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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. 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