed to produce seven- +and-sixpence between them. + +"I am afraid this is all we've got," said Mrs. +Stossen. + +Matilda showed no sign of coming down either to the +earth or to their figure. + +"I could not do violence to my conscience for +anything less than ten shillings," she announced stiffly. + +Mother and daughter muttered certain remarks under +their breath, in which the word "beast" was prominent, +and probably had no reference to Tarquin. + +"I find I HAVE got another half-crown," said Mrs. +Stossen in a shaking voice; "here you are. Now please +fetch some one quickly." + +Matilda slipped down from the tree, took possession +of the donation, and proceeded to pick up a handful of +over-ripe medlars from the grass at her feet. Then she +climbed over the gate and addressed herself +affectionately to the boar-pig. + +"Come, Tarquin, dear old boy; you know you can't +resist medlars when they're rotten and squashy." + +Tarquin couldn't. By dint of throwing the fruit in +front of him at judicious intervals Matilda decoyed him +back to his stye, while the delivered captives hurried +across the paddock. + +"Well, I never! The little minx!" exclaimed Mrs. +Stossen when she was safely on the high road. "The +animal wasn't savage at all, and as for the ten +shillings, I don't believe the Fresh Air Fund will see a +penny of it!" + +There she was unwarrantably harsh in her judgment. +If you examine the books of the fund you will find the +acknowledgment: "Collected by Miss Matilda Cuvering, 2s. +6d." + + +THE BROGUE + + +THE hunting season had come to an end, and the +Mullets had not succeeded in selling the Brogue. There +had been a kind of tradition in the family for the past +three or four years, a sort of fatalistic hope, that the +Brogue would find a purchaser before the hunting was +over; but seasons came and went without anything +happening to justify such ill-founded optimism. The +animal had been named Berserker in the earlier stages of +its career; it had been rechristened the Brogue later on, +in recognition of the fact that, once acquired, it was +extremely difficult to get rid of. The unkinder wits of +the neighbourhood had been known to suggest that the +first letter of its name was superfluous. The Brogue had +been variously described in sale catalogues as a light- +weight hunter, a lady's hack, and, more simply, but still +with a touch of imagination, as a useful brown gelding, +standing 15.1. Toby Mullet had ridden him for four +seasons with the West Wessex; you can ride almost any +sort of horse with the West Wessex as long as it is an +animal that knows the country. The Brogue knew the +country intimately, having personally created most of the +gaps that were to be met with in banks and hedges for +many miles round. His manners and characteristics were +not ideal in the hunting field, but he was probably +rather safer to ride to hounds than he was as a hack on +country roads. According to the Mullet family, he was +not really road-shy, but there were one or two objects of +dislike that brought on sudden attacks of what Toby +called the swerving sickness. Motors and cycles he +treated with tolerant disregard, but pigs, wheelbarrows, +piles of stones by the roadside, perambulators in a +village street, gates painted too aggressively white, and +sometimes, but not always, the newer kind of beehives, +turned him aside from his tracks in vivid imitation of +the zigzag course of forked lightning. If a pheasant +rose noisily from the other side of a hedgerow the Brogue +would spring into the air at the same moment, but this +may have been due to a desire to be companionable. The +Mullet family contradicted the widely prevalent report +that the horse was a confirmed crib-biter. + +It was about the third week in May that Mrs. Mullet, +relict of the late Sylvester Mullet, and mother of Toby +and a bunch of daughters, assailed Clovis Sangrail on the +outskirts of the village with a breathless catalogue of +local happenings. + +"You know our new neighbour, Mr. Penricarde?" she +vociferated; "awfully rich, owns tin mines in Cornwall, +middle-aged and rather quiet. He's taken the Red House +on a long lease and spent a lot of money on alterations +and improvements. Well, Toby's sold him the Brogue!" + +Clovis spent a moment or two in assimilating the +astonishing news; then he broke out into unstinted +congratulation. If he had belonged to a more emotional +race he would probably have kissed Mrs. Mullet. + +"How wonderfully lucky to have pulled it off at +last! Now you can buy a decent animal. I've always said +that Toby was clever. Ever so many congratulations." + +"Don't congratulate me. It's the most unfortunate +thing that could have happened!" said Mrs. Mullet +dramatically. + +Clovis stared at her in amazement. + +"Mr. Penricarde," said Mrs. Mullet, sinking her +voice to what she imagined to be an impressive whisper, +though it rather resembled a hoarse, excited squeak, "Mr. +Penricarde has just begun to pay attentions to Jessie. +Slight at first, but now unmistakable. I was a fool not +to have seen it sooner. Yesterday, at the Rectory garden +party, he asked her what her favourite flowers were, and +she told him carnations, and to-day a whole stack of +carnations has arrived, clove and malmaison and lovely +dark red ones, regular exhibition blooms, and a box of +chocolates that he must have got on purpose from London. +And he's asked her to go round the links with him to- +morrow. And now, just at this critical moment, Toby has +sold him that animal. It's a calamity!" + +"But you've been trying to get the horse off your +hands for years," said Clovis. + +"I've got a houseful of daughters," said Mrs. +Mullet, "and I've been trying - well, not to get them off +my hands, of course, but a husband or two wouldn't be +amiss among the lot of them; there are six of them, you +know." + +"I don't know," said Clovis, "I've never counted, +but I expect you're right as to the number; mothers +generally know these things." + +"And now," continued Mrs. Mullet, in her tragic +whisper, "when there's a rich husband-in-prospect +imminent on the horizon Toby goes and sells him that +miserable animal. It will probably kill him if he tries +to ride it; anyway it will kill any affection he might +have felt towards any member of our family. What is to +be done? We can't very well ask to have the horse back; +you see, we praised it up like anything when we thought +there was a chance of his buying it, and said it was just +the animal to suit him." + +"Couldn't you steal it out of his stable and send it +to grass at some farm miles away?" suggested Clovis; +"write 'Votes for Women' on the stable door, and the +thing would pass for a Suffragette outrage. No one who +knew the horse could possibly suspect you of wanting to +get it back again." + +"Every newspaper in the country would ring with the +affair," said Mrs. Mullet; "can't you imagine the +headline, 'Valuable Hunter Stolen by Suffragettes'? The +police would scour the countryside till they found the +animal." + +"Well, Jessie must try and get it back from +Penricarde on the plea that it's an old favourite. She +can say it was only sold because the stable had to be +pulled down under the terms of an old repairing lease, +and that now it has been arranged that the stable is to +stand for a couple of years longer." + +"It sounds a queer proceeding to ask for a horse +back when you've just sold him," said Mrs. Mullet, "but +something must be done, and done at once. The man is not +used to horses, and I believe I told him it was as quiet +as a lamb. After all, lambs go kicking and twisting +about as if they were demented, don't they?" + +"The lamb has an entirely unmerited character for +sedateness," agreed Clovis. + +Jessie came back from the golf links next day in a +state of mingled elation and concern. + +"It's all right about the proposal," she announced +he came out with it at the sixth hole. I said I must +have time to think it over. I accepted him at the +seventh." + +"My dear," said her mother, "I think a little more +maidenly reserve and hesitation would have been +advisable, as you've known him so short a time. You +might have waited till the ninth hole." + +"The seventh is a very long hole," said Jessie; +"besides, the tension was putting us both off our game. +By the time we'd got to the ninth hole we'd settled lots +of things. The honeymoon is to be spent in Corsica, with +perhaps a flying visit to Naples if we feel like it, and +a week in London to wind up with. Two of his nieces are +to be asked to be bridesmaids, so with our lot there will +be seven, which is rather a lucky number. You are to +wear your pearl grey, with any amount of Honiton lace +jabbed into it. By the way, he's coming over this +evening to ask your consent to the whole affair. So far +all's well, but about the Brogue it's a different matter. +I told him the legend about the stable, and how keen we +were about buying the horse back, but he seems equally +keen on keeping it. He said he must have horse exercise +now that he's living in the country, and he's going to +start riding tomorrow. He's ridden a few times in the +Row, on an animal that was accustomed to carry +octogenarians and people undergoing rest cures, and +that's about all his experience in the saddle - oh, and +he rode a pony once in Norfolk, when he was fifteen and +the pony twenty-four; and tomorrow he's going to ride the +Brogue! I shall be a widow before I'm married, and I do +so want to see what Corsica's like; it looks so silly on +the map." + +Clovis was sent for in haste, and the developments +of the situation put before him. + +"Nobody can ride that animal with any safety," said +Mrs. Mullet, "except Toby, and he knows by long +experience what it is going to shy at, and manages to +swerve at the same time." + +"I did hint to Mr. Penricarde - to Vincent, I should +say - that the Brogue didn't like white gates," said +Jessie. + +"White gates!" exclaimed Mrs. Mullet; "did you +mention what effect a pig has on him? He'll have to go +past Lockyer's farm to get to the high road, and there's +sure to be a pig or two grunting about in the lane." + +"He's taken rather a dislike to turkeys lately," +said Toby. + +"It's obvious that Penricarde mustn't be allowed to +go out on that animal," said Clovis, "at least not till +Jessie has married him, and tired of him. I tell you +what: ask him to a picnic to-morrow, starting at an early +hour; he's not the sort to go out for a ride before +breakfast. The day after I'll get the rector to drive +him over to Crowleigh before lunch, to see the new +cottage hospital they're building there. The Brogue will +be standing idle in the stable and Toby can offer to +exercise it; then it can pick up a stone or something of +the sort and go conveniently lame. If you hurry on the +wedding a bit the lameness fiction can be kept up till +the ceremony is safely over." + +Mrs. Mullet belonged to an emotional race, and she +kissed Clovis. + +It was nobody's fault that the rain came down in +torrents the next morning, making a picnic a fantastic +impossibility. It was also nobody's fault, but sheer +ill-luck, that the weather cleared up sufficiently in the +afternoon to tempt Mr. Penricarde to make his first essay +with the Brogue. They did not get as far as the pigs at +Lockyer's farm; the rectory gate was painted a dull +unobtrusive green, but it had been white a year or two +ago, and the Brogue never forgot that he had been in the +habit of making a violent curtsey, a back-pedal and a +swerve at this particular point of the road. +Subsequently, there being apparently no further call on +his services, he broke his way into the rectory orchard, +where he found a hen turkey in a coop; later visitors to +the orchard found the coop almost intact, but very little +left of the turkey. + +Mr. Penricarde, a little stunned and shaken, and +suffering from a bruised knee and some minor damages, +good-naturedly ascribed the accident to his own +inexperience with horses and country roads, and allowed +Jessie to nurse him back into complete recovery and golf- +fitness within something less than a week. + +In the list of wedding presents which the local +newspaper published a fortnight or so later appeared the +following item: + +"Brown saddle-horse, 'The Brogue,' bridegroom's gift +to bride." + +"Which shows," said Toby Mullet, "that he knew +nothing." + +"Or else," said Clovis, "that he has a very pleasing +wit." + + +THE HEN + + +"DORA BITTHOLZ is coming on Thursday," said Mrs. +Sangrail. + +"This next Thursday? " asked Clovis + +His mother nodded. + +"You've rather done it, haven't you?" he chuckled; +"Jane Martlet has only been here five days, and she never +stays less than a fortnight, even when she's asked +definitely for a week. You'll never get her out of the +house by Thursday." + +"Why should I?" asked Mrs. Sangrail; "she and Dora +are good friends, aren't they? They used to be, as far +as I remember." + +"They used to be; that's what makes them all the +more bitter now. Each feels that she has nursed a viper +in her bosom. Nothing fans the flame of human resentment +so much as the discovery that one's bosom has been +utilised as a snake sanatorium." + +"But what has happened? Has some one been making +mischief?" + +"Not exactly," said Clovis; "a hen came between +them." + +"A hen? What hen?" + +"It was a bronze Leghorn or some such exotic breed, +and Dora sold it to Jane at a rather exotic price. They +both go in for prize poultry, you know, and Jane thought +she was going to get her money back in a large family of +pedigree chickens. The bird turned out to be an +abstainer from the egg habit, and I'm told that the +letters which passed between the two women were a +revelation as to how much invective could be got on to a +sheet of notepaper." + +"How ridiculous!" said Mrs. Sangrail. "Couldn't +some of their friends compose the quarrel?" + +"People tried," said Clovis, "but it must have been +rather like composing the storm music of the `Fliegende +Hollander.' Jane was willing to take back some of her +most libellous remarks if Dora would take back the hen, +but Dora said that would be owning herself in the wrong, +and you know she'd as soon think of owning slum property +in Whitechapel as do that." + +"It's a most awkward situation," said Mrs. Sangrail. +"Do you suppose they won't speak to one another?" + +"On the contrary, the difficulty will be to get them +to leave off. Their remarks on each other's conduct and +character have hitherto been governed by the fact that +only four ounces of plain speaking can be sent through +the post for a penny." + +"I can't put Dora off," said Mrs. Sangrail. "I've +already postponed her visit once, and nothing short of a +miracle would make Jane leave before her self-allotted +fortnight is over." + +"Miracles are rather in my line," said Clovis. "I +don't pretend to be very hopeful in this case but I'll do +my best." + +"As long as you don't drag me into it - " stipulated +his mother. + +* * * * + +"Servants are a bit of a nuisance," muttered Clovis, +as he sat in the smoking-room after lunch, talking +fitfully to Jane Martlet in the intervals of putting +together the materials of a cocktail, which he had +irreverently patented under the name of an Ella Wheeler +Wilcox. It was partly compounded of old brandy and +partly of curacoa; there were other ingredients, but they +were never indiscriminately revealed. + +"Servants a nuisance!" exclaimed Jane, bounding into +the topic with the exuberant plunge of a hunter when it +leaves the high road and feels turf under its hoofs; "I +should think they were! The trouble I've had in getting +suited this year you would hardly believe. But I don't +see what you have to complain of - your mother is so +wonderfully lucky in her servants. Sturridge, for +instance - he's been with you for years, and I'm sure +he's a paragon as butlers go." + +"That's just the trouble," said Clovis. "It's when +servants have been with you for years that they become a +really serious nuisance. The 'here to-day and gone to- +morrow' sort don't matter - you've simply got to replace +them; it's the stayers and the paragons that are the real +worry." + +"But if they give satisfaction - " + +"That doesn't prevent them from giving trouble. +Now, you've mentioned Sturridge - it was Sturridge I was +particularly thinking of when I made the observation +about servants being a nuisance." + +"The excellent Sturridge a nuisance! I can't +believe it." + +"I know he's excellent, and we just couldn't get +along without him; he's the one reliable element in this +rather haphazard household. But his very orderliness has +had an effect on him. Have you ever considered what it +must be like to go on unceasingly doing the correct thing +in the correct manner in the same surroundings for the +greater part of a lifetime? To know and ordain and +superintend exactly what silver and glass and table linen +shall be used and set out on what occasions, to have +cellar and pantry and plate-cupboard under a minutely +devised and undeviating administration, to be noiseless, +impalpable, omnipresent, and, as far as your own +department is concerned, omniscient?" + +"I should go mad," said Jane with conviction. + +"Exactly," said Clovis thoughtfully, swallowing his +completed Ella Wheeler Wilcox. + +"But Sturridge hasn't gone mad," said Jane with a +flutter of inquiry in her voice. + +"On most points he's thoroughly sane and reliable," +said Clovis, "but at times he is subject to the most +obstinate delusions, and on those occasions he becomes +not merely a nuisance but a decided embarrassment." + +"What sort of delusions?" + +"Unfortunately they usually centre round one of the +guests of the house party, and that is where the +awkwardness comes in. For instance, he took it into his +head that Matilda Sheringham was the Prophet Elijah, and +as all that he remembered about Elijah's history was the +episode of the ravens in the wilderness he absolutely +declined to interfere with what he imagined to be +Matilda's private catering arrangements, wouldn't allow +any tea to be sent up to her in the morning, and if he +was waiting at table he passed her over altogether in +handing round the dishes." + +"How very unpleasant. Whatever did you do about +it?" + +"Oh, Matilda got fed, after a fashion, but it was +judged to be best for her to cut her visit short. It was +really the only thing to be done," said Clovis with some +emphasis. + +"I shouldn't have done that," said Jane, "I should +have humoured him in some way. I certainly shouldn't +have gone away." + +Clovis frowned. + +"It is not always wise to humour people when they +get these ideas into their heads. There's no knowing to +what lengths they may go if you encourage them." + +"You don't mean to say he might be dangerous, do +you?" asked Jane with some anxiety. + +"One can never be certain," said Clovis; "now and +then he gets some idea about a guest which might take an +unfortunate turn. That is precisely what is worrying me +at the present moment." + +"What, has he taken a fancy about some one here +now?" asked Jane excitedly; "how thrilling! Do tell me +who it is." + +You," said Clovis briefly. + +"Me?" + +Clovis nodded. + +"Who on earth does he think I am?" + +"Queen Anne," was the unexpected answer. + +"Queen Anne! What an idea. But, anyhow, there's +nothing dangerous about her; she's such a colourless +personality." + +"What does posterity chiefly say about Queen Anne?" +asked Clovis rather sternly. + +"The only thing that I can remember about her," said +Jane, "is the saying 'Queen Anne's dead.'" + +"Exactly," said Clovis, staring at the glass that +had held the Ella Wheeler Wilcox, "dead." + +"Do you mean he takes me for the ghost of Queen +Anne?" asked Jane. + +"Ghost? Dear no. No one ever heard of a ghost that +came down to breakfast and ate kidneys and toast and +honey with a healthy appetite. No, it's the fact of you +being so very much alive and flourishing that perplexes +and annoys him. All his life he has been accustomed to +look on Queen Anne as the personification of everything +that is dead and done with, 'as dead as Queen Anne,' you +know; and now he has to fill your glass at lunch and +dinner and listen to your accounts of the gay time you +had at the Dublin Horse Show, and naturally he feels that +something's very wrong with you." + +"But he wouldn't be downright hostile to me on that +account, would he?" Jane asked anxiously. + +"I didn't get really alarmed about it till lunch to- +day," said Clovis; "I caught him glowering at you with a +very sinister look and muttering: 'Ought to be dead long +ago, she ought, and some one should see to it.' That's +why I mentioned the matter to you." + +"This is awful," said Jane; "your mother must be +told about it at once." + +"My mother mustn't hear a word about it," said +Clovis earnestly; "it would upset her dreadfully. She +relies on Sturridge for everything." + +"But he might kill me at any moment," protested +Jane. + +"Not at any moment; he's busy with the silver all +the afternoon." + +"You'll have to keep a sharp look-out all the time +and be on your guard to frustrate any murderous attack," +said Jane, adding in a tone of weak obstinacy: "It's a +dreadful situation to be in, with a mad butler dangling +over you like the sword of What's-his-name, but I'm +certainly not going to cut my visit short." + +Clovis swore horribly under his breath; the miracle +was an obvious misfire. + +It was in the hall the next morning after a late +breakfast that Clovis had his final inspiration as he +stood engaged in coaxing rust spots from an old putter. + +"Where is Miss Martlet?" he asked the butler, who +was at that moment crossing the hall. + +"Writing letters in the morning-room, sir," said +Sturridge, announcing a fact of which his questioner was +already aware. + +"She wants to copy the inscription on that old +basket-hilted sabre," said Clovis, pointing to a +venerable weapon hanging on the wall. "I wish you'd take +it to her; my hands are all over oil. Take it without +the sheath, it will be less trouble." + +The butler drew the blade, still keen and bright in +its well-cared for old age, and carried it into the +morning-room. There was a door near the writing-table +leading to a back stairway; Jane vanished through it with +such lightning rapidity that the butler doubted whether +she had seen him come in. Half an hour later Clovis was +driving her and her hastily-packed luggage to the +station. + +"Mother will be awfully vexed when she comes back +from her ride and finds you have gone," he observed to +the departing guest, "but I'll make up some story about +an urgent wire having called you away. It wouldn't do to +alarm her unnecessarily about Sturridge." + +Jane sniffed slightly at Clovis' ideas of +unnecessary alarm, and was almost rude to the young man +who came round with thoughtful inquiries as to luncheon- +baskets. + +The miracle lost some of its usefulness from the +fact that Dora wrote the same day postponing the date of +her visit, but, at any rate, Clovis holds the record as +the only human being who ever hustled Jane Martlet out of +the time-table of her migrations. + + +THE OPEN WINDOW + + +"MY aunt will be down presently, Mr. Nuttel," said a +very self-possessed young lady of fifteen; "in the +meantime you must try and put up with me." + +Framton Nuttel endeavoured to say the correct +something which should duly flatter the niece of the +moment without unduly discounting the aunt that was to +come. Privately he doubted more than ever whether these +formal visits on a succession of total strangers would do +much towards helping the nerve cure which he was supposed +to be undergoing. + +"I know how it will be," his sister had said when he +was preparing to migrate to this rural retreat; "you will +bury yourself down there and not speak to a living soul, +and your nerves will be worse than ever from moping. I +shall just give you letters of introduction to all the +people I know there. Some of them, as far as I can +remember, were quite nice." + +Framton wondered whether Mrs. Sappleton, the lady to +whom he was presenting one of the letters of +introduction, came into the nice division. + +"Do you know many of the people round here?" asked +the niece, when she judged that they had had sufficient +silent communion. + +"Hardly a soul," said Framton. "My sister was +staying here, at the rectory, you know, some four years +ago, and she gave me letters of introduction to some of +the people here." + +He made the last statement in a tone of distinct +regret. + +"Then you know practically nothing about my aunt?" +pursued the self-possessed young lady. + +"Only her name and address," admitted the caller. +He was wondering whether Mrs. Sappleton was in the +married or widowed state. An undefinable something about +the room seemed to suggest masculine habitation. + +"Her great tragedy happened just three years ago," +said the child; "that would be since your sister's time." + +"Her tragedy?" asked Framton; somehow in this +restful country spot tragedies seemed out of place. + +"You may wonder why we keep that window wide open on +an October afternoon," said the niece, indicating a large +French window that opened on to a lawn. + + "It is quite warm for the time of the year," said +Framton; "but has that window got anything to do with the +tragedy?" + +"Out through that window, three years ago to a day, +her husband and her two young brothers went off for their +day's shooting. They never came back. In crossing the +moor to their favourite snipe-shooting ground they were +all three engulfed in a treacherous piece of bog. It had +been that dreadful wet summer, you know, and places that +were safe in other years gave way suddenly without +warning. Their bodies were never recovered. That was +the dreadful part of it." Here the child's voice lost +its self-possessed note and became falteringly human. +"Poor aunt always thinks that they will come back some +day, they and the little brown spaniel that was lost with +them, and walk in at that window just as they used to do. +That is why the window is kept open every evening till it +is quite dusk. Poor dear aunt, she has often told me how +they went out, her husband with his white waterproof coat +over his arm, and Ronnie, her youngest brother, singing +'Bertie, why do you bound?' as he always did to tease +her, because she said it got on her nerves. Do you know, +sometimes on still, quiet evenings like this, I almost +get a creepy feeling that they will all walk in through +that window - " + +She broke off with a little shudder. It was a +relief to Framton when the aunt bustled into the room +with a whirl of apologies for being late in making her +appearance. + +"I hope Vera has been amusing you?" she said. + +"She has been very interesting," said Framton. + +"I hope you don't mind the open window," said Mrs. +Sappleton briskly; "my husband and brothers will be home +directly from shooting, and they always come in this way. +They've been out for snipe in the marshes to-day, so +they'll make a fine mess over my poor carpets. So like +you men-folk, isn't it?" + +She rattled on cheerfully about the shooting and the +scarcity of birds, and the prospects for duck in the +winter. To Framton it was all purely horrible. He made +a desperate but only partially successful effort to turn +the talk on to a less ghastly topic; he was conscious +that his hostess was giving him only a fragment of her +attention, and her eyes were constantly straying past him +to the open window and the lawn beyond. It was certainly +an unfortunate coincidence that he should have paid his +visit on this tragic anniversary. + +"The doctors agree in ordering me complete rest, an +absence of mental excitement, and avoidance of anything +in the nature of violent physical exercise," announced +Framton, who laboured under the tolerably wide-spread +delusion that total strangers and chance acquaintances +are hungry for the least detail of one's ailments and +infirmities, their cause and cure. "On the matter of +diet they are not so much in agreement," he continued. + +"No?" said Mrs. Sappleton, in a voice which only +replaced a yawn at the last moment. Then she suddenly +brightened into alert attention - but not to what Framton +was saying. + +"Here they are at last!" she cried. "Just in time +for tea, and don't they look as if they were muddy up to +the eyes!" + +Framton shivered slightly and turned towards the +niece with a look intended to convey sympathetic +comprehension. The child was staring out through the +open window with dazed horror in her eyes. In a chill +shock of nameless fear Framton swung round in his seat +and looked in the same direction. + +In the deepening twilight three figures were walking +across the lawn towards the window; they all carried guns +under their arms, and one of them was additionally +burdened with a white coat hung over his shoulders. A +tired brown spaniel kept close at their heels. +Noiselessly they neared the house, and then a hoarse +young voice chanted out of the dusk: "I said, Bertie, why +do you bound?" + +Framton grabbed wildly at his stick and hat; the +hall-door, the gravel-drive, and the front gate were +dimly-noted stages in his headlong retreat. A cyclist +coming along the road had to run into the hedge to avoid +an imminent collision. + +"Here we are, my dear," said the bearer of the white +mackintosh, coming in through the window; "fairly muddy, +but most of it's dry. Who was that who bolted out as we +came up?" + +"A most extraordinary man, a Mr. Nuttel," said Mrs. +Sappleton; "could only talk about his illnesses, and +dashed off without a word of good-bye or apology when you +arrived. One would think he had seen a ghost." + +"I expect it was the spaniel," said the niece +calmly; "he told me he had a horror of dogs. He was once +hunted into a cemetery somewhere on the banks of the +Ganges by a pack of pariah dogs, and had to spend the +night in a newly dug grave with the creatures snarling +and grinning and foaming just above him. Enough to make +anyone their nerve." + +Romance at short notice was her speciality. + + +THE TREASURE SHIP + + +THE great galleon lay in semi-retirement under the +sand and weed and water of the northern bay where the +fortune of war and weather had long ago ensconced it. +Three and a quarter centuries had passed since the day +when it had taken the high seas as an important unit of a +fighting squadron - precisely which squadron the learned +were not agreed. The galleon had brought nothing into +the world, but it had, according to tradition and report, +taken much out of it. But how much? There again the +learned were in disagreement. Some were as generous in +their estimate as an income-tax assessor, others applied +a species of higher criticism to the submerged treasure +chests, and debased their contents to the currency of +goblin gold. Of the former school was Lulu, Duchess of +Dulverton. + +The Duchess was not only a believer in the existence +of a sunken treasure of alluring proportions; she also +believed that she knew of a method by which the said +treasure might be precisely located and cheaply +disembedded. An aunt on her mother's side of the family +had been Maid of Honour at the Court of Monaco, and had +taken a respectful interest in the deep-sea researches in +which the Throne of that country, impatient perhaps of +its terrestrial restrictions, was wont to immerse itself. +It was through the instrumentality of this relative that +the Duchess learned of an invention, perfected and very +nearly patented by a Monegaskan savant, by means of which +the home-life of the Mediterranean sardine might be +studied at a depth of many fathoms in a cold white light +of more than ball-room brilliancy. Implicated in this +invention (and, in the Duchess's eyes, the most +attractive part of it) was an electric suction dredge, +specially designed for dragging to the surface such +objects of interest and value as might be found in the +more accessible levels of the ocean-bed. The rights of +the invention were to be acquired for a matter of +eighteen hundred francs, and the apparatus for a few +thousand more. The Duchess of Dulverton was rich, as the +world counted wealth; she nursed the hope, of being one +day rich at her own computation. Companies had been +formed and efforts had been made again and again during +the course of three centuries to probe for the alleged +treasures of the interesting galleon; with the aid of +this invention she considered that she might go to work +on the wreck privately and independently. After all, one +of her ancestors on her mother's side was descended from +Medina Sidonia, so she was of opinion that she had as +much right to the treasure as anyone. She acquired the +invention and bought the apparatus. + +Among other family ties and encumbrances, Lulu +possessed a nephew, Vasco Honiton, a young gentleman who +was blessed with a small income and a large circle of +relatives, and lived impartially and precariously on +both. The name Vasco had been given him possibly in the +hope that he might live up to its adventurous tradition, +but he limited himself strictly to the home industry of +adventurer, preferring to exploit the assured rather than +to explore the unknown. Lulu's intercourse with him had +been restricted of recent years to the negative processes +of being out of town when he called on her, and short of +money when he wrote to her. Now, however, she bethought +herself of his eminent suitability for the direction of a +treasure-seeking experiment; if anyone could extract gold +from an unpromising situation it would certainly be Vasco +- of course, under the necessary safeguards in the way of +supervision. Where money was in question Vasco's +conscience was liable to fits of obstinate silence. + +Somewhere on the west coast of Ireland the Dulverton +property included a few acres of shingle, rock, and +heather, too barren to support even an agrarian outrage, +but embracing a small and fairly deep bay where the +lobster yield was good in most seasons. There was a +bleak little house on the property, and for those who +liked lobsters and solitude, and were able to accept an +Irish cook's ideas as to what might be perpetrated in the +name of mayonnaise, Innisgluther was a tolerable exile +during the summer months. Lulu seldom went there +herself, but she lent the house lavishly to friends and +relations. She put it now at Vasco's disposal. + +"It will be the very place to practise and +experiment with the salvage apparatus," she said; "the +bay is quite deep in places, and you will be able to test +everything thoroughly before starting on the treasure +hunt." + +In less than three weeks Vasco turned up in town to +report progress. + +"The apparatus works beautifully," he informed his +aunt; "the deeper one got the clearer everything grew. +We found something in the way of a sunken wreck to +operate on, too!" + +"A wreck in Innisgluther Bay!" exclaimed Lulu. + +"A submerged motor-boat, the SUB-ROSA," said Vasco. + +"No! really?" said Lulu; "poor Billy Yuttley's boat. +I remember it went down somewhere off that coast some +three years ago. His body was washed ashore at the +Point. People said at the time that the boat was +capsized intentionally - a case of suicide, you know. +People always say that sort of thing when anything tragic +happens." + +"In this case they were right," said Vasco. + +"What do you mean?" asked the Duchess hurriedly. +"What makes you think so?" + +"I know," said Vasco simply. + +"Know? How can you know? How can anyone know? The +thing happened three years ago." + +"In a locker of the SUB-ROSA I found a water-tight +strong-box. It contained papers." Vasco paused with +dramatic effect and searched for a moment in the inner +breast-pocket of his coat. He drew out a folded slip of +paper. The Duchess snatched at it in almost indecent +haste and moved appreciably nearer the fireplace. + +"Was this in the SUB-ROSA'S strong-box?" she asked. + +"Oh no," said Vasco carelessly, "that is a list of +the well-known people who would be involved in a very +disagreeable scandal if the SUB-ROSA'S papers were made +public. I've put you at the head of it, otherwise it +follows alphabetical order." + +The Duchess gazed helplessly at the string of names, +which seemed for the moment to include nearly every one +she knew. As a matter of fact, her own name at the head +of the list exercised an almost paralysing effect on her +thinking faculties. + +"Of course you have destroyed the papers?" she +asked, when she had somewhat recovered herself. She was +conscious that she made the remark with an entire lack of +conviction. + +Vasco shook his head. + +"But you should have," said Lulu angrily; "if, as +you say, they are highly compromising - " + +"Oh, they are, I assure you of that," interposed the +young man. + +"Then you should put them out of harm's way at once. +Supposing anything should leak out, think of all these +poor, unfortunate people who would be involved in the +disclosures," and Lulu tapped the list with an agitated +gesture. + +"Unfortunate, perhaps, but not poor," corrected +Vasco; "if you read the list carefully you'll notice that +I haven't troubled to include anyone whose financial +standing isn't above question." + +Lulu glared at her nephew for some moments in +silence. Then she asked hoarsely: "What are you going to +do?" + +"Nothing - for the remainder of my life," he +answered meaningly. "A little hunting, perhaps," he +continued, "and I shall have a villa at Florence. The +Villa Sub-Rosa would sound rather quaint and picturesque, +don't you think, and quite a lot of people would be able +to attach a meaning to the name. And I suppose I must +have a hobby; I shall probably collect Raeburns." + +Lulu's relative, who lived at the Court of Monaco, +got quite a snappish answer when she wrote recommending +some further invention in the realm of marine research. + + +THE COBWEB + + +THE farmhouse kitchen probably stood where it did as +a matter of accident or haphazard choice; yet its +situation might have been planned by a master-strategist +in farmhouse architecture. Dairy and poultry-yard, and +herb garden, and all the busy places of the farm seemed +to lead by easy access into its wide flagged haven, where +there was room for everything and where muddy boots left +traces that were easily swept away. And yet, for all +that it stood so well in the centre of human bustle, its +long, latticed window, with the wide window-seat, built +into an embrasure beyond the huge fireplace, looked out +on a wild spreading view of hill and heather and wooded +combe. The window nook made almost a little room in +itself, quite the pleasantest room in the farm as far as +situation and capabilities went. Young Mrs. Ladbruk, +whose husband had just come into the farm by way of +inheritance, cast covetous eyes on this snug corner, and +her fingers itched to make it bright and cosy with chintz +curtains and bowls of flowers, and a shelf or two of old +china. The musty farm parlour, looking out on to a prim, +cheerless garden imprisoned within high, blank walls, was +not a room that lent itself readily either to comfort or +decoration. + +"When we are more settled I shall work wonders in +the way of making the kitchen habitable," said the young +woman to her occasional visitors. There was an unspoken +wish in those words, a wish which was unconfessed as well +as unspoken. Emma Ladbruk was the mistress of the farm; +jointly with her husband she might have her say, and to a +certain extent her way, in ordering its affairs. But she +was not mistress of the kitchen. + +On one of the shelves of an old dresser, in company +with chipped sauce-boats, pewter jugs, cheese-graters, +and paid bills, rested a worn and ragged Bible, on whose +front page was the record, in faded ink, of a baptism +dated ninety-four years ago. "Martha Crale" was the name +written on that yellow page. The yellow, wrinkled old +dame who hobbled and muttered about the kitchen, looking +like a dead autumn leaf which the winter winds still +pushed hither and thither, had once been Martha Crale; +for seventy odd years she had been Martha Mountjoy. For +longer than anyone could remember she had pattered to and +fro between oven and wash-house and dairy, and out to +chicken-run and garden, grumbling and muttering and +scolding, but working unceasingly. Emma Ladbruk, of +whose coming she took as little notice as she would of a +bee wandering in at a window on a summer's day, used at +first to watch her with a kind of frightened curiosity. +She was so old and so much a part of the place, it was +difficult to think of her exactly as a living thing. Old +Shep, the white-nozzled, stiff-limbed collie, waiting for +his time to die, seemed almost more human than the +withered, dried-up old woman. He had been a riotous, +roystering puppy, mad with the joy of life, when she was +already a tottering, hobbling dame; now he was just a +blind, breathing carcase, nothing more, and she still +worked with frail energy, still swept and baked and +washed, fetched and carried. If there were something in +these wise old dogs that did not perish utterly with +death, Emma used to think to herself, what generations of +ghost-dogs there must be out on those hills, that Martha +had reared and fed and tended and spoken a last goodbye +word to in that old kitchen. And what memories she must +have of human generations that had passed away in her +time. It was difficult for anyone, let alone a stranger +like Emma, to get her to talk of the days that had been; +her shrill, quavering speech was of doors that had been +left unfastened, pails that had got mislaid, calves whose +feeding-time was overdue, and the various little faults +and lapses that chequer a farmhouse routine. Now and +again, when election time came round, she would unstore +her recollections of the old names round which the fight +had waged in the days gone by. There had been a +Palmerston, that had been a name down Tiverton way; +Tiverton was not a far journey as the crow flies, but to +Martha it was almost a foreign country. Later there had +been Northcotes and Aclands, and many other newer names +that she had forgotten; the names changed, but it was +always Libruls and Toories, Yellows and Blues. And they +always quarrelled and shouted as to who was right and who +was wrong. The one they quarrelled about most was a fine +old gentleman with an angry face - she had seen his +picture on the walls. She had seen it on the floor too, +with a rotten apple squashed over it, for the farm had +changed its politics from time to time. Martha had never +been on one side or the other; none of "they" had ever +done the farm a stroke of good. Such was her sweeping +verdict, given with all a peasant's distrust of the +outside world. + +When the half-frightened curiosity had somewhat +faded away, Emma Ladbruk was uncomfortably conscious of +another feeling towards the old woman. She was a quaint +old tradition, lingering about the place, she was part +and parcel of the farm itself, she was something at once +pathetic and picturesque - but she was dreadfully in the +way. Emma had come to the farm full of plans for little +reforms and improvements, in part the result of training +in the newest ways and methods, in part the outcome of +her own ideas and fancies. Reforms in the kitchen +region, if those deaf old ears could have been induced to +give them even a hearing, would have met with short +shrift and scornful rejection, and the kitchen region +spread over the zone of dairy and market business and +half the work of the household. Emma, with the latest +science of dead-poultry dressing at her finger-tips, sat +by, an unheeded watcher, while old Martha trussed the +chickens for the market-stall as she had trussed them for +nearly four-score years - all leg and no breast. And the +hundred hints anent effective cleaning and labour- +lightening and the things that make for wholesomeness +which the young woman was ready to impart or to put into +action dropped away into nothingness before that wan, +muttering, unheeding presence. Above all, the coveted +window corner, that was to be a dainty, cheerful oasis in +the gaunt old kitchen, stood now choked and lumbered with +a litter of odds and ends that Emma, for all her nominal +authority, would not have dared or cared to displace; +over them seemed to be spun the protection of something +that was like a human cobweb. Decidedly Martha was in +the way. It would have been an unworthy meanness to have +wished to see the span of that brave old life shortened +by a few paltry months, but as the days sped by Emma was +conscious that the wish was there, disowned though it +might be, lurking at the back of her mind. + +She felt the meanness of the wish come over her with +a qualm of self-reproach one day when she came into the +kitchen and found an unaccustomed state of things in that +usually busy quarter. Old Martha was not working. A +basket of corn was on the floor by her side, and out in +the yard the poultry were beginning to clamour a protest +of overdue feeding-time. But Martha sat huddled in a +shrunken bunch on the window seat, looking out with her +dim old eyes as though she saw something stranger than +the autumn landscape. + +"Is anything the matter, Martha?" asked the young +woman. + +"'Tis death, 'tis death a-coming," answered the +quavering voice; "I knew 'twere coming. I knew it. +'Tweren't for nothing that old Shep's been howling all +morning. An' last night I heard the screech-owl give the +death-cry, and there were something white as run across +the yard yesterday; 'tweren't a cat nor a stoat, 'twere +something. The fowls knew 'twere something; they all +drew off to one side. Ay, there's been warnings. I knew +it were a-coming." + +The young woman's eyes clouded with pity. The old +thing sitting there so white and shrunken had once been a +merry, noisy child, playing about in lanes and hay-lofts +and farmhouse garrets; that had been eighty odd years +ago, and now she was just a frail old body cowering under +the approaching chill of the death that was coming at +last to take her. It was not probable that much could be +done for her, but Emma hastened away to get assistance +and counsel. Her husband, she knew, was down at a tree- +felling some little distance off, but she might find some +other intelligent soul who knew the old woman better than +she did. The farm, she soon found out, had that faculty +common to farmyards of swallowing up and losing its human +population. The poultry followed her in interested +fashion, and swine grunted interrogations at her from +behind the bars of their styes, but barnyard and +rickyard, orchard and stables and dairy, gave no reward +to her search. Then, as she retraced her steps towards +the kitchen, she came suddenly on her cousin, young Mr. +Jim, as every one called him, who divided his time +between amateur horse-dealing, rabbit-shooting, and +flirting with the farm maids. + +"I'm afraid old Martha is dying," said Emma. Jim +was not the sort of person to whom one had to break news +gently. + +"Nonsense," he said; "Martha means to live to a +hundred. She told me so, and she'll do it." + +"She may be actually dying at this moment, or it may +just be the beginning of the break-up," persisted Emma, +with a feeling of contempt for the slowness and dulness +of the young man. + +A grin spread over his good-natured features. + +"It don't look like it," he said, nodding towards +the yard. Emma turned to catch the meaning of his +remark. Old Martha stood in the middle of a mob of +poultry scattering handfuls of grain around her. The +turkey-cock, with the bronzed sheen of his feathers and +the purple-red of his wattles, the gamecock, with the +glowing metallic lustre of his Eastern plumage, the hens, +with their ochres and buffs and umbers and their scarlet +combs, and the drakes, with their bottle-green heads, +made a medley of rich colour, in the centre of which the +old woman looked like a withered stalk standing amid a +riotous growth of gaily-hued flowers. But she threw the +grain deftly amid the wilderness of beaks, and her +quavering voice carried as far as the two people who were +watching her. She was still harping on the theme of +death coming to the farm. + +"I knew 'twere a-coming. There's been signs an' +warnings." + +"Who's dead, then, old Mother?" called out the young +man. + +"'Tis young Mister Ladbruk," she shrilled back; +"they've just a-carried his body in. Run out of the way +of a tree that was coming down an' ran hisself on to an +iron post. Dead when they picked un up. Aye, I knew +'twere coming." + +And she turned to fling a handful of barley at a +belated group of guinea-fowl that came racing toward her. + +* * * * + +The farm was a family property, and passed to the +rabbit-shooting cousin as the next-of-kin. Emma Ladbruk +drifted out of its history as a bee that had wandered in +at an open window might flit its way out again. On a +cold grey morning she stood waiting, with her boxes +already stowed in the farm cart, till the last of the +market produce should be ready, for the train she was to +catch was of less importance than the chickens and butter +and eggs that were to be offered for sale. From where +she stood she could see an angle of the long latticed +window that was to have been cosy with curtains and gay +with bowls of flowers. Into her mind came the thought +that for months, perhaps for years, long after she had +been utterly forgotten, a white, unheeding face would be +seen peering out through those latticed panes, and a weak +muttering voice would be heard quavering up and down +those flagged passages. She made her way to a narrow +barred casement that opened into the farm larder. Old +Martha was standing at a table trussing a pair of +chickens for the market stall as she had trussed them for +nearly fourscore years. + + +THE LULL + + +I'VE asked Latimer Springfield to spend Sunday with +us and stop the night," announced Mrs. Durmot at the +breakfast-table. + +"I thought he was in the throes of an election," +remarked her husband. + +"Exactly; the poll is on Wednesday, and the poor man +will have worked himself to a shadow by that time. +Imagine what electioneering must be like in this awful +soaking rain, going along slushy country roads and +speaking to damp audiences in draughty schoolrooms, day +after day for a fortnight. He'll have to put in an +appearance at some place of worship on Sunday morning, +and he can come to us immediately afterwards and have a +thorough respite from everything connected with politics. +I won't let him even think of them. I've had the picture +of Cromwell dissolving the Long Parliament taken down +from the staircase, and even the portrait of Lord +Rosebery's 'Ladas' removed from the smoking-room. And +Vera," added Mrs. Durmot, turning to her sixteen-year-old +niece, "be careful what colour ribbon you wear in your +hair; not blue or yellow on any account; those are the +rival party colours, and emerald green or orange would be +almost as bad, with this Home Rule business to the fore." + +"On state occasions I always wear a black ribbon in +my hair," said Vera with crushing dignity. + +Latimer Springfield was a rather cheerless, oldish +young man, who went into politics somewhat in the spirit +in which other people might go into half-mourning. +Without being an enthusiast, however, he was a fairly +strenuous plodder, and Mrs. Durmot had been reasonably +near the mark in asserting that he was working at high +pressure over this election. The restful lull which his +hostess enforced on him was decidedly welcome, and yet +the nervous excitement of the contest had too great a +hold on him to be totally banished. + +"I know he's going to sit up half the night working +up points for his final speeches," said Mrs. Durmot +regretfully; "however, we've kept politics at arm's +length all the afternoon and evening. More than that we +cannot do." + +"That remains to be seen," said Vera, but she said +it to herself. + +Latimer had scarcely shut his bedroom door before he +was immersed in a sheaf of notes and pamphlets, while a +fountain-pen and pocket-book were brought into play for +the due marshalling of useful facts and discreet +fictions. He had been at work for perhaps thirty-five +minutes, and the house was seemingly consecrated to the +healthy slumber of country life, when a stifled squealing +and scuffling in the passage was followed by a loud tap +at his door. Before he had time to answer, a much- +encumbered Vera burst into the room with the question; "I +say, can I leave these here?" + +"These" were a small black pig and a lusty specimen +of black-red gamecock. + +Latimer was moderately fond of animals, and +particularly interested in small livestock rearing from +the economic point of view; in fact, one of the pamphlets +on which he was at that moment engaged warmly advocated +the further development of the pig and poultry industry +in our rural districts; but he was pardonably unwilling +to share even a commodious bedroom with samples of +henroost and stye products. + +"Wouldn't they be happier somewhere outside?" he +asked, tactfully expressing his own preference in the +matter in an apparent solicitude for theirs. + +"There is no outside," said Vera impressively, +"nothing but a waste of dark, swirling waters. The +reservoir at Brinkley has burst." + +"I didn't know there was a reservoir at Brinkley," +said Latimer. + +"Well, there isn't now, it's jolly well all over the +place, and as we stand particularly low we're the centre +of an inland sea just at present. You see the river has +overflowed its banks as well." + +"Good gracious! Have any lives been lost?" + +"Heaps, I should say. The second housemaid has +already identified three bodies that have floated past +the billiard-room window as being the young man she's +engaged to. Either she's engaged to a large assortment +of the population round here or else she's very careless +at identification. Of course it may be the same body +coming round again and again in a swirl; I hadn't thought +of that." + +"But we ought to go out and do rescue work, oughtn't +we?" said Latimer, with the instinct of a Parliamentary +candidate for getting into the local limelight. + +"We can't," said Vera decidedly, "we haven't any +boats and we're cut off by a raging torrent from any +human habitation. My aunt particularly hoped you would +keep to your room and not add to the confusion, but she +thought it would be so kind of you if you would take in +Hartlepool's Wonder, the gamecock, you know, for the +night. You see, there are eight other gamecocks, and +they fight like furies if they get together, so we're +putting one in each bedroom. The fowl-houses are all +flooded out, you know. And then I thought perhaps you +wouldn't mind taking in this wee piggie; he's rather a +little love, but he has a vile temper. He gets that from +his mother - not that I like to say things against her +when she's lying dead and drowned in her stye, poor +thing. What he really wants is a man's firm hand to keep +him in order. I'd try and grapple with him myself, only +I've got my chow in my room, you know, and he goes for +pigs wherever he finds them." + +"Couldn't the pig go in the bathroom?" asked Latimer +faintly, wishing that he had taken up as determined a +stand on the subject of bedroom swine as the chow had. + +"The bathroom?" Vera laughed shrilly. "It'll be +full of Boy Scouts till morning if the hot water holds +out." + +"Boy Scouts?" + +"Yes, thirty of them came to rescue us while the +water was only waist-high; then it rose another three +feet or so and we had to rescue them. We're giving them +hot baths in batches and drying their clothes in the hot- +air cupboard, but, of course, drenched clothes don't dry +in a minute, and the corridor and staircase are beginning +to look like a bit of coast scenery by Tuke. Two of the +boys are wearing your Melton overcoat; I hope you don't +mind." + +"It's a new overcoat," said Latimer, with every +indication of minding dreadfully. + +"You'll take every care of Hartlepool's Wonder, +won't you?" said Vera. "His mother took three firsts at +Birmingham, and he was second in the cockerel class last +year at Gloucester. He'll probably roost on the rail at +the bottom of your bed. I wonder if he'd feel more at +home if some of his wives were up here with him? The +hens are all in the pantry, and I think I could pick out +Hartlepool Helen; she's his favourite." + +Latimer showed a belated firmness on the subject of +Hartlepool Helen, and Vera withdrew without pressing the +point, having first settled the gamecock on his +extemporised perch and taken an affectionate farewell of +the pigling. Latimer undressed and got into bed with all +due speed, judging that the pig would abate its +inquisitorial restlessness once the light was turned out. +As a substitute for a cosy, straw-bedded sty the room +offered, at first inspection, few attractions, but the +disconsolate animal suddenly discovered an appliance in +which the most luxuriously contrived piggeries were +notably deficient. The sharp edge of the underneath part +of the bed was pitched at exactly the right elevation to +permit the pigling to scrape himself ecstatically +backwards and forwards, with an artistic humping of the +back at the crucial moment and an accompanying gurgle of +long-drawn delight. The gamecock, who may have fancied +that he was being rocked in the branches of a pine-tree, +bore the motion with greater fortitude than Latimer was +able to command. A series of slaps directed at the pig's +body were accepted more as an additional and pleasing +irritant than as a criticism of conduct or a hint to +desist; evidently something more than a man's firm hand +was needed to deal with the case. Latimer slipped out of +bed in search of a weapon of dissuasion. There was +sufficient light in the room to enable the pig to detect +this manoeuvre, and the vile temper, inherited from the +drowned mother, found full play. Latimer bounded back +into bed, and his conqueror, after a few threatening +snorts and champings of its jaws, resumed its massage +operations with renewed zeal. During the long wakeful +hours which ensued Latimer tried to distract his mind +from his own immediate troubles by dwelling with decent +sympathy on the second housemaid's bereavement, but he +found himself more often wondering how many Boy Scouts +were sharing his Melton overcoat. The role of Saint +Martin malgre lui was not one which appealed to him. + +Towards dawn the pigling fell into a happy slumber, +and Latimer might have followed its example, but at about +the same time Stupor Hartlepooli gave a rousing crow, +clattered down to the floor and forthwith commenced a +spirited combat with his reflection in the wardrobe +mirror. Remembering that the bird was more or less under +his care Latimer performed Hague Tribunal offices by +draping a bath-towel over the provocative mirror, but the +ensuing peace was local and short-lived. The deflected +energies of the gamecock found new outlet in a sudden and +sustained attack on the sleeping and temporarily +inoffensive pigling, and the duel which followed was +desperate and embittered beyond any possibility of +effective intervention. The feathered combatant had the +advantage of being able, when hard pressed, to take +refuge on the bed, and freely availed himself of this +circumstance; the pigling never quite succeeded in +hurling himself on to the same eminence, but it was not +from want of trying. + +Neither side could claim any decisive success, and +the struggle had been practically fought to a standstill +by the time that the maid appeared with the early morning +tea. + + "Lor, sir," she exclaimed in undisguised +astonishment, "do you want those animals in your room?" + +WANT! + +The pigling, as though aware that it might have +outstayed its welcome, dashed out at the door, and the +gamecock followed it at a more dignified pace. + +"If Miss Vera's dog sees that pig - !" exclaimed the +maid, and hurried off to avert such a catastrophe. + +A cold suspicion was stealing over Latimer's mind; +he went to the window and drew up the blind. A light, +drizzling rain was falling, but there was not the +faintest trace of any inundation. + +Some half-hour later he met Vera on the way to the +breakfast-room. + +"I should not like to think of you as a deliberate +liar," he observed coldly, "but one occasionally has to +do things one does not like." + +"At any rate I kept your mind from dwelling on +politics all the night," said Vera. + +Which was, of course, perfectly true. + + +THE UNKINDEST BLOW + + +THE season of strikes seemed to have run itself to a +standstill. Almost every trade and industry and calling +in which a dislocation could possibly be engineered had +indulged in that luxury. The last and least successful +convulsion had been the strike of the World's Union of +Zoological Garden attendants, who, pending the settlement +of certain demands, refused to minister further to the +wants of the animals committed to their charge or to +allow any other keepers to take their place. In this +case the threat of the Zoological Gardens authorities +that if the men "came out" the animals should come out +also had intensified and precipitated the crisis. The +imminent prospect of the larger carnivores, to say +nothing of rhinoceroses and bull bison, roaming at large +and unfed in the heart of London, was not one which +permitted of prolonged conferences. The Government of +the day, which from its tendency to be a few hours behind +the course of events had been nicknamed the Government of +the afternoon, was obliged to intervene with promptitude +and decision. A strong force of Bluejackets was +despatched to Regent's Park to take over the temporarily +abandoned duties of the strikers. Bluejackets were +chosen in preference to land forces, partly on account of +the traditional readiness of the British Navy to go +anywhere and do anything, partly by reason of the +familiarity of the average sailor with monkeys, parrots, +and other tropical fauna, but chiefly at the urgent +request of the First Lord of the Admiralty, who was +keenly desirous of an opportunity for performing some +personal act of unobtrusive public service within the +province of his department. + +"If he insists on feeding the infant jaguar himself, +in defiance of its mother's wishes, there may be another +by-election in the north," said one of his colleagues, +with a hopeful inflection in his voice. "By-elections +are not very desirable at present, but we must not be +selfish." + +As a matter of fact the strike collapsed peacefully +without any outside intervention. The majority of the +keepers had become so attached to their charges that they +returned to work of their own accord. + +And then the nation and the newspapers turned with a +sense of relief to happier things. It seemed as if a new +era of contentment was about to dawn. Everybody had +struck who could possibly want to strike or who could +possibly be cajoled or bullied into striking, whether +they wanted to or not. The lighter and brighter side of +life might now claim some attention. And conspicuous +among the other topics that sprang into sudden prominence +was the pending Falvertoon divorce suit. + +The Duke of Falvertoon was one of those human HORS +D'OEUVRES that stimulate the public appetite for +sensation without giving it much to feed on. As a mere +child he had been precociously brilliant; he had declined +the editorship of the ANGLIAN REVIEW at an age when most +boys are content to have declined MENSA, a table, and +though he could not claim to have originated the Futurist +movement in literature, his "Letters to a possible +Grandson," written at the age of fourteen, had attracted +considerable notice. In later days his brilliancy had +been less conspicuously displayed. During a debate in +the House of Lords on affairs in Morocco, at a moment +when that country, for the fifth time in seven years, had +brought half Europe to the verge of war, he had +interpolated the remark "a little Moor and how much it +is," but in spite of the encouraging reception accorded +to this one political utterance he was never tempted to a +further display in that direction. It began to be +generally understood that he did not intend to supplement +his numerous town and country residences by living +overmuch in the public eye. + +And then had come the unlooked-for tidings of the +imminent proceedings for divorce. And such a divorce! +There were cross-suits and allegations and counter- +allegations, charges of cruelty and desertion, everything +in fact that was necessary to make the case one of the +most complicated and sensational of its kind. And the +number of distinguished people involved or cited as +witnesses not only embraced both political parties in the +realm and several Colonial governors, but included an +exotic contingent from France, Hungary, the United States +of North America, and the Grand Duchy of Baden. Hotel +accommodation of the more expensive sort began to +experience a strain on its resources. "It will be quite +like the Durbar without the elephants," exclaimed an +enthusiastic lady who, to do her justice, had never seen +a Durbar. The general feeling was one of thankfulness +that the last of the strikes had been got over before the +date fixed for the hearing of the great suit. + +As a reaction from the season of gloom and +industrial strife that had just passed away the agencies +that purvey and stage-manage sensations laid themselves +out to do their level best on this momentous occasion. +Men who had made their reputations as special descriptive +writers were mobilised from distant corners of Europe and +the further side of the Atlantic in order to enrich with +their pens the daily printed records of the case; one +word-painter, who specialised in descriptions of how +witnesses turn pale under cross-examination, was summoned +hurriedly back from a famous and prolonged murder trial +in Sicily, where indeed his talents were being decidedly +wasted. Thumb-nail artists and expert kodak manipulators +were retained at extravagant salaries, and special dress +reporters were in high demand. An enterprising Paris +firm of costume builders presented the defendant Duchess +with three special creations, to be worn, marked, +learned, and extensively reported at various critical +stages of the trial; and as for the cinematograph agents, +their industry and persistence was untiring. Films +representing the Duke saying good-bye to his favourite +canary on the eve of the trial were in readiness weeks +before the event was due to take place; other films +depicted the Duchess holding imaginary consultations with +fictitious lawyers or making a light repast off specially +advertised vegetarian sandwiches during a supposed +luncheon interval. As far as human foresight and human +enterprise could go nothing was lacking to make the trial +a success. + +Two days before the case was down for hearing the +advance reporter of an important syndicate obtained an +interview with the Duke for the purpose of gleaning some +final grains of information concerning his Grace's +personal arrangements during the trial. + +"I suppose I may say this will be one of the biggest +affairs of its kind during the lifetime of a generation," +began the reporter as an excuse for the unsparing +minuteness of detail that he was about to make quest for. + +"I suppose so - if it comes off," said the Duke +lazily. + +"If?" queried the reporter, in a voice that was +something between a gasp and a scream. + +"The Duchess and I are both thinking of going on +strike," said the Duke. + +"Strike!" + +The baleful word flashed out in all its old hideous +familiarity. Was there to be no end to its recurrence? + +"Do you mean," faltered the reporter, "that you are +contemplating a mutual withdrawal of the charges?" + +"Precisely," said the Duke. + +"But think of the arrangements that have been made, +the special reporting, the cinematographs, the catering +for the distinguished foreign witnesses, the prepared +music-hall allusions; think of all the money that has +been sunk - " + +"Exactly," said the Duke coldly, "the Duchess and I +have realised that it is we who provide the material out +of which this great far-reaching industry has been built +up. Widespread employment will be given and enormous +profits made during the duration of the case, and we, on +whom all the stress and racket falls, will get - what? +An unenviable notoriety and the privilege of paying heavy +legal expenses whichever way the verdict goes. Hence our +decision to strike. We don't wish to be reconciled; we +fully realise that it is a grave step to take, but unless +we get some reasonable consideration out of this vast +stream of wealth and industry that we have called into +being we intend coming out of court and staying out. +Good afternoon." + +The news of this latest strike spread universal +dismay. Its inaccessibility to the ordinary methods of +persuasion made it peculiarly formidable. If the Duke +and Duchess persisted in being reconciled the Government +could hardly be called on to interfere. Public opinion +in the shape of social ostracism might be brought to bear +on them, but that was as far as coercive measures could +go. There was nothing for it but a conference, with +powers to propose liberal terms. As it was, several of +the foreign witnesses had already departed and others had +telegraphed cancelling their hotel arrangements. + +The conference, protracted, uncomfortable, and +occasionally acrimonious, succeeded at last in arranging +for a resumption of litigation, but it was a fruitless +victory. The Duke, with a touch of his earlier +precocity, died of premature decay a fortnight before the +date fixed for the new trial. + + +THE ROMANCERS + + +IT was autumn in London, that blessed season between +the harshness of winter and the insincerities of summer; +a trustful season when one buys bulbs and sees to the +registration of one's vote, believing perpetually in +spring and a change of Government. + +Morton Crosby sat on a bench in a secluded corner of +Hyde Park, lazily enjoying a cigarette and watching the +slow grazing promenade of a pair of snow-geese, the male +looking rather like an albino edition of the russet-hued +female. Out of the corner of his eye Crosby also noted +with some interest the hesitating hoverings of a human +figure, which had passed and repassed his seat two or +three times at shortening intervals, like a wary crow +about to alight near some possibly edible morsel. +Inevitably the figure came to an anchorage on the bench, +within easy talking distance of its original occupant. +The uncared-for clothes, the aggressive, grizzled beard, +and the furtive, evasive eye of the new-comer bespoke the +professional cadger, the man who would undergo hours of +humiliating tale-spinning and rebuff rather than +adventure on half a day's decent work. + +For a while the new-comer fixed his eyes straight in +front of him in a strenuous, unseeing gaze; then his +voice broke out with the insinuating inflection of one +who has a story to retail well worth any loiterer's while +to listen to. + +"It's a strange world," he said. + +As the statement met with no response he altered it +to the form of a question. + +"I daresay you've found it to be a strange world, +mister?" + +"As far as I am concerned," said Crosby, "the +strangeness has worn off in the course of thirty-six +years." + +"Ah," said the greybeard, "I could tell you things +that you'd hardly believe. Marvellous things that have +really happened to me." + +"Nowadays there is no demand for marvellous things +that have really happened," said Crosby discouragingly; +"the professional writers of fiction turn these things +out so much better. For instance, my neighbours tell me +wonderful, incredible things that their Aberdeens and +chows and borzois have done; I never listen to them. On +the other hand, I have read 'The Hound of the +Baskervilles' three times." + +The greybeard moved uneasily in his seat; then he +opened up new country. + +"I take it that you are a professing Christian," he +observed. + +"I am a prominent and I think I may say an +influential member of the Mussulman community of Eastern +Persia," said Crosby, making an excursion himself into +the realms of fiction. + +The greybeard was obviously disconcerted at this new +check to introductory conversation, but the defeat was +only momentary. + +"Persia. I should never have taken you for a +Persian," he remarked, with a somewhat aggrieved air. + +"I am not," said Crosby; "my father was an Afghan." + +"An Afghan!" said the other, smitten into bewildered +silence for a moment. Then he recovered himself and +renewed his attack. + +"Afghanistan. Ah! We've had some wars with that +country; now, I daresay, instead of fighting it we might +have learned something from it. A very wealthy country, +I believe. No real poverty there." + +He raised his voice on the word "poverty" with a +suggestion of intense feeling. Crosby saw the opening +and avoided it. + +"It possesses, nevertheless, a number of highly +talented and ingenious beggars," he said; "if I had not +spoken so disparagingly of marvellous things that have +really happened I would tell you the story of Ibrahim and +the eleven camel-loads of blotting-paper. Also I have +forgotten exactly how it ended." + +"My own life-story is a curious one," said the +stranger, apparently stifling all desire to hear the +history of Ibrahim; "I was not always as you see me now." + +"We are supposed to undergo complete change in the +course of every seven years," said Crosby, as an +explanation of the foregoing announcement. + +"I mean I was not always in such distressing +circumstances as I am at present," pursued the stranger +doggedly. + +"That sounds rather rude," said Crosby stiffly, +"considering that you are at present talking to a man +reputed to be one of the most gifted conversationalists +of the Afghan border." + +"I don't mean in that way," said the greybeard +hastily; "I've been very much interested in your +conversation. I was alluding to my unfortunate financial +situation. You mayn't hardly believe it, but at the +present moment I am absolutely without a farthing. Don't +see any prospect of getting any money, either, for the +next few days. I don't suppose you've ever found +yourself in such a position," he added. + +"In the town of Yom," said Crosby, "which is in +Southern Afghanistan, and which also happens to be my +birthplace, there was a Chinese philosopher who used to +say that one of the three chiefest human blessings was to +be absolutely without money. I forget what the other two +were." + +"Ah, I daresay," said the stranger, in a tone that +betrayed no enthusiasm for the philosopher's memory; "and +did he practise what he preached? That's the test." + +"He lived happily with very little money or +resources," said Crosby. + +"Then I expect he had friends who would help him +liberally whenever he was in difficulties, such as I am +in at present." + +"In Yom," said Crosby, "it is not necessary to have +friends in order to obtain help. Any citizen of Yom +would help a stranger as a matter of course." + +The greybeard was now genuinely interested. + +The conversation had at last taken a favourable +turn. + +"If someone, like me, for instance, who was in +undeserved difficulties, asked a citizen of that town you +speak of for a small loan to tide over a few days' +impecuniosity - five shillings, or perhaps a rather +larger sum - would it be given to him as a matter of +course?" + +"There would be a certain preliminary," said Crosby; +"one would take him to a wine-shop and treat him to a +measure of wine, and then, after a little high-flown +conversation, one would put the desired sum in his hand +and wish him good-day. It is a roundabout way of +performing a simple transaction, but in the East all ways +are roundabout." + +The listener's eyes were glittering. + +"Ah," he exclaimed, with a thin sneer ringing +meaningly through his words, "I suppose you've given up +all those generous customs since you left your town. +Don't practise them now, I expect." + +"No one who has lived in Yom," said Crosby +fervently, "and remembers its green hills covered with +apricot and almond trees, and the cold water that rushes +down like a caress from the upland snows and dashes under +the little wooden bridges, no one who remembers these +things and treasures the memory of them would ever give +up a single one of its unwritten laws and customs. To me +they are as binding as though I still lived in that +hallowed home of my youth." + +"Then if I was to ask you for a small loan - " began +the greybeard fawningly, edging nearer on the seat and +hurriedly wondering how large he might safely make his +request, "if I was to ask you for, say - " + +"At any other time, certainly," said Crosby; "in the +months of November and December, however, it is +absolutely forbidden for anyone of our race to give or +receive loans or gifts; in fact, one does not willingly +speak of them. It is considered unlucky. We will +therefore close this discussion." + +"But it is still October!" exclaimed the adventurer +with an eager, angry whine, as Crosby rose from his seat; +"wants eight days to the end of the month!" + +"The Afghan November began yesterday," said Crosby +severely, and in another moment he was striding across +the Park, leaving his recent companion scowling and +muttering furiously on the seat. + +"I don't believe a word of his story," he chattered +to himself; "pack of nasty lies from beginning to end. +Wish I'd told him so to his face. Calling himself an +Afghan!" + +The snorts and snarls that escaped from him for the +next quarter of an hour went far to support the truth of +the old saying that two of a trade never agree. + + +THE SCHARTZ-METTERKLUME METHOD + + +LADY CARLOTTA stepped out on to the platform of the +small wayside station and took a turn or two up and down +its uninteresting length, to kill time till the train +should be pleased to proceed on its way. Then, in the +roadway beyond, she saw a horse struggling with a more +than ample load, and a carter of the sort that seems to +bear a sullen hatred against the animal that helps him to +earn a living. Lady Carlotta promptly betook her to the +roadway, and put rather a different complexion on the +struggle. Certain of her acquaintances were wont to give +her plentiful admonition as to the undesirability of +interfering on behalf of a distressed animal, such +interference being "none of her business." Only once had +she put the doctrine of non-interference into practice, +when one of its most eloquent exponents had been besieged +for nearly three hours in a small and extremely +uncomfortable may-tree by an angry boar-pig, while Lady +Carlotta, on the other side of the fence, had proceeded +with the water-colour sketch she was engaged on, and +refused to interfere between the boar and his prisoner. +It is to be feared that she lost the friendship of the +ultimately rescued lady. On this occasion she merely +lost the train, which gave way to the first sign of +impatience it had shown throughout the journey, and +steamed off without her. She bore the desertion with +philosophical indifference; her friends and relations +were thoroughly well used to the fact of her luggage +arriving without her. She wired a vague non-committal +message to her destination to say that she was coming on +"by another train." Before she had time to think what +her next move might be she was confronted by an +imposingly attired lady, who seemed to be taking a +prolonged mental inventory of her clothes and looks. + +"You must be Miss Hope, the governess I've come to +meet," said the apparition, in a tone that admitted of +very little argument. + +"Very well, if I must I must," said Lady Carlotta to +herself with dangerous meekness. + +"I am Mrs. Quabarl," continued the lady; "and where, +pray, is your luggage?" + +"It's gone astray," said the alleged governess, +falling in with the excellent rule of life that the +absent are always to blame; the luggage had, in point of +fact, behaved with perfect correctitude. "I've just +telegraphed about it," she added, with a nearer approach +to truth. + +"How provoking," said Mrs. Quabarl; "these railway +companies are so careless. However, my maid can lend you +things for the night," and she led the way to her car. + +During the drive to the Quabarl mansion Lady +Carlotta was impressively introduced to the nature of the +charge that had been thrust upon her; she learned that +Claude and Wilfrid were delicate, sensitive young people, +that Irene had the artistic temperament highly developed, +and that Viola was something or other else of a mould +equally commonplace among children of that class and type +in the twentieth century. + +"I wish them not only to be TAUGHT," said Mrs. +Quabarl, "but INTERESTED in what they learn. In their +history lessons, for instance, you must try to make them +feel that they are being introduced to the life-stories +of men and women who really lived, not merely committing +a mass of names and dates to memory. French, of course, +I shall expect you to talk at meal-times several days in +the week." + +"I shall talk French four days of the week and +Russian in the remaining three." + +"Russian? My dear Miss Hope, no one in the house +speaks or understands Russian." + +"That will not embarrass me in the least," said Lady +Carlotta coldly. + +Mrs. Quabarl, to use a colloquial expression, was +knocked off her perch. She was one of those imperfectly +self-assured individuals who are magnificent and +autocratic as long as they are not seriously opposed. +The least show of unexpected resistance goes a long way +towards rendering them cowed and apologetic. When the +new governess failed to express wondering admiration of +the large newly-purchased and expensive car, and lightly +alluded to the superior advantages of one or two makes +which had just been put on the market, the discomfiture +of her patroness became almost abject. Her feelings were +those which might have animated a general of ancient +warfaring days, on beholding his heaviest battle-elephant +ignominiously driven off the field by slingers and +javelin throwers. + +At dinner that evening, although reinforced by her +husband, who usually duplicated her opinions and lent her +moral support generally, Mrs. Quabarl regained none of +her lost ground. The governess not only helped herself +well and truly to wine, but held forth with considerable +show of critical knowledge on various vintage matters, +concerning which the Quabarls were in no wise able to +pose as authorities. Previous governesses had limited +their conversation on the wine topic to a respectful and +doubtless sincere expression of a preference for water. +When this one went as far as to recommend a wine firm in +whose hands you could not go very far wrong Mrs. Quabarl +thought it time to turn the conversation into more usual +channels. + +"We got very satisfactory references about you from +Canon Teep," she observed; "a very estimable man, I +should think." + +"Drinks like a fish and beats his wife, otherwise a +very lovable character," said the governess +imperturbably. + +"MY DEAR Miss Hope! I trust you are exaggerating," +exclaimed the Quabarls in unison. + +"One must in justice admit that there is some +provocation," continued the romancer. "Mrs. Teep is +quite the most irritating bridge-player that I have ever +sat down with; her leads and declarations would condone a +certain amount of brutality in her partner, but to souse +her with the contents of the only soda-water syphon in +the house on a Sunday afternoon, when one couldn't get +another, argues an indifference to the comfort of others +which I cannot altogether overlook. You may think me +hasty in my judgments, but it was practically on account +of the syphon incident that I left." + +"We will talk of this some other time," said Mrs. +Quabarl hastily. + +"I shall never allude to it again," said the +governess with decision. + +Mr. Quabarl made a welcome diversion by asking what +studies the new instructress proposed to inaugurate on +the morrow. + +"History to begin with," she informed him. + +"Ah, history," he observed sagely; "now in teaching +them history you must take care to interest them in what +they learn. You must make them feel that they are being +introduced to the life-stories of men and women who +really lived - " + +"I've told her all that," interposed Mrs. Quabarl. + +"I teach history on the Schartz-Metterklume method," +said the governess loftily. + +"Ah, yes," said her listeners, thinking it expedient +to assume an acquaintance at least with the name. + + +* * * * + + +"What are you children doing out here?" demanded +Mrs. Quabarl the next morning, on finding Irene sitting +rather glumly at the head of the stairs, while her sister +was perched in an attitude of depressed discomfort on the +window-seat behind her, with a wolf-skin rug almost +covering her. + +"We are having a history lesson," came the +unexpected reply. "I am supposed to be Rome, and Viola +up there is the she-wolf; not a real wolf, but the figure +of one that the Romans used to set store by - I forget +why. Claude and Wilfrid have gone to fetch the shabby +women." + +"The shabby women?" + +"Yes, they've got to carry them off. They didn't +want to, but Miss Hope got one of father's fives-bats and +said she'd give them a number nine spanking if they +didn't, so they've gone to do it." + +A loud, angry screaming from the direction of the +lawn drew Mrs. Quabarl thither in hot haste, fearful lest +the threatened castigation might even now be in process +of infliction. The outcry, however, came principally +from the two small daughters of the lodge-keeper, who +were being hauled and pushed towards the house by the +panting and dishevelled Claude and Wilfrid, whose task +was rendered even more arduous by the incessant, if not +very effectual, attacks of the captured maidens' small +brother. The governess, fives-bat in hand, sat +negligently on the stone balustrade, presiding over the +scene with the cold impartiality of a Goddess of Battles. +A furious and repeated chorus of "I'll tell muvver" rose +from the lodge-children, but the lodge-mother, who was +hard of hearing, was for the moment immersed in the +preoccupation of her washtub. + +After an apprehensive glance in the direction of the +lodge (the good woman was gifted with the highly militant +temper which is sometimes the privilege of deafness) Mrs. +Quabarl flew indignantly to the rescue of the struggling +captives. + +"Wilfrid! Claude! Let those children go at once. +Miss Hope, what on earth is the meaning of this scene?" + +"Early Roman history; the Sabine Women, don't you +know? It's the Schartz-Metterklume method to make +children understand history by acting it themselves; +fixes it in their memory, you know. Of course, if, +thanks to your interference, your boys go through life +thinking that the Sabine women ultimately escaped, I +really cannot be held responsible." + +"You may be very clever and modern, Miss Hope," said +Mrs. Quabarl firmly, "but I should like you to leave here +by the next train. Your luggage will be sent after you +as soon as it arrives." + +"I'm not certain exactly where I shall be for the +next few days," said the dismissed instructress of youth; +"you might keep my luggage till I wire my address. There +are only a couple of trunks and some golf-clubs and a +leopard cub." + +"A leopard cub!" gasped Mrs. Quabarl. Even in her +departure this extraordinary person seemed destined to +leave a trail of embarrassment behind her. + +"Well, it's rather left off being a cub; it's more +than half-grown, you know. A fowl every day and a rabbit +on Sundays is what it usually gets. Raw beef makes it +too excitable. Don't trouble about getting the car for +me, I'm rather inclined for a walk." + +And Lady Carlotta strode out of the Quabarl horizon. + +The advent of the genuine Miss Hope, who had made a +mistake as to the day on which she was due to arrive, +caused a turmoil which that good lady was quite unused to +inspiring. Obviously the Quabarl family had been +woefully befooled, but a certain amount of relief came +with the knowledge. + +"How tiresome for you, dear Carlotta," said her +hostess, when the overdue guest ultimately arrived; "how +very tiresome losing your train and having to stop +overnight in a strange place." + +"Oh dear, no," said Lady Carlotta; "not at all +tiresome - for me." + + +THE SEVENTH PULLET + + +"IT'S not the daily grind that I complain of," said +Blenkinthrope resentfully; "it's the dull grey sameness +of my life outside of office hours. Nothing of interest +comes my way, nothing remarkable or out of the common. +Even the little things that I do try to find some +interest in don't seem to interest other people. Things +in my garden, for instance." + +"The potato that weighed just over two pounds," said +his friend Gorworth. + +"Did I tell you about that?" said Blenkinthrope; "I +was telling the others in the train this morning. I +forgot if I'd told you." + +"To be exact you told me that it weighed just under +two pounds, but I took into account the fact that +abnormal vegetables and freshwater fish have an after- +life, in which growth is not arrested." + +"You're just like the others," said Blenkinthrope +sadly, "you only make fun of it." + +"The fault is with the potato, not with us," said +Gorworth; "we are not in the least interested in it +because it is not in the least interesting. The men you +go up in the train with every day are just in the same +case as yourself; their lives are commonplace and not +very interesting to themselves, and they certainly are +not going to wax enthusiastic over the commonplace events +in other men's lives. Tell them something startling, +dramatic, piquant that has happened to yourself or to +someone in your family, and you will capture their +interest at once. They will talk about you with a +certain personal pride to all their acquaintances. 'Man +I know intimately, fellow called Blenkinthrope, lives +down my way, had two of his fingers clawed clean off by a +lobster he was carrying home to supper. Doctor says +entire hand may have to come off.' Now that is +conversation of a very high order. But imagine walking +into a tennis club with the remark: 'I know a man who has +grown a potato weighing two and a quarter pounds.'" + +"But hang it all, my dear fellow," said +Blenkinthrope impatiently, "haven't I just told you that +nothing of a remarkable nature ever happens to me?" + +"Invent something," said Gorworth. Since winning a +prize for excellence in Scriptural knowledge at a +preparatory school he had felt licensed to be a little +more unscrupulous than the circle he moved in. Much +might surely be excused to one who in early life could +give a list of seventeen trees mentioned in the Old +Testament. + +"What sort of thing?"asked Blenkinthrope, somewhat +snappishly. + +"A snake got into your hen-run yesterday morning and +killed six out of seven pullets, first mesmerising them +with its eyes and then biting them as they stood +helpless. The seventh pullet was one of that French +sort, with feathers all over its eyes, so it escaped the +mesmeric snare, and just flew at what it could see of the +snake and pecked it to pieces." + +"Thank you," said Blenkinthrope stiffly; "it's a +very clever invention. If such a thing had really +happened in my poultry-run I admit I should have been +proud and interested to tell people about it. But I'd +rather stick to fact, even if it is plain fact." All the +same his mind dwelt wistfully on the story of the Seventh +Pullet. He could picture himself telling it in the train +amid the absorbed interest of his fellow-passengers. +Unconsciously all sorts of little details and +improvements began to suggest themselves. + +Wistfulness was still his dominant mood when he took +his seat in the railway carriage the next morning. +Opposite him sat Stevenham, who had attained to a +recognised brevet of importance through the fact of an +uncle having dropped dead in the act of voting at a +Parliamentary election. That had happened three years +ago, but Stevenham was still deferred to on all questions +of home and foreign politics. + +"Hullo, how's the giant mushroom, or whatever it +was?" was all the notice Blenkinthrope got from his +fellow travellers. + +Young Duckby, whom he mildly disliked, speedily +monopolised the general attention by an account of a +domestic bereavement. + +"Had four young pigeons carried off last night by a +whacking big rat. Oh, a monster he must have been; you +could tell by the size of the hole he made breaking into +the loft." + +No moderate-sized rat ever seemed to carry out any +predatory operations in these regions; they were all +enormous in their enormity. + +"Pretty hard lines that," continued Duckby, seeing +that he had secured the attention and respect of the +company; "four squeakers carried off at one swoop. You'd +find it rather hard to match that in the way of unlooked- +for bad luck." + +"I had six pullets out of a pen of seven killed by a +snake yesterday afternoon," said Blenkinthrope, in a +voice which he hardly recognised as his own. + +"By a snake?" came in excited chorus. + +"It fascinated them with its deadly, glittering +eyes, one after the other, and struck them down while +they stood helpless. A bedridden neighbour, who wasn't +able to call for assistance, witnessed it all from her +bedroom window." + +"Well, I never!" broke in the chorus, with +variations. + +"The interesting part of it is about the seventh +pullet, the one that didn't get killed," resumed +Blenkinthrope, slowly lighting a cigarette. His +diffidence had left him, and he was beginning to realise +how safe and easy depravity can seem once one has the +courage to begin. "The six dead birds were Minorcas; the +seventh was a Houdan with a mop of feathers all over its +eyes. It could hardly see the snake at all, so of course +it wasn't mesmerised like the others. It just could see +something wriggling on the ground, and went for it and +pecked it to death." + +"Well, I'm blessed!" exclaimed the chorus. + +In the course of the next few days Blenkinthrope +discovered how little the loss of one's self-respect +affects one when one has gained the esteem of the world. +His story found its way into one of the poultry papers, +and was copied thence into a daily news-sheet as a matter +of general interest. A lady wrote from the North of +Scotland recounting a similar episode which she had +witnessed as occurring between a stoat and a blind +grouse. Somehow a lie seems so much less reprehensible +when one can call it a lee. + +For awhile the adapter of the Seventh Pullet story +enjoyed to the full his altered standing as a person of +consequence, one who had had some share in the strange +events of his times. Then he was thrust once again into +the cold grey background by the sudden blossoming into +importance of Smith-Paddon, a daily fellow-traveller, +whose little girl had been knocked down and nearly hurt +by a car belonging to a musical-comedy actress. The +actress was not in the car at the time, but she was in +numerous photographs which appeared in the illustrated +papers of Zoto Dobreen inquiring after the well-being of +Maisie, daughter of Edmund Smith-Paddon, Esq. With this +new human interest to absorb them the travelling +companions were almost rude when Blenkinthrope tried to +explain his contrivance for keeping vipers and peregrine +falcons out of his chicken-run. + +Gorworth, to whom he unburdened himself in private, +gave him the same counsel as heretofore. + +"Invent something." + +"Yes, but what?" + +The ready affirmative coupled with the question +betrayed a significant shifting of the ethical +standpoint. + +It was a few days later that Blenkinthrope revealed +a chapter of family history to the customary gathering in +the railway carriage. + +"Curious thing happened to my aunt, the one who +lives in Paris," he began. He had several aunts, but +they were all geographically distributed over Greater +London. + +"She was sitting on a seat in the Bois the other +afternoon, after lunching at the Roumanian Legation." + +Whatever the story gained in picturesqueness from +the dragging-in of diplomatic "atmosphere," it ceased +from that moment to command any acceptance as a record of +current events. Gorworth had warned his neophyte that +this would be the case, but the traditional enthusiasm of +the neophyte had triumphed over discretion. + +"She was feeling rather drowsy, the effect probably +of the champagne, which she's not in the habit of taking +in the middle of the day." + +A subdued murmur of admiration went round the +company. Blenkinthrope's aunts were not used to taking +champagne in the middle of the year, regarding it +exclusively as a Christmas and New Year accessory. + +"Presently a rather portly gentleman passed by her +seat and paused an instant to light a cigar. At that +moment a youngish man came up behind him, drew the blade +from a swordstick, and stabbed him half a dozen times +through and through. 'Scoundrel,' he cried to his +victim, 'you do not know me. My name is Henri Leturc.' +The elder man wiped away some of the blood that was +spattering his clothes, turned to his assailant, and +said: `And since when has an attempted assassination been +considered an introduction?' Then he finished lighting +his cigar and walked away. My aunt had intended +screaming for the police, but seeing the indifference +with which the principal in the affair treated the matter +she felt that it would be an impertinence on her part to +interfere. Of course I need hardly say she put the whole +thing down to the effects of a warm, drowsy afternoon and +the Legation champagne. Now comes the astonishing part +of my story. A fortnight later a bank manager was +stabbed to death with a swordstick in that very part of +the Bois. His assassin was the son of a charwoman +formerly working at the bank, who had been dismissed from +her job by the manager on account of chronic +intemperance. His name was Henri Leturc." + +From that moment Blenkinthrope was tacitly accepted +as the Munchausen of the party. No effort was spared to +draw him out from day to day in the exercise of testing +their powers of credulity, and Blenkinthrope, in the +false security of an assured and receptive audience, +waxed industrious and ingenious in supplying the demand +for marvels. Duckby's satirical story of a tame otter +that had a tank in the garden to swim in, and whined +restlessly whenever the water-rate was overdue, was +scarcely an unfair parody of some of Blenkinthrope's +wilder efforts. And then one day came Nemesis. + +Returning to his villa one evening Blenkinthrope +found his wife sitting in front of a pack of cards, which +she was scrutinising with unusual concentration. + +"The same old patience-game?" he asked carelessly. + +"No, dear; this is the Death's Head patience, the +most difficult of them all. I've never got it to work +out, and somehow I should be rather frightened if I did. +Mother only got it out once in her life; she was afraid +of it, too. Her great-aunt had done it once and fallen +dead from excitement the next moment, and mother always +had a feeling that she would die if she ever got it out. +She died the same night that she did it. She was in bad +health at the time, certainly, but it was a strange +coincidence." + +"Don't do it if it frightens you," was +Blenkinthrope's practical comment as he left the room. A +few minutes later his wife called to him. + +"John, it gave me such a turn, I nearly got it out. +Only the five of diamonds held me up at the end. I +really thought I'd done it." + +"Why, you can do it," said Blenkinthrope, who had +come back to the room; "if you shift the eight of clubs +on to that open nine the five can be moved on to the +six." + +His wife made the suggested move with hasty, +trembling fingers, and piled the outstanding cards on to +their respective packs. Then she followed the example of +her mother and great-grand-aunt. + +Blenkinthrope had been genuinely fond of his wife, +but in the midst of his bereavement one dominant thought +obtruded itself. Something sensational and real had at +last come into his life; no longer was it a grey, +colourless record. The headlines which might +appropriately describe his domestic tragedy kept shaping +themselves in his brain. "Inherited presentiment comes +true." "The Death's Head patience: Card-game that +justified its sinister name in three generations." He +wrote out a full story of the fatal occurrence for the +ESSEX VEDETTE, the editor of which was a friend of his, +and to another friend he gave a condensed account, to be +taken up to the office of one of the halfpenny dailies. +But in both cases his reputation as a romancer stood +fatally in the way of the fulfilment of his ambitions. +"Not the right thing to be Munchausening in a time of +sorrow" agreed his friends among themselves, and a brief +note of regret at the "sudden death of the wife of our +respected neighbour, Mr. John Blenkinthrope, from heart +failure," appearing in the news column of the local paper +was the forlorn outcome of his visions of widespread +publicity. + +Blenkinthrope shrank from the society of his +erstwhile travelling companions and took to travelling +townwards by an earlier train. He sometimes tries to +enlist the sympathy and attention of a chance +acquaintance in details of the whistling prowess of his +best canary or the dimensions of his largest beetroot; he +scarcely recognises himself as the man who was once +spoken about and pointed out as the owner of the Seventh +Pullet. + + +THE BLIND SPOT + + +"YOU'VE just come back from Adelaide's funeral, +haven't you?" said Sir Lulworth to his nephew; "I suppose +it was very like most other funerals?" + +"I'll tell you all about it at lunch," said Egbert. + +"You'll do nothing of the sort. It wouldn't be +respectful either to your great-aunt's memory or to the +lunch. We begin with Spanish olives, then a borshch, +then more olives and a bird of some kind, and a rather +enticing Rhenish wine, not at all expensive as wines go +in this country, but still quite laudable in its way. +Now there's absolutely nothing in that menu that +harmonises in the least with the subject of your great- +aunt Adelaide or her funeral. She was a charming woman, +and quite as intelligent as she had any need to be, but +somehow she always reminded me of an English cook's idea +of a Madras curry." + +"She used to say you were frivolous," said Egbert. +Something in his tone suggested that he rather endorsed +the verdict. + +"I believe I once considerably scandalised her by +declaring that clear soup was a more important factor in +life than a clear conscience. She had very little sense +of proportion. By the way, she made you her principal +heir, didn't she?" + +"Yes," said Egbert, "and executor as well. It's in +that connection that I particularly want to speak to +you." + +"Business is not my strong point at any time," said +Sir Lulworth, "and certainly not when we're on the +immediate threshold of lunch." + +"It isn't exactly business," explained Egbert, as he +followed his uncle into the dining-room. + +"It's something rather serious. Very serious." + +"Then we can't possibly speak about it now," said +Sir Lulworth; "no one could talk seriously during a +borshch. A beautifully constructed borshch, such as you +are going to experience presently, ought not only to +banish conversation but almost to annihilate thought. +Later on, when we arrive at the second stage of olives, I +shall be quite ready to discuss that new book on Borrow, +or, if you prefer it, the present situation in the Grand +Duchy of Luxemburg. But I absolutely decline to talk +anything approaching business till we have finished with +the bird." + +For the greater part of the meal Egbert sat in an +abstracted silence, the silence of a man whose mind is +focussed on one topic. When the coffee stage had been +reached he launched himself suddenly athwart his uncle's +reminiscences of the Court of Luxemburg. + +"I think I told you that great-aunt Adelaide had +made me her executor. There wasn't very much to be done +in the way of legal matters, but I had to go through her +papers." + +"That would be a fairly heavy task in itself. I +should imagine there were reams of family letters." + +"Stacks of them, and most of them highly +uninteresting. There was one packet, however, which I +thought might repay a careful perusal. It was a bundle +of correspondence from her brother Peter." + +"The Canon of tragic memory," said Lulworth. + +"Exactly, of tragic memory, as you say; a tragedy +that has never been fathomed." + +"Probably the simplest explanation was the correct +one," said Sir Lulworth; "he slipped on the stone +staircase and fractured his skull in falling." + +Egbert shook his head. "The medical evidence all +went to prove that the blow on the head was struck by +some one coming up behind him. A wound caused by violent +contact with the steps could not possibly have been +inflicted at that angle of the skull. They experimented +with a dummy figure falling in every conceivable +position." + +"But the motive?" exclaimed Sir Lulworth; "no one +had any interest in doing away with him, and the number +of people who destroy Canons of the Established Church +for the mere fun of killing must be extremely limited. +Of course there are individuals of weak mental balance +who do that sort of thing, but they seldom conceal their +handiwork; they are more generally inclined to parade +it." + +"His cook was under suspicion," said Egbert shortly. + +"I know he was," said Sir Lulworth, "simply because +he was about the only person on the premises at the time +of the tragedy. But could anything be sillier than +trying to fasten a charge of murder on to Sebastien? He +had nothing to gain, in fact, a good deal to lose, from +the death of his employer. The Canon was paying him +quite as good wages as I was able to offer him when I +took him over into my service. I have since raised them +to something a little more in accordance with his real +worth, but at the time he was glad to find a new place +without troubling about an increase of wages. People +were fighting rather shy of him, and he had no friends in +this country. No; if anyone in the world was interested +in the prolonged life and unimpaired digestion of the +Canon it would certainly be Sebastien." + +"People don't always weigh the consequences of their +rash acts," said Egbert, "otherwise there would be very +few murders committed. Sebastien is a man of hot +temper." + +"He is a southerner," admitted Sir Lulworth; "to be +geographically exact I believe he hails from the French +slopes of the Pyrenees. I took that into consideration +when he nearly killed the gardener's boy the other day +for bringing him a spurious substitute for sorrel. One +must always make allowances for origin and locality and +early environment; `Tell me your longitude and I'll know +what latitude to allow you,' is my motto." + +"There, you see," said Egbert, "he nearly killed the +gardener's boy." + +"My dear Egbert, between nearly killing a gardener's +boy and altogether killing a Canon there is a wide +difference. No doubt you have often felt a temporary +desire to kill a gardener's boy; you have never given way +to it, and I respect you for your self-control. But I +don't suppose you have ever wanted to kill an +octogenarian Canon. Besides, as far as we know, there +had never been any quarrel or disagreement between the +two men. The evidence at the inquest brought that out +very clearly." + +"Ah!" said Egbert, with the air of a man coming at +last into a deferred inheritance of conversational +importance, "that is precisely what I want to speak to +you about." + +He pushed away his coffee cup and drew a pocket-book +from his inner breast-pocket. From the depths of the +pocket-book he produced an envelope, and from the +envelope he extracted a letter, closely written in a +small, neat handwriting. + +"One of the Canon's numerous letters to Aunt +Adelaide," he explained, "written a few days before his +death. Her memory was already failing when she received +it, and I daresay she forgot the contents as soon as she +had read it; otherwise, in the light of what subsequently +happened, we should have heard something of this letter +before now. If it had been produced at the inquest I +fancy it would have made some difference in the course of +affairs. The evidence, as you remarked just now, choked +off suspicion against Sebastien by disclosing an utter +absence of anything that could be considered a motive or +provocation for the crime, if crime there was." + +"Oh, read the letter," said Sir Lulworth +impatiently. + +"It's a long rambling affair, like most of his +letters in his later years," said Egbert. "I'll read the +part that bears immediately on the mystery. + +" 'I very much fear I shall have to get rid of +Sebastien. He cooks divinely, but he has the temper of a +fiend or an anthropoid ape, and I am really in bodily +fear of him. We had a dispute the other day as to the +correct sort of lunch to be served on Ash Wednesday, and +I got so irritated and annoyed at his conceit and +obstinacy that at last I threw a cupful of coffee in his +face and called him at the same time an impudent +jackanapes. Very little of the coffee went actually in +his face, but I have never seen a human being show such +deplorable lack of self-control. I laughed at the threat +of killing me that he spluttered out in his rage, and +thought the whole thing would blow over, but I have +several times since caught him scowling and muttering in +a highly unpleasant fashion, and lately I have fancied +that he was dogging my footsteps about the grounds, +particularly when I walk of an evening in the Italian +Garden.' + +"It was on the steps in the Italian Garden that the +body was found," commented Egbert, and resumed reading. + +" 'I daresay the danger is imaginary; but I shall +feel more at ease when he has quitted my service.' " + +Egbert paused for a moment at the conclusion of the +extract; then, as his uncle made no remark, he added: "If +lack of motive was the only factor that saved Sebastien +from prosecution I fancy this letter will put a different +complexion on matters." + +"Have you shown it to anyone else?" asked Sir +Lulworth, reaching out his hand for the incriminating +piece of paper. + +"No," said Egbert, handing it across the table, "I +thought I would tell you about it first. Heavens, what +are you doing?" + +Egbert's voice rose almost to a scream. Sir +Lulworth had flung the paper well and truly into the +glowing centre of the grate. The small, neat hand- +writing shrivelled into black flaky nothingness. + +"What on earth did you do that for?" gasped Egbert. +"That letter was our one piece of evidence to connect +Sebastien with the crime." + +"That is why I destroyed it," said Sir Lulworth. + +"But why should you want to shield him?" cried +Egbert; "the man is a common murderer." + +"A common murderer, possibly, but a very uncommon +cook." + + +DUSK + + +NORMAN GORTSBY sat on a bench in the Park, with his +back to a strip of bush-planted sward, fenced by the park +railings, and the Row fronting him across a wide stretch +of carriage drive. Hyde Park Corner, with its rattle and +hoot of traffic, lay immediately to his right. It was +some thirty minutes past six on an early March evening, +and dusk had fallen heavily over the scene, dusk +mitigated by some faint moonlight and many street lamps. +There was a wide emptiness over road and sidewalk, and +yet there were many unconsidered figures moving silently +through the half-light, or dotted unobtrusively on bench +and chair, scarcely to be distinguished from the shadowed +gloom in which they sat. + +The scene pleased Gortsby and harmonised with his +present mood. Dusk, to his mind, was the hour of the +defeated. Men and women, who had fought and lost, who +hid their fallen fortunes and dead hopes as far as +possible from the scrutiny of the curious, came forth in +this hour of gloaming, when their shabby clothes and +bowed shoulders and unhappy eyes might pass unnoticed, +or, at any rate, unrecognised. + + +A king that is conquered must see strange looks, +So bitter a thing is the heart of man. + + +The wanderers in the dusk did not choose to have +strange looks fasten on them, therefore they came out in +this bat-fashion, taking their pleasure sadly in a +pleasure-ground that had emptied of its rightful +occupants. Beyond the sheltering screen of bushes and +palings came a realm of brilliant lights and noisy, +rushing traffic. A blazing, many-tiered stretch of +windows shone through the dusk and almost dispersed it, +marking the haunts of those other people, who held their +own in life's struggle, or at any rate had not had to +admit failure. So Gortsby's imagination pictured things +as he sat on his bench in the almost deserted walk. He +was in the mood to count himself among the defeated. +Money troubles did not press on him; had he so wished he +could have strolled into the thoroughfares of light and +noise, and taken his place among the jostling ranks of +those who enjoyed prosperity or struggled for it. He had +failed in a more subtle ambition, and for the moment he +was heartsore and disillusionised, and not disinclined to +take a certain cynical pleasure in observing and +labelling his fellow wanderers as they went their ways in +the dark stretches between the lamp-lights. + +On the bench by his side sat an elderly gentleman +with a drooping air of defiance that was probably the +remaining vestige of self-respect in an individual who +had ceased to defy successfully anybody or anything. His +clothes could scarcely be called shabby, at least they +passed muster in the half-light, but one's imagination +could not have pictured the wearer embarking on the +purchase of a half-crown box of chocolates or laying out +ninepence on a carnation buttonhole. He belonged +unmistakably to that forlorn orchestra to whose piping no +one dances; he was one of the world's lamenters who +induce no responsive weeping. As he rose to go Gortsby +imagined him returning to a home circle where he was +snubbed and of no account, or to some bleak lodging where +his ability to pay a weekly bill was the beginning and +end of the interest he inspired. His retreating figure +vanished slowly into the shadows, and his place on the +bench was taken almost immediately by a young man, fairly +well dressed but scarcely more cheerful of mien than his +predecessor. As if to emphasise the fact that the world +went badly with him the new-corner unburdened himself of +an angry and very audible expletive as he flung himself +into the seat. + +"You don't seem in a very good temper," said +Gortsby, judging that he was expected to take due notice +of the demonstration. + +The young man turned to him with a look of disarming +frankness which put him instantly on his guard. + +"You wouldn't be in a good temper if you were in the +fix I'm in," he said; "I've done the silliest thing I've +ever done in my life." + +"Yes?" said Gortsby dispassionately. + +"Came up this afternoon, meaning to stay at the +Patagonian Hotel in Berkshire Square," continued the +young man; "when I got there I found it had been pulled +down some weeks ago and a cinema theatre run up on the +site. The taxi driver recommended me to another hotel +some way off and I went there. I just sent a letter to +my people, giving them the address, and then I went out +to buy some soap - I'd forgotten to pack any and I hate +using hotel soap. Then I strolled about a bit, had a +drink at a bar and looked at the shops, and when I came +to turn my steps back to the hotel I suddenly realised +that I didn't remember its name or even what street it +was in. There's a nice predicament for a fellow who +hasn't any friends or connections in London! Of course I +can wire to my people for the address, but they won't +have got my letter till to-morrow; meantime I'm without +any money, came out with about a shilling on me, which +went in buying the soap and getting the drink, and here I +am, wandering about with twopence in my pocket and +nowhere to go for the night." + +There was an eloquent pause after the story had been +told. "I suppose you think I've spun you rather an +impossible yarn," said the young man presently,with a +suggestion of resentment in his voice. + +"Not at all impossible," said Gortsby judicially; "I +remember doing exactly the same thing once in a foreign +capital, and on that occasion there were two of us, which +made it more remarkable. Luckily we remembered that the +hotel was on a sort of canal, and when we struck the +canal we were able to find our way back to the hotel." + +The youth brightened at the reminiscence. "In a +foreign city I wouldn't mind so much," he said; "one +could go to one's Consul and get the requisite help from +him. Here in one's own land one is far more derelict if +one gets into a fix. Unless I can find some decent chap +to swallow my story and lend me some money I seem likely +to spend the night on the Embankment. I'm glad, anyhow, +that you don't think the story outrageously improbable." + +He threw a good deal of warmth into the last remark, +as though perhaps to indicate his hope that Gortsby did +not fall far short of the requisite decency. + +"Of course," said Gortsby slowly, "the weak point of +your story is that you can't produce the soap." + +The young man sat forward hurriedly, felt rapidly in +the pockets of his overcoat, and then jumped to his feet. + +"I must have lost it," he muttered angrily. + +"To lose an hotel and a cake of soap on one +afternoon suggests wilful carelessness," said Gortsby, +but the young man scarcely waited to hear the end of the +remark. He flitted away down the path, his head held +high, with an air of somewhat jaded jauntiness. + +"It was a pity," mused Gortsby; "the going out to +get one's own soap was the one convincing touch in the +whole story, and yet it was just that little detail that +brought him to grief. If he had had the brilliant +forethought to provide himself with a cake of soap, +wrapped and sealed with all the solicitude of the +chemist's counter, he would have been a genius in his +particular line. In his particular line genius certainly +consists of an infinite capacity for taking precautions." + +With that reflection Gortsby rose to go; as he did +so an exclamation of concern escaped him. Lying on the +ground by the side of the bench was a small oval packet, +wrapped and sealed with the solicitude of a chemist's +counter. It could be nothing else but a cake of soap, +and it had evidently fallen out of the youth's overcoat +pocket when he flung himself down on the seat. In +another moment Gortsby was scudding along the dusk- +shrouded path in anxious quest for a youthful figure in a +light overcoat. He had nearly given up the search when +he caught sight of the object of his pursuit standing +irresolutely on the border of the carriage drive, +evidently uncertain whether to strike across the Park or +make for the bustling pavements of Knightsbridge. He +turned round sharply with an air of defensive hostility +when he found Gortsby hailing him. + +"The important witness to the genuineness of your +story has turned up," said Gortsby, holding out the cake +of soap; "it must have slid out of your overcoat pocket +when you sat down on the seat. I saw it on the ground +after you left. You must excuse my disbelief, but +appearances were really rather against you, and now, as I +appealed to the testimony of the soap I think I ought to +abide by its verdict. If the loan of a sovereign is any +good to you - " + +The young man hastily removed all doubt on the +subject by pocketing the coin. + +"Here is my card with my address," continued +Gortsby; "any day this week will do for returning the +money, and here is the soap - don't lose it again it's +been a good friend to you." + +"Lucky thing your finding it," said the youth, and +then, with a catch in his voice, he blurted out a word or +two of thanks and fled headlong in the direction of +Knightsbridge. + +"Poor boy, he as nearly as possible broke down," +said Gortsby to himself. "I don't wonder either; the +relief from his quandary must have been acute. It's a +lesson to me not to be too clever in judging by +circumstances." + +As Gortsby retraced his steps past the seat where +the little drama had taken place he saw an elderly +gentleman poking and peering beneath it and on all sides +of it, and recognised his earlier fellow occupant. + +"Have you lost anything, sir?" he asked. + +"Yes, sir, a cake of soap." + + +A TOUCH OF REALISM + + +"I HOPE you've come full of suggestions for +Christmas," said Lady Blonze to her latest arrived guest; +"the old-fashioned Christmas and the up-to-date Christmas +are both so played out. I want to have something really +original this year." + +"I was staying with the Mathesons last month," said +Blanche Boveal eagerly, "and we had such a good idea. +Every one in the house-party had to be a character and +behave consistently all the time, and at the end of the +visit one had to guess what every one's character was. +The one who was voted to have acted his or her character +best got a prize." + +"It sounds amusing," said Lady Blonze. + +"I was St. Francis of Assisi," continued Blanche; +"we hadn't got to keep to our right sexes. I kept +getting up in the middle of a meal, and throwing out food +to the birds; you see, the chief thing that one remembers +of St. Francis is that he was fond of the birds. Every +one was so stupid about it, and thought that I was the +old man who feeds the sparrows in the Tuileries Gardens. +Then Colonel Pentley was the Jolly Miller on the banks of +Dee." + +"How on earth did he do that?" asked Bertie van +Tahn. + +" 'He laughed and sang from morn till night,' " +explained Blanche. + +"How dreadful for the rest of you," said Bertie; +"and anyway he wasn't on the banks of Dee." + +"One had to imagine that," said Blanche. + +"If you could imagine all that you might as well +imagine cattle on the further bank and keep on calling +them home, Mary-fashion, across the sands of Dee. Or you +might change the river to the Yarrow and imagine it was +on the top of you, and say you were Willie, or whoever it +was, drowned in Yarrow." + +"Of course it's easy to make fun of it," said +Blanche sharply, "but it was extremely interesting and +amusing. The prize was rather a fiasco, though. You +see, Millie Matheson said her character was Lady +Bountiful, and as she was our hostess of course we all +had to vote that she had carried out her character better +than anyone. Otherwise I ought to have got the prize." + +"It's quite an idea for a Christmas party," said +Lady Blonze; "we must certainly do it here." + +Sir Nicholas was not so enthusiastic. "Are you +quite sure, my dear, that you're wise in doing this +thing?" he said to his wife when they were alone +together. "It might do very well at the Mathesons, where +they had rather a staid, elderly house-party, but here it +will be a different matter. There is the Durmot flapper, +for instance, who simply stops at nothing, and you know +what Van Tahn is like. Then there is Cyril Skatterly; he +has madness on one side of his family and a Hungarian +grandmother on the other." + +"I don't see what they could do that would matter," +said Lady Blonze. + +"It's the unknown that is to be dreaded," said Sir +Nicholas. "If Skatterly took it into his head to +represent a Bull of Bashan, well, I'd rather not be +here." + +"Of course we shan't allow any Bible characters. +Besides, I don't know what the Bulls of Bashan really did +that was so very dreadful; they just came round and +gaped, as far as I remember." + +"My dear, you don't know what Skatterly's Hungarian +imagination mightn't read into the part; it would be +small satisfaction to say to him afterwards: 'You've +behaved as no Bull of Bashan would have behaved.' " + +"Oh, you're an alarmist," said Lady Blonze; I +particularly want to have this idea carried out. It will +be sure to be talked about a lot." + +"That is quite possible," said Sir Nicholas. + + +* * * * + + +Dinner that evening was not a particularly lively +affair; the strain of trying to impersonate a self- +imposed character or to glean hints of identity from +other people's conduct acted as a check on the natural +festivity of such a gathering. There was a general +feeling of gratitude and acquiescence when good-natured +Rachel Klammerstein suggested that there should be an +hour or two's respite from "the game" while they all +listened to a little piano-playing after dinner. +Rachel's love of piano music was not indiscriminate, and +concentrated itself chiefly on selections rendered by her +idolised offspring, Moritz and Augusta, who, to do them +justice, played remarkably well. + +The Klammersteins were deservedly popular as +Christmas guests; they gave expensive gifts lavishly on +Christmas Day and New Year, and Mrs. Klammerstein had +already dropped hints of her intention to present the +prize for the best enacted character in the game +competition. Every one had brightened at this prospect; +if it had fallen to Lady Blonze, as hostess, to provide +the prize, she would have considered that a little +souvenir of some twenty or twenty-five shillings' value +would meet the case, whereas coming from a Klammerstein +source it would certainly run to several guineas. + +The close time for impersonation efforts came to an +end with the final withdrawal of Moritz and Augusta from +the piano. Blanche Boveal retired early, leaving the +room in a series of laboured leaps that she hoped might +be recognised as a tolerable imitation of Pavlova. Vera +Durmot, the sixteen-year-old flapper, expressed her +confident opinion that the performance was intended to +typify Mark Twain's famous jumping frog, and her +diagnosis of the case found general acceptance. Another +guest to set an example of early bed-going was Waldo +Plubley, who conducted his life on a minutely regulated +system of time-tables and hygienic routine. Waldo was a +plump, indolent young man of seven-and-twenty, whose +mother had early in his life decided for him that he was +unusually delicate, and by dint of much coddling and +home-keeping had succeeded in making him physically soft +and mentally peevish. Nine hours' unbroken sleep, +preceded by elaborate breathing exercises and other +hygienic ritual, was among the indispensable regulations +which Waldo imposed on himself, and there were +innumerable small observances which he exacted from those +who were in any way obliged to minister to his +requirements; a special teapot for the decoction of his +early tea was always solemnly handed over to the bedroom +staff of any house in which he happened to be staying. +No one had ever quite mastered the mechanism of this +precious vessel, but Bertie van Tahn was responsible for +the legend that its spout had to be kept facing north +during the process of infusion. + +On this particular night the irreducible nine hours +were severely mutilated by the sudden and by no means +noiseless incursion of a pyjama-clad figure into Waldo's +room at an hour midway between midnight and dawn. + +"What is the matter? What are you looking for?" +asked the awakened and astonished Waldo, slowly +recognising Van Tahn, who appeared to be searching +hastily for something he had lost. + +"Looking for sheep," was the reply. + +"Sheep?" exclaimed Waldo. + +"Yes, sheep. You don't suppose I'm looking for +giraffes, do you?" + +"I don't see why you should expect to find either in +my room," retorted Waldo furiously. + +"I can't argue the matter at this hour of the +night," said Bertie, and began hastily rummaging in the +chest of drawers. Shirts and underwear went flying on to +the floor. + +"There are no sheep here, I tell you," screamed +Waldo. + +"I've only got your word for it," said Bertie, +whisking most of the bedclothes on to the floor; "if you +weren't concealing something you wouldn't be so +agitated." + +Waldo was by this time convinced that Van Tahn was +raving mad, and made an anxious, effort to humour him. + +"Go back to bed like a dear fellow," he pleaded, +"and your sheep will turn up all right in the morning." + +"I daresay," said Bertie gloomily, "without their +tails. Nice fool I shall look with a lot of Manx sheep." + +And by way of emphasising his annoyance at the +prospect he sent Waldo's pillows flying to the top of the +wardrobe. + +"But WHY no tails?" asked Waldo, whose teeth were +chattering with fear and rage and lowered temperature. + +"My dear boy, have you never heard the ballad of +Little Bo-Peep?" said Bertie with a chuckle. "It's my +character in the Game, you know. If I didn't go hunting +about for my lost sheep no one would be able to guess who +I was; and now go to sleepy weeps like a good child or I +shall be cross with you." + +"I leave you to imagine," wrote Waldo in the course +of a long letter to his mother, "how much sleep I was +able to recover that night, and you know how essential +nine uninterrupted hours of slumber are to my health." + +On the other hand he was able to devote some wakeful +hours to exercises in breathing wrath and fury against +Bertie van Tahn. + +Breakfast at Blonzecourt was a scattered meal, on +the "come when you please" principle, but the house-party +was supposed to gather in full strength at lunch. On the +day after the "Game" had been started there were, +however, some notable absentees. Waldo Plubley, for +instance, was reported to be nursing a headache. A large +breakfast and an "A.B.C." had been taken up to his room, +but he had made no appearance in the flesh. + +"I expect he's playing up to some character," said +Vera Durmot; "isn't there a thing of Moliere's, 'LE +MALADE IMAGINAIRE'? I expect he's that." + +Eight or nine lists came out, and were duly +pencilled with the suggestion. + +"And where are the Klammersteins?" asked Lady +Blonze; "they're usually so punctual." + +"Another character pose, perhaps," said Bertie van +Tahn; " 'the Lost Ten Tribes.' " + +"But there are only three of them. Besides, they'll +want their lunch. Hasn't anyone seen anything of them?" + +"Didn't you take them out in your car?" asked +Blanche Boveal, addressing herself to Cyril Skatterly. + +"Yes, took them out to Slogberry Moor immediately +after breakfast. Miss Durmot came too." + +"I saw you and Vera come back," said Lady Blonze, +"but I didn't see the Klammersteins. Did you put them +down in the village?" + +"No," said Skatterly shortly. + +"But where are they? Where did you leave them?" + +"We left them on Slogberry Moor," said Vera calmly. + +"On Slogberry Moor? Why, it's more than thirty +miles away! How are they going to get back?" + +"We didn't stop to consider that," said Skatterly; +"we asked them to get out for a moment, on the pretence +that the car had stuck, and then we dashed off full speed +and left them there." + +"But how dare you do such a thing? It's most +inhuman! Why, it's been snowing for the last hour." + +"I expect there'll be a cottage or farmhouse +somewhere if they walk a mile or two." + +"But why on earth have you done it?" + +The question came in a chorus of indignant +bewilderment. + +"THAT would be telling what our characters are meant +to be," said Vera. + +"Didn't I warn you?" said Sir Nicholas tragically to +his wife. + +"It's something to do with Spanish history; we don't +mind giving you that clue," said Skatterly, helping +himself cheerfully to salad, and then Bertie van Tahn +broke forth into peals of joyous laughter. + +"I've got it! Ferdinand and Isabella deporting the +Jews! Oh, lovely! Those two have certainly won the +prize; we shan't get anything to beat that for +thoroughness." + +Lady Blonze's Christmas party was talked about and +written about to an extent that she had not anticipated +in her most ambitious moments. The letters from Waldo's +mother would alone have made it memorable. + + +COUSIN TERESA + + +BASSET HARROWCLUFF returned to the home of his +fathers, after an absence of four years, distinctly well +pleased with himself. He was only thirty-one, but he had +put in some useful service in an out-of-the-way, though +not unimportant, corner of the world. He had quieted a +province, kept open a trade route, enforced the tradition +of respect which is worth the ransom of many kings in +out-of-the-way regions, and done the whole business on +rather less expenditure than would be requisite for +organising a charity in the home country. In Whitehall +and places where they think, they doubtless thought well +of him. It was not inconceivable, his father allowed +himself to imagine, that Basset's name might figure in +the next list of Honours. + +Basset was inclined to be rather contemptuous of his +half-brother, Lucas, whom he found feverishly engrossed +in the same medley of elaborate futilities that had +claimed his whole time and energies, such as they were, +four years ago, and almost as far back before that as he +could remember. It was the contempt of the man of action +for the man of activities, and it was probably +reciprocated. Lucas was an over-well nourished +individual, some nine years Basset's senior, with a +colouring that would have been accepted as a sign of +intensive culture in an asparagus, but probably meant in +this case mere abstention from exercise. His hair and +forehead furnished a recessional note in a personality +that was in all other respects obtrusive and assertive. +There was certainly no Semitic blood in Lucas's +parentage, but his appearance contrived to convey at +least a suggestion of Jewish extraction. Clovis +Sangrail, who knew most of his associates by sight, said +it was undoubtedly a case of protective mimicry. + +Two days after Basset's return, Lucas frisked in to +lunch in a state of twittering excitement that could not +be restrained even for the immediate consideration of +soup, but had to be verbally discharged in spluttering +competition with mouthfuls of vermicelli. + +"I've got hold of an idea for something immense," he +babbled, "something that is simply It." + +Basset gave a short laugh that would have done +equally well as a snort, if one had wanted to make the +exchange. His half-brother was in the habit of +discovering futilities that were "simply It" at +frequently recurring intervals. The discovery generally +meant that he flew up to town, preceded by glowingly- +worded telegrams, to see some one connected with the +stage or the publishing world, got together one or two +momentous luncheon parties, flitted in and out of +"Gambrinus" for one or two evenings, and returned home +with an air of subdued importance and the asparagus tint +slightly intensified. The great idea was generally +forgotten a few weeks later in the excitement of some new +discovery. + +"The inspiration came to me whilst I was dressing," +announced Lucas; "it will be THE thing in the next music- +hall REVUE. All London will go mad over it. It's just a +couplet; of course there will be other words, but they +won't matter. Listen: + + +Cousin Teresa takes out Caesar, +Fido, Jock, and the big borzoi. + + +A lifting, catchy sort of refrain, you see, and big- +drum business on the two syllables of bor-zoi. It's +immense. And I've thought out all the business of it; +the singer will sing the first verse alone, then during +the second verse Cousin Teresa will walk through, +followed by four wooden dogs on wheels; Caesar will be an +Irish terrier, Fido a black poodle, Jock a fox-terrier, +and the borzoi, of course, will be a borzoi. During the +third verse Cousin Teresa will come on alone, and the +dogs will be drawn across by themselves from the opposite +wing; then Cousin Teresa will catch on to the singer and +go off-stage in one direction, while the dogs' procession +goes off in the other, crossing en route, which is always +very effective. There'll be a lot of applause there, and +for the fourth verse Cousin Teresa will come on in sables +and the dogs will all have coats on. Then I've got a +great idea for the fifth verse; each of the dogs will be +led on by a Nut, and Cousin Teresa will come on from the +opposite side, crossing en route, always effective, and +then she turns round and leads the whole lot of them off +on a string, and all the time every one singing like mad: + + +Cousin Teresa takes out Caesar +Fido, Jock, and the big borzoi. + + +Tum-Tum! Drum business on the two last syllables. +I'm so excited, I shan't sleep a wink to-night. I'm off +to-morrow by the ten-fifteen. I've wired to Hermanova to +lunch with me." + +If any of the rest of the family felt any excitement +over the creation of Cousin Teresa, they were signally +successful in concealing the fact. + +"Poor Lucas does take his silly little ideas +seriously," said Colonel Harrowcluff afterwards in the +smoking-room. + +"Yes," said his younger son, in a slightly less +tolerant tone, "in a day or two he'll come back and tell +us that his sensational masterpiece is above the heads of +the public, and in about three weeks' time he'll be wild +with enthusiasm over a scheme to dramatise the poems of +Herrick or something equally promising." + +And then an extraordinary thing befell. In defiance +of all precedent Lucas's glowing anticipations were +justified and endorsed by the course of events. If +Cousin Teresa was above the heads of the public, the +public heroically adapted itself to her altitude. +Introduced as an experiment at a dull moment in a new +REVUE, the success of the item was unmistakable; the +calls were so insistent and uproarious that even Lucas' +ample devisings of additional "business" scarcely +sufficed to keep pace with the demand. Packed houses on +successive evenings confirmed the verdict of the first +night audience, stalls and boxes filled significantly +just before the turn came on, and emptied significantly +after the last ENCORE had been given. The manager +tearfully acknowledged that Cousin Teresa was It. Stage +hands and supers and programme sellers acknowledged it to +one another without the least reservation. The name of +the REVUE dwindled to secondary importance, and vast +letters of electric blue blazoned the words "Cousin +Teresa" from the front of the great palace of pleasure. +And, of course, the magic of the famous refrain laid its +spell all over the Metropolis. Restaurant proprietors +were obliged to provide the members of their orchestras +with painted wooden dogs on wheels, in order that the +much-demanded and always conceded melody should be +rendered with the necessary spectacular effects, and the +crash of bottles and forks on the tables at the mention +of the big borzoi usually drowned the sincerest efforts +of drum or cymbals. Nowhere and at no time could one get +away from the double thump that brought up the rear of +the refrain; revellers reeling home at night banged it on +doors and hoardings, milkmen clashed their cans to its +cadence, messenger boys hit smaller messenger boys +resounding double smacks on the same principle. And the +more thoughtful circles of the great city were not deaf +to the claims and significance of the popular melody. An +enterprising and emancipated preacher discoursed from his +pulpit on the inner meaning of "Cousin Teresa," and Lucas +Harrowcluff was invited to lecture on the subject of his +great achievement to members of the Young Mens' Endeavour +League, the Nine Arts Club, and other learned and +willing-to-learn bodies. In Society it seemed to be the +one thing people really cared to talk about; men and +women of middle age and average education might be seen +together in corners earnestly discussing, not the +question whether Servia should have an outlet on the +Adriatic, or the possibilities of a British success in +international polo contests, but the more absorbing topic +of the problematic Aztec or Nilotic origin of the Teresa +MOTIV. + +"Politics and patriotism are so boring and so out of +date," said a revered lady who had some pretensions to +oracular utterance; "we are too cosmopolitan nowadays to +be really moved by them. That is why one welcomes an +intelligible production like 'Cousin Teresa,' that has a +genuine message for one. One can't understand the +message all at once, of course, but one felt from the +very first that it was there. I've been to see it +eighteen times and I'm going again to-morrow and on +Thursday. One can't see it often enough." + + +* * * * + + +"It would be rather a popular move if we gave this +Harrowcluff person a knighthood or something of the +sort," said the Minister reflectively. + +"Which Harrowcluff?"asked his secretary. + +"Which? There is only one, isn't there?" said the +Minister; "the 'Cousin Teresa' man, of course. I think +every one would be pleased if we knighted him. Yes, you +can put him down on the list of certainties - under the +letter L." + +"The letter L," said the secretary, who was new to +his job; "does that stand for Liberalism or liberality?" + +Most of the recipients of Ministerial favour were +expected to qualify in both of those subjects. + +"Literature," explained the Minister. + +And thus, after a fashion, Colonel Harrowcluff's +expectation of seeing his son's name in the list of +Honours was gratified. + + +THE YARKAND MANNER + + +SIR LULWORTH QUAYNE was making a leisurely progress +through the Zoological Society's Gardens in company with +his nephew, recently returned from Mexico. The latter +was interested in comparing and contrasting allied types +of animals occurring in the North American and Old World +fauna. + +"One of the most remarkable things in the wanderings +of species," he observed, "is the sudden impulse to trek +and migrate that breaks out now and again, for no +apparent reason, in communities of hitherto stay-at-home +animals." + +"In human affairs the same phenomenon is +occasionally noticeable," said Sir Lulworth; "perhaps the +most striking instance of it occurred in this country +while you were away in the wilds of Mexico. I mean the +wander fever which suddenly displayed itself in the +managing and editorial staffs of certain London +newspapers. It began with the stampede of the entire +staff of one of our most brilliant and enterprising +weeklies to the banks of the Seine and the heights of +Montmartre. The migration was a brief one, but it +heralded an era of restlessness in the Press world which +lent quite a new meaning to the phrase 'newspaper +circulation.' Other editorial staffs were not slow to +imitate the example that had been set them. Paris soon +dropped out of fashion as being too near home; Nurnberg, +Seville, and Salonica became more favoured as planting- +out grounds for the personnel of not only weekly but +daily papers as well. The localities were perhaps not +always well chosen; the fact of a leading organ of +Evangelical thought being edited for two successive +fortnights from Trouville and Monte Carlo was generally +admitted to have been a mistake. And even when +enterprising and adventurous editors took themselves and +their staffs further afield there were some unavoidable +clashings. For instance, the SCRUTATOR, SPORTING BLUFF, +and THE DAMSELS' OWN PAPER all pitched on Khartoum for +the same week. It was, perhaps, a desire to out-distance +all possible competition that influenced the management +of the DAILY INTELLIGENCER, one of the most solid and +respected organs of Liberal opinion, in its decision to +transfer its offices for three or four weeks from Fleet +Street to Eastern Turkestan, allowing, of course, a +necessary margin of time for the journey there and back. +This was, in many respects, the most remarkable of all +the Press stampedes that were experienced at this time. +There was no make-believe about the undertaking; +proprietor, manager, editor, sub-editors, leader-writers, +principal reporters, and so forth, all took part in what +was popularly alluded to as the DRANG NACH OSTEN; an +intelligent and efficient office-boy was all that was +left in the deserted hive of editorial industry." + +"That was doing things rather thoroughly, wasn't +it?" said the nephew. + +"Well, you see," said Sir Lulworth, "the migration +idea was falling somewhat into disrepute from the half- +hearted manner in which it was occasionally carried out. +You were not impressed by the information that such and +such a paper was being edited and brought out at Lisbon +or Innsbruck if you chanced to see the principal leader- +writer or the art editor lunching as usual at their +accustomed restaurants. The DAILY INTELLIGENCER was +determined to give no loophole for cavil at the +genuineness of its pilgrimage, and it must be admitted +that to a certain extent the arrangements made for +transmitting copy and carrying on the usual features of +the paper during the long outward journey worked smoothly +and well. The series of articles which commenced at Baku +on 'What Cobdenism might do for the camel industry' ranks +among the best of the recent contributions to Free Trade +literature, while the views on foreign policy enunciated +'from a roof in Yarkand' showed at least as much grasp of +the international situation as those that had germinated +within half a mile of Downing Street. Quite in keeping, +too, with the older and better traditions of British +journalism was the manner of the home-coming; no bombast, +no personal advertisement, no flamboyant interviews. +Even a complimentary luncheon at the Voyagers' Club was +courteously declined. Indeed, it began to be felt that +the self-effacement of the returned pressmen was being +carried to a pedantic length. Foreman compositors, +advertisement clerks, and other members of the non- +editorial staff, who had, of course, taken no part in the +great trek, found it as impossible to get into direct +communication with the editor and his satellites now that +they had returned as when they had been excusably +inaccessible in Central Asia. The sulky, overworked +office-boy, who was the one connecting link between the +editorial brain and the business departments of the +paper, sardonically explained the new aloofness as the +'Yarkand manner.' Most of the reporters and sub-editors +seemed to have been dismissed in autocratic fashion since +their return and new ones engaged by letter; to these the +editor and his immediate associates remained an unseen +presence, issuing its instructions solely through the +medium of curt typewritten notes. Something mystic and +Tibetan and forbidden had replaced the human bustle and +democratic simplicity of pre-migration days, and the same +experience was encountered by those who made social +overtures to the returned wanderers. The most brilliant +hostess of Twentieth Century London flung the pearl of +her hospitality into the unresponsive trough of the +editorial letter-box; it seemed as if nothing short of a +Royal command would drag the hermit-souled REVENANTS from +their self-imposed seclusion. People began to talk +unkindly of the effect of high altitudes and Eastern +atmosphere on minds and temperaments unused to such +luxuries. The Yarkand manner was not popular." + +"And the contents of the paper," said the nephew, +"did they show the influence of the new style?" + +"Ah!" said Sir Lulworth, "that was the exciting +thing. In home affairs, social questions, and the +ordinary events of the day not much change was +noticeable. A certain Oriental carelessness seemed to +have crept into the editorial department, and perhaps a +note of lassitude not unnatural in the work of men who +had returned from what had been a fairly arduous journey. +The aforetime standard of excellence was scarcely +maintained, but at any rate the general lines of policy +and outlook were not departed from. It was in the realm +of foreign affairs that a startling change took place. +Blunt, forcible, outspoken articles appeared, couched in +language which nearly turned the autumn manoeuvres of six +important Powers into mobilisations. Whatever else the +DAILY INTELLIGENCER had learned in the East, it had not +acquired the art of diplomatic ambiguity. The man in the +street enjoyed the articles and bought the paper as he +had never bought it before; the men in Downing Street +took a different view. The Foreign Secretary, hitherto +accounted a rather reticent man, became positively +garrulous in the course of perpetually disavowing the +sentiments expressed in the DAILY INTELLIGENCER'S +leaders; and then one day the Government came to the +conclusion that something definite and drastic must be +done. A deputation, consisting of the Prime Minister, +the Foreign Secretary, four leading financiers, and a +well-known Nonconformist divine, made its way to the +offices of the paper. At the door leading to the +editorial department the way was barred by a nervous but +defiant office-boy. + +" 'You can't see the editor nor any of the staff,' +he announced. + +" 'We insist on seeing the editor or some +responsible person,' said the Prime Minister, and the +deputation forced its way in. The boy had spoken truly; +there was no one to be seen. In the whole suite of rooms +there was no sign of human life. + +" 'Where is the editor?' 'Or the foreign editor?' +'Or the chief leader-writer? Or anybody?' + +"In answer to the shower of questions the boy +unlocked a drawer and produced a strange-looking +envelope, which bore a Khokand postmark, and a date of +some seven or eight months back. It contained a scrap of +paper on which was written the following message: + + +" 'Entire party captured by brigand tribe on +homeward journey. Quarter of million demanded as ransom, +but would probably take less. Inform Government, +relations, and friends.' + + +"There followed the signatures of the principal +members of the party and instructions as to how and where +the money was to be paid. + +"The letter had been directed to the office-boy-in- +charge, who had quietly suppressed it. No one is a hero +to one's own office-boy, and he evidently considered that +a quarter of a million was an unwarrantable outlay for +such a doubtfully advantageous object as the repatriation +of an errant newspaper staff. So he drew the editorial +and other salaries, forged what signatures were +necessary, engaged new reporters, did what sub-editing he +could, and made as much use as possible of the large +accumulation of special articles that was held in reserve +for emergencies. The articles on foreign affairs were +entirely his own composition. + +"Of course the whole thing had to be kept as quiet +as possible; an interim staff, pledged to secrecy, was +appointed to keep the paper going till the pining +captives could be sought out, ransomed, and brought home, +in twos and threes to escape notice, and gradually things +were put back on their old footing. The articles on +foreign affairs reverted to the wonted traditions of the +paper." + +"But," interposed the nephew, "how on earth did the +boy account to the relatives all those months for the +non-appearance - " + +"That," said Sir Lulworth, "was the most brilliant +stroke of all. To the wife or nearest relative of each +of the missing men he forwarded a letter, copying the +handwriting of the supposed writer as well as he could, +and making excuses about vile pens and ink; in each +letter he told the same story, varying only the locality, +to the effect that the writer, alone of the whole party, +was unable to tear himself away from the wild liberty and +allurements of Eastern life, and was going to spend +several months roaming in some selected region. Many of +the wives started off immediately in pursuit of their +errant husbands, and it took the Government a +considerable time and much trouble to reclaim them from +their fruitless quests along the banks of the Oxus, the +Gobi Desert, the Orenburg steppe, and other outlandish +places. One of them, I believe, is still lost somewhere +in the Tigris Valley." + +"And the boy?" + +"Is still in journalism." + + +THE BYZANTINE OMELETTE + + +SOPHIE CHATTEL-MONKHEIM was a Socialist by +conviction and a Chattel-Monkheim by marriage. The +particular member of that wealthy family whom she had +married was rich, even as his relatives counted riches. +Sophie had very advanced and decided views as to the +distribution of money: it was a pleasing and fortunate +circumstance that she also had the money. When she +inveighed eloquently against the evils of capitalism at +drawing-room meetings and Fabian conferences she was +conscious of a comfortable feeling that the system, with +all its inequalities and iniquities, would probably last +her time. It is one of the consolations of middle-aged +reformers that the good they inculcate must live after +them if it is to live at all. + +On a certain spring evening, somewhere towards the +dinner-hour, Sophie sat tranquilly between her mirror and +her maid, undergoing the process of having her hair built +into an elaborate reflection of the prevailing fashion. +She was hedged round with a great peace, the peace of one +who has attained a desired end with much effort and +perseverance, and who has found it still eminently +desirable in its attainment. The Duke of Syria had +consented to come beneath her roof as a guest, was even +now installed beneath her roof, and would shortly be +sitting at her dining-table. As a good Socialist, Sophie +disapproved of social distinctions, and derided the idea +of a princely caste, but if there were to be these +artificial gradations of rank and dignity she was pleased +and anxious to have an exalted specimen of an exalted +order included in her house-party. She was broad-minded +enough to love the sinner while hating the sin - not that +she entertained any warm feeling of personal affection +for the Duke of Syria, who was a comparative stranger, +but still, as Duke of Syria, he was very, very welcome +beneath her roof. She could not have explained why, but +no one was likely to ask her for an explanation, and most +hostesses envied her. + +"You must surpass yourself to-night, Richardson," +she said complacently to her maid; "I must be looking my +very best. We must all surpass ourselves." + +The maid said nothing, but from the concentrated +look in her eyes and the deft play of her fingers it was +evident that she was beset with the ambition to surpass +herself. + +A knock came at the door, a quiet but peremptory +knock, as of some one who would not be denied. + +"Go and see who it is," said Sophie; "it may be +something about the wine." + +Richardson held a hurried conference with an +invisible messenger at the door; when she returned there +was noticeable a curious listlessness in place of her +hitherto alert manner. + +"What is it?" asked Sophie. + +"The household servants have 'downed tools,' +madame," said Richardson. + +"Downed tools!" exclaimed Sophie; "do you mean to +say they've gone on strike?" + +"Yes, madame," said Richardson, adding the +information: "It's Gaspare that the trouble is about." + +"Gaspare?" said Sophie wanderingly; "the emergency +chef! The omelette specialist!" + +"Yes, madame. Before he became an omelette +specialist he was a valet, and he was one of the strike- +breakers in the great strike at Lord Grimford's two years +ago. As soon as the household staff here learned that +you had engaged him they resolved to `down tools' as a +protest. They haven't got any grievance against you +personally, but they demand that Gaspare should be +immediately dismissed." + +"But," protested Sophie, "he is the only man in +England who understands how to make a Byzantine omelette. +I engaged him specially for the Duke of Syria's visit, +and it would be impossible to replace him at short +notice. I should have to send to Paris, and the Duke +loves Byzantine omelettes. It was the one thing we +talked about coming from the station." + +"He was one of the strike-breakers at Lord +Grimford's," reiterated Richardson. + +"This is too awful," said Sophie; "a strike of +servants at a moment like this, with the Duke of Syria +staying in the house. Something must be done +immediately. Quick, finish my hair and I'll go and see +what I can do to bring them round." + +"I can't finish your hair, madame," said Richardson +quietly, but with immense decision. "I belong to the +union and I can't do another half-minute's work till the +strike is settled. I'm sorry to be disobliging." + +"But this is inhuman!" exclaimed Sophie tragically; +"I've always been a model mistress and I've refused to +employ any but union servants, and this is the result. I +can't finish my hair myself; I don't know how to. What +am I to do? It's wicked!" + +"Wicked is the word," said Richardson; "I'm a good +Conservative and I've no patience with this Socialist +foolery, asking your pardon. It's tyranny, that's what +it is, all along the line, but I've my living to make, +same as other people, and I've got to belong to the +union. I couldn't touch another hair-pin without a +strike permit, not if you was to double my wages." + +The door burst open and Catherine Malsom raged into +the room. + +"Here's a nice affair," she screamed, "a strike of +household servants without a moment's warning, and I'm +left like this! I can't appear in public in this +condition." + +After a very hasty scrutiny Sophie assured her that +she could not. + +"Have they all struck?" she asked her maid. + +"Not the kitchen staff," said Richardson, "they +belong to a different union." + +"Dinner at least will be assured," said Sophie, +"that is something to be thankful for." + +"Dinner!" snorted Catherine, "what on earth is the +good of dinner when none of us will be able to appear at +it? Look at your hair - and look at me! or rather, +don't." + +"I know it's difficult to manage without a maid; +can't your husband be any help to you?" asked Sophie +despairingly. + +"Henry? He's in worse case than any of us. His man +is the only person who really understands that ridiculous +new-fangled Turkish bath that he insists on taking with +him everywhere." + +"Surely he could do without a Turkish bath for one +evening," said Sophie; "I can't appear without hair, but +a Turkish bath is a luxury." + +"My good woman," said Catherine, speaking with a +fearful intensity, "Henry was in the bath when the strike +started. In it, do you understand? He's there now." + +"Can't he get out?" + +"He doesn't know how to. Every time he pulls the +lever marked 'release' he only releases hot steam. There +are two kinds of steam in the bath, 'bearable' and +'scarcely bearable'; he has released them both. By this +time I'm probably a widow." + +"I simply can't send away Gaspare," wailed Sophie; +"I should never be able to secure another omelette +specialist." + +"Any difficulty that I may experience in securing +another husband is of course a trifle beneath anyone's +consideration," said Catherine bitterly. + +Sophie capitulated. "Go," she said to Richardson, +"and tell the Strike Committee, or whoever are directing +this affair, that Gaspare is herewith dismissed. And ask +Gaspare to see me presently in the library, when I will +pay him what is due to him and make what excuses I can; +and then fly back and finish my hair." + +Some half an hour later Sophie marshalled her guests +in the Grand Salon preparatory to the formal march to the +dining-room. Except that Henry Malsom was of the ripe +raspberry tint that one sometimes sees at private +theatricals representing the human complexion, there was +little outward sign among those assembled of the crisis +that had just been encountered and surmounted. But the +tension had been too stupefying while it lasted not to +leave some mental effects behind it. Sophie talked at +random to her illustrious guest, and found her eyes +straying with increasing frequency towards the great +doors through which would presently come the blessed +announcement that dinner was served. Now and again she +glanced mirror-ward at the reflection of her wonderfully +coiffed hair, as an insurance underwriter might gaze +thankfully at an overdue vessel that had ridden safely +into harbour in the wake of a devastating hurricane. +Then the doors opened and the welcome figure of the +butler entered the room. But he made no general +announcement of a banquet in readiness, and the doors +closed behind him; his message was for Sophie alone. + +"There is no dinner, madame," he said gravely; "the +kitchen staff have 'downed tools.' Gaspare belongs to +the Union of Cooks and Kitchen Employees, and as soon as +they heard of his summary dismissal at a moment's notice +they struck work. They demand his instant reinstatement +and an apology to the union. I may add, madame, that +they are very firm; I've been obliged even to hand back +the dinner rolls that were already on the table." + +After the lapse of eighteen months Sophie Chattel- +Monkheim is beginning to go about again among her old +haunts and associates, but she still has to be very +careful. The doctors will not let her attend anything at +all exciting, such as a drawing-room meeting or a Fabian +conference; it is doubtful, indeed, whether she wants to. + + +THE FEAST OF NEMESIS + + +"IT'S a good thing that Saint Valentine's Day has +dropped out of vogue," said Mrs. Thackenbury; "what with +Christmas and New Year and Easter, not to speak of +birthdays, there are quite enough remembrance days as it +is. I tried to save myself trouble at Christmas by just +sending flowers to all my friends, but it wouldn't work; +Gertrude has eleven hot-houses and about thirty +gardeners, so it would have been ridiculous to send +flowers to her, and Milly has just started a florist's +shop, so it was equally out of the question there. The +stress of having to decide in a hurry what to give to +Gertrude and Milly just when I thought I'd got the whole +question nicely off my mind completely ruined my +Christmas, and then the awful monotony of the letters of +thanks: 'Thank you so much for your lovely flowers. It +was so good of you to think of me.' Of course in the +majority of cases I hadn't thought about the recipients +at all; their names were down in my list of 'people who +must not be left out.' If I trusted to remembering them +there would be some awful sins of omission." + +"The trouble is," said Clovis to his aunt, "all +these days of intrusive remembrance harp so persistently +on one aspect of human nature and entirely ignore the +other; that is why they become so perfunctory and +artificial. At Christmas and New Year you are emboldened +and encouraged by convention to send gushing messages of +optimistic goodwill and servile affection to people whom +you would scarcely ask to lunch unless some one else had +failed you at the last moment; if you are supping at a +restaurant on New Year's Eve you are permitted and +expected to join hands and sing 'For Auld Lang Syne' with +strangers whom you have never seen before and never want +to see again. But no licence is allowed in the opposite +direction." + +"Opposite direction; what opposite direction?" +queried Mrs. Thackenbury. + +"There is no outlet for demonstrating your feelings +towards people whom you simply loathe. That is really +the crying need of our modern civilisation. Just think +how jolly it would be if a recognised day were set apart +for the paying off of old scores and grudges, a day when +one could lay oneself out to be gracefully vindictive to +a carefully treasured list of 'people who must not be let +off.' I remember when I was at a private school we had +one day, the last Monday of the term I think it was, +consecrated to the settlement of feuds and grudges; of +course we did not appreciate it as much as it deserved, +because, after all, any day of the term could be used for +that purpose. Still, if one had chastised a smaller boy +for being cheeky weeks before, one was always permitted +on that day to recall the episode to his memory by +chastising him again. That is what the French call +reconstructing the crime." + +"I should call it reconstructing the punishment," +said Mrs. Thackenbury; "and, anyhow, I don't see how you +could introduce a system of primitive schoolboy vengeance +into civilised adult life. We haven't outgrown our +passions, but we are supposed to have learned how to keep +them within strictly decorous limits." + +"Of course the thing would have to be done furtively +and politely," said Clovis; "the charm of it would be +that it would never be perfunctory like the other thing. +Now, for instance, you say to yourself: 'I must show the +Webleys some attention at Christmas, they were kind to +dear Bertie at Bournemouth,' and you send them a +calendar, and daily for six days after Christmas the male +Webley asks the female Webley if she has remembered to +thank you for the calendar you sent them. Well, +transplant that idea to the other and more human side of +your nature, and say to yourself: 'Next Thursday is +Nemesis Day; what on earth can I do to those odious +people next door who made such an absurd fuss when Ping +Yang bit their youngest child?' Then you'd get up +awfully early on the allotted day and climb over into +their garden and dig for truffles on their tennis court +with a good gardening fork, choosing, of course, that +part of the court that was screened from observation by +the laurel bushes. You wouldn't find any truffles but +you would find a great peace, such as no amount of +present-giving could ever bestow." + +"I shouldn't," said Mrs. Thackenbury, though her air +of protest sounded a bit forced; "I should feel rather a +worm for doing such a thing." + +"You exaggerate the power of upheaval which a worm +would be able to bring into play in the limited time +available," said Clovis; "if you put in a strenuous ten +minutes with a really useful fork, the result ought to +suggest the operations of an unusually masterful mole or +a badger in a hurry." + +"They might guess I had done it," said Mrs. +Thackenbury. + +"Of course they would," said Clovis; "that would be +half the satisfaction of the thing, just as you like +people at Christmas to know what presents or cards you've +sent them. The thing would be much easier to manage, of +course, when you were on outwardly friendly terms with +the object of your dislike. That greedy little Agnes +Blaik, for instance, who thinks of nothing but her food, +it would be quite simple to ask her to a picnic in some +wild woodland spot and lose her just before lunch was +served; when you found her again every morsel of food +could have been eaten up." + +"It would require no ordinary human strategy to lose +Agnes Blaik when luncheon was imminent: in fact, I don't +believe it could be done." + +"Then have all the other guests, people whom you +dislike, and lose the luncheon. It could have been sent +by accident in the wrong direction." + +"It would be a ghastly picnic," said Mrs. +Thackenbury. + +"For them, but not for you," said Clovis; "you would +have had an early and comforting lunch before you +started, and you could improve the occasion by mentioning +in detail the items of the missing banquet - the lobster +Newburg and the egg mayonnaise, and the curry that was to +have been heated in a chafing-dish. Agnes Blaik would be +delirious long before you got to the list of wines, and +in the long interval of waiting, before they had quite +abandoned hope of the lunch turning up, you could induce +them to play silly games, such as that idiotic one of +'the Lord Mayor's dinner-party,' in which every one has +to choose the name of a dish and do something futile when +it is called out. In this case they would probably burst +into tears when their dish is mentioned. It would be a +heavenly picnic." + +Mrs. Thackenbury was silent for a moment; she was +probably making a mental list of the people she would +like to invite to the Duke Humphrey picnic. Presently +she asked: "And that odious young man, Waldo Plubley, who +is always coddling himself - have you thought of anything +that one could do to him?" Evidently she was beginning +to see the possibilities of Nemesis Day. + +"If there was anything like a general observance of +the festival," said Clovis, "Waldo would be in such +demand that you would have to bespeak him weeks +beforehand, and even then, if there were an east wind +blowing or a cloud or two in the sky he might be too +careful of his precious self to come out. It would be +rather jolly if you could lure him into a hammock in the +orchard, just near the spot where there is a wasps' nest +every summer. A comfortable hammock on a warm afternoon +would appeal to his indolent tastes, and then, when he +was getting drowsy, a lighted fusee thrown into the nest +would bring the wasps out in an indignant mass, and they +would soon find a 'home away from home' on Waldo's fat +body. It takes some doing to get out of a hammock in a +hurry." + +"They might sting him to death," protested Mrs. +Thackenbury. + +"Waldo is one of those people who would be +enormously improved by death," said Clovis; "but if you +didn't want to go as far as that, you could have some wet +straw ready to hand, and set it alight under the hammock +at the same time that the fusee was thrown into the nest; +the smoke would keep all but the most militant of the +wasps just outside the stinging line, and as long as +Waldo remained within its protection he would escape +serious damage, and could be eventually restored to his +mother, kippered all over and swollen in places, but +still perfectly recognisable." + +"His mother would be my enemy for life," said Mrs. +Thackenbury. + +"That would be one greeting less to exchange at +Christmas," said Clovis. + + +THE DREAMER + + +IT was the season of sales. The august +establishment of Walpurgis and Nettlepink had lowered its +prices for an entire week as a concession to trade +observances, much as an Arch-duchess might protestingly +contract an attack of influenza for the unsatisfactory +reason that influenza was locally prevalent. Adela +Chemping, who considered herself in some measure superior +to the allurements of an ordinary bargain sale, made a +point of attending the reduction week at Walpurgis and +Nettlepink's. + +"I'm not a bargain hunter," she said, "but I like to +go where bargains are." + +Which showed that beneath her surface strength of +character there flowed a gracious undercurrent of human +weakness. + +With a view to providing herself with a male escort +Mrs. Chemping had invited her youngest nephew to +accompany her on the first day of the shopping +expedition, throwing in the additional allurement of a +cinematograph theatre and the prospect of light +refreshment. As Cyprian was not yet eighteen she hoped +he might not have reached that stage in masculine +development when parcel-carrying is looked on as a thing +abhorrent. + +"Meet me just outside the floral department," she +wrote to him, "and don't be a moment later than eleven." + +Cyprian was a boy who carried with him through early +life the wondering look of a dreamer, the eyes of one who +sees things that are not visible to ordinary mortals, and +invests the commonplace things of this world with +qualities unsuspected by plainer folk - the eyes of a +poet or a house agent. He was quietly dressed - that +sartorial quietude which frequently accompanies early +adolescence, and is usually attributed by novel-writers +to the influence of a widowed mother. His hair was +brushed back in a smoothness as of ribbon seaweed and +seamed with a narrow furrow that scarcely aimed at being +a parting. His aunt particularly noted this item of his +toilet when they met at the appointed rendezvous, because +he was standing waiting for her bare-headed. + +"Where is your hat?" she asked. + +"I didn't bring one with me," he replied. + +Adela Chemping was slightly scandalised. + +"You are not going to be what they call a Nut, are +you?" she inquired with some anxiety, partly with the +idea that a Nut would be an extravagance which her +sister's small household would scarcely be justified in +incurring, partly, perhaps, with the instinctive +apprehension that a Nut, even in its embryo stage, would +refuse to carry parcels. + +Cyprian looked at her with his wondering, dreamy +eyes. + +"I didn't bring a hat," he said, "because it is such +a nuisance when one is shopping; I mean it is so awkward +if one meets anyone one knows and has to take one's hat +off when one's hands are full of parcels. If one hasn't +got a hat on one can't take it off." + +Mrs. Chemping sighed with great relief; her worst +fear had been laid at rest. + +"It is more orthodox to wear a hat," she observed, +and then turned her attention briskly to the business in +hand. + +"We will go first to the table-linen counter," she +said, leading the way in that direction; "I should like +to look at some napkins." + +The wondering look deepened in Cyprian's eyes as he +followed his aunt; he belonged to a generation that is +supposed to be over-fond of the role of mere spectator, +but looking at napkins that one did not mean to buy was a +pleasure beyond his comprehension. Mrs. Chemping held +one or two napkins up to the light and stared fixedly at +them, as though she half expected to find some +revolutionary cypher written on them in scarcely visible +ink; then she suddenly broke away in the direction of the +glassware department. + +"Millicent asked me to get her a couple of decanters +if there were any going really cheap," she explained on +the way, "and I really do want a salad bowl. I can come +back to the napkins later on." + +She handled and scrutinised a large number of +decanters and a long series of salad bowls, and finally +bought seven chrysanthemum vases. + +"No one uses that kind of vase nowadays," she +informed Cyprian, "but they will do for presents next +Christmas." + +Two sunshades that were marked down to a price that +Mrs. Chemping considered absurdly cheap were added to her +purchases. + +"One of them will do for Ruth Colson; she is going +out to the Malay States, and a sunshade will always be +useful there. And I must get her some thin writing +paper. It takes up no room in one's baggage." + +Mrs. Chemping bought stacks of writing paper; it was +so cheap, and it went so flat in a trunk or portmanteau. +She also bought a few envelopes - envelopes somehow +seemed rather an extragavance compared with notepaper. + +"Do you think Ruth will like blue or grey paper?" +she asked Cyprian. + +"Grey," said Cyprian, who had never met the lady in +question. + +"Have you any mauve notepaper of this quality?" +Adela asked the assistant. + +"We haven't any mauve," said the assistant, "but +we've two shades of green and a darker shade of grey." + +Mrs. Chemping inspected the greens and the darker +grey, and chose the blue. + +"Now we can have some lunch," she said. + +Cyprian behaved in an exemplary fashion in the +refreshment department, and cheerfully accepted a fish +cake and a mince pie and a small cup of coffee as +adequate restoratives after two hours of concentrated +shopping. He was adamant, however, in resisting his +aunt's suggestion that a hat should be bought for him at +the counter where men's headwear was being disposed of at +temptingly reduced prices. + +"I've got as many hats as I want at home," he said, +"and besides, it rumples one's hair so, trying them on." + +Perhaps he was going to develop into a Nut after +all. It was a disquieting symptom that he left all the +parcels in charge of the cloak-room attendant. + +"We shall be getting more parcels presently," he +said, "so we need not collect these till we have finished +our shopping." + +His aunt was doubtfully appeased; some of the +pleasure and excitement of a shopping expedition seemed +to evaporate when one was deprived of immediate personal +contact with one's purchases. + +"I'm going to look at those napkins again," she +said, as they descended the stairs to the ground floor. +"You need not come," she added, as the dreaming look in +the boy's eyes changed for a moment into one of mute +protest, "you can meet me afterwards in the cutlery +department; I've just remembered that I haven't a +corkscrew in the house that can be depended on." + +Cyprian was not to be found in the cutlery +department when his aunt in due course arrived there, but +in the crush and bustle of anxious shoppers and busy +attendants it was an easy matter to miss anyone. It was +in the leather goods department some quarter of an hour +later that Adela Chemping caught sight of her nephew, +separated from her by a rampart of suit-cases and +portmanteaux and hemmed in by the jostling crush of human +beings that now invaded every corner of the great +shopping emporium. She was just in time to witness a +pardonable but rather embarrassing mistake on the part of +a lady who had wriggled her way with unstayable +determination towards the bareheaded Cyprian, and was now +breathlessly demanding the sale price of a handbag which +had taken her fancy. + +"There now," exclaimed Adela to herself, "she takes +him for one of the shop assistants because he hasn't got +a hat on. I wonder it hasn't happened before." + +Perhaps it had. Cyprian, at any rate, seemed +neither startled nor embarrassed by the error into which +the good lady had fallen. Examining the ticket on the +bag, he announced in a clear, dispassionate voice: + +"Black seal, thirty-four shillings, marked down to +twenty-eight. As a matter of fact, we are clearing them +out at a special reduction price of twenty-six shillings. +They are going off rather fast." + +"I'll take it," said the lady, eagerly digging some +coins out of her purse. + +"Will you take it as it is?" asked Cyprian; "it will +be a matter of a few minutes to get it wrapped up, there +is such a crush." + +"Never mind, I'll take it as it is," said the +purchaser, clutching her treasure and counting the money +into Cyprian's palm. + +Several kind strangers helped Adela into the open +air. + +"It's the crush and the heat," said one sympathiser +to another; "it's enough to turn anyone giddy." + +When she next came across Cyprian he was standing in +the crowd that pushed and jostled around the counters of +the book department. The dream look was deeper than ever +in his eyes. He had just sold two books of devotion to +an elderly Canon. + + +THE QUINCE TREE + + +"I'VE just been to see old Betsy Mullen," announced +Vera to her aunt, Mrs. Bebberly Cumble; "she seems in +rather a bad way about her rent. She owes about fifteen +weeks of it, and says she doesn't know where any of it is +to come from." + +"Betsy Mullen always is in difficulties with her +rent, and the more people help her with it the less she +troubles about it," said the aunt. "I certainly am not +going to assist her any more. The fact is, she will have +to go into a smaller and cheaper cottage; there are +several to be had at the other end of the village for +half the rent that she is paying, or supposed to be +paying, now. I told her a year ago that she ought to +move." + +"But she wouldn't get such a nice garden anywhere +else," protested Vera, "and there's such a jolly quince +tree in the corner. I don't suppose there's another +quince tree in the whole parish. And she never makes any +quince jam; I think to have a quince tree and not to make +quince jam shows such strength of character. Oh, she +can't possibly move away from that garden." + +"When one is sixteen," said Mrs. Bebberly Cumble +severely, "one talks of things being impossible which are +merely uncongenial. It is not only possible but it is +desirable that Betsy Mullen should move into smaller +quarters; she has scarcely enough furniture to fill that +big cottage." + +"As far as value goes," said Vera after a short +pause, "there is more in Betsy's cottage than in any +other house for miles round." + +"Nonsense," said the aunt; "she parted with whatever +old china ware she had long ago." + +"I'm not talking about anything that belongs to +Betsy herself," said Vera darkly; "but, of course, you +don't know what I know, and I don't suppose I ought to +tell you." + +"You must tell me at once," exclaimed the aunt, her +senses leaping into alertness like those of a terrier +suddenly exchanging a bored drowsiness for the lively +anticipation of an immediate rat hunt. + +"I'm perfectly certain that I oughtn't to tell you +anything about it," said Vera, "but, then, I often do +things that I oughtn't to do." + +"I should be the last person to suggest that you +should do anything that you ought not to do to - " began +Mrs. Bebberly Cumble impressively. + +"And I am always swayed by the last person who +speaks to me," admitted Vera, "so I'll do what I ought +not to do and tell you." + +Mrs. Bebberley Cumble thrust a very pardonable sense +of exasperation into the background of her mind and +demanded impatiently: + +"What is there in Betsy Mullen's cottage that you +are making such a fuss about?" + +"It's hardly fair to say that I'VE made a fuss about +it," said Vera; "this is the first time I've mentioned +the matter, but there's been no end of trouble and +mystery and newspaper speculation about it. It's rather +amusing to think of the columns of conjecture in the +Press and the police and detectives hunting about +everywhere at home and abroad, and all the while that +innocent-looking little cottage has held the secret." + +"You don't mean to say it's the Louvre picture, La +Something or other, the woman with the smile, that +disappeared about two years ago?" exclaimed the aunt with +rising excitement. + +"Oh no, not that," said Vera, "but something quite +as important and just as mysterious - if anything, rather +more scandalous." + +"Not the Dublin - ?" + +Vera nodded. + +"The whole jolly lot of them." + +"In Betsy's cottage? Incredible!" + +"Of course Betsy hasn't an idea as to what they +are," said Vera; "she just knows that they are something +valuable and that she must keep quiet about them. I +found out quite by accident what they were and how they +came to be there. You see, the people who had them were +at their wits' end to know where to stow them away for +safe keeping, and some one who was motoring through the +village was struck by the snug loneliness of the cottage +and thought it would be just the thing. Mrs. Lamper +arranged the matter with Betsy and smuggled the things +in." + +"Mrs. Lamper?" + +"Yes; she does a lot of district visiting, you +know." + +"I am quite aware that she takes soup and flannel +and improving literature to the poorer cottagers," said +Mrs. Bebberly Cumble, "but that is hardly the same sort +of thing as disposing of stolen goods, and she must have +known something about their history; anyone who reads the +papers, even casually, must have been aware of the theft, +and I should think the things were not hard to recognise. +Mrs. Lamper has always had the reputation of being a very +conscientious woman." + +"Of course she was screening some one else," said +Vera. "A remarkable feature of the affair is the +extraordinary number of quite respectable people who have +involved themselves in its meshes by trying to shield +others. You would be really astonished if you knew some +of the names of the individuals mixed up in it, and I +don't suppose a tithe of them know who the original +culprits were; and now I've got you entangled in the mess +by letting you into the secret of the cottage." + +"You most certainly have not entangled me," said +Mrs. Bebberly Cumble indignantly. "I have no intention +of shielding anybody. The police must know about it at +once; a theft is a theft, whoever is involved. If +respectable people choose to turn themselves into +receivers and disposers of stolen goods, well, they've +ceased to be respectable, that's all. I shall telephone +immediately - " + +"Oh, aunt," said Vera reproachfully, "it would break +the poor Canon's heart if Cuthbert were to be involved in +a scandal of this sort. You know it would." + +"Cuthbert involved! How can you say such things +when you know how much we all think of him?" + +"Of course I know you think a lot of him, and that +he's engaged to marry Beatrice, and that it will be a +frightfully good match, and that he's your ideal of what +a son-in-law ought to be. All the same, it was +Cuthbert's idea to stow the things away in the cottage, +and it was his motor that brought them. He was only +doing it to help his friend Pegginson, you know - the +Quaker man, who is always agitating for a smaller Navy. +I forget how he got involved in it. I warned you that +there were lots of quite respectable people mixed up in +it, didn't I? That's what I meant when I said it would +be impossible for old Betsy to leave the cottage; the +things take up a good bit of room, and she couldn't go +carrying them about with her other goods and chattels +without attracting notice. Of course if she were to fall +ill and die it would be equally unfortunate. Her mother +lived to be over ninety, she tells me, so with due care +and an absence of worry she ought to last for another +dozen years at least. By that time perhaps some other +arrangements will have been made for disposing of the +wretched things." + +"I shall speak to Cuthbert about it - after the +wedding," said Mrs. Bebberly Cumble. + +"The wedding isn't till next year," said Vera, in +recounting the story to her best girl friend, "and +meanwhile old Betsy is living rent free, with soup twice +a week and my aunt's doctor to see her whenever she has a +finger ache." + +"But how on earth did you get to know about it all?" +asked her friend, in admiring wonder. + +"It was a mystery - " said Vera. + +"Of course it was a mystery, a mystery that baffled +everybody. What beats me is how you found out - " + +"Oh, about the jewels? I invented that part," +explained Vera; "I mean the mystery was where old Betsy's +arrears of rent were to come from; and she would have +hated leaving that jolly quince tree." + + +THE FORBIDDEN BUZZARDS + + +"IS matchmaking at all in your line?" + +Hugo Peterby asked the question with a certain +amount of personal interest. + +"I don't specialise in it," said Clovis; "it's all +right while you're doing it, but the after-effects are +sometimes so disconcerting - the mute reproachful looks +of the people you've aided and abetted in matrimonial +experiments. It's as bad as selling a man a horse with +half a dozen latent vices and watching him discover them +piecemeal in the course of the hunting season. I suppose +you're thinking of the Coulterneb girl. She's certainly +jolly, and quite all right as far as looks go, and I +believe a certain amount of money adheres to her. What I +don't see is how you will ever manage to propose to her. +In all the time I've known her I don't remember her to +have stopped talking for three consecutive minutes. +You'll have to race her six times round the grass paddock +for a bet, and then blurt your proposal out before she's +got her wind back. The paddock is laid up for hay, but +if you're really in love with her you won't let a +consideration of that sort stop you, especially as it's +not your hay." + +"I think I could manage the proposing part right +enough," said Hugo, "if I could count on being left alone +with her for four or five hours. The trouble is that I'm +not likely to get anything like that amount of grace. +That fellow Lanner is showing signs of interesting +himself in the same quarter. He's quite heartbreakingly +rich and is rather a swell in his way; in fact, our +hostess is obviously a bit flattered at having him here. +If she gets wind of the fact that he's inclined to be +attracted by Betty Coulterneb she'll think it a splendid +match and throw them into each other's arms all day long, +and then where will my opportunities come in? My one +anxiety is to keep him out of the girl's way as much as +possible, and if you could help me - " + +"If you want me to trot Lanner round the +countryside, inspecting alleged Roman remains and +studying local methods of bee culture and crop raising, +I'm afraid I can't oblige you," said Clovis. "You see, +he's taken something like an aversion to me since the +other night in the smoking-room." + +"What happened in the smoking-room?" + +"He trotted out some well-worn chestnut as the +latest thing in good stories, and I remarked, quite +innocently, that I never could remember whether it was +George II. or James II. who was so fond of that +particular story, and now he regards me with politely- +draped dislike. I'll do my best for you, if the +opportunity arises, but it will have to be in a +roundabout, impersonal manner." + + +* * * * + + +"It's so nice having Mr. Lanner here," confided Mrs. +Olston to Clovis the next afternoon; "he's always been +engaged when I've asked him before. Such a nice man; he +really ought to be married to some nice girl. Between +you and me, I have an idea that he came down here for a +certain reason." + +"I've had much the same idea," said Clovis, lowering +his voice; "in fact, I'm almost certain of it." + +"You mean he's attracted by - " began Mrs. Olston +eagerly. + +"I mean he's here for what he can get," said Clovis. + +"For what he can GET?" said the hostess with a touch +of indignation in her voice; "what do you mean? He's a +very rich man. What should he want to get here?" + +"He has one ruling passion," said Clovis, "and +there's something he can get here that is not to be had +for love nor for money anywhere else in the country, as +far as I know." + +"But what? Whatever do you mean? What is his +ruling passion?" + +"Egg-collecting," said Clovis. "He has agents all +over the world getting rare eggs for him, and his +collection is one of the finest in Europe; but his great +ambition is to collect his treasures personally. He +stops at no expense nor trouble to achieve that end." + +"Good heavens! The buzzards, the rough-legged +buzzards!" exclaimed Mrs. Olston; "you don't think he's +going to raid their nest?" + +"What do you think yourself?" asked Clovis; "the +only pair of rough-legged buzzards known to breed in this +country are nesting in your woods. Very few people know +about them, but as a member of the league for protecting +rare birds that information would be at his disposal. I +came down in the train with him, and I noticed that a +bulky volume of Dresser's 'Birds of Europe' was one of +the requisites that he had packed in his travelling-kit. +It was the volume dealing with short-winged hawks and +buzzards." + +Clovis believed that if a lie was worth telling it +was worth telling well. + +"This is appalling," said Mrs. Olston; "my husband +would never forgive me if anything happened to those +birds. They've been seen about the woods for the last +year or two, but this is the first time they've nested. +As you say, they are almost the only pair known to be +breeding in the whole of Great Britain; and now their +nest is going to be harried by a guest staying under my +roof. I must do something to stop it. Do you think if I +appealed to him - " + +Clovis laughed. + +"There is a story going about, which I fancy is true +in most of its details, of something that happened not +long ago somewhere on the coast of the Sea of Marmora, in +which our friend had a hand. A Syrian nightjar, or some +such bird, was known to be breeding in the olive gardens +of a rich Armenian, who for some reason or other wouldn't +allow Lanner to go in and take the eggs, though he +offered cash down for the permission. The Armenian was +found beaten nearly to death a day or two later, and his +fences levelled. It was assumed to be a case of +Mussulman aggression, and noted as such in all the +Consular reports, but the eggs are in the Lanner +collection. No, I don't think I should appeal to his +better feelings if I were you." + +"I must do something," said Mrs. Olston tearfully; +"my husband's parting words when he went off to Norway +were an injunction to see that those birds were not +disturbed, and he's asked about them every time he's +written. Do suggest something." + +"I was going to suggest picketing," said Clovis. + +"Picketing! You mean setting guards round the +birds?" + +"No; round Lanner. He can't find his way through +those woods by night, and you could arrange that you or +Evelyn or Jack or the German governess should be by his +side in relays all day long. A fellow guest he could get +rid of, but he couldn't very well shake off members of +the household, and even the most determined collector +would hardly go climbing after forbidden buzzards' eggs +with a German governess hanging round his neck, so to +speak." + +Lanner, who had been lazily watching for an +opportunity for prosecuting his courtship of the +Coulterneb girl, found presently that his chances of +getting her to himself for ten minutes even were non- +existent. If the girl was ever alone he never was. His +hostess had changed suddenly, as far as he was concerned, +from the desirable type that lets her guests do nothing +in the way that best pleases them, to the sort that drags +them over the ground like so many harrows. She showed +him the herb garden and the greenhouses, the village +church, some water-colour sketches that her sister had +done in Corsica, and the place where it was hoped that +celery would grow later in the year. + +He was shown all the Aylesbury ducklings and the row +of wooden hives where there would have been bees if there +had not been bee disease. He was also taken to the end +of a long lane and shown a distant mound whereon local +tradition reported that the Danes had once pitched a +camp. And when his hostess had to desert him temporarily +for other duties he would find Evelyn walking solemnly by +his side. Evelyn was fourteen and talked chiefly about +good and evil, and of how much one might accomplish in +the way of regenerating the world if one was thoroughly +determined to do one's utmost. It was generally rather a +relief when she was displaced by Jack, who was nine years +old, and talked exclusively about the Balkan War without +throwing any fresh light on its political or military +history. The German governess told Lanner more about +Schiller than he had ever heard in his life about any one +person; it was perhaps his own fault for having told her +that he was not interested in Goethe. When the governess +went off picket duty the hostess was again on hand with a +not-to-be-gainsaid invitation to visit the cottage of an +old woman who remembered Charles James Fox; the woman had +been dead for two or three years, but the cottage was +still there. Lanner was called back to town earlier than +he had originally intended. + +Hugo did not bring off his affair with Betty +Coulterneb. Whether she refused him or whether, as was +more generally supposed, he did not get a chance of +saying three consecutive words, has never been exactly +ascertained. Anyhow, she is still the jolly Coulterneb +girl. + +The buzzards successfully reared two young ones, +which were shot by a local hairdresser. + + +THE STAKE + + +"RONNIE is a great trial to me," said Mrs. Attray +plaintively. "Only eighteen years old last February and +already a confirmed gambler. I am sure I don't know +where he inherits it from; his father never touched +cards, and you know how little I play - a game of bridge +on Wednesday afternoons in the winter, for three-pence a +hundred, and even that I shouldn't do if it wasn't that +Edith always wants a fourth and would be certain to ask +that detestable Jenkinham woman if she couldn't get me. +I would much rather sit and talk any day than play +bridge; cards are such a waste of time, I think. But as +to Ronnie, bridge and baccarat and poker-patience are +positively all that he thinks about. Of course I've done +my best to stop it; I've asked the Norridrums not to let +him play cards when he's over there, but you might as +well ask the Atlantic Ocean to keep quiet for a crossing +as expect them to bother about a mother's natural +anxieties." + +"Why do you let him go there?" asked Eleanor +Saxelby. + +"My dear," said Mrs. Attray, "I don't want to offend +them. After all, they are my landlords and I have to look +to them for anything I want done about the place; they +were very accommodating about the new roof for the orchid +house. And they lend me one of their cars when mine is +out of order; you know how often it gets out of order." + +"I don't know how often," said Eleanor, "but it must +happen very frequently. Whenever I want you to take me +anywhere in your car I am always told that there is +something wrong with it, or else that the chauffeur has +got neuralgia and you don't like to ask him to go out." + +"He suffers quite a lot from neuralgia," said Mrs. +Attray hastily. "Anyhow," she continued, "you can +understand that I don't want to offend the Norridrums. +Their household is the most rackety one in the county, +and I believe no one ever knows to an hour or two when +any particular meal will appear on the table or what it +will consist of when it does appear." + +Eleanor Saxelby shuddered. She liked her meals to +be of regular occurrence and assured proportions. + +"Still," pursued Mrs. Attray, "whatever their own +home life may be, as landlords and neighbours they are +considerate and obliging, so I don't want to quarrel with +them. Besides, if Ronnie didn't play cards there he'd be +playing somewhere else." + +"Not if you were firm with him," said Eleanor "I +believe in being firm." + +"Firm? I am firm," exclaimed Mrs. Attray; "I am +more than firm - I am farseeing. I've done everything I +can think of to prevent Ronnie from playing for money. +I've stopped his allowance for the rest of the year, so +he can't even gamble on credit, and I've subscribed a +lump sum to the church offertory in his name instead of +giving him instalments of small silver to put in the bag +on Sundays. I wouldn't even let him have the money to +tip the hunt servants with, but sent it by postal order. +He was furiously sulky about it, but I reminded him of +what happened to the ten shillings that I gave him for +the Young Men's Endeavour League 'Self-Denial Week.' " + +"What did happen to it?" asked Eleanor. + +"Well, Ronnie did some preliminary endeavouring with +it, on his own account, in connection with the Grand +National. If it had come off, as he expressed it, he +would have given the League twenty-five shillings and +netted a comfortable commission for himself; as it was, +that ten shillings was one of the things the League had +to deny itself. Since then I've been careful not to let +him have a penny piece in his hands." + +"He'll get round that in some way," said Eleanor +with quiet conviction; "he'll sell things." + +"My dear, he's done all that is to be done in that +direction already. He's got rid of his wrist-watch and +his hunting flask and both his cigarette cases, and I +shouldn't be surprised if he's wearing imitation-gold +sleeve links instead of those his Aunt Rhoda gave him on +his seventeenth birthday. He can't sell his clothes, of +course, except his winter overcoat, and I've locked that +up in the camphor cupboard on the pretext of preserving +it from moth. I really don't see what else he can raise +money on. I consider that I've been both firm and far- +seeing." + +"Has he been at the Norridrums lately?" asked +Eleanor. + +"He was there yesterday afternoon and stayed to +dinner," said Mrs. Attray. "I don't quite know when he +came home, but I fancy it was late." + +"Then depend on it he was gambling," said Eleanor, +with the assured air of one who has few ideas and makes +the most of them. " Late hours in the country always +mean gambling." + +"He can't gamble if he has no money and no chance of +getting any," argued Mrs. Attray; "even if one plays for +small stakes one must have a decent prospect of paying +one's losses." + +"He may have sold some of the Amherst pheasant +chicks," suggested Eleanor; "they would fetch about ten +or twelve shillings each, I daresay." + +"Ronnie wouldn't do such a thing," said Mrs. Attray; +"and anyhow I went and counted them this morning and +they're all there. No," she continued, with the quiet +satisfaction that comes from a sense of painstaking and +merited achievement, "I fancy that Ronnie had to content +himself with the role of onlooker last night, as far as +the card-table was concerned." + +"Is that clock right?" asked Eleanor, whose eyes had +been straying restlessly towards the mantel-piece for +some little time; "lunch is usually so punctual in your +establishment." + +"Three minutes past the half-hour," exclaimed Mrs. +Attray; "cook must be preparing something unusually +sumptuous in your honour. I am not in the secret; I've +been out all the morning, you know." + +Eleanor smiled forgivingly. A special effort by +Mrs. Attray's cook was worth waiting a few minutes for. + +As a matter of fact, the luncheon fare, when it made +its tardy appearance, was distinctly unworthy of the +reputation which the justly-treasured cook had built up +for herself. The soup alone would have sufficed to cast +a gloom over any meal that it had inaugurated, and it was +not redeemed by anything that followed. Eleanor said +little, but when she spoke there was a hint of tears in +her voice that was far more eloquent than outspoken +denunciation would have been, and even the insouciant +Ronald showed traces of depression when he tasted the +rognons Saltikoff. + +"Not quite the best luncheon I've enjoyed in your +house," said Eleanor at last, when her final hope had +flickered out with the savoury. + +"My dear, it's the worst meal I've sat down to for +years," said her hostess; "that last dish tasted +principally of red pepper and wet toast. I'm awfully +sorry. Is anything the matter in the kitchen, Pellin?" +she asked of the attendant maid. + +"Well, ma'am, the new cook hadn't hardly time to see +to things properly, coming in so sudden - " commenced +Pellin by way of explanation. + +"The new cook!" screamed Mrs. Attray. + +"Colonel Norridrum's cook, ma'am," said Pellin. + +"What on earth do you mean? What is Colonel +Norridrum's cook doing in my kitchen - and where is my +cook?" + +"Perhaps I can explain better than Pellin can," said +Ronald hurriedly; "the fact is, I was dining at the +Norridrums' yesterday, and they were wishing they had a +swell cook like yours, just for to-day and to-morrow, +while they've got some gourmet staying with them: their +own cook is no earthly good - well, you've seen what she +turns out when she's at all flurried. So I thought it +would be rather sporting to play them at baccarat for the +loan of our cook against a money stake, and I lost, +that's all. I have had rotten luck at baccarat all this +year." + +The remainder of his explanation, of how he had +assured the cooks that the temporary transfer had his +mother's sanction, and had smuggled the one out and the +other in during the maternal absence, was drowned in the +outcry of scandalised upbraiding. + +"If I had sold the woman into slavery there couldn't +have been a bigger fuss about it," he confided afterwards +to Bertie Norridrum, "and Eleanor Saxelby raged and +ramped the louder of the two. I tell you what, I'll bet +you two of the Amherst pheasants to five shillings that +she refuses to have me as a partner at the croquet +tournament. We're drawn together, you know." + +This time he won his bet. + + +CLOVIS ON PARENTAL RESPONSIBILITIES + + +MARION EGGELBY sat talking to Clovis on the only +subject that she ever willingly talked about - her +offspring and their varied perfections and +accomplishments. Clovis was not in what could be called a +receptive mood; the younger generation of Eggelby, +depicted in the glowing improbable colours of parent +impressionism, aroused in him no enthusiasm. Mrs. +Eggelby, on the other hand, was furnished with enthusiasm +enough for two. + +"You would like Eric," she said, argumentatively +rather than hopefully. Clovis had intimated very +unmistakably that he was unlikely to care extravagantly +for either Amy or Willie. "Yes, I feel sure you would +like Eric. Every one takes to him at once. You know, he +always reminds me of that famous picture of the youthful +David - I forget who it's by, but it's very well known." + +"That would be sufficient to set me against him, if +I saw much of him," said Clovis. "Just imagine at +auction bridge, for instance, when one was trying to +concentrate one's mind on what one's partner's original +declaration had been, and to remember what suits one's +opponents had originally discarded, what it would be like +to have some one persistently reminding one of a picture +of the youthful David. It would be simply maddening. If +Eric did that I should detest him." + +"Eric doesn't play bridge," said Mrs. Eggelby with +dignity. + +"Doesn't he?" asked Clovis; "why not?" + +"None of my children have been brought up to play +card games," said Mrs. Eggelby; "draughts and halma and +those sorts of games I encourage. Eric is considered +quite a wonderful draughts-player." + +"You are strewing dreadful risks in the path of your +family," said Clovis; "a friend of mine who is a prison +chaplain told me that among the worst criminal cases that +have come under his notice, men condemned to death or to +long periods of penal servitude, there was not a single +bridge-player. On the other hand, he knew at least two +expert draughts-players among them." + +"I really don't see what my boys have got to do with +the criminal classes," said Mrs. Eggelby resentfully. +"They have been most carefully brought up, I can assure +you that." + +"That shows that you were nervous as to how they +would turn out," said Clovis. "Now, my mother never +bothered about bringing me up. She just saw to it that I +got whacked at decent intervals and was taught the +difference between right and wrong; there is some +difference, you know, but I've forgotten what it is." + +"Forgotten the difference between right and wrong!" +exclaimed Mrs. Eggelby. + +"Well, you see, I took up natural history and a +whole lot of other subjects at the same time, and one +can't remember everything, can one? I used to know the +difference between the Sardinian dormouse and the +ordinary kind, and whether the wry-neck arrives at our +shores earlier than the cuckoo, or the other way round, +and how long the walrus takes in growing to maturity; I +daresay you knew all those sorts of things once, but I +bet you've forgotten them." + +"Those things are not important," said Mrs. Eggelby, +"but - " + +"The fact that we've both forgotten them proves that +they are important," said Clovis; "you must have noticed +that it's always the important things that one forgets, +while the trivial, unnecessary facts of life stick in +one's memory. There's my cousin, Editha Clubberley, for +instance; I can never forget that her birthday is on the +12th of October. It's a matter of utter indifference to +me on what date her birthday falls, or whether she was +born at all; either fact seems to me absolutely trivial, +or unnecessary - I've heaps of other cousins to go on +with. On the other hand, when I'm staying with +Hildegarde Shrubley I can never remember the important +circumstance whether her first husband got his unenviable +reputation on the Turf or the Stock Exchange, and that +uncertainty rules Sport and Finance out of the +conversation at once. One can never mention travel, +either, because her second husband had to live +permanently abroad." + +"Mrs. Shrubley and I move in very different +circles," said Mrs. Eggelby stiffly. + +"No one who knows Hildegarde could possibly accuse +her of moving in a circle," said Clovis; "her view of +life seems to be a non-stop run with an inexhaustible +supply of petrol. If she can get some one else to pay +for the petrol so much the better. I don't mind +confessing to you that she has taught me more than any +other woman I can think of." + +"What kind of knowledge?" demanded Mrs. Eggelby, +with the air a jury might collectively wear when finding +a verdict without leaving the box. + +"Well, among other things, she's introduced me to at +least four different ways of cooking lobster," said +Clovis gratefully. "That, of course, wouldn't appeal to +you; people who abstain from the pleasures of the card- +table never really appreciate the finer possibilities of +the dining-table. I suppose their powers of enlightened +enjoyment get atrophied from disuse." + +"An aunt of mine was very ill after eating a +lobster," said Mrs. Eggelby. + +"I daresay, if we knew more of her history, we +should find out that she'd often been ill before eating +the lobster. Aren't you concealing the fact that she'd +had measles and influenza and nervous headache and +hysteria, and other things that aunts do have, long +before she ate the lobster? Aunts that have never known +a day's illness are very rare; in fact, I don't +personally know of any. Of course if she ate it as a +child of two weeks old it might have been her first +illness - and her last. But if that was the case I think +you should have said so." + +"I must be going," said Mrs. Eggelby, in a tone +which had been thoroughly sterilised of even perfunctory +regret. + +Clovis rose with an air of graceful reluctance. + +"I have so enjoyed our little talk about Eric," he +said; "I quite look forward to meeting him some day." + +"Good-bye," said Mrs. Eggelby frostily; the +supplementary remark which she made at the back of her +throat was - + +"I'll take care that you never shall!" + + +A HOLIDAY TASK + + +KENELM JERTON entered the dining-hall of the Golden +Galleon Hotel in the full crush of the luncheon hour. +Nearly every seat was occupied, and small additional +tables had been brought in, where floor space permitted, +to accommodate latecomers, with the result that many of +the tables were almost touching each other. Jerton was +beckoned by a waiter to the only vacant table that was +discernible, and took his seat with the uncomfortable and +wholly groundless idea that nearly every one in the room +was staring at him. He was a youngish man of ordinary +appearance, quiet of dress and unobtrusive of manner, and +he could never wholly rid himself of the idea that a +fierce light of public scrutiny beat on him as though he +had been a notability or a super-nut. After he had +ordered his lunch there came the unavoidable interval of +waiting, with nothing to do but to stare at the flower- +vase on his table and to be stared at (in imagination) by +several flappers, some maturer beings of the same sex, +and a satirical-looking Jew. In order to carry off the +situation with some appearance of unconcern he became +spuriously interested in the contents of the flower-vase. + +"What is the name of these roses, d'you know?" he +asked the waiter. The waiter was ready at all times to +conceal his ignorance concerning items of the wine-list +or menu; he was frankly ignorant as to the specific name +of the roses. + +"AMY SYLVESTER PARTINGLON," said a voice at Jerton's +elbow. + +The voice came from a pleasant-faced, well-dressed +young woman who was sitting at a table that almost +touched Jerton's. He thanked her hurriedly and nervously +for the information, and made some inconsequent remark +about the flowers. + +"It is a curious thing," said the young woman, that, +"I should be able to tell you the name of those roses +without an effort of memory, because if you were to ask +me my name I should be utterly unable to give it to you." + +Jerton had not harboured the least intention of +extending his thirst for name-labels to his neighbour. +After her rather remarkable announcement, however, he was +obliged to say something in the way of polite inquiry. + +"Yes," answered the lady, "I suppose it is a case of +partial loss of memory. I was in the train coming down +here; my ticket told me that I had come from Victoria and +was bound for this place. I had a couple of five-pound +notes and a sovereign on me, no visiting cards or any +other means of identification, and no idea as to who I +am. I can only hazily recollect that I have a title; I +am Lady Somebody - beyond that my mind is a blank." + +"Hadn't you any luggage with you?" asked Jerton. + +"That is what I didn't know. I knew the name of +this hotel and made up my mind to come here, and when the +hotel porter who meets the trains asked if I had any +luggage I had to invent a dressing-bag and dress-basket; +I could always pretend that they had gone astray. I gave +him the name of Smith, and presently he emerged from a +confused pile of luggage and passengers with a dressing- +bag and dress-basket labelled Kestrel-Smith. I had to +take them; I don't see what else I could have done." + +Jerton said nothing, but he rather wondered what the +lawful owner of the baggage would do. + +"Of course it was dreadful arriving at a strange +hotel with the name of Kestrel-Smith, but it would have +been worse to have arrived without luggage. Anyhow, I +hate causing trouble." + +Jerton had visions of harassed railway officials and +distraught Kestrel-Smiths, but he made no attempt to +clothe his mental picture in words. The lady continued +her story. + +"Naturally, none of my keys would fit the things, +but I told an intelligent page boy that I had lost my +key-ring, and he had the locks forced in a twinkling. +Rather too intelligent, that boy; he will probably end in +Dartmoor. The Kestrel-Smith toilet tools aren't up to +much, but they are better than nothing." + +"If you feel sure that you have a title," said +Jerton, " why not get hold of a peerage and go right +through it?" + +"I tried that. I skimmed through the list of the +House of Lords in 'Whitaker,' but a mere printed string +of names conveys awfully little to one, you know. If you +were an army officer and had lost your identity you might +pore over the Army List for months without finding out +who your were. I'm going on another tack; I'm trying to +find out by various little tests who I am NOT - that will +narrow the range of uncertainty down a bit. You may have +noticed, for instance, that I'm lunching principally off +lobster Newburg." + +Jerton had not ventured to notice anything of the +sort. + +"It's an extravagance, because it's one of the most +expensive dishes on the menu, but at any rate it proves +that I'm not Lady Starping; she never touches shell-fish, +and poor Lady Braddleshrub has no digestion at all; if I +am HER I shall certainly die in agony in the course of +the afternoon, and the duty of finding out who I am will +devolve on the press and the police and those sort of +people; I shall be past caring. Lady Knewford doesn't +know one rose from another and she hates men, so she +wouldn't have spoken to you in any case; and Lady +Mousehilton flirts with every man she meets - I haven't +flirted with you, have I?" + +Jerton hastily gave the required assurance. + +"Well, you see," continued the lady, "that knocks +four off the list at once." + +"It'll be rather a lengthy process bringing the list +down to one," said Jerton. + +"Oh, but, of course, there are heaps of them that I +couldn't possibly be - women who've got grandchildren or +sons old enough to have celebrated their coming of age. +I've only got to consider the ones about my own age. I +tell you how you might help me this afternoon, if you +don't mind; go through any of the back numbers of COUNTRY +LIFE and those sort of papers that you can find in the +smoking-room, and see if you come across my portrait with +infant son or anything of that sort. It won't take you +ten minutes. I'll meet you in the lounge about tea-time. +Thanks awfully." + +And the Fair Unknown, having graciously pressed +Jerton into the search for her lost identity, rose and +left the room. As she passed the young man's table she +halted for a moment and whispered: + +"Did you notice that I tipped the waiter a shilling? +We can cross Lady Ulwight off the list; she would have +died rather than do that." + +At five o'clock Jerton made his way to the hotel +lounge; he had spent a diligent but fruitless quarter of +an hour among the illustrated weeklies in the smoking- +room. His new acquaintance was seated at a small tea- +table, with a waiter hovering in attendance. + +"China tea or Indian?" she asked as Jerton came up. + +"China, please, and nothing to eat. Have you +discovered anything?" + +"Only negative information. I'm not Lady Befnal. +She disapproves dreadfully of any form of gambling, so +when I recognised a well-known book maker in the hotel +lobby I went and put a tenner on an unnamed filly by +William the Third out of Mitrovitza for the three-fifteen +race. I suppose the fact of the animal being nameless +was what attracted me." + +Did it win?" asked Jerton. + +"No, came in fourth, the most irritating thing a +horse can do when you've backed it win or place. Anyhow, +I know now that I'm not Lady Befnal." + +"It seems to me that the knowledge was rather dearly +bought," commented Jerton. + +"Well, yes, it has rather cleared me out," admitted +the identity-seeker; "a florin is about all I've got left +on me. The lobster Newburg made my lunch rather an +expensive one, and, of course, I had to tip that boy for +what he did to the Kestrel-Smith locks. I've got rather +a useful idea, though. I feel certain that I belong to +the Pivot Club; I'll go back to town and ask the hall +porter there if there are any letters for me. He knows +all the members by sight, and if there are any letters or +telephone messages waiting for me of course that will +solve the problem. If he says there aren't any I shall +say: 'You know who I am, don't you?' so I'll find out +anyway." + +The plan seemed a sound one; a difficulty in its +execution suggested itself to Jerton. + +"Of course," said the lady, when he hinted at the +obstacle, "there's my fare back to town, and my bill here +and cabs and things. If you'll lend me three pounds that +ought to see me through comfortably. Thanks ever so. +Then there is the question of that luggage: I don't want +to be saddled with that for the rest of my life. I'll +have it brought down to the hall and you can pretend to +mount guard over it while I'm writing a letter. Then I +shall just slip away to the station, and you can wander +off to the smoking-room, and they can do what they like +with the things. They'll advertise them after a bit and +the owner can claim them." + +Jerton acquiesced in the manoeuvre, and duly mounted +guard over the luggage while its temporary owner slipped +unobtrusively out of the hotel. Her departure was not, +however, altogether unnoticed. Two gentlemen were +strolling past Jerton, and one of them remarked to the +other: + +"Did you see that tall young woman in grey who went +out just now? She is the Lady - " + +His promenade carried him out of earshot at the +critical moment when he was about to disclose the elusive +identity. The Lady Who? Jerton could scarcely run after +a total stranger, break into his conversation, and ask +him for information concerning a chance passer-by. +Besides, it was desirable that he should keep up the +appearance of looking after the luggage. In a minute or +two, however, the important personage, the man who knew, +came strolling back alone. Jerton summoned up all his +courage and waylaid him. + +"I think I heard you say you knew the lady who went +out of the hotel a few minutes ago, a tall lady, dressed +in grey. Excuse me for asking if you could tell me her +name; I've been talking to her for half an hour; she - er +- she knows all my people and seems to know me, so I +suppose I've met her somewhere before, but I'm blest if I +can put a name to her. Could you - ?" + +"Certainly. She's a Mrs. Stroope." + +"MRS.?" queried Jerton. + +"Yes, she's the Lady Champion at golf in my part of +the world. An awful good sort, and goes about a good +deal in Society, but she has an awkward habit of losing +her memory every now and then, and gets into all sorts of +fixes. She's furious, too, if you make any allusion to +it afterwards. Good day, sir." + +The stranger passed on his way, and before Jerton +had had time to assimilate his information he found his +whole attention centred on an angry-looking lady who was +making loud and fretful-seeming inquiries of the hotel +clerks. + +"Has any luggage been brought here from the station +by mistake, a dress-basket and dressing-case, with the +name Kestrel-Smith? It can't be traced anywhere. I saw +it put in at Victoria, that I'll swear. Why - there is +my luggage! and the locks have been tampered with!" + +Jerton heard no more. He fled down to the Turkish +bath, and stayed there for hours. + + +THE STALLED OX + + +THEOPHIL ESHLEY was an artist by profession, a +cattle painter by force of environment. It is not to be +supposed that he lived on a ranche or a dairy farm, in an +atmosphere pervaded with horn and hoof, milking-stool, +and branding-iron. His home was in a park-like, villa- +dotted district that only just escaped the reproach of +being suburban. On one side of his garden there abutted +a small, picturesque meadow, in which an enterprising +neighbour pastured some small picturesque cows of the +Channel Island persuasion. At noonday in summertime the +cows stood knee-deep in tall meadow-grass under the shade +of a group of walnut trees, with the sunlight falling in +dappled patches on their mouse-sleek coats. Eshley had +conceived and executed a dainty picture of two reposeful +milch-cows in a setting of walnut tree and meadow-grass +and filtered sunbeam, and the Royal Academy had duly +exposed the same on the walls of its Summer Exhibition. +The Royal Academy encourages orderly, methodical habits +in its children. Eshley had painted a successful and +acceptable picture of cattle drowsing picturesquely under +walnut trees, and as he had begun, so, of necessity, he +went on. His "Noontide Peace," a study of two dun cows +under a walnut tree, was followed by "A Mid-day +Sanctuary," a study of a walnut tree, with two dun cows +under it. In due succession there came "Where the Gad- +Flies Cease from Troubling," "The Haven of the Herd," and +"A-dream in Dairyland," studies of walnut trees and dun +cows. His two attempts to break away from his own +tradition were signal failures: "Turtle Doves alarmed by +Sparrow-hawk" and "Wolves on the Roman Campagna" came +back to his studio in the guise of abominable heresies, +and Eshley climbed back into grace and the public gaze +with "A Shaded Nook where Drowsy Milkers Dream." + +On a fine afternoon in late autumn he was putting +some finishing touches to a study of meadow weeds when +his neighbour, Adela Pingsford, assailed the outer door +of his studio with loud peremptory knockings. + +"There is an ox in my garden," she announced, in +explanation of the tempestuous intrusion. + +"An ox," said Eshley blankly, and rather fatuously; +"what kind of ox?" + +"Oh, I don't know what kind," snapped the lady. "A +common or garden ox, to use the slang expression. It is +the garden part of it that I object to. My garden has +just been put straight for the winter, and an ox roaming +about in it won't improve matters. Besides, there are +the chrysanthemums just coming into flower." + +"How did it get into the garden?" asked Eshley. + +"I imagine it came in by the gate," said the lady +impatiently; "it couldn't have climbed the walls, and I +don't suppose anyone dropped it from an aeroplane as a +Bovril advertisement. The immediately important question +is not how it got in, but how to get it out." + +"Won't it go?" said Eshley. + +"If it was anxious to go," said Adela Pingsford +rather angrily, "I should not have come here to chat with +you about it. I'm practically all alone; the housemaid +is having her afternoon out and the cook is lying down +with an attack of neuralgia. Anything that I may have +learned at school or in after life about how to remove a +large ox from a small garden seems to have escaped from +my memory now. All I could think of was that you were a +near neighbour and a cattle painter, presumably more or +less familiar with the subjects that you painted, and +that you might be of some slight assistance. Possibly I +was mistaken." + +"I paint dairy cows, certainly," admitted Eshley, +"but I cannot claim to have had any experience in +rounding-up stray oxen. I've seen it done on a cinema +film, of course, but there were always horses and lots of +other accessories; besides, one never knows how much of +those pictures are faked." + +Adela Pingsford said nothing, but led the way to her +garden. It was normally a fair-sized garden, but it +looked small in comparison with the ox, a huge mottled +brute, dull red about the head and shoulders, passing to +dirty white on the flanks and hind-quarters, with shaggy +ears and large blood-shot eyes. It bore about as much +resemblance to the dainty paddock heifers that Eshley was +accustomed to paint as the chief of a Kurdish nomad clan +would to a Japanese tea-shop girl. Eshley stood very +near the gate while he studied the animal's appearance +and demeanour. Adela Pingsford continued to say nothing. + +"It's eating a chrysanthemum," said Eshley at last, +when the silence had become unbearable. + +"How observant you are," said Adela bitterly. "You +seem to notice everything. As a matter of fact, it has +got six chrysanthemums in its mouth at the present +moment." + +The necessity for doing something was becoming +imperative. Eshley took a step or two in the direction +of the animal, clapped his hands, and made noises of the +"Hish" and "Shoo" variety. If the ox heard them it gave +no outward indication of the fact. + +"If any hens should ever stray into my garden," said +Adela, "I should certainly send for you to frighten them +out. You 'shoo' beautifully. Meanwhile, do you mind +trying to drive that ox away? That is a MADEMOISELLE +LOUISE BICHOT that he's begun on now," she added in icy +calm, as a glowing orange head was crushed into the huge +munching mouth. + +"Since you have been so frank about the variety of +the chrysanthemum," said Eshley, "I don't mind telling +you that this is an Ayrshire ox." + +The icy calm broke down; Adela Pingsford used +language that sent the artist instinctively a few feet +nearer to the ox. He picked up a pea-stick and flung it +with some determination against the animal's mottled +flanks. The operation of mashing MADEMOISELLE LOUISE +BICHOT into a petal salad was suspended for a long +moment, while the ox gazed with concentrated inquiry at +the stick-thrower. Adela gazed with equal concentration +and more obvious hostility at the same focus. As the +beast neither lowered its head nor stamped its feet +Eshley ventured on another javelin exercise with another +pea-stick. The ox seemed to realise at once that it was +to go; it gave a hurried final pluck at the bed where the +chrysanthemums had been, and strode swiftly up the +garden. Eshley ran to head it towards the gate, but only +succeeded in quickening its pace from a walk to a +lumbering trot. With an air of inquiry, but with no real +hesitation, it crossed the tiny strip of turf that the +charitable called the croquet lawn, and pushed its way +through the open French window into the morning-room. +Some chrysanthemums and other autumn herbage stood about +the room in vases, and the animal resumed its browsing +operations; all the same, Eshley fancied that the +beginnings of a hunted look had come into its eyes, a +look that counselled respect. He discontinued his +attempt to interfere with its choice of surroundings. + +"Mr. Eshley," said Adela in a shaking voice, "I +asked you to drive that beast out of my garden, but I did +not ask you to drive it into my house. If I must have it +anywhere on the premises I prefer the garden to the +morning-room." + +"Cattle drives are not in my line," said Eshley; "if +I remember I told you so at the outset." "I quite +agree," retorted the lady, "painting pretty pictures of +pretty little cows is what you're suited for. Perhaps +you'd like to do a nice sketch of that ox making itself +at home in my morning-room?" + +This time it seemed as if the worm had turned; +Eshley began striding away. + +"Where are you going?" screamed Adela. + +"To fetch implements," was the answer. + +"Implements? I won't have you use a lasso. The +room will be wrecked if there's a struggle." + +But the artist marched out of the garden. In a +couple of minutes he returned, laden with easel, +sketching-stool, and painting materials. + +"Do you mean to say that you're going to sit quietly +down and paint that brute while it's destroying my +morning-room?" gasped Adela. + +"It was your suggestion," said Eshley, setting his +canvas in position. + +"I forbid it; I absolutely forbid it!" stormed +Adela. + +"I don't see what standing you have in the matter," +said the artist; "you can hardly pretend that it's your +ox, even by adoption." + +"You seem to forget that it's in my morning-room, +eating my flowers," came the raging retort. + +"You seem to forget that the cook has neuralgia," +said Eshley; "she may be just dozing off into a merciful +sleep and your outcry will waken her. Consideration for +others should be the guiding principle of people in our +station of life." + +"The man is mad!" exclaimed Adela tragically. A +moment later it was Adela herself who appeared to go mad. +The ox had finished the vase-flowers and the cover of +"Israel Kalisch," and appeared to be thinking of leaving +its rather restricted quarters. Eshley noticed its +restlessness and promptly flung it some bunches of +Virginia creeper leaves as an inducement to continue the +sitting. + +"I forget how the proverb runs," he observed; of +something about 'better a dinner of herbs than a stalled +ox where hate is.' We seem to have all the ingredients +for the proverb ready to hand." + +"I shall go to the Public Library and get them to +telephone for the police," announced Adela, and, raging +audibly, she departed. + +Some minutes later the ox, awakening probably to the +suspicion that oil cake and chopped mangold was waiting +for it in some appointed byre, stepped with much +precaution out of the morning-room, stared with grave +inquiry at the no longer obtrusive and pea-stick-throwing +human, and then lumbered heavily but swiftly out of the +garden. Eshley packed up his tools and followed the +animal's example and "Larkdene" was left to neuralgia and +the cook. + +The episode was the turning-point in Eshley's +artistic career. His remarkable picture, "Ox in a +morning-room, late autumn," was one of the sensations and +successes of the next Paris Salon, and when it was +subsequently exhibited at Munich it was bought by the +Bavarian Government, in the teeth of the spirited bidding +of three meat-extract firms. From that moment his +success was continuous and assured, and the Royal Academy +was thankful, two years later, to give a conspicuous +position on its walls to his large canvas "Barbary Apes +Wrecking a Boudoir." + +Eshley presented Adela Pingsford with a new copy of +"Israel Kalisch," and a couple of finely flowering plants +of MADAME ADNRE BLUSSET, but nothing in the nature of a +real reconciliation has taken place between them. + + +THE STORY-TELLER + + +IT was a hot afternoon, and the railway carriage was +correspondingly sultry, and the next stop was at +Templecombe, nearly an hour ahead. The occupants of the +carriage were a small girl, and a smaller girl, and a +small boy. An aunt belonging to the children occupied +one corner seat, and the further corner seat on the +opposite side was occupied by a bachelor who was a +stranger to their party, but the small girls and the +small boy emphatically occupied the compartment. Both +the aunt and the children were conversational in a +limited, persistent way, reminding one of the attentions +of a housefly that refuses to be discouraged. Most of +the aunt's remarks seemed to begin with "Don't," and +nearly all of the children's remarks began with "Why?" +The bachelor said nothing out loud. "Don't, Cyril, +don't," exclaimed the aunt, as the small boy began +smacking the cushions of the seat, producing a cloud of +dust at each blow. + +"Come and look out of the window," she added. + +The child moved reluctantly to the window. "Why are +those sheep being driven out of that field?" he asked. + +"I expect they are being driven to another field +where there is more grass," said the aunt weakly. + +"But there is lots of grass in that field," +protested the boy; "there's nothing else but grass there. +Aunt, there's lots of grass in that field." + +"Perhaps the grass in the other field is better," +suggested the aunt fatuously. + +"Why is it better?" came the swift, inevitable +question. + +"Oh, look at those cows!" exclaimed the aunt. +Nearly every field along the line had contained cows or +bullocks, but she spoke as though she were drawing +attention to a rarity. + +"Why is the grass in the other field better?" +persisted Cyril. + +The frown on the bachelor's face was deepening to a +scowl. He was a hard, unsympathetic man, the aunt +decided in her mind. She was utterly unable to come to +any satisfactory decision about the grass in the other +field. + +The smaller girl created a diversion by beginning to +recite "On the Road to Mandalay." She only knew the +first line, but she put her limited knowledge to the +fullest possible use. She repeated the line over and +over again in a dreamy but resolute and very audible +voice; it seemed to the bachelor as though some one had +had a bet with her that she could not repeat the line +aloud two thousand times without stopping. Whoever it +was who had made the wager was likely to lose his bet. + +"Come over here and listen to a story," said the +aunt, when the bachelor had looked twice at her and once +at the communication cord. + +The children moved listlessly towards the aunt's end +of the carriage. Evidently her reputation as a story- +teller did not rank high in their estimation. + +In a low, confidential voice, interrupted at +frequent intervals by loud, petulant questionings from +her listeners, she began an unenterprising and deplorably +uninteresting story about a little girl who was good, and +made friends with every one on account of her goodness, +and was finally saved from a mad bull by a number of +rescuers who admired her moral character. + +"Wouldn't they have saved her if she hadn't been +good?" demanded the bigger of the small girls. It was +exactly the question that the bachelor had wanted to ask. + +"Well, yes," admitted the aunt lamely, "but I don't +think they would have run quite so fast to her help if +they had not liked her so much." + +"It's the stupidest story I've ever heard," said the +bigger of the small girls, with immense conviction. + +"I didn't listen after the first bit, it was so +stupid," said Cyril. + +The smaller girl made no actual comment on the +story, but she had long ago recommenced a murmured +repetition of her favourite line. + +"You don't seem to be a success as a story-teller," +said the bachelor suddenly from his corner. + +The aunt bristled in instant defence at this +unexpected attack. + +"It's a very difficult thing to tell stories that +children can both understand and appreciate," she said +stiffly. + +"I don't agree with you," said the bachelor. + +"Perhaps you would like to tell them a story," was +the aunt's retort. + +"Tell us a story," demanded the bigger of the small +girls. + +"Once upon a time," began the bachelor, "there was a +little girl called Bertha, who was extra-ordinarily +good." + +The children's momentarily-aroused interest began at +once to flicker; all stories seemed dreadfully alike, no +matter who told them. + +"She did all that she was told, she was always +truthful, she kept her clothes clean, ate milk puddings +as though they were jam tarts, learned her lessons +perfectly, and was polite in her manners." + +"Was she pretty?" asked the bigger of the small +girls. + +"Not as pretty as any of you," said the bachelor, +"but she was horribly good." + +There was a wave of reaction in favour of the story; +the word horrible in connection with goodness was a +novelty that commended itself. It seemed to introduce a +ring of truth that was absent from the aunt's tales of +infant life. + +"She was so good," continued the bachelor, "that she +won several medals for goodness, which she always wore, +pinned on to her dress. There was a medal for obedience, +another medal for punctuality, and a third for good +behaviour. They were large metal medals and they clicked +against one another as she walked. No other child in the +town where she lived had as many as three medals, so +everybody knew that she must be an extra good child." + +"Horribly good," quoted Cyril. + +"Everybody talked about her goodness, and the Prince +of the country got to hear about it, and he said that as +she was so very good she might be allowed once a week to +walk in his park, which was just outside the town. It +was a beautiful park, and no children were ever allowed +in it, so it was a great honour for Bertha to be allowed +to go there." + +"Were there any sheep in the park?" demanded Cyril. + +"No;" said the bachelor, "there were no sheep." + +"Why weren't there any sheep?" came the inevitable +question arising out of that answer. + +The aunt permitted herself a smile, which might +almost have been described as a grin. + +"There were no sheep in the park," said the +bachelor, "because the Prince's mother had once had a +dream that her son would either be killed by a sheep or +else by a clock falling on him. For that reason the +Prince never kept a sheep in his park or a clock in his +palace." + +The aunt suppressed a gasp of admiration. + +"Was the Prince killed by a sheep or by a clock?" +asked Cyril. + +"He is still alive, so we can't tell whether the +dream will come true," said the bachelor unconcernedly; +"anyway, there were no sheep in the park, but there were +lots of little pigs running all over the place." + +"What colour were they?" + +"Black with white faces, white with black spots, +black all over, grey with white patches, and some were +white all over." + +The storyteller paused to let a full idea of the +park's treasures sink into the children's imaginations; +then he resumed: + +"Bertha was rather sorry to find that there were no +flowers in the park. She had promised her aunts, with +tears in her eyes, that she would not pick any of the +kind Prince's flowers, and she had meant to keep her +promise, so of course it made her feel silly to find that +there were no flowers to pick." + +"Why weren't there any flowers?" + +"Because the pigs had eaten them all," said the +bachelor promptly. "The gardeners had told the Prince +that you couldn't have pigs and flowers, so he decided to +have pigs and no flowers." + +There was a murmur of approval at the excellence of +the Prince's decision; so many people would have decided +the other way. + +"There were lots of other delightful things in the +park. There were ponds with gold and blue and green fish +in them, and trees with beautiful parrots that said +clever things at a moment's notice, and humming birds +that hummed all the popular tunes of the day. Bertha +walked up and down and enjoyed herself immensely, and +thought to herself: 'If I were not so extraordinarily +good I should not have been allowed to come into this +beautiful park and enjoy all that there is to be seen in +it,' and her three medals clinked against one another as +she walked and helped to remind her how very good she +really was. Just then an enormous wolf came prowling +into the park to see if it could catch a fat little pig +for its supper." + +"What colour was it?" asked the children, amid an +immediate quickening of interest. + +"Mud-colour all over, with a black tongue and pale +grey eyes that gleamed with unspeakable ferocity. The +first thing that it saw in the park was Bertha; her +pinafore was so spotlessly white and clean that it could +be seen from a great distance. Bertha saw the wolf and +saw that it was stealing towards her, and she began to +wish that she had never been allowed to come into the +park. She ran as hard as she could, and the wolf came +after her with huge leaps and bounds. She managed to +reach a shrubbery of myrtle bushes and she hid herself in +one of the thickest of the bushes. The wolf came +sniffing among the branches, its black tongue lolling out +of its mouth and its pale grey eyes glaring with rage. +Bertha was terribly frightened, and thought to herself: +'If I had not been so extraordinarily good I should have +been safe in the town at this moment.' However, the +scent of the myrtle was so strong that the wolf could not +sniff out where Bertha was hiding, and the bushes were so +thick that he might have hunted about in them for a long +time without catching sight of her, so he thought he +might as well go off and catch a little pig instead. +Bertha was trembling very much at having the wolf +prowling and sniffing so near her, and as she trembled +the medal for obedience clinked against the medals for +good conduct and punctuality. The wolf was just moving +away when he heard the sound of the medals clinking and +stopped to listen; they clinked again in a bush quite +near him. He dashed into the bush, his pale grey eyes +gleaming with ferocity and triumph, and dragged Bertha +out and devoured her to the last morsel. All that was +left of her were her shoes, bits of clothing, and the +three medals for goodness." + +"Were any of the little pigs killed?" + +"No, they all escaped." + +"The story began badly," said the smaller of the +small girls, "but it had a beautiful ending." + +"It is the most beautiful story that I ever heard," +said the bigger of the small girls, with immense +decision. + +"It is the ONLY beautiful story I have ever heard," +said Cyril. + +A dissentient opinion came from the aunt. + +"A most improper story to tell to young children! +You have undermined the effect of years of careful +teaching." + +"At any rate," said the bachelor, collecting his +belongings preparatory to leaving the carriage, "I kept +them quiet for ten minutes, which was more than you were +able to do." + +"Unhappy woman!" he observed to himself as he walked +down the platform of Templecombe station; "for the next +six months or so those children will assail her in public +with demands for an improper story!" + + +A DEFENSIVE DIAMOND + + +TREDDLEFORD sat in an easeful arm-chair in front of +a slumberous fire, with a volume of verse in his hand and +the comfortable consciousness that outside the club +windows the rain was dripping and pattering with +persistent purpose. A chill, wet October afternoon was +merging into a bleak, wet October evening, and the club +smoking-room seemed warmer and cosier by contrast. It +was an afternoon on which to be wafted away from one's +climatic surroundings, and "The Golden journey to +Samarkand" promised to bear Treddleford well and bravely +into other lands and under other skies. He had already +migrated from London the rain-swept to Bagdad the +Beautiful, and stood by the Sun Gate "in the olden time" +when an icy breath of imminent annoyance seemed to creep +between the book and himself. Amblecope, the man with +the restless, prominent eyes and the mouth ready +mobilised for conversational openings, had planted +himself in a neighbouring arm-chair. For a twelvemonth +and some odd weeks Treddleford had skilfully avoided +making the acquaintance of his voluble fellow-clubman; he +had marvellously escaped from the infliction of his +relentless record of tedious personal achievements, or +alleged achievements, on golf links, turf, and gaming +table, by flood and field and covert-side. Now his +season of immunity was coming to an end. There was no +escape; in another moment he would be numbered among +those who knew Amblecope to speak to - or rather, to +suffer being spoken to. + +The intruder was armed with a copy of COUNTRY LIFE, +not for purposes of reading, but as an aid to +conversational ice-breaking. + +"Rather a good portrait of Throstlewing," he +remarked explosively, turning his large challenging eyes +on Treddleford; "somehow it reminds me very much of +Yellowstep, who was supposed to be such a good thing for +the Grand Prix in 1903. Curious race that was; I suppose +I've seen every race for the Grand Prix for the last - " + +"Be kind enough never to mention the Grand Prix in +my hearing," said Treddleford desperately; "it awakens +acutely distressing memories. I can't explain why +without going into a long and complicated story." + +"Oh, certainly, certainly," said Amblecope hastily; +long and complicated stories that were not told by +himself were abominable in his eyes. He turned the pages +of COUNTRY LIFE and became spuriously interested in the +picture of a Mongolian pheasant. + +"Not a bad representation of the Mongolian variety," +he exclaimed, holding it up for his neighbour's +inspection. "They do very well in some covers. Take +some stopping too, once they're fairly on the wing. I +suppose the biggest bag I ever made in two successive +days - " + +"My aunt, who owns the greater part of +Lincolnshire," broke in Treddleford, with dramatic +abruptness, "possesses perhaps the most remarkable record +in the way of a pheasant bag that has ever been achieved. +She is seventy-five and can't hit a thing, but she always +goes out with the guns. When I say she can't hit a +thing, I don't mean to say that she doesn't occasionally +endanger the lives of her fellow-guns, because that +wouldn't be true. In fact, the chief Government Whip +won't allow Ministerial M.P.'s to go out with her; 'We +don't want to incur by-elections needlessly,' he quite +reasonably observed. Well, the other day she winged a +pheasant, and brought it to earth with a feather or two +knocked out of it; it was a runner, and my aunt saw +herself in danger of being done out of about the only +bird she'd hit during the present reign. Of course she +wasn't going to stand that; she followed it through +bracken and brushwood, and when it took to the open +country and started across a ploughed field she jumped on +to the shooting pony and went after it. The chase was a +long one, and when my aunt at last ran the bird to a +standstill she was nearer home than she was to the +shooting party; she had left that some five miles behind +her." + +"Rather a long run for a wounded pheasant," snapped +Amblecope. + +"The story rests on my aunt's authority," said +Treddleford coldly, "and she is local vice-president of +the Young Women's Christian Association. She trotted +three miles or so to her home, and it was not till the +middle of the afternoon that it was discovered that the +lunch for the entire shooting party was in a pannier +attached to the pony's saddle. Anyway, she got her +bird." + +"Some birds, of course, take a lot of killing," said +Amblecope; "so do some fish. I remember once I was +fishing in the Exe, lovely trout stream, lots of fish, +though they don't run to any great size - " + +"One of them did," announced Treddleford, with +emphasis. "My uncle, the Bishop of Southmolton, came +across a giant trout in a pool just off the main stream +of the Exe near Ugworthy; he tried it with every kind of +fly and worm every day for three weeks without an atom of +success, and then Fate intervened on his behalf. There +was a low stone bridge just over this pool, and on the +last day of his fishing holiday a motor van ran violently +into the parapet and turned completely over; no one was +hurt, but part of the parapet was knocked away, and the +entire load that the van was carrying was pitched over +and fell a little way into the pool. In a couple of +minutes the giant trout was flapping and twisting on bare +mud at the bottom of a waterless pool, and my uncle was +able to walk down to him and fold him to his breast. The +van-load consisted of blotting-paper, and every drop of +water in that pool had been sucked up into the mass of +spilt cargo." + +There was silence for nearly half a minute in the +smoking-room, and Treddleford began to let his mind steal +back towards the golden road that led to Samarkand. +Amblecope, however, rallied, and remarked in a rather +tired and dispirited voice: + +"Talking of motor accidents, the narrowest squeak I +ever had was the other day, motoring with old Tommy Yarby +in North Wales. Awfully good sort, old Yarby, thorough +good sportsman, and the best - " + +"It was in North Wales," said Treddleford, "that my +sister met with her sensational carriage accident last +year. She was on her way to a garden-party at Lady +Nineveh's, about the only garden-party that ever comes to +pass in those parts in the course of the year, and +therefore a thing that she would have been very sorry to +miss. She was driving a young horse that she'd only +bought a week or two previously, warranted to be +perfectly steady with motor traffic, bicycles, and other +common objects of the roadside. The animal lived up to +its reputation, and passed the most explosive of motor- +bikes with an indifference that almost amounted to +apathy. However, I suppose we all draw the line +somewhere, and this particular cob drew it at travelling +wild beast shows. Of course my sister didn't know that, +but she knew it very distinctly when she turned a sharp +corner and found herself in a mixed company of camels, +piebald horses, and canary-coloured vans. The dogcart +was overturned in a ditch and kicked to splinters, and +the cob went home across country. Neither my sister nor +the groom was hurt, but the problem of how to get to the +Nineveh garden-party, some three miles distant, seemed +rather difficult to solve; once there, of course, my +sister would easily find some one to drive her home. 'I +suppose you wouldn't care for the loan of a couple of my +camels?' the showman suggested, in humorous sympathy. ' +I would,' said my sister, who had ridden camel-back in +Egypt, and she overruled the objections of the groom, who +hadn't. She picked out two of the most presentable- +looking of the beasts and had them dusted and made as +tidy as was possible at short notice, and set out for the +Nineveh mansion. You may imagine the sensation that her +small but imposing caravan created when she arrived at +the hall door. The entire garden-party flocked up to +gape. My sister was rather glad to slip down from her +camel, and the groom was thankful to scramble down from +his. Then young Billy Doulton, of the Dragoon Guards, +who has been a lot at Aden and thinks he knows camel- +language backwards, thought he would show off by making +the beasts kneel down in orthodox fashion. Unfortunately +camel words-of-command are not the same all the world +over; these were magnificent Turkestan camels, accustomed +to stride up the stony terraces of mountain passes, and +when Doulton shouted at them they went side by side up +the front steps, into the entrance hall, and up the grand +staircase. The German governess met them just at the +turn of the corridor. The Ninevehs nursed her with +devoted attention for weeks, and when I last heard from +them she was well enough to go about her duties again, +but the doctor says she will always suffer from Hagenbeck +heart." + +Amblecope got up from his chair and moved to another +part of the room. Treddleford reopened his book and +betook himself once more across + + +The dragon-green, the luminous, the dark, the +serpent-haunted sea. + + +For a blessed half-hour he disported himself in +imagination by the "gay Aleppo-Gate," and listened to the +bird-voiced singing-man. Then the world of to-day called +him back; a page summoned him to speak with a friend on +the telephone. + +As Treddleford was about to pass out of the room he +encountered Amblecope, also passing out, on his way to +the billiard-room, where, perchance, some luckless wight +might be secured and held fast to listen to the number of +his attendances at the Grand Prix, with subsequent +remarks on Newmarket and the Cambridgeshire. Amblecope +made as if to pass out first, but a new-born pride was +surging in Treddleford's breast and he waved him back. + +"I believe I take precedence," he said coldly; "you +are merely the club Bore; I am the club Liar." + + +THE ELK + + +TERESA, Mrs. Thropplestance, was the richest and +most intractable old woman in the county of Woldshire. +In her dealings with the world in general her manner +suggested a blend between a Mistress of the Robes and a +Master of Foxhounds, with the vocabulary of both. In her +domestic circle she comported herself in the arbitrary +style that one attributes, probably without the least +justification, to an American political Boss in the bosom +of his caucus. The late Theodore Thropplestance had left +her, some thirty-five years ago, in absolute possession +of a considerable fortune, a large landed property, and a +gallery full of valuable pictures. In those intervening +years she had outlived her son and quarrelled with her +elder grandson, who had married without her consent or +approval. Bertie Thropplestance, her younger grandson, +was the heir-designate to her property, and as such he +was a centre of interest and concern to some half-hundred +ambitious mothers with daughters of marriageable age. +Bertie was an amiable, easy-going young man, who was +quite ready to marry anyone who was favourably +recommended to his notice, but he was not going to waste +his time in falling in love with anyone who would come +under his grandmother's veto. The favourable +recommendation would have to come from Mrs. +Thropplestance. + +Teresa's house-parties were always rounded off with +a plentiful garnishing of presentable young women and +alert, attendant mothers, but the old lady was +emphatically discouraging whenever any one of her girl +guests became at all likely to outbid the others as a +possible granddaughter-in-law. It was the inheritance of +her fortune and estate that was in question, and she was +evidently disposed to exercise and enjoy her powers of +selection and rejection to the utmost. Bertie's +preferences did not greatly matter; he was of the sort +who can be stolidly happy with any kind of wife; he had +cheerfully put up with his grandmother all his life, so +was not likely to fret and fume over anything that might +befall him in the way of a helpmate. + +The party that gathered under Teresa's roof in +Christmas week of the year nineteen-hundred-and-something +was of smaller proportions than usual, and Mrs. Yonelet, +who formed one of the party, was inclined to deduce +hopeful augury from this circumstance. Dora Yonelet and +Bertie were so obviously made for one another, she +confided to the vicar's wife, and if the old lady were +accustomed to seeing them about a lot together she might +adopt the view that they would make a suitable married +couple. + +"People soon get used to an idea if it is dangled +constantly before their eyes," said Mrs. Yonelet +hopefully, "and the more often Teresa sees those young +people together, happy in each other's company, the more +she will get to take a kindly interest in Dora as a +possible and desirable wife for Bertie." + +"My dear," said the vicar's wife resignedly, "my own +Sybil was thrown together with Bertie under the most +romantic circumstances - I'll tell you about it some day +- but it made no impression whatever on Teresa; she put +her foot down in the most uncompromising fashion, and +Sybil married an Indian civilian." + +"Quite right of her," said Mrs. Yonelet with vague +approval; "it's what any girl of spirit would have done. +Still, that was a year or two ago, I believe; Bertie is +older now, and so is Teresa. Naturally she must be +anxious to see him settled." + +The vicar's wife reflected that Teresa seemed to be +the one person who showed no immediate anxiety to supply +Bertie with a wife, but she kept the thought to herself. + +Mrs. Yonelet was a woman of resourceful energy and +generalship; she involved the other members of the house- +party, the deadweight, so to speak, in all manner of +exercises and occupations that segregated them from +Bertie and Dora, who were left to their own devisings - +that is to say, to Dora's devisings and Bertie's +accommodating acquiescence. Dora helped in the Christmas +decorations of the parish church, and Bertie helped her +to help. Together they fed the swans, till the birds +went on a dyspepsia-strike, together they played +billiards, together they photographed the village +almshouses, and, at a respectful distance, the tame elk +that browsed in solitary aloofness in the park. It was +"tame" in the sense that it had long ago discarded the +least vestige of fear of the human race; nothing in its +record encouraged its human neighbours to feel a +reciprocal confidence. + +Whatever sport or exercise or occupation Bertie and +Dora indulged in together was unfailingly chronicled and +advertised by Mrs. Yonelet for the due enlightenment of +Bertie's grandmother. + +"Those two inseparables have just come in from a +bicycle ride," she would announce; "quite a picture they +make, so fresh and glowing after their spin." + +"A picture needing words," would be Teresa's private +comment, and as far as Bertie was concerned she was +determined that the words should remain unspoken. + +On the afternoon after Christmas Day Mrs. Yonelet +dashed into the drawing-room, where her hostess was +sitting amid a circle of guests and teacups and muffin- +dishes. Fate had placed what seemed like a trump-card in +the hands of the patiently-manoeuvring mother. With eyes +blazing with excitement and a voice heavily escorted with +exclamation marks she made a dramatic announcement. + +"Bertie has saved Dora from the elk!" + +In swift, excited sentences, broken with maternal +emotion, she gave supplementary information as to how the +treacherous animal had ambushed Dora as she was hunting +for a strayed golf ball, and how Bertie had dashed to her +rescue with a stable fork and driven the beast off in the +nick of time. + +"It was touch and go! She threw her niblick at it, +but that didn't stop it. In another moment she would +have been crushed beneath its hoofs," panted Mrs. +Yonelet. + +"The animal is not safe," said Teresa, handing her +agitated guest a cup of tea. "I forget if you take +sugar. I suppose the solitary life it leads has soured +its temper. There are muffins in the grate. It's not my +fault; I've tried to get it a mate for ever so long. You +don't know of anyone with a lady elk for sale or +exchange, do you?" she asked the company generally. + +But Mrs. Yonelet was in no humour to listen to talk +of elk marriages. The mating of two human beings was the +subject uppermost in her mind, and the opportunity for +advancing her pet project was too valuable to be +neglected. + +"Teresa," she exclaimed impressively, "after those +two young people have been thrown together so +dramatically, nothing can be quite the same again between +them. Bertie has done more than save Dora's life; he has +earned her affection. One cannot help feeling that Fate +has consecrated them for one another." + +"Exactly what the vicar's wife said when Bertie +saved Sybil from the elk a year or two ago," observed +Teresa placidly; "I pointed out to her that he had +rescued Mirabel Hicks from the same predicement a few +months previously, and that priority really belonged to +the gardener's boy, who had been rescued in the January +of that year. There is a good deal of sameness in +country life, you know." + +"It seems to be a very dangerous animal," said one +of the guests. + +"That's what the mother of the gardener's boy said," +remarked Teresa; "she wanted me to have it destroyed, but +I pointed out to her that she had eleven children and I +had only one elk. I also gave her a black silk skirt; +she said that though there hadn't been a funeral in her +family she felt as if there had been. Anyhow, we parted +friends. I can't offer you a silk skirt, Emily, but you +may have another cup of tea. As I have already remarked, +there are muffins in the grate." + +Teresa dosed the discussion, having deftly conveyed +the impression that she considered the mother of the +gardener's boy had shown a far more reasonable spirit +than the parents of other elk-assaulted victims. + +"Teresa is devoid of feeling," said Mrs. Yonelet +afterwards to the vicar's wife; "to sit there, talking of +muffins, with an appalling tragedy only narrowly averted +- " + +"Of course you know whom she really intends Bertie +to marry?" asked the vicar's wife; "I've noticed it for +some time. The Bickelbys' German governess." + +"A German governess! What an idea!" gasped Mrs. +Yonelet. + +"She's of quite good family, I believe," said the +vicar's wife, "and not at all the mouse-in-the-back- +ground sort of person that governesses are usually +supposed to be. In fact, next to Teresa, she's about the +most assertive and combative personality in the +neighbourhood. She's pointed out to my husband all sorts +of errors in his sermons, and she gave Sir Laurence a +public lecture on how he ought to handle the hounds. You +know how sensitive Sir Laurence is about any criticism of +his Mastership, and to have a governess laying down the +law to him nearly drove him into a fit. She's behaved +like that to every one, except, of course, Teresa, and +every one has been defensively rude to her in return. +The Bickelbys are simply too afraid of her to get rid of +her. Now isn't that exactly the sort of woman whom +Teresa would take a delight in installing as her +successor? Imagine the discomfort and awkwardness in the +county if we suddenly found that she was to be the future +hostess at the Hall. Teresa's only regret will be that +she won't be alive to see it." + +"But," objected Mrs. Yonelet, "surely Bertie hasn't +shown the least sign of being attracted in that quarter?" + +"Oh, she's quite nice-looking in a way, and dresses +well, and plays a good game of tennis. She often comes +across the park with messages from the Bickelby mansion, +and one of these days Bertie will rescue her from the +elk, which has become almost a habit with him, and Teresa +will say that Fate has consecrated them to one another. +Bertie might not be disposed to pay much attention to the +consecrations of Fate, but he would not dream of opposing +his grandmother." + +The vicar's wife spoke with the quiet authority of +one who has intuitive knowledge, and in her heart of +hearts Mrs. Yonelet believed her. + +Six months later the elk had to be destroyed. In a +fit of exceptional moroseness it had killed the +Bickelbys' German governess. It was an irony of its fate +that it should achieve popularity in the last moments of +its career; at any rate, it established, the record of +being the only living thing that had permanently thwarted +Teresa Thropplestance's plans. + +Dora Yonelet broke off her engagement with an Indian +civilian, and married Bertie three months after his +grandmother's death - Teresa did not long survive the +German governess fiasco. At Christmas time every year +young Mrs. Thropplestance hangs an extra large festoon of +evergreens on the elk horns that decorate the hall. + +"It was a fearsome beast," she observes to Bertie, +"but I always feel that it was instrumental in bringing +us together." + +Which, of course, was true. + + +"DOWN PENS" + + +"HAVE you written to thank the Froplinsons for what +they sent us?" asked Egbert. + +"No," said Janetta, with a note of tired defiance in +her voice; "I've written eleven letters to-day expressing +surprise and gratitude for sundry unmerited gifts, but I +haven't written to the Froplinsons." + +"Some one will have to write to them," said Egbert. + +"I don't dispute the necessity, but I don't think +the some one should be me," said Janetta. "I wouldn't +mind writing a letter of angry recrimination or heartless +satire to some suitable recipient; in fact, I should +rather enjoy it, but I've come to the end of my capacity +for expressing servile amiability. Eleven letters to-day +and nine yesterday, all couched in the same strain of +ecstatic thankfulness: really, you can't expect me to sit +down to another. There is such a thing as writing +oneself out." + +"I've written nearly as many," said Egbert, "and +I've had my usual business correspondence to get through, +too. Besides, I don't know what it was that the +Froplinsons sent us." + +"A William the Conqueror calendar," said Janetta, +"with a quotation of one of his great thoughts for every +day in the year." + +"Impossible," said Egbert; "he didn't have three +hundred and sixty-five thoughts in the whole of his life, +or, if he did, he kept them to himself. He was a man of +action, not of introspection." + +"Well, it was William Wordsworth, then," said +Janetta; "I know William came into it somewhere." + +"That sounds more probable," said Egbert; "well, +let's collaborate on this letter of thanks and get it +done. I'll dictate, and you can scribble it down. 'Dear +Mrs. Froplinson - thank you and your husband so much for +the very pretty calendar you sent us. It was very good +of you to think of us.' " + +"You can't possibly say that," said Janetta, laying +down her pen. + +"It's what I always do say, and what every one says +to me," protested Egbert. + +"We sent them something on the twenty-second," said +Janetta, "so they simply HAD to think of us. There was +no getting away from it." + +"What did we send them?" asked Egbert gloomily. + +"Bridge-markers," said Janetta, "in a cardboard +case, with some inanity about 'digging for fortune with a +royal spade' emblazoned on the cover. The moment I saw +it in the shop I said to myself 'Froplinsons' and to the +attendant 'How much?' When he said 'Ninepence,' I gave +him their address, jabbed our card in, paid tenpence or +elevenpence to cover the postage, and thanked heaven. +With less sincerity and infinitely more trouble they +eventually thanked me." + +"The Froplinsons don't play bridge," said Egbert. + +"One is not supposed to notice social deformities of +that sort," said Janetta; "it wouldn't be polite. +Besides, what trouble did they take to find out whether +we read Wordsworth with gladness? For all they knew or +cared we might be frantically embedded in the belief that +all poetry begins and ends with John Masefield, and it +might infuriate or depress us to have a daily sample of +Wordsworthian products flung at us." + +"Well, let's get on with the letter of thanks," said +Egbert. + +"Proceed," said Janetta. + +" 'How clever of you to guess that Wordsworth is our +favourite poet,' " dictated Egbert. + +Again Janetta laid down her pen. + +"Do you realise what that means?" she asked; "a +Wordsworth booklet next Christmas, and another calendar +the Christmas after, with the same problem of having to +write suitable letters of thankfulness. No, the best +thing to do is to drop all further allusion to the +calendar and switch off on to some other topic." + +"But what other topic?" + +"Oh, something like this: 'What do you think of the +New Year Honours List? A friend of ours made such a +clever remark when he read it.' Then you can stick in +any remark that comes into your head; it needn't be +clever. The Froplinsons won't know whether it is or +isn't." + +"We don't even know on which side they are in +politics," objected Egbert; "and anyhow you can't +suddenly dismiss the subject of the calendar. Surely +there must be some intelligent remark that can be made +about it." + +"Well, we can't think of one," said Janetta wearily; +"the fact is, we've both written ourselves out. Heavens! +I've just remembered Mrs. Stephen Ludberry. I haven't +thanked her for what she sent." + +"What did she send?" + +"I forget; I think it was a calendar." + +There was a long silence, the forlorn silence of +those who are bereft of hope and have almost ceased to +care. + +Presently Egbert started from his seat with an air +of resolution. The light of battle was in his eyes. + +"Let me come to the writing-table," he exclaimed. + +"Gladly," said Janetta. "Are you going to write to +Mrs. Ludberry or the Froplinsons?" + +"To neither," said Egbert, drawing a stack of +notepaper towards him; "I'm going to write to the editor +of every enlightened and influential newspaper in the +Kingdom, I'm going to suggest that there should be a sort +of epistolary Truce of God during the festivities of +Christmas and New Year. From the twenty-fourth of +December to the third or fourth of January it shall be +considered an offence against good sense and good feeling +to write or expect any letter or communication that does +not deal with the necessary events of the moment. +Answers to invitations, arrangements about trains, +renewal of club subscriptions, and, of course, all the +ordinary everyday affairs of business, sickness, engaging +new cooks, and so forth, these will be dealt with in the +usual manner as something inevitable, a legitimate part +of our daily life. But all the devastating accretions of +correspondence, incident to the festive season, these +should be swept away to give the season a chance of being +really festive, a time of untroubled, unpunctuated peace +and good will." + +"But you would have to make some acknowledgment of +presents received," objected Janetta; "otherwise people +would never know whether they had arrived safely." + +"Of course, I have thought of that," said Egbert; +"every present that was sent off would be accompanied by +a ticket bearing the date of dispatch and the signature +of the sender, and some conventional hieroglyphic to show +that it was intended to be a Christmas or New Year gift; +there would be a counterfoil with space for the +recipient's name and the date of arrival, and all you +would have to do would be to sign and date the +counterfoil, add a conventional hieroglyphic indicating +heartfelt thanks and gratified surprise, put the thing +into an envelope and post it." + +"It sounds delightfully simple," said Janetta +wistfully, "but people would consider it too cut-and- +dried, too perfunctory." + +"It is not a bit more perfunctory than the present +system," said Egbert; "I have only the same conventional +language of gratitude at my disposal with which to thank +dear old Colonel Chuttle for his perfectly delicious +Stilton, which we shall devour to the last morsel, and +the Froplinsons for their calendar, which we shall never +look at. Colonel Chuttle knows that we are grateful for +the Stilton, without having to be told so, and the +Froplinsons know that we are bored with their calendar, +whatever we may say to the contrary, just as we know that +they are bored with the bridge-markers in spite of their +written assurance that they thanked us for our charming +little gift. What is more, the Colonel knows that even +if we had taken a sudden aversion to Stilton or been +forbidden it by the doctor, we should still have written +a letter of hearty thanks around it. So you see the +present system of acknowledgment is just as perfunctory +and conventional as the counterfoil business would be, +only ten times more tiresome and brain-racking." + +"Your plan would certainly bring the ideal of a +Happy Christmas a step nearer realisation," said Janetta. + +"There are exceptions, of course," said Egbert, +"people who really try to infuse a breath of reality into +their letters of acknowledgment. Aunt Susan, for +instance, who writes: 'Thank you very much for the ham; +not such a good flavour as the one you sent last year, +which itself was not a particularly good one. Hams are +not what they used to be.' It would be a pity to be +deprived of her Christmas comments, but that loss would +be swallowed up in the general gain." + +"Meanwhile," said Janetta, "what am I to say to the +Froplinsons?" + + +THE NAME-DAY + + +ADVENTURES, according to the proverb, are to the +adventurous. Quite as often they are to the non- +adventurous, to the retiring, to the constitutionally +timid. John James Abbleway had been endowed by Nature +with the sort of disposition that instinctively avoids +Carlist intrigues, slum crusades, the tracking of wounded +wild beasts, and the moving of hostile amendments at +political meetings. If a mad dog or a Mad Mullah had +come his way he would have surrendered the way without +hesitation. At school he had unwillingly acquired a +thorough knowledge of the German tongue out of deference +to the plainly-expressed wishes of a foreign-languages +master, who, though he taught modern subjects, employed +old-fashioned methods in driving his lessons home. It +was this enforced familiarity with an important +commercial language which thrust Abbleway in later years +into strange lands where adventures were less easy to +guard against than in the ordered atmosphere of an +English country town. The firm that he worked for saw +fit to send him one day on a prosaic business errand to +the far city of Vienna, and, having sent him there, +continued to keep him there, still engaged in humdrum +affairs of commerce, but with the possibilities of +romance and adventure, or even misadventure, jostling at +his elbow. After two and a half years of exile, however, +John James Abbleway had embarked on only one hazardous +undertaking, and that was of a nature which would +assuredly have overtaken him sooner or later if he had +been leading a sheltered, stay-at-home existence at +Dorking or Huntingdon. He fell placidly in love with a +placidly lovable English girl, the sister of one of his +commercial colleagues, who was improving her mind by a +short trip to foreign parts, and in due course he was +formally accepted as the young man she was engaged to. +The further step by which she was to become Mrs. John +Abbleway was to take place a twelvemonth hence in a town +in the English midlands, by which time the firm that +employed John James would have no further need for his +presence in the Austrian capital. + +It was early in April, two months after the +installation of Abbleway as the young man Miss Penning +was engaged to, when he received a letter from her, +written from Venice. She was still peregrinating under +the wing of her brother, and as the latter's business +arrangements would take him across to Fiume for a day or +two, she had conceived the idea that it would be rather +jolly if John could obtain leave of absence and run down +to the Adriatic coast to meet them. She had looked up +the route on the map, and the journey did not appear +likely to be expensive. Between the lines of her +communication there lay a hint that if he really cared +for her - + +Abbleway obtained leave of absence and added a +journey to Fiume to his life's adventures. He left +Vienna on a cold, cheerless day. The flower shops were +full of spring blooms, and the weekly organs of +illustrated humour were full of spring topics, but the +skies were heavy with clouds that looked like cotton-wool +that has been kept over long in a shop window. + +"Snow comes," said the train official to the station +officials; and they agreed that snow was about to come. +And it came, rapidly, plenteously. The train had not +been more than an hour on its journey when the cotton- +wool clouds commenced to dissolve in a blinding downpour +of snowflakes. The forest trees on either side of the +line were speedily coated with a heavy white mantle, the +telegraph wires became thick glistening ropes, the line +itself was buried more and more completely under a +carpeting of snow, through which the not very powerful +engine ploughed its way with increasing difficulty. The +Vienna-Fiume line is scarcely the best equipped of the +Austrian State railways, and Abbleway began to have +serious fears for a breakdown. The train had slowed down +to a painful and precarious crawl and presently came to a +halt at a spot where the drifting snow had accumulated in +a formidable barrier. The engine made a special effort +and broke through the obstruction, but in the course of +another twenty minutes it was again held up. The process +of breaking through was renewed, and the train doggedly +resumed its way, encountering and surmounting fresh +hindrances at frequent intervals. After a standstill of +unusually long duration in a particularly deep drift the +compartment in which Abbleway was sitting gave a huge +jerk and a lurch, and then seemed to remain stationary; +it undoubtedly was not moving, and yet he could hear the +puffing of the engine and the slow rumbling and jolting +of wheels. The puffing and rumbling grew fainter, as +though it were dying away through the agency of +intervening distance. Abbleway suddenly gave vent to an +exclamation of scandalised alarm, opened the window, and +peered out into the snowstorm. The flakes perched on his +eyelashes and blurred his vision, but he saw enough to +help him to realise what had happened. The engine had +made a mighty plunge through the drift and had gone +merrily forward, lightened of the load of its rear +carriage, whose coupling had snapped under the strain. +Abbleway was alone, or almost alone, with a derelict +railway waggon, in the heart of some Styrian or Croatian +forest. In the third-class compartment next to his own +he remembered to have seen a peasant woman, who had +entered the train at a small wayside station. "With the +exception of that woman," he exclaimed dramatically to +himself, "the nearest living beings are probably a pack +of wolves." + +Before making his way to the third-class compartment +to acquaint his fellow-traveller with the extent of the +disaster Abbleway hurriedly pondered the question of the +woman's nationality. He had acquired a smattering of +Slavonic tongues during his residence in Vienna, and felt +competent to grapple with several racial possibilities. + +"If she is Croat or Serb or Bosniak I shall be able +to make her understand," he promised himself. "If she is +Magyar, heaven help me! We shall have to converse +entirely by signs." + +He entered the carriage and made his momentous +announcement in the best approach to Croat speech that he +could achieve. + +"The train has broken away and left us!" + +The woman shook her head with a movement that might +be intended to convey resignation to the will of heaven, +but probably meant noncomprehension. Abbleway repeated +his information with variations of Slavonic tongues and +generous displays of pantomime. + +"Ah," said the woman at last in German dialect, "the +train has gone? We are left. Ah, so." + +She seemed about as much interested as though +Abbleway had told her the result of the municipal +elections in Amsterdam. + +"They will find out at some station, and when the +line is clear of snow they will send an engine. It +happens that way sometimes." + +"We may be here all night!" exclaimed Abbleway. + +The woman nodded as though she thought it possible. + +"Are there wolves in these parts?" asked Abbleway +hurriedly. + +"Many," said the woman; "just outside this forest my +aunt was devoured three years ago, as she was coming home +from market. The horse and a young pig that was in the +cart were eaten too. The horse was a very old one, but +it was a beautiful young pig, oh, so fat. I cried when I +heard that it was taken. They spare nothing." + +"They may attack us here," said Abbleway +tremulously; "they could easily break in, these carriages +are like matchwood. We may both be devoured." + +"You, perhaps," said the woman calmly; "not me." + +"Why not you?" demanded Abbleway. + +"It is the day of Saint Maria Kleopha, my name-day. +She would not allow me to be eaten by wolves on her day. +Such a thing could not be thought of. You, yes, but not +me." + +Abbleway changed the subject. + +"It is only afternoon now; if we are to be left here +till morning we shall be starving." + +"I have here some good eatables," said the woman +tranquilly; "on my festival day it is natural that I +should have provision with me. I have five good blood- +sausages; in the town shops they cost twenty-five heller +each. Things are dear in the town shops." + +"I will give you fifty heller apiece for a couple of +them," said Abbleway with some enthusiasm. + +"In a railway accident things become very dear," +said the woman; "these blood-sausages are four kronen +apiece." + +"Four kronen!" exclaimed Abbleway; "four kronen for +a blood-sausage!" + +"You cannot get them any cheaper on this train," +said the woman, with relentless logic, "because there +aren't any others to get. In Agram you can buy them +cheaper, and in Paradise no doubt they will be given to +us for nothing, but here they cost four kronen each. I +have a small piece of Emmenthaler cheese and a honey-cake +and a piece of bread that I can let you have. That will +be another three kronen, eleven kronen in all. There is +a piece of ham, but that I cannot let you have on my +name-day." + +Abbleway wondered to himself what price she would +have put on the ham, and hurried to pay her the eleven +kronen before her emergency tariff expanded into a famine +tariff. As he was taking possession of his modest store +of eatables he suddenly heard a noise which set his heart +thumping in a miserable fever of fear. 'There was a +scraping and shuffling as of some animal or animals +trying to climb up to the footboard. In another moment, +through the snow-encrusted glass of the carriage window, +he saw a gaunt prick-eared head, with gaping jaw and +lolling tongue and gleaming teeth; a second later another +head shot up. + +"There are hundreds of them," whispered Abbleway; +"they have scented us. They will tear the carriage to +pieces. We shall be devoured." + +"Not me, on my name-day. The holy Maria Kleopha +would not permit it," said the woman with provoking calm. + +The heads dropped down from the window and an +uncanny silence fell on the beleaguered carriage. +Abbleway neither moved nor spoke. Perhaps the brutes had +not clearly seen or winded the human occupants of the +carriage, and had prowled away on some other errand of +rapine. + +The long torture-laden minutes passed slowly away. + +"It grows cold," said the woman suddenly, crossing +over to the far end of the carriage, where the heads had +appeared. "The heating apparatus does not work any +longer. See, over there beyond the trees, there is a +chimney with smoke coming from it. It is not far, and +the snow has nearly stopped, I shall find a path through +the forest to that house with the chimney." + +"But the wolves!" exclaimed Abbleway; "they may - " + +"Not on my name-day," said the woman obstinately, +and before he could stop her she had opened the door and +climbed down into the snow. A moment later he hid his +face in his hands; two gaunt lean figures rushed upon her +from the forest. No doubt she had courted her fate, but +Abbleway had no wish to see a human being torn to pieces +and devoured before his eyes. + +When he looked at last a new sensation of +scandalised astonishment took possession of him. He had +been straitly brought up in a small English town, and he +was not prepared to be the witness of a miracle. The +wolves were not doing anything worse to the woman than +drench her with snow as they gambolled round her. + +A short, joyous bark revealed the clue to the +situation. + +"Are those - dogs?" he called weakly. + +"My cousin Karl's dogs, yes," she answered; that is +his inn, over beyond the trees. I knew it was there, but +I did not want to take you there; he is always grasping +with strangers. However, it grows too cold to remain in +the train. Ah, ah, see what comes!" + +A whistle sounded, and a relief engine made its +appearance, snorting its way sulkily through the snow. +Abbleway did not have the opportunity for finding out +whether Karl was really avaricious. + + +THE LUMBER ROOM + + +THE children were to be driven, as a special treat, +to the sands at Jagborough. Nicholas was not to be of +the party; he was in disgrace. Only that morning he had +refused to eat his wholesome bread-and-milk on the +seemingly frivolous ground that there was a frog in it. +Older and wiser and better people had told him that there +could not possibly be a frog in his bread-and-milk and +that he was not to talk nonsense; he continued, +nevertheless, to talk what seemed the veriest nonsense, +and described with much detail the colouration and +markings of the alleged frog. The dramatic part of the +incident was that there really was a frog in Nicholas' +basin of bread-and-milk; he had put it there himself, so +he felt entitled to know something about it. The sin of +taking a frog from the garden and putting it into a bowl +of wholesome bread-and-milk was enlarged on at great +length, but the fact that stood out clearest in the whole +affair, as it presented itself to the mind of Nicholas, +was that the older, wiser, and better people had been +proved to be profoundly in error in matters about which +they had expressed the utmost assurance. + +"You said there couldn't possibly be a frog in my +bread-and-milk; there WAS a frog in my bread-and-milk," +he repeated, with the insistence of a skilled tactician +who does not intend to shift from favourable ground. + +So his boy-cousin and girl-cousin and his quite +uninteresting younger brother were to be taken to +Jagborough sands that afternoon and he was to stay at +home. His cousins' aunt, who insisted, by an unwarranted +stretch of imagination, in styling herself his aunt also, +had hastily invented the Jagborough expedition in order +to impress on Nicholas the delights that he had justly +forfeited by his disgraceful conduct at the breakfast- +table. It was her habit, whenever one of the children +fell from grace, to improvise something of a festival +nature from which the offender would be rigorously +debarred; if all the children sinned collectively they +were suddenly informed of a circus in a neighbouring +town, a circus of unrivalled merit and uncounted +elephants, to which, but for their depravity, they would +have been taken that very day. + +A few decent tears were looked for on the part of +Nicholas when the moment for the departure of the +expedition arrived. As a matter of fact, however, all +the crying was done by his girl-cousin, who scraped her +knee rather painfully against the step of the carriage as +she was scrambling in. + +"How she did howl," said Nicholas cheerfully, as the +party drove off without any of the elation of high +spirits that should have characterised it. + +"She'll soon get over that," said the SOI-DISANT +aunt; "it will be a glorious afternoon for racing about +over those beautiful sands. How they will enjoy +themselves!" + +"Bobby won't enjoy himself much, and he won't race +much either," said Nicholas with a grim chuckle; his +boots are hurting him. They're too tight." + +"Why didn't he tell me they were hurting?" asked the +aunt with some asperity. + +"He told you twice, but you weren't listening. You +often don't listen when we tell you important things." + +"You are not to go into the gooseberry garden," said +the aunt, changing the subject. + +"Why not?" demanded Nicholas. + +"Because you are in disgrace," said the aunt +loftily. + +Nicholas did not admit the flawlessness of the +reasoning; he felt perfectly capable of being in disgrace +and in a gooseberry garden at the same moment. His face +took on an expression of considerable obstinacy. It was +clear to his aunt that he was determined to get into the +gooseberry garden, "only," as she remarked to herself, +"because I have told him he is not to." + +Now the gooseberry garden had two doors by which it +might be entered, and once a small person like Nicholas +could slip in there he could effectually disappear from +view amid the masking growth of artichokes, raspberry +canes, and fruit bushes. The aunt had many other things +to do that afternoon, but she spent an hour or two in +trivial gardening operations among flower beds and +shrubberies, whence she could keep a watchful eye on the +two doors that led to the forbidden paradise. She was a +woman of few ideas, with immense powers of concentration. + +Nicholas made one or two sorties into the front +garden, wriggling his way with obvious stealth of purpose +towards one or other of the doors, but never able for a +moment to evade the aunt's watchful eye. As a matter of +fact, he had no intention of trying to get into the +gooseberry garden, but it was extremely convenient for +him that his aunt should believe that he had; it was a +belief that would keep her on self-imposed sentry-duty +for the greater part of the afternoon. Having thoroughly +confirmed and fortified her suspicions Nicholas slipped +back into the house and rapidly put into execution a plan +of action that had long germinated in his brain. By +standing on a chair in the library one could reach a +shelf on which reposed a fat, important-looking key. The +key was as important as it looked; it was the instrument +which kept the mysteries of the lumber-room secure from +unauthorised intrusion, which opened a way only for aunts +and such-like privileged persons. Nicholas had not had +much experience of the art of fitting keys into keyholes +and turning locks, but for some days past he had +practised with the key of the schoolroom door; he did not +believe in trusting too much to luck and accident. The +key turned stiffly in the lock, but it turned. The door +opened, and Nicholas was in an unknown land, compared +with which the gooseberry garden was a stale delight, a +mere material pleasure. + +Often and often Nicholas had pictured to himself +what the lumber-room might be like, that region that was +so carefully sealed from youthful eyes and concerning +which no questions were ever answered. It came up to his +expectations. In the first place it was large and dimly +lit, one high window opening on to the forbidden garden +being its only source of illumination. In the second +place it was a storehouse of unimagined treasures. The +aunt-by-assertion was one of those people who think that +things spoil by use and consign them to dust and damp by +way of preserving them. Such parts of the house as +Nicholas knew best were rather bare and cheerless, but +here there were wonderful things for the eye to feast on. +First and foremost there was a piece of framed tapestry +that was evidently meant to be a fire-screen. To +Nicholas it was a living, breathing story; he sat down on +a roll of Indian hangings, glowing in wonderful colours +beneath a layer of dust, and took in all the details of +the tapestry picture. A man, dressed in the hunting +costume of some remote period, had just transfixed a stag +with an arrow; it could not have been a difficult shot +because the stag was only one or two paces away from him; +in the thickly-growing vegetation that the picture +suggested it would not have been difficult to creep up to +a feeding stag, and the two spotted dogs that were +springing forward to join in the chase had evidently been +trained to keep to heel till the arrow was discharged. +That part of the picture was simple, if interesting, but +did the huntsman see, what Nicholas saw, that four +galloping wolves were coming in his direction through the +wood? There might be more than four of them hidden +behind the trees, and in any case would the man and his +dogs be able to cope with the four wolves if they made an +attack? The man had only two arrows left in his quiver, +and he might miss with one or both of them; all one knew +about his skill in shooting was that he could hit a large +stag at a ridiculously short range. Nicholas sat for +many golden minutes revolving the possibilities of the +scene; he was inclined to think that there were more than +four wolves and that the man and his dogs were in a tight +corner. + +But there were other objects of delight and interest +claiming his instant attention: there were quaint twisted +candlesticks in the shape of snakes, and a teapot +fashioned like a china duck, out of whose open beak the +tea was supposed to come. How dull and shapeless the +nursery teapot seemed in comparison! And there was a +carved sandal-wood box packed tight with aromatic +cottonwool, and between the layers of cottonwool were +little brass figures, hump-necked bulls, and peacocks and +goblins, delightful to see and to handle. Less promising +in appearance was a large square book with plain black +covers; Nicholas peeped into it, and, behold, it was full +of coloured pictures of birds. And such birds! In the +garden, and in the lanes when he went for a walk, +Nicholas came across a few birds, of which the largest +were an occasional magpie or wood-pigeon; here were +herons and bustards, kites, toucans, tiger-bitterns, +brush turkeys, ibises, golden pheasants, a whole portrait +gallery of undreamed-of creatures. And as he was +admiring the colouring of the mandarin duck and assigning +a life-history to it, the voice of his aunt in shrill +vociferation of his name came from the gooseberry garden +without. She had grown suspicious at his long +disappearance, and had leapt to the conclusion that he +had climbed over the wall behind the sheltering screen of +the lilac bushes; she was now engaged in energetic and +rather hopeless search for him among the artichokes and +raspberry canes. + +"Nicholas, Nicholas!" she screamed, "you are to come +out of this at once. It's no use trying to hide there; I +can see you all the time." + +It was probably the first time for twenty years that +anyone had smiled in that lumber-room. + +Presently the angry repetitions of Nicholas' name +gave way to a shriek, and a cry for somebody to come +quickly. Nicholas shut the book, restored it carefully +to its place in a corner, and shook some dust from a +neighbouring pile of newspapers over it. Then he crept +from the room, locked the door, and replaced the key +exactly where he had found it. His aunt was still +calling his name when he sauntered into the front garden. + +"Who's calling?" he asked. + +"Me," came the answer from the other side of the +wall; "didn't you hear me? I've been looking for you in +the gooseberry garden, and I've slipped into the rain- +water tank. Luckily there's no water in it, but the +sides are slippery and I can't get out. Fetch the little +ladder from under the cherry tree - " + +"I was told I wasn't to go into the gooseberry +garden," said Nicholas promptly. + +"I told you not to, and now I tell you that you +may," came the voice from the rain-water tank, rather +impatiently. + +"Your voice doesn't sound like aunt's," objected +Nicholas; "you may be the Evil One tempting me to be +disobedient. Aunt often tells me that the Evil One +tempts me and that I always yield. This time I'm not +going to yield." + +"Don't talk nonsense," said the prisoner in the +tank; "go and fetch the ladder." + +"Will there be strawberry jam for tea?" asked +Nicholas innocently. + +"Certainly there will be," said the aunt, privately +resolving that Nicholas should have none of it. + +"Now I know that you are the Evil One and not aunt," +shouted Nicholas gleefully; "when we asked aunt for +strawberry jam yesterday she said there wasn't any. I +know there are four jars of it in the store cupboard, +because I looked, and of course you know it's there, but +she doesn't, because she said there wasn't any. Oh, +Devil, you HAVE sold yourself!" + +There was an unusual sense of luxury in being able +to talk to an aunt as though one was talking to the Evil +One, but Nicholas knew, with childish discernment, that +such luxuries were not to be over-indulged in. He walked +noisily away, and it was a kitchenmaid, in search of +parsley, who eventually rescued the aunt from the rain- +water tank. + +Tea that evening was partaken of in a fearsome +silence. The tide had been at its highest when the +children had arrived at Jagborough Cove, so there had +been no sands to play on - a circumstance that the aunt +had overlooked in the haste of organising her punitive +expedition. The tightness of Bobby's boots had had +disastrous effect on his temper the whole of the +afternoon, and altogether the children could not have +been said to have enjoyed themselves. The aunt +maintained the frozen muteness of one who has suffered +undignified and unmerited detention in a rain-water tank +for thirty-five minutes. As for Nicholas, he, too, was +silent, in the absorption of one who has much to think +about; it was just possible, he considered, that the +huntsman would escape with his hounds while the wolves +feasted on the stricken stag. + + +FUR + + +"YOU look worried, dear," said Eleanor. + +"I am worried," admitted Suzanne; "not worried +exactly, but anxious. You see, my birthday happens next +week - " + +"You lucky person," interrupted Eleanor; "my +birthday doesn't come till the end of March." + +"Well, old Bertram Kneyght is over in England just +now from the Argentine. He's a kind of distant cousin of +my mother's, and so enormously rich that we've never let +the relationship drop out of sight. Even if we don't see +him or hear from him for years he is always Cousin +Bertram when he does turn up. I can't say he's ever been +of much solid use to us, but yesterday the subject of my +birthday cropped up, and he asked me to let him know what +I wanted for a present." + +"Now I understand the anxiety," observed Eleanor. + +"As a rule when one is confronted with a problem +like that," said Suzanne, "all one's ideas vanish; one +doesn't seem to have a desire in the world. Now it so +happens that I have been very keen on a little Dresden +figure that I saw somewhere in Kensington; about thirty- +six shillings, quite beyond my means. I was very nearly +describing the figure, and giving Bertram the address of +the shop. And then it suddenly struck me that thirty-six +shillings was such a ridiculously inadequate sum for a +man of his immense wealth to spend on a birthday present. +He could give thirty-six pounds as easily as you or I +could buy a bunch of violets. I don't want to be greedy, +of course, but I don't like being wasteful." + +"The question is," said Eleanor, "what are his ideas +as to present-giving? Some of the wealthiest people have +curiously cramped views on that subject. When people +grow gradually rich their requirements and standard of +living expand in proportion, while their present-giving +instincts often remain in the undeveloped condition of +their earlier days. Something showy and not-too- +expensive in a shop is their only conception of the ideal +gift. That is why even quite good shops have their +counters and windows crowded with things worth about four +shillings that look as if they might be worth seven-and- +six, and are priced at ten shillings and labelled +seasonable gifts.' " + +"I know," said Suzanne; "that is why it is so risky +to be vague when one is giving indications of one's +wants. Now if I say to him: 'I am going out to Davos +this winter, so anything in the travelling line would be +acceptable,' he might give me a dressing-bag with gold- +mounted fittings, but, on the other hand, he might give +me Baedeker's Switzerland, or `Skiing without Tears,' or +something of that sort." + +"He would be more likely to say: 'She'll be going to +lots of dances, a fan will be sure to be useful.' " + +"Yes, and I've got tons of fans, so you see where +the danger and anxiety lies. Now if there is one thing +more than another that I really urgently want it is furs. +I simply haven't any. I'm told that Davos is full of +Russians, and they are sure to wear the most lovely +sables and things. To be among people who are smothered +in furs when one hasn't any oneself makes one want to +break most of the Commandments." + +"If it's furs that you're out for," said Eleanor, +"you will have to superintend the choice of them in +person. You can't be sure that your cousin knows the +difference between silver-fox and ordinary squirrel." + +"There are some heavenly silver-fox stoles at +Goliath and Mastodon's," said Suzanne, with a sigh; "if I +could only inveigle Bertram into their building and take +him for a stroll through the fur department!" + +"He lives somewhere near there, doesn't he?" said +Eleanor. "Do you know what his habits are? Does he take +a walk at any particular time of day?" + +"He usually walks down to his club about three +o'clock, if it's a fine day. That takes him right past +Goliath and Mastodon's." + +"Let us two meet him accidentally at the street +corner to-morrow," said Eleanor; "we can walk a little +way with him, and with luck we ought to be able to side- +track him into the shop. You can say you want to get a +hair-net or something. When we're safely there I can +say: 'I wish you'd tell me what you want for your +birthday.' Then you'll have everything ready to hand - +the rich cousin, the fur department, and the topic of +birthday presents." + +"It's a great idea," said Suzanne; "you really are a +brick. Come round to-morrow at twenty to three; don't be +late, we must carry out our ambush to the minute." + +At a few minutes to three the next afternoon the +fur-trappers walked warily towards the selected corner. +In the near distance rose the colossal pile of Messrs. +Goliath and Mastodon's famed establishment. The +afternoon was brilliantly fine, exactly the sort of +weather to tempt a gentleman of advancing years into the +discreet exercise of a leisurely walk. + +"I say, dear, I wish you'd do something for me this +evening," said Eleanor to her companion; "just drop in +after dinner on some pretext or other, and stay on to +make a fourth at bridge with Adela and the aunts. +Otherwise I shall have to play, and Harry Scarisbrooke is +going to come in unexpectedly about nine-fifteen, and I +particularly want to be free to talk to him while the +others are playing." + +"Sorry, my dear, no can do," said Suzanne; "ordinary +bridge at threepence a hundred, with such dreadfully slow +players as your aunts, bores me to tears. I nearly go to +sleep over it." + +"But I most particularly want an opportunity to talk +with Harry," urged Eleanor, an angry glint coming into +her eyes. + +"Sorry, anything to oblige, but not that," said +Suzanne cheerfully; the sacrifices of friendship were +beautiful in her eyes as long as she was not asked to +make them. + +Eleanor said nothing further on the subject, but the +corners of her mouth rearranged themselves. + +"There's our man!" exclaimed Suzanne suddenly; +"hurry!" + +Mr. Bertram Kneyght greeted his cousin and her +friend with genuine heartiness, and readily accepted +their invitation to explore the crowded mart that stood +temptingly at their elbow. The plate-glass doors swung +open and the trio plunged bravely into the jostling +throng of buyers and loiterers. + +"Is it always as full as this?" asked Bertram of +Eleanor. + +"More or less, and autumn sales are on just now," +she replied. + +Suzanne, in her anxiety to pilot her cousin to the +desired haven of the fur department, was usually a few +paces ahead of the others, coming back to them now and +then if they lingered for a moment at some attractive +counter, with the nervous solicitude of a parent rook +encouraging its young ones on their first flying +expedition. + +"It's Suzanne's birthday on Wednesday next," +confided Eleanor to Bertram Kneyght at a moment when +Suzanne had left them unusually far behind; "my birthday +comes the day before, so we are both on the look-out for +something to give each other." + +"Ah," said Bertram. "Now, perhaps you can advise me +on that very point. I want to give Suzanne something, +and I haven't the least idea what she wants." + +"She's rather a problem," said Eleanor. "She seems +to have everything one can think of, lucky girl. A fan +is always useful; she'll be going to a lot of dances at +Davos this winter. Yes, I should think a fan would +please her more than anything. After our birthdays are +over we inspect each other's muster of presents, and I +always feel dreadfully humble. She gets such nice +things, and I never have anything worth showing. You +see, none of my relations or any of the people who give +me presents are at all well off, so I can't expect them +to do anything more than just remember the day with some +little trifle. Two years ago an uncle on my mother's +side of the family, who had come into a small legacy, +promised me a silver-fox stole for my birthday. I can't +tell you how excited I was about it, how I pictured +myself showing it off to all my friends and enemies. +Then just at that moment his wife died, and, of course, +poor man, he could not be expected to think of birthday +presents at such a time. He has lived abroad ever since, +and I never got my fur. Do you know, to this day I can +scarcely look at a silver-fox pelt in a shop window or +round anyone's neck without feeling ready to burst into +tears. I suppose if I hadn't had the prospect of getting +one I shouldn't feel that way. Look, there is the fan +counter, on your left; you can easily slip away in the +crowd. Get her as nice a one as you can see - she is +such a dear, dear girl." + +"Hullo, I thought I had lost you," said Suzanne, +making her way through an obstructive knot of shoppers. +"Where is Bertram?" + +"I got separated from him long ago. I thought he +was on ahead with you," said Eleanor. "We shall never +find him in this crush." + +Which turned out to be a true prediction. + +"All our trouble and forethought thrown away," said +Suzanne sulkily, when they had pushed their way +fruitlessly through half a dozen departments. + +"I can't think why you didn't grab him by the arm," +said Eleanor; "I would have if I'd known him longer, but +I'd only just been introduced. It's nearly four now, +we'd better have tea." + +Some days later Suzanne rang Eleanor up on the +telephone. + +"Thank you very much for the photograph frame. It +was just what I wanted. Very good of you. I say, do you +know what that Kneyght person has given me? Just what +you said he would - a wretched fan. What? Oh yes, quite +a good enough fan in its way, but still . . ." + +"You must come and see what he's given me," came in +Eleanor's voice over the 'phone. + +"You! Why should he give you anything?" + +"Your cousin appears to be one of those rare people +of wealth who take a pleasure in giving good presents," +came the reply. + +"I wondered why he was so anxious to know where she +lived," snapped Suzanne to herself as she rang off. + +A cloud has arisen between the friendships of the +two young women; as far as Eleanor is concerned the cloud +has a silver-fox lining. + + +THE PHILANTHROPIST AND THE HAPPY CAT + + +JOCANTHA BESSBURY was in the mood to be serenely and +graciously happy. Her world was a pleasant place, and it +was wearing one of its pleasantest aspects. Gregory had +managed to get home for a hurried lunch and a smoke +afterwards in the little snuggery; the lunch had been a +good one, and there was just time to do justice to the +coffee and cigarettes. Both were excellent in their way, +and Gregory was, in his way, an excellent husband. +Jocantha rather suspected herself of making him a very +charming wife, and more than suspected herself of having +a first-rate dressmaker. + +"I don't suppose a more thoroughly contented +personality is to be found in all Chelsea," observed +Jocantha in allusion to herself; "except perhaps Attab," +she continued, glancing towards the large tabby-marked +cat that lay in considerable ease in a corner of the +divan. "He lies there, purring and dreaming, shifting +his limbs now and then in an ecstasy of cushioned +comfort. He seems the incarnation of everything soft and +silky and velvety, without a sharp edge in his +composition, a dreamer whose philosophy is sleep and let +sleep; and then, as evening draws on, he goes out into +the garden with a red glint in his eyes and slays a +drowsy sparrow." + +"As every pair of sparrows hatches out ten or more +young ones in the year, while their food supply remains +stationary, it is just as well that the Attabs of the +community should have that idea of how to pass an amusing +afternoon," said Gregory. Having delivered himself of +this sage comment he lit another cigarette, bade Jocantha +a playfully affectionate good-bye, and departed into the +outer world. + +"Remember, dinner's a wee bit earlier to-night, as +we're going to the Haymarket," she called after him. + +Left to herself, Jocantha continued the process of +looking at her life with placid, introspective eyes. If +she had not everything she wanted in this world, at least +she was very well pleased with what she had got. She was +very well pleased, for instance, with the snuggery, which +contrived somehow to be cosy and dainty and expensive all +at once. The porcelain was rare and beautiful, the +Chinese enamels took on wonderful tints in the firelight, +the rugs and hangings led the eye through sumptuous +harmonies of colouring. It was a room in which one might +have suitably entertained an ambassador or an archbishop, +but it was also a room in which one could cut out +pictures for a scrap-book without feeling that one was +scandalising the deities of the place with one's litter. +And as with the snuggery, so with the rest of the house, +and as with the house, so with the other departments of +Jocantha's life; she really had good reason for being one +of the most contented women in Chelsea. + +From being in a mood of simmering satisfaction with +her lot she passed to the phase of being generously +commiserating for those thousands around her whose lives +and circumstances were dull, cheap, pleasureless, and +empty. Work girls, shop assistants and so forth, the +class that have neither the happy-go-lucky freedom of the +poor nor the leisured freedom of the rich, came specially +within the range of her sympathy. It was sad to think +that there were young people who, after a long day's +work, had to sit alone in chill, dreary bedrooms because +they could not afford the price of a cup of coffee and a +sandwich in a restaurant, still less a shilling for a +theatre gallery. + +Jocantha's mind was still dwelling on this theme +when she started forth on an afternoon campaign of +desultory shopping; it would be rather a comforting +thing, she told herself, if she could do something, on +the spur of the moment, to bring a gleam of pleasure and +interest into the life of even one or two wistful- +hearted, empty-pocketed workers; it would add a good deal +to her sense of enjoyment at the theatre that night. She +would get two upper circle tickets for a popular play, +make her way into some cheap tea-shop, and present the +tickets to the first couple of interesting work girls +with whom she could casually drop into conversation. She +could explain matters by saying that she was unable to +use the tickets herself and did not want them to be +wasted, and, on the other hand, did not want the trouble +of sending them back. On further reflection she decided +that it might be better to get only one ticket and give +it to some lonely-looking girl sitting eating her frugal +meal by herself; the girl might scrape acquaintance with +her next-seat neighbour at the theatre and lay the +foundations of a lasting friendship. + +With the Fairy Godmother impulse strong upon her, +Jocantha marched into a ticket agency and selected with +immense care an upper circle seat for the "Yellow +Peacock," a play that was attracting a considerable +amount of discussion and criticism. Then she went forth +in search of a tea-shop and philanthropic adventure, at +about the same time that Attab sauntered into the garden +with a mind attuned to sparrow stalking. In a corner of +an A.B.C. shop she found an unoccupied table, whereat she +promptly installed herself, impelled by the fact that at +the next table was sitting a young girl, rather plain of +feature, with tired, listless eyes, and a general air of +uncomplaining forlornness. Her dress was of poor +material, but aimed at being in the fashion, her hair was +pretty, and her complexion bad; she was finishing a +modest meal of tea and scone, and she was not very +different in her way from thousands of other girls who +were finishing, or beginning, or continuing their teas in +London tea-shops at that exact moment. The odds were +enormously in favour of the supposition that she had +never seen the "Yellow Peacock"; obviously she supplied +excellent material for Jocantha's first experiment in +haphazard benefaction. + +Jocantha ordered some tea and a muffin, and then +turned a friendly scrutiny on her neighbour with a view +to catching her eye. At that precise moment the girl's +face lit up with sudden pleasure, her eyes sparkled, a +flush came into her cheeks, and she looked almost pretty. +A young man, whom she greeted with an affectionate +"Hullo, Bertie," came up to her table and took his seat +in a chair facing her. Jocantha looked hard at the new- +comer; he was in appearance a few years younger than +herself, very much better looking than Gregory, rather +better looking, in fact, than any of the young men of her +set. She guessed him to be a well-mannered young clerk +in some wholesale warehouse, existing and amusing himself +as best he might on a tiny salary, and commanding a +holiday of about two weeks in the year. He was aware, of +course, of his good looks, but with the shy self- +consciousness of the Anglo-Saxon, not the blatant +complacency of the Latin or Semite. He was obviously on +terms of friendly intimacy with the girl he was talking +to, probably they were drifting towards a formal +engagement. Jocantha pictured the boy's home, in a +rather narrow circle, with a tiresome mother who always +wanted to know how and where he spent his evenings. He +would exchange that humdrum thraldom in due course for a +home of his own, dominated by a chronic scarcity of +pounds, shillings, and pence, and a dearth of most of the +things that made life attractive or comfortable. +Jocantha felt extremely sorry for him. She wondered if +he had seen the "Yellow Peacock"; the odds were +enormously in favour of the supposition that he had not. +The girl had finished her tea and would shortly be going +back to her work; when the boy was alone it would be +quite easy for Jocantha to say: "My husband has made +other arrangements for me this evening; would you care to +make use of this ticket, which would otherwise be +wasted?" Then she could come there again one afternoon +for tea, and, if she saw him, ask him how he liked the +play. If he was a nice boy and improved on acquaintance +he could be given more theatre tickets, and perhaps asked +to come one Sunday to tea at Chelsea. Jocantha made up +her mind that he would improve on acquaintance, and that +Gregory would like him, and that the Fairy Godmother +business would prove far more entertaining than she had +originally anticipated. The boy was distinctly +presentable; he knew how to brush his hair, which was +possibly an imitative faculty; he knew what colour of tie +suited him, which might be intuition; he was exactly the +type that Jocantha admired, which of course was accident. +Altogether she was rather pleased when the girl looked at +the clock and bade a friendly but hurried farewell to her +companion. Bertie nodded "good-bye," gulped down a +mouthful of tea, and then produced from his overcoat +pocket a paper-covered book, bearing the title "Sepoy and +Sahib, a tale of the great Mutiny." + +The laws of tea-shop etiquette forbid that you +should offer theatre tickets to a stranger without having +first caught the stranger's eye. It is even better if +you can ask to have a sugar basin passed to you, having +previously concealed the fact that you have a large and +well-filled sugar basin on your own table; this is not +difficult to manage, as the printed menu is generally +nearly as large as the table, and can be made to stand on +end. Jocantha set to work hopefully; she had a long and +rather high-pitched discussion with the waitress +concerning alleged defects in an altogether blameless +muffin, she made loud and plaintive inquiries about the +tube service to some impossibly remote suburb, she talked +with brilliant insincerity to the tea-shop kitten, and as +a last resort she upset a milk-jug and swore at it +daintily. Altogether she attracted a good deal of +attention, but never for a moment did she attract the +attention of the boy with the beautifully-brushed hair, +who was some thousands of miles away in the baking plains +of Hindostan, amid deserted bungalows, seething bazaars, +and riotous barrack squares, listening to the throbbing +of tom-toms and the distant rattle of musketry. + +Jocantha went back to her house in Chelsea, which +struck her for the first time as looking dull and over- +furnished. She had a resentful conviction that Gregory +would be uninteresting at dinner, and that the play would +be stupid after dinner. On the whole her frame of mind +showed a marked divergence from the purring complacency +of Attab, who was again curled up in his corner of the +divan with a great peace radiating from every curve of +his body. + +But then he had killed his sparrow. + + +ON APPROVAL + + +OF all the genuine Bohemians who strayed from time +to time into the would-be Bohemian circle of the +Restaurant Nuremberg, Owl Street, Soho, none was more +interesting and more elusive than Gebhard Knopfschrank. +He had no friends, and though he treated all the +restaurant frequenters as acquaintances he never seemed +to wish to carry the acquaintanceship beyond the door +that led into Owl Street and the outer world. He dealt +with them all rather as a market woman might deal with +chance passers-by, exhibiting her wares and chattering +about the weather and the slackness of business, +occasionally about rheumatism, but never showing a desire +to penetrate into their daily lives or to dissect their +ambitions. + +He was understood to belong to a family of peasant +farmers, somewhere in Pomerania; some two years ago, +according to all that was known of him, he had abandoned +the labours and responsibilities of swine tending and +goose rearing to try his fortune as an artist in London. + +"Why London and not Paris or Munich?" he had been +asked by the curious. + +Well, there was a ship that left Stolpmunde for +London twice a month, that carried few passengers, but +carried them cheaply; the railway fares to Munich or +Paris were not cheap. Thus it was that he came to select +London as the scene of his great adventure. + +The question that had long and seriously agitated +the frequenters of the Nuremberg was whether this goose- +boy migrant was really a soul-driven genius, spreading +his wings to the light, or merely an enterprising young +man who fancied he could paint and was pardonably anxious +to escape from the monotony of rye bread diet and the +sandy, swine-bestrewn plains of Pomerania. There was +reasonable ground for doubt and caution; the artistic +groups that foregathered at the little restaurant +contained so many young women with short hair and so many +young men with long hair, who supposed themselves to be +abnormally gifted in the domain of music, poetry, +painting, or stagecraft, with little or nothing to +support the supposition, that a self-announced genius of +any sort in their midst was inevitably suspect. On the +other hand, there was the ever-imminent danger of +entertaining, and snubbing, an angel unawares. There had +been the lamentable case of Sledonti, the dramatic poet, +who had been belittled and cold-shouldered in the Owl +Street hall of judgment, and had been afterwards hailed +as a master singer by the Grand Duke Constantine +Constantinovitch - "the most educated of the Romanoffs," +according to Sylvia Strubble, who spoke rather as one who +knew every individual member of the Russian imperial +family; as a matter of fact, she knew a newspaper +correspondent, a young man who ate BORTSCH with the air +of having invented it. Sledonti's "Poems of Death and +Passion" were now being sold by the thousand in seven +European languages, and were about to be translated into +Syrian, a circumstance which made the discerning critics +of the Nuremberg rather shy of maturing their future +judgments too rapidly and too irrevocably. + +As regards Knopfschrank's work, they did not lack +opportunity for inspecting and appraising it. However +resolutely he might hold himself aloof from the social +life of his restaurant acquaintances, he was not minded +to hide his artistic performances from their inquiring +gaze. Every evening, or nearly every evening, at about +seven o'clock, he would make his appearance, sit himself +down at his accustomed table, throw a bulky black +portfolio on to the chair opposite him, nod round +indiscriminately at his fellow-guests, and commence the +serious business of eating and drinking. When the coffee +stage was reached he would light a cigarette, draw the +portfolio over to him, and begin to rummage among its +contents. With slow deliberation he would select a few +of his more recent studies and sketches, and silently +pass them round from table to table, paying especial +attention to any new diners who might be present. On the +back of each sketch was marked in plain figures the +announcement "Price ten shillings." + +If his work was not obviously stamped with the hall- +mark of genius, at any rate it was remarkable for its +choice of an unusual and unvarying theme. His pictures +always represented some well-known street or public place +in London, fallen into decay and denuded of its human +population, in the place of which there roamed a wild +fauna, which, from its wealth of exotic species, must +have originally escaped from Zoological Gardens and +travelling beast shows. "Giraffes drinking at the +fountain pools, Trafalgar Square," was one of the most +notable and characteristic of his studies, while even +more sensational was the gruesome picture of "Vultures +attacking dying camel in Upper Berkeley Street." There +were also photographs of the large canvas on which he had +been engaged for some months, and which he was now +endeavouring to sell to some enterprising dealer or +adventurous amateur. The subject was "Hyaenas asleep in +Euston Station," a composition that left nothing to be +desired in the way of suggesting unfathomed depths of +desolation. + +"Of course it may be immensely clever, it may be +something epoch-making in the realm of art," said Sylvia +Strubble to her own particular circle of listeners, "but, +on the other hand, it may be merely mad. One mustn't pay +too much attention to the commercial aspect of the case, +of course, but still, if some dealer would make a bid for +that hyaena picture, or even for some of the sketches, we +should know better how to place the man and his work." + +"We may all be cursing ourselves one of these days," +said Mrs. Nougat-Jones, "for not having bought up his +entire portfolio of sketches. At the same time, when +there is so much real talent going about, one does not +feel like planking down ten shillings for what looks like +a bit of whimsical oddity. Now that picture that he +showed us last week, 'Sand-grouse roosting on the Albert +Memorial,' was very impressive, and of course I could see +there was good workmanship in it and breadth of +treatment; but it didn't in the least convey the Albert +Memorial to me, and Sir James Beanquest tells me that +sand-grouse don't roost, they sleep on the ground." + +Whatever talent or genius the Pomeranian artist +might possess, it certainly failed to receive commercial +sanction. The portfolio remained bulky with unsold +sketches, and the "Euston Siesta," as the wits of the +Nuremberg nicknamed the large canvas, was still in the +market. The outward and visible signs of financial +embarrassment began to be noticeable; the half-bottle of +cheap claret at dinner-time gave way to a small glass of +lager, and this in turn was displaced by water. The one- +and-sixpenny set dinner receded from an everyday event to +a Sunday extravagance; on ordinary days the artist +contented himself with a sevenpenny omelette and some +bread and cheese, and there were evenings when he did not +put in an appearance at all. On the rare occasions when +he spoke of his own affairs it was observed that he began +to talk more about Pomerania and less about the great +world of art. + +"It is a busy time there now with us," he said +wistfully; "the schwines are driven out into the fields +after harvest, and must be looked after. I could be +helping to look after if I was there. Here it is +difficult to live; art is not appreciate." + +"Why don't you go home on a visit?" some one asked +tactfully. + +"Ah, it cost money! There is the ship passage to +Stolpmunde, and there is money that I owe at my lodgings. +Even here I owe a few schillings. If I could sell some +of my sketches - " + +"Perhaps," suggested Mrs. Nougat-Jones, "if you were +to offer them for a little less, some of us would be glad +to buy a few. Ten shillings is always a consideration, +you know, to people who are not over well off. Perhaps +if you were to ask six or seven shillings - " + +Once a peasant, always a peasant. The mere +suggestion of a bargain to be struck brought a twinkle of +awakened alertness into the artist's eyes, and hardened +the lines of his mouth. + +"Nine schilling nine pence each," he snapped, and +seemed disappointed that Mrs. Nougat-Jones did not pursue +the subject further. He had evidently expected her to +offer seven and fourpence. + +The weeks sped by, and Knopfschrank came more rarely +to the restaurant in Owl Street, while his meals on those +occasions became more and more meagre. And then came a +triumphal day, when he appeared early in the evening in a +high state of elation, and ordered an elaborate meal that +scarcely stopped short of being a banquet. The ordinary +resources of the kitchen were supplemented by an imported +dish of smoked goosebreast, a Pomeranian delicacy that +was luckily procurable at a firm of DELIKATESSEN +merchants in Coventry Street, while a long-necked bottle +of Rhine wine gave a finishing touch of festivity and +good cheer to the crowded table. + +"He has evidently sold his masterpiece," whispered +Sylvia Strubble to Mrs. Nougat-Jones, who had come in +late. + +"Who has bought it?" she whispered back. + +"Don't know; he hasn't said anything yet, but it +must be some American. Do you see, he has got a little +American flag on the dessert dish, and he has put pennies +in the music box three times, once to play the 'Star- +spangled Banner,' then a Sousa march, and then the 'Star- +spangled Banner' again. It must be an American +millionaire, and he's evidently got a very big price for +it; he's just beaming and chuckling with satisfaction." + +"We must ask him who has bought it," said Mrs. +Nougat-Jones. + +"Hush! no, don't. Let's buy some of his sketches, +quick, before we are supposed to know that he's famous; +otherwise he'll be doubling the prices. I am so glad +he's had a success at last. I always believed in him, +you know." + +For the sum of ten shillings each Miss Strubble +acquired the drawings of the camel dying in Upper +Berkeley Street and of the giraffes quenching their +thirst in Trafalgar Square; at the same price Mrs. +Nougat-Jones secured the study of roosting sand-grouse. +A more ambitious picture, "Wolves and wapiti fighting on +the steps of the Athenaeum Club," found a purchaser at +fifteen shillings. + +"And now what are your plans?" asked a young man who +contributed occasional paragraphs to an artistic weekly. + +"I go back to Stolpmunde as soon as the ship sails," +said the artist, "and I do not return. Never." + +"But your work? Your career as painter?" + +"Ah, there is nossing in it. One starves. Till to- +day I have sold not one of my sketches. To-night you +have bought a few, because I am going away from you, but +at other times, not one." + +"But has not some American - ?" + +"Ah, the rich American," chuckled the artist. "God +be thanked. He dash his car right into our herd of +schwines as they were being driven out to the fields. +Many of our best schwines he killed, but he paid all +damages. He paid perhaps more than they were worth, many +times more than they would have fetched in the market +after a month of fattening, but he was in a hurry to get +on to Dantzig. + +When one is in a hurry one must pay what one is +asked. God be thanked for rich Americans, who are always +in a hurry to get somewhere else. My father and mother, +they have now so plenty of money; they send me some to +pay my debts and come home. I start on Monday for +Stolpmunde and I do not come back. Never." + +"But your picture, the hyaenas?" + +"No good. It is too big to carry to Stolpmunde. I +burn it." + +In time he will be forgotten, but at present +Knopfschrank is almost as sore a subject as Sledonti with +some of the frequenters of the Nuremberg Restaurant, Owl +Street, Soho. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg Etext Beasts and Superbeasts + diff --git a/old/beast10.zip b/old/beast10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ed9acb6 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/beast10.zip |