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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Holiday Round, by A. A. Milne
+#2 in our series by A. A. Milne
+
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+**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**
+
+**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**
+
+*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
+
+
+Title: The Holiday Round
+
+Author: A. A. Milne
+
+Release Date: May, 2004 [EBook #5675]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on August 7, 2002]
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOLIDAY ROUND ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Charles Aldarondo
+
+
+
+
+THE HOLIDAY ROUND
+
+BY
+
+A. A. MILNE
+
+AUTHOR OF "THE DAYS' PLAY"
+
+LONDON
+
+1912
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+
+
+
+HOLIDAY TIME
+
+THE HOUSE-WARMING
+
+AT PLAY
+
+TWO STORIES
+
+AN ODD LOT
+
+LITTLE PLAYS FOR AMATEURS
+
+A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS
+
+STORIES OF SUCCESSFUL LIVES
+
+A FEW FRIENDS
+
+EPILOGUE
+
+
+
+
+
+
+HOLIDAY TIME
+
+I.--THE ORDEAL BY WATER
+
+
+
+
+
+"We will now bathe," said a voice at the back of my neck.
+
+I gave a grunt and went on with my dream. It was a jolly dream, and
+nobody got up early in it.
+
+"We will now bathe," repeated Archie.
+
+"Go away," I said distinctly.
+
+Archie sat down on my knees and put his damp towel on my face.
+
+"When my wife and I took this commodious residence for six weeks,"
+he said, "and engaged the sea at great expense to come up to its
+doors twice a day, it was on the distinct understanding that our
+guests should plunge into it punctually at seven o'clock every
+morning."
+
+"Don't be silly, it's about three now. And I wish you'd get off my
+knees."
+
+"It's a quarter-past seven."
+
+"Then there you are, we've missed it. Well, we must see what we can
+do for you to-morrow. Good-night."
+
+Archie pulled all the clothes off me and walked with them to the
+window.
+
+"Jove, what a day!" he said. "And can't you smell the sea?"
+
+"I can. Let that suffice. I say, what's happened to my blanket? I
+must have swallowed it in my sleep."
+
+"Where's his sponge?" I heard him murmuring to himself as he came
+away from the window.
+
+"No, no, I'm up," I shouted, and I sprang out of bed and put on a
+shirt and a pair of trousers with great speed. "Where do I take
+these off again?" I asked. "I seem to be giving myself a lot of
+trouble."
+
+"There is a tent."
+
+"Won't the ladies want it? Because, if so, I can easily have my
+bathe later on."
+
+"The ladies think it's rather too rough to-day."
+
+"Perhaps they're right," I said hopefully. "A woman's instinct--No,
+I'm NOT a coward."
+
+It wasn't so bad outside--sun and wind and a blue-and-white sky and
+plenty of movement on the sea.
+
+"Just the day for a swim," said Archie cheerily, as he led the way
+down to the beach.
+
+"I've nothing against the day; it's the hour I object to. The Lancet
+says you mustn't bathe within an hour of a heavy meal. Well, I'm
+going to have a very heavy meal within about twenty minutes. That
+isn't right, you know."
+
+By the time I was ready the wind had got much colder. I looked out
+of the tent and shivered.
+
+"Isn't it jolly and fresh?" said Archie, determined to be helpful.
+"There are points about the early morning, after all."
+
+"There are plenty of points about this morning. Where do they get
+all the sharp stones from? Look at that one there--he's simply
+waiting for me."
+
+"You ought to have bought some bathing shoes. I got this pair in the
+village."
+
+"Why didn't you tell me so last night?"
+
+"It was too late last night."
+
+"Well, it's much too early this morning. If you were a gentleman
+you'd lend me one of yours, and we'd hop down together."
+
+Archie being no gentleman, he walked and I hobbled to the edge, and
+there we sat down while he took off his shoes.
+
+"I should like to take this last opportunity," I said, "of telling
+you that up till now I haven't enjoyed this early morning bathe one
+little bit. I suppose there will be a notable moment when the
+ecstasy actually begins, but at present I can't see it coming at
+all. The only thing I look forward to with any pleasure is the
+telling Dahlia and Myra at breakfast what I think of their
+cowardice. That and the breakfast itself. Good-bye."
+
+I got up and waded into the surf.
+
+"One last word," I said as I looked back at him. "In my whole career
+I shall never know a more absolutely beastly and miserable moment
+than this." Then a wave knocked me down, and I saw that I had spoken
+too hastily.
+
+The world may be divided into two classes--those who drink when they
+swim and those who don't. I am one of the drinkers. For this reason
+I prefer river bathing to sea bathing.
+
+"It's about time we came out," I shouted to Archie after the third
+pint. "I'm exceeding my allowance."
+
+"Aren't you glad now you came?" he cried from the top of a wave.
+
+"Very," I said a moment later from inside it.
+
+But I really did feel glad ten minutes afterwards as I sat on the
+beach in the sun and smoked a cigarette, and threw pebbles lazily
+into the sea.
+
+"Holbein, how brave of you!" cried a voice behind me.
+
+"Good-morning. I'm not at all sure that I ought to speak to you."
+
+"Have you really been taking the sea so early," said Myra as she sat
+down between us, "or did you rumple each other's hair so as to
+deceive me?"
+
+"I have been taking the sea," I confessed. "What you observe out
+there now is what I left."
+
+"Oh, but that's what _I_ do. That's why I didn't come
+to-day--because I had so much yesterday."
+
+"I'm a three-bottle man. I can go on and on and on. And after all
+these years I have the most sensitive palate of any man living. For
+instance, I can distinguish between Scarborough and Llandudno quite
+easily with my eyes shut. Speaking as an expert, I may say that
+there is nothing to beat a small Cromer and seltzer; though some
+prefer a Ventnor and dash. Ilfracombe with a slice of lemon is
+popular, but hardly appeals to the fastidious."
+
+"Do you know," said Archie, "that you are talking drivel? Nobody
+ought to drivel before breakfast. It isn't decent. What does Dahlia
+want to do to-day, Myra?"
+
+"Mr Simpson is coming by the one-thirty."
+
+"Good; then we'll have a slack day. The strain of meeting Simpson
+will be sufficient for us. I do hope he comes in a yachting
+cap--we'll send him back if he doesn't."
+
+"I told him to bring one," said Myra. "I put a P.S. in Dahlia's
+letter--please bring your telescope and yachting cap. She thought we
+could have a good day's sailing to-morrow, if you'd kindly arrange
+about the wind."
+
+"I'll talk to the crew about it and see what he can do. If we get
+becalmed we can always throw somebody overboard, of course. Well, I
+must go in and finish my toilet."
+
+We got up and climbed slowly back to the house.
+
+"And then," I said, "then for the heavy meal."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+II.--BECALMED
+
+
+
+
+
+"Well," said Dahlia, giving up the tiller with a sigh, "if this is
+all that you and Joe can do in the way of a breeze, you needn't have
+worried."
+
+"Don't blame the crew," said Archie nobly, "he did his best. He sat
+up all night whistling."
+
+"ARE we moving?" asked Myra, from a horizontal position on the shady
+side of the mainsail.
+
+"We are not," I said, from a similar position on the sunny side.
+"Let's get out."
+
+Simpson took off his yachting cap and fanned himself with a nautical
+almanac. "How far are we from anywhere?" he asked cheerfully.
+
+"Miles," said Archie. "To be more accurate, we are five miles from a
+public-house, six from a church, four from a post-office, and three
+from the spacious walled-in kitchen-garden and tennis-court. On the
+other hand, we are quite close to the sea."
+
+"You will never see your friends again, Simpson. They will miss you
+... at first ... perhaps; but they will soon forget. The circulation
+of the papers that you wrote for will go up, the brindled bull-pup
+will be fed by another and a smaller hand, but otherwise all will be
+as it was before."
+
+My voice choked, and at the same moment something whizzed past me
+into the sea.
+
+"Yachting cap overboard! Help!" cried Myra.
+
+"You aren't in The Spectator office now, Simpson," said Archie
+severely, as he fished with the boat-hook. "There is a time for
+ballyragging. By the way, I suppose you do want it back again?"
+
+"It's my fault," I confessed remorsefully; "I told him yesterday I
+didn't like it."
+
+"Myra and I do like it, Mr Simpson. Please save it, Archie."
+
+Archie let it drip from the end of the boat-hook for a minute, and
+then brought it in.
+
+"Morning, Sir Thomas," I said, saluting it as it came on board.
+"Lovely day for a sail. We've got the new topmast up, but Her Grace
+had the last of the potted-meat for lunch yesterday."
+
+Simpson took his cap and stroked it tenderly. "Thirteen and
+ninepence in the Buckingham Palace Road," he murmured. "Thanks, old
+chap."
+
+Quiet settled down upon the good ship Armadillo again. There was no
+cloud in the sky, no ripple on the water, no sound along the deck.
+The land was hazy in the distance; hazy in the distance was
+public-house, church, post-office, walled-in kitchen-garden and
+tennis-court. But in the little cabin Joe was making a pleasant
+noise with plates....
+
+"Splendid," said Archie, putting down his glass and taking out his
+pipe. "Now what shall we do? I feel full of energy."
+
+"Then you and Simpson can get the dinghy out and tow," I suggested.
+"I'll coach from the Armadillo."
+
+"We might go for a long bicycle ride," said Myra; "or call on the
+Vicarage girls."
+
+"There isn't really very much to do, is there?" said Dahlia, gently.
+"I'm sorry."
+
+Simpson leapt excitedly into the breach.
+
+"I'll tell you what I'll do--I'll teach you all the different knots
+and things. I learnt them coming down in the train. Everybody ought
+to know them. Archie, old man, can you let me have a piece of rope?"
+
+"Certainly. Take any piece you like. Only spare the main-sheet."
+
+Simpson went forward to consult Joe, and came back with enough to
+hang himself with. He sat down opposite to us, wrapped the rope once
+round his waist, and then beamed at us over his spectacles.
+
+"Now supposing you had fallen down a well," he began, "and I let
+this rope down to you, what would you do with YOUR end?"
+
+We thought deeply for a moment.
+
+"I should wait until you were looking over the edge, and then give
+it a sharp jerk," said Archie.
+
+"One MUST have company in a well," I agreed.
+
+"They're being silly again," apologized Myra. "Tell ME, Mr Simpson!
+I should love to know--I'm always falling down wells."
+
+"Well, you tie it round you like this. Through there--and over
+there--and then back under there. You see, it simply CAN'T slip.
+Then I should pull you up."
+
+"But how nice of you. Let me try. ... Oh, yes, that's easy."
+
+"Well, then there's the hangman's knot."
+
+Archie and I looked at each other.
+
+"The predicaments in which Simpson finds himself are extraordinarily
+varied," I said.
+
+"One of these days he'll be in a well, and we shall let down a rope
+to him, and he'll hang himself by mistake."
+
+"That would look very determined. On the other hand there must be
+annoying occasions when he starts out to strangle somebody and finds
+that he's pulling him out of the cistern."
+
+"Why, how delightful, Mr Simpson," said Myra. "Do show us some
+more."
+
+"Those are the most important ones. Then there are one or two fancy
+ones. Do you know the Monkey's Claw?"
+
+"Don't touch it," said Archie solemnly. "It's poison."
+
+"Oh, I must show you that."
+
+Joe showed me the Monkey's Claw afterwards, and it is a beautiful
+thing, but it was not a bit like Simpson's. Simpson must have
+started badly, and I think he used too much rope. After about twenty
+minutes there was hardly any of him visible at all.
+
+"Take your time, Houdini," said Archie, "take your time. Just let us
+know when you're ready to be put into the safe, that's all."
+
+"You would hardly think, to look at him now," I said a minute later,
+"that one day he'll be a dear little butterfly."
+
+"Where's the sealing-wax, Maria? You know, I'm certain he'll never
+go for threepence."
+
+"What I say is, it's simply hypnotic suggestion. There's no rope
+there at all, really."
+
+An anxious silence followed.
+
+"No," said Simpson suddenly, "I'm doing it wrong."
+
+"From to-night," said Archie, after tea, "you will be put on
+rations. One cobnut and a thimbleful of sherry wine per diem. I hope
+somebody's brought a thimble."
+
+"There really isn't so very much left," said Dahlia.
+
+"Then we shall have to draw lots who is to be eaten."
+
+"Don't we eat our boots and things first?" asked Myra.
+
+"The doctor says I mustn't have anything more solid than a
+lightly-boiled shoe-lace the last thing at night."
+
+"After all, there's always the dinghy," said Archie. "If we put in a
+tin of corned beef and a compass and a keg of gunpowder, somebody
+might easily row in and post the letters. Personally, as captain, I
+must stick to my ship."
+
+"There's another way I've just thought of," I said. "Let's sail in."
+
+I pointed out to sea, and there, unmistakably, was the least little
+breeze coming over the waters. A minute later and our pennant napped
+once Simpson moistened a finger and held it up.
+
+The sprint for home had begun.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+III.--A DAY ASHORE
+
+
+
+
+
+"Well, which is it to be?" asked Archie.
+
+"Just whichever you like," said Dahlia, "only make up your minds."
+
+"Well, I can do you a very good line in either. I've got a lot of
+sea in the front of the house, and there's the Armadillo straining
+at the leash; and I've had some land put down at the back of the
+house, and there's the Silent-Knight eating her carburettor off in
+the kennels."
+
+"Oh, what can ail thee, Silent-Knight, alone and palely loitering?"
+asked Simpson. "Keats," he added kindly.
+
+"Ass (Shakespeare)," I said.
+
+"Of course, if we sailed," Simpson went on eagerly, "and we got
+becalmed again, I could teach you chaps signalling."
+
+Archie looked from one to the other of us.
+
+"I think that settles it," he said, and went off to see about the
+motor.
+
+"Little Chagford," said Archie, as he slowed down. "Where are we
+going to, by the way?"
+
+"I thought we'd just go on until we found a nice place for lunch."
+
+"And then on again till we found a nice place for tea," added Myra.
+
+"And so home to dinner," I concluded.
+
+"Speaking for myself--" began Simpson.
+
+"Oh, why not?"
+
+"I should like to see a church where Katharine of Aragon or somebody
+was buried."
+
+"Samuel's morbid craving for sensation--"
+
+"Wait till we get back to London, and I'll take you to Madame
+Tussaud's, Mr Simpson."
+
+"Well, I think he's quite right," said Dahlia. "There is an old
+Norman church, I believe, and we ought to go and see it. The
+Philistines needn't come in if they don't want to."
+
+"Philistines!" I said indignantly. "Well, I'm--"
+
+"Agagged," suggested Archie. "Oh no, he was an Amalekite."
+
+"You've lived in the same country as this famous old Norman church
+for years and years and years, and you care so little about it that
+you've never been to see it and aren't sure whether it was Katharine
+of Aragon or Alice-for-short who was buried here, and now that you
+HAVE come across it by accident you want to drive up to it in a
+brand-new 1910 motor-car, with Simpson in his 1910 gent.'s fancy
+vest knocking out the ashes of his pipe against the lych-gate as he
+goes in. ... And that's what it is to be one of the elect!"
+
+"Little Chagford's noted back-chat comedians," commented Archie.
+"Your turn, Dahlia."
+
+"There was once a prince who was walking in a forest near his castle
+one day--that's how all the nice stories begin--and he suddenly came
+across a beautiful maiden, and he said to himself, 'I've lived here
+for years and years and years, and I've never seen her before, and
+I'm not sure whether her name is Katharine or Alice, or where her
+uncle was buried, and I've got a new surcoat on which doesn't match
+her wimple at all, so let's leave her and go home to lunch....' And
+THAT'S what it is to be one of the elect!"
+
+"Don't go on too long," said Archie. "There are the performing seals
+to come after you."
+
+I jumped out of the car and joined her in the road.
+
+"Dahlia, I apologize," I said. "You are quite right. We will visit
+this little church together, and see who was buried there."
+
+Myra looked up from the book she had been studying, Jovial Jaunts
+Round Jibmouth.
+
+"There isn't a church at Little Chagford," she said. "At least there
+wasn't two years ago, when this book was published. So that looks as
+though it can't be VERY early Norman."
+
+"Then let's go on," said Archie, after a deep silence.
+
+We found a most delightful little spot (which wasn't famous for
+anything) for lunch, and had the baskets out of the car in no time.
+
+"Now, are you going to help get things ready," asked Myra, "or are
+you going to take advantage of your sex and watch Dahlia and me do
+all the work?"
+
+"I thought women always liked to keep the food jobs for themselves,"
+I said. "I know I'm never allowed in the kitchen at home. Besides,
+I've got more important work to do--I'm going to make the fire."
+
+"What fire?"
+
+"You can't really lead the simple life and feel at home with Nature
+until you have laid a fire of twigs and branches, rubbed two sticks
+together to procure a flame, and placed in the ashes the pemmican or
+whatever it is that falls to your rifle."
+
+"Well, I did go out to look for pemmican this morning, but there
+were none rising."
+
+"Then I shall have my ham sandwich hot."
+
+"Bread, butter, cheese, eggs, sandwiches, fruit," catalogued Dahlia,
+as she took them out; "what else do you want?"
+
+"I'm waiting here for cake," I said.
+
+"Bother, I forgot the cake."
+
+"Look here, this picnic isn't going with the swing that one had
+looked for. No pemmican, no cake, no early Norman church. We might
+almost as well be back in the Cromwell Road."
+
+"Does your whole happiness depend on cake?" asked Myra scornfully.
+
+"To a large extent it does. Archie," I called out, "there's no
+cake."
+
+Archie stopped patting the car and came over to us. "Good. Let's
+begin," he said; "I'm hungry."
+
+"You didn't hear. I said there WASN'T any cake--on the contrary,
+there is an entire absence of it, a shortage, a vacuum, not to say a
+lacuna. In the place where it should be there is an aching void or
+mere hard-boiled eggs or something of that sort. I say, doesn't
+ANYBODY mind, except me?"
+
+Apparently nobody did, so that it was useless to think of sending
+Archie back for it. Instead, I did a little wrist-work with the
+corkscrew....
+
+"Now," said Archie, after lunch, "before you all go off with your
+butterfly nets, I'd better say that we shall be moving on at about
+half-past three. That is, unless one of you has discovered the slot
+of a Large Cabbage White just then, and is following up the trail
+very keenly."
+
+"I know what I'm going to do," I said, "if the flies will let me
+alone."
+
+"Tell me quickly before I guess," begged Myra.
+
+"I'm going to lie on my back and think about--who do you think do
+the hardest work in the world?"
+
+"Stevedores."
+
+"Then I shall think about stevedores."
+
+"Are you sure," asked Simpson, "that you wouldn't like me to show
+you that signalling now?"
+
+I closed my eyes. You know, I wonder sometimes what it is that makes
+a picnic so pleasant. Because all the important things, the eating
+and the sleeping, one can do anywhere.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+IV.--IN THE WET
+
+
+
+
+
+Myra gazed out of the window upon the driving rain and shook her
+head at the weather.
+
+"Ugh!" she said. "Ugly!"
+
+"Beast," I added, in order that there should be no doubt about what
+we thought. "Utter and deliberate beast."
+
+We had arranged for a particularly pleasant day. We were to have
+sailed across to the mouth of the--I always forget its name, and
+then up the river to the famous old castle of-of-no, it's gone
+again; but anyhow, there was to have been a bathe in the river, and
+lunch, and a little exploration in the dinghy, and a lesson in the
+Morse code from Simpson, and tea in the woods with a real fire, and
+in the cool of the evening a ripping run home before the wind. But
+now the only thing that seemed certain was the cool of the evening.
+
+"We'll light a fire and do something indoors," said Dahlia.
+
+"This is an extraordinary house," said Archie. "There isn't a single
+book in it, except a lot of Strand Magazines for 1907. That must
+have been a very wet year."
+
+"We can play games, dear."
+
+"True, darling. Let's do a charade."
+
+"The last time I played charades," I said, "I was Horatius, the
+front part of Elizabeth's favourite palfrey, the arrow which shot
+Rufus, Jonah, the two little Princes in the Tower, and Mrs
+Pankhurst."
+
+"Which was your favourite part?" asked Myra.
+
+"The front part of the palfrey. But I was very good as the two
+little Princes."
+
+"It's no good doing charades, if there's nobody to do them to."
+
+"Thomas is coming to-morrow," said Myra. "We could tell him all
+about it."
+
+"Clumps is a jolly good game," suggested Simpson.
+
+"The last time I was a clump," I said, "I was the first coin paid on
+account of the last pair of boots, sandals, or whatnot of the man
+who laid the first stone of the house where lived the prettiest aunt
+of the man who reared the goose which laid the egg from which came
+the goose which provided the last quill pen used by the third man
+Shakespeare met on the second Wednesday in June, 1595."
+
+"He mightn't have had an aunt," said Myra, after a minute's profound
+thought.
+
+"He hadn't."
+
+"Well, anyhow, one way and another you've had a very adventurous
+career, my lad," said Archie. "What happened the last time you
+played ludo?"
+
+"When I played clumps," put in Simpson, "I was the favourite spoke
+of Hall Caine's first bicycle. They guessed Hall Caine and the
+bicycle and the spoke very quickly, but nobody thought of suggesting
+the favourite spoke."
+
+Myra went to the window again, and came back with the news that it
+would probably be a fine evening.
+
+"Thank you," we all said.
+
+"But I wasn't just making conversation. I have an idea."
+
+"Silence for Myra's idea."
+
+"Well, it's this. If we can't do anything without an audience, and
+if the audience won't come to us, let's go to them."
+
+"Be a little more lucid, there's a dear. It isn't that we aren't
+trying."
+
+"Well then, let's serenade the other houses about here to-night."
+
+There was a powerful silence while everybody considered this.
+
+"Good," said Archie at last. "We will."
+
+The rest of the morning and all the afternoon were spent in
+preparations. Archie and Myra were all right; one plays the banjo
+and the other the guitar. (It is a musical family, the Mannerings.)
+Simpson keeps a cornet which he generally puts in his bag, but I
+cannot remember anyone asking him to play it. If the question has
+ever arisen, he has probably been asked not to play it. However, he
+would bring it out to-night. In any case he has a tolerable voice;
+while Dahlia has always sung like an angel. In short, I was the
+chief difficulty.
+
+"I suppose there wouldn't be time to learn the violin?" I asked.
+
+"Why didn't they teach you something when you were a boy?" wondered
+Myra.
+
+"They did. But my man forgot to put it in my bag when he packed. He
+put in two tooth-brushes and left out the triangle. Do you think
+there's a triangle shop in the village? I generally play on an
+isosceles one, any two sides of which are together greater than the
+third. Likewise the angles which are opposite to the adjacent sides,
+each to each."
+
+"Well, you must take the cap round for the money."
+
+"I will. I forgot to say that my own triangle at home, the Strad, is
+in the chromatic scale of A, and has a splice. It generally gets the
+chromatics very badly in the winter."
+
+While the others practised their songs, I practised taking the cap
+round, and by tea-time we all knew our parts perfectly. I had
+received permission to join in the choruses, and I was also to be
+allowed to do a little dance with Myra. When you think that I had
+charge of the financial arrangements as well, you can understand
+that I felt justified in considering myself the leader of the
+troupe.
+
+"In fact," I said, "you ought to black your faces so as to
+distinguish yourselves from me."
+
+"We won't black our faces," said Dahlia, "but we'll wear masks; and
+we might each carry a little board explaining why we're doing this."
+
+"Right," said Archie; and he sat down and wrote a notice for
+himself--
+
+"I AM AN ORPHAN. SO ARE THE OTHERS, BUT THEY ARE NOT SO ORPHAN AS I
+AM. I AM EXTREMELY FREQUENT."
+
+Dahlia said--
+
+"WE ARE DOING THIS FOR AN ADVERTISEMENT. IF YOU LIKE US, SEND A
+SHILLING FOR A FREE SAMPLE CONCERT, MENTIONING THIS PAPER. YOUR
+MONEY BACK IF WE ARE NOT SATISFIED WITH IT."
+
+Simpson announced--
+
+"WORLD'S LONG DISTANCE CORNETIST. HOLDER OF THE OBOE RECORD ON
+GRASS. RUNNER-UP IN THE OCARINA WELTER WEIGHTS (STRANGLE HOLD
+BARRED). MIXED ZITHER CHAMPION (1907, COVERED COURTS)."
+
+Myra said--
+
+"KIND FRIENDS, HELP US. WE WERE WRECKED THIS AFTERNOON. THE CORNET
+WAS SINKING FOR THE THIRD TIME WHEN IT WAS RESCUED, AND HAD TO BE
+BROUGHT ROUND BY ARTIFICIAL RESPIRATION. CAN YOU SPARE US A DRINK OF
+WATER?"
+
+As for myself I had to hand the Simpson yachting cap round, and my
+notice said--
+
+"WE WANT YOUR MONEY. IF YOU CANNOT GIVE US ANY, FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE
+KEEP THE CAP."
+
+We had an early dinner, so as to be in time to serenade our victims
+when they were finishing their own meal and feeling friendly to the
+world. Then we went upstairs and dressed. Dahlia and Myra had
+kimonos, Simpson put on his dressing-gown, in which he fancies
+himself a good deal, and Archie and I wore brilliantly-coloured
+pyjamas over our other clothes.
+
+"Let's see," said Simpson, "I start off with 'The Minstrel Boy,'
+don't I? And then what do we do?"
+
+"Then we help you to escape," said Archie. "After that, Dahlia sings
+'Santa Lucia,' and Myra and I give them a duet, and if you're back
+by then with your false nose properly fixed it might be safe for you
+to join in the chorus of a coon song. Now then, are we all ready?"
+
+"What's that?" said Myra.
+
+We all listened ... and then we opened the door.
+
+It was pouring.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+V.--MAROONED
+
+
+
+
+
+"Stroke, you're late," said Thomas, butting me violently in the back
+with his oar.
+
+"My dear Thomas, when you have been in the Admiralty a little longer
+you will know that 'bow' is not the gentleman who sets the time.
+What do you suppose would happen at Queen's Hall if the second
+bird-call said to the conductor, 'Henry, you're late'?"
+
+"The whole gallery would go out and get its hair cut," said Archie.
+
+"I'm not used to the Morse system of rowing, that's the trouble,"
+explained Thomas. "Long-short, short-short-long, short-long. You're
+spelling out the most awful things, if you only knew."
+
+"Be careful how you insult me, Thomas. A little more and I shall
+tell them what happened to you on the ornamental waters in Regent's
+Park that rough day."
+
+"Really?" asked Simpson with interest.
+
+"Yes; I fancy he had been rather overdoing it at Swedish drill that
+morning."
+
+We gave her ten in silence, and then by mutual consent rested on our
+oars.
+
+"There's a long way yet," said Myra. "Dahlia and I will row if
+you're tired."
+
+"This is an insult, Thomas. Shall we sit down under it?"
+
+"Yes," said Thomas, getting up; "only in another part of the boat."
+
+We gave up our seats to the ladies (even in a boat one should be
+polite) and from a position in the stern waited with turned-up
+coat-collars for the water to come on board.
+
+"We might have sailed up a little higher," remarked Simpson. "It's
+all right, I'm not a bit wet, thanks."
+
+"It's too shallow, except at high tide," said Myra. "The Armadillo
+would have gone aground and lost all her--her shell. Do armadilloes
+have shells, or what?"
+
+"Feathers."
+
+"Well, we're a pretty good bank-holiday crowd for the dinghy," said
+Archie. "Simpson, if we upset, save the milk and the sandwiches; my
+wife can swim."
+
+The woods were now beginning to come down to the river on both
+sides, but on the right a grassy slope broke them at the water's
+edge for some fifty yards. Thither we rowed, and after a little
+complicated manoeuvring landed suddenly, Simpson, who was standing in
+the bows with the boat-hook, being easily the first to reach the
+shore. He got up quickly, however, apologized, and helped the ladies
+and the hampers out. Thereafter he was busy for some time, making
+the dinghy fast with a knot peculiarly his own.
+
+"The first thing to do is to build a palisade to keep the savages
+off," said Archie, and he stuck the boat-hook into the ground.
+"After which you are requested to light fires to frighten the wild
+beasts. The woodbines are very wild at this time of the year."
+
+"We shall have to light a fire anyhow for the tea, so that will be
+very useful," said the thoughtful Dahlia.
+
+"I myself," I said, "will swim out to the wreck for the musket and
+the bag of nails."
+
+"As you're going," said Myra, unpacking, "you might get the sugar as
+well. We've forgotten it."
+
+"Now you've spoilt my whole holiday. It was bad enough with the cake
+last week, but this is far, far worse. I shall go into the wood and
+eat berries."
+
+"It's all right, here it is. Now you're happy again. I wish, if you
+aren't too busy, you'd go into the wood and collect sticks for the
+fire."
+
+"I am unusually busy," I said, "and there is a long queue of clients
+waiting for me in the ante-room. An extremely long queue--almost a
+half-butt in fact."
+
+I wandered into the wood alone. Archie and Dahlia had gone
+arm-in-arm up the hill to look at a view, Simpson was helping Myra
+with the hampers, and Thomas, the latest arrival from town, was
+lying on his back, telling them what he alleged to be a good story
+now going round London. Myra told it to me afterwards, and we agreed
+that as a boy it had gone round the world several times first. Yet I
+heard her laugh unaffectedly--what angels women are!
+
+Ten minutes later I returned with my spoil, and laid it before them.
+
+"A piece of brown bread from the bread-fruit tree, a piece of
+indiarubber from the mango tree, a chutney from the banana grove,
+and an omelet from the turtle run, I missed the chutney with my
+first barrel, and brought it down rather luckily with the ricochet."
+
+"But how funny; they all look just like sticks of wood."
+
+"That is Nature's plan of protective colouring. In the same way
+apricots have often escaped with their lives by sitting in the cream
+and pretending to be poached eggs."
+
+"The same instinct of self-preservation," added Archie, "has led
+many a pill called Beauchamp to pronounce its name Cholmondeley."
+
+Simpson begged to be allowed to show us how to light a fire, and we
+hadn't the heart to refuse him. It was, he said, the way they lit
+fires on the veldt (and other places where they wanted fires), and
+it went out the first time because the wind must have changed round
+after he had begun to lay the wood. He got the draught in the right
+place the next time, and for a moment we thought we should have to
+take to the boats; but the captain averted a panic, and the fire was
+got under. Then the kettle was put on, and of all the boiled water I
+have ever tasted this was the best.
+
+"You know," said Archie, "in Simpson the nation has lost a wonderful
+scoutmaster."
+
+"Oh, Samuel," cried Myra, "tell us how you tracked the mules that
+afternoon, and knew they were wounded because of the blood."
+
+"Tell us about that time when you bribed the regimental anchovy of
+Troop B to betray the secret password to you."
+
+"I ignore you because you're jealous. May I have some more tea, Miss
+Mannering?"
+
+"Call me Myra, Scoutmaster Simpson of The Spectator troop, and you
+shall."
+
+"I blush for my unblushing sex," said Dahlia.
+
+"I blush for my family," said Archie. "That a young girl of gentle
+birth, nurtured in a peaceful English home, brought up in an
+atmosphere of old-world courtesy, should so far forget herself as
+to attempt to wheedle a promising young scoutmaster, who can light a
+fire, practically speaking, backwards--this, I repeat, is too
+much."
+
+It was Thomas who changed the subject so abruptly.
+
+"I suppose the tide comes as far as this?" he said.
+
+"It does, captain."
+
+"Then that would account for the boat having gone."
+
+"That and Simpson's special knot," I said, keeping calm for the sake
+of the women and children.
+
+Archie jumped up with a shout. The boat was about twenty yards from
+the shore, going very slowly upstream.
+
+"It's very bad to bathe just after a heavy meal," I reminded him.
+
+"I'm not sure that I'm going to, but I'm quite sure that one of us
+will have to."
+
+"Walk up the river with it," said Myra, "while Dahlia and I pack,
+and the one who's first digested goes in."
+
+We walked up. I felt that in my own case the process of assimilation
+would be a lengthy one.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+VI.--A LITTLE CRICKET FOR AN ENDING
+
+
+
+
+
+We came back from a "Men Only" sail to find Myra bubbling over with
+excitement.
+
+"I've got some news for you," she said, "but I'm not going to tell
+you till dinner. Be quick and change."
+
+"Bother, she's going to get married," I murmured.
+
+Myra gurgled and drove us off.
+
+"Put on all your medals and orders, Thomas," she called up the
+stairs; "and, Archie, it's a champagne night."
+
+"I believe, old fellow," said Simpson, "she's married already."
+
+Half an hour later we were all ready for the news.
+
+"Just a moment, Myra," said Archie. "I'd better warn you that we're
+expecting a good deal, and that if you don't live up to the
+excitement you've created, you'll be stood in the corner for the
+rest of dinner."
+
+"She's quite safe," said Dahlia.
+
+"Of course I am. Well, now I'm going to begin. This morning, about
+eleven, I went and had a bathe, and I met another girl in the sea."
+
+"Horribly crowded the sea is getting nowadays," commented Archie.
+
+"And she began to talk about what a jolly day it was and so on, and
+I gave her my card--I mean I said, 'I'm Myra Mannering.' And she
+said, 'I'm sure you're keen on cricket.'"
+
+"I like the way girls talk in the sea," said Archie. "So direct."
+
+"What is there about our Myra," I asked, "that stamps her as a
+cricketer, even when she's only got her head above water?"
+
+"She'd seen me on land, silly. Well, we went on talking, and at last
+she said, 'Will you play us at mixed cricket on Saturday?' And a big
+wave came along and went inside me just as I was saying yes."
+
+"Hooray! Myra, your health."
+
+"We're only six, though," added Archie. "Didn't you swim up against
+anybody else who looked like a cricketer and might play for us?"
+
+"But we can easily pick up five people by Saturday," said Myra
+confidently. "And oh, I do hope we're in form; we haven't played for
+years."
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+We lost the toss, and Myra led her team out on to the field. The
+last five places in the eleven had been filled with care: a
+preparatory school-boy and his little sister (found by Dahlia on the
+beach), Miss Debenham (found by Simpson on the road with a punctured
+bicycle), Mrs Oakley (found by Archie at the station and
+re-discovered by Myra in the Channel), and Sarah, a jolly girl of
+sixteen (found by me and Thomas in the tobacconist's, where she was
+buying The Sportsman).
+
+"Where would you all like to field?" asked the captain.
+
+"Let's stand round in groups, just at the start, and then see where
+we're wanted. Who's going to bowl?"
+
+"Me and Samuel. I wonder if I dare bowl over-hand."
+
+"I'm going to," said Simpson.
+
+"You can't, not with your left hand."
+
+"Why not? Hirst does."
+
+"Then I shan't field point," said Thomas with decision.
+
+However, as it happened, it was short leg who received the first two
+balls, beautiful swerving wides, while the next two were well caught
+and returned by third man. Simpson's range being thus established,
+he made a determined attack on the over proper with lobs, and
+managed to wipe off half of it. Encouraged by this, he returned with
+such success to overhand that the very next ball got into the
+analysis, the batsman reaching out and hitting it over the hedge for
+six. Two more range-finders followed before Simpson scored another
+dot with a sneak; and then, at what should have been the last ball,
+a tragedy occurred.
+
+"Wide," said the umpire.
+
+"But--but I was b-bowling UNDERHAND," stammered Simpson.
+
+"Now you've nothing to fall back on," I pointed out.
+
+Simpson considered the new situation. "Then you fellows can't mind
+if I go on with overhand," he said joyfully, and he played his
+twelfth.
+
+It was the batsman's own fault. Like a true gentleman he went after
+the ball, caught it up near point, and hit it hard in the direction
+of cover. Sarah shot up a hand unconcernedly.
+
+"One for six," said Simpson, and went over to Miss Debenham to
+explain how he did it.
+
+"He must come off," said Archie. "We have a reputation to keep up.
+It's his left hand, of course, but we can't go round to all the
+spectators and explain that he can really bowl quite decent long
+hops with his right."
+
+In the next over nothing much happened, except that Miss Debenham
+missed a sitter. Subsequently Simpson caught her eye from another
+part of the field, and explained telegraphically to her how she
+should have drawn her hands in to receive the ball. The third over
+was entrusted to Sarah.
+
+"So far," said Dahlia, half an hour later, "the Rabbits have not
+shone. Sarah is doing it all."
+
+"Hang it, Dahlia, Thomas and I discovered the child. Give the credit
+where it is due."
+
+"Well, why don't you put my Bobby on, then? Boys are allowed to play
+right-handed, you know."
+
+So Bobby went on, and with Sarah's help finished off the innings.
+
+"Jolly good rot," he said to Simpson, "you're having to bowl
+left-handed."
+
+"My dear Robert," I said, "Mr Simpson is a natural base-ball
+pitcher, he has an acquired swerve at bandy, and he is a
+lepidopterist of considerable charm. But he can't bowl with either
+hand."
+
+"Coo!" said Bobby.
+
+The allies came out even more strongly when we went in to bat. I was
+the only Rabbit who made ten, and my whole innings was played in an
+atmosphere of suspicion very trying to a sensitive man. Mrs Oakley
+was in when I took guard, and I played out the over with great care,
+being morally bowled by every ball. At the end of it a horrible
+thought occurred to me: I had been batting right-handed! Naturally I
+changed round for my next ball. (Movements of surprise.)
+
+"Hallo," said the wicket-keeper, "I thought you were left-handed;
+why aren't you playing right?"
+
+"No, I'm really right-handed," I said. "I played that way by mistake
+just now. Sorry."
+
+He grunted sceptically, and the bowler came up to have things
+explained to her. The next ball I hit left-handed for six. (LOUD
+MUTTERS.)
+
+"Is he really right-handed?" the bowler asked Mrs Oakley.
+
+"I don't know," she said, "I've never seen him before." (SENSATION.)
+
+"I think, if you don't mind, we'd rather you played right-handed."
+
+"Certainly." The next ball was a full pitch, and I took a
+right-handed six. There was an awful hush. I looked round at the
+field and prepared to run for it. I felt that they suspected me of
+all the undiscovered crimes of the year.
+
+"Look here," I said, nearly crying, "I'll play any way you
+like--sideways, or upside down, or hanging on to the branch of a
+tree, or--"
+
+The atmosphere was too much for me. I trod on my wickets, burst into
+tears, and bolted to the tent.
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+"Well," said Dahlia, "we won."
+
+"Yes," we all agreed, "we won."
+
+"Even if we didn't do much of it ourselves," Simpson pointed out,
+"we had jolly good fun."
+
+"We always have THAT," said Myra.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE HOUSE-WARMING
+
+I.--WORK FOR ALL
+
+
+
+
+
+"Well," said Dahlia, "what do you think of it?"
+
+I knocked the ashes out of my after-breakfast pipe, arranged the
+cushions of my deck-chair, and let my eyes wander lazily over the
+house and its surroundings. After a year of hotels and other
+people's houses, Dahlia and Archie had come into their own.
+
+"I've no complaints," I said happily.
+
+A vision of white and gold appeared in the doorway and glided over
+the lawn toward us--Myra with a jug.
+
+"None at all," said Simpson, sitting up eagerly.
+
+"But Thomas isn't quite satisfied with one of the bathrooms, I'm
+afraid. I heard him saying something in the passage about it this
+morning when I was inside."
+
+"I asked if you'd gone to sleep in the bath," explained Thomas.
+
+"I hadn't. It is practically impossible, Thomas, to go to sleep in a
+cold bath."
+
+"Except, perhaps, for a Civil Servant," said Blair.
+
+"Exactly. Of the practice in the Admiralty Thomas can tell us later
+on. For myself I was at the window looking at the beautiful view."
+
+"Why can't you look at it from your own window instead of keeping
+people out of the bathroom?" grunted Thomas.
+
+"Because the view from my room is an entirely different one."
+
+"There is no stint in this house," Dahlia pointed out.
+
+"No," said Simpson, jumping up excitedly.
+
+Myra put the jug of cider down in front of us.
+
+"There!" she said. "Please count it, and see that I haven't drunk
+any on the way."
+
+"This is awfully nice of you, Myra. And a complete surprise to all
+of us except Simpson. We shall probably be here again to-morrow
+about the same time."
+
+There was a long silence, broken only by the extremely jolly sound
+of liquid falling from a height.
+
+Just as it was coming to an end Archie appeared suddenly among us
+and dropped on the grass by the side of Dahlia. Simpson looked
+guiltily at the empty jug, and then leant down to his host.
+
+"TO-MORROW!" he said in a stage whisper. "ABOUT THE SAME TIME."
+
+"I doubt it," said Archie.
+
+"I know it for a fact," protested Simpson.
+
+"I'm afraid Myra and Samuel made an assignation for this morning,"
+said Dahlia.
+
+"There's nothing in it, really," said Myra. "He's only trifling with
+me. He doesn't mean anything."
+
+Simpson buried his confused head in his glass, and proceeded to
+change the subject.
+
+"We all like your house, Archie," he said.
+
+"We do," I agreed, "and we think it's very nice of you to ask us
+down to open it."
+
+"It is rather," said Archie.
+
+"We are determined, therefore, to do all we can to give the house a
+homey appearance. I did what I could for the bathroom this morning.
+I flatter myself that the taint of newness has now been dispelled."
+
+"I was sure it was you," said Myra. "How do you get the water right
+up the walls?"
+
+"Easily. Further, Archie, if you want any suggestions as to how to
+improve the place, our ideas are at your disposal."
+
+"For instance," said Thomas, "where do we play cricket?"
+
+"By the way, you fellows," announced Simpson, "I've given up playing
+cricket."
+
+We all looked at him in consternation.
+
+"Do you mean you've given up BOWLING?" said Dahlia, with wide-open
+eyes.
+
+"Aren't you ever going to walk to the wickets again?" asked Blair.
+
+"Aren't you ever going to walk back to the pavilion again?" asked
+Archie.
+
+"What will Montgomeryshire say?" wondered Myra in tones of awe.
+
+"May I have your belt and your sand-shoes?" I begged.
+
+"It's the cider," said Thomas. "I knew he was overdoing it."
+
+Simpson fixed his glasses firmly on his nose and looked round at us
+benignly.
+
+"I've given it up for golf," he observed.
+
+"Traitor," said everyone.
+
+"And the Triangular Tournament arranged for, and everything," added
+Myra.
+
+"You could make a jolly little course round here," went on the
+infatuated victim. "If you like, Archie, I'll--"
+
+Archie stood up and made a speech.
+
+"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "at 11.30 to-morrow precisely I
+invite you to the paddock beyond the kitchen-garden."
+
+"Myra and I have an appointment," put in Simpson hastily.
+
+"A net will be erected," Archie went on, ignoring him, "and Mr
+Simpson will take his stand therein, while we all bowl at him--or,
+if any prefer it, at the wicket--for five minutes. He will then bowl
+at us for an hour, after which he will have another hour's smart
+fielding practice. If he is still alive and still talks about golf,
+why then, I won't say but what he mightn't be allowed to plan out a
+little course--or, at any rate, to do a little preliminary weeding."
+
+"Good man," said Simpson.
+
+"And if anybody else thinks he has given up cricket for ludo or
+croquet or oranges and lemons, then he can devote himself to
+planning out a little course for that too--or anyhow to removing a
+few plantains in preparation for it. In fact, ladies and gentlemen,
+all I want is for you to make yourselves as happy and as useful as
+you can."
+
+"It's what you're here for," said Dahlia.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+II.--A GALA PERFORMANCE
+
+
+
+
+
+THE sun came into my room early next morning and woke me up. It was
+followed immediately by a large blue-bottle which settled down to
+play with me. We adopted the usual formation, the blue-bottle
+keeping mostly to the back of the court whilst I waited at the net
+for a kill. After two sets I decided to change my tactics. I looked
+up at the ceiling and pretended I wasn't playing. The blue-bottle
+settled on my nose and walked up my forehead. "Heavens!" I cried,
+clasping my hand suddenly to my brow, "I've forgotten my
+toothbrush!" This took it completely by surprise, and I removed its
+corpse into the candlestick.
+
+Then Simpson came in with a golf club in his hand.
+
+"Great Scott," he shouted, "you're not still in bed?"
+
+"I am not. This is telepathic suggestion. You think I'm in bed; I
+appear to be in bed; in reality there is no bed here. Do go away--I
+haven't had a wink of sleep yet."
+
+"But, man, look at the lovely morning!"
+
+"Simpson," I said sternly, rolling up the sleeves of my pyjamas with
+great deliberation, "I have had one visitor already to-day. His
+corpse is now in the candlestick. It is an omen, Simpson."
+
+"I thought you'd like to come outside with me, and I'd show you my
+swing."
+
+"Yes, yes, I shall like to see that, but AFTER breakfast, Simpson. I
+suppose one of the gardeners put it up for you? You must show me
+your box of soldiers and your tricycle horse, too. But run away now,
+there's a good boy."
+
+"My golf-swing, idiot."
+
+I sat up in bed and stared at him in sheer amazement. For a long
+time words wouldn't come to me. Simpson backed nervously to the
+door.
+
+"I saw the Coronation," I said at last, and I dropped back on my
+pillow and went to sleep.
+
+. . . . . .
+
+"I feel very important," said Archie, coming on to the lawn where
+Myra and I were playing a quiet game of bowls with the croquet
+balls. "I've been paying the wages."
+
+"Archie and I do hate it so," said Dahlia. "I'm luckier, because I
+only pay mine once a month."
+
+"It would be much nicer if they did it for love," said Archie, "and
+just accepted a tie-pin occasionally. I never know what to say when
+I hand a man eighteen-and-six."
+
+"Here's eighteen-and-six," I suggested, "and don't bite the
+half-sovereign, because it may be bad."
+
+"You should shake his hand," said Myra, "and say, 'Thank you very
+much for the azaleas.'"
+
+"Or you might wrap the money up in paper and leave it for him in one
+of the beds."
+
+"And then you'd know whether he had made it properly."
+
+"Well, you're all very helpful," said Archie. "Thank you extremely.
+Where are the others? It's a pity that they should be left out of
+this."
+
+"Simpson disappeared after breakfast with his golf-clubs. He is in
+high dudgeon--which is the surname of a small fish--because no one
+wanted to see his swing."
+
+"Oh, but I do," said Dahlia eagerly. "Where is he?"
+
+"We will track him down," announced Archie. "I will go to the
+stables, unchain the truffle-hounds, and show them one of his
+reversible cuffs."
+
+We found Simpson in the pig-sty. The third hole, as he was planning
+it out for Archie, necessitated the carrying of the farm buildings,
+which he described as a natural hazard. Unfortunately, his ball had
+fallen into a casual pig-sty. It had not yet been decided whether
+the ball could be picked out without penalty--the more immediate
+need being to find the blessed thing. So Simpson was in the pig-sty,
+searching.
+
+"If you're looking for the old sow," I said, "there she is, just
+behind you."
+
+"What's the local rule about loose pigs blown on to the course?"
+asked Archie.
+
+"Oh, you fellows, there you are," said Simpson rapidly. "I'm getting
+on first-rate. This is the third hole, Archie. It will be rather
+good, I think; the green is just the other side of the pond. I can
+make a very sporting little course."
+
+"We've come to see your swing, Samuel," said Myra. "Can you do it in
+there, or is it too crowded?"
+
+"I'll come out. This ball's lost, I'm afraid."
+
+"One of the little pigs will eat it," complained Archie, "and we
+shall have indiarubber crackling."
+
+Simpson came out and proceeded to give his display. Fortunately the
+weather kept fine, the conditions indeed being all that could be
+desired. The sun shone brightly, and there was a slight breeze from
+the south which tempered the heat and in no way militated against
+the general enjoyment. The performance was divided into two parts.
+The first part consisted of Mr Simpson's swing WITHOUT the ball, the
+second part being devoted to Mr Simpson's swing WITH the ball.
+
+"This is my swing," said Simpson.
+
+He settled himself ostentatiously into his stance and placed his
+club-head stiffly on the ground three feet away from him.
+
+"Middle," said Archie.
+
+Simpson frowned and began to waggle his club. He waggled it
+carefully a dozen times.
+
+"It's a very nice swing," said Myra at the end of the ninth
+movement, "but isn't it rather short?"
+
+Simpson said nothing, but drew his club slowly and jerkily back,
+twisting his body and keeping his eye fixed on an imaginary ball
+until the back of his neck hid it from sight.
+
+"You can see it better round this side now," suggested Archie.
+
+"He'll split if he goes on," said Thomas anxiously.
+
+"Watch this," I warned Myra. "He's going to pick a pin out of the
+back of his calf with his teeth."
+
+Then Simpson let himself go, finishing up in a very creditable knot
+indeed.
+
+"That's quite good," said Dahlia. "Does it do as well when there's a
+ball?"
+
+"Well, I miss it sometimes, of course."
+
+"We all do that," said Thomas.
+
+Thus encouraged, Simpson put down a ball and began to address it. It
+was apparent at once that the last address had been only his
+telegraphic one; this was the genuine affair. After what seemed to
+be four or five minutes there was a general feeling that some
+apology was necessary. Simpson recognized this himself.
+
+"I'm a little nervous," he said.
+
+"Not so nervous as the pigs are," said Archie.
+
+Simpson finished his address and got on to his swing. He swung. He
+hit the ball. The ball, which seemed to have too much left-hand side
+on it, whizzed off and disappeared into the pond. It sank....
+
+Luckily the weather had held up till the last.
+
+"Well, well," said Archie, "it's time for lunch. We have had a
+riotous morning. Let's all take it easy this afternoon."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+III.--UNEXPECTED GUESTS
+
+
+
+
+
+Sometimes I do a little work in the morning. Doctors are agreed now
+that an occasional spell of work in the morning doesn't do me any
+harm. My announcement at breakfast that this was one of the mornings
+was greeted with a surprised enthusiasm which was most flattering.
+Archie offered me his own room where he does his thinking; Simpson
+offered me a nib; and Dahlia promised me a quiet time till lunch. I
+thanked them all and settled down to work.
+
+But Dahlia didn't keep her promise. My first hour was peaceful, but
+after that I had inquiries by every post. Blair looked in to know
+where Myra was; Archie asked if I'd seen Dahlia anywhere; and when
+finally Thomas's head appeared in the doorway I decided that I had
+had enough of it.
+
+"Oh, I say," began Thomas, "will you come and--but I suppose you're
+busy."
+
+"Not too busy," I said, "to spare a word or two for an old friend,"
+and I picked up the dictionary to throw at him. But he was gone
+before I could take aim.
+
+"This is the end," I said to myself, and after five minutes more
+decided to give up work and seek refreshment and congenial
+conversation. To my surprise I found neither. Every room seemed to
+be empty, the tennis lawn was deserted, and Archie's cricket-bag and
+Simpson's golf-clubs rested peacefully in the hall. Something was
+going on. I went back to my work and decided to have the secret out
+at lunch.
+
+"Now then," I said, when that blessed hour arrived, "tell me about
+it. You've deserted me all morning, but I'm not going to be left
+out."
+
+"It's your fault for shutting yourself up."
+
+"Duty," I said, slapping my chest--"duty," and I knocked my glass
+over with an elbow. "Oh, Dahlia, I'm horribly sorry. May I go and
+stand in the corner?"
+
+"Let's talk very fast and pretend we didn't notice it," said Myra,
+helping me to mop. "Go on, Archie."
+
+"Well, it's like this," said Archie. "A little while ago the Vicar
+called here."
+
+"I don't see that that's any reason for keeping me in the
+background. I have met clergymen before and I know what to say to
+them."
+
+"When I say a little while ago I mean about three weeks. We'd have
+asked you down for the night if we'd known you were so keen on
+clergymen. Well, as the result of that unfortunate visit, the school
+treat takes place here this afternoon, and lorblessme if I hadn't
+forgotten all about it till this morning."
+
+"You'll have to help, please," said Dahlia.
+
+"Only don't spill anything," said Thomas.
+
+They have a poor sense of humour in the Admiralty.
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+I took a baby in each hand and wandered off to look for bees. Their
+idea, not mine.
+
+"The best bees are round here," I said, and I led them along to the
+front of the house. On the lawn was Myra, surrounded by about eight
+babies.
+
+"Two more for your collection," I announced. "Very fine specimens.
+The word with them is bees."
+
+"Aren't they darlings? Sit down, babies, and the pretty gentleman
+will tell us all a story."
+
+"Meaning me?" I asked in surprise. Myra looked beseechingly at me as
+she arranged the children all round her. I sat down near them and
+tried to think.
+
+"Once upon a time," I said, "there was a--a--there was a--was a--a
+bee."
+
+Myra nodded approvingly. She seemed to like the story so far. I
+didn't. The great dearth of adventures that could happen to a bee
+was revealed to me in a flash. I saw that I had been hasty.
+
+"At least," I went on, "he thought he was a bee, but as he grew up
+his friends felt that he was not really a bee at all, but a dear
+little rabbit. His fur was too long for a bee."
+
+Myra shook her head at me and frowned. My story was getting
+over-subtle for the infant mind. I determined to straighten it out
+finally.
+
+"However," I added, "the old name stuck to him, and they all called
+him a bee. Now then I can get on. Where was I?"
+
+But at this moment my story was interrupted.
+
+"Come here," shouted Archie from the distance. "You're wanted."
+
+"I'm sorry," I said, getting up quickly. "Will you finish the story
+for me? You'd better leave out the part where he stings the Shah of
+Persia. That's too exciting. Good-bye." And I hurried after Archie.
+
+"Help Simpson with some of these races," said Archie. "He's getting
+himself into the dickens of a mess."
+
+Simpson had started two races simultaneously; hence the trouble. In
+one of them the bigger boys had to race to a sack containing their
+boots, rescue their own pair, put them on, and race back to the
+starting-point. Good! In the other the smaller boys, each armed with
+a paper containing a problem in arithmetic, had to run to their
+sisters, wait for the problem to be solved, and then run back with
+the answer. Excellent! Simpson at his most inventive. Unfortunately,
+when the bootless boys arrived at the turning post, they found
+nothing but a small problem in arithmetic awaiting them, while on
+the adjoining stretch of grass young mathematicians were trying,
+with the help of their sisters, to get into two pairs of boots at
+once.
+
+"Hallo, there you are," said Simpson. "Do help me; I shall be mobbed
+in a moment. It's the mothers. They think the whole thing is a
+scheme for stealing their children's boots. Can't you start a race
+for them?"
+
+"You never ought to go about without somebody. Where's Thomas?"
+
+"He's playing rounders. He scored a rounder by himself just now from
+an overthrow, but we shall hear about it at dinner. Look here,
+there's a game called 'Twos and Threes.' Couldn't you start the
+mothers at that? You stand in twos, and whenever anyone stands in
+front of the two then the person behind the two runs away."
+
+"Are you sure?"
+
+"What do you mean?" said Simpson.
+
+"It sounds too exciting to be true. I can't believe it."
+
+"Go on, there's a good chap. They'll know how to play all right."
+
+"Oh, very well. Do they take their boots off first or not?"
+
+Twos and Threes was a great success.
+
+I found that I had quite a FLAIR for the game. I seemed to take to
+it naturally.
+
+By the time our match was finished Simpson's little footwear trouble
+was over and he was organizing a grand three-legged race.
+
+"I think they are all enjoying it," said Dahlia.
+
+"They love it," I said; "Thomas is perfectly happy making rounders."
+
+"But I meant the children. Don't you think they love it too? The
+babies seem so happy with Myra. I suppose she's telling them
+stories."
+
+"I think so. She's got rather a good one about a bee. Oh, yes,
+they're happy enough with her."
+
+"I hope they all had enough to eat at tea."
+
+"Allowing for a little natural shyness I think they did well. And I
+didn't spill anything. Altogether it has been rather a success."
+
+Dahlia stood looking down at the children, young and old, playing in
+the field beneath her, and gave a sigh of happiness.
+
+"Now," she said, "I feel the house is REALLY warm."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+IV.--A WORD IN SEASON
+
+
+
+
+
+"Archie," said Blair, "what's that big empty room above the
+billiard-room for?"
+
+"That," said Archie, "is where we hide the corpses of our guests. I
+sleep with the key under my pillow."
+
+"This is rather sudden," I said. "I'm not at all sure that I should
+have come if I had known that."
+
+"Don't frighten them, dear; tell them the truth."
+
+"Well, the truth is," said Archie, "that there was some idea of a
+little play-acting there occasionally. Hence the curtain-rod, the
+emergency exit and other devices."
+
+"Then why haven't we done any? We came down here to open your house
+for you, and then you go and lock up the most important room of all,
+and sleep with the key under your pillow."
+
+"It's too hot. But we'll do a little charade to-night if you
+like--just to air the place."
+
+"Hooray," said Myra, "I know a lovely word."
+
+Myra's little word was in two syllables and required three
+performers. Archie and I were kindly included in her company.
+Simpson threatened to follow with something immense and archaic, and
+Thomas also had something rather good up his sleeve, but I am not
+going to bother you with these. One word will be enough for you.
+
+
+
+
+FIRST SCENE
+
+
+
+"Oh, good-morning," said Myra. She had added a hat and a sunshade to
+her evening-frock, and was supported by me in a gentleman's
+lounge-coat and boater for Henley wear.
+
+"Good-morning, mum," said Archie, hitching up his apron and
+spreading his hands on the table in front of him.
+
+"I just want this ribbon matched, please."
+
+"Certainly, mum. Won't your little boy--I beg pardon, the old
+gentleman, take a seat too? What colour did you want the ribbon,
+mum?"
+
+
+"The same colour as this," I said. "Idiot."
+
+"Your grandfather is in a bit of a draught, I'm afraid, mum. It
+always stimulates the flow of language. My grandfather was just the
+same. I'm afraid, mum, we haven't any ribbon as you might say the
+SAME colour as this."
+
+"If it's very near it will do."
+
+"Now what colour would you call that?" wondered Archie, with his
+head on one side. "Kind of puce-like, I should put it at.
+Puce-magenta, as we say in the trade. No; we're right out of puce-
+magenta."
+
+"Show the lady what you have got," I said sternly.
+
+"Well, mum, I'm right out of ribbon, altogether. The fact is I'm
+more of an ironmonger really. The draper's is just the other side of
+the road. You wouldn't like a garden-roller now? I can do you a nice
+garden-roller for two pound five, and that's simply giving it away."
+
+"Oh, shall we have a nice roller?" said Myra eagerly.
+
+"I'm not going to carry it home," I said.
+
+"That's all right, sir. My little lad will take it up on his
+bicycle. Two pounds five, mum, and sixpence for the mouse-trap the
+gentleman's been sitting on. Say three pounds."
+
+Myra took out her purse.
+
+
+
+
+SECOND SCENE
+
+
+
+We were back in our ordinary clothes.
+
+"I wonder if they guessed that," said Archie.
+
+"It was very easy," said Myra. "I should have thought they'd have
+seen it at once."
+
+"But of course they're not a very clever lot," I explained. "That
+fellow with the spectacles--"
+
+"Simpson his name is," said Archie. "I know him well. He's a
+professional golfer."
+
+"Well, he LOOKS learned enough. I expect he knows all right. But the
+others--"
+
+"Do you think they knew that we were supposed to be in a shop?"
+
+"Surely! Why, I should think even--What's that man's name over
+there? No; that one next to the pretty lady--ah, yes, Thomas. Is
+that Thomas, the wonderful cueist, by the way? Really! Well, I
+should think even Thomas guessed that much."
+
+"Why not do it over again to make sure?"
+
+"Oh no, it was perfectly obvious. Let's get on to the final scene."
+
+"I'm afraid that will give it away rather," said Myra.
+
+"I'm afraid so," agreed Archie.
+
+THIRD SCENE
+
+We sat on camp-stools and looked up at the ceiling with our mouths
+open.
+
+"'E's late," said Archie.
+
+"I don't believe 'e's coming, and I don't mind 'oo 'ears me sye so,"
+said Myra. "So there!"
+
+"'Ot work," I said, wiping my brow.
+
+"Nar, not up there. Not 'ot. Nice and breezy like."
+
+"But 'e's nearer the sun than wot we are, ain't 'e?"
+
+"Ah, but 'e's not 'ot. Not up there."
+
+"'Ere, there 'e is," cried Myra, jumping up excitedly. "Over there.
+'Ow naow, it's a bird. I declare I quite thought it was 'im. Silly
+of me."
+
+There was silence for a little, and then Archie took a sandwich out
+of his pocket.
+
+"Wunner wot they'll invent next," he said, and munched stolidly.
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+"Well done," said Dahlia.
+
+"Thomas and I have been trying to guess," said Simpson, "but the
+strain is terrific. My first idea was 'codfish,' but I suppose
+that's wrong. It's either 'silkworm' or 'wardrobe.' Thomas suggests
+'mangel-wurzel.' He says he never saw anybody who had so much the
+whole air of a wurzel as Archie. The indefinable elan of the wurzel
+was there."
+
+"Can't you really guess?" said Myra eagerly.
+
+"I don't know whether I want you to or not. Oh no, I don't want you
+to."
+
+"Then I withdraw 'mangel-wurzel,'" said Simpson gallantly.
+
+"I think I can guess," said Blair. "It's--"
+
+"Whisper it," said Simpson. "I'm never going to know."
+
+Blair whispered it.
+
+"Yes," said Myra disappointedly, "that's it."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+V.--UNINVITED GUESTS
+
+
+
+
+
+"Nine," said Archie, separating his latest victim from the marmalade
+spoon and dropping it into the hot water. "This is going to be a
+sanguinary day. With a pretty late cut into the peach jelly Mr A.
+Mannering reached double figures. Ten. Battles are being won while
+Thomas still sleeps. Any advance on ten?"
+
+"Does that include MY wasp?" asked Myra.
+
+"There are only ten here," said Archie, looking into the basin, "and
+they're all mine. I remember them perfectly. What was yours like?"
+
+"Well, I didn't exactly kill him. I smacked him with a teaspoon and
+asked him to go away. And he went on to your marmalade, so I expect
+you thought he was yours. But it was really mine, and I don't think
+it's very sporting of you to kill another person's wasp."
+
+"Have one of mine," I said, pushing my plate across. "Have
+Bernard--he's sitting on the green-gage."
+
+"I don't really want to kill anything. I killed a rabbit once and I
+wished I hadn't."
+
+"I nearly killed a rabbit once, and I wished I had."
+
+"Great sportsmen at a glance," said Archie. "Tell us about it before
+it goes into your reminiscences."
+
+"It was a fierce affair while it lasted. The rabbit was sitting down
+and I was standing up, so that I rather had the advantage of him at
+the start. I waited till he seemed to be asleep and then fired."
+
+"And missed him?"
+
+"Y-yes. He heard the report, though. I mean, you mustn't think he
+ignored me altogether. I moved him. He got up and went away all
+right."
+
+"A very lucky escape for you," said Archie. "I once knew a man who
+was gored to death by an angry rabbit." He slashed in the air with
+his napkin. "Fifteen. Dahlia, let's have breakfast indoors
+to-morrow. This is very jolly but it's just as hot, and it doesn't
+get Thomas up any earlier, as we hoped."
+
+All that day we grilled in the heat. Myra and I started a game of
+croquet in the morning, but after one shot each we agreed to abandon
+it as a draw--slightly in my favour, because I had given her the
+chipped mallet. And in the afternoon, Thomas and Simpson made a
+great effort to get up enthusiasm for lawn-tennis. Each of them
+returned the other's service into the net until the score stood at
+eight all, at which point they suddenly realized that nothing but
+the violent death of one of the competitors would ever end the
+match. They went on to ten all to make sure, and then retired to the
+lemonade and wasp jug, Simpson missing a couple of dead bodies by
+inches only. And after dinner it was hotter than ever.
+
+"The heat in my room," announced Archie, "breaks all records. The
+thermometer says a hundred and fifty, the barometer says very dry,
+we've had twenty-five hours' sunshine, and there's not a drop of
+rain recorded in the soap-dish. Are we going to take this lying
+down?"
+
+"No," said Thomas, "let's sleep out to-night."
+
+"What do you say, Dahlia?"
+
+"It's a good idea. You can all sleep on the croquet lawn, and Myra
+and I will take the tennis lawn."
+
+"Hadn't you better have the croquet lawn? Thomas walks in his sleep,
+and we don't want to have him going through hoops all night."
+
+"You'll have to bring down your own mattresses," went on Dahlia,
+"and you've not got to walk about the garden in the early morning,
+at least not until Myra and I are up, and if you're going to fall
+over croquet hoops you mustn't make a noise. That's all the rules, I
+think."
+
+"I'm glad we've got the tennis lawn," said Myra; "it's much
+smoother. Do you prefer the right-hand court, dear, or the
+left-hand?"
+
+"We shall be very close to Nature to-night," said Archie. "Now we
+shall know whether it really is the nightjar, or Simpson gargling."
+
+We were very close to Nature that night, but in the early morning
+still closer. I was awakened by the noise of Simpson talking, as I
+hoped, in his sleep. However, it appeared that he was awake and
+quite conscious of the things he was saying.
+
+"I can't help it," he explained to Archie, who had given expression
+to the general opinion about it; "these bally wasps are all over
+me."
+
+"It's your own fault," said Archie. "Why do you egg them on? I don't
+have wasps all over ME."
+
+"Conf--There! I've been stung."
+
+"You've been what?"
+
+"Stung."
+
+"Stung. Where?"
+
+"In the neck."
+
+"In the neck?" Archie turned over to me. "Simpson," he said, "has
+been stung in the neck. Tell Thomas."
+
+I woke up Thomas. "Simpson," I said, "has been stung in the neck."
+
+"Good," said Thomas, and went to sleep again.
+
+"We've told Thomas," said Archie. "Now, are you satisfied?"
+
+"Get away, you brute," shouted Simpson, suddenly, and dived under
+the sheet.
+
+Archie and I lay back and shouted with laughter.
+
+"It's really very silly of him," said Archie, "because--go
+away--because everybody knows that--get away, you ass--that wasps
+aren't dangerous unless--confound you--unless--I say, isn't it time
+we got up?"
+
+I came up from under my sheet and looked at my watch. "Four-thirty,"
+I said, dodged a wasp, and went back again.
+
+"We must wait till five-thirty," said Archie. "Simpson was quite
+right; he WAS stung, after all. I'll tell him so."
+
+He leant out of bed to tell him so, and then thought better of it
+and retired beneath the sheets.
+
+At five-thirty a gallant little party made its way to the house, its
+mattresses over its shoulders.
+
+"Gently," said Archie, as we came in sight of the tennis lawn.
+
+We went very gently. There were only wasps on the tennis lawn, but
+one does not want to disturb the little fellows.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+VI.--A FINAL ARRANGEMENT
+
+
+
+
+
+"Seeing that this is our last day together," began Archie--
+
+"Oh, DON'T," said Myra. "I can't bear it."
+
+"Seeing that this is our first day together, we might have a little
+tournament of some kind, followed by a small distribution of prizes.
+What do you think, Dahlia?"
+
+"Well, I daresay I can find something."
+
+"Any old thing that we don't want will do; nothing showy or
+expensive. Victory is its own reward."
+
+"Yes, but if there IS a pot of home-made marmalade going with it," I
+said, "so much the better."
+
+"Dahlia, earmark the marmalade for this gentleman. Now, what's it
+going to be? Golf, Simpson?"
+
+"Why, of course," said Myra. "Hasn't he been getting it ready for
+days?"
+
+"That will give him an unfair advantage," I pointed out. "He knows
+every single brick on the greens."
+
+"Oh, I say, there aren't any greens yet," protested Simpson.
+"That'll take a year or two. But I've marked out white circles and
+you have to get inside them."
+
+"I saw him doing that," said Archie. "I was afraid he expected us to
+play prisoners' base with him."
+
+The game fixed upon, we proceeded to draw for partners.
+
+"You'll have to play with me, Archie," said Dahlia, "because I'm no
+good at all."
+
+"I shall have to play with Myra," I said, "because I'm no good at
+all."
+
+"Oh, I'm very good," said Myra.
+
+"That looks as though I should have to play with--" "Simpson,"
+"Thomas," said Thomas and Simpson together.
+
+"You're all giving me a lot of trouble," said Archie, putting his
+pencil back in his pocket. "I've just written your names out neatly
+on little bits of paper, and now they're all wasted. You'll have to
+stick them on yourselves so that the spectators will know who you
+are as you whizz past." He handed his bits of paper round and went
+in for his clubs.
+
+It was a stroke competition, and each couple went round by itself.
+Myra and I started last.
+
+"Now we've got to win this," she said, "because we shan't play
+together again for a long time."
+
+"That's a nice cheery thing to say to a person just when he's
+driving. Now I shall have to address the ball all over again."
+
+"Oh, NO!"
+
+I addressed and despatched the ball. It struck a wall about eighty
+yards away and dropped. When we got there we found to our disgust
+that it was nestling at the very foot. Myra looked at it doubtfully.
+
+"Can't you make it climb the wall?" I asked.
+
+"We shall have to go back, I'm afraid. We can pretend we left our
+pocket-handkerchiefs behind."
+
+She chipped it back about twenty yards, and I sent it on again about
+a hundred. Unfortunately it landed in a rut. However Myra got it out
+with great resource, and I was lucky enough with my next to place it
+inside the magic circle.
+
+"Five," I said. "You know, I don't think you're helping me much. All
+you did that hole was to go twenty-one yards in the wrong
+direction."
+
+Myra smiled cheerfully at me and did the next hole in one. "Well
+played, partner," she said, as he put her club back in its bag.
+
+"Oh, at the short holes I don't deny that you're useful. Where do we
+go now?"
+
+"Over the barn. This is the long hole."
+
+I got in an excellent drive, but unfortunately it didn't aviate
+quick enough. While the intrepid spectators were still holding their
+breath, there was an ominous crash.
+
+"Did you say IN the barn or OVER the barn?" I asked, as we hurried
+on to find the damage.
+
+"We do play an exciting game, don't we?" said Myra.
+
+We got into the barn and found the ball and a little glass on the
+floor.
+
+"What a very small hole it made," said Myra, pointing to the broken
+pane. "What shall I do?"
+
+"You'll have to go back through the hole. It's an awkward little
+shot."
+
+"I don't think I could."
+
+"No, it IS rather a difficult stroke. You want to stand well behind
+the ball, and--however, there may be a local rule about it."
+
+"I don't think there is or I should have heard it. Samuel's been
+telling me EVERYTHING lately."
+
+"Then there's only one thing for it." I pointed to the window at the
+other end of the barn. "Go straight on."
+
+Myra gave a little gurgle of delight.
+
+"But we shall have to save up our pocket-money," she said.
+
+Her ball hit the wood in between two panes and bounded back. My next
+shot was just above the glass. Myra took a niblick and got the ball
+back into the middle of the floor.
+
+"It's simply sickening that we can't break a window when we're
+really trying to. I should have thought that anyone could have
+broken a window. Now then."
+
+"Oh, good SHOT!" cried Myra above the crash. We hurried out and did
+the hole in nine.
+
+At lunch, having completed eighteen holes out of the thirty-six, we
+were seven strokes behind the leaders, Simpson and Thomas. Simpson,
+according to Thomas, had been playing like a book. Golf Faults
+Analysed--that book, I should think.
+
+"But I expect he'll go to pieces in the afternoon," said Thomas. He
+turned to a servant and added, "Mr Simpson won't have anything
+more."
+
+We started our second round brilliantly; continued (after an unusual
+incident on the fifth tee) brilliantly; and ended up brilliantly. At
+the last tee we had played a hundred and thirty-seven. Myra got in a
+beautiful drive to within fifty yards of the circle.
+
+"How many?" said the others, coming up excitedly.
+
+"This is terrible," said Myra, putting her hand to her heart. "A
+hundred and--shall I tell them?--a--a--Oh,
+dear--a--hundredandthirtyeight."
+
+"Golly," said Thomas, "you've got one for it. We did a hundred and
+forty."
+
+"We did a hundred and forty-two," said Archie. "Close play at the
+Oval."
+
+"Oh," said Myra to me, "DO be careful. Oh, but no," she went on
+quickly, "I don't mind a bit really if we lose. It's only a game.
+Besides, we--"
+
+"You forget the little pot of home-made marmalade," I said
+reproachfully. "Dahlia, what ARE the prizes? Because it's just
+possible that Myra might like the second one better than the first.
+In that case I should miss this."
+
+"Go on," whispered Myra.
+
+I went on. There was a moment's silence--and then a deep sigh from
+Myra.
+
+"How about it?" I said calmly.
+
+Loud applause.
+
+"Well," said Dahlia, "you and Myra make a very good couple. I
+suppose I must find a prize for you."
+
+"It doesn't really matter," said Myra breathlessly, "because on the
+fifth tee we--we arranged about the prizes."
+
+"We arranged to give each other one," I said, smiling at Dahlia.
+
+Dahlia looked very hard at us.
+
+"You DON'T mean--?"
+
+Myra laughed happily.
+
+"Oh," she said, "but that's just what we do."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+AT PLAY
+
+TEN AND EIGHT
+
+
+
+
+
+The only event of importance last week was my victory over Henry by
+ten and eight. If you don't want to hear about that, then I shall
+have to pass on to you a few facts about his motor bicycle. You'd
+rather have the other? I thought so.
+
+The difference between Henry and me is that he is what I should call
+a good golfer, and I am what everybody else calls a bad golfer. In
+consequence of this he insults me with offers of bisques.
+
+"I'll have ten this time," I said, as we walked to the tee.
+
+"Better have twelve. I beat you with eleven yesterday."
+
+"Thank you," I said haughtily, "I will have ten." It is true that he
+beat me last time, but then owing to bad management on my part I had
+nine bisques left at the moment of defeat simply eating their heads
+off.
+
+Henry teed up and drove a "Pink Spot" out of sight. Henry swears by
+the "Pink Spot" if there is anything of a wind. I use either a "Quo
+Vadis," which is splendid for going out of bounds, or an "Ostrich,"
+which has a wonderful way of burying itself in the sand. I followed
+him to the green at my leisure.
+
+"Five," said Henry.
+
+"Seven," said I; "and if I take three bisques it's my hole."
+
+"You must only take one at a time," protested Henry.
+
+"Why? There's nothing in Wisden or Baedeker about it. Besides, I
+will only take one at a time if it makes it easier for you. I take
+one and that brings me down to six, and then another one and that
+brings me down to five, and then another one and that brings me down
+to four. There! And as you did the hole in five, I win."
+
+"Well, of course, if you like to waste them all at the start--"
+
+"I'm not wasting them, I'm creating a moral effect. Behold, I have
+won the first hole; let us be photographed together."
+
+Henry went to the next tee slightly ruffled and topped his ball into
+the road. I had kept mine well this side of it and won in four to
+five.
+
+"I shan't take any bisques here," I said. "Two up."
+
+At the third tee my "Quo Vadis" darted off suddenly to the left and
+tried to climb the hill. I headed it off and gave it a nasty dent
+from behind when it wasn't looking, and with my next shot started it
+rolling down the mountains with ever-increasing velocity. Not until
+it was within a foot of the pin did it condescend to stop. Henry,
+who had reached the green with his drive and had taken one putt too
+many, halved the hole in four. I took a bisque and was three up.
+
+The fourth hole was prettily played by both of us, and with two
+bisques I had it absolutely stiff. Unnerved by this Henry went all
+out at the fifth and tried to carry the stream in two. Unfortunately
+(I mean unfortunately for him) the stream was six inches too broad
+in the particular place at which he tried to carry it. My own view
+is that he should either have chosen another place or else have got
+a narrower stream from somewhere. As it was I won in an uneventful
+six, and took with a bisque the short hole which followed.
+
+"Six up," I pointed out to Henry, "and three bisques left. They're
+jolly little things, bisques, but you want to use them quickly.
+Bisque dat qui cito dat. Doesn't the sea look ripping to-day?"
+
+"Go on," growled Henry.
+
+"I once did a two at this hole," I said as I teed my ball. "If I did
+a two now and took a bisque, you'd have to do it in nothing in order
+to win. A solemn thought."
+
+At this hole you have to drive over a chasm in the cliffs. My ball
+made a bee line for the beach, bounced on a rock, and disappeared
+into a cave. Henry's "Pink Spot," which really seemed to have a
+chance of winning a hole at last, found the wind too much for it and
+followed me below.
+
+"I'm in this cave," I said when we had found Henry's ball; and with
+a lighted match in one hand and a niblick in the other I went in and
+tried to persuade the "Ostrich" to come out. My eighth argument was
+too much for it, and we re-appeared in the daylight together.
+
+"How many?" I asked Henry.
+
+"Six," he said, as he hit the top of the cliff once more, and shot
+back on to the beach.
+
+I left him and chivied my ball round to where the cliffs are lowest;
+then I got it gradually on to a little mound of sand (very delicate
+work this), took a terrific swing and fairly heaved it on to the
+grass. Two more strokes put me on to the green in twenty. I lit a
+pipe and waited for Henry to finish his game of rackets.
+
+"I've played twenty-five," he shouted.
+
+"Then you'll want some of my bisques," I said. "I can lend you three
+till Monday."
+
+Henry had one more rally and then picked his ball up. I had won
+seven holes and I had three bisques with which to win the match. I
+was a little doubtful if I could do this, but Henry settled the
+question by misjudging yet again the breadth of the stream. What is
+experience if it teaches us nothing? Henry must really try to
+enlarge his mind about rivers.
+
+"Dormy nine," I said at the tenth tee, "and no bisques left."
+
+"Thank Heaven for that," sighed Henry.
+
+"But I have only to halve one hole out of nine," I pointed out.
+"Technically I am on what is known as velvet."
+
+"Oh, shut up and drive."
+
+I am a bad golfer, but even bad golfers do holes in bogey now and
+then. In the ordinary way I was pretty certain to halve one of the
+nine holes with Henry, and so win the match. Both the eleventh and
+the seventeenth, for instance, are favourites of mine. Had I halved
+one of those, he would have admitted cheerfully that I had played
+good golf and beaten him fairly. But as things happened--
+
+What happened, put quite briefly, was this. Bogey for the tenth is
+four. I hooked my drive off the tee and down a little gully to the
+left, put a good iron shot into a bunker on the right, and than ran
+down a hundred-yard putt with a niblick for a three. One of those
+difficult down-hill putts.
+
+"Luck!" said Henry, as soon as he could speak.
+
+"I've been missing those lately," I said.
+
+"Your match," said Henry; "I can't play against luck like that."
+
+It was true that he had given me ten bisques, but, on the other
+hand, I could have given him a dozen at the seventh and still have
+beaten him.
+
+However, I was too magnanimous to point that out. All I said was,
+"Ten and eight."
+
+And then I added thoughtfully, "I don't think I've ever won by more
+than that."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+PAT BALL
+
+
+
+
+
+"You'll play tennis?" said my hostess absently. "That's right. Let
+me introduce you to Miss--er--urn."
+
+"Oh, we've met before," smiled Miss--I've forgotten the name again
+now.
+
+"Thank you," I said gratefully. I thought it was extremely nice of
+her to remember me. Probably I had spilt lemonade over her at a
+dance, and in some way the incident had fixed itself in her mind. We
+do these little things, you know, and think nothing of them at the
+moment, but all the time--
+
+"Smooth," said a voice.
+
+I looked up and found that a pair of opponents had mysteriously
+appeared, and that my partner was leading the way on to the court.
+
+"I'll take the right-hand side, if you don't mind," she announced.
+"Oh, and what about apologizing?" she went on. "Shall we do it after
+every stroke, or at the end of each game, or when we say good-bye,
+or never? I get so tired of saying 'sorry.'"
+
+"Oh, but we shan't want to apologize; I'm sure we're going to get on
+beautifully together."
+
+"I suppose you've played a lot this summer?"
+
+"No, not at all yet, but I'm feeling rather strong, and I've got a
+new racket. One way and another, I expect to play a very powerful
+game."
+
+Our male opponent served. He had what I should call a nasty swift
+service. The first ball rose very suddenly and took my partner on
+the side of the head. ("Sorry," she apologized. "It's all right," I
+said magnanimously.) I returned the next into the net; the third
+clean bowled my partner; and off the last I was caught in the slips.
+(ONE, LOVE.)
+
+"Will you serve?" said Miss--I wish I could remember her surname.
+Her Christian name was Hope or Charity or something like that; I
+know, when I heard it, I thought it was just as well. If I might
+call her Miss Hope for this once? Thank you.
+
+"Will you serve?" said Miss Hope.
+
+In the right-hand court I use the American service, which means that
+I never know till the last moment which side of the racket is going
+to hit the ball. On this occasion it was a dead heat--that is to
+say, I got it in between with the wood; and the ball sailed away
+over beds and beds of the most beautiful flowers.
+
+"Oh, is THAT the American service?" said Miss Hope, much interested.
+
+"South American," I explained. "Down in Peru they never use anything
+else."
+
+In the left-hand court I employ the ordinary Hampstead Smash into
+the bottom of the net. After four Hampstead Smashes and four
+Peruvian Teasers (LOVE, TWO) I felt that another explanation was
+called for.
+
+"I've got a new racket I've never used before," I said. "My old one
+is being pressed; it went to the shop yesterday to have the creases
+taken out. Don't you find that with a new racket you--er--exactly."
+
+In the third game we not only got the ball over but kept it between
+the white lines on several occasions--though not so often as our
+opponents (THREE, LOVE); and in the fourth game Miss Hope served
+gentle lobs, while I, at her request, stood close up to the net and
+defended myself with my racket. I warded off the first two shots
+amidst applause (THIRTY, LOVE), and dodged the next three (THIRTY,
+FORTY), but the last one was too quick for me and won the coco-nut
+with some ease. (GAME. LOVE, FOUR.)
+
+"It's all right, thanks," I said to my partner; "it really doesn't
+hurt a bit. Now then, let's buck up and play a simply dashing game."
+
+Miss Hope excelled herself in that fifth game, but I was still
+unable to find a length. To be more accurate, I was unable to find a
+shortness--my long game was admirably strong and lofty.
+
+"Are you musical?" said my partner at the end of it. (FIVE, LOVE.)
+She had been very talkative all through.
+
+"Come, come," I said impatiently, "you don't want a song at this
+very moment. Surely you can wait till the end of the set?"
+
+"Oh, I was only just wondering."
+
+"I quite see your point. You feel that Nature always compensates us
+in some way, and that as--"
+
+"Oh, no!" said Miss Hope in great confusion. "I didn't mean that at
+all."
+
+She must have meant it. You don't talk to people about singing in
+the middle of a game of tennis; certainly not to comparative
+strangers who have only spilt lemonade over your frock once before.
+No, no. It was an insult, and it nerved me to a great effort. I
+discarded--for it was my serve--the Hampstead Smash; I discarded the
+Peruvian Teaser. Instead, I served two Piccadilly Benders from the
+right-hand court and two Westminster Welts from the left-hand. The
+Piccadilly Bender is my own invention. It can only be served from
+the one court, and it must have a wind against it. You deliver it
+with your back to the net, which makes the striker think that you
+have either forgotten all about the game, or else are apologizing to
+the spectators for your previous exhibition. Then with a violent
+contortion you slue your body round and serve, whereupon your
+opponent perceives that you ARE playing, and that it is just one
+more ordinary fault into the wrong court. So she calls "Fault!" in a
+contemptuous tone and drops her racket... and then adds hurriedly,
+"Oh, no, sorry, it wasn't a fault, after all." That being where the
+wind comes in.
+
+The Westminster Welt is in theory the same as the Hampstead Smash,
+but goes over the net. One must be in very good form (or have been
+recently insulted) to bring this off.
+
+Well, we won that game, a breeze having just sprung up; and, carried
+away by enthusiasm and mutual admiration, we collected another.
+(FIVE, TWO.) Then it was Miss Hope's serve again.
+
+"Good-bye," I said; "I suppose you want me in the fore-front again?"
+
+"Please."
+
+"I don't mind HER shots--the bottle of scent is absolutely safe; but
+I'm afraid he'll win another packet of woodbines."
+
+Miss Hope started off with a double, which was rather a pity, and
+then gave our masculine adversary what is technically called "one to
+kill." I saw instinctively that I was the one, and I held my racket
+ready with both hands. Our opponent, who had been wanting his tea
+for the last two games, was in no mood of dalliance; he fairly let
+himself go over this shot. In a moment I was down on my knees behind
+the net ... and the next moment I saw through the meshes a very
+strange thing. The other man, with his racket on the ground, was
+holding his eye with both hands!
+
+"Don't you think," said Miss Hope (TWO, FIVE--ABANDONED), "that
+your overhead volleying is just a little severe?"
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE OPENING SEASON
+
+
+
+
+
+"My dear," said Jeremy, as he folded back his paper at the sporting
+page, "I have some news for you. Cricket is upon us once again."
+
+"There's a nasty cold upon Baby once again," said Mrs Jeremy. "I
+hope it doesn't mean measles."
+
+"No child of mine would ever have measles," said Jeremy confidently.
+"It's beneath us." He cleared his throat and read, "'The coming
+season will be rendered ever memorable by the fact that for the
+first time in the history of the game--' You'll never guess what's
+coming."
+
+"Mr Jeremy Smith is expected to make double figures."
+
+Jeremy sat up indignantly.
+
+"Well of all the wifely things to say! Who was top of our averages
+last year?"
+
+"Plummer. Because you presented the bat to him yourself."
+
+"That proves nothing. I gave myself a bat too, as it happens; and a
+better one than Plummer's. After all, his average was only 25. Mine,
+if the weather had allowed me to finish my solitary innings, would
+probably have been 26."
+
+"As it was, the weather only allowed you to give a chance to the
+wicket-keeper off the one ball you had."
+
+"I was getting the pace of the pitch," said Jeremy. "Besides, it
+wasn't really a chance, because our umpire would never have given
+the treasurer out first ball. There are certain little courtesies
+which are bound to be observed."
+
+"Then," said his wife, "it's a pity you don't play more often."
+
+Jeremy got up and made a few strokes with the poker.
+
+"One of us is rather stiff," he said. "Perhaps it's the poker. If I
+play regularly this season will you promise to bring Baby to watch
+me?"
+
+"Of course we shall both come."
+
+"And you won't let Baby jeer at me if I'm bowled by a shooter."
+
+"She won't know what a shooter is."
+
+"Then you can tell her that it's the only ball that ever bowls
+father," said Jeremy. He put down the poker and took up a ball of
+wool. "I shall probably field somewhere behind the wicket-keeper,
+where the hottest drives don't come; but if I should miss a catch
+you must point out to her that the sun was in father's eyes. I want
+my child to understand the game as soon as possible."
+
+"I'll tell her all that she ought to know," said his wife. "And when
+you've finished playing with my wool I've got something to do with
+it."
+
+Jeremy gave himself another catch, threw the wool to his wife and
+drifted out. He came back in ten minutes with his bat under his arm.
+
+"Really, it has wintered rather well," he said, "considering that it
+has been in the boot cupboard all the time. We ought to have put
+some camphor in with it, or--I know there's SOMETHING you do to bats
+in the winter. Anyhow, the splice is still there."
+
+"It looks very old," said Mrs Jeremy. "Is that really your new one?"
+
+"Yes, this is the one that played the historic innings. It has only
+had one ball in its whole life, and that was on the edge. The part
+of the bat that I propose to use this season will therefore come
+entirely fresh to the business."
+
+"You ought to have oiled it, Jeremy."
+
+"Oil--that was what I meant. I'll do it now. We'll give it a good
+rub down. I wonder if there's anything else it would like?"
+
+"I think, most of all, it would like a little practice."
+
+"My dear, that's true. It said in the paper that on the County
+grounds practice was already in full swing." He made an imaginary
+drive. "I don't think I shall take a FULL swing. It's so much harder
+to time the ball. I say, do YOU bowl?"
+
+"Very badly, Jeremy."
+
+"The worse you bowl the more practice the bat will get. Or what
+about Baby? Could she bowl to me this afternoon, do you think, or is
+her cold too bad?"
+
+"I think she'd better stay in to-day."
+
+"What a pity. Nurse tells me she's left-handed, and I particularly
+want a lot of that; because Little Buxted has a very hot left-hand
+bowler called--"
+
+"You don't want your daughter to be an athletic girl, do you?"
+
+Jeremy looked at her in surprise and then sat down on the arm of her
+chair.
+
+"Surely, dear," he said gravely, "we decided that our child was
+going to play for Kent?"
+
+"Not a girl!"
+
+"Why not? There's nothing in the rules about it. Rule 197 (B) says
+that you needn't play if you don't like the Manager, but there's
+nothing about sex in it. I'm sure Baby would love the Manager."
+
+Mrs Jeremy smiled and ruffled his hair.
+
+"Well," said Jeremy, "if nobody will bowl to me, I can at least take
+my bat out and let it see the grass. After six months of boots it
+will be a change for it."
+
+He went out into the garden, and did not appear again until lunch.
+During the meal he read extracts to his wife from "The Coming
+Season's Prospects," and spoke cheerfully of the runs he intended to
+make for the village. After lunch he took her on to the tennis lawn.
+
+"There!" he said proudly, pointing to a cricket pitch beautifully
+cut and marked with a crease of dazzling white. "Doesn't that look
+jolly?"
+
+"Heavenly," she said. "You must ask someone up to-morrow. You can
+get quite good practice here with these deep banks all round."
+
+"Yes, I shall make a lot of runs this season," said Jeremy airily.
+"But, apart from practice, don't you FEEL how jolly and summery a
+cricket pitch makes everything?"
+
+Mrs Jeremy took a deep breath. "Yes, there's nothing like a bucket
+of whitening to make you think of summer."
+
+"I'm glad you think so too," said Jeremy with an air of relief,
+"because I upset the bucket on the way back to the stables--just
+underneath the pergola. It ought to bring the roses on like
+anything."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+AN INLAND VOYAGE
+
+
+
+
+
+Thomas took a day off last Monday in order to play golf with me. For
+that day the Admiralty had to get along without Thomas. I tremble to
+think what would have happened if war had broken out on Monday.
+Could a Thomasless Admiralty have coped with it? I trow not. Even as
+it was, battleships grounded, crews mutinied, and several awkward
+questions in the House of Commons had to be postponed till Tuesday.
+
+Something--some premonition of this, no doubt--seemed to be
+weighing on him all day.
+
+"Rotten weather," he growled, as he came up the steps of the club.
+
+"I'm very sorry," I said. "I keep on complaining to the secretary
+about it. He does his best."
+
+"What's that?"
+
+"He taps the barometer every morning, and says it will clear up in
+the afternoon. Shall we go out now, or shall we give it a chance to
+stop?"
+
+Thomas looked at the rain and decided to let it stop. I made him as
+comfortable as I could. I gave him a drink, a cigarette, and
+Mistakes with the Mashie. On the table at his elbow I had in reserve
+Faulty Play with the Brassy and a West Middlesex Directory. For
+myself I wandered about restlessly, pausing now and again to read
+enviously a notice which said that C. D. Topping's handicap was
+reduced from 24 to 22. Lucky man!
+
+At about half-past eleven the rain stopped for a moment, and we
+hurried out.
+
+"The course is a little wet," I said apologetically, as we stood on
+the first tee, "but with your naval experience you won't mind that.
+By the way, I ought to warn you that this isn't all casual water.
+Some of it is river."
+
+"How do you know which is which?"
+
+"You'll soon find out. The river is much deeper. Go on--your drive."
+
+Thomas won the first hole very easily. We both took four to the
+green, Thomas in addition having five splashes of mud on his face
+while I only had three. Unfortunately the immediate neighbourhood of
+the hole was under water. Thomas, the bounder, had a small heavy
+ball, which he managed to sink in nine. My own, being lighter,
+refused to go into the tin at all, and floated above the hole in the
+most exasperating way.
+
+"I expect there's a rule about it," I said, "if we only knew, which
+gives me the match. However, until we find that out, I suppose you
+must call yourself one up."
+
+"I shall want some dry socks for lunch," he muttered, as he sploshed
+off to the tee.
+
+"Anything you want for lunch you can have, my dear Thomas. I promise
+you that you shall not be stinted. The next green is below sea-level
+altogether, I'm afraid. The first in the water wins."
+
+Honours, it turned out, were divided. I lost the hole, and Thomas
+lost his ball. The third tee having disappeared, we moved on to the
+fourth.
+
+"There's rather a nasty place along here," I said.
+
+"The Secretary was sucked in the other day, and only rescued by the
+hair."
+
+Thomas drove a good one. I topped mine badly, and it settled down in
+the mud fifty yards off. "Excuse me," I shouted as I ran quickly
+after it, and I got my niblick on to it just as it was disappearing.
+It was a very close thing.
+
+"Well," said Thomas, as he reached his ball, "that's not what I call
+a brassy lie."
+
+"It's what we call a corkscrew lie down here," I explained. "If you
+haven't got a corkscrew, you'd better dig round it with something,
+and then when the position is thoroughly undermined--Oh, good
+shot!"
+
+Thomas had got out of the fairway in one, but he still seemed
+unhappy.
+
+"My eye," he said, bending down in agony; "I've got about half
+Middlesex in it."
+
+He walked round in circles saying strange nautical things, and my
+suggestions that he should (1) rub the other eye, and (2) blow his
+nose suddenly, were received ungenerously.
+
+"Anything you'd like me to do with my ears?" he asked bitterly. "If
+you'd come and take some mud out for me, instead of talking rot--"
+
+I approached with my handkerchief and examined the eye carefully.
+
+"See anything?" asked Thomas.
+
+"My dear Thomas, it's FULL of turf. We mustn't forget to replace
+this if we can get it out. What the Secretary would say--There!
+How's that?"
+
+"Worse than ever."
+
+"Try not to think about it. Keep the OTHER eye on the ball as much
+as possible. This is my hole by the way. Your ball is lost."
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"I saw it losing itself. It went into the bad place I told you
+about. It's gone to join the Secretary. Oh, no, we got him out, of
+course; I keep forgetting. Anyhow, it's my hole."
+
+"I think I shall turn my trousers up again," said Thomas, bending
+down to do so. "Is there a local rule about it?"
+
+"No; it is left entirely to the discretion and good taste of the
+members. Naturally a little extra licence is allowed on a very muddy
+day. Of course, if--Oh, I see. You meant a local rule about losing
+your ball in the mud? No, I don't know of one--unless it comes under
+the heading of casual land. Be a sportsman, Thomas, and don't
+begrudge me the hole."
+
+The game proceeded, and we reached the twelfth tee without any
+further contretemps; save that I accidentally lost the sixth, ninth
+and tenth holes, and that Thomas lost his iron at the eighth. He had
+carelessly laid it down for a moment while he got out of a hole with
+his niblick, and when he turned round for it the thing was gone.
+
+At the twelfth tee it was raining harder than ever. We pounded along
+with our coat-collars up and reached the green absolutely wet
+through.
+
+"How about it?" said Thomas.
+
+"My hole, I think; and that makes us all square."
+
+"I mean how about the rain? And it's just one o'clock."
+
+"Just as you like. Well, I suppose it is rather wet. All right,
+let's have lunch."
+
+We had lunch. Thomas had it in the only dry things he had brought
+with him--an ulster and a pair of Vardon cuffs, and sat as near the
+fire as possible. It was still raining in torrents after lunch, and
+Thomas, who is not what I call keen about golf, preferred to remain
+before the fire. Perhaps he was right. I raked up an old copy of
+Strumers with the Niblick for him, and read bits of the Telephone
+Directory out aloud.
+
+After tea his proper clothes were dry enough in places to put on,
+and as it was still raining hard, and he seemed disinclined to come
+out again, I ordered a cab for us both.
+
+"It's really rotten luck," said Thomas, as we prepared to leave,
+"that on the one day when I take a holiday, it should be so
+beastly."
+
+"Beastly, Thomas?" I said in amazement. "The ONE day? I'm afraid you
+don't play inland golf much?"
+
+"I hardly ever play round London."
+
+"I thought not. Then let me tell you that to-day's was the best
+day's golf I've had for three weeks."
+
+"Golly!" said Thomas.
+
+AN INFORMAL EVENING
+
+DINNER was a very quiet affair. Not a soul drew my chair away from
+under me as I sat down, and during the meal nobody threw bread
+about. We talked gently of art and politics and things; and when the
+ladies left there was no booby trap waiting for them at the door. In
+a word, nothing to prepare me for what was to follow.
+
+We strolled leisurely into the drawing-room. A glance told me the
+worst. The ladies were in a cluster round Miss Power, and Miss Power
+was on the floor. She got up quickly as we came in.
+
+"We were trying to go underneath the poker," she explained. "Can you
+do it?"
+
+I waved the poker back.
+
+"Let me see you do it again," I said. "I missed the first part."
+
+"Oh, I can never do it. Bob, you show us."
+
+Bob is an active young fellow. He took the poker, rested the end on
+the floor, and then twisted himself underneath his right arm. I
+expected to see him come up inside out, but he looked much the same
+after it. However, no doubt his organs are all on the wrong side
+now.
+
+"Yes, that's how I should do it," I said hastily.
+
+But Miss Power was firm. She gave me the poker. I pressed it hard on
+the floor, said good-bye to them all, and dived. I got half-way
+round, and was supporting myself upside down by one toe and the
+slippery end of the poker, when it suddenly occurred to me that the
+earth was revolving at an incredible speed on its own axis, and
+that, in addition, we were hurtling at thousands of miles a minute
+round the sun. It seemed impossible in these circumstances that I
+should keep my balance any longer; and as soon as I realized this,
+the poker began to slip. I was in no sort of position to do anything
+about it, and we came down heavily together.
+
+"Oh, what a pity!" said Miss Power. "I quite thought you'd done it."
+
+"Being actually on the spot," I said, "I knew that I hadn't."
+
+"Do try again."
+
+"Not till the ground's a little softer."
+
+"Let's do the jam-pot trick," said another girl.
+
+"I'm not going under a jam-pot for anybody," I murmured.
+
+However, it turned out that this trick was quite different. You
+place a book (Macaulay's Essays or what not) on the jam-pot and sit
+on the book, one heel only touching the ground. In the right hand
+you have a box of matches, in the left a candle. The jam-pot, of
+course, is on its side, so that it can roll beneath you. Then you
+light the candle ... and hand it to anybody who wants to go to bed.
+
+I was ready to give way to the ladies here, but even while I was
+bowing and saying, "Not at all," I found myself on one of the
+jam-pots with Bob next to me on another. To balance with the arms
+outstretched was not so difficult; but as the matches were then
+about six feet from the candle and there seemed no way of getting
+them nearer together the solution of the problem was as remote as
+ever. Three times I brought my hands together, and three times the
+jam-pot left me.
+
+"Well played, Bob," said somebody. The bounder had done it.
+
+I looked at his jam-pot.
+
+"There you are," I said, "'Raspberry--1909.' Mine's
+'Gooseberry-1911,' a rotten vintage. And look at my book, Alone on
+the Prairie; and you've got The Mormon's Wedding. No wonder I
+couldn't do it."
+
+I refused to try it again as I didn't think I was being treated
+fairly; and after Bob and Miss Power had had a race at it, which Bob
+won, we got on to something else.
+
+"Of course you can pick a pin out of a chair with your teeth?" said
+Miss Power.
+
+"Not properly," I said. "I always swallow the pin."
+
+"I suppose it doesn't count if you swallow the pin," said Miss Power
+thoughtfully.
+
+"I don't know. I've never really thought about that side of it much.
+Anyhow, unless you've got a whole lot of pins you don't want, don't
+ask me to do it to-night."
+
+Accordingly we passed on to the water-trick. I refused at this, but
+Miss Power went full length on the floor with a glass of water
+balanced on her fore-head and came up again without spilling a
+single drop. Personally, I shouldn't have minded spilling a single
+drop; it was the thought of spilling the whole glass that kept me
+back. Anyway, it is a useless trick, the need for which never arises
+in an ordinary career. Picking up The Times with the teeth, while
+clasping the left ankle with the right hand, is another matter. That
+might come in useful on occasions; as, for instance, if having lost
+your left arm on the field and having to staunch with the right hand
+the flow of blood from a bullet wound in the opposite ankle, you
+desired to glance through the Financial Supplement while waiting for
+the ambulance.
+
+"Here's a nice little trick," broke in Bob, as I was preparing
+myself in this way for the German invasion.
+
+He had put two chairs together, front to front, and was standing
+over them--a foot on the floor on each side of them, if that conveys
+it to you. Then he jumped up, turned round in the air, and came down
+facing the other way.
+
+"Can YOU do it?" I said to Miss Power.
+
+"Come and try," said Bob to me. "It's not really difficult."
+
+I went and stood over the chairs. Then I moved them apart and walked
+over to my hostess.
+
+"Good-bye," I said; "I'm afraid I must go now."
+
+"Coward!" said somebody, who knew me rather better than the others.
+
+"It's much easier than you think," said Bob.
+
+"I don't think it's easy at all," I protested. "I think it's
+impossible."
+
+I went back and stood over the chairs again. For some time I waited
+there in deep thought. Then I bent my knees preparatory to the
+spring, straightened them up, and said:
+
+"What happens if you just miss it?"
+
+"I suppose you bark your shins a bit."
+
+"Yes, that's what I thought."
+
+I bent my knees again, worked my arms up and down, and then stopped
+suddenly and said:
+
+"What happens if you miss it pretty easily?"
+
+"Oh, YOU can do it, if Bob can," said Miss Power kindly.
+
+"He's practised. I expect he started with two hassocks and worked up
+to this. I'm not afraid but I want to know the possibilities. If
+it's only a broken leg or two, I don't mind. If it's permanent
+disfigurement I think I ought to consult my family first."
+
+I jumped up and came down again the same way for practice.
+
+"Very well," I said. "Now I'm going to try. I haven't the faintest
+hope of doing it, but you all seem to want to see an accident, and,
+anyhow, I'm not going to be called a coward. One, two, three..."
+
+"Well done," cried everybody.
+
+"Did I do it?" I whispered, as I sat on the floor and pressed a
+cushion against my shins.
+
+"Rather!"
+
+"Then," I said, massaging my ankles, "next time I shall try to
+miss."
+
+THE CONTINENTAL MANNER
+
+OF course I should recognize Simpson anywhere, even at a masked
+ball. Besides, who but Simpson would go to a fancy-dress dance as a
+short-sighted executioner, and wear his spectacles outside his
+mask? But it was a surprise to me to see him there at all.
+
+"Samuel," I said gravely, tapping him on the shoulder, "I shall have
+to write home about this."
+
+He turned round with a start.
+
+"Hallo!" he said eagerly. "How splendid! But, my dear old chap, why
+aren't you in costume?"
+
+"I am," I explained. "I've come as an architect. Luckily the evening
+clothes of an architect are similar to my own. Excuse me, sir, but
+do you want a house built?"
+
+"How do you like my dress? I am an executioner. I left my axe in the
+cloak-room."
+
+"So I observe. You know, in real life, one hardly ever meets an
+executioner who wears spectacles. And yet, of course, if one CAN'T
+see the head properly without glasses--"
+
+"By Jove," said Simpson, "there she is again."
+
+Columbine in a mask hurried past us and mixed with the crowd. What
+one could see of her face looked pretty; it seemed to have upset
+Simpson altogether.
+
+"Ask her for a dance," I suggested. "Be a gay dog, Simpson. Wake
+London up. At a masked ball one is allowed a certain amount of
+licence."
+
+"Exactly," said Simpson in some excitement. "One naturally looks for
+a little Continental ABANDON at these dances." (PORTRAIT OF SIMPSON
+SHOWING CONTINENTAL abandon.) "And so I did ask her for a dance
+just now."
+
+"She was cold, Samuel, I fear?"
+
+"She said, 'Sorry, I'm full up.'"
+
+"A ruse, a mere subterfuge. Now, look here, ask her again, and be
+more debonair and dashing this time. What you want is to endue her
+with the spirit of revelry. Perhaps you'd better go to the bar first
+and have a dry ginger-ale, and then you'll feel more in the
+Continental mood."
+
+"By Jove, I will," said Simpson, with great decision.
+
+I wandered into the ball-room and looked round. Columbine was
+standing in a corner alone; some outsider had cut her dance. As I
+looked at her I thought of Simpson letting himself go, and smiled to
+myself. She caught the edge of the smile and unconsciously smiled
+back. Remembering the good advice which I had just given another, I
+decided to risk it.
+
+"Do you ever dance with architects?" I asked her.
+
+"I do sometimes." she said. "Not in Lent," she added.
+
+"In Lent," I agreed, "one has to give up the more furious pleasures.
+Shall we just finish off this dance? And don't let's talk shop about
+architecture."
+
+We finished the dance and retired to the stairs.
+
+"I want you to do something for me," I began cautiously.
+
+"Anything except go into supper again. I've just done that for
+somebody else."
+
+"No, it's not that. The fact is, I have a great friend called
+Simpson."
+
+"It sounds a case for help," she murmured.
+
+"He is here to-night disguised as an executioner in glasses. He is,
+in fact, the only spectacled beheader present. You can't miss him."
+
+"All the same, I managed to just now," she gurgled.
+
+"I know. He asked you for a dance and you rebuffed him. Well, he is
+now fortifying himself with a small dry ginger, and he will then ask
+you again. Do be kind this time; he's really a delightful person
+when you get to know him. For instance, both his whiskers are
+false."
+
+"No doubt I should grow to love him," she agreed; "but I didn't much
+like his outward appearance. However, if both whiskers are false,
+and if he's really a friend of yours--"
+
+"He is naturally as harmless as a lamb," I said; "but at a dance
+like this he considers it his duty to throw a little Continental
+ABANDON into his manner."
+
+Columbine looked at me thoughtfully, nodding her head, and slowly
+began to smile.
+
+"You see," I said, "the possibilities."
+
+"He shall have his dance," she said decidedly.
+
+"Thank you very much. I should like to ask for another dance for
+myself later on, but I am afraid I should try to get out of you what
+he said, and that wouldn't be fair."
+
+"Of course I shouldn't tell you."
+
+"Well, anyhow, you'll have had enough of us by then. But softly--he
+approaches, and I must needs fly, lest he should pierce my disguise.
+Good-bye, and thank you so much."
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+So I can't say with authority what happened between Simpson and
+Columbine when they met. But Simpson and I had a cigarette together
+afterwards and certain things came out; enough to make it plain that
+she must have enjoyed herself.
+
+"Oh, I say, old chap," he began jauntily, "do you know--match,
+thanks--er--whereabouts is Finsbury Circus?"
+
+"You're too old to go to a circus now, Simpson. Come and have a day
+at the Polytechnic instead."
+
+"Don't be an ass; it's a place like Oxford Circus. I suppose it's in
+the City somewhere? I wonder," he murmured to himself, "what she
+would be doing in the City at eleven o'clock in the morning."
+
+"Perhaps her rich uncle is in a bank, and she wants to shoot him. I
+wish you'd tell me what you're talking about."
+
+Simpson took off his mask and spectacles and wiped his brow.
+
+"Dear old chap," he said in a solemn voice, "in the case of a woman
+one cannot tell even one's best friend. You know how it is."
+
+"Well, if there's going to be a duel you should have chosen some
+quieter spot than Finsbury Circus. The motor-buses distract one's
+aim."
+
+Simpson was silent for a minute or two. Then a foolish smile flitted
+across his face, to be followed suddenly by a look of alarm.
+
+"Don't do anything that your mother wouldn't like," I said
+warningly.
+
+
+He frowned and put on his mask again.
+
+"Are chrysanthemums in season?" he asked casually. "Anyhow, I
+suppose I could always get a yellow one?"
+
+"You could, Simpson. And you could put it in your button-hole, so
+that you can be recognized, and go to Finsbury Circus to meet
+somebody at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning. Samuel, I'm ashamed of
+you. Er--where do you lunch?"
+
+"At the Carlton. Old chap, I got quite carried away. Things seemed
+to be arranged before I knew where I was."
+
+"And what's she going to wear so that you can recognize HER?"
+
+"Yes," said Simpson, getting up, "that's the worst of it. I told her
+it was quite out of date, and that only the suburbs wore fashions a
+year old, but she insisted on it. I had no idea she was that sort of
+girl. Well, I'm in for it now." He sighed heavily and went off for
+another ginger-ale.
+
+I think that I must be at Finsbury Circus to-morrow, for certainly
+no Columbine in a harem skirt will be there. Simpson in his
+loneliness will be delighted to see me, and then we can throw away
+his button-hole and have a nice little lunch together.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+TWO STORIES
+
+THE MAKING OF A CHRISTMAS STORY
+
+(AS CARRIED OUT IN THE BEST END OF FLEET STREET)
+
+YULETIDE!
+
+
+
+
+
+London at Yuletide!
+
+A mantle of white lay upon the Embankment, where our story opens,
+gleaming and glistening as it caught the rays of the cold December
+sun; an embroidery of white fringed the trees; and under a canopy of
+white the proud palaces of Savoy and Cecil reared their silent
+heads. The mighty river in front was motionless, for the finger of
+Death had laid its icy hand upon it. Above--the hard blue sky
+stretching to eternity; below--the white purity of innocence. London
+in the grip of winter!
+
+[EDITOR. Come, I like this. This is going to be good. A cold day,
+was it not?
+
+AUTHOR. Very.]
+
+All at once the quiet of the morning was disturbed. In the distance
+a bell rang out, sending a joyous paean to the heavens. Another took
+up the word, and then another, and another. Westminster caught the
+message from Bartholomew the son of Thunder, and flung it to Giles
+Without, who gave it gently to Andrew by the Wardrobe. Suddenly the
+air was filled with bells, all chanting together of peace and
+happiness, mirth and jollity--a frenzy of bells.
+
+The Duke, father of four fine children, waking in his Highland
+castle, heard and smiled as he thought of his little ones....
+
+The Merchant Prince, turning over in his Streatham residence, heard,
+and turned again to sleep, with love for all mankind in his
+heart....
+
+The Pauper in his workhouse, up betimes, heard, and chuckled at the
+prospect of his Christmas dinner....
+
+And, on the Embankment, Robert Hardrow, with a cynical smile on his
+lips, listened to the splendid irony of it.
+
+[EDITOR. We really are getting to the story now, are we not? AUTHOR.
+That was all local colour. I want to make it quite clear that it was
+Christmas. EDITOR. Yes, yes, quite so. This is certainly a Christmas
+story. I think I shall like Robert, do you know?]
+
+It was Christmas day, so much at least was clear to him. With that
+same cynical smile on his lips, he pulled his shivering rags about
+him, and half unconsciously felt at the growth of beard about his
+chin. Nobody would recognize him now. His friends (as he had thought
+them) would pass by without a glance for the poor outcast near them.
+The women that he had known would draw their skirts away from him in
+horror. Even Lady Alice--
+
+Lady Alice! The cause of it all!
+
+His thoughts flew back to that last scene, but twenty-four hours
+ago, when they had parted for ever. As he had entered the hall he
+had half wondered to himself if there could be anybody in the world
+that day happier than himself. Tall, well-connected, a
+vice-president of the Tariff Reform League, and engaged to the
+sweetest girl in England, he had been the envy of all. Little did he
+think that that very night he was to receive his conge! What
+mattered it now how or why they had quarrelled? A few hasty words, a
+bitter taunt, tears, and then the end.
+
+A last cry from her--"Go, and let me never see your face again!"
+
+A last sneer from him--"I will go, but first give me back the
+presents I have promised you!"
+
+Then a slammed door and--silence.
+
+What use, without her guidance, to try to keep straight any more?
+Bereft of her love, Robert had sunk steadily. Gambling, drink,
+morphia, billiards and cigars--he had taken to them all; until now
+in the wretched figure of the outcast on the Embankment you would
+never have recognized the once spruce figure of Handsome Hardrow.
+
+[EDITOR. It all seems to have happened rather rapidly, does it not?
+Twenty-four hours ago he had been--AUTHOR. You forget that this is
+SHORT story.]
+
+Handsome Hardow! How absurd it sounded now! He had let his beard
+grow, his clothes were in rags, a scar over one eye testified--
+
+[EDITOR. Yes, yes. Of course, I quite admit that a man might go to
+the bad in twenty-four hours, but would his beard grow as--AUTHOR.
+Look here, you've heard of a man going grey with trouble in a single
+night, haven't you?
+
+EDITOR. Certainly.
+
+AUTHOR. Well, it's the same idea as that.
+
+EDITOR. Ah, quite so, quite so.
+
+AUTHOR. Where was I?
+
+EDITOR. A scar over one eye was just testifying--I suppose he had
+two eyes in the ordinary way?]
+
+---testified to a drunken frolic of an hour or two ago. Never
+before, thought the policeman, as he passed upon his beat, had such
+a pitiful figure cowered upon the Embankment, and prayed for the
+night to cover him.
+
+The--
+
+He was--
+
+Er--the--
+
+[EDITOR. Yes?
+
+AUTHOR. To tell the truth I am rather stuck for the moment.
+
+EDITOR. What is the trouble?
+
+AUTHOR. I don't quite know what to do with Robert for ten hours or
+so.
+
+EDITOR. Couldn't he go somewhere by a local line?
+
+AUTHOR. This is not a humorous story. The point is that I want him
+to be outside a certain house some twenty miles from town at eight
+o'clock that evening.
+
+EDITOR. If I were Robert I should certainly start at once.
+
+AUTHOR. No, I have it.]
+
+As he sat there, his thoughts flew over the bridge of years, and he
+was wafted on the wings of memory to other and happier Yuletides.
+That Christmas when he had received his first bicycle....
+
+That Christmas abroad....
+
+The merry house-party at the place of his Cambridge friend....
+
+Yuletide at The Towers, where he had first met Alice!
+
+Ah!
+
+Ten hours passed rapidly thus...
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+[AUTHOR. I put dots to denote the flight of years. EDITOR. Besides,
+it will give the reader time for a sandwich.]
+
+Robert got up and shook himself.
+
+[EDITOR. One moment. This is a Christmas story. When are you coming
+to the robin?
+
+AUTHOR. I really can't be bothered about robins just now. I assure
+you all the best Christmas stories begin like this nowadays. We may
+get to a robin later; I cannot say.
+
+EDITOR. We must. My readers expect a robin, and they shall have it.
+And a wassail-bowl, and a turkey, and a Christmas-tree, and a--
+
+AUTHOR. Yes, yes; but wait. We shall come to little Elsie soon, and
+then perhaps it will be all right.
+
+EDITOR. Little Elsie. Good!]
+
+Robert got up and shook himself. Then he shivered miserably, as the
+cold wind cut through him like a knife. For a moment he stood
+motionless, gazing over the stone parapet into the dark river
+beyond, and as he gazed a thought came into his mind. Why not end it
+all--here and now? He had nothing to live for. One swift plunge,
+and--
+
+[EDITOR. YOu forget. The river was frozen.
+
+AUTHOR. Dash it, I was just going to say that.]
+
+But no! Even in this Fate was against him. THE RIVER WAS FROZEN
+OVER! He turned away with a curse....
+
+What happened afterwards Robert never quite understood. Almost
+unconsciously he must have crossed one of the numerous bridges which
+span the river and join North London to South. Once on the other
+side, he seems to have set his face steadily before him, and to have
+dragged his weary limbs on and on, regardless of time and place. He
+walked like one in a dream, his mind drugged by the dull narcotic of
+physical pain. Suddenly he realized that he had left London behind
+him, and was in the more open spaces of the country. The houses were
+more scattered; the recurring villa of the clerk had given place to
+the isolated mansion of the stock broker. Each residence stood in
+its own splendid grounds, surrounded by fine old forest trees and
+approached by a long carriage sweep. Electric--
+
+[EDITOR Quite so. The whole forming a magnificent estate for a
+retired gentleman. Never mind that.]
+
+Robert stood at the entrance to one of these houses, and the iron
+entered into his soul. How different was this man's position from
+his own! What right had this man--a perfect stranger--to be happy
+and contented in the heart of his family, while he, Robert, stood, a
+homeless wanderer, alone in the cold?
+
+Almost unconsciously he wandered down the drive, hardly realizing
+what he was doing until he was brought up by the gay lights of the
+windows. Still without thinking, he stooped down and peered into the
+brilliantly lit room above him. Within all was jollity; beautiful
+women moved to and fro, and the happy laughter of children came to
+him. "Elsie," he heard someone call, and a childish treble re
+sponded.
+
+[EDITOR. Now for the robin.
+
+AUTHOR. I am very sorry. I have just remembered something rather
+sad. The fact is that, two days before, Elsie had forgotten to feed
+the robin, and in consequence it had died before this story opens.
+
+EDITOR. That is really very awkward. I have already arranged with an
+artist to do some pictures, AND _I_ REMEMBER _I_ PARTICULARLY
+ORDERED A ROBIN AND A WASSAIL. WHAT ABOUT THE WASSAIL?
+
+AUTHOR. ELSIE ALWAYS HAD HER PORRIDGE upstairs.]
+
+A terrible thought had come into Robert's head. It was nearly twelve
+o'clock. The house-party was retiring to bed. He heard the
+"Good-nights" wafted through the open window; the lights went out,
+to reappear upstairs. Presently they too went out, and Robert was
+alone with the darkened house.
+
+The temptation was too much for a conscience already sodden with
+billiards, drink and cigars. He flung a leg over the sill and drew
+himself gently into the room. At least he would have one good meal,
+he too would have his Christmas dinner before the end came. He
+switched the light on and turned eagerly to the table. His eyes
+ravenously scanned the contents. Turkey, mince-pies, plum-pudding--
+all was there as in the days of his youth.
+
+[EDITOR. THIS IS BETTER. I ORDERED A TURKEY, I REMEMBER. WHAT ABOUT
+THE MISTLETOE AND HOLLY? I RATHER THINK I ASKED FOR SOME OF THEM.
+
+AUTHOR. WE MUST LET THE READERS TAKE SOMETHING FOR GRANTED
+
+EDITOR. I AM NOT SO SURE. COULDN'T YOU SAY SOMETHING LIKE THIS:
+"HOLLY AND MISTLETOE HUNG IN FESTOONS UPON THE WALL?"]
+
+Indeed, even holly and mistletoe hung in festoons upon the wall.
+
+[EDITOR. THANK YOU.]
+
+With a sigh of content Hardrow flung himself into a chair, and
+seized a knife and fork. Soon a plate liberally heaped with good
+things was before him. Greedily he set to work, with the appetite of
+a man who had not tasted food for several hours....
+
+"Dood-evening," said a voice. "Are you Father Kwistmas?"
+
+Robert turned suddenly, and gazed in amazement at the white-robed
+figure in the doorway.
+
+"Elsie," he murmured huskily.
+
+[EDITOR. HOW DID HE KNOW? AND WHY "HUSKILY"?
+
+AUTHOR. HE DIDN'T KNOW, HE GUESSED. AND HIS MOUTH WAS FULL.]
+
+"Are you Father Kwistmas?" repeated Elsie.
+
+Robert felt at his chin, and thanked Heaven again that he had let
+his beard grow. Almost mechanically he decided to wear the mask--in
+short, to dissemble.
+
+"Yes, my dear," he said. "I just looked in to know what you would
+like me to bring you."
+
+"You're late, aren't oo? Oughtn't oo to have come this morning?"
+
+[EDITOR. THIS IS SPLENDID. THIS QUITE RECONCILES ME TO THE ABSENCE
+OF THE ROBIN. BUT WHAT WAS ELSIE DOING DOWNSTAIRS?
+
+AUTHOR. I AM MAKING ROBERT ASK HER THAT QUESTION DIRECTLY.
+
+EDITOR. YES, BUT JUST TELL ME NOW--BETWEEN FRIENDS.
+
+AUTHOR. SHE HAD LEFT HER GOLLIWOG IN THE ROOM, AND COULDN'T SLEEP
+WITHOUT HER.
+
+EDITOR. I KNEW THAT WAS IT.]
+
+"If I'm late, dear," said Robert, with a smile, "why, so are you."
+
+The good food and wine in his veins were doing their work, and a
+pleasant warmth was stealing over Hardrow. He found to his surprise
+that airy banter still came easy to him.
+
+"To what," he continued lightly, "do I owe the honour of this
+meeting?"
+
+"I came downstairs for my dolly," said Elsie. "The one you sent me
+this morning, do you remember?"
+
+"Of course I do, my dear."
+
+"And what have you bwought me now, Father Kwistmas?"
+
+Robert started. If he was to play the role successfully he must find
+something to give her now. The remains of the turkey, a pair of
+finger-bowls, his old hat--all these came hastily into his mind, and
+were dismissed. He had nothing of value on him. All had been pawned
+long ago.
+
+Stay! The gold locket studded with diamonds and rubies, which
+contained Alice's photograph. The one memento of her that he had
+kept, even when the pangs of starvation were upon him. He brought it
+from its resting-place next his heart.
+
+"A little something to wear round your neck, child," he said. "See!"
+
+"Thank oo," said Elsie. "Why, it opens!"
+
+"Yes, it opens," said Robert moodily.
+
+"Why, it's Alith! Sister Alith!"
+
+[EDITOR. HA!
+
+AUTHOR. I THOUGHT YOU'D LIKE THAT.]
+
+Robert leapt to his feet as if he had been shot.
+
+"Who?" he cried.
+
+"My sister Alith. Does oo know her too?"
+
+Alice's sister! Heavens! He covered his face with his hands.
+
+The door opened.
+
+[EDITOR. HA AGAIN!]
+
+"What are you doing here, Elsie?" said a voice. "Go to bed, child.
+Why, who is this?"
+
+"Father Kwithmath, thithter."
+
+[EDITOR. HOW EXACTLY DO YOU WORK THE LISPING?
+
+AUTHOR. WHAT DO YOU MEAN? DON'T CHILDREN OF ELSIE'S TENDER YEARS
+LISP SOMETIMES?
+
+EDITOR. YES; BUT JUST NOW SHE SAID "KWISTMAS" QUITE CORRECTLY--
+
+AUTHOR. I AM GLAD YOU NOTICED THAT. THAT WAS AN EFFECT WHICH I
+INTENDED TO PRODUCE. LISPING IS BROUGHT ABOUT BY PLACING THE TONGUE
+UPON THE HARD SURFACE OF THE PALATE, AND IN CASES WHERE THE SUBJECT
+IS UNDULY EXCITED OR INFLUENCED BY EMOTION THE LISP BECOMES MORE
+PRONOUNCED. IN THIS CASE--
+
+EDITOR. YETH, I THEE.]
+
+"Send her away," cried Robert, without raising his head.
+
+The door opened, and closed again.
+
+"Well," said Alice calmly, "and who are you? You may have lied to
+this poor child, but you cannot deceive me. You are NOT Father
+Christmas."
+
+The miserable man raised his shamefaced head and looked haggardly at
+her.
+
+"Alice!" he muttered, "don't you remember me?"
+
+She gazed at him earnestly.
+
+"Robert! But how changed!"
+
+"Since we parted, Alice, much has happened."
+
+"Yet it seems only yesterday that I saw you!"
+
+[EDITOR. IT was ONLY YESTERDAY.
+
+AUTHOR. YES, YES. DON'T INTERRUPT NOW, PLEASE.]
+
+"To me it has seemed years."
+
+"But what are you doing here?" said Alice.
+
+"Rather, what are YOU doing here?" answered Robert.
+
+[EDITOR. I THINK ALICE'S QUESTION WAS THE MORE REASONABLE ONE.]
+
+"My uncle Joseph lives here."
+
+Robert gave a sudden cry.
+
+"Your uncle Joseph! Then I have broken into your uncle Joseph's
+house! Alice, send me away! Put me in prison! Do what you will to
+me! I can never hold up my head again."
+
+Lady Alice looked gently at the wretched figure in front of her.
+
+"I am glad to see you again," she said. "Because I wanted to say
+that it was MY fault!"
+
+"Alice!"
+
+"Can you forgive me?"
+
+"Forgive you? If you knew what my life has been since I left you! If
+you knew into what paths of wickedness I have sunk! How only this
+evening, unnerved by excess, I have deliberately broken into this
+house--your uncle Joseph's house--in order to obtain food. Already I
+have eaten more than half a turkey and the best part of a
+plum-pudding. If you knew, I--"
+
+With a gesture of infinite compassion she stopped him.
+
+"Then let us forgive each other," she said with a smile. "A new year
+is beginning, Robert!"
+
+He took her in his arms.
+
+"Listen," he said.
+
+In the distance the bells began to ring in the New Year. A message
+of hope to all weary travellers on life's highway. It was New Year's
+Day!
+
+[EDITOR. I THOUGHT CHRISTMAS DAY HAD STARTED ON THE EMBANKMENT. THIS
+WOULD BE BOXING DAY. AUTHOR. _I_'M SORRY, BUT IT MUST END LIKE THAT.
+_I_ MUST HAVE MY BELLS. YOU CAN EXPLAIN SOMEHOW.
+
+EDITOR. THAT'S ALL VERY WELL. _I_ HAVE A GOOD DEAL TO EXPLAIN AS IT
+IS. SOME OF YOUR STORY DOESN'T FIT THE PICTURES AT ALL, AND IT IS
+TOO LATE NOW TO GET NEW ONES DONE.
+
+AUTHOR. _I_ AM AFRAID _I_ CANNOT WORK TO ORDER.
+
+EDITOR. YES, _I_ KNOW. THE ARTIST SAID THE SAME THING. WELL, _I_
+MUST MANAGE SOMEHOW, _I_ SUPPOSE. GOOD-BYE. ROTTEN WEATHER FOR
+AUGUST, ISN'T IT?]
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A MATTER-OF-FACT FAIRY TALE
+
+
+
+
+
+Once upon a time there was a King who had three sons. The two eldest
+were lazy, good-for-nothing young men, but the third son, whose
+name was Charming, was a delightful youth, who was loved by
+everybody (outside his family) who knew him. Whenever he rode
+through the town the people used to stop whatever work they were
+engaged upon and wave their caps and cry "Hurrah for Prince
+Charming!"--and even after he had passed they would continue to stop
+work, in case he might be coming back the same way, when they would
+wave their caps and cry "Hurrah for Prince Charming!"
+again. It was wonderful how fond of him they were.
+
+But alas! his father the King was not so fond. He preferred his
+eldest son; which was funny of him, because he must have known that
+only the third and youngest son is ever any good in a family.
+Indeed, the King himself had been a third son, so he had really no
+excuse for ignorance on the point. I am afraid the truth was that he
+was jealous of Charming, because the latter was so popular outside
+his family.
+
+Now there lived in the Palace an old woman called Countess Caramel,
+who had been governess to Charming when he was young. When the Queen
+lay dying the Countess had promised her that she would look after
+her youngest boy for her, and Charming had often confided in Caramel
+since. One morning, when his family had been particularly rude to
+him at breakfast, Charming said to her:
+
+"Countess, I have made up my mind, and I am going into the world to
+seek my fortune."
+
+"I have been waiting for this," said the Countess. "Here is a magic
+ring. Wear it always on your little finger, and whenever you want
+help turn it round once and help will come."
+
+Charming thanked her and put the ring on his finger. Then he turned
+it round once just to make sure that it worked. Immediately the
+oddest little dwarf appeared in front of him.
+
+"Speak and I will obey," said the dwarf.
+
+Now Charming didn't want anything at all just then, so after
+thinking for a moment he said, "Go away!"
+
+The dwarf, a little surprised, disappeared.
+
+"This is splendid," thought Charming, and he started on his travels
+with a light heart.
+
+The sun was at its highest as he came to a thick wood, and in its
+shade he lay down to rest. He was awakened by the sound of weeping.
+Rising hastily to his feet he peered through the trees, and there,
+fifty yards away from him, by the side of a stream sat the most
+beautiful damsel he had ever seen, wringing her hands and sobbing
+bitterly. Prince Charming, grieving at the sight of beauty in such
+distress, coughed and came nearer,
+
+"Princess," he said tenderly, for he knew she must be a Princess,
+"you are in trouble. How can I help you?"
+
+"Fair Sir," she answered, "I had thought to be alone. But, since you
+are here, you can help me if you will. I have a--a brother--"
+
+But Charming did not want to talk about brothers. He sat down on a
+fallen log beside her, and looked at her entranced.
+
+"I think you are the most lovely lady in all the world," he said.
+
+"Am I?" said the Princess, whose name, by the way, was Beauty.
+
+She looked away from him and there was silence between them.
+Charming, a little at a loss, fidgeted nervously with his ring, and
+began to speak again.
+
+"Ever since I have known you--"
+
+"You are in need of help?" said the dwarf, appearing suddenly.
+
+"Certainly not," said Charming angrily. "Not in the least. I can
+manage this quite well by myself."
+
+"Speak, and I will obey."
+
+"Then go away," said Charming; and the dwarf, who was beginning to
+lose his grip of things, again disappeared.
+
+The Princess, having politely pretended to be looking for something
+while this was going on, turned to him again.
+
+"Come with me," she said, "and I will show you how you can help me."
+
+She took him by the hand and led him down a narrow glade to a little
+clearing in the middle of the wood. Then she made him sit down
+beside her on the grass, and there she told him her tale.
+
+"There is a giant called Blunderbus," she said, "who lives in a
+great castle ten miles from here. He is a terrible magician, and
+years ago because I would not marry him he turned my--my brother
+into a--I don't know how to tell you--into a--a tortoise." She put
+her hands to her face and sobbed again.
+
+"Why a tortoise?" said Charming, knowing that sympathy was useless,
+but feeling that he ought to say SOMETHING.
+
+"I don't know. He just thought of it. It--it isn't a very nice thing
+to be."
+
+"And why should he turn your BROTHER into it? I mean, if he had
+turned YOU into a tortoise--Of course," he went on hurriedly, "I'm
+very glad he didn't."
+
+"Thank you," said Beauty.
+
+"But I don't understand why--"
+
+"He knew he could hurt me more by making my brother a tortoise than
+by making me one," she explained, and looked at him anxiously.
+
+This was a new idea to Charming, who had two brothers of his own;
+and he looked at her in some surprise.
+
+"Oh, what does it matter WHY he did it?" she cried as he was about
+to speak. "Why do giants do things? _I_ don't know."
+
+"Princess," said Charming remorsefully, and kissed her hand, "tell
+me how I can help you."
+
+"My brother," said Beauty, "was to have met me here. He is late
+again." She sighed and added, "He used to be SO punctual."
+
+"But how can I help him?" asked Charming.
+
+"It is like this. The only way in which the enchantment can be taken
+off him is for someone to kill the Giant. But if once the
+enchantment has stayed on for seven years, then it stays on for
+ever."
+
+Here she looked down and burst into tears.
+
+"The seven years," she sobbed, "are over at sundown this afternoon."
+
+"I see," said Charming thoughtfully.
+
+"Here IS my brother," cried Beauty.
+
+An enormous tortoise came slowly into view. Beauty rushed up to him
+and, having explained the situation rapidly, made the necessary
+introduction.
+
+"Charmed," said the Tortoise. "You can't miss the castle; it's the
+only one near here, and Blunderbus is sure to be at home. I need not
+tell you how grateful I shall be if you kill him. Though I must
+say," he added, "it puzzles me to think how you are going to do it."
+
+"I have a friend who will help me," said Charming, fingering his
+ring.
+
+"Well, I only hope you'll be luckier than the others."
+
+"The others?" cried Charming, in surprise.
+
+"Yes; didn't she tell you about the others who had tried?"
+
+"I forgot to," said Beauty, frowning at him.
+
+"Ah, well, perhaps in that case we'd better not go into it now,"
+said the Tortoise. "But before you start I should like to talk to
+you privately for a moment." He took Charming on one side and
+whispered, "I say, do YOU know anything about tortoises?"
+
+"Very little," said Charming. "In fact--"
+
+"Then you don't happen to know what they eat?"
+
+"I'm afraid I don't."
+
+"Dash it, why doesn't ANYBODY know? The others all made the most
+ridiculous suggestions. Steak and kidney puddings--and shrimp
+sandwiches--and buttered toast. Dear me! The nights we had after
+the shrimp sandwiches! And the fool swore he had kept tortoises all
+his life!"
+
+"If I may say so," said Charming, "I should have thought that YOU
+would have known best."
+
+"The same silly idea they all have," said the Tortoise testily.
+"When Blunderbus put this enchantment on me, do you suppose he got a
+blackboard and a piece of chalk and gave me a lecture on the diet
+and habits of the common tortoise, before showing me out of the
+front gate? No, he simply turned me into the form of a tortoise and
+left my mind and soul as it was before. I've got the anatomy of a
+tortoise, I've got the very delicate inside of a tortoise, but I
+don't THINK like one, stupid. Else I shouldn't mind being one."
+
+"I never thought of that."
+
+"No one does, except me. And I can think of nothing else." He paused
+and added confidentially, "We're trying rum omelettes just now.
+Somehow I don't think tortoises REALLY like them. However, we shall
+see. I suppose you've never heard anything definite against them?"
+
+"You needn't bother about that," said Charming briskly. "By to-night
+you will be a man again." And he patted him encouragingly on the
+shell and returned to take an affectionate farewell of the Princess.
+
+As soon as he was alone, Charming turned the ring round his finger,
+and the dwarf appeared before him.
+
+"The same as usual?" said the dwarf, preparing to vanish at the
+word. He was just beginning to get into the swing of it.
+
+"No, no," said Charming hastily. "I really want you this time." He
+thought for a moment. "I want," he said at last, "a sword. One that
+will kill giants."
+
+Instantly a gleaming sword was at his feet. He picked it up and
+examined it.
+
+"Is this really a magic sword?"
+
+"It has but to inflict one scratch," said the dwarf, "and the result
+is death."
+
+Charming, who had been feeling the blade, took his thumb away
+hastily.
+
+"Then I shall want a cloak of darkness," he said.
+
+"Behold, here it is. Beneath this cloak the wearer is invisible to
+the eyes of his enemies."
+
+"One thing more," said Charming. "A pair of seven-league boots....
+Thank you. That is all to-day."
+
+Directly the dwarf was gone, Charming kicked off his shoes and
+stepped into the magic boots; then he seized the sword and the cloak
+and darted off on his lady's behest. He had barely gone a hundred
+paces before a sudden idea came to him, and he pulled himself up
+short.
+
+"Let me see," he reflected; "the castle was ten miles away. These
+are seven-league boots--so that I have come about two thousand
+miles. I shall have to go back." He took some hasty steps back, and
+found himself in the wood from which he had started.
+
+"Well?" said Princess Beauty, "have you killed him?"
+
+"No, n-no," stammered Charming, "not exactly killed him. I was
+just--just practising something. The fact is," he added
+confidentially, "I've got a pair of new boots on, and--" He saw the
+look of cold surprise in her face and went on quickly, "I swear,
+Princess, that I will not return to you again without his head."
+
+He took a quick step in the direction of the castle and found
+himself soaring over it; turned eleven miles off and stepped back a
+pace; overshot it again, and arrived at the very feet of the
+Princess.
+
+"His head!" said Beauty eagerly.
+
+"I--I must have dropped it," said Charming, hastily pretending to
+feel for it. "I'll just go and--" He stepped off in confusion.
+
+Eleven miles the wrong side of the castle, Charming sat down to
+think it out. It was but two hours to sundown. Without his magic
+boots he would get to the castle too late. Of course, what he really
+wanted to do was to erect an isosceles triangle on a base of eleven
+miles, having two sides of twenty-one miles each. But this was
+before Euclid's time.
+
+However, by taking one step to the north and another to the
+south-west, he found himself close enough. A short but painful walk,
+with his boots in his hand, brought him to his destination. He had a
+moment's natural hesitation about making a first call at the castle
+in his stockinged feet, but consoled himself with the thought that
+in life-and-death matters one cannot bother about little points of
+etiquette, and that, anyhow, the giant would not be able to see him.
+Then, donning the magic cloak, and with the magic sword in his hand,
+he entered the castle gates. For an instant his heart seemed to stop
+beating, but the thought of the Princess gave him new courage....
+
+The Giant was sitting in front of the fire, his great spiked club
+between his knees. At Charming's entry he turned round, gave a start
+of surprise, bent forward eagerly a moment, and then leant back
+chuckling. Like most overgrown men he was naturally kind-hearted and
+had a simple humour, but he could be stubborn when he liked. The
+original affair of the tortoise seems to have shown him both at his
+best and at his worst.
+
+"Why do you walk like that?" he said pleasantly to Charming. "The
+baby is not asleep."
+
+Charming stopped short.
+
+"You see me?" he cried furiously.
+
+"Of course I do! Really, you mustn't expect to come into a house
+without anything on your feet and not be a LITTLE noticeable. Even
+in a crowd I should have picked you out."
+
+"That miserable dwarf," said Charming savagely, "swore solemnly to
+me that beneath this cloak I was invisible to the eyes of my
+enemies!"
+
+"But then we AREN'T enemies," smiled the Giant sweetly. "I like you
+immensely. There's something about you--directly you came in ... I
+think it must be love at first sight."
+
+"So that's how he tricked me!"
+
+"Oh, no, it wasn't really like that. The fact is you are invisible
+BENEATH that cloak, only--you'll excuse my pointing it out--there
+are such funny bits of you that aren't beneath the cloak. You've no
+idea how odd you look; just a head and two legs, and a couple of
+arms.... Waists," he murmured to himself, "are not being worn this
+year."
+
+But Charming had had enough of talk. Gripping his sword firmly, he
+threw aside his useless cloak, dashed forward, and with a beautiful
+lunge pricked his enemy in the ankle.
+
+"Victory!" he cried, waving his magic sword above his head. "Thus is
+Beauty's brother delivered!"
+
+The Giant stared at him for a full minute. Then he put his hands to
+his sides and fell back shaking in his chair.
+
+"Her brother!" he roared. "Well, of all the--Her BROTHER!" He
+rolled on the floor in a paroxysm of mirth. "Her brother! Oh,
+you--You'll kill me! Her b-b-b-b-brother! Her b-b-b-b--her b-b-b
+--her b-b--"
+
+The world suddenly seemed very cold to Charming. He turned the ring
+on his finger.
+
+"Well?" said the dwarf.
+
+"I want," said Charming curtly, "to be back at home, riding through
+the streets on my cream palfrey, amidst the cheers of the
+populace.... At once."
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+An hour later Princess Beauty and Prince Udo, who was not her
+brother, gazed into each other's eyes; and Beauty's last illusion
+went.
+
+"You've altered," she said slowly.
+
+"Yes, I'm not REALLY much like a tortoise," said Udo humorously.
+
+"I meant since seven years ago. You're much stouter than I thought."
+
+"Time hasn't exactly stood still with you, you know, Beauty."
+
+"Yet you saw me every day, and went on loving me."
+
+"Well-er--" He shuffled his feet and looked away.
+
+"DIDN'T you?"
+
+"Well, you see--of course I wanted to get back, you see--and as long
+as you--I mean if we--if you thought we were in love with each
+other, then, of course, you were ready to help me. And so--"
+
+"You're quite old and bald. I can't think why I didn't notice it
+before."
+
+"Well, you wouldn't when I was a tortoise," said Udo pleasantly. "As
+tortoises go I was really quite a youngster. Besides, anyhow one
+never notices baldness in a tortoise."
+
+"I think," said Beauty, weighing her words carefully, "I think
+you've gone off a good deal in looks in the last day or two."
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+Charming was home in time for dinner; and next morning he was more
+popular than ever (outside his family) as he rode through the
+streets of the city. But Blunderbus lay dead in his castle. You and
+I know that he was killed by the magic sword; yet somehow a strange
+legend grew up around his death. And ever afterwards in that
+country, when one man told his neighbour a more than ordinarily
+humorous anecdote, the latter would cry, in between the gusts of
+merriment, "Don't! You'll make me die of laughter!" And then he
+would pull himself together, and add with a sigh--"Like Blunderbus."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+AN ODD LOT
+
+THE COMING OF THE CROCUS
+
+
+
+
+
+"IT'S a bootiful day again, Sir," said my gardener, James, looking
+in at the study window.
+
+"Bootiful, James, bootiful," I said, as I went on with my work.
+
+"You might almost say as spring was here at last, like."
+
+"Cross your fingers quickly, James, and touch wood. Look here, I'll
+be out in a minute and give you some orders, but I'm very busy just
+now."
+
+"Thought praps you'd like to know there's eleven crocuses in the
+front garden."
+
+"Then send them away--we've got nothing for them."
+
+"Crocuses," shouted James.
+
+I jumped up eagerly, and climbed through the window.
+
+"My dear man," I said, shaking him warmly by the hand, "this is
+indeed a day. Crocuses! And in the front gar--on the south lawn! Let
+us go and gaze at them."
+
+There they were--eleven of them. Six golden ones, four white, and a
+little mauve chap.
+
+"This is a triumph for you, James. It's wonderful. Has anything like
+this ever happened to you before?"
+
+"There'll be some more up to-morrow, I won't say as not."
+
+"Those really are growing, are they? You haven't been pushing them
+in from the top? They were actually born on the estate?"
+
+"There'll be a fine one in the back bed soon," said James proudly.
+
+"In the back--my dear James! In the spare bed on the north-east
+terrace, I suppose you mean. And what have we in the Dutch
+Ornamental Garden?"
+
+"If I has to look after ornamental gardens and south aspics and all,
+I ought to have my salary raised," said James, still harping on his
+one grievance.
+
+"By all means raise some celery," I said coldly.
+
+"Take a spade and raise some for lunch. I shall be only too
+delighted."
+
+"This here isn't the season for celery, as you know well. This
+here's the season for crocuses, as anyone can see if they use their
+eyes."
+
+"James, you're right. Forgive me. It is no day for quarrelling."
+
+It was no day for working either. The sun shone upon the
+close-cropped green of the deer park, the sky was blue above the
+rose garden, in the tapioca grove a thrush was singing. I walked up
+and down my estate and drank in the good fresh air.
+
+"James!" I called to my head gardener.
+
+"What is it now?" he grumbled.
+
+"Are there no daffodils to take the winds of March with beauty?"
+
+"There's these eleven croc--"
+
+"But there should be daffodils too. Is not this March?"
+
+"It may be March, but 'tisn't the time for daffodils--not on three
+shillings a week."
+
+"Do you only get three shillings a week? I thought it was three
+shillings an hour."
+
+"Likely an hour!"
+
+"Ah well, I knew it was three shillings. Do you know, James, in the
+Scilly Islands there are fields and fields and fields of nodding
+daffodils out now."
+
+"Lor'!" said James.
+
+"Did you say 'lor'' or 'liar'?" I asked suspiciously.
+
+"To think of that now," said James cautiously.
+
+He wandered off to the tapioca grove, leant against it in thought
+for a moment, and came back to me.
+
+"What's wrong with this little bit of garden--this here park," he
+began, "is the soil. It's no soil for daffodils. Now what daffodils
+like is clay."
+
+"Then for Heaven's sake get them some clay. Spare no expense. Get
+them anything they fancy."
+
+"It's too alloovial--that's what's the matter. Too alloovial. Now,
+crocuses like a bit of alloovial. That's where you have it."
+
+The matter with James is that he hasn't enough work to do. The rest
+of the staff is so busily employed that it is hardly ever visible.
+William, for instance, is occupied entirely with what I might call
+the poultry; it is his duty, in fact, to see that there are always
+enough ants' eggs for the goldfish. All these prize Leghorns you
+hear about are the merest novices compared with William's protegees.
+Then John looks after the staggery; Henry works the coloured
+fountain; and Peter paints the peacocks' tails. This keeps them all
+busy, but James is for ever hanging about.
+
+"Almost seems as if they were yooman," he said, as we stood and
+listened to the rooks.
+
+"Oh, are you there, James? It's a beautiful day. Who said that
+first? I believe you did."
+
+"Them there rooks always make a place seem so home-like. Rooks and
+crocuses, I say--and you don't want anything more."
+
+"Yes; well, if the rooks want to build in the raspberry canes this
+year, let them, James. Don't be inhospitable."
+
+"Course, some do like to see primroses, I don't say. But--"
+
+"Primroses--I knew there was something. Where are they?"
+
+"It's too early for them," said James hastily. "You won't get
+primroses now before April."
+
+"Don't say 'now,' as if it were my fault. Why didn't you plant them
+earlier? I don't believe you know any of the tricks of your
+profession, James. You never seem to graft anything or prune
+anything, and I'm sure you don't know how to cut a slip. James, why
+don't you prune more? Prune now--I should like to watch you. Where's
+your pruning-hook? You can't possibly do it with a rake."
+
+James spends most of his day with a rake--sometimes leaning on it,
+sometimes working with it. The beds are always beautifully kept.
+Only the most hardy annual would dare to poke its head up and spoil
+the smooth appearance of the soil. For those who like circles and
+rectangles of unrelieved brown, James is undoubtedly the man.
+
+As I stood in the sun I had a brilliant idea.
+
+"James," I said, "we'll cut the croquet lawn this afternoon."
+
+"You can't play croquet to-day, it's not warm enough."
+
+"I don't pay you to argue, but to obey. At the same time I should
+like to point out that I never said I was going to play croquet. I
+said that we, meaning you, would cut the lawn."
+
+"What's the good of that?"
+
+"Why, to encourage the wonderful day, of course. Where is your
+gratitude, man? Don't you want to do something to help? How can we
+let a day like this go past without some word of welcome? Out with
+the mower, and let us hail the passing of winter."
+
+James looked at me in disgust.
+
+"Gratitude!" he said indignantly to Heaven. "And there's my eleven
+crocuses in the front all a-singing together like anything on three
+bob a week!"
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE ORDEAL BY FIRE
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Our Flame-flower, the Family Flame-flower, is now plainly
+established in the north-east corner of the pergola, and flourishes
+exceedingly. There, or thereabouts, it will remain through the
+generations to come--a cascade of glory to the eye, a fountain of
+pride to the soul. "Our fathers' fathers," the unborn will say of
+us, "performed this thing; they toiled and suffered that we might
+front the world with confidence--a family secure in the knowledge
+that it has been tried by fire and not found wanting...."
+
+The Atherley's flame-flower, I am glad to inform you, is dead.
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+We started the work five years ago. I was young and ignorant then--I
+did not understand. One day they led me to an old apple tree and
+showed me, fenced in at its foot, two twigs and a hint of leaf. "The
+flame-flower!" they said, with awe in their voices. I was very
+young; I said that I didn't think much of it. It was from that
+moment that my education began....
+
+Everybody who came to see us had to be shown the flame-flower.
+Visitors were conducted to the apple tree in solemn procession, and
+presented. They peered over the fence and said, "A-ah!" just as if
+they knew all about it. Perhaps some of them did. Perhaps some of
+them had tried to grow it in their own gardens.
+
+As November came on and the air grew cold, the question whether the
+flame-flower should winter abroad became insistent. After much
+thought it was moved to the shrubbery on the southern side of the
+house, where it leant against a laburnum until April. With the
+spring it returned home, seemingly stronger for the change; but the
+thought of winter was too much for it, and in October it was ordered
+south again.
+
+For the next three years it was constantly trying different climates
+and testing various diets. Though it was touch and go with it all
+this time our faith was strong, our courage unshaken. June, 1908,
+found it in the gravel-pit. It seemed our only hope....
+
+And in the August of that year I went and stayed with the Atherleys.
+
+
+. . . . . .
+
+One morning at breakfast I challenged Miss Atherley to an immediate
+game of tennis.
+
+"Not directly after," said Mrs Atherley, "it's so bad for you.
+Besides, we must just plant our flame-flower first."
+
+I dropped my knife and fork and gazed at her open-mouthed.
+
+"Plant your--WHAT?" I managed to say at last.
+
+"Flame-flower. Do you know it? John brought one down last night--it
+looks so pretty growing up anything."
+
+"It won't take a moment," said Miss Atherley, "and then I'll beat
+you."
+
+"But--but you mustn't--you--you mustn't talk like THAT about it," I
+stammered." Th-that's not the way to talk about a flame-flower."
+
+"Why, what's wrong?"
+
+"You're just going to plant it! Before you play tennis! It isn't
+a--a BUTTERCUP! You can't do it like that."
+
+"Oh, but do give us any hints--we shall be only too grateful."
+
+"Hints! Just going to plant it!" I repeated, getting more and more
+indignant. "I--I suppose Sir Christopher Wren s-said to his wife at
+breakfast one morning, 'I've just got to design St Paul's Cathedral,
+dear, and then I'll come and play tennis with you. If you can give
+me any hints--'"
+
+"Is it really so difficult?" asked Mrs Atherley. "We've seen lots of
+it in Scotland."
+
+"In Scotland, yes. Not in the South of England." I paused, and then
+added, "WE have one."
+
+"What soil is yours? Do you plant it very deep? Do they like a lot
+of water?" These and other technical points were put to me at once.
+
+"Those are mere details of horticulture," I said. "What I am
+protesting against is the whole spirit in which you approach the
+business--the light-hearted way in which you assume that you can
+support a flame-flower. You have to be a very superior family indeed
+to have a flame-flower growing in your garden."
+
+They laughed. They thought I was joking.
+
+"Well, we're going to plant it now, anyhow," said Miss Atherley.
+"Come along and help us."
+
+We went out, six of us, Mrs Atherley carrying the precious thing;
+and we gathered round an old tree trunk in front of the house.
+
+"It would look rather pretty here," said Mrs Atherley. "Don't you
+think?"
+
+I gave a great groan.
+
+"You--you--you're all wrong again," I said in despair. "You don't
+put a flame-flower in a place where you think it will look pretty;
+you try in all humility to find a favoured spot where it will be
+pleased to grow. There may be such a spot in your garden or there
+may not. Until I know you better I cannot say. But it is extremely
+unlikely to be here, right in front of the window."
+
+They laughed again, and began to dig up the ground. I turned my back
+in horror; I could not watch. And at the last moment some qualms of
+doubt seized even them. They spoke to me almost humbly.
+
+"How would YOU plant it?" they asked.
+
+It was my last chance of making them realize their responsibility.
+
+"I cannot say at this moment," I began, "exactly how the ceremony
+should be performed, but I should endeavour to think of something in
+keeping with the solemnity of the occasion. It may be that Mrs
+Atherley and I would take the flower and march in procession round
+the fountain, singing a suitable chant, while Bob and Archie with
+shaven heads prostrated themselves before the sundial. Miss Atherley
+might possibly dance the Fire-dance upon the east lawn, while Mr
+Atherley stood upon one foot in the middle of the herbaceous border
+and played upon her with the garden hose. These or other symbolic
+rites we should perform, before we planted it in a place chosen by
+Chance. Then leaving a saucer of new milk for it lest it should
+thirst in the night we would go away, and spend the rest of the week
+in meditation."
+
+I paused for breath.
+
+"That might do it," I added, "or it might not. But at least that is
+the sort of spirit that you want to show."
+
+Once more they laughed ... and then they planted it.
+
+. . . . . . . .
+
+These have been two difficult years for me. There have been times
+when I have almost lost faith, and not even the glories of our own
+flame-flower could cheer me. But at last the news came. I was at
+home for the week-end and, after rather a tiring day showing
+visitors the north-east end of the pergola, I went indoors for a
+rest. On the table there was a letter for me. It was from Mrs
+Atherley.
+
+"BY THE WAY," she wrote, "THE FLAME-FLOWER IS DEAD."
+
+"By the way"!
+
+But even if they had taken the business seriously, even if they had
+understood fully what a great thing it was they were
+attempting--even then I think they would have failed.
+
+For, though I like the Atherleys very much, though I think them all
+extremely jolly ... yet--I doubt, you know, if they are QUITE the
+family to have a flame-flower growing in their garden.
+
+THE LUCKY MONTH
+
+"KNOW thyself," said the old Greek motto. (In Greek--but this is an
+English book.) So I bought a little red volume called, tersely
+enough, WERE YOU BORN IN JANUARY? I was; and, reassured on this
+point, the author told me all about myself.
+
+For the most part he told me nothing new. "You are," he said in
+effect, "good-tempered, courageous, ambitious, loyal, quick to
+resent wrong, an excellent raconteur, and a leader of men." True.
+"Generous to a fault"--(Yes, I was overdoing that rather)--"you have
+a ready sympathy with the distressed. People born in this month will
+always keep their promises." And so on. There was no doubt that the
+author had the idea all right. Even when he went on to warn me of my
+weaknesses he maintained the correct note. "People born in January,"
+he said, "must be on their guard against working too strenuously.
+Their extraordinarily active brains--" Well, you see what he means.
+It IS a fault perhaps, and I shall be more careful in future. Mind,
+I do not take offence with him for calling my attention to it. In
+fact, my only objection to the book is its surface application to
+ALL the people who were born in January. There should have been more
+distinction made between me and the rabble.
+
+I have said that he told me little that was new. In one matter,
+however, he did open my eyes. He introduced me to an aspect of
+myself entirely unsuspected.
+
+"They," he said-meaning me, "have unusual business capacity, and are
+destined to be leaders in great commerical enterprises."
+
+One gets at times these flashes of self-revelation. In an instant I
+realized how wasted my life had been; in an instant I resolved that
+here and now I would put my great gifts to their proper uses. I
+would be a leader in an immense commercial enterprise.
+
+One cannot start commercial enterprises without capital. The first
+thing was to determine the exact nature of my balance at the bank.
+This was a matter for the bank to arrange, and I drove there
+rapidly.
+
+"Good-morning," I said to the cashier, "I am in rather a hurry. May
+I have my pass-book?"
+
+He assented and retired. After an interminable wait, during which
+many psychological moments for commercial enterprise must have
+lapsed, he returned.
+
+"I think YOU have it," he said shortly.
+
+"Thank you," I replied, and drove rapidly home again.
+
+A lengthy search followed; but after an hour of it one of those
+white-hot flashes of thought, such as only occur to the natural
+business genius, seared my mind and sent me post-haste to the bank
+again.
+
+"After all," I said to the cashier, "I only want to know my balance.
+What is it?"
+
+He withdrew and gave himself up to calculation. I paced the floor
+impatiently. Opportunities were slipping by. At last he pushed a
+slip of paper across at me. My balance!
+
+It was in four figures. Unfortunately two of them were shillings and
+pence. Still, there was a matter of fifty pounds odd as well, and
+fortunes have been built up on less.
+
+Out in the street I had a moment's pause. Hitherto I had regarded my
+commercial enterprise in the bulk, as a finished monument of
+industry; the little niggling preliminary details had not come up
+for consideration. Just for a second I wondered how to begin.
+
+Only for a second. An unsuspected talent which has long lain dormant
+needs, when waked, a second or so to turn round in. At the end of
+that time I had made up my mind. I knew exactly what I would do. I
+would ring up my solicitor.
+
+"Hallo, is that you? Yes, this is me. What? Yes, awfully, thanks.
+How are you? Good. Look here, come and lunch with me. What? No, at
+once. Good-bye."
+
+Business, particularly that sort of commercial enterprise to which I
+had now decided to lend my genius, can only be discussed properly
+over a cigar. During the meal itself my solicitor and I indulged in
+the ordinary small-talk of the pleasure-loving world.
+
+"You're looking very fit," said my solicitor. "No, not fat, FIT."
+
+"You don't think I'm looking thin?" I asked anxiously. "People are
+warning me that I may be overdoing it rather. They tell me that I
+must be seriously on my guard against brain strain."
+
+"I suppose they think you oughtn't to strain it too suddenly," said
+my solicitor. Though he is now a solicitor he was once just an
+ordinary boy like the rest of us, and it was in those days that he
+acquired the habit of being rude to me, a habit he has never quite
+forgotten.
+
+"What is an onyx?" I said, changing the conversation.
+
+"Why?" asked my solicitor, with his usual business acumen.
+
+"Well, I was practically certain that I had seen one in the Zoo, in
+the reptile house, but I have just learnt that it is my lucky month
+stone. Naturally I want to get one."
+
+The coffee came and we settled down to commerce.
+
+"I was just going to ask you," said my solicitor--"have you any
+money lying idle at the bank? Because if so--"
+
+"Whatever else it is doing, it isn't lying idle," I protested. "I
+was at the bank to-day, and there were men chivying it about with
+shovels all the time."
+
+"Well, how much have you got?"
+
+"About fifty pounds."
+
+"It ought to be more than that."
+
+"That's what I say, but you know what banks are. Actual merit counts
+for nothing with them."
+
+"Well, what did you want to do with it?"
+
+"Exactly. That was why I rang you up. I--er--" This was really my
+moment, but somehow I was not quite ready to seize it. My vast
+commercial enterprise still lacked a few trifling details.
+"Er--I--well, it's like that."
+
+"I might get you a few ground rents."
+
+"Don't. I shouldn't know where to put them."
+
+"But if you really have fifty pounds simply lying idle I wish you'd
+lend it to me for a bit. I'm confoundedly hard up."
+
+("GENEROUS TO A FAULT, YOU HAVE A READY SYMPATHY WITH THE
+DISTRESSED." Dash it, what could I do?)
+
+"Is it quite etiquette for clients to lend solicitors money?" I
+asked. "I thought it was always solicitors who had to lend it to
+clients. If I must, I'd rather lend it to you--I mean, I'd dislike
+it less--as to the old friend of my childhood."
+
+"Yes, that's how I wanted to pay it back."
+
+"Bother. Then I'll send you a cheque to-night," I sighed.
+
+And that's where we are at the moment. "PEOPLE BORN IN THIS MONTH
+ALWAYS KEEP THEIR PROMISES." The money has got to go to-night. If I
+hadn't been born in January I shouldn't be sending it; I certainly
+shouldn't have promised it; I shouldn't even have known that I had
+it. Sometimes I almost wish that I had been born in one of the
+decent months. March, say.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A SUMMER COLD
+
+
+
+
+
+WHEN I am not feeling very well I go to Beatrice for sympathy and
+advice. Anyhow I get the advice.
+
+"I think," I said carelessly, wishing to break it to her as gently
+as possible, "I think I have hay-fever."
+
+"Nonsense," said Beatrice.
+
+That annoyed me. Why shouldn't I have hay-fever if I wanted to?
+
+"If you're going to begrudge me every little thing," I began.
+
+"You haven't even got a cold."
+
+As luck would have it a sneeze chose that moment for its arrival.
+
+"There!" I said triumphantly.
+
+"Why, my dear boy, if you had hay-fever you'd be sneezing all day."
+
+"That was only a sample. There are lots more where that came from."
+
+"Don't be so silly. Fancy starting hay-fever in September."
+
+"I'm not starting it. I am, I earnestly hope, just finishing it. If
+you want to know, I've had a cold all the summer."
+
+"Well, I haven't noticed it."
+
+"That's because I'm such a good actor. I've been playing the part of
+a man who hasn't had a cold all the summer. My performance is
+considered to be most life-like."
+
+Beatrice disdained to answer, and by and by I sneezed again.
+
+"You certainly have a cold," she said, putting down her work.
+
+"Come, this is something."
+
+"You must be careful. How did you catch it?"
+
+"I didn't catch it. It caught me."
+
+"Last week-end?"
+
+"No, last May."
+
+Beatrice picked up her work again impatiently. I sneezed a third
+time.
+
+"Is this more the sort of thing you want?" I said.
+
+"What I say is that you couldn't have had hay-fever all the summer
+without people knowing."
+
+"But, my dear Beatrice, people do know. In this quiet little suburb
+you are rather out of the way of the busy world. Rumours of war,
+depressions on the Stock Exchange, my hay-fever--these things pass
+you by. But the clubs are full of it. I assure you that, all over
+the country, England's stately homes have been plunged into mourning
+by the news of my sufferings, historic piles have bowed their heads
+and wept."
+
+"I suppose you mean that in every house you've been to this summer
+you've told them that you had it, and they've been foolish enough to
+believe you."
+
+"That's putting it a little crudely. What happens is--"
+
+"Well, all I can say is, you know a very silly lot of people."
+
+"What happens is that when the mahogany has been cleared of its
+polished silver and choice napery, and wine of a rare old vintage is
+circulating from hand to hand--"
+
+"If they wanted to take any notice of you at all, they could have
+given you a bread poultice and sent you to bed."
+
+"Then, as we impatiently bite the ends off our priceless Havanas--"
+
+"They might know that you couldn't possibly have hay-fever."
+
+I sat up suddenly and spoke to Beatrice.
+
+"Why on earth SHOULDN'T I have hay-fever?" I demanded. "Have you any
+idea what hay-fever is? I suppose you think I ought to be running
+about wildly, trying to eat hay--or yapping and showing an
+unaccountable aversion from dried grass? I take it that there are
+grades of hay-fever, as there are of everything else. I have it at
+present in a mild form. Instead of being thankful that it is no
+worse, you--"
+
+"My dear boy, hay-fever is a thing people have all their lives, and
+it comes on every summer. You've never even pretended to have it
+before this year."
+
+"Yes, but you must start SOME time. I'm a little backward, perhaps.
+Just because there are a few infant prodigies about, don't despise
+me. In a year or two I shall be as regular as the rest of them." And
+I sneezed again.
+
+Beatrice got up with an air of decision and left the room. For a
+moment I thought she was angry and had gone for a policeman, but as
+the minutes went by and she didn't return I began to fear that she
+might have left the house for good. I was wondering how I should
+break the news to her husband when, to my relief, she came in again.
+
+"You may be right," she said, putting down a small package and
+unpinning her hat. "Try this. The chemist says it's the best
+hay-fever cure there is."
+
+"It's in a lot of languages," I said as I took the wrapper off. "I
+suppose German hay is the same as any other sort of hay? Oh, here it
+is in English. I say, this is a what-d'-you-call-it cure."
+
+"So the man said."
+
+"Homeopathic. It's made from the pollen that causes hay-fever. Yes.
+Ah, yes." I coughed slightly and looked at Beatrice out of the
+corner of my eye. "I suppose," I said carelessly, "if anybody took
+this who HADN'T got hay-fever, the results might be rather--I mean
+that he might then find that he-in fact, er--HAD got it."
+
+"Sure to," said Beatrice.
+
+"Yes. That makes us a little thoughtful; we don't want to over-do
+this thing." I went on reading the instructions. "You know, it's
+rather odd about my hay-fever--it's generally worse in town than in
+the country."
+
+"But then you started so late, dear. You haven't really got into the
+swing of it yet."
+
+"Yes, but still--you know, I have my doubts about the gentleman who
+invented this. We don't see eye to eye in this matter. Beatrice, you
+may be right--perhaps I haven't got hay-fever."
+
+"Oh, don't give up."
+
+"But all the same I know I've got something. It's a funny thing
+about my being worse in town than in the country. That looks rather
+as if--By Jove, I know what it is--I've got just the opposite of
+hay-fever."
+
+"What is the opposite of hay?"
+
+"Why, bricks and things."
+
+I gave a last sneeze and began to wrap up the cure.
+
+"Take this pollen stuff back," I said to Beatrice, "and ask the man
+if he's got anything homoeopathic made from paving-stones. Because,
+you know, that's what I really want."
+
+"You HAVE got a cold," said Beatrice.
+
+A MODERN CINDERELLA
+
+ONCE upon a time there was a beautiful girl who lived in a mansion
+in Park Lane with her mother and her two sisters and a crowd of
+servants. Cinderella, for that was her name, would have dearly loved
+to have employed herself about the house sometimes; but whenever she
+did anything useful, like arranging the flowers or giving the pug a
+bath, her mother used to say, "Cinderella! What DO you think I
+engage servants for? Please don't make yourself so common."
+
+Cinderella's two sisters were much older and plainer than herself,
+and their mother had almost given up hope about them, but she used
+to drag Cinderella to balls and dances night after night, taking
+care that only the right sort of person was introduced to her. There
+were many nights when Cinderella would have preferred a book at home
+in front of the fire, for she soon found that her partners' ideas of
+waltzing were as catholic as their conversation was limited. It was,
+indeed, this fondness for the inglenook that had earned her the name
+of Cinderella.
+
+One day, when she was in the middle of a delightful story, her
+mother came in suddenly and cried:
+
+"Cinderella! Why aren't you resting, as I told you? You know we are
+going to the Hogbins' to-night."
+
+"Oh, mother," pleaded Cinderella, "NEED I go to the dance?"
+
+"Don't be so absurd! Of course you're going!"
+
+"But I've got nothing to wear."
+
+"I've told Jennings what you're to wear. Now go and lie down. I want
+you to look your best to-night, because I hear that young Mr Hogbin
+is back again from Australia." Young Mr Hogbin was not the King's
+son; he was the son of a wealthy gelatine manufacturer.
+
+"Then may I come away at twelve?" begged Cinderella.
+
+"You'll come away when I tell you."
+
+Cinderella made a face and went upstairs. "Oh, dear," she thought to
+herself, "I wish I were as old as my two sisters, and could do what
+I liked. I'm sure if my godmother were here she would get me off
+going." But, alas! her godmother lived at Leamington, and
+Cinderella, after a week at Leamington, had left her there only
+yesterday.
+
+Cinderella indeed looked beautiful as they started for the ball; but
+her mother, who held a review of her in the drawing-room, was not
+quite satisfied.
+
+"Cinderella!" she said. "You know I said you were to wear the silver
+slippers!"
+
+"Oh, mother, they ARE so tight," pleaded Cinderella. "Don't you
+remember I told you at the time they were much too small for me?"
+
+"Nonsense. Go and put them on at once."
+
+The dance was in full swing when Cinderella arrived. Although her
+lovely appearance caused several of the guests to look at her, they
+did not ask each other eagerly who she was, for most of them knew
+her already as Miss Partington-Smith. A brewer's son led her off to
+dance.
+
+The night wore on slowly. One young man after another trod on
+Cinderella's toes, trotted in circles round her, ran her violently
+backwards into some other man, or swooped with her into the
+fireplace. Cinderella, whose feet seemed mechanically to adapt
+themselves to the interpretation of the Boston that was forming in
+her partner's brain, bore it from each one as long as she could; and
+then led the way to a quiet corner, where she confessed frankly that
+she had NOT bought all her Christmas presents yet, and that she WAS
+going to Switzerland for the winter.
+
+The gelatine manufacturer's son took her in to supper. It was
+noticed that Cinderella looked much happier as soon as they had sat
+down, and indeed throughout the meal she was in the highest spirits.
+For some reason or other she seemed to find even Mr Hogbin
+endurable. But just as they were about to return to the ball-room an
+expression of absolute dismay came over her face.
+
+"Anything the matter?" said her partner.
+
+"N--no," said Cinderella; but she made no effort to move.
+
+"Well, shall we come?"
+
+"Y--yes."
+
+She waited a moment longer, dropped her fan under the table, picked
+it up slowly, and followed him out.
+
+"Let's sit down here," she said in the hall; "not upstairs."
+
+They sat in silence; for he had exhausted his stock of questions at
+the end of their first dance, and had told her all about Australia
+during supper; while she apparently had no desire for conversation
+of any kind, being wrapped up in her thoughts.
+
+"I'll wait here," she said, as a dance began. "If you see mother, I
+wish you'd send her to me."
+
+Her mother came up eagerly.
+
+"Well, dear?" she said.
+
+"Mother," said Cinderella, "do take me home at once. Something
+extraordinary has happened."
+
+"It's young Mr Hogbin! I knew it!"
+
+"Who? Oh--er--yes, of course. I'll tell you all about it in the
+carriage, mother."
+
+"Is my little girl going to be happy?"
+
+"I don't know," said Cinderella anxiously. "There's just a chance."
+
+The chance must have come off, for, once in the carriage, Cinderella
+gave a deep sigh of happiness.
+
+"Well, dear?" said her mother again.
+
+"You'll NEVER guess, mother," laughed Cinderella. "Try."
+
+"I guess that my little daughter thinks of running away from me,"
+said her mother archly. "Am I right?"
+
+"Oh, how lovely! Why, running away is simply the LAST thing I could
+do. Look!" She stretched out her foot-clothed only in a pale blue
+stocking.
+
+"Cinderella!"
+
+"I TOLD you they were too tight," she explained rapidly, "and I was
+trodden on by every man in the place, and I simply HAD to kick them
+off at supper, and--and I only got one back. I don't know what
+happened to the other; I suppose it got pushed along somewhere, but,
+anyhow, _I_ wasn't going under the table after it." She laughed
+suddenly and softly to herself. "I wonder what they'll do when they
+find the slipper?" she said.
+
+. . . . . . . .
+
+Of course the King's son (or anyhow, Mr Hogbin) ought to have sent
+it round to all the ladies in Mayfair, taking knightly oath to marry
+her whom it fitted. But what actually happened was that a footman
+found it, and, being very sentimental and knowing that nobody would
+ever dare to claim it, carried it about with him ever
+afterwards--thereby gaining a great reputation with his cronies as a
+nut.
+
+Oh, and by the way--I ought to put in a good word for the godmother.
+She did her best.
+
+"Cinderella!" said her mother at lunch next day, as she looked up
+from her letters. "Why didn't you tell me your godmother was ill?"
+
+"She wasn't very well when I left her, but I didn't think it was
+anything much. Is she bad? I AM sorry."
+
+"She writes that she has obtained measles. I suppose that means
+YOU'RE infectious. Really, it's very inconvenient. Well, I'm glad we
+didn't know yesterday or you couldn't have gone to the dance."
+
+"Dear fairy godmother!" said Cinderella to herself. "She was a day
+too late, but how sweet of her to think of it at all!"
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A LITERARY LIGHT
+
+
+
+
+
+ANNESLEY BUPP was born one of the Bupps of Hampshire--the Fighting
+Bupps, as they were called. A sudden death in the family left him
+destitute at the early age of thirty, and he decided to take
+seriously to journalism for a living. That was twelve years ago. He
+is now a member of the Authors' Club; a popular after-dinner speaker
+in reply to the toast of Literature; and one of the best-paid
+writers in Fleet Street. Who's Who tells the world that he has a
+flat at Knightsbridge and a cottage on the river. If you ask him to
+what he owes his success he will assure you, with the conscious
+modesty of all great men, that he has been lucky; pressed further,
+that Hard Work and Method have been his watchwords. But to the young
+aspirant he adds that of course if you have it in you it is bound to
+come out.
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+
+
+When Annesley started journalism he realized at once that it was
+necessary for him to specialize in some subject. Of such subjects
+two occurred to him--"George Herbert" and "Trams." For a time he
+hesitated, and it was only the sudden publication of a brief but
+authoritative life of the poet which led him finally to the study of
+one of the least explored of our transit systems. Meanwhile he had
+to support himself. For this purpose he bought a roll-top desk, a
+typewriter, and an almanac; he placed the almanac on top of the
+desk, seated himself at the typewriter, and began.
+
+It was the month of February; the almanac told him that it wanted a
+week to Shrove Tuesday. In four days he had written as many
+articles, entitled respectively Shrovetide Customs, The Pancake,
+Lenten Observances, and Tuesdays Known to Fame. The Pancake, giving
+as it did the context of every reference in literature to pancakes,
+was the most scholarly of the four; the Tuesday article, which
+hazarded the opinion that Rome may at least have been begun on a
+Tuesday, the most daring. But all of them were published.
+
+This early success showed Annesley the possibilities of the topical
+article; it led him also to construct a revised calendar for his own
+use. In the "Bupp Almanac" the events of the day were put back a
+fortnight; so that, if the Feast of St Simon and St Jude fell upon
+the 17th, Annesley's attention was called to it upon the 3rd, and
+upon the 3rd he surveyed the Famous Partnerships of the epoch.
+Similarly, The Origin of Lord Mayor's Day was put in hand on October
+26th.
+
+He did not, however, only glorify the past; current events claimed
+their meed of copy. In the days of his dependence Annesley had
+travelled, so that he could well provide the local colour for such
+sketches as Kimberley as I Knew It (1901) and Birmingham by
+Moonlight (1903). His Recollections of St Peter's at Rome were hazy,
+yet sufficient to furnish an article with that title at the time of
+the Coronation. But I must confess that Dashes for the Pole came
+entirely from his invaluable Encyclopaedia....
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+
+Annesley Bupp had devoted himself to literature for two years before
+his first article on trams was written. This was called Voltage, was
+highly technical, and convinced every editor to whom it was sent
+(and by whom it was returned) that the author knew his subject
+thoroughly. So when he followed it up with How to be a Tram
+Conductor, he had the satisfaction not only of seeing it in print
+within a week, but of reading an editorial reference to himself as
+"the noted expert on our overhead system." Two other articles in the
+same paper--Some Curious Tram Accidents and Tram or Bus: Which?--
+established his position.
+
+Once recognized as the authority on trams, Bupp was never at a loss
+for a subject. In the first place there were certain articles, such
+as Tramways in 1904, Progress of Tramway Construction in the Past
+Year, Tramway Inventions of the Last Twelvemonth, and The Tram: Its
+Future in 1905, which flowed annually from his pen. From time to
+time there would arise the occasion for the topical article on
+trams--Trams as Army Transports and How our Trams fared during the
+Recent Snow, to give two obvious examples. And always there was a
+market for such staple articles as Trams in Fiction....
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+
+You will understand, then, that by the end of 1906 Annesley Bupp had
+a reputation; to be exact, he had two reputations. In Fleet Street
+he was known as a writer upon whom a sub-editor could depend; a
+furnisher of what got to be called "buppy"--matter which is paid at
+a slightly higher rate than ordinary copy, because the length and
+quality of it never vary. Outside Fleet Street he was regarded
+simply as a literary light; Annesley Bupp, the fellow whose name you
+saw in every paper; an accepted author.
+
+It was not surprising, therefore, that at the beginning of 1907
+public opinion forced Annesley into (sic) n wer fields of
+literature. It demanded from him, among other things, a weekly
+review of current fiction entitled Fireside Friends. He wrote this
+with extraordinary fluency; a few words of introduction, followed by
+a large fragment of the book before him, pasted beneath the line,
+"Take this, for instance." An opinion of any kind he rarely
+ventured; an adverse opinion, like a good friend, never.
+
+About this time he was commissioned to write three paragraphs each
+day for an evening paper. The first of them always began: "Mr
+Asquith's admission in the House of Commons yesterday that he had
+never done so and so is not without parallel. In 1746 the elder Pitt
+..." The second always began: "Mention of the elder Pitt recalls the
+fact that ..." The third always began: "It may not be generally
+known ..."
+
+Until he began to write these paragraphs Annesley Bupp had no
+definite political views.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+
+Annesley Bupp is now at the zenith of his fame. The "buppy" of old
+days he still writes occasionally, but he no longer signs it in
+full. A modest "A. B." in the corner, supposed by the ignorant to
+stand for "Arthur Balfour," is the only evidence of the author. (I
+say "the only evidence," for he has had, like all great men, his
+countless imitators.) Trams also he deserted with the publication of
+his great work on the subject--Tramiana. But as a writer on
+Literature and Old London he has a European reputation, and his
+recent book, In the Track of Shakespeare: A Record of a Visit to
+Stratford-on-Avon, created no little stir.
+
+He is in great request at public dinners, where his speech in reply
+to the toast of Literature is eagerly attended.
+
+He contributes to every symposium in the popular magazines.
+
+It is all the more to be regretted that his autobiography, The Last
+of the Bupps, is to be published posthumously.
+
+LITTLE PLAYS FOR AMATEURS
+
+"FAIR MISTRESS DOROTHY"
+
+THE SCENE IS AN APARTMENT IN THE MANSION OF Sir Thomas Farthingale.
+THERE IS NO NEED TO DESCRIBE THE FURNITURE IN IT, AS REHEARSALS WILL
+GRADUALLY SHOW WHAT IS WANTED. A PICTURE OR TWO OF PREVIOUS Sir
+Thomas's MIGHT BE SEEN ON THE WALLS, IF YOU HAVE AN ARTISTIC FRIEND
+WHO COULD ARRANGE THIS; BUT IT IS A MISTAKE TO HANG UP YOUR OWN
+ANCESTORS AS SOME OF YOUR GUESTS MAY RECOGNIZE THEM, AND THUS PIERCE
+BENEATH THE VRAISEMBLANCE OF THE SCENE.
+
+THE PERIOD IS THAT OF CROMWELL--SIXTEEN SOMETHING.
+
+THE COSTUMES ARE, IF POSSIBLE, OF THE SAME PERIOD.
+
+Mistress Dorothy Farthingale IS SEATED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STAGE,
+READING A LETTER AND OCCASIONALLY SIGHING.
+
+ENTER My Lord Carey.
+
+CAREY. Mistress Dorothy alone! Truly Fortune smiles upon me.
+
+DOROTHY (HIDING THE LETTER QUICKLY). An she smiles, my lord, I needs
+must frown.
+
+CAREY (USED TO THIS SORT OF THING AND NO LONGER PUT OFF BY IT). Nay,
+give me but one smile, sweet mistress. (SHE SIGHS HEAVILY.) You
+sigh! Is't for me?
+
+DOROTHY (FEELING THAT THE SOONER HE AND THE AUDIENCE UNDERSTAND THE
+SITUATION THE BETTER). I sigh for another, my lord, who is absent.
+
+CAREY (ANNOYED). Zounds, and zounds again!
+
+A pest upon the fellow! (He strides up and down the room, keeping
+out of the way of his sword as much as possible.) Would that I might
+pink the pesky knave!
+
+DOROTHY (turning upon him a look of hate). Would that you might have
+the chance, my lord, so it were in fair fighting. Methinks Roger's
+sword-arm will not have lost its cunning in the wars.
+
+CAREY. A traitor to fight against his King!
+
+DOROTHY. He fights for what he thinks is right. (She takes out his
+letter and kisses it.)
+
+CAREY (observing the action). You have a letter from him!
+
+DOROTHY (hastily concealing it, and turning pale). How know you
+that?
+
+CAREY. Give it to me! (She shrieks and rises.) By heavens, madam, I
+will have it! [He struggles with her and seizes it.
+
+Enter Sir Thomas.
+
+SIR THOMAS. Odds life, my lord, what means this?
+
+CAREY (straightening himself). It means, Sir Thomas, that you
+harbour a rebel within your walls. Master Roger Dale, traitor,
+corresponds secretly with your daughter. [Who, I forgot to say, has
+swooned.
+
+SIR THOMAS (sternly). Give me the letter. Ay, 'tis Roger's hand, I
+know it well. (He reads the letter, which is full of thoughtful
+metaphors about love, aloud to the audience. Suddenly his eyebrows
+go up and down to express surprise. He seizes Lord Carey by the
+arm.) Ha! Listen! "To-morrow, when the sun is upon the western
+window of the gallery, I will be with thee." The villain!
+
+CAREY (who does not know the house very well). When is that?
+
+SIR THOMAS. Why,'tis now, for I have but recently passed through the
+gallery and did mark the sun.
+
+CAREY (FIERCELY). In the name of the King, Sir Thomas, I call upon
+you to arrest this traitor.
+
+SIR THOMAS (sighing). I loved the boy well, yet--[He shrugs his
+shoulders expressively and goes out with Lord Carey to collect
+sufficient force for the arrest.
+
+Enter Roger by a secret door, R.
+
+ROGER. My love!
+
+DOROTHY (opening her eyes). Roger!
+
+ROGER. At last!
+
+[For the moment they talk in short sentences like this. Then DOROTHY
+puts her hand to her brow as if she is remembering something
+horrible.
+
+DOROTHY. Roger! Now I remember! It is not safe for you to stay!
+
+ROGER (very brave). Am I a puling child to be afraid?
+
+DOROTHY. My Lord Carey is here. He has read your letter.
+
+ROGER. The black-livered dog! Would I had him at my sword's point to
+teach him manners.
+
+[He puts his hand to his heart and staggers into a chair.
+
+DOROTHY. Oh, you are wounded!
+
+ROGER. Faugh,'tis but a scratch. Am I a puling--
+
+[He faints. She binds up his ankle.
+
+Enter Lord Carey with two soldiers.
+
+CAREY. Arrest this traitor! (ROGER is led away by the soldiers.)
+
+Dorothy (stretching out her hands to him). Roger! (She sinks into a
+chair.)
+
+Carey (choosing quite the wrong moment for a proposal). Dorothy, I
+love you! Think no more of this traitor, for he will surely hang.
+'Tis your father's wish that you and I should wed.
+
+Dorothy (refusing him). Go, lest I call in the grooms to whip you.
+
+Carey. By heaven--(thinking better of it) I go to fetch your father.
+
+[Exit.
+
+Enter Roger by secret door, L.
+
+Dorothy. Roger! You have escaped!
+
+Roger. Knowest not the secret passage from the wine cellar, where we
+so often played as children? 'Twas in that same cellar the
+thick-skulled knaves immured me.
+
+Dorothy. Roger, you must fly! Wilt wear a cloak of mine to elude our
+enemies?
+
+Roger (missing the point rather). Nay, if I die, let me die like a
+man, not like a puling girl. Yet, sweetheart--
+
+Enter Lord Carey by ordinary door.
+
+Carey (forgetting himself in his confusion). Odds my zounds, dod
+sink me! What murrain is this?
+
+Roger (seizing Sir Thomas's sword, which had been accidentally left
+behind on the table, as I ought to have said before, and advancing
+threateningly). It means, my lord, that a villain's time has come.
+Wilt say a prayer?
+
+[They fight, and Carey is disarmed before they can hurt each other.
+
+Carey (dying game). Strike, Master Dale!
+
+Roger. Nay, I cannot kill in cold blood.
+
+[He throws down his sword. Lord Carey exhibits considerable emotion
+at this, and decides to turn over an entirely new leaf.
+
+Enter two soldiers.
+
+Carey. Arrest that man! (Roger is seized again.) Mistress Dorothy,
+it is for you to say what shall be done with the prisoner.
+
+Dorothy (standing up if she was sitting down, and sitting down if
+she was standing up). Ah, give him to me, my lord!
+
+Carey (joining the hands of Roger and Dorothy). I trust to you,
+sweet mistress, to see that the prisoner does not escape again.
+
+[Dorothy and Roger embrace each other, if they can do it without
+causing a scandal in the neighbourhood, and the curtain goes down.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+"A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING"
+
+
+
+
+
+The scene is a drawing-room (in which the men are allowed to
+smoke--or a smoking-room in which the women are allowed to draw--it
+doesn't much matter) in the house of somebody or other in the
+country. George Turnbull and his old College friend, Henry Peterson,
+are confiding in each other, as old friends will, over their
+whiskies and cigars. It is about three o'clock in the afternoon.
+
+George (dreamily helping himself to a stiff soda). Henry, do you
+remember that evening at Christ Church College, Oxford, five years
+ago, when we opened our hearts to each other...
+
+Henry (lighting a cigar and hiding it in a fern-pot). That moonlight
+evening on the Backs, George, when I had failed in my Matriculation
+examination?
+
+George. Yes; and we promised that when either of us fell in love the
+other should be the first to hear of it? (Rising solemnly.) Henry,
+the moment has come. (With shining eyes.) I am in love.
+
+Henry (jumping up and grasping him by both hands). George! My dear
+old George! (In a voice broken with emotion.) Bless you, George!
+
+[He pats him thoughtfully on the back three times, nods his own head
+twice, gives him a final grip of the hand, and returns to his chair.
+
+George (more moved by this than he cares to show). Thank you, Henry.
+(Hoarsely.) You're a good fellow.
+
+Henry (airily, with a typically British desire to conceal his
+emotion). Who is the lucky little lady?
+
+George (taking out a picture postcard of the British Museum and
+kissing it passionately). Isobel Barley!
+
+[If Henry is not careful he will probably give a start of surprise
+here, with the idea of suggesting to the audience that he (1) knows
+something about the lady's past, or (2) is in love with her himself.
+He is, however, thinking of a different play. We shall come to that
+one in a moment.
+
+Henry (in a slightly dashing manner). Little Isobel? Lucky dog!
+
+George. I wish I could think so. (Sighs.) But I have yet to approach
+her, and she may be another's. (Fiercely.) Heavens, Henry, if she
+should be another's!
+
+Enter Isobel.
+
+Isobel (brightly). So I've run you to earth at last. Now, what have
+you got to say for yourselves?
+
+Henry (like a man). By Jove! (looking at his watch)--I had no
+idea--is it really--poor old Joe--waiting--
+
+[Dashes out tactfully in a state of incoherence.
+
+George (rising and leading Isobel to the front of the stage). Miss
+Barley, now that we are alone, I have something I want to say to
+you.
+
+Isobel (looking at her watch). Well, you must be quick. Because I'm
+engaged--
+
+[George drops her hand and staggers away from her.
+
+Isobel. Why, what's the matter?
+
+George (to the audience, in a voice expressing the very deeps of
+emotion). Engaged! She is engaged! I am too late!
+
+[He sinks into a chair and covers his face with his hands.
+
+Isobel (surprised). Mr Turnbull! What has happened?
+
+George (waving her away with one hand). Go! Leave me! I can bear
+this best alone. (Exit Isobel.) Merciful heavens, she is plighted to
+another!
+
+Enter Henry.
+
+Henry (eagerly). Well, old man?
+
+George (raising a face white with misery--that is to say, if he has
+remembered to put the French chalk in the palms of his hands).
+Henry, I am too late! She is another's!
+
+Henry (in surprise). Whose?
+
+George (with dignity). I did not ask her. It is nothing to me.
+Good-bye, Henry. Be kind to her.
+
+Henry. Why, where are you going?
+
+George (firmly). To the Rocky Mountains. I shall shoot some bears.
+Grizzly ones. It may be that thus I shall forget my grief.
+
+Henry (after a pause). Perhaps you are right, George. What shall I
+tell--her?
+
+George. Tell her--nothing. But should anything (feeling casually in
+his pockets) happen to me--if (going over them again quickly) I do
+not come back, then (searching them all, including the waistcoat
+ones, in desperate haste), give her--give her--give her
+(triumphantly bringing his handkerchief out of the last pocket)
+this, and say that my last thought was of her. Good-bye, my old
+friend. Good-bye.
+
+[Exit to Rocky Mountains.
+
+Enter Isobel.
+
+Isabel. Why, where's Mr Turnbull?
+
+Henry (sadly). He's gone.
+
+Isabel. Gone? Where?
+
+Henry. To the Rocky Mountains--to shoot bears. (Feeling that some
+further explanation is needed.) Grizzly ones.
+
+Isobel. But he was HERE a moment ago.
+
+Henry. Yes, he's only JUST gone.
+
+Isobel. Why didn't he say good-bye? (Eagerly.) But perhaps he left a
+message for me? (Henry shakes his head.) Nothing? (Henry bows
+silently and leaves the room.) Oh! (She gives a cry and throws
+herself on the sofa.) And I loved him! George, George, why didn't
+you speak?
+
+Enter George hurriedly. He is fully dressed for a shooting
+expedition in the Rocky Mountains, and carries a rifle under his
+arm.
+
+George (to the audience). I have just come back for my
+pocket-handkerchief. I must have dropped it in here somewhere. (He
+begins to search for it, and in the ordinary course of things comes
+upon Isobel on the sofa. He puts his rifle down carefully on a
+table, with the muzzle pointing at the prompter rather than at the
+audience, and staggers back.) Merciful heavens! Isobel! Dead! (He
+falls on his knees beside the sofa.) My love, speak to me!
+
+Isobel (softly). George!
+
+George. She is alive! Isobel!
+
+Isobel. Don't go, George!
+
+George. My dear, I love you! But when I heard that you were
+another's, honour compelled me--
+
+Isobel (sitting up quickly). What do you mean by another's?
+
+George. You said you were engaged!
+
+Isobel (suddenly realizing how the dreadful misunderstanding arose
+which nearly wrecked two lives). But I only meant I was engaged to
+play tennis with Lady Carbrook!
+
+George. What a fool I have been! (He hurries on before the audience
+can assent.) Then, Isobel, you WILL be mine?
+
+Isobel. Yes, George. And you won't go and shoot nasty bears, will
+you, dear? Not even grizzly ones?
+
+George (taking her in his arms). Never, darling. That was only
+(turning to the audience with the air of one who is making his best
+point) A Slight Misunderstanding.
+
+CURTAIN.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+"MISS PRENDERGAST"
+
+
+
+
+
+As the curtain goes up two ladies are discovered in the morning-room
+of Honeysuckle Lodge engaged in work of a feminine nature. Miss
+Alice Prendergast is doing something delicate with a crochet-hook,
+but it is obvious that her thoughts are far away. She sighs at
+intervals, and occasionally lays down her work and presses both
+hands to her heart. A sympathetic audience will have no difficulty
+in guessing that she is in love. On the other hand, her elder
+sister, Miss Prendergast, is completely wrapped up in a sock for one
+of the poorer classes, over which she frowns formidably. The sock,
+however, has no real bearing upon the plot, and she must not make
+too much of it.
+
+Alice (hiding her emotions). Did you have a pleasant dinner-party
+last night, Jane?
+
+Jane (to herself). Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty. (Looking
+up.) Very pleasant indeed, Alice. The Blizzards were there, and the
+Podbys, and the Slumphs. (These people are not important and should
+not be over-emphasized.) Mrs Podby's maid has given notice.
+
+Alice. Who took you in?
+
+Jane (brightening up). Such an interesting man, my dear. He talked
+most agreeably about Art during dinner, and we renewed the
+conversation in the drawing-room. We found that we agreed upon all
+the main principles of Art, considered as such.
+
+Alice (with a look in her eyes which shows that she is recalling a
+tender memory). When I was in Shropshire last week--What was your
+man's name?
+
+Jane (with a warning glance at the audience). You know how difficult
+it is to catch names when one is introduced. I am certain he never
+heard mine. (As the plot depends partly upon this, she pauses for it
+to sink in.) But I inquired about him afterwards, and I find that he
+is a Mr--
+
+Enter Mary, the Parlour-maid.
+
+Mary (handing letter). A letter for you, miss.
+
+Jane (taking it). Thank you, Mary. (Exit Mary to work up her next
+line.) A letter! I wonder who it is from! (Reading the envelope.)
+"Miss Prendergast, Honeysuckle Lodge." (She opens it with the air of
+one who has often received letters before, but feels that this one
+may play an important part in her life.) "Dear Miss Prendergast, I
+hope you will pardon the presumption of what I am about to write to
+you, but whether you pardon me or not, I ask you to listen to me. I
+know of no woman for whose talents I have a greater admiration, or
+for whose qualities I have a more sincere affection than yourself.
+Since I have known you, you have been the lodestar of my existence,
+the fountain of my inspiration. I feel that, were your life joined
+to mine, the joint path upon which we trod would be the path to
+happiness, such as I have as yet hardly dared to dream of. In short,
+dear Miss Prendergast, I ask you to marry me, and I will come in
+person for my answer. Yours truly--" (In a voice of intense
+surprise) "Jas. Bootle!"
+
+[At the word "Bootle," a wave of warm colour rushes over Alice and
+dyes her from neck to brow. If she is not an actress of sufficient
+calibre to ensure this, she must do the best she can by starting
+abruptly and putting her hand to her throat.
+
+Alice (aside, in a choking voice). Mr Bootle! In love with Jane!
+
+Jane. My dear! The man who took me down to dinner! Well!
+
+Alice (picking up her work again and trying to be calm). What will
+you say?
+
+Jane (rather pleased with herself). Well, really--I--this is--Mr
+Bootle! Fancy!
+
+Alice (starting up). Was that a ring? (She frowns at the prompter
+and a bell is heard to ring.) It is Mr Bootle! I know his ring, I
+mean I know--Dear, I think I will go and lie down. I have a
+headache.
+
+[She looks miserably at the audience, closes her eyes, and goes off
+with her handkerchief to her mouth, taking care not to fall over the
+furniture.
+
+Enter Mary, followed by James Bootle.
+
+Mary. Mr Bootle. (Exit finally.)
+
+Jane. Good-morning, Mr Bootle!
+
+Bootle. I beg--I thought--Why, of course! It's Miss--er-h'm,
+yes--How do you do? Did you get back safely last night?
+
+Jane. Yes, thank you, (Coyly.) I got your letter.
+
+Bootle. My letter? (Sees his letter on the table. Furiously.) You
+opened my letter!
+
+Jane (mistaking his fury for passion). Yes--James. And (looking
+down on the ground) the answer is "Yes."
+
+Bootle (realizing the situation). By George!
+
+(Aside.) I have proposed to the wrong lady! Tchck!
+
+Jane. You may kiss me, James.
+
+Bootle. Have you a sister?
+
+Jane (missing the connection). Yes, I have a younger sister, Alice.
+(Coldly.) But I hardly see--
+
+Bootle (beginning to understand how he made the mistake). A younger
+sister! Then you are Miss Prendergast? And my letter--Ah!
+
+Enter Alice.
+
+Alice. You are wanted, Jane, a moment.
+
+Jane. Will you excuse me, Mr Bootle? [Exit.
+
+Bootle (to Alice, as she follows her sister out). Don't go!
+
+Alice (wanly--if she knows how). Am I to stay and congratulate you?
+
+Bootle. Alice! (They approach the footlights, while Jane, having
+finished her business, comes in unobserved and watches from the
+back.) It is all a mistake! I didn't know your Christian name--I
+didn't know you had a sister. The letter I addressed to Miss
+Prendergast I meant for Miss Alice Prendergast.
+
+Alice. James! My love! But what can we do?
+
+Bootle (gloomily). Nothing. As a man of honour I cannot withdraw. So
+two lives are ruined!
+
+Alice. You are right, James. Jane must never know. Good-bye!
+
+[They give each other a farewell embrace.
+
+Jane (aside). They love. (Fiercely.) But he is mine; I will hold him
+to his promise! (Picking up a photograph of Alice as a small child
+from an occasional table.) Little Alice! And I promised to take care
+of her--to protect her from the cruel world Baby Alice! (She puts
+her handkerchief to her eyes.) No! I will not spoil two lives!
+(Aloud.) Why "Good-bye," Alice?
+
+[Bootle and Alice, who have been embracing all this time--unless
+they can think of something else to do--break away in surprise.
+
+Alice. Jane--we--I--
+
+Jane (calmly). Dear Alice! I understand perfectly. Mr Bootle said in
+his letter to you that he was coming for his answer, and I see what
+answer you have given him. (To Bootle.) You remember I told you it
+would be "Yes." I know my little sister, you see.
+
+Bootle (tactlessly). But--you told me I could kiss you!
+
+Jane (smiling). And I tell you again now. I believe it is usual for
+men to kiss their sisters-in-law? (She offers her cheek. Bootle,
+whose day it is, salutes her respectfully.) And now (gaily) perhaps
+I had better leave you young people alone!
+
+[Exit, with a backward look at the audience expressive of the fact
+that she has been wearing the mask.
+
+Bootle. Alice, then you are mine, after all.
+
+Alice. James! (They k--No, perhaps better not. There has been quite
+enough for one evening.) And to think that she knew all the time!
+Now I am quite, quite happy. And James--you WILL remember in
+future that I am Miss ALICE Prendergast?
+
+Bootle (gaily). My dear, I shall only be able to remember that you
+are The Future Mrs Bootle!
+
+CURTAIN.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+"AT DEAD OF NIGHT"
+
+
+
+
+
+The stage is in semi-darkness as Dick Trayle throws open the window
+from outside, puts his knee on the sill, and falls carefully into
+the drawing-room of Beeste Hall. He is dressed in a knickerbocker
+suit with arrows on it (such as can always be borrowed from a
+friend), and, to judge from the noises which he emits, is not in the
+best of training. The lights go on suddenly; and, he should seize
+this moment to stagger to the door and turn on the switch. This
+done, he sinks into the nearest chair and closes his eyes.
+
+If he has been dancing very late the night before he may drop into a
+peaceful sleep; in which case the play ends here. Otherwise, no
+sooner are his eyes closed than he opens them with a sudden start
+and looks round in terror.
+
+Dick (striking the keynote at once). No, no! Let me out--I am
+innocent! (He gives a gasp of relief as he realizes the situation.)
+Free! It is true, then! I have escaped! I dreamed that I was back in
+prison again! (He shudders and helps himself to a large
+whisky-and-soda, which he swallows at a gulp.) That's better! Now I
+feel a new man--the man I was three years ago. Three years! It has
+been a lifetime! (Pathetically to the audience.) Where is Millicent
+now?
+
+[He falls into a reverie, from which he is suddenly wakened by a
+noise outside. He starts, and then creeps rapidly to the switch,
+arriving there at the moment when the lights go out. Thence he goes
+swiftly behind the window curtain. The lights go up again as Jasper
+Beeste comes in with a revolver in one hand and a bull's-eye lantern
+of apparently enormous candle-power in the other.
+
+Jasper (in immaculate evening dress). I thought I heard a noise, so
+I slipped on some old things hurriedly and came down. (Fingering his
+perfectly-tied tie.) But there seems to be nobody here. (Turns
+round suddenly to the window.) Ha, who's there? Hands up, blow
+you--(He ought to swear rather badly here, really)--hands up, or I
+fire!
+
+[The stage is suddenly plunged into darkness, there is the noise of
+a struggle, and the lights go on to reveal Jasper by the door
+covering Dick with his revolver.
+
+Jasper. Let's have a little light on you. (Brutally.) Now then, my
+man, what have you got to say for yourself? Ha! An escaped convict,
+eh?
+
+Dick (to himself in amazement). Jasper Beeste!
+
+Jasper. So you know my name?
+
+Dick (in the tones of a man whose whole life has been blighted by
+the machinations of a false friend). Yes, Jasper Beeste, I know your
+name. For two years I have said it to myself every night, when I
+prayed Heaven that I should meet you again.
+
+Jasper. Again? (Uneasily.) We have met before?
+
+Dick (slowly). We have met before, Jasper Beeste. Since then I have
+lived a lifetime of misery. You may well fail to recognize me.
+
+Enter Millicent Wilsdon--in a dressing-gown, with her hair over her
+shoulders, if the county will stand it.
+
+Millicent (to Jasper). I couldn't sleep--I heard a
+noise--I--(suddenly seeing the other) Dick! (She trembles.)
+
+Dick. Millicent! (He trembles too.)
+
+Jasper. Trayle! (So does he.)
+
+Dick (bitterly). You shrink from me, Millicent. (With strong common
+sense.) What is an escaped convict to the beautiful Miss Wilsdon?
+
+Millicent. Dick--I--you--when you were sentenced--
+
+Dick. When I was sentenced--the evidence was black against me, I
+admit--I wrote and released you from your engagement. You are
+married now?
+
+Millicent (throwing herself on the sofa). Oh, Dick!
+
+Jasper (recovering himself). Enough of this. Miss Wilsdon is going
+to marry me to-morrow.
+
+Dick. To marry YOU! (He strides over to the sofa and pulls Millicent
+to her feet.) Millicent, look me in the eyes! Do you love him? (She
+turns away.) Say "Yes," and I will go back quietly to my prison.
+(She raises her eyes to his.) Ha! I thought so! You don't love him!
+Now then I can speak.
+
+Jasper (advancing threateningly). Yes, to your friends the warders.
+Millicent, ring the bell.
+
+Dick (wresting the revolver from his grasp). Ha, would you? Now
+stand over there and listen to me. (He arranges his audience,
+Millicent on a sofa on the right, Jasper, biting his finger-nails,
+on the left.) Three years ago Lady Wilsdon's diamond necklace was
+stolen. My flat was searched and the necklace was found in my
+hatbox. Although I protested my innocence, I was tried, found
+guilty, and sentenced to ten years' penal servitude, followed by
+fifteen years' police supervision.
+
+Millicent (raising herself on the sofa). Dick, you were innocent--I
+know it. (She falls back again.)
+
+Dick. I was. But how could I prove it? I went to prison. For a year
+black despair gnawed at my heart. And then something happened. The
+prisoner in the cell next to mine tried to communicate with me by
+means of taps. We soon arranged a system and held conversations
+together. One day he told me of a robbery in which he and another
+man had been engaged--the robbery of a diamond necklace.
+
+Jasper (jauntily). Well?
+
+Dick (sternly). A diamond necklace, Jasper Beeste, which the other
+man hid in the hatbox of another man in order that he might woo the
+other man's fiancee! (Millicent shrieks.)
+
+Jasper (blusteringly). Bah!
+
+Dick (quietly). The man in the cell next to mine wants to meet this
+gentleman again. It seems that he has some old scores to pay off.
+
+Jasper (sneeringly). And where is he?
+
+Dick. Ah, where is he? (He goes to the window and gives a low
+whistle. A Stranger in knickerbockers jumps in and advances with a
+crab-like movement.) Good! here you are. Allow me to present you to
+Mr Jasper Beeste.
+
+Jasper (in horror). Two-toed Thomas! I am undone!
+
+Two-toed Thomas (after a series of unintelligible snarls). Say the
+word, guv'nor, and I'll kill him. (He prowls round Jasper
+thoughtfully.)
+
+Dick (sternly). Stand back! Now, Jasper Beeste, what have you to
+say?
+
+Jasper (hysterically). I confess. I will sign anything. I will go to
+prison. Only keep that man off me.
+
+Dick (going up to a bureau and writing aloud at incredible speed).
+"I, Jasper Beeste, of Beeste Hall, do hereby declare that I stole
+Lady Wilsdon's diamond necklace and hid it in the hatbox of Richard
+Trayle; and I further declare that the said Richard Trayle is
+innocent of any complicity in the affair." (Advancing with the paper
+and a fountain pen.) Sign, please.
+
+[Jasper signs. At this moment two warders burst into the room.
+
+First Warder. There they are!
+
+[He seizes Dick. Two-toed Thomas leaps from the window, pursued by
+the second Warder. Millicent picks up the confession and advances
+dramatically.
+
+Millicent. Do not touch that man! Read this!
+
+[She hands him the confession with an air of superb pride.
+
+First Warder (reading). Jasper Beeste! (Slipping a pair of handcuffs
+on Jasper.) You come along with me, my man. We've had our suspicions
+of you for some time. (To Millicent, with a nod at Dick.) You'll
+look after that gentleman, miss?
+
+Millicent. Of course! Why, he's engaged to me. Aren't you, Dick?
+
+Dick. This time, Millicent, for ever!
+
+CURTAIN.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+"THE LOST HEIRESS"
+
+
+
+
+
+The scene is laid outside a village inn in that county of curious
+dialects, Loamshire. The inn is easily indicated by a round table
+bearing two mugs of liquid, while a fallen log emphasizes the rural
+nature of the scene. Gaffer Jarge and Gaffer Willyum are seated at
+the table, surrounded by a fringe of whisker, Jarge being slightly
+more of a gaffer than Willyum.
+
+Jarge (who missed his dinner through nervousness and has been
+ordered to sustain himself with soup--as he puts down the steaming
+mug). Eh, bor, but this be rare beer. So it be.
+
+Willyum (who had too much dinner and is now draining his sanatogen).
+You be right, Gaffer Jarge. Her be main rare beer. (He feels up his
+sleeve, but thinking better of it wipes his mouth with the back of
+his hand.) Main rare beer, zo her be. (Gagging.) Zure-lie.
+
+Jarge. Did I ever tell 'ee, bor, about t' new squoire o' these
+parts--him wot cum hum yesterday from furren lands? Gaffer Henry wor
+a-telling me.
+
+Willyum (privately bored). Thee didst tell 'un, lad, sartain sure
+thee didst. And Gaffer Henry, he didst tell 'un too. But tell 'un
+again. It du me good to hear 'un, zo it du. Zure-lie.
+
+Jarge. A rackun it be a main queer tale, queerer nor any them
+writing chaps tell about. It wor like this. (Dropping into English,
+in his hurry to get his long speech over before he forgets it.) The
+old Squire had a daughter who disappeared when she was three weeks
+old, eighteen years ago. It was always thought she was stolen by
+somebody, and the Squire would have it that she was still alive.
+When he died a year ago he left the estate and all his money to a
+distant cousin in Australia, with the condition that if he did not
+discover the missing baby within twelve months everything was to go
+to the hospitals. (Remembering his smock and whiskers with a start.)
+And here du be the last day, zo it be, and t' Squoire's daughter,
+her ain't found.
+
+Willyum (puffing at a new and empty clay pipe). Zure-lie. (Jarge, a
+trifle jealous of Willyum's gag, pulls out a similar pipe, but
+smokes it with the bowl upside down to show his independence.) T'
+Squire's darter (Jarge frowns), her bain't (Jarge wishes he had
+thought of "bain't")--her bain't found. (There is a dramatic pause,
+only broken by the prompter.) Her ud be little Rachel's age now,
+bor?
+
+Jarge (reflectively). Ay, ay. A main queer lass little Rachel du be.
+Her bain't like one of us.
+
+Willyum. Her do be that fond of zoap and water. (Laughter.)
+
+Jarge (leaving nothing to chance). Happen she might be a real grand
+lady by birth, bor.
+
+Enter Rachel, beautifully dressed in the sort of costume in which
+one would go to a fancy-dress ball as a village maiden.
+
+Rachel (in the most expensive accent). Now Uncle George (shaking a
+finger at him), didn't you promise me you'd go straight home? It
+would serve you right if I never tied your tie for you again. (She
+smiles brightly at him.)
+
+Jarge (slapping his thigh in ecstasy). Eh, lass, yer du keep us old
+'uns in order. (He bursts into a falsetto chuckle, loses the note,
+blushes and buries his head in his mug.)
+
+Willyum (rising). Us best be gettin' down along, Jarge, a rackun.
+
+Jarge. Ay, bor, time us chaps was moving. Don't 'e be long, lass.
+[Exeunt, limping heavily.
+
+Rachel (sitting down on the log). Dear old men! How I love them all
+in this village! I have known it all my life. How strange it is that
+I have never had a father or mother. Sometimes I seem to remember a
+life different to this--a life in fine houses and spacious parks,
+among beautifully dressed people (which is surprising, seeing that
+she was only three weeks old at the time; but the audience must be
+given a hint of the plot), and then it all fades away again. (She
+looks fixedly into space.)
+
+Enter Hugh Fitzhugh, Squire.
+
+Fitzhugh (standing behind Rachel, but missing her somehow). Did ever
+man come into stranger inheritance? A wanderer in Central Australia,
+I hear unexpectedly of my cousin's death through an advertisement in
+an old copy of a Sunday newspaper. I hasten home--too late to soothe
+his dying hours; too late indeed to enjoy my good fortune for more
+than one short day. To-morrow I must give up all to the hospitals,
+unless by some stroke of Fate this missing girl turns up.
+(Impatiently.) Pshaw! She is dead. (Suddenly he notices Rachel.) By
+heaven, a pretty girl in this out-of-the-way village! (He walks
+round her.) Gad, she is lovely! Hugh, my boy, you are in luck. (He
+takes off his hat.) Good-evening, my dear!
+
+Rachel (with a start). Good-evening.
+
+Fitzhugh (aside). She is adorable. She can be no common village
+wench. (Aloud.) Do you live here, my girl?
+
+Rachel. Yes, I have always lived here. (Aside.) How handsome he is.
+Down, fluttering heart.
+
+Fitzhugh (sitting on the log beside her). And who is the lucky
+village lad who is privileged to woo such beauty?
+
+Rachel. I have no lover, sir.
+
+Fitzhugh (taking her hand). Can Hodge be so blind?
+
+Rachel (innocently). Are you making love to me?
+
+Fitzhugh. Upon my word I--(He gets up from the log, which is not
+really comfortable.) What is your name?
+
+Rachel. Rachel. (She rises.)
+
+Fitzhugh. It is the most beautiful name in the world. Rachel, will
+you be my wife?
+
+Rachel. But we have known each other such a short time!
+
+Fitzhugh (lying bravely). We have known each other for ever.
+
+Rachel. And you are a rich gentleman, while I--
+
+Fitzhugh. A gentleman, I hope, but rich--no. To-morrow I shall be a
+beggar. No, not a beggar, if I have your love, Rachel.
+
+Rachel (making a lucky shot at his name). Hugh! (They embrace.)
+
+Fitzhugh. Let us plight our troth here. See, I give you my ring!
+
+Rachel. And I give you mine.
+
+[She takes one from the end of a chain which is round her neck, and
+puts it on his finger. Fitzhugh looks at it and staggers back.
+
+Fitzhugh. Heavens! They are the same ring! (In great excitement.)
+Child, child, who are you? How came you by the crest of the
+Fitzhughs?
+
+Rachel. Ah, who am I? I never had any parents. When they found me
+they found that ring on me, and I have kept it ever since!
+
+Fitzhugh. Let me look at you! It must be! The Squire's missing
+daughter!
+
+[Gaffers Jarge and Willyum, having entered unobserved at the back
+some time ago, have been putting in a lot of heavy byplay until
+wanted.
+
+Jarge (at last). Lor' bless 'ee, Willyum, if it bain't Squire
+a-kissin' our Rachel!
+
+Willyum. Zo it du be. Here du be goings-on! What will t' passon say?
+
+Jarge (struck with an idea). Zay, bor, don't 'ee zee a zort o'
+loikeness atween t' maid and t' Squire?
+
+Willyum. Jarge, if you bain't right, lad. Happen she do have t' same
+nose!
+
+[Hearing something, Fitzhugh and Rachel turn round.
+
+Fitzhugh. Ah, my men! I'm your new Squire. Do you know who this is?
+
+Willyum. Why, her du be our Rachel.
+
+Fitzhugh. On the contrary, allow me to introduce you to Miss
+Fitzhugh, daughter of the late Squire!
+
+Jarge. Well, this du be a day! To think of our Rachel now!
+
+Fitzhugh. MY Rachel now.
+
+Rachel (who, it is to be hoped, has been amusing herself somehow
+since her last speech). Your Rachel always!
+
+CURTAIN.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+"WILLIAM SMITH, EDITOR"
+
+
+
+
+
+The scene is the Editor's room in the office of The Lark. Two walls
+of the room are completely hidden from floor to ceiling by
+magnificently-bound books: the third wall at the back is hidden by
+boxes of immensely expensive cigars. The windows, of course, are in
+the fourth wall, which, however, need not be described, as it is
+never quite practicable on the stage. The floor of this apartment is
+chastely covered with rugs shot by the Editor in his travels, or in
+the Tottenham Court Road; or, in some cases, presented by admiring
+readers from abroad. The furniture is both elegant and commodious.
+
+William Smith, Editor, comes in. He is superbly dressed in a fur
+coat and an expensive cigar. There is a blue pencil behind his ear,
+and a sheaf of what we call in the profession "typewritten
+manuscripts" under his arm. He sits down at his desk and pulls the
+telephone towards him.
+
+Smith (at the telephone). Hallo, is that you, Jones? ... Yes, it's
+me. Just come up a moment. (Puts down telephone and begins to open
+his letters.)
+
+Enter Jones, his favourite sub-editor. He is dressed quite commonly,
+and is covered with ink. He salutes respectfully as he comes into
+the room.
+
+Jones. Good-afternoon, chief.
+
+Smith. Good-afternoon. Have a cigar?
+
+Jones. Thank you, chief.
+
+Smith. Have you anything to tell me?
+
+Jones. The circulation is still going up, chief. It was three
+million and eight last week.
+
+Smith (testily). How often have I told you not to call me "chief,"
+except when there are ladies present? Why can't you do what you're
+told?
+
+Jones. Sorry, sir, but the fact is there ARE ladies present.
+
+Smith (fingering his moustache). Show them up. Who are they?
+
+Jones. There is only one. She says she's the lady who has been
+writing our anonymous "Secrets of the Boudoir" series which has made
+such a sensation.
+
+Smith (in amazement). I thought you told me YOU wrote these.
+
+Jones (simply). I did.
+
+Smith. Then why--
+
+Jones. I mean I did tell you. The truth is, they came in
+anonymously, and I thought they were more likely to be accepted if I
+said I had written them. (With great emotion.) Forgive me, chief,
+but it was for the paper's sake. (In matter-of-fact tones.) There
+were one or two peculiarities of style I had to alter. She had a way
+of--
+
+Smith (sternly). How many cheques for them have you accepted for the
+paper's sake?
+
+Jones. Eight. For a thousand pounds each.
+
+Smith (with tears in his eyes). If your mother were to hear of
+this--
+
+Jones (sadly). Ah, chief, I have never had a mother.
+
+Smith (slightly put out, but recovering himself quickly). What would
+your father say, if--
+
+Jones. Alas, I have no relations. I was a foundling.
+
+Smith (nettled). In that case, I shall certainly tell the master of
+your workhouse. To think that there should be a thief in this
+office!
+
+Jones (with great pathos). Chief, chief, I am not so vile as that. I
+have carefully kept all the cheques in an old stocking, and--
+
+Smith (in surprise). Do you wear stockings?
+
+Jones. When I bicycle. And as soon as the contributor comes
+forward--
+
+Smith (stretching out his hand and grasping that of Jones). My dear
+boy, forgive me. You have been hasty, perhaps, but zealous. In any
+case, your honesty is above suspicion. Leave me now. I have much to
+think of. (Rests his head on his hands. Then, dreamily.) YOU have
+never seen your father; for thirty years _I_ have not seen my wife.
+... Ah, Arabella!
+
+Jones. Yes, sir. (Rings bell.)
+
+Smith. She WOULD split her infinitives. ... We quarrelled. ... She
+left me. ... I have never seen her again.
+
+Jones (excitedly). Did you say she split her infinitives?
+
+Smith. Yes. That was what led to our separation. Why?
+
+Jones. Nothing, only--it's very odd. I wonder--
+
+Enter Boy.
+
+Boy. Did you ring, sir?
+
+Smith. No. But you can show the lady up. (Exit Boy.) You'd better
+clear out, Jones. I'll explain to her about the money.
+
+Jones. Right you are, sir.
+
+[Exit.
+
+[Smith leans back in his chair and stares in front of him.
+
+Smith (to himself). Arabella!
+
+Enter Boy, followed by a stylishly-dressed lady of middle age.
+
+Boy. Mrs Robinson.
+
+[Exit.
+
+[Mrs Robinson stops short in the middle of the room and stares at
+the Editor; then staggers and drops on to the sofa.
+
+Smith (in wonder). Arabella!
+
+Mrs Robinson. William!
+
+[They fall into each other's arms.
+
+Arabella. I had begun to almost despair. (Smith winces.) "Almost to
+despair," I mean, darling.
+
+Smith (with a great effort). No, no, dear. You were right.
+
+Arabella. How sweet of you to think so, William.
+
+Smith. Yes, yes, it's the least I can say. ... I have been very
+lonely without you, dear. ... And now, what shall we do? Shall we
+get married again quietly?
+
+Arabella. Wouldn't that be bigamy?
+
+Smith. I think not, but I will ask the printer's reader. He knows
+everything. You see, there will be such a lot to explain otherwise.
+
+Arabella. Dear, can you afford to marry?
+
+Smith. Well, my salary as editor is only twenty thousand a year, but
+I do a little reviewing for other papers.
+
+Arabella. And I have--nothing. How can I come to you without even a
+trousseau?
+
+Smith. Yes, that's true. ... (Suddenly.) By Jove, though, you have
+got something! You have eight thousand pounds! We owe you that for
+your articles. (With a return to his professional manner.) Did I
+tell you how greatly we all appreciated them? (Goes to telephone.)
+Is that you, Jones? Just come here a moment. (To Arabella.) Jones is
+my sub-editor; he is keeping your money for you.
+
+Enter Jones.
+
+Jones (producing an old stocking). I've just been round to my rooms
+to get that money--(sees Arabella)--oh, I beg your pardon.
+
+Smith (waving an introduction). Mrs Smith--my wife. This is our
+sub-editor, dear--Mr Jones. (Arabella puts her hand to her heart and
+seems about to faint.) Why, what's the matter?
+
+Arabella (hoarsely). Where did you get that stocking?
+
+Smith (pleasantly). It's one he wears when he goes bicycling.
+
+Jones. No; I misled you this afternoon, chief. This stocking was all
+the luggage I had when I first entered the Leamington workhouse.
+
+Arabella (throwing herself into his arms). My son! This is your
+father! William--our boy!
+
+Smith (shaking hands with Jones). How are you. I say, Arabella, then
+that was one of MY stockings?
+
+Arabella (to her boy). When I saw you on the stairs you seemed to
+dimly remind me--
+
+Jones. To remind you dimly, mother.
+
+Smith. No, my boy. In future, nothing but split infinitives will
+appear in our paper. Please remember that.
+
+Jones (with emotion). I will endeavour to always remember it, dad.
+
+CURTAIN.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS
+
+
+
+
+
+John walked eight miles over the cliffs to the nearest town in order
+to buy tobacco. He came back to the farmhouse with no tobacco and
+the news that he had met some friends in the town who had invited us
+to dinner and Bridge the next evening.
+
+"But that's no reason why you should have forgotten the tobacco," I
+said.
+
+"One can't remember everything. I accepted for both of us. We
+needn't dress. Put on that nice blue flannel suit of yours--"
+
+"And that nice pair of climbing boots with the nails--"
+
+"Is that all you've got?"
+
+"All I'm going to walk eight miles in on a muddy path."
+
+"Then we shall have to take a bag with us. And we can put in pyjamas
+and stay the night at an hotel; it will save us walking back in the
+dark. We don't want to lose you over the cliff."
+
+I took out a cigar.
+
+"This is the last," I said. "If, instead of wandering about and
+collecting invitations, you had only remembered--Shall we cut it up
+or smoke half each?"
+
+"Call," said John, bringing out a penny. "Heads it is. You begin."
+
+I struck a match and began.
+
+. . . . .
+
+Next day, after lunch, John brought out his little brown bag.
+
+"It won't be very heavy," he said, "and we can carry it in turns. An
+hour each."
+
+"I don't think that's quite fair," I said. "After all, it's YOUR
+bag. If you take it for an hour and a half, I don't mind taking the
+other half."
+
+"Your shoes are heavier than mine, anyhow."
+
+"My pyjamas weigh less. Such a light blue as they are."
+
+"Ah, but my tooth-brush has lost seven bristles. That makes a
+difference."
+
+"What I say is, let every man carry his own bag. This is a rotten
+business, John. I don't wish to be anything but polite, but for a
+silly ass commend me to the owner of that brown thing."
+
+John took no notice and went on packing.
+
+"I shall buy a collar in the town," he said.
+
+"Better let me do it for you. You would only go getting an
+invitation to a garden-party from the haberdasher. And that would
+mean another eight miles with a portmanteau."
+
+"There we are," said John, as he closed the bag, "quite small and
+light. Now, who'll take the first hour?"
+
+"We'd better toss, if you're quite sure you won't carry it all the
+way. Tails. Just my luck."
+
+John looked out of the window and then at his watch.
+
+"They say two to three is the hottest hour of the day," he said. "It
+will be cooler later on. I shall put you in."
+
+I led the way up the cliffs with that wretched bag. I insisted upon
+that condition anyhow--that the man with the bag should lead the
+way. I wasn't going to have John dashing off at six miles an hour,
+and leaving himself only two miles at the end.
+
+"But you can come and talk to me," I said to him after ten minutes
+of it. "I only meant that I was going to set the pace."
+
+"No, no, I like watching you. You do it so gracefully. This is my
+man," he explained to some children who were blackberrying. "He is
+just carrying my bag over the cliffs for me. No, he is not very
+strong."
+
+"You wait," I growled.
+
+John laughed. "Fifty minutes more," he said. And then after a little
+silence, "I think the bag-carrying profession is overrated. What
+made you take it up, my lad? The drink? Ah, just so. Dear, dear,
+what a lesson to all of us."
+
+"There's a good time coming," I murmured to myself, and changed
+hands for the eighth time.
+
+"I don't care what people say," said John, argumentatively; "brown
+and blue DO go together. If you wouldn't mind--"
+
+For the tenth time I rammed the sharp corner of the bag into the
+back of my knee.
+
+"There, that's what I mean. You see it perfectly like that--the
+brown against the blue of the flannel. Thank you very much."
+
+I stumbled up a steep little bit of slippery grass, and told myself
+that in three-quarters of an hour I would get some of my own back
+again. He little knew how heavy that bag could become.
+
+"They say," said John to the heavens, "that if you have weights in
+your hands you can jump these little eminences much more easily. I
+suppose one hand alone doesn't do. What a pity he didn't tell me
+before--I would have lent him another bag with pleasure."
+
+"Nobody likes blackberries more than I do," said John. "But even I
+would hesitate to come out here on a hot afternoon and fill a great
+brown bag with blackberries, and then carry them eight miles home.
+Besides, it looks rather greedy.... I beg your pardon, my lad, I
+didn't understand. You are taking them home to your aged mother? Of
+course, of course. Very commendable. If I had a penny, I would lend
+it to you. No, I only have a sixpence on me, and I have to give that
+to the little fellow who is carrying my bag over the cliffs for
+me.... Yes, I picked him up about a couple of miles back. He has mud
+all up his trousers, I know."
+
+"Half an hour more," I told myself, and went on doggedly, my right
+shoulder on fire.
+
+"Dear, dear," he said solicitously, "how lopsided the youth of
+to-day is getting. Too much lawn-tennis, I suppose. How much better
+the simply healthy exercises of our forefathers; the weightlifting
+after lunch, the--"
+
+He was silent for ten minutes, and then broke out rapturously once
+more.
+
+"What a heavenly day! I AM glad we didn't bring a bag--it would have
+spoilt it altogether. We can easily borrow some slippers, and it
+will be jolly walking back by moonlight. Now, if you had had your
+way--"
+
+"One minute more," I said joyfully; "and oh, my boy, how glad I am
+we brought a bag. What a splendid idea of yours! By the way, you
+haven't said much lately. A little tired by the walk?"
+
+"I make it TWO minutes," said John.
+
+"Half a minute now.... There! And may I never carry the confounded
+thing another yard."
+
+I threw the bag down and fell upon the grass. The bag rolled a yard
+or two away. Then it rolled another yard, slipped over the edge, and
+started bouncing down the cliff. Finally it leapt away from the
+earth altogether, and dropped two hundred feet into the sea.
+
+"MY bag," said John stupidly.
+
+And that did for me altogether.
+
+"I don't care a hang about your bag," I cried. "And I don't care a
+hang if I've lost my pyjamas and my best shoes and my only razor.
+And I've been through an hour's torture for nothing, and I don't
+mind that. But oh!--to think that you aren't going to have YOUR
+hour--"
+
+"By Jove, neither I am," said John, and he sat down and roared with
+laughter.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A CROWN OF SORROWS
+
+
+
+
+
+There is something on my mind, of which I must relieve myself. If I
+am ever to face the world again with a smile I must share my trouble
+with others. I cannot bear my burden alone.
+
+Friends, I have lost my hat. Will the gentleman who took it by
+mistake, and forgot to leave his own in its place, kindly return my
+hat to me at once?
+
+I am very miserable without my hat. It was one of those nice soft
+ones with a dent down the middle to collect the rain; one of those
+soft hats which wrap themselves so lovingly round the cranium that
+they ultimately absorb the personality of the wearer underneath,
+responding to his every emotion. When people said nice things about
+me my hat would swell in sympathy; when they said nasty things, or
+when I had had my hair cut, it would adapt itself automatically to
+my lesser requirements. In a word, it fitted--and that is more than
+can be said for your hard unyielding bowler.
+
+My hat and I dropped into a hall of music one night last week. I
+placed it under the seat, put a coat on it to keep it warm, and
+settled down to enjoy myself. My hat could see nothing, but it knew
+that it would hear all about the entertainment on the way home. When
+the last moving picture had moved away, my hat and I prepared to
+depart together. I drew out the coat and felt around for my--Where
+on earth ...
+
+I was calm at first.
+
+"Excuse me," I said politely to the man next to me, "but have you
+got two hats?"
+
+"Several," he replied, mistaking my meaning.
+
+I dived under the seat again, and came up with some more dust.
+
+"Someone," I said to a programme girl, "has taken my hat."
+
+"Have you looked under the seat for it?" she asked.
+
+It was such a sound suggestion that I went under the seat for the
+third time.
+
+"It may have been kicked further along," suggested another
+attendant. She walked up and down the row looking for it, and, in
+case somebody had kicked it into the row above, walked up and down
+that one too; and, in case somebody had found touch with it on the
+other side of the house, many other girls spread themselves in
+pursuit; and soon we had the whole pack hunting for it.
+
+Then the fireman came up, suspecting the worst. I told him it was
+even worse than that--my hat had been stolen.
+
+He had a flash of inspiration.
+
+"Are you sure you brought it with you?" he asked.
+
+The programme girls seemed to think that it would solve the whole
+mystery if I hadn't brought it with me.
+
+"Are you sure you are the fireman?" I said coldly.
+
+He thought for a moment, and then unburdened himself of another
+idea.
+
+"Perhaps it's just been kicked under the seat," he said.
+
+I left him under the seat and went downstairs with a heavy heart. At
+the door I said to the hall porter, "Have you seen anybody going out
+with two hats by mistake?"
+
+"What's the matter?" he said. "Lost your hat?"
+
+"It has been stolen."
+
+"Have you looked under the seats? It may have been kicked along a
+bit."
+
+"Perhaps I'd better see the manager," I said. "Is it any good
+looking under the seats for HIM?"
+
+"I expect it's just been kicked along a bit," the hall porter
+repeated confidently. "I'll come up with you and look for it."
+
+"If there's any more talk about being kicked along a bit," I said
+bitterly, "somebody WILL be. I want the manager."
+
+I was led to the manager's room, and there I explained the matter to
+him. He was very pleasant about it.
+
+"I expect you haven't looked for it properly," he said, with a
+charming smile. "Just take this gentleman up," he added to the hall
+porter, "and find his hat for him. It has probably been kicked under
+one of the other seats."
+
+We were smiled irresistibly out, and I was dragged up to the grand
+circle again. The seats by this time were laid out in white
+draperies; the house looked very desolate; I knew that my poor hat
+was dead. With an air of cheery confidence the hall porter turned
+into the first row of seats....
+
+"It may have been kicked on to the stage," I said, as he began to
+slow down. "It may have jumped into one of the boxes. It may have
+turned into a rabbit. You know, I expect you aren't looking for it
+properly."
+
+The manager was extremely sympathetic when we came back to him. He
+said, "Oh, I'm sorry." Just like that--"Oh, I'm sorry."
+
+"My hat," I said firmly, "has been stolen."
+
+"I'm sorry," he repeated with a bored smile, and turned to look at
+himself in the glass.
+
+Then I became angry with him and his attendants and his whole
+blessed theatre.
+
+"My hat," I said bitingly, "has been stolen from me--while I slept."
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+You must have seen me wearing it in the dear old days. Greeny brown
+it was in colour; but it wasn't the colour that drew your eyes to
+it--no, nor yet the shape, nor the angle at which it sat. It was
+just the essential rightness of it. If you have ever seen a hat
+which you felt instinctively was a clever hat, an alive hat, a
+profound hat, then that was my hat--and that was myself underneath
+it.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+NAPOLEON AT WORK
+
+
+
+
+
+When I am in any doubt or difficulty I say to myself, "What would
+Napoleon have done?" The answer generally comes at once: "He would
+have borrowed from Henry," or "He would have said his aunt was
+ill"--the one obviously right and proper thing. Then I weigh in and
+do it.
+
+"What station is this?" said Beatrice, as the train began to slow
+up. "Baby and I want to get home."
+
+"Whitecroft, I expect," said John, who was reading the paper. "Only
+four more."
+
+"It's grown since we were here last," I observed. "Getting quite a
+big place."
+
+"Good; then we're at Hillstead. Only three more stations."
+
+I looked out of the window, and had a sudden suspicion.
+
+"Where have I heard the name Byres before?" I murmured thoughtfully.
+
+"You haven't," said John. "Nobody has."
+
+"Say 'Byres,' baby," urged Beatrice happily.
+
+"You're quite sure that there isn't anything advertised called
+'Byres'? You're sure you can't drink Byres or rub yourself down with
+Byres?"
+
+"Quite."
+
+"Well, then, we must be AT Byres."
+
+There was a shriek from Beatrice, as she rushed to the window.
+
+"We're in the wrong train--Quick! Get the bags!--Have you got the
+rug?--Where's the umbrella?--Open the window, stupid!"
+
+I got up and moved her from the door.
+
+"Leave this to me," I said calmly. "Porter!--
+PORTER!!--PORTER!!!--Oh, guard, what station's this?"
+
+"Byres, sir."
+
+"Byres?"
+
+"Yes, sir." He blew his whistle and the train went on again.
+
+"At any rate we know now that it WAS Byres," I remarked, when the
+silence began to get oppressive.
+
+"It's all very well for you," Beatrice burst out indignantly, "but
+you don't think about Baby. We don't know a bit where we are--"
+
+"That's the one thing we do know," I said. "We're at this little
+Byres place."
+
+"It was the porter's fault at Liverpool Street," said John
+consolingly. "He told us it was a through carriage."
+
+"I don't care whose fault it was; I'm only thinking of Baby."
+
+"What time do babies go to bed as a rule?" I asked.
+
+"This one goes at six."
+
+"Well, then, she's got another hour. Now, what would Napoleon have
+done?"
+
+"Napoleon," said John, after careful thought, "would have turned all
+your clothes out of your bag, would have put the baby in it
+diagonally, and have bored holes in the top for ventilation. That's
+as good as going to bed--you avoid the worst of the evening mists.
+And people would only think you kept caterpillars."
+
+Beatrice looked at him coldly.
+
+"That's a way to talk of your daughter," she said in scorn.
+
+"Don't kill him," I begged, "We may want him. Now I've got another
+idea. If you look out of the window you observe that we are on a
+SINGLE line."
+
+"Well, I envy it. And, however single it is, we're going away from
+home in it."
+
+"True. But the point is that no train can come back on it until
+we've stopped going forward. So, you see, there's no object in
+getting out of this train until it has finished for the day.
+Probably it will go back itself before long, out of sheer boredom.
+And it's much better waiting here than on a draughty Byres
+platform."
+
+Beatrice, quite seeing the point, changed the subject.
+
+"There's my trunk will go on to Brookfield, and the wagonette will
+meet the train, and as we aren't there it will go away without the
+trunk, and all baby's things are in it."
+
+"She's not complaining," I said. "She's just mentioning it."
+
+"Look here," said John reproachfully, "we're doing all we can. We're
+both thinking like anything." He picked up his paper again.
+
+I was beginning to get annoyed. It was, of course, no good to get as
+anxious and excited as Beatrice; that wouldn't help matters at all.
+On the other hand, the entire indifference of John and the baby was
+equally out of place. It seemed to me that there was a middle and
+Napoleonic path in between these two extremes which only I was
+following. To be convinced that one is the only person doing the
+right thing is always annoying.
+
+"I've just made another discovery," I said in a hurt voice. "There's
+a map over John's head, if he'd only had the sense to look there
+before. There we are," and I pointed with my stick; "there's Byres.
+The line goes round and round and eventually goes through Dearmer.
+We get out at Dearmer, and we're only three miles from Brookfield."
+
+"What they call a loop line," assisted John, "because it's in the
+shape of a loop."
+
+"It's not so bad as it might be," admitted Beatrice grudgingly,
+after studying the map, "but it's five miles home from Dearmer; and
+what about my trunk?"
+
+I sighed and pulled out a pencil.
+
+"It's very simple. We write a telegram:--
+
+'Stationmaster, Brookfield. Send wagonette and trunk to wait for us
+at Dearmer Station.'"
+
+"Love to mother and the children," added John.
+
+Our train stopped again. I summoned a porter and gave him the
+telegram.
+
+"It's so absurdly simple," I repeated, as the train went on. "Just a
+little presence of mind; that's all."
+
+We got out at Dearmer and gave up our tickets to the
+porter-station-master-signalman.
+
+"What's this?" he said. "These are no good to me."
+
+"Well, they're no good to us. We've finished with them."
+
+We sat in the waiting-room with him for half an hour and explained
+the situation. We said that, highly as we thought of Dearmer, we had
+not wantonly tried to defraud the Company in order to get a sight of
+the place; and that, so far from owing him three shillings apiece,
+we were prepared to take a sovereign to say nothing more about
+it.... And still the wagonette didn't come.
+
+"Is there a post-office here?" I asked the man. "Or a horse?"
+
+"There might be a horse at the 'Lion.' There's no post-office."
+
+"Well, I suppose I could wire to Brookfield Station from here?"
+
+"Not to Brookfield."
+
+"But supposing you want to tell the station-master there that the
+train's off the line, or that you've won the first prize at the
+Flower Show in the vegetable class, how would you do it?"
+
+"Brookfield's not on this line. That's why you've got to pay three
+shill--"
+
+"Yes, yes. You said all that. Then I shall go and explore the
+village."
+
+I explored, as Napoleon would have done, and I came back with a
+plan.
+
+"There is no horse," I said to my eager audience; "but I have found
+a bicycle. The landlady of the 'Lion' will be delighted to look
+after Beatrice and the baby, and will give her tea; John will stay
+here with the bags in case the wagonette turns up, and I will ride
+to Brookfield and summon help."
+
+"That's all right," said John, "only I would suggest that _I_ go to
+the 'Lion' and have tea, and Beatrice and the child--"
+
+We left him in disgust at his selfishness. I established the ladies
+at the inn, mounted the bicycle, and rode off. It was a windy day,
+and I had a long coat and a bowler hat. After an extremely
+unpleasant two miles something drove past me. I lifted up my head
+and looked round. It was the wagonette.
+
+I rode back behind it in triumph. When it turned up the road to the
+station, I hurried straight on to the "Lion" to prepare Beatrice. I
+knocked, and peered into rooms, and knocked again, and at last the
+landlady came.
+
+"Er--is the lady--"
+
+"Oh, she's gone, sir, a long time ago. A gentleman she knew drove
+past, and she asked him to give her a lift home in his trap. She was
+going to tell the other gentleman, and he'd wait for you."
+
+"Oh yes. That's all right."
+
+I returned my bicycle to its owner, distributed coppers to his
+children, and went up to the station. The porter came out to meet
+me. He seemed surprised.
+
+"The gentleman thought you wouldn't be coming back, sir, as you
+didn't come with the wagonette."
+
+"I just went up to the 'Lion'--"
+
+"Yessir. Well, he drove off quarter of an hour ago; said it was no
+good waiting for you, as you'd ride straight 'ome when you found at
+Brookfield that the wagonette 'ad come."
+
+And now I ask you--What would Napoleon have said?
+
+THE PORTUGUESE CIGAR
+
+EVERYTHING promised well for my week-end with Charles. The weather
+was warm and sunny, I was bringing my golf clubs down with me, and I
+had just discovered (and meant to put into practice) an entirely new
+stance which made it impossible to miss the object ball. It was this
+that I was explaining to Charles and his wife at dinner on Friday,
+when the interruption occurred.
+
+"By the way," said Charles, as I took out a cigarette, "I've got a
+cigar for you. Don't smoke that thing."
+
+"You haven't let him go in for cigars?" I said reproachfully to Mrs
+Charles. I can be very firm about other people's extravagances.
+
+"This is one I picked up in Portugal," explained Charles. "You can
+get them absurdly cheap out there. Let's see, dear; where did I put
+it?"
+
+"I saw it on your dressing-table last week," said his wife, getting
+up to leave us. He followed her out and went in search of it, while
+I waited with an interest which I made no effort to conceal. I had
+never heard before of a man going all the way to Portugal to buy one
+cigar for a friend.
+
+"Here it is," said Charles, coming in again. He put down in front of
+me an ash-tray, the matches and a--and a--well, as I say, a cigar. I
+examined it slowly. Half of it looked very tired.
+
+"Well," said Charles, "what do you think of it?"
+
+"When you say you--er--PICKED IT UP in Portugal," I began carefully,
+"I suppose you don't mean--" I stopped and tried to bite the end
+off.
+
+"Have a knife," said Charles.
+
+I had another bite, and then I decided to be frank.
+
+"WHY did you pick it up?" I asked.
+
+"The fact was," said Charles, "I found myself one day in Lisbon
+without my pipe, and so I bought that thing; I never smoke them in
+the ordinary way."
+
+"Did you smoke this?" I asked. It was obvious that SOMETHING had
+happened to it.
+
+"No, you see, I found some cigarettes at the last moment, and so,
+knowing that you liked cigars, I thought I'd bring it home for you."
+
+"It's very nice of you, Charles. Of course I can see that it has
+travelled. Well, we must do what we can with it."
+
+I took the knife and started chipping away at the mahogany end. The
+other end--the brown-paper end, which had come ungummed--I intended
+to reserve for the match. When everything was ready I applied a
+light, leant back in my chair, and pulled.
+
+"That's all right, isn't it?" said Charles. "And you'd be surprised
+if I told you what I paid for it."
+
+"No, no, you mustn't think that," I protested. "Probably things are
+dearer in Portugal." I put it down by my plate for a moment's rest.
+"All I've got against it at present is that its pores don't act as
+freely as they should."
+
+"I've got a cigar-cutter somewhere, if--"
+
+"No, don't bother. I think I can do it with the nut-crackers.
+There's no doubt it was a good cigar once, but it hasn't wintered
+well."
+
+I squeezed it as hard as I could, lit it again, pressed my feet
+against the table and pulled.
+
+"Now it's going," said Charles.
+
+"I'm afraid it keeps very reticent at my end. The follow-through is
+poor. Is your end alight still?"
+
+"Burning beautifully."
+
+"It's a pity that I should be missing all that. How would it be if
+we were to make a knitting-needle red-hot, and bore a tunnel from
+this end? We might establish a draught that way. Only there's always
+the danger, of course, of coming out at the side."
+
+I took the cigar up and put it to my ear.
+
+"I can't HEAR anything wrong," I said. "I expect what it really
+wants is massage."
+
+Charles filled his pipe again and got up. "Let's go for a stroll,"
+he said. "It's a beautiful night. Bring your cigar with you."
+
+"It may prefer the open air," I said. "There's always that. You know
+we mustn't lose sight of the fact that the Portuguese climate is
+different from ours. The thing's pores may have acted more readily
+in the South. On the other hand, the unfastened end may have been
+more adhesive. I gather that though you have never actually met
+anybody who has smoked a cigar like this, yet you understand that
+the experiment is a practicable one. As far as you know, this had no
+brothers. No, no, Charles, I'm going on with it, but I should like
+to know all that you can tell me of its parentage. It had a
+Portuguese father and an American mother, I should say, and there
+has been a good deal of trouble in the family. One moment"--and as
+we went outside I stopped and cracked it in the door.
+
+It was an inspiration. At the very next application of the match I
+found that I had established a connection with the lighted end. Not
+a long and steady connection, but one that came in gusts. After two
+gusts I decided that it was perhaps safer to blow from my end, and
+for a little while we had in this way as much smoke around us as the
+most fastidious cigar-smoker could want. Then I accidentally dropped
+it; something in the middle of it shifted, I suppose--and for the
+rest of my stay behind it only one end was at work.
+
+"Well," said Charles, when we were back in the smoking-room, and I
+was giving the cigar a short breather, "it's not a bad one, is it?"
+
+"I have enjoyed it," I said truthfully, for I like trying to get the
+mastery over a thing that defies me.
+
+"You'll never guess what it cost," he chuckled.
+
+"Tell me," I said. "I daren't guess."
+
+"Well, in English money it works out at exactly three farthings."
+
+I looked at him for a long time and then shook my head sadly.
+
+"Charles, old friend," I said, "you've been done."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A COLD WORLD
+
+
+
+
+
+Herbert is a man who knows all about railway tickets, and packing,
+and being in time for trains, and things like that. But I fancy I
+have taught him a lesson at last. He won't talk quite so much about
+tickets in future.
+
+I was just thinking about getting up when he came into my room. He
+looked at me in horror.
+
+"My dear fellow!" he said. "And you haven't even packed! You'll be
+late. Here, get up, and I'll pack for you while you dress."
+
+"Do," I said briefly.
+
+"First of all, what clothes are you going to travel in?"
+
+There was no help for it. I sat up in bed and directed operations.
+
+"Right," said Herbert. "Now, what about your return ticket? You
+mustn't forget that."
+
+"You remind me of a little story," I said. "I'll tell it you while
+you pack--that will be nice for you. Once upon a time I lost my
+return ticket, and I had to pay two pounds for another. And a month
+afterwards I met a man--a man like you who knows all about
+tickets--and he said, 'You could have got the money back if you had
+applied at once.' So I said, 'Give me a cigarette now, and I'll
+transfer all my rights in the business to you.' And he gave me a
+cigarette; but unfortunately--"
+
+"It was too late?"
+
+"No. Unfortunately it wasn't. He got the two pounds. The most
+expensive cigarette I've ever smoked."
+
+"Well, that just shows you," said Herbert. "Here's your ticket. Put
+it in your waistcoat pocket now."
+
+"But I haven't got a waistcoat on, silly."
+
+"Which one are you going to put on?"
+
+"I don't know yet. This is a matter which requires thought. Give me
+time, give me air."
+
+"Well, I shall put the ticket here on the dressing-table, and then
+you can't miss it." He looked at his watch. "And the trap starts in
+half an hour."
+
+"Help!" I cried, and I leapt out of bed.
+
+Half an hour later I was saying good-bye to Herbert.
+
+"I've had an awfully jolly time," I said, "and I'll come again."
+
+"You've got the ticket all right?"
+
+"Rather!" and I drove away amidst cheers. Cheers of sorrow.
+
+It was half an hour's drive to the station. For the first ten
+minutes I thought how sickening it was to be leaving the country;
+then I had a slight shock; and for the next twenty minutes I tried
+to remember how much a third single to the nearest part of London
+cost. Because I had left my ticket on the dressing-table after all.
+
+I gave my luggage to a porter and went off to the station-master.
+
+"I wonder if you can help me," I said. "I've left my return ticket
+on the dress--Well, we needn't worry about that, I've left it at
+home."
+
+He didn't seem intensely excited.
+
+"What did you think of doing?" he asked.
+
+"I had rather hoped that YOU would do something."
+
+"You can buy another ticket, and get the money back afterwards."
+
+"Yes, yes; but can I? I've only got about one pound six."
+
+"The fare to London is one pound five and tenpence ha'penny."
+
+"Ah; well, that leaves a penny ha'penny to be divided between the
+porter this end, lunch, tea, the porter the other end, and the cab.
+I don't believe it's enough. Even if I gave it all to the porter
+here, think how reproachfully he would look at you ever afterwards.
+It would haunt you."
+
+The station-master was evidently moved. He thought for a moment, and
+then asked if I knew anybody who would vouch for me. I mentioned
+Herbert confidently. He had never even heard of Herbert.
+
+"I've got a tie-pin," I said (station-masters have a weakness for
+tie-pins), "and a watch and a cigarette case. I shall be happy to
+lend you any of those."
+
+The idea didn't appeal to him.
+
+"The best thing you can do," he said, "is to take a ticket to the
+next station and talk to them there. This is only a branch line, and
+I have no power to give you a pass."
+
+So that was what I had to do. I began to see myself taking a ticket
+at every stop and appealing to the station-master at the next. Well,
+the money would last longer that way, but unless I could overcome
+quickly the distrust which I seemed to inspire in station-masters
+there would not be much left for lunch. I gave the porter all I
+could afford--a ha'penny, mentioned apologetically that I was coming
+back, and stepped into the train.
+
+At the junction I jumped out quickly and dived into the sacred
+office.
+
+"I've left my ticket on the dressing--that is to say I forgot--well,
+anyhow I haven't got it," I began, and we plunged into explanations
+once more. This station-master was even more unemotional than the
+last. He asked me if I knew anybody who could vouch for me--I
+mentioned Herbert diffidently. He had never even heard of Herbert. I
+showed him my gold watch, my silver cigarette case, and my emerald
+and diamond tie-pin--that was the sort of man I was.
+
+"The best thing you can do," he said, walking with me to the door,"
+is to take a ticket to Plymouth and speak to the station-master
+there--"
+
+"This is a most interesting game," I said bitterly. "What is 'home'?
+When you speak to the station-master at London, I suppose? I've a
+good mind to say 'Snap!'"
+
+Extremely annoyed I strode out, and bumped into--you'll never
+guess--Herbert!
+
+"Ah, here you are," he panted; "I rode after you--the train was just
+going--jumped into it--been looking all over the station for you."
+
+"It's awfully nice of you, Herbert. Didn't I say good-bye?"
+
+"Your ticket." He produced it. "Left it on the dressing-table." He
+took a deep breath. "I told you you would."
+
+"Bless you," I said, as I got happily into my train. "You've saved
+my life. I've had an awful time. I say, do you know, I've met two
+station-masters already this morning who've never even heard of you.
+You must inquire into it."
+
+At that moment a porter came up.
+
+"Did you give up your ticket, sir?" he asked Herbert.
+
+"I hadn't time to get one," said Herbert, quite at his ease. "I'll
+pay now," and he began to feel in his pockets.... The train moved
+out of the station.
+
+A look of horror came over Herbert's face. I knew what it meant. He
+hadn't any money on him. "Hi!" he shouted to me, and then we swung
+round a bend out of sight....
+
+Well, well, he'll have to get home somehow. His watch is only nickel
+and his cigarette case leather, but luckily that sort of thing
+doesn't weigh much with station-masters. What they want is a well-
+known name as a reference. Herbert is better off than I was: he can
+give them MY name. It will be idle for them to pretend that they
+have never heard of me.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE DOCTOR
+
+
+
+
+
+"May I look at my watch?" I asked my partner, breaking a silence
+which had lasted from the beginning of the waltz.
+
+"Oh, HAVE you got a watch?" she drawled. "How exciting!"
+
+"I wasn't going to show it to you," I said, "But I always think it
+looks so bad for a man to remove his arm from a lady's waist in
+order to look at his watch--I mean without some sort of apology or
+explanation. As though he were wondering if he could possibly stick
+another five minutes of it."
+
+"Let me know when the apology is beginning," said Miss White.
+Perhaps, after all, her name wasn't White, but, anyhow, she was
+dressed in white, and it's her own fault if wrong impressions arise.
+
+"It begins at once. I've got to catch a train home. There's one at
+12.45, I believe. If I started now I could just miss it."
+
+"You don't live in these Northern Heights then?"
+
+"No. Do you?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+I looked at my watch again.
+
+"I should love to discuss with you the relative advantages of London
+and Greater London," I said; "the flats and cats of one and the big
+gardens of the other. But just at the moment the only thing I can
+think of is whether I shall like the walk home. Are there any
+dangerous passes to cross?"
+
+"It's a nice wet night for a walk," said Miss White reflectively.
+
+"If only I had brought my bicycle."
+
+"A watch AND a bicycle! You ARE lucky!"
+
+"Look here, it may be a joke to you, but I don't fancy myself coming
+down the mountains at night."
+
+"The last train goes at one o'clock, if that's any good to you."
+
+"All the good in the world," I said joyfully. "Then I needn't walk."
+I looked at my watch. "That gives us five minutes more. I could
+almost tell you all about myself in the time."
+
+"It generally takes longer than that," said Miss White. "At least it
+seems to." She sighed and added, "My partners have been very
+autobiographical to-night."
+
+I looked at her severely.
+
+"I'm afraid you're a Suffragette," I said.
+
+As soon as the next dance began I hurried off to find my hostess. I
+had just caught sight of her, when--
+
+"Our dance, isn't it?" said a voice.
+
+I turned and recognized a girl in blue.
+
+"Ah," I said, coldly cheerful, "I was just looking for you. Come
+along."
+
+We broke into a gay and happy step, suggestive of twin hearts
+utterly free from care.
+
+"Why do you look so thoughtful?" asked the girl in blue after ten
+minutes of it.
+
+"I've just heard some good news," I said.
+
+"Oh, do tell me!"
+
+"I don't know if it would really interest you."
+
+"I'm sure it would."
+
+"Well, several miles from here there may be a tram, if one can find
+it, which goes nobody quite knows where up till one-thirty in the
+morning probably. It is now," I added, looking at my watch (I was
+getting quite good at this), "just on one o'clock and raining hard.
+All is well."
+
+The dance over, I searched in vain for my hostess. Every minute I
+took out my watch and seemed to feel that another tram was just
+starting off to some unknown destination. At last I could bear it no
+longer and, deciding to write a letter of explanation on the morrow,
+I dashed off.
+
+My instructions from Miss White with regard to the habitat of trams
+(thrown in by her at the last moment in case the train failed me)
+were vague. Five minutes' walk convinced me that I had completely
+lost any good that they might ever have been to me. Instinct and
+common sense were the only guides left. I must settle down to some
+heavy detective work.
+
+The steady rain had washed out any footprints that might have been
+of assistance, and I was unable to follow up the slot of a tram
+conductor of which I had discovered traces in Two-hundred-and-
+fifty-first Street. In Three-thousand-eight-hundred-
+and-ninety-seventh Street I lay with my ear to the ground and
+listened intently, for I seemed to hear the ting-ting of the
+electric car, but nothing came of it; and in Four-millionth Street I
+made a new resolution. I decided to give up looking for trams and to
+search instead for London--the London that I knew.
+
+I felt pretty certain that I was still in one of the Home Counties,
+and I did not seem to remember having crossed the Thames, so that if
+only I could find a star which pointed to the south I was in a fair
+way to get home. I set out to look for a star; with the natural
+result that, having abandoned all hope of finding a man, I
+immediately ran into him.
+
+"Now then," he said good-naturedly.
+
+"Could you tell me the way to--" I tried to think of some place near
+my London--"to Westminster Abbey?"
+
+He looked at me in astonishment. His feeling seemed to be that I was
+too late for the Coronation and too early for the morning service.
+
+"Or--or anywhere," I said hurriedly. "Trams, for instance."
+
+He pointed nervously to the right and disappeared.
+
+Imagine my joy; there were tram-lines, and, better still, a tram
+approaching. I tumbled in, gave the conductor a penny, and got a
+workman's ticket in exchange. Ten minutes later we reached the
+terminus.
+
+I had wondered where we should arrive, whether Gray's Inn Road or
+Southampton Row, but didn't much mind so long as I was again within
+reach of a cab. However, as soon as I stepped out of the tram, I
+knew at once where I was.
+
+"Tell me," I said to the conductor; "do you now go back again?"
+
+"In ten minutes. There's a tram from here every half-hour."
+
+"When is the last?"
+
+"There's no last. Backwards and forwards all night."
+
+I should have liked to stop and sympathize, but it was getting late.
+I walked a hundred yards up the hill and turned to the right.... As
+I entered the gates I could hear the sound of music.
+
+"Isn't this our dance?" I said to Miss White, who was taking a
+breather at the hall door. "One moment," I added, and I got out of
+my coat and umbrella.
+
+"Is it? I thought you'd gone."
+
+"Oh no, I decided to stay after all. I found out that the trams go
+all night."
+
+We walked in together.
+
+"I won't be more autobiographical than I can help," I said, "but I
+must say it's a hard life, a doctor's. One is called away in the
+middle of a dance to a difficult case of--of mumps or something,
+and--well, there you are. A delightful evening spoilt. If one is
+lucky, one may get back in time for a waltz or two at the end.
+
+"Indeed," I said, as we began to dance; "at one time to-night I
+quite thought I wasn't going to get back here at all."
+
+THE THINGS THAT MATTER
+
+RONALD, surveying the world from his taxi--that pleasant corner of
+the world, St James's Park--gave a sigh of happiness. The blue sky,
+the lawn of daffodils, the mist of green upon the trees were but a
+promise of the better things which the country held for him.
+Beautiful as he thought the daffodils, he found for the moment an
+even greater beauty in the Gladstone bags at his feet. His eyes
+wandered from one to the other, and his heart sang to him, "I'm
+going away--I'm going away--I'm going away."
+
+The train was advertised to go at 2.22, and at 2.20 Ronald joined
+the Easter holiday crowd upon the platform. A porter put down his
+luggage and was then swallowed up in a sea of perambulators and
+flustered parents. Ronald never saw him again. At 2.40, amidst some
+applause, the train came in.
+
+Ronald seized a lost porter.
+
+"Just put these in for me," he said. "A first smoker."
+
+"All this lot yours, sir?"
+
+"The three bags--not the milk-cans," said Ronald.
+
+It had been a beautiful day before, but when a family of sixteen
+which joined Ronald in his carriage was ruthlessly hauled out by the
+guard, the sun seemed to shine with a warmth more caressing than
+ever. Even when the train moved out of the station, and the children
+who had been mislaid emerged from their hiding-places and were
+bundled in anywhere by the married porters, Ronald still remained
+splendidly alone ... and the sky took on yet a deeper shade of blue.
+
+He lay back in his corner, thinking. For a time his mind was
+occupied with the thoughts common to most of us when we go
+away--thoughts of all the things we have forgotten to pack. I don't
+think you could fairly have called Ronald over-anxious about
+clothes. He recognized that it was the inner virtues which counted;
+that a well-dressed exterior was nothing without some graces of mind
+or body. But at the same time he did feel strongly that, if you are
+going to stay at a house where you have never visited before, and if
+you are particularly anxious to make a good impression, it IS a pity
+that an accident of packing should force you to appear at dinner in
+green knickerbockers and somebody else's velvet smoking-jacket.
+
+Ronald couldn't help feeling that he had forgotten something. It
+wasn't the spare sponge; it wasn't the extra shaving-brush; it
+wasn't the second pair of bedroom slippers. Just for a moment the
+sun went behind a cloud as he wondered if he had included the
+reserve razor-strop; but no, he distinctly remembered packing that.
+
+The reason for his vague feeling of unrest was this. He had been
+interrupted while getting ready that afternoon; and as he left
+whatever he had been doing in order to speak to his housekeeper he
+had said to himself, "If you're not careful, you'll forget about
+that when you come back." And now he could not remember what it was
+he had been doing, nor whether he HAD in the end forgotten to go on
+with it. Was he selecting his ties, or brushing his hair, or--
+
+The country was appearing field by field; the train rushed through
+cuttings gay with spring flowers; blue was the sky between the baby
+clouds ... but it all missed Ronald. What COULD he have forgotten?
+
+He went over the days that were coming; he went through all the
+changes of toilet that the hours might bring. He had packed this and
+this and this and this--he was all right for the evening. Supposing
+they played golf? ... He was all right for golf. He might want to
+ride .... He would be able to ride. It was too early for
+lawn-tennis, but ... well, anyhow, he had put in flannels.
+
+As he considered all the possible clothes that he might want, it
+really seemed that he had provided for everything. If he liked, he
+could go to church on Friday morning; hunt otters from twelve to one
+on Saturday; toboggan or dig for badgers on Monday. He had the
+different suits necessary for those who attend a water-polo meeting,
+who play chess, or who go out after moths with a pot of treacle. And
+even, in the last resort, he could go to bed.
+
+Yes, he was all right. He had packed EVERYTHING; moreover, his hair
+was brushed and he had no smut upon his face. With a sigh of relief
+he lowered the window and his soul drank in the beautiful afternoon.
+"We are going away--we are going away--we are going away," sang the
+train.
+
+At the prettiest of wayside stations the train stopped and Ronald
+got out. There were horses to meet him. "Better than a car," thought
+Ronald, "on an afternoon like this." The luggage was
+collected--"Nothing left out," he chuckled to himself, and was
+seized with an insane desire to tell the coach-man so; and then
+they drove off through the fresh green hedgerows, Ronald trying hard
+not to cheer.
+
+His host was at the door as they arrived. Ronald, as happy as a
+child, jumped out and shook him warmly by the hand, and told him
+what a heavenly day it was; receiving with smiles of pleasure the
+news in return that it was almost like summer.
+
+"You're just in time for tea. Really, we might have it in the
+garden."
+
+"By Jove, we might," said Ronald, beaming.
+
+However, they had it in the hall, with the doors wide open. Ronald,
+sitting lazily with his legs stretched out and a cup of tea in his
+hands, and feeling already on the friendliest terms with everybody,
+wondered again at the difference which the weather could make to
+one's happiness.
+
+"You know," he said to the girl on his right, "on a day like this,
+NOTHING seems to matter."
+
+And then suddenly he knew that he was wrong; for he had discovered
+what it was which he had told himself not to forget ... what it was
+which he had indeed forgotten.
+
+And suddenly the birds stopped singing and there was a bitter chill
+in the air.
+
+And the sun went violently out.
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+He was wearing only half a pair of spats.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+STORIES OF SUCCESSFUL LIVES
+
+THE SOLICITOR
+
+
+
+
+
+The office was at its busiest, for it was Friday afternoon. John
+Blunt leant back in his comfortable chair and toyed with the key of
+the safe, while he tried to realize his new position. He, John
+Blunt, was junior partner in the great London firm of Macnaughton,
+Macnaughton, Macnaughton, Macnaughton & Macnaughton!
+
+He closed his eyes, and his thoughts wandered back to the day when
+he had first entered the doors of the firm as one of two hundred and
+seventy-eight applicants for the post of office-boy. They had been
+interviewed in batches, and old Mr Sanderson, the senior partner,
+had taken the first batch.
+
+"I like your face, my boy," he had said heartily to John.
+
+"And I like yours," replied John, not to be outdone in politeness.
+
+"Now I wonder if you can spell 'mortgage'?"
+
+"One 'm'?" said John tentatively.
+
+Mr Sanderson was delighted with the lad's knowledge, and engaged him
+at once.
+
+For three years John had done his duty faithfully. During this time
+he had saved the firm more than once by his readiness--particularly
+on one occasion, when he had called old Mr Sanderson's attention to
+the fact that he had signed a letter to a firm of stockbrokers,
+"Your loving husband Macnaughton, Macnaughton, Macnaughton,
+Macnaughton & Macnaughton." Mr Sanderson, always a little
+absentminded, corrected the error, and promised the boy his
+articles. Five years later John Blunt was a solicitor.
+
+And now he was actually junior partner in the firm--the firm of
+which it was said in the City, "If a man has Macnaughton,
+Macnaughton, Macnaughton, Macnaughton & Macnaughton behind him, he
+is all right." The City is always coining pithy little epigrams like
+this.
+
+There was a knock at the door of the inquiry office and a
+prosperous-looking gentleman came in.
+
+"Can I see Mr Macnaughton," he said politely to the office-boy.
+
+"There isn't no Mr Macnaughton," replied the latter. "They all died
+years ago."
+
+"Well, well, can I see one of the partners?"
+
+"You can't see Mr Sanderson, because he's having his lunch," said
+the boy. "Mr Thorpe hasn't come back from lunch yet, Mr Peters has
+just gone out to lunch, Mr Williams is expected back from lunch
+every minute, Mr Gourlay went out to lunch an hour ago, Mr
+Beamish--"
+
+"Tut, tut, isn't anybody in?"
+
+"Mr Blunt is in," said the boy, and took up the telephone. "If you
+wait a moment I'll see if he's awake."
+
+Half an hour later Mr Masters was shown into John Blunt's room.
+
+"I'm sorry I was engaged," said John. "A most important client. Now,
+what can I do for you, Mr--er--Masters?"
+
+"I wish to make my will."
+
+"By all means," said John cordially.
+
+"I have only one child, to whom I intend to leave all my money."
+
+"Ha!" said John, with a frown. "This will be a lengthy and difficult
+business."
+
+"But you can do it?" asked Mr Masters anxiously. "They told me at
+the hairdresser's that Macnaughton, Macnaughton, Macnaughton,
+Macnaughton & Macnaughton was the cleverest firm in London."
+
+"We can do it," said John simply, "but it will require all our care;
+and I think it would be best if I were to come and stay with you for
+the week-end. We could go into it properly then."
+
+"Thank you," said Mr Masters, clasping the other's hand. "I was just
+going to suggest it. My motor-car is outside. Let us go at once."
+
+"I will follow you in a moment," said John, and pausing only to
+snatch a handful of money from the safe for incidental expenses, and
+to tell the boy that he would be back on Monday, he picked up the
+well-filled week-end bag which he always kept ready, and hurried
+after the other.
+
+Inside the car Mr Masters was confidential.
+
+"My daughter," he said, "comes of age to-morrow."
+
+"Oh, it's a daughter?" said John, in surprise. "Is she pretty?"
+
+"She is considered to be the prettiest girl in the county."
+
+"Really?" said John. He thought a moment, and added, "Can we stop at
+a post-office? I must send an important business telegram." He took
+out a form and wrote:
+
+"Macmacmacmacmac, London. Shall not be back till Wednesday.--BLUNT."
+
+The car stopped and then sped on again.
+
+"Amy has never been any trouble to me," said Mr Masters, "but I am
+getting old now, and I would give a thousand pounds to see her
+happily married."
+
+"To whom would you give it," asked John, whipping out his
+pocket-book.
+
+"Tut, tut, a mere figure of speech. But I would settle a hundred
+thousand pounds on her on the wedding-day."
+
+"Indeed?" said John thoughtfully. "Can we stop at another
+post-office?" he added, bringing out his fountain-pen again. He took
+out a second telegraph form and wrote:
+
+"Macmacmacmacmac, London. Shall not be back till Friday.--BLUNT."
+
+The car dashed on again, and an hour later arrived it a commodious
+mansion standing in its own well-timbered grounds of upwards of
+several acres. At the front-door a graceful figure was standing.
+
+"My solicitor, dear, Mr Blunt," said Mr Masters.
+
+"It is very good of you to come all this way on my father's
+business," she said shyly.
+
+"Not at all," said John. "A week or--or a fortnight--or--" he looked
+at her again--"or--three weeks, and the thing is done."
+
+"Is making a will so very difficult?"
+
+"It's a very tricky and complicated affair indeed. However, I think
+we shall pull it off. Er--might I send an important business
+telegram?"
+
+"Macmacmacmacmac, London," wrote John. "Very knotty case. Date of
+return uncertain. Please send more cash for incidental
+expenses.--BLUNT."
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+Yes, you have guessed what happened. It is an everyday experience in
+a solicitor's life. John Blunt and Amy Masters were married at St
+George's, Hanover Square, last May. The wedding was a quiet one,
+owing to mourning in the bride's family--the result of a too sudden
+perusal of Macnaughton, Macnaughton, Macnaughton, Macnaughton &
+Macnaughton's bill of costs. As Mr Masters said with his expiring
+breath--he didn't mind paying for our Mr Blunt's skill; nor yet for
+our Mr Blunt's valuable time--even if most of it was spent in
+courting Amy; nor, again, for our Mr Blunt's tips to the servants;
+but he did object to being charged the first-class railway fare both
+ways when our Mr Blunt had come down and gone up again in the car.
+And perhaps I ought to add that that is the drawback to this fine
+profession. One is so often misunderstood.
+
+
+
+
+THE PAINTER
+
+
+
+MR PAUL SAMWAYS was in a mood of deep depression. The artistic
+temperament is peculiarly subject to these moods, but in Paul's case
+there was reason why he should take a gloomy view of things. His
+masterpiece, "The Shot Tower from Battersea Bridge," together with
+the companion picture, "Battersea Bridge from the Shot Tower," had
+been purchased by a dealer for seventeen and sixpence. His sepia
+monochrome, "Night," had brought him an I.O.U. for five shillings.
+These were his sole earnings for the last six weeks, and starvation
+stared him in the face.
+
+"If only I had a little capital!" he cried aloud in despair. "Enough
+to support me until my Academy picture is finished." His Academy
+picture was a masterly study entitled, "Roll on, thou deep and dark
+blue ocean, roll," and he had been compelled to stop half-way across
+the Channel through sheer lack of ultramarine.
+
+The clock struck two, reminding him that he had not lunched. He rose
+wearily and went to the little cupboard which served as a larder.
+There was but little there to make a satisfying meal--half a loaf of
+bread, a corner of cheese, and a small tube of Chinese-white.
+Mechanically he set the things out....
+
+He had finished, and was clearing away, when there came a knock at
+the door. His charwoman, whose duty it was to clean his brushes
+every week, came in with a card.
+
+
+"A lady to see you, sir," she said.
+
+Paul read the card in astonishment.
+
+"The Duchess of Winchester," he exclaimed. "What on earth--Show her
+in, please." Hastily picking up a brush and the first tube which
+came to hand, he placed himself in a dramatic position before his
+easel and set to work.
+
+"How do you do, Mr Samways?" said the
+
+Duchess.
+
+"G--good-afternoon," said Paul, embarrassed both by the presence of
+a duchess in his studio and by his sudden discovery that he was
+touching up a sunset with a tube of carbolic tooth-paste.
+
+"Our mutual friend, Lord Ernest Topwood, recommended me to come to
+you."
+
+Paul, who had never met Lord Ernest, but had once seen his name in a
+ha'penny paper beneath a photograph of Mr Arnold Bennett, bowed
+silently.
+
+"As you probably guess, I want you to paint my daughter's portrait."
+
+Paul opened his mouth to say that he was only a landscape painter,
+and then closed it again. After all, it was hardly fair to bother
+her Grace with technicalities.
+
+"I hope you can undertake this commission," she said pleadingly.
+
+"I shall be delighted," said Paul. "I am rather busy just now, but I
+could begin at two o'clock on Monday."
+
+"Excellent," said the Duchess. "Till Monday, then." And Paul, still
+clutching the tooth-paste, conducted her to her carriage.
+
+Punctually at 3.15 on Monday Lady Hermione appeared. Paul drew a
+deep breath of astonishment when he saw her, for she was lovely
+beyond compare. All his skill as a landscape painter would be needed
+if he were to do justice to her beauty. As quickly as possible he
+placed her in position and set to work.
+
+"May I let my face go for a moment?" said Lady Hermione after three
+hours of it.
+
+"Yes, let us stop," said Paul. He had outlined her in charcoal and
+burnt cork, and it would be too dark to do any more that evening.
+
+"Tell me where you first met Lord Ernest?" she asked as she came
+down to the fire.
+
+"At the Savoy, in June," said Paul boldly.
+
+Lady Hermione laughed merrily. Paul, who had not regarded his last
+remark as one of his best things, looked at her in surprise.
+
+"But your portrait of him was in the Academy in May!" she smiled.
+
+Paul made up his mind quickly.
+
+"Lady Hermione," he said with gravity, "do not speak to me of Lord
+Ernest again. Nor," he added hurriedly, "to Lord Ernest of me. When
+your picture is finished I will tell you why. Now it is time you
+went." He woke the Duchess up, and made a few commonplace remarks
+about the weather. "Remember," he whispered to Lady Hermione as he
+saw them to their car. She nodded and smiled.
+
+The sittings went on daily. Sometimes Paul would paint rapidly with
+great sweeps of the brush; sometimes he would spend an hour trying
+to get on his palette the exact shade of green bice for the famous
+Winchester emeralds; sometimes in despair he would take a sponge and
+wipe the whole picture out, and then start madly again. And
+sometimes he would stop work altogether and tell Lady Hermione about
+his home-life in Worcestershire. But always, when he woke the
+Duchess up at the end of the sitting, he would say, "Remember!" and
+Lady Hermione would nod back at him.
+
+It was a spring-like day in March when the picture was finished, and
+nothing remained to do but to paint in the signature.
+
+"It is beautiful!" said Lady Hermione, with enthusiasm. "Beautiful!
+Is it at all like me?"
+
+Paul looked from her to the picture, and back to her again.
+
+"No," he said, "not a bit. You know, I am really a landscape
+painter."
+
+"What do you mean?" she cried. "You are Peter Samways, A.R.A., the
+famous portrait painter!"
+
+"No," he said sadly. "That was my secret. I am Paul Samways. A
+member of the Amateur Rowing Association, it is true, but only an
+unknown landscape painter. Peter Samways lives in the next studio,
+and he is not even a relation."
+
+"Then you have deceived me! You have brought me here under false
+pretences!" She stamped her foot angrily. "My father will not buy
+that picture, and I forbid you to exhibit it as a portrait of
+myself."
+
+
+"My dear Lady Hermione," said Paul, "you need not be alarmed. I
+propose to exhibit the picture as 'When the Heart is Young.' Nobody
+will recognize a likeness to you in it. And if the Duke does not buy
+it I have no doubt that some other purchaser will come along."
+
+Lady Hermione looked at him thoughtfully. "Why did you do it?" she
+asked gently.
+
+"Because I fell in love with you."
+
+She dropped her eyes, and then raised them gaily to his. "Mother is
+still asleep," she whispered.
+
+"Hermione!" he cried, dropping his palette and putting his brush
+behind his ear.
+
+She held out her arms to him.
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+As everybody remembers, "When the Heart is Young," by Paul Samways,
+was the feature of the Exhibition. It was bought for 10,000 pounds
+by a retired bottle manufacturer, whom it reminded a little of his
+late mother. Paul woke to find himself famous. But the success which
+began for him from this day did not spoil his simple and generous
+nature. He never forgot his brother artists, whose feet were not yet
+on the top of the ladder. Indeed, one of his first acts after he was
+married was to give a commission to Peter Samways, A.R.A.--nothing
+less than the painting of his wife's portrait. And Lady Hermione was
+delighted with the result.
+
+
+
+
+THE BARRISTER
+
+
+
+The New Bailey was crowded with a gay and fashionable throng. It was
+a remarkable case of shop-lifting. Aurora Delaine, nineteen, was
+charged with feloniously stealing and conveying certain articles,
+the property of the Universal Stores, to wit thirty-five yards of
+bock muslin, ten pairs of gloves, a sponge, two gimlets, five jars
+of cold cream, a copy of the Clergy List, three hat-guards, a
+mariner's compass, a box of drawing-pins, an egg-breaker, six
+blouses, and a cabman's whistle. The theft had been proved by Albert
+Jobson, a shopwalker, who gave evidence to the effect that he
+followed her through the different departments and saw her take the
+things mentioned in the indictment.
+
+"Just a moment," interrupted the Judge. "Who is defending the
+prisoner?"
+
+There was an unexpected silence. Rupert Carleton, who had dropped
+idly into court, looked round in sudden excitement. The poor girl
+had no counsel! What if he--yes, he would seize the chance! He stood
+up boldly. "I am, my lord," he said.
+
+Rupert Carleton was still in the twenties, but he had been a
+briefless barrister for some years. Yet, though briefs would not
+come, he had been very far from idle. He had stood for Parliament in
+both the Conservative and Liberal interests (not to mention his
+own), he had written half a dozen unproduced plays, and he was
+engaged to be married. But success in his own profession had been
+delayed. Now at last was his opportunity.
+
+He pulled his wig down firmly over his ears, took out a pair of
+pince-nez and rose to cross-examine. It was the cross-examination
+which was to make him famous, the cross-examination which is now
+given as a model in every legal text-book.
+
+"Mr Jobson," he began suavely, "you say that you saw the accused
+steal these various articles, and that they were afterwards found
+upon her?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I put it to you," said Rupert, and waited intently for the answer,
+"that that is a pure invention on your part?"
+
+"No."
+
+With a superhuman effort Rupert hid his disappointment. Unexpected
+as the answer was, he preserved his impassivity.
+
+"I suggest," he tried again, "that you followed her about and
+concealed this collection of things in her cloak with a view to
+advertising your winter sale?"
+
+"No. I saw her steal them."
+
+Rupert frowned; the man seemed impervious to the simplest
+suggestion. With masterly decision he tapped his pince-nez and fell
+back upon his third line of defence. "You saw her steal them? What
+you mean is that you saw her take them from the different counters
+and put them in her bag?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"With the intention of paying for them in the ordinary way?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Please be very careful. You said in your evidence that the
+prisoner, when told she would be charged, cried, 'To think that I
+should have come to this! Will no one save me?' I suggest that she
+went up to you with her collection of purchases, pulled out her
+purse, and said, 'What does all this come to? I can't get any one to
+serve me.'"
+
+"No."
+
+The obstinacy of some people! Rupert put back his pince-nez in his
+pocket and brought out another pair. The historic cross-examination
+continued.
+
+"We will let that pass for the moment," he said. He consulted a
+sheet of paper and then looked sternly at Mr Jobson. "Mr Jobson, how
+many times have you been married?"
+
+"Once."
+
+"Quite so." He hesitated and then decided to risk it. "I suggest
+that your wife left you?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+It was a long shot, but once again the bold course had paid. Rupert
+heaved a sigh of relief.
+
+"Will you tell the gentlemen of the jury," he said with deadly
+politeness, "WHY she left you?"
+
+"She died."
+
+A lesser man might have been embarrassed, but Rupert's iron nerve
+did not fail him.
+
+"Exactly!" he said. "And was that or was that not on the night when
+you were turned out of the Hampstead Parliament for intoxication?"
+
+"I never was."
+
+"Indeed? Will you cast your mind back to the night of April 24th,
+1897? What were you doing on that night?"
+
+"I have no idea," said Jobson, after casting his mind back and
+waiting in vain for some result.
+
+"In that case you cannot swear that you were not being turned out of
+the Hampstead Parliament--"
+
+"But I never belonged to it."
+
+Rupert leaped at the damaging admission.
+
+"What? You told the Court that you lived at Hampstead, and yet you
+say that you never belonged to the Hampstead Parliament? Is THAT
+your idea of patriotism?"
+
+"I said I lived at Hackney."
+
+"To the Hackney Parliament, I should say. I am suggesting that you
+were turned out of the Hackney Parliament for--"
+
+"I don't belong to that either."
+
+"Exactly!" said Rupert triumphantly. "Having been turned out for
+intoxication?"
+
+"And never did belong."
+
+"Indeed? May I take it then that you prefer to spend your evenings
+in the public-house?"
+
+"If you want to know," said Jobson angrily, "I belong to the Hackney
+Chess Circle, and that takes up most of my evenings."
+
+Rupert gave a sigh of satisfaction and turned to the jury.
+
+"At LAST, gentlemen, we have got it. I thought we should arrive at
+the truth in the end, in spite of Mr Jobson's prevarications." He
+turned to the witness. "Now, sir," he said sternly, "you have
+already told the Court that you have no idea what you were doing on
+the night of April 24th, 1897. I put it to you once more that this
+blankness of memory is due to the fact that you were in a state of
+intoxication on the premises of the Hackney Chess Circle. Can you
+swear on your oath that this is not so?"
+
+A murmur of admiration for the relentless way in which the truth had
+been tracked down ran through the court. Rupert drew himself up and
+put on both pairs of pince-nez at once.
+
+"Come, sir!" he said, "the jury is waiting." But it was not Albert
+Jobson who answered. It was the counsel for the prosecution. "My
+lord," he said, getting up slowly, "this has come as a complete
+surprise to me. In the circumstances, I must advise my clients to
+withdraw from the case."
+
+"A very proper decision," said his lordship. "The prisoner is
+discharged without a stain on her character."
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+Briefs poured in upon Rupert next day, and he was engaged for all
+the big Chancery cases. Within a week his six plays were accepted,
+and within a fortnight he had entered Parliament as the miners'
+Member for Coalville. His marriage took place at the end of a month.
+The wedding presents were even more numerous and costly than usual,
+and included thirty-five yards of book muslin, ten pairs of gloves,
+a sponge, two gimlets, five jars of cold cream, a copy of the Clergy
+List, three hat-guards, a mariner's compass, a box of drawing-pins,
+an egg-breaker, six blouses, and a cabman's whistle. They were
+marked quite simply, "From a Grateful Friend."
+
+
+
+
+THE CIVIL SERVANT
+
+
+
+It was three o'clock, and the afternoon sun reddened the western
+windows of one of the busiest of Government offices. In an airy room
+on the third floor Richard Dale was batting. Standing in front of
+the coal-box with the fire-shovel in his hands, he was a model of
+the strenuous young Englishman; and as for the third time he turned
+the Government india-rubber neatly in the direction of square-leg,
+and so completed his fifty, the bowler could hardly repress a sigh
+of envious admiration. Even the reserved Matthews, who was too old
+for cricket, looked up a moment from his putting, and said, "Well
+played, Dick!"
+
+The fourth occupant of the room was busy at his desk, as if to give
+the lie to the thoughtless accusation that the Civil Service
+cultivates the body at the expense of the mind. The eager shouts of
+the players seemed to annoy him, for he frowned and bit his pen, or
+else passed his fingers restlessly through his hair.
+
+"How the dickens you expect any one to think in this confounded
+noise," he cried suddenly.
+
+"What's the matter, Ashby?"
+
+"You're the matter. How am I going to get these verses done for The
+Evening Surprise if you make such a row? Why don't you go out to
+tea?"
+
+"Good idea. Come on, Dale. You coming, Matthews?" They went out,
+leaving the room to Ashby.
+
+In his youth Harold Ashby had often been told by his relations that
+he had a literary bent. His letters home from school were generally
+pronounced to be good enough for Punch, and some of them, together
+with a certificate of character from his Vicar, were actually sent
+to that paper. But as he grew up he realized that his genius was
+better fitted for work of a more solid character. His post in the
+Civil Service gave him full leisure for his Adam: A Fragment, his
+History of the Microscope, and his Studies in Rural Campanology, and
+yet left him ample time in which to contribute to the journalism of
+the day.
+
+The poem he was now finishing for The Evening Surprise was his first
+contribution to that paper, but he had little doubt that it would be
+accepted. It was called quite simply, "Love and Death," and it began
+like this:
+
+"Love! O love! (All other things above).--Why, O why, Am I afraid
+to die?"
+
+There were six more lines which I have forgotten, but I suppose they
+gave the reason for this absurd diffidence.
+
+Having written the poem out neatly, Harold put it in an envelope and
+took it round to The Evening Surprise. The strain of composition had
+left him rather weak, and he decided to give his brain a rest for
+the next few days. So it happened that he was at the wickets on the
+following Wednesday afternoon when the commissionaire brought him in
+the historic letter. He opened it hastily, the shovel under his arm.
+
+"DEAR SIR," wrote the editor of The Surprise, "will you come round
+and see me as soon as convenient?"
+
+Harold lost no time. Explaining that he would finish his innings
+later, he put his coat on, took his hat and stick, and dashed out.
+
+"How do you do?" said the editor. "I wanted to talk to you about
+your work. We all liked your little poem very much. It will be
+coming out to-morrow."
+
+"Thursday," said Harold helpfully.
+
+"I was wondering whether we couldn't get you to join our staff. Does
+the idea of doing 'Aunt Miriam's Cosy Corner' in our afternoon
+edition appeal to you at all?"
+
+"No," said Harold, "not a bit."
+
+"Ah, that's a pity." He tapped his desk thoughtfully. "Well then,
+how would you like to be a war correspondent?"
+
+"Very much," said Harold. "I was considered to write rather good
+letters home from school."
+
+"Splendid! There's this little war in Mexico. When can you start?
+All expenses and fifty pounds a week. You're not very busy at the
+office, I suppose, just now?"
+
+"I could get sick leave easily enough," said Harold, "if it wasn't
+for more than eight or nine months."
+
+"Do; that will be excellent. Here's a blank cheque for your outfit.
+Can you get off to-morrow? But I suppose you'll have one or two
+things to finish up at the office first?"
+
+"Well," said Harold cautiously, "I WAS in, and I'd made ninety-six.
+But if I go back and finish my innings now, and then have to-morrow
+for buying things, I could get off on Friday."
+
+"Good," said the editor. "Well, here's luck. Come back alive if you
+can, and if you do we shan't forget you."
+
+Harold spent the next day buying a war correspondent's outfit:--the
+camel, the travelling bath, the putties, the pith helmet, the
+quinine, the sleeping-bag, and the thousand-and-one other
+necessities of active service. On the Friday his colleagues at the
+office came down in a body to Southampton to see him off. Little did
+they think that nearly a year would elapse before he again set foot
+upon England.
+
+I shall not describe all his famous coups in Mexico. Sufficient to
+say that experience taught him quickly all that he had need to
+learn; and that whereas he was more than a week late with his cabled
+account of the first engagement of the war, he was frequently more
+than a week early afterwards. Indeed, the battle of Parson's Nose,
+so realistically described in his last telegram, is still waiting to
+be fought. It is to be hoped that it will be in time for his
+aptly-named book, With the Mexicans in Mexico, which is coming out
+next month.
+
+On his return to England Harold found that time had wrought many
+changes. To begin with, the editor of The Evening Surprise had
+passed on to The Morning Exclamation.
+
+"You had better take his place," said the ducal proprietor to
+Harold.
+
+"Right," said Harold. "I suppose I shall have to resign my post at
+the office?"
+
+"Just as you like. I don't see why you should."
+
+"I should miss the cricket," said Harold wistfully, "and the salary.
+I'll go round and see what I can arrange."
+
+But there were also changes at the office. Harold had been rising
+steadily in salary and seniority during his absence, and he found to
+his delight that he was now a Principal Clerk. He found, too, that
+he had acquired quite a reputation in the office for quickness and
+efficiency in his new work.
+
+
+The first thing to arrange about was his holiday. He had had no
+holiday for more than a year, and there were some eight weeks owing
+to him.
+
+"Hullo," said the Assistant Secretary as Harold came in, "you're
+looking well. I suppose you manage to get away for the week-ends?"
+
+"I've been away on sick leave for some time," said Harold
+pathetically.
+
+"Have you? You've kept it very secret. Come out and have lunch with
+me, and we'll do a matinee afterwards."
+
+Harold went out with him happily. It would be pleasant to accept the
+editorship of The Evening Surprise without giving up the
+Governmental work which was so dear to him, and the Assistant
+Secretary's words made this possible for a year or so anyhow. Then,
+when his absence from the office first began to be noticed, it would
+be time to think of retiring on an adequate pension.
+
+
+
+
+THE ACTOR
+
+
+
+Mr Levinski, the famous actor-manager, dragged himself from beneath
+the car, took the snow out of his mouth, and swore heartily. Mortal
+men are liable to motor accidents; even kings' cars have backfired;
+but it seems strange that actor-managers are not specially exempt
+from these occurrences. Mr Levinski was not only angry; he was also
+a little shocked. When an actor-manager has to walk two miles to the
+nearest town on a winter evening one may be pardoned a doubt as to
+whether all is quite right with the world.
+
+But the completest tragedy has its compensations for some one. The
+pitiable arrival of Mr Levinski at "The Duke's Head," unrecognized
+and with his fur coat slightly ruffled, might make a sceptic of the
+most devout optimist, and yet Eustace Merrowby can never look back
+upon that evening without a sigh of thankfulness; for to him it was
+the beginning of his career. The story has often been told since--in
+about a dozen weekly papers, half a dozen daily papers and three
+dozen provincial papers--but it will always bear telling again.
+
+There was no train to London that night, and Mr Levinski had been
+compelled to put up at "The Duke's Head." However, he had dined and
+was feeling slightly better. He summoned the manager of the hotel.
+
+"What does one do in this dam place?" he asked with a yawn.
+
+The manager, instantly recognizing that he was speaking to a member
+of the aristocracy, made haste to reply. Othello was being played at
+the town theatre. His daughter, who had already been three times,
+told him that it was simply sweet. He was sure his lordship ...
+
+Mr Levinski dismissed him, and considered the point. He had to amuse
+himself with something that evening, and the choice apparently lay
+between Othello and the local Directory. He picked up the Directory.
+By a lucky chance for Eustace Merrowby it was three years old. Mr
+Levinski put on his fur coat and went to see Othello.
+
+For some time he was as bored as he had expected to be, but half-way
+through the Third Act he began to wake up. There was something in
+the playing of the principal actor which moved him strangely. He
+looked at his programme. "Othello--Mr EUSTACE MERROWBY." Mr Levinski
+frowned thoughtfully. "Merrowby?" he said to himself. "I don't know
+the name, but he's the man I want." He took out the gold pencil
+presented to him by the Emperor--(the station-master had had a
+tie-pin)--and wrote a note.
+
+He was finishing breakfast next morning when Mr Merrowby was
+announced.
+
+"Ah, good-morning," said Mr Levinski, "good-morning. You find me
+very busy," and here he began to turn the pages of the Directory
+backwards and forwards, "but I can give you a moment. What is it you
+want?"
+
+"You asked me to call on you," said Eustace.
+
+"Did I, did I?" He passed his hand across his brow with a noble
+gesture. "I am so busy, I forget. Ah, now I remember. I saw you play
+Othello last night. You are the man I want. I am producing 'Oom
+Baas,' the great South African drama, next April at my theatre.
+Perhaps you know?"
+
+"I have read about it in the papers," said Eustace. In all the
+papers (he might have added) every day, for the last six months.
+
+"Good. Then you may have heard that one of the scenes is an ostrich
+farm. I want you to play 'Tommy.'"
+
+"One of the ostriches?" asked Eustace.
+
+"I do not offer the part of an ostrich to a man who has played
+Othello. Tommy is the Kaffir boy who looks after the farm. It is a
+black part, like your present one, but not so long. In London you
+cannot expect to take the leading parts just yet."
+
+"This is very kind of you," cried Eustace gratefully. "I have always
+longed to get to London. And to start in your theatre!--it's a
+wonderful chance."
+
+"Good," said Mr Levinski. "Then that's settled." He waved Eustace
+away and took up the Directory again with a business-like air.
+
+And so Eustace Merrowby came to London. It is a great thing for a
+young actor to come to London. As Mr Levinski had warned him, his
+new part was not so big as that of Othello; he had to say "Hofo
+tsetse!"--which was alleged to be Kaffir for "Down, sir!"--to the
+big ostrich. But to be at the St George's Theatre at all was an
+honour which most men would envy him, and his association with a
+real ostrich was bound to bring him before the public in the pages
+of the illustrated papers.
+
+Eustace, curiously enough, was not very nervous on the first night.
+He was fairly certain that he was word-perfect; and if only the
+ostrich didn't kick him in the back of the neck--as it had tried to
+once at rehearsal--the evening seemed likely to be a triumph for
+him. And so it was with a feeling of pleasurable anticipation that,
+on the morning after, he gathered the papers round him at breakfast,
+and prepared to read what the critics had to say.
+
+He had a remarkable Press. I give a few examples of the notices he
+obtained from the leading papers:
+
+"Mr Eustace Merrowby was Tommy."--Daily Telegraph.
+
+"The cast included Mr Eustace Merrowby."--Times.
+
+"... Mr Eustace Merrowby..."--Daily Chronicle.
+
+"We have no space in which to mention all the other
+performers."--Morning Leader.
+
+"This criticism only concerns the two actors we have mentioned, and
+does not apply to the rest of the cast."--Sportsman.
+
+"Where all were so good, it would be invidious to single out anybody
+for special praise."--Daily Mail.
+
+"The acting deserved a better play."--Daily News.
+
+"... Tommy..."--Morning Post.
+
+As Eustace read the papers, he felt that his future was secure.
+True, The Era, careful never to miss a single performer, had yet to
+say, "Mr Eustace Merrowby was capital as Tommy," and The Stage,
+"Tommy was capitally played by Mr Eustace Merrowby"; but even
+without this he had become one of the Men who Count--one whose
+private life was of more interest to the public than that of any
+scientist, general or diplomat in the country.
+
+Into Eustace Merrowby's subsequent career I cannot go at full
+length. It is perhaps as a member of the Garrick Club that he has
+attained his fullest development. All the good things of the Garrick
+which were not previously said by Sydney Smith may safely be put
+down to Eustace; and there is no doubt that he is the ringleader in
+all the subtler practical jokes which have made the club famous. It
+was he who pinned to the back of an unpopular member of the
+committee a sheet of paper bearing the words
+
+KICK ME
+
+--and the occasion on which he drew the chair from beneath a certain
+eminent author as the latter was about to sit down is still referred
+to hilariously by the older members.
+
+Finally, as a convincing proof of his greatness, let it be said that
+everybody has at least heard the name "Eustace Merrowby"--even
+though some may be under the impression that it is the trade-mark of
+a sauce; and that half the young ladies of Wandsworth Common and
+Winchmore Hill are in love with him. If this be not success, what
+is?
+
+
+
+
+THE YOUNGER SON
+
+
+
+It is a hard thing to be the younger son of an ancient but
+impoverished family. The fact that your brother Thomas is taking
+most of the dibs restricts your inheritance to a paltry two thousand
+a year, while pride of blood forbids you to supplement this by
+following any of the common professions. Impossible for a St Verax
+to be a doctor, a policeman or an architect. He must find some
+nobler means of existence.
+
+For three years Roger St Verax had lived precariously by betting. To
+be a St Verax was always to be a sportsman. Roger's father had
+created a record in the sporting world by winning the Derby and the
+Waterloo Cup with the same animal--though, in each case, it narrowly
+escaped disqualification. Roger himself almost created another
+record by making betting pay. His book, showing how to do it, was
+actually in the press when disaster overtook him.
+
+He began by dropping (in sporting parlance) a cool thousand on the
+Jack Joel Selling Plate at Newmarket. On the next race he dropped a
+cool five hundred, and later on in the afternoon a cool seventy-
+five pounds ten. The following day found him at Lingfield, where he
+dropped a cool monkey (to persevere with the language of the racing
+stable) on the Solly Joel Cup, picked it up on the next race,
+dropped a cool pony, dropped another cool monkey, dropped a cool
+wallaby, picked up a cool hippopotamus, and finally, in the last
+race of the day, dropped a couple of lukewarm ferrets. In short, he
+was (as they say at Tattersall's Corner) entirely cleaned out.
+
+When a younger son is cleaned out there is only one thing for him to
+do. Roger St Verax knew instinctively what it was. He bought a new
+silk hat and a short black coat, and went into the City.
+
+What a wonderful place, dear reader, is the City! You, madam, who
+read this in your daintily upholstered boudoir, can know but little
+of the great heart of the City, even though you have driven through
+its arteries on your way to Liverpool Street Station, and have noted
+the bare and smoothly brushed polls of the younger natives. You,
+sir, in your country vicarage, are no less innocent, even though on
+sultry afternoons you have covered your head with the Financial
+Supplement of The Times in mistake for the Literary Supplement, and
+have thus had thrust upon you the stirring news that Bango-Bangos
+were going up. And I, dear friends, am equally ignorant of the
+secrets of the Stock Exchange. I know that its members frequently
+walk to Brighton, and still more frequently stay there; that while
+finding a home for all the good stories which have been going the
+rounds for years, they sometimes invent entirely new ones for
+themselves about the Chancellor of the Exchequer; and that they sing
+the National Anthem very sternly in unison when occasion demands it.
+But there must be something more in it than this, or why are
+Bango-Bangos still going up?
+
+I don't know. And I am sorry to say that even Roger St Verax, a
+Director of the Bango-Bango Development Company, is not very clear
+about it all.
+
+It was as a Director of the Bango-Bango Exploration Company that he
+took up his life in the City. As its name implies, the Company was
+originally formed to explore Bango-Bango, an impenetrable district
+in North Australia; but when it came to the point it was found much
+more profitable to explore Hampstead, Clapham Common, Blackheath,
+Ealing and other rich and fashionable suburbs. A number of hopeful
+ladies and gentlemen having been located in these parts, the Company
+went ahead rapidly, and in 1907 a new prospector was sent out to
+replace the one who was assumed to have been eaten.
+
+In 1908, Roger first heard the magic word "reconstruction," and to
+his surprise found himself in possession of twenty thousand pounds
+and a Directorship of the new Bango-Bango Mining Company.
+
+In 1909 a piece of real gold was identified, and the shares went up
+like a rocket.
+
+In 1910 the Stock Exchange suddenly woke to the fact that rubber
+tyres were made of rubber, and in a moment the Great Boom was sprung
+upon an amazed City. The Bango-Bango Development Company was
+immediately formed to take over the Bango-Bango Mining Company
+(together with its prospector, if alive, its plant, shafts and other
+property, not forgetting the piece of gold) and more particularly to
+develop the vegetable resources of the district with the view of
+planting rubber trees in the immediate future. A neatly compiled
+prospectus put matters very clearly before the stay-at-home
+Englishman. It explained quite concisely that, supposing the trees
+were planted so many feet apart throughout the whole property of
+five thousand square miles, and allowing a certain period for the
+growth of a tree to maturity, and putting the average yield of
+rubber per tree at, in round figures, so much, and assuming for the
+sake of convenience that rubber would remain at its present price,
+and estimating the cost of working the plantation at say, roughly,
+100,000 pounds, why, then it was obvious that the profits would be
+anything you liked up to two billion a year--while (this was
+important) more land could doubtless be acquired if the share-
+holders thought fit. And even if you were certain that a rubber-tree
+couldn't possibly grow in the Bango-Bango district (as in confidence
+it couldn't), still it was worth taking shares purely as an
+investment, seeing how rapidly rubber was going up; not to mention
+the fact that Roger St Verax, the well-known financier, was a
+Director ... and so on.
+
+In short the Bango-Bango Development Company was, in the language of
+the City, a safe thing.
+
+Let me hasten to the end of this story. At the end of 1910 Roger was
+a millionaire; and for quite a week afterwards he used to wonder
+where all the money had come from. In the old days, when he won a
+cool thousand by betting, he knew that somebody else had lost a cool
+thousand by betting, but it did not seem to be so in this case. He
+had met hundreds of men who had made fortunes through rubber; he had
+met hundreds who bitterly regretted that they had missed making a
+fortune; but he had never met any one who had lost a fortune. This
+made him think the City an even more wonderful place than before.
+
+But before he could be happy there remained one thing for him to do;
+he must find somebody to share his happiness. He called on his old
+friend, Mary Brown, one Sunday.
+
+"Mary," he said, with the brisk confidence of the City man, "I find
+I'm disengaged next Tuesday. Will you meet me at St George's Church
+at two? I should like to show you the curate and the vestry, and one
+or two things like that."
+
+"Why, what's happened?"
+
+"I am a millionaire," said Roger calmly. "So long as I only had my
+beggarly pittance, I could not ask you to marry me. There was
+nothing for it but to wait in patience. It has been a long weary
+wait, dear, but the sun has broken through the clouds at last. I am
+now in a position to support a wife. Tuesday at two," he went on,
+consulting his pocket diary; "or I could give you half an hour on
+Monday morning."
+
+"But why this extraordinary hurry? Why mayn't I be married properly,
+with presents and things?"
+
+"My dear," said Roger reproachfully, "you forget. I am a City man
+now, and it is imperative that I should be married at once. Only a
+married man, with everything in his wife's name, can face with
+confidence the give and take of the bustling City."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A FEW FRIENDS
+
+MARGERY
+
+I.--A TWICE TOLD TALE
+
+
+
+
+
+"Is that you, uncle?" said a voice from the nursery, as I hung my
+coat up in the hall. "I've only got my skin on, but you can come
+up."
+
+However, she was sitting up in bed with her nightgown on when I
+found her.
+
+"I was having my bath when you came," she explained. "Have you come
+all the way from London?"
+
+"All the way."
+
+"Then will you tell me a story?"
+
+"I can't; I'm going to have my dinner. I only came up to say
+Good-night."
+
+Margery leant forward and whispered coaxingly, "Will you just tell
+me about Beauty and 'e Beast?"
+
+"But I've told you that such heaps of times. And it's much too long
+for to-night."
+
+"Tell me HALF of it. As much as THAT." She held her hands about nine
+inches apart.
+
+"That's too much."
+
+"As much as THAT." The hands came a little nearer together.
+
+"Oh! Well, I'll tell you up to where the Beast died."
+
+"FOUGHT he died," she corrected eagerly.
+
+"Yes. Well--"
+
+"How much will that be? As much as I said?"
+
+I nodded. The preliminary business settled, she gave a little sigh
+of happiness, put her arms round her knees, and waited breathlessly
+for the story she had heard twenty times before.
+
+"Once upon a time there was a man who had three daughters. And one
+day--"
+
+"What was the man's name?"
+
+"Margery," I said reproachfully, annoyed at the interruption, "you
+know I NEVER tell you the man's name."
+
+"Tell me now."
+
+"Oswald," I said, after a moment's thought.
+
+"I told Daddy it was Thomas," said Margery casually.
+
+"Well, as a matter of fact, he had two names, Oswald AND Thomas."
+
+"Why did he have two names?"
+
+"In case he lost one. Well, one day this man, who was very poor,
+heard that a lot of money was waiting for him in a ship which had
+come over the sea to a town some miles off. So he--"
+
+"Was it waiting at Weymouf?"
+
+"Somewhere like that."
+
+"I spex it must have been Weymouf, because there's lots of sea
+there."
+
+"Yes, I'm sure it was. Well, he thought he'd go to Weymouth and get
+the money."
+
+"How much monies was it?"
+
+"Oh, lots and lots."
+
+"As much as five pennies?"
+
+"Yes, about that. Well, he said Good-bye to his daughters, and asked
+them what they'd like him to bring back for a present. And the first
+asked for some lovely jewels and diamonds and--"
+
+"Like mummy's locket--is THAT jewels?"
+
+"That sort of idea. Well, she wanted a lot of things like that. And
+the second wanted some beautiful clothes."
+
+"What sort of clothes?"
+
+"Oh, frocks and--well, frocks and all sorts of--er--frocks."
+
+"Did she want any lovely new stockings?"
+
+"Yes, she wanted three pairs of those."
+
+"And did she want any lovely--"
+
+"Yes," I said hastily, "she wanted lots of those, too. Lots of
+EVERYTHING."
+
+Margery gave a little sob of happiness. "Go on telling me," she said
+under her breath.
+
+"Well, the third daughter was called Beauty. And she thought to
+herself, 'Poor Father won't have any money left at all, if we all go
+on like this!' So she didn't ask for anything very expensive, like
+her selfish sisters, she only asked for a rose. A simple red rose."
+
+Margery moved uneasily.
+
+"I hope," she said wistfully, "this bit isn't going to be about--YOU
+know. It never did before."
+
+"About what?"
+
+"Good little girls and bad little girls, and fings like that."
+
+"My darling, no, of course not. I told it wrong. Beauty asked for a
+rose because she loved roses so. And it was a very particular kind
+of red rose that she wanted--a sort that they simply COULDN'T get to
+grow in their own garden because of the soil."
+
+"Go on telling me," said Margery, with a deep sigh of content.
+
+"Well, he started off to Weymouth."
+
+"What day did he start?"
+
+"It was Monday. And when--"
+
+"Oh, well, anyhow, I told daddy it was Tuesday."
+
+"Tuesday--now let me think. Yes, I believe you're right. Because on
+Monday he went to a meeting of the Vegetable Gardeners, and proposed
+the health of the Chairman. Yes, well he started off on Tuesday, and
+when he got there he found that there was no money for him at all!"
+
+"I spex somebody had taken it," said Margery breathlessly.
+
+"Well, it had all gone SOMEHOW."
+
+"Perhaps somebody had swallowed it," said Margery, a little carried
+away by the subject. "By mistake."
+
+"Anyhow, it was gone. And he had to come home again without any
+money. He hadn't gone far--"
+
+"How far?" asked Margery. "As far as THAT?" and she measured nine
+inches in the air.
+
+"About forty-four miles--when he came to a beautiful garden."
+
+"Was it a really lovely big garden? Bigger than ours?"
+
+"Oh, much bigger."
+
+"Bigger than yours?"
+
+"I haven't got a garden."
+
+Margery looked at me wonderingly. She opened her mouth to speak, and
+then stopped and rested her head upon her hands and thought out this
+new situation. At last, her face flushed with happiness, she
+announced her decision.
+
+"Go on telling me about Beauty and the Beast now," she said
+breathlessly, "and THEN tell me why you haven't got a garden."
+
+My average time for Beauty and the Beast is ten minutes, and, if we
+stop at the place when the Beast thought he was dead, six minutes
+twenty-five seconds. But, with the aid of seemingly innocent
+questions, a determined character can make even the craftiest uncle
+spin the story out to half an hour.
+
+"Next time," said Margery, when we had reached the appointed place
+and she was being tucked up in bed, "will you tell me ALL the
+story?"
+
+Was there the shadow of a smile in her eyes? I don't know. But I'm
+sure it will be wisest next time to promise her the whole thing. We
+must make that point clear at the very start, and then we shall get
+along.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+II.--THE LITERARY ART
+
+
+
+
+
+MARGERY has a passion for writing just now. I can see nothing in it
+myself, but if people WILL write, I suppose you can't stop them.
+
+"Will you just lend me your pencil?" she asked.
+
+"Remind me to give you a hundred pencils some time," I said as I
+took it out, "and then you'll always have one. You simply eat
+pencils."
+
+"Oo, I gave it you back last time."
+
+"Only just. You inveigle me down here--"
+
+"What do I do?"
+
+"I'm not going to say that again for anybody."
+
+"Well, may I have the pencil?"
+
+I gave her the pencil and a sheet of paper, and settled her in a
+chair.
+
+"B-a-b-y," said Margery to herself, planning out her weekly article
+for the Reviews. "B-a-b-y, baby." She squared her elbows and began
+to write....
+
+"There!" she said, after five minutes' composition.
+
+The manuscript was brought over to the critic, and the author stood
+proudly by to point out subtleties that might have been overlooked
+at a first reading.
+
+"B-a-b-y," explained the author. "Baby."
+
+"Yes, that's very good; very neatly expressed. 'Baby'--I like that."
+
+"Shall I write some more?" said Margery eagerly.
+
+"Yes, do write some more. This is good, but it's not long enough."
+
+The author retired again, and in five minutes produced this:--
+
+B A B Y
+
+"That's 'baby,'" explained Margery.
+
+"Yes, I like that baby better than the other one. It's more spread
+out. And it's bigger--it's one of the biggest babies I've seen."
+
+"Shall I write some more?"
+
+"Don't you write anything else ever?"
+
+"I like writing 'baby,'" said Margery carelessly. "B-a-b-y."
+
+"Yes, but you can't do much with just that one word. Suppose you
+wanted to write to a man at a shop--'Dear Sir,--You never sent me my
+boots. Please send them at once, as I want to go out this afternoon.
+I am, yours faithfully, Margery'--it would be no good simply putting
+'B-a-b-y,' because he wouldn't know what you meant."
+
+"Well, what WOULD it be good putting?"
+
+"Ah, that's the whole art of writing--to know what it would be any
+good putting. You want to learn lots and lots of new words, so as to
+be ready. Now here's a jolly little one that you ought to meet." I
+took the pencil and wrote GOT. "Got. G-o-t, got."
+
+Margery, her elbows on my knee and her chin resting on her hands,
+studied the position.
+
+"Yes, that's old 'got,'" she said.
+
+"He's always coming in. When you want to say, 'I've got a bad pain,
+so I can't accept your kind invitation'; or when you want to say,
+'Excuse more, as I've got to go to bed now'; or quite simply,
+'You've got my pencil.'"
+
+"G-o-t, got," said Margery. "G-o-t, got. G-o-t, got."
+
+"With appropriate action it makes a very nice recitation."
+
+"Is THAT a 'g'?" said Margery, busy with the pencil, which she had
+snatched from me.
+
+"The gentleman with the tail. You haven't made his tail quite long
+enough.... That's better."
+
+Margery retired to her study, charged with an entirely new
+inspiration, and wrote her second manifesto. It was this:--
+
+G O T
+
+"Got," she pointed out.
+
+I inspected it carefully. Coming fresh to the idea Margery had
+treated it more spontaneously than the other. But it was distinctly
+a "got." One of the gots.
+
+"Have you any more words?" she asked, holding tight to the pencil.
+
+"You've about exhausted me, Margery."
+
+"What was that one you said just now? The one you said you wouldn't
+say again?"
+
+"Oh, you mean 'inveigle'?" I said, pronouncing it differently this
+time.
+
+"Yes; write that for me."
+
+"It hardly ever comes in. Only when you are writing to your
+solicitor."
+
+"What's 'solicitor'?"
+
+"He's the gentleman who takes the money. He's ALWAYS coming in."
+
+"Then write 'solicitor.'"
+
+I took the pencil (it was my turn for it) and wrote SOLICITOR. Then
+I read it out slowly to Margery, spelt it to her three times very
+carefully, and wrote SOLICITOR again. Then I said it thoughtfully to
+myself half a dozen times--"Solicitor." Then I looked at it
+wonderingly.
+
+"I am not sure now," I said, "that there is such a word."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"I thought there was when I began, but now I don't think there can
+be. 'Solicitor'--it seems so silly."
+
+"Let me write it," said Margery, eagerly taking the paper and
+pencil, "and see if it looks silly."
+
+She retired, and--as well as she could for her excitement--copied
+the word down underneath. The combined effort then read as
+follows:--
+
+SOLICITOR SOLICITOR SOLCTOR
+
+"Yes, you've done it a lot of good," I said. "You've taken some of
+the creases out. I like that much better."
+
+"Do you think there is such a word now?"
+
+"I'm beginning to feel more easy about it. I'm not certain, but I
+hope."
+
+"So do I," said Margery. With the pencil in one hand and the various
+scraps of paper in the other, she climbed on to the writing-desk and
+gave herself up to literature....
+
+And it seems to me that she is well equipped for the task. For
+besides having my pencil still (of which I say nothing for the
+moment) she has now three separate themes upon which to ring the
+changes--a range wide enough for any writer. These are, "Baby got
+solicitor" (supposing that there is such a word), "Solicitor got
+baby," and "Got baby solicitor." Indeed, there are really four
+themes here, for the last one can have two interpretations. It might
+mean that you had obtained an ordinary solicitor for Baby, or it
+might mean that you had got a specially small one for yourself. It
+lacks, therefore, the lucidity of the best authors, but in a woman
+writer this may be forgiven.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+III.--MY SECRETARY
+
+
+
+
+
+When, five years ago, I used to write long letters to Margery, for
+some reason or other she never wrote back. To save her face I had to
+answer the letters myself--a tedious business. Still, I must admit
+that the warmth and geniality of the replies gave me a certain
+standing with my friends, who had not looked for me to be so
+popular. After some months, however, pride stepped in. One cannot
+pour out letter after letter to a lady without any acknowledgment
+save from oneself. And when even my own acknowledgments began to
+lose their first warmth--when, for instance, I answered four pages
+about my new pianola with the curt reminder that I was learning to
+walk and couldn't be bothered with music, why, then at last I saw
+that a correspondence so one-sided would have to come to an end. I
+wrote a farewell letter and replied to it with tears....
+
+But, bless you, that was nearly five years ago. Each morning now,
+among the usual pile of notes on my plate from duchesses,
+publishers, money-lenders, actor-managers and what-not, I find,
+likely enough, an envelope in Margery's own handwriting. Not only is
+my address printed upon it legibly, but there are also such extra
+directions to the postman as "England" and "Important," for its more
+speedy arrival. And inside--well, I give you the last but seven.
+
+"MY DEAR UNCLE I thot you wher coming to see me to night but you
+didn't why didn't you baby has p t o hurt her knee isnt that a pity
+I have some new toys isnt that jolly we didn't have our five minutes
+so will you krite to me and tell me all about p t o your work from
+your loving little MARGIE."
+
+I always think that footnotes to a letter are a mistake, but there
+are one or two things I should like to explain.
+
+(A) Just as some journalists feel that without the word "economic" a
+leading article lacks tone, so Margery feels, and I agree with her,
+that a certain cachet is lent to a letter by a p.t.o. at the bottom
+of each page.
+
+(B) There are lots of grown-up people who think that "write" is
+spelt "rite." Margery knows that this is not so. She knows that
+there is a silent letter in front of the "r," which doesn't do
+anything but likes to be there. Obviously, if nobody is going to
+take any notice of this extra letter, it doesn't much matter what it
+is. Margery happened to want to make a "k" just then; at a pinch it
+could be as silent as a "w." You will please, therefore, regard the
+"k" in "krite" as absolutely noiseless.
+
+(C) Both Margery and Bernard Shaw prefer to leave out the apostrophe
+in writing such words as "isn't" and "don't."
+
+(D) Years ago I claimed the privilege to monopolise, on the
+occasional evenings when I was there, Margery's last ten minutes
+before she goes back to some heaven of her own each night. This
+privilege was granted; it being felt, no doubt, that she owed me
+some compensation for my early secretarial work on her behalf. We
+used to spend the ten minutes in listening to my telling a fairy
+story, always the same one. One day the authorities stepped in and
+announced that in future the ten minutes would be reduced to five.
+The procedure seemed to me absolutely illegal (and I should like to
+bring a test action against somebody), but it certainly did put the
+lid on my fairy story, of which I was getting more than a little
+tired.
+
+"Tell me about Beauty and the Beast," said Margery as usual that
+evening.
+
+"There's not time," I said. "We've only five minutes to-night."
+
+"Oh! Then tell me all the work you've done to-day."
+
+(A little unkind, you'll agree, but you know what relations are.)
+
+And so now I have to cram the record of my day's work into five
+breathless minutes. You will understand what bare justice I can do
+to it in the time.
+
+I am sorry that these footnotes have grown so big; let us leave them
+and return to the letter. There are many ways of answering such a
+letter. One might say, "MY DEAR MARGERY,--It was jolly to get a real
+letter from you at last--" but the "at last" would seem rather
+tactless considering what had passed years before. Or one might say,
+"MY DEAR MARGERY,--Thank you for your jolly letter. I am so sorry
+about baby's knee and so glad about your toys. Perhaps if you gave
+one of the toys to baby, then her knee--" But I feel sure that
+Margery would expect me to do better than that.
+
+In the particular case of this last letter but seven I wrote:--
+
+"DEAREST MARGERY,--Thank you for your sweet letter. I had a very
+busy day at the office or I would have come to see you. P.T.O.--I
+hope to be down next week, and then I will tell you all about my
+work; but I have a lot more to do now, and so I must say Good-bye.
+Your loving UNCLE."
+
+There is perhaps nothing in that which demands an immediate answer,
+but with business-like promptitude Margery replied:--
+
+"MY DEAR UNCLE thank you for your letter I am glad you are coming
+next week baby is quite well now are you p t o coming on Thursday
+next week or not say yes if you are I am p t o sorry you are working
+so hard from your loving MARGIE."
+
+I said "Yes," and that I was her loving uncle. It seemed to be then
+too late for a "P.T.O.," but I got one in and put on the back, "Love
+to Baby." The answer came by return of post:--
+
+"MY DEAR UNCLE thank you for your letter come erly on p t o Thursday
+come at half past nothing baby sends her love and so do p t o I my
+roking horse has a sirrup broken isnt that a pity say yes or no
+good-bye from your loving MARGIE."
+
+Of course I thanked Baby for her love and gave my decision that it
+WAS a pity about the rocking-horse. I did it in large capitals,
+which (as I ought to have said before) is the means of communication
+between Margery and her friends. For some reason or other I find
+printing capitals to be more tiring than the ordinary method of
+writing.
+
+"MY DEAR UNCLE," wrote Margery--
+
+But we need not go into that. What I want to say is this: I love to
+get letters, particularly these, but I hate writing them,
+particularly in capitals. Years ago, I used to answer Margery's
+letters for her. It is now her turn to answer mine for me.
+
+CHUM
+
+IT is Chum's birthday to-morrow, and I am going to buy him a little
+whip for a present, with a whistle at the end of it. When I next go
+into the country to see him I shall take it with me and explain it
+to him. Two days' firmness would make him quite a sensible dog. I
+have often threatened to begin the treatment on my very next visit,
+but somehow it has been put off; the occasion of his birthday offers
+a last opportunity.
+
+It is rather absurd, though, to talk of birthdays in connection with
+Chum, for he has been no more than three months old since we have
+had him. He is a black spaniel who has never grown up. He has a
+beautiful astrakhan coat which gleams when the sun is on it; but he
+stands so low in the water that the front of it is always getting
+dirty, and his ears and the ends of his trousers trail in the mud. A
+great authority has told us that, but for three white hairs on his
+shirt (upon so little do class distinctions hang), he would be a
+Cocker of irreproachable birth. A still greater authority has sworn
+that he is a Sussex. The family is indifferent--it only calls him a
+Silly Ass. Why he was christened Chum I do not know; and as he never
+recognizes the name it doesn't matter.
+
+When he first came to stay with us I took him a walk round the
+village. I wanted to show him the lie of the land. He had never seen
+the country before and was full of interest. He trotted into a
+cottage garden and came back with something to show me.
+
+"You'll never guess," he said. "Look!" and he dropped at my feet a
+chick just out of the egg.
+
+I smacked his head and took him into the cottage to explain.
+
+"My dog," I said, "has eaten one of your chickens."
+
+Chum nudged me in the ankle and grinned.
+
+"TWO of your chickens," I corrected myself, looking at the fresh
+evidence which he had just brought to light.
+
+"You don't want me any more?" said Chum, as the financial
+arrangements proceeded. "Then I'll just go and find somewhere for
+these two." And he picked them up and trotted into the sun.
+
+When I came out I was greeted effusively.
+
+"This is a wonderful day," he panted, as he wriggled his body. "I
+didn't know the country was like this. What do we do now?"
+
+"We go home," I said, and we went.
+
+That was Chum's last day of freedom. He keeps inside the front gate
+now. But he is still a happy dog; there is plenty doing in the
+garden. There are beds to walk over, there are blackbirds in the
+apple tree to bark at. The world is still full of wonderful things.
+"Why, only last Wednesday," he will tell you, "the fishmonger left
+his basket in the drive. There was a haddock in it, if you'll
+believe me, for master's breakfast, so of course I saved it for him.
+I put it on the grass just in front of his study window, where he'd
+be SURE to notice it. Bless you, there's always SOMETHING to do in
+this house. One is never idle."
+
+And even when there is nothing doing, he is still happy; waiting
+cheerfully upon events until they arrange themselves for his
+amusement. He will sit for twenty minutes opposite the garden bank,
+watching for a bumble-bee to come out of its hole. "I saw him go
+in," he says to himself, "so he's bound to come out. Extraordinarily
+interesting world." But to his inferiors (such as the gardener) he
+pretends that it is not pleasure but duty which keeps him. "Don't
+talk to me, fool. Can't you see that I've got a job on here?"
+
+Chum has found, however, that his particular mission in life is to
+purge his master's garden of all birds. This keeps him busy. As soon
+as he sees a blackbird on the lawn he is in full cry after it. When
+he gets to the place and finds the blackbird gone, he pretends that
+he was going there anyhow; he gallops round in circles, rolls over
+once or twice, and then trots back again. "You didn't REALLY think I
+was such a fool as to try to catch a BLACKBIRD?" he says to us. "No,
+I was just taking a little run--splendid thing for the figure."
+
+And it is just Chum's little runs over the beds which call aloud for
+firmness--which, in fact, have inspired my birthday present to him.
+But there is this difficulty to overcome first. When he came to live
+with us an arrangement was entered into (so he says) by which one
+bed was given to him as his own. In that bed he could wander at
+will, burying bones and biscuits, hunting birds. This may have been
+so, but it is a pity that nobody but Chum knows definitely which is
+the bed.
+
+"Chum, you bounder," I shout as he is about to wade through the
+herbaceous border.
+
+He takes no notice; he struggles through to the other side. But a
+sudden thought strikes him, and he pushes his way back again.
+
+"Did you call me?" he says.
+
+"How DARE you walk over the flowers?"
+
+He comes up meekly.
+
+"I suppose I've done SOMETHING wrong," he says, "but I can't THINK
+what."
+
+I smack his head for him. He waits until he is quite sure I have
+finished, and then jumps up with a bark, wipes his paws on my
+trousers and trots into the herbaceous border again.
+
+"Chum!" I cry.
+
+He sits down in it and looks all round him in amazement.
+
+"My own bed!" he murmurs. "Given to me!"
+
+I don't know what it is in him which so catches hold of you. His way
+of sitting, a reproachful statue, motionless outside the window of
+whomever he wants to come out and play with him--until you can bear
+it no longer, but must either go into the garden or draw down the
+blinds for the day; his habit, when you ARE out, of sitting up on
+his back legs and begging you with his front paws to come and DO
+something--a trick entirely of his own invention, for no one would
+think of teaching him anything; his funny nautical roll when he
+walks, which is nearly a swagger, and gives him always the air of
+having just come back from some rather dashing adventure; beyond all
+this there is still something. And whatever it is, it is something
+which every now and then compels you to bend down and catch hold of
+his long silky ears, to look into his honest eyes and say--
+
+"You silly old ass! You DEAR old SILLY old ass!"
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+BETTY
+
+THE HOTEL CHILD
+
+
+
+
+
+I WAS in the lounge when I made her acquaintance, enjoying a pipe
+after tea, and perhaps--I don't know--closing my eyes now and then.
+
+"Would you like to see my shells?" she asked suddenly.
+
+I woke up and looked at her. She was about seven years old, pretty,
+dark, and very much at ease.
+
+"I should love it," I said.
+
+She produced a large paper bag from somewhere, and poured the
+contents in front of me.
+
+"I've got two hundred and fifty-eight," she announced.
+
+"So I see," I said. I wasn't going to count them."
+
+"I think they're very pretty. I'll give you one if you like. Which
+one will you choose?"
+
+I sat up and examined them carefully. Seeing how short a time we had
+known each other, I didn't feel that I could take one of the good
+ones. After a little thought I chose quite a plain one, which had
+belonged to a winkle some weeks ago.
+
+"Thank you very much," I said.
+
+"I don't think you choose shells at all well," she said scornfully.
+"That's one of the ugly ones."
+
+"It will grow on me," I explained. "In a year or two I shall think
+it beautiful."
+
+"I'll let you have this one too," said she, picking out the best.
+"Now, shall we play at something?"
+
+I had been playing at something all day. A little thinking in front
+of the fire was my present programme.
+
+"Let's talk instead," I suggested. "What's your name?"
+
+"Betty."
+
+"I knew it was Betty. You look just like Betty."
+
+"What's yours?"
+
+Somehow I hadn't expected that. After all, though, it was only fair.
+
+"Orlando," I said.
+
+"What a funny name. I don't like it."
+
+"You should have said so before. It's too late now. What have you
+been doing all day?"
+
+"Playing on the sands. What have you been doing?"
+
+"I've been playing in the sand too. I suppose, Betty, you know
+nearly everybody in the hotel?"
+
+"Oh, I play with them all sometimes."
+
+
+"Yes; then tell me, Betty, do you ever get asked what time you go to
+bed?"
+
+"They ALL ask me that," said Betty promptly.
+
+"I think I should like to ask you too," I said, "just to be in the
+movement. When is it?"
+
+"Half-past six." She looked at the clock. "So we've got half an
+hour. I'll get my ball."
+
+Before I had time to do anything about it, the ball came bouncing
+in, hit me on the side of the head, and hurried off to hide itself
+under an old lady dozing in the corner. Betty followed more
+sedately.
+
+"Where's my ball?" she asked.
+
+"Has it come in?" I said in surprise. "Then it must have gone out
+again. It noticed you weren't here."
+
+"I believe you've got it."
+
+"I swear I haven't, Betty. I think the lady in the corner knows
+something about it."
+
+Betty rushed across to her and began to crawl under her chair. I
+nervously rehearsed a few sentences to myself.
+
+"It is not my child, madam. I found it here. Surely you can see that
+there is no likeness between us? If we keep quite still perhaps it
+will go away."
+
+"I've got it," cried Betty, and the old lady woke up with a jerk.
+
+"What are you doing, child?" she said crossly.
+
+"Your little girl, madam," I began--but Betty's ball bit me on the
+head again before I could develop my theme.
+
+"Your little girl, sir," began the old lady at the same moment.
+
+"I said it first," I murmured. "Betty," I went on aloud, "what is
+your name, my child?"
+
+"You've just said it."
+
+"I mean," I corrected myself quickly, "where do you live?"
+
+"Kensington."
+
+I looked triumphantly at the old lady. Surely a father wouldn't need
+to ask his own child where she lived? However, the old lady was
+asleep again. I turned to Betty.
+
+"We shall have to play this game more quietly," I said. "In fact, we
+had better make some new rules. Instead of hitting me on the head
+each time, you can roll the ball gently along the floor to me, and I
+shall roll it gently back to you. And the one who misses it first
+goes to bed."
+
+I gave her an easy one to start with, wishing to work up naturally
+to the denouement, and she gave me a very difficult one back, not
+quite understanding the object of the game.
+
+"You've got to go to bed," she cried, clapping her hands. "You've
+got--to go--to bed. You've got--to go--to bed. You've--"
+
+"All right," I said coldly. "Don't make a song about it."
+
+It was ten minutes past six. I generally go to bed at eleven-thirty.
+It would be the longest night I had had for years. I sighed and
+prepared to go.
+
+"You needn't go till half-past," said Betty kindly.
+
+"No, no," I said firmly. "Rules are rules." I had just remembered
+that there was nothing in the rules about not getting up again.
+
+"Then I'll come with you and see your room."
+
+"No, you mustn't do that; you'd fall out of the window. It's a very
+tricky window. I'm always falling out of it myself."
+
+"Then let's go on playing here, and we won't go to bed if we miss."
+
+"Very well," I agreed. Really there was nothing else for it.
+
+Robbed of its chief interest, the game proved, after ten minutes or
+so, to be one of the duller ones. Whatever people say, I don't think
+it compares with cricket, for instance. It is certainly not so
+subtle as golf.
+
+"I like playing this game," said Betty. "Don't you?"
+
+"I think I shall get to love it," I said, looking at the clock.
+There were still five minutes, and I rolled down a very fast googly
+which beat her entirely and went straight for the door. Under the
+old rules she would have gone to bed at once. Alas, that--
+
+"Look out," I said as she went after it, "there's somebody coming
+in."
+
+Somebody came in. She smiled ruefully at us and then took Betty's
+hand.
+
+"I'm afraid my little girl has been worrying you," she said
+prettily.
+
+"I KNEW you'd say that," said Betty.
+
+CINDERELLA
+
+(BEING AN EXTRACT FROM HER DIARY--PICKED UP BEHIND THE SCENES)
+
+TUESDAY.--Sometimes I think I am a very lucky girl having two big
+sisters to look after me. I expect there are lots of young girls who
+have nobody at all, and I think they must be so lonely. There is
+always plenty of fun going on in our house. Yesterday I heard Sister
+Fred telling Sister Bert something about her old man coming home
+very late one night--I didn't quite understand who the old man was,
+or what it was all about, but I know Sister Bert thought it was very
+funny, and I seemed to hear a lot of people laughing; perhaps it was
+the fairies. And then whenever Sister Bert sits down she always
+pulls her skirt right up to her knees, so as people can see her
+stockings. I mean there's always SOMETHING amusing happening.
+
+Of course I have a good deal of work to do, and all the washing up,
+but my sisters are so big and strong that one can't expect them to
+bother themselves with niggling little things like that. Besides,
+they have so many other things to do. Only this morning, when Sister
+Bert was just going to sit down, Sister Fred pulled away her chair,
+and she sat on the floor and her legs went up in the air. She said
+it was a "grand slam," which some of us thought very funny. I didn't
+laugh myself, because I never go out anywhere, and so I don't
+understand topical remarks, but I do think it is nice to live in
+such an amusing house.
+
+(LATER.)--A wonderful thing has happened! Two messengers came from
+the Prince an hour ago to invite us to the ball to-night! I'd never
+seen a messenger in my life, so I peeped out of the chimney corner
+at them and wondered if they would stay to tea. But instead of that
+my sisters put up what they call a "trapeze" (I never knew we had
+one before), and the messengers did some EXTRAORDINARY things on it,
+I thought they would kill themselves. After it was over, Sister Fred
+told them a lot of stories about the old man, and altogether it was
+quite different from what I expected. Ours IS a funny house.
+
+As soon as the messengers had gone, my sisters began to get ready
+for the ball. I knew I shouldn't be able to go, because I haven't
+got a frock, and I simply COULDN'T wear anything of theirs, they are
+so much bigger than I am. They finished dressing DOWNSTAIRS for some
+reason, where anybody might have seen them--they are so funny about
+things like that--and we had a lot of laughter about the clothes
+being too tight and so on. I think anything like that is so amusing.
+Then they went off, and here I am all alone. It is getting dark, and
+so I am going to cheer myself up by singing a little.
+
+(LATER).--I AM GOING TO THE BALL! My Fairy Godmother, whom I had
+often heard about, suddenly came to see us. I told her my sisters
+were out, and she asked where they had gone, and wouldn't I like to
+go too, so of course I said I should LOVE it. So I am going, and she
+has got a frock for me and everything. She is very kind, but not
+quite so FAIRY-LIKE as I expected.
+
+WEDNESDAY.--I have had a LOVELY time, and I think I am in love. I
+got to the Ball just as the juggling and the ventriloquism were
+over--it must be a delightful Court to live in--and there was SUCH a
+sensation as I appeared. The Prince singled me out at once. He has
+the pinkest cheeks and the reddest lips of any man I know, and his
+voice is soft and gentle, and oh! I love him. One wants a man to be
+manly and a woman to be womanly, and I don't think I should love a
+man if he were at all like Sister Fred or Sister Bert. The Prince is
+QUITE different. We were alone most of the time, and we sang several
+songs together. My sisters never recognized me; it was most
+surprising. I heard Sister Fred telling a very fine-looking
+gentleman a story about a lodger (whatever that is) who had a bit of
+a head; it sounded very humorous. Wherever Sister Fred goes there is
+sure to be fun. I am indeed a lucky girl to have two such sisters
+and to be in love with a Prince. Sister Bert sat down on the floor
+twice--it was most amusing.
+
+A terrible thing happened just as the clock struck twelve. All my
+clothes turned into rags, and I just RAN out of the room, I was so
+frightened. Then I remembered what my Fairy Godmother had said about
+leaving before twelve o'clock. I suppose she knew what would happen
+if I didn't. I'm afraid I left a glass slipper behind--I hope she
+won't mind about it.
+
+Well, I've had a lovely time. Even if I never see the Prince again,
+I shall always have this to look back to. I don't mind WHAT happens
+now.
+
+THURSDAY.--I AM GOING TO MARRY THE PRINCE! I can't believe it is
+true. Perhaps it is only a dream, and I shall wake up soon, but even
+if it's a dream it's just as good as if it were real. It was all
+because of the slipper I left behind. The Prince said that he would
+marry the person whom it fitted, because he had fallen in love with
+the lady who wore it at the ball (ME!), and so everybody tried it
+on. And they came to our house, and Sister Bert tried it on. She
+pulled her skirt up to her knees and made everybody laugh, but even
+then she couldn't get into it. And Sister Fred made a lot of faces,
+but SHE couldn't. So I said, "Let ME try," and they all laughed, but
+the Prince said I should, and of course it fitted at once. Then they
+all recognized me, and the Prince kissed me, and a whole lot of
+people came into the house who had never been invited, and we had
+the trapeze out again, and there was juggling and ventriloquism, and
+we all sang songs about somebody called Flanagan (whom I don't think
+I have ever met), and Sister Bert kept sitting down suddenly on the
+floor. (But the Prince didn't think this was at all funny, so I
+expect I must have been right all the time when I have only
+PRETENDED to laugh. I used to think that perhaps I hadn't a sense of
+humour.) And then the Prince kissed me again, and my Fairy Godmother
+came in and kissed us both. Of course we do owe it all to her
+really, and I shall tell Charming so.
+
+I do think I am a wonderful person!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+FATHER CHRISTMAS
+
+
+
+
+
+Outside in the street the rain fell pitilessly, but inside the
+Children's Shop all was warmth and brightness. Happy young people of
+all ages pressed along, and I had no sooner opened the door than I
+was received into the eager stream of shoppers and hurried away to
+Fairyland. A slight block at one corner pitched me into an old,
+white-bearded gentleman who was standing next to me. Instantly my
+hat was in my hand.
+
+"I beg your pardon," I said with a bow. "I was--Oh, I'm sorry, I
+thought you were real." I straightened him up, looked at his price,
+and wondered whether I should buy him.
+
+"What do you mean by real?" he said.
+
+I started violently and took my hat off again.
+
+"I am very stupid this morning," I began. "The fact is I mistook you
+for a toy. A foolish error."
+
+"I AM a toy."
+
+"In that case," I said in some annoyance, "I can't stay here arguing
+with you. Good-morning." And I took my hat off for the third time.
+
+"Don't go. Stop and buy me. You'll never get what you want if you
+don't take me with you. I've been in this place for years, and I
+know exactly where everything is. Besides, as I shall have to give
+away all your presents for you, it's only fair that--"
+
+An attendant came up and looked at me inquiringly.
+
+"How much is this THING?" I said, and jerked a thumb at it.
+
+"The Father Christmas?"
+
+"Yes. I think I'll have it. I'll take it with me--you needn't wrap
+it up."
+
+I handed over some money and we pushed on together.
+
+"You heard what I called you?" I said to him. "A thing. So don't go
+putting yourself forward."
+
+He gazed up innocently from under my arm.
+
+"What shall we get first?" he asked.
+
+"I want the engine-room. The locomotive in the home. The boy's own
+railroad track."
+
+"That's downstairs. But did you really think of an engine? I mean,
+isn't it rather large and heavy? Why not get a--"
+
+I smacked his head, and we went downstairs.
+
+It was a delightful room. I was introduced to practically the whole
+of the Great Western Railway's rolling stock.
+
+"Engine, three carriages and a guard's van. That's right. Then I
+shall want some rails, of course.... SHUT up, will you?" I said
+angrily, when the attendant was out of hearing.
+
+"It's the extra weight," he sighed. "The reindeer don't like it. And
+these modern chimneys--you've no idea what a squeeze it is.
+However--"
+
+"Those are very jolly," I said when I had examined the rails. "I
+shall want about a mile of them. Threepence ha'penny a foot? Then I
+shan't want nearly a mile."
+
+I got about thirty feet, and then turned to switches and signals and
+lamps and things. I bought a lot of those. You never know what
+emergency might not arise on the nursery floor, and if anything
+happened for want of a switch or two I should never forgive myself.
+
+Just as we were going away I caught sight of the jolliest little
+clockwork torpedo boat. I stopped irresolute.
+
+"Don't be silly," said the voice under my arm. "You'll never be
+asked to the house again if you give that."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Wait till the children have fallen into the bath once or twice with
+all their clothes on, and then ask the mother why not."
+
+"I see," I said stiffly, and we went upstairs.
+
+"The next thing we want is bricks."
+
+"Bricks," said Father Christmas uneasily. "Bricks. Yes, there's
+bricks. Have you ever thought of one of those nice little woolly
+rabbits--"
+
+"Where do we get bricks?"
+
+"Bricks. You know, I don't think mothers are as fond as all that of
+BRICKS."
+
+"I got the mother's present yesterday, thanks very much. This is for
+one of the children."
+
+They showed me bricks and they showed me pictures of what the bricks
+would build. Palaces, simply palaces. Gone was the Balbus-wall of
+our youth; gone was the fort with its arrow-holes for the archers.
+Nothing now but temples and Moorish palaces.
+
+"Jove, I should love that," I said." I mean HE would love that. Do
+you want much land for a house of that size? I know of a site on the
+nursery floor, but--well, of course, we could always have an iron
+building outside in the passage for the billiard table."
+
+We paid and moved off again.
+
+"What are you mumbling about now?" I asked.
+
+"I said you'll only make the boy discontented with his present home
+if you teach him to build nothing but castles and ruined abbeys and
+things. And you WILL run to bulk. Half of those bricks would have
+made a very nice present for anybody."
+
+"Yes, and when royalty comes on a visit, where would you put them?
+They'd have to pig it in the box-room. If we're going to have a
+palace, let's have a good one."
+
+"Very well. What do your children hang up? Stockings or
+pillow-cases?"
+
+We went downstairs again.
+
+"Having provided for the engineer and the architect," I said, "we
+now have to consider the gentleman in the dairy business. I want a
+milk-cart."
+
+"You want a milk-cart! You want a milk-cart! You want a--Why not
+have a brewer's dray? Why not have something really heavy? The
+reindeer wouldn't mind. They've been out every day this week, but
+they'd love it. What about a nice skating-rink? What about--"
+
+I put him head downwards in my pocket and approached an official.
+
+"Do you keep milk-carts?" I said diffidently.
+
+He screwed up his face and thought.
+
+"I could get you one," he said.
+
+"I don't want you to build one specially for me. If they aren't
+made, I expect it's because mothers don't like them. It was just an
+idea of mine."
+
+"Oh yes, they're made. I can show a picture of one in our
+catalogue."
+
+He showed it to me. It was about the size of a perambulator, and
+contained every kind of can. I simply had to let Father Christmas
+see.
+
+"Look at that!" I exclaimed in delight.
+
+"Good lord!" he said, and dived into the pocket again.
+
+I held him there tightly and finished my business with the official.
+
+Father Christmas has never spoken since. Sometimes I wonder if he
+ever spoke at all, for one imagines strange things in the Children's
+Shop. He stands now on my writing-table, and observes me with the
+friendly smile which has been so fixed a feature of his since I
+brought him home.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+MISS MIDDLETON
+
+I.--TAKING A CALL
+
+
+
+
+
+"MAY I come in?" said Miss Middleton.
+
+I looked up from my book and stared at her in amazement.
+
+"Hullo," I said.
+
+"Hullo," said Miss Middleton doubtfully.
+
+"Are you going to have tea with me?"
+
+"That's what I was wondering all the way up."
+
+"It's all ready; in fact, I've nearly finished. There's a cake
+to-day, too."
+
+Miss Middleton hesitated at the door and looked wistfully at me.
+
+"I suppose--I suppose," she said timidly, "you think I ought to have
+brought somebody, with me?"
+
+"In a way, I'm just as glad you didn't."
+
+"I've heaps of chaperons outside on the stairs, you know."
+
+"There's no place like outside for chaperons."
+
+"And the liftman believes I'm your aunt. At least, perhaps he
+doesn't, but I mentioned it to him."
+
+I looked at her, and then I smiled. And then I laughed.
+
+"So that's all right," she said breathlessly. "And I want my tea."
+She came in, and began to arrange her hat in front of the glass.
+
+"Tea," I said, going to the cupboard. "I suppose you'll want a cup
+to yourself. There you are--don't lose it. Milk. Sugar."
+
+Miss Middleton took a large piece of cake. "What were you studying
+so earnestly when I came in?" she asked as she munched.
+
+"A dictionary."
+
+"But how lucky I came. Because I can spell simply everything. What
+is it you want to know?"
+
+"I don't want to know how to spell anything, thank you; but I
+believe you can help me all the same."
+
+Miss Middleton sat down and drank her tea. "I love helping," she
+said.
+
+"Well, it's this. I've just been asked to be a godfather."
+
+Miss Middleton stood up suddenly. "Do I salute," she asked.
+
+"You sit down and go on eating. The difficulty is--what to call it?"
+
+"Oh, do godfathers provide the names?"
+
+"I think so. It is what they are there for, I fancy. That is about
+all there is in it, I believe."
+
+"And can't you find anything in the dictionary?"
+
+"Well, I don't think the dictionary is helping as much as I
+expected. It only muddles me. Did you know that Algernon meant 'with
+whiskers'? I'm not thinking of calling it Algernon, but that's the
+sort of thing they spring on you."
+
+"But I hate Algernon anyhow. Why not choose quite a simple name? Had
+you thought of 'John,' for instance?"
+
+"No, I hadn't thought of 'John,' somehow."
+
+"Or 'Gerald'?"
+
+"'Gerald' I like very much."
+
+"What about 'Dick'?" she went on eagerly.
+
+"Yes, 'Dick' is quite jolly. By the way, did I tell you it was a
+girl?"
+
+Miss Middleton rose with dignity.
+
+"For your slice of plum cake and your small cup of tea I thank you,"
+she said; "and I am now going straight home to mother."
+
+"Not yet," I pleaded.
+
+"I'll just ask you one question before I go. Where do you keep the
+biscuits?"
+
+She found the biscuits and sat down again.
+
+"A girl's name," I said encouragingly.
+
+"Yes. Well, is she fair or dark?"
+
+"She's very small at present. What there is of her is dark, I
+believe."
+
+"Well, there are millions of names for dark girls."
+
+"We only want one or two."
+
+"'Barbara' is a nice dark name. Is she going to be pretty?"
+
+"Her mother says she is. I didn't recognize the symptoms. Very
+pretty and very clever and very high-spirited, her mother says. Is
+there a name for that?"
+
+"_I_ always call them whoppers," said Miss Middleton.
+
+"How do you like 'Alison Mary'? That was my first idea."
+
+"Oh, I thought it was always 'William and Mary.' Or else 'Victoria
+and Albert.'"
+
+"I didn't say 'Alice AND Mary,' stoopid. I said 'Alison,' a Scotch
+name."
+
+"But how perfectly sweet! Why weren't you MY godfather? Would you
+have given me a napkin ring?"
+
+"Probably. I will now, if you like. Then you approve of 'Alison
+Mary'?"
+
+"I love it. Thank you very much. And will you always call me
+'Alison' in future?"
+
+"I say," I began in alarm, "I'm not giving that name to you. It's
+for my godchild."
+
+"Oh no! 'Alisons' are ALWAYS fair."
+
+"You've just made that up," I said suspiciously. "How do you know?"
+
+"Sort of instinct."
+
+"The worst of it is, I believe you're right."
+
+"Of course I am. That settles it. Now, what was your next idea?"
+
+"'Angela.'"
+
+"'Angelas,'" said Miss Middleton, "are ALWAYS fair."
+
+"Why do you want all the names to yourself? You say everything's
+fair."
+
+"Why can you only think of names beginning with 'A'? Try another
+letter."
+
+"Suppose YOU try now."
+
+Miss Middleton wrinkled her brow and nibbled a lump of sugar.
+
+"'Dorothy,'" she said at last, "because you can call them 'Dolly.'"
+
+"There IS only one."
+
+"Or 'Dodo.'"
+
+"And it isn't a bird."
+
+"Then there's 'Violet.'"
+
+"My good girl, you don't understand. Any of these common names the
+parents could have thought of for themselves. The fact that they
+have got me in at great expense--to myself--shows that they want
+something out of the ordinary. How can I go to them and say, 'After
+giving a vast amount of time to the question, I have decided to call
+your child 'Violet'? It can't be done."
+
+Miss Middleton absently took another lump of sugar and, catching my
+eye, put it back again.
+
+"I don't believe that you've ever been a godfather before," she
+said, "or that you know anything at all about what it is you're
+supposed to be going to do."
+
+There was a knock at the door, and the liftman came in. Miss
+Middleton gave a little cough of recognition.
+
+"A letter, sir," he said.
+
+"Thanks.... And as I was saying, Aunt Alison," I went on in a loud
+voice, "you are talking rubbish."
+
+. . . . . . .
+
+"Bah!" I said angrily, and I threw the letter down.
+
+"Would you like to be left alone?" suggested Miss Middleton kindly.
+
+"It is from the child's so-called parents, and their wretched
+offspring is to be called 'Violet Daisy.'"
+
+"'Violet Daisy,'" said Miss Middleton solemnly, trying not to smile.
+
+"Why stop there?" I said bitterly. "Why not 'Geranium' and
+'Artichoke,' and the whole blessed garden?"
+
+"'Artichoke,'" said Miss Middleton gravely, "is a boy's name."
+
+"Well, I wash my hands of the whole business now. No napkin ring
+from ME. Here have I been wasting hours and hours in thought, and
+then just when the worst of it is over, they calmly step in like
+this. I call it--"
+
+"Yes?" said Miss Middleton eagerly.
+
+"I call it simply--"
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"'Violet Daisy,'" I finished, with a great effort.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+II.--OUT OF THE HURLY-BURLY
+
+
+
+
+
+"OUR dance," I said; "and it's no good pretending it isn't."
+
+"Come on," said Miss Middleton. "It's my favourite waltz. I expect
+I've said that to all my partners to-night."
+
+"It's my favourite too, but you're the first person I've told."
+
+"The worst of having a dance in your own house," said Miss
+Middleton, after we had been once round the room in silence, "is
+that you have to dance with EVERYBODY."
+
+"Have you said that to all your partners too?"
+
+"I expect so. I must have said everything. Don't look so
+reproachfully at me. You ARE looking reproachful, aren't you?"
+
+I let go with one hand and felt my face.
+
+"Yes," I said. "That's how I do it."
+
+"Well, you needn't bother, because none of them thought I meant
+THEM. Men never do."
+
+"I shall have to think that over by myself," I said after a pause.
+"There's a lot in that which the untrained observer might miss.
+Anyhow, it's not at all the sort of thing that a young girl ought to
+say at a dance."
+
+"I'm older than you think," said Miss Middleton. "Oh, bother, I
+forgot. You know how old I am."
+
+"Perhaps you've been ageing lately. I have. This last election has
+added years to my life. I came here to get young again."
+
+"I don't know anything about politics. Father does all the knowing
+in our family."
+
+"He's on the right side, isn't he?"
+
+"I think he is. He says he is."
+
+"Oh, well, he ought to know.... Yes, the truth is I came here to be
+liked again. People and I have been saying awfully rude things to
+each other lately."
+
+"Oh, why do you want to argue about politics?"
+
+"But I DON'T want to. It's a funny thing, but nobody will believe me
+when I say that."
+
+"I expect it's because you say it AFTER you've finished arguing,
+instead of BEFORE,"
+
+"Perhaps that's it."
+
+"I never argue with mother. I simply tell her to do something, and
+she tells me afterwards why she hasn't."
+
+"Really, I think Mrs Middleton has done wonderfully well,
+considering. Some parents don't even tell you why they haven't."
+
+"Oh, I'd recommend her anywhere," said Miss Middleton confidently.
+
+We dropped into silence again. Anyhow, it was MY favourite waltz.
+
+"You did say, didn't you, the first dance we had together," said
+Miss Middleton dreamily, "that you preferred not to talk when you
+danced?"
+
+"Didn't I say that I should prefer to do whatever you preferred?
+That sounds more like me."
+
+"I don't think it does, a bit."
+
+"No, perhaps you're right. Besides, I remember now what I did say. I
+said that much as I enjoyed the pleasant give and take of friendly
+conversation, dearly as I loved even the irresponsible monologue or
+the biting repartee, yet still more was I attached to the silent
+worship of the valse's mazy rhythm. 'BUT,' I went on to say, 'but,'
+I added, with surprising originality, 'every rule has an exception.
+YOU are the exception. May I have two dances, and then we'll try one
+of each?'"
+
+"What did I say?"
+
+"You said, 'Sir, something tells me that we shall be great friends.
+I like your face, and I like the way your tie goes under your left
+ear. I cannot give you ALL the dances on the programme, because I
+have my mother with me to-night, and you know what mothers are. They
+NOTICE. But anything up to half a dozen, distributed at such
+intervals that one's guardians will think it's the same dance, you
+are heartily welcome to. And if you care to take me in to supper,
+there is--I have the information straight from the stable--a line in
+unbreakable meringues which would well be worth our attention.'
+That's what you said."
+
+"But what a memory!"
+
+"I can remember more than that. I can rememher the actual struggle.
+I got my meringue down on the mat, both shoulders touching, in one
+minute, forty-three seconds."
+
+The band died slowly down until no sound could be heard above the
+rustle of frocks ... and suddenly everybody realized that it had
+stopped.
+
+"Bother," said Miss Middleton.
+
+"That's just like a band," I said bitterly.
+
+"I'll tell it to go on again; it's MY band."
+
+"It will be your devoted band if you ask it prettily enough."
+
+Miss Middleton went away, and came back to the sound of music,
+looking rather pleased with herself.
+
+"Did you give him the famous smile?" I asked. "Yes, that one."
+
+"I said, 'WOULD you mind playing that one again, PLEASE?' And
+then--"
+
+"And then you looked as if you were just going to cry, and at the
+last moment you smiled and said, 'Hooray.' And he said, 'Certainly,
+madam.' Isn't that right?"
+
+"I believe you're cleverer than some of us think," said Miss
+Middleton, a trifle anxiously.
+
+"I sometimes think so too. However, to get back to what we were
+saying--I came here to recover my usual calm, and I shan't be at all
+calm if I'm only going to get this one dance from you. As an old
+friend of the family, who has broken most of the windows, I beg for
+another."
+
+"To get back to what I was saying--I've simply GOT to do a lot of
+duty dances. Can't you take me to the Zoo or the Post-Impressionists
+instead?"
+
+"I'd rather do both. I mean all three. No, I mean both."
+
+"Well, perhaps I would, too."
+
+"You know, I think you'd be doing good. I've had a horrible
+week--canvassing, and standing in the streets, and shouting, and
+reading leaders, and arguing, and saying, 'My point is perfectly
+simple,' and--and--swearing, and all sorts of things. It's awfully
+jolly to--to feel that there's always--well, all THIS," and I looked
+round the room, "to come back to."
+
+"Isn't that beautiful Miss Ellison I introduced you to just now part
+of 'all this'?"
+
+"Oh yes, it's all part; but--"
+
+Miss Middleton sighed.
+
+"Then that nice young man with the bald head will have to go
+without. But I only said I'd SEE if I could give him one. And I have
+seen, haven't I?"
+
+The band really stopped this time, and we found a comfortable
+corner.
+
+"That's very jolly of you," I said, as I leant back lazily and
+happily. "Now let's talk about Christmas."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+III.--ANOTHER MILESTONE
+
+
+
+
+
+"You're very thoughtful," said Miss Middleton. "What's the matter?"
+
+"I am extremely unhappy," I confessed.
+
+"Oh, but think of Foster and Hobbs and Woolley."
+
+I thought of Foster; I let my mind dwell upon Hobbs. It was no good.
+
+"I am still rather sad," I said.
+
+"Why? Doesn't anybody love you?"
+
+"Millions adore me fiercely. It isn't that at all. The fact is I've
+just had a birthday."
+
+"Oh, I AM sorry. Many happy--"
+
+"Thank you."
+
+"I thought it was to-morrow," Miss Middleton went on eagerly. "And
+I'd bought a cricketing set for you, but I had to send it back to
+have the bails sawn in two. Or would you rather have had a bicycle?"
+
+"I'd rather have had nothing. I want to forget about my birthday
+altogether."
+
+"Oh, are you as old as that?"
+
+"Yes," I said sadly, "I am as old as that. I have passed another
+landmark. I'm what they call getting on."
+
+We gazed into the fire in silence for some minutes.
+
+"If it's any comfort to you," said Miss Middleton timidly, "to know
+that you don't LOOK any older than you did last week--"
+
+"I'm not sure that I feel any older."
+
+"Then, except for birthdays, how do you know you ARE older?"
+
+I looked at her and saw that I could trust her.
+
+"May I confess to you?" I asked.
+
+"But of course!" she cried eagerly. "I love confessions." She
+settled herself comfortably in her chair. "Make it as horrible as
+you can," she begged.
+
+I picked a coal out of the fire with the tongs and lit my cigarette.
+
+"I know that I'm getting old," I said; "I know that my innocent
+youth is leaving me, because of the strange and terrible things
+which I find myself doing."
+
+"Oo-o-o-oh," said Miss Middleton happily to herself.
+
+"Last Monday, about three o'clock in the afternoon, I--No, I can't
+tell you this. It's too awful."
+
+"Is it very bad?" said Miss Middleton wistfully.
+
+"Very. I don't think you--Oh, well, if you must have it, here it is.
+Last Monday I suddenly found myself reading carefully and with every
+sign of interest a little pamphlet on--LIFE INSURANCE!"
+
+Miss Middleton looked at me quickly, smiled suddenly, and then
+became very grave.
+
+"I appeared," I went on impressively, "to be thinking of insuring my
+life."
+
+"Have you done it?"
+
+"No, certainly not. I drew back in time. But it was a warning--it
+was the writing on the wall."
+
+"Tell me some more," said Miss Middleton, after she had allowed this
+to sink in.
+
+"Well, that was Monday afternoon. I told myself that in the
+afternoon one wasn't quite responsible, that sometimes one was only
+half awake. But on Tuesday morning I was horrified to discover
+myself--before breakfast--DOING DUMB-BELLS!"
+
+"The smelling-salts--quick!" said Miss Middleton, as she closed her
+eyes.
+
+"Doing dumb-bells. Ten lunges to the east, ten lunges to the west,
+ten lunges--"
+
+"Were you reducing your figure?"
+
+"I don't know what I was doing. But there I found myself on the cold
+oil-cloth, lunging away--lunging and lunging and--" I stopped and
+gazed into the fire again.
+
+"Is that all you have to tell me?" said Miss Middleton.
+
+"That's the worst. But there have been other little symptoms--little
+warning notes which all mean the same thing. Yesterday I went into
+the bank, to get some money. As I began to fill in the cheque
+Conscience whispered to me, 'That's the third five pounds you've had
+out this week.'"
+
+"Well, of all the impertinence--What did you do?"
+
+"Made it ten pounds, of course. But there you are; you see what's
+happening. This morning I answered a letter by return of post. And
+did you notice what occurred only just now at tea?"
+
+"Of course I did," said Miss Middleton indignantly. "You ate all the
+muffins."
+
+"No, I don't mean that at all. What I mean is that I only had three
+lumps of sugar in each cup. I actually stopped you when you were
+putting the fourth lump in. Oh yes," I said bitterly, "I am getting
+on."
+
+Miss Middleton poked the fire vigorously.
+
+"About the lunges," she said.
+
+"Ten to the east, ten to the west, ten to the nor'-nor'-east, ten
+to-"
+
+"Yes. Well, I should have thought that that was just the thing to
+keep you young."
+
+"It is. That's the tragedy of it. I used to BE young; now I KEEP
+young. And I used to say, 'I'll insure my life SOME day'; but now I
+think about doing it to-day. When once you stop saying 'some day'
+you're getting old, you know."
+
+"Some day," said Miss Middleton, "you must tell me all about the
+Crimea. Not now," she went on quickly, "because you're going to do
+something very silly in a moment, if I can think of it--something
+to convince yourself that you are still quite young."
+
+"Yes, do let me. I really think it would do me good."
+
+"Well, what can you do?"
+
+"Can I break anything?" I asked, looking round the room.
+
+"I really don't think you must. Mother's very silly about things
+like that. I'm SO sorry; father and I would love it, of course."
+
+"Can I go into the kitchen and frighten the cook?"
+
+Miss Middleton sighed mournfully.
+
+"ISN'T it a shame," she said, "that mothers object to all the really
+nice things?"
+
+"Mrs Middleton is a little difficult to please. I shall give up
+trying directly. What about blacking my face and calling on the
+Vicar for a subscription?"
+
+"I should laugh in church on Sunday thinking of it. I always do."
+
+I lit another cigarette and smoked it thoughtfully.
+
+"I have a brilliant idea," I said at last.
+
+"Something really silly?"
+
+"Something preposterously foolish. It seems to me just now the most
+idiotic thing I could possibly do."
+
+"Tell me!" beseeched Miss Middleton, clasping her hands.
+
+"I shall," I said, gurgling with laughter, "insure my life."
+
+IV.-THE HERALD OF SUMMER
+
+MISS MIDDLETON has a garden of which she is very proud. Miss
+Middleton's father says it belongs to him, and this idea is fostered
+to the extent that he is allowed to pay for the seeds and cuttings
+and things. He is also encouraged to order the men about. But I
+always think of it as Miss Middleton's garden, particularly when the
+afternoons are hot and I see nothing but grimy bricks out of my
+window. She knows all the flowers by name, which seems to me rather
+remarkable.
+
+"I have come," I announced, feeling that some excuse was necessary,
+"to see the lobretias; don't say that they are out. I mean, of
+course, do say that they are out."
+
+"But I don't think we have any," she said in surprise. "I've never
+heard of them. What are they like?"
+
+"They're just the ordinary sort of flower that people point to and
+say, 'That's a nice lobretia.' Dash it, you've got a garden, you
+ought to know."
+
+"I am afraid," smiled Miss Middleton, "that there isn't such a
+flower--not yet. Perhaps somebody will invent it now they've got the
+name."
+
+"Then I suppose I must go back to London," I said, getting up.
+"Bother."
+
+"Stay and inspect the meter," pleaded Miss Middleton. "Or ask father
+for a subscription for the band. Surely you can think of SOME excuse
+for being here."
+
+"I will stay," I said, sitting down again, "and talk to you. Between
+ourselves, it is one of the reasons why I came. I thought you might
+like to hear all the latest news. Er--we've started strawberries in
+London."
+
+Miss Middleton sighed and shook her head.
+
+"But not here," she said.
+
+"I was afraid not, but I thought I'd remind you in case. Well, after
+all, what ARE strawberries? Let's talk about something else. Do you
+know that this is going to be the greatest season of history? I've
+got a free pass to the Earl's Court Exhibition, so I shall be right
+in the thick of it."
+
+"Oh, I thought last season was the great one."
+
+"It was spoilt by the Coronation, the papers say. You remember how
+busy we were at the Abbey; we hadn't time for anything else."
+
+"What else do the papers say? I seem to have missed them lately.
+I've had a thousand things to do."
+
+"Well, the Sardine Defence League has just been formed. I think of
+putting up for it. I suppose you have to swear to do one kind action
+to a sardine everyday. Let's both join, and then we shall probably
+get a lot of invitations."
+
+"Do they have a tent at the Eton and Harrow match?" asked Miss
+Middleton anxiously.
+
+"I will inquire. I wonder if there is a Vice-Presidency vacant. I
+should think a Vice-President of the Sardine Defence League could go
+anywhere."
+
+"V.P.S.D.L.," said Miss Middleton thoughtfully. "It would look
+splendid. I must remember to send you a postcard to-morrow."
+
+Tea came, and I put my deck-chair one rung up to meet it. It is
+difficult in a horizontal position to drink without spilling
+anything, and it looks so bad to go about covered with tea.
+
+"This is very jolly," I said. "Do you know that my view during
+working hours consists of two broken windows and fifty square feet
+of brick? It's not enough. It's not what I call a vista. On fine
+days I have to go outside to see whether the sun is shining."
+
+"You oughtn't to want to look out of the window when you're working.
+You'll never be a Mayor."
+
+"Well, it all makes me appreciate the country properly. I wish I
+knew more about gardens. Tell me all about yours. When are the
+raspberries ripe?"
+
+"Not till the end of June."
+
+"I was afraid you'd say that. May I come down and see your garden at
+the end of June--one day when I'm not at Earl's Court? You can give
+all the gardeners a holiday that day. I hate to be watched when I'm
+looking at flowers and things."
+
+"Are you as fond of raspberries as all that? Why didn't I know?"
+
+"I'm not a bit mad about them, really, but they're a symbol of
+Summer. On a sloshy day in November, as I grope my way through the
+fog, I say to myself, 'Courage, the raspberries will soon be ripe.'"
+
+"But that means that summer is half over. The cuckoo is what I'm
+listening for all through November. I heard it in April this year."
+
+I looked round to see that nobody was within earshot.
+
+"I haven't heard it yet," I confessed. "It wasn't really so much to
+see the lobretias as to hear the cuckoo that I came to have tea with
+you. I feel just the same about it; it's the beginning of
+everything. And I said to myself, 'Miss Middleton may not have a
+first-rate show of lobretias, because possibly it is an unfavourable
+soil for them, or they may not fit in with the colour scheme; but
+she does know what is essential to a proper garden, and she'll have
+a cuckoo.'"
+
+"Yes, we do ourselves very well," said Miss Middleton confidently.
+
+"Well, I didn't like to say anything about it before, because I
+thought it might make you nervous, and so I've been talking of other
+things. But now that the secret is out, I may say that I am quite
+ready." I stopped and listened intently with my head on one side.
+
+There was an appalling silence.
+
+"I don't seem to hear it," I said at last.
+
+"But _I_ haven't heard it here yet," Miss Middleton protested. "It
+was in Hampshire. The cuckoos here are always a bit late. You see,
+our garden takes a little finding. It isn't so well known in--in
+Africa, or wherever they come from--as Hampshire."
+
+"Yes, but when I've come down specially to hear it--"
+
+"CUCK-OO," said Miss Middleton suddenly, and looked very innocent.
+
+"There, that was the nightingale, but it's the cuckoo I really want
+to hear."
+
+"I AM sorry about it. If you like, I'll listen to you while you tell
+me who you think ought to play for England. I can't make it more
+summery for you than that. Unless roses are any good?"
+
+"No, don't bother," I said in some disappointment; "you've done your
+best. We can't all have cuckoos any more than we can all have
+lobretias. I must come again in August, when one of the pioneers may
+have struggled here. Of course in Hampshire--"
+
+"CUCK-OO," said somebody from the apple tree.
+
+"There!" cried Miss Middleton.
+
+"That's much better," I said. "Now make it come from the laburnum,
+Lieutenant."
+
+"I'm not doing it, really!" she said. "At least only the first
+time."
+
+"CUCK-OO," said somebody from the apple tree again.
+
+There was no doubt about it. I let my deck-chair down a rung and
+prepared to welcome the summer.
+
+"Now," I said, "we're off."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+EPILOGUE
+
+
+
+
+
+You may believe this or not as you like. Personally I don't know
+what to think. It happened on the first day of spring (do you
+remember it? A wonderful day), and on the first of spring all sorts
+of enchantments may happen.
+
+I was writing my weekly story: one of those things with a He and a
+She in it. He was Reginald, a fine figure of a man. She was Dorothy,
+rather a dear. I was beginning in a roundabout sort of way with the
+weather, and the scenery, and the birds, and how Reginald was
+thinking of the spring, and how his young fancy was lightly turning
+to thoughts of love, when suddenly--
+
+At that moment I was called out of the room to speak to the
+housekeeper about something. In three minutes I was back again; and
+I had just dipped my pen in the ink, when there came a cough from
+the direction of the sofa--and there, as cool as you please, were
+sitting two persons entirely unknown to me....
+
+"I beg your pardon," I said. "The housekeeper never told me. Whom
+have I the--what did you--"
+
+"Thanks," said the man. "I'm Reginald."
+
+"Are you really?" I cried. "Jove, I AM glad to see you. I was
+just--just thinking of you. How are you?"
+
+"I'm sick of it," said Reginald.
+
+"Sick of what?"
+
+"Of being accepted by Dorothy."
+
+I turned to the girl.
+
+"You don't mean to say--"
+
+"Yes; I'm Dorothy. I'm sick of it too."
+
+"Dorothy!" I cried. "By the way, let me introduce you. Reginald,
+this is Dorothy. She's sick of it too."
+
+"Thanks," said Reginald coldly. "We have met before."
+
+"Surely not. Just let me look a moment.... No, I thought not. You
+don't meet till the next paragraph. If you wouldn't mind taking a
+seat, I shan't be a moment."
+
+Reginald stood up.
+
+"Look here," he said. "Do you know who I am?"
+
+"You're just Reginald," I said; "and there's no need to stand about
+looking so dignified, because I only thought of you ten minutes ago,
+and if you're not careful I shall change your name to Harold. You're
+Reginald, and you're going to meet Dorothy in the next paragraph,
+and you'll flirt with her mildly for about two columns. And at the
+end, I expect--no, I am almost sure, that you will propose and be
+accepted."
+
+"Never," said Reginald angrily.
+
+"That's what we've come about," said Dorothy.
+
+I rubbed my forehead wearily.
+
+"Would one of you explain?" I asked. "I can't think what's happened.
+You're at least a paragraph ahead of me."
+
+Reginald sat down again and lit a cigarette.
+
+"It's simply this," he said, trying to keep calm. "You may call me
+what you like, but I am always the same person week after week."
+
+"Nonsense. Why, it was Richard last week."
+
+"But the same person."
+
+"And Gerald the week before. Gerald, yes; he was rather a good
+chap."
+
+"Just the same, only the name was different. And who are we? We are
+you as you imagine yourself to be."
+
+I looked inquiringly at Dorothy.
+
+"Last week," he went on, "you called me Richard. And I proposed to
+Phyllis."
+
+"And I accepted him," said Dorothy.
+
+"You!" I said. "What were YOU doing there, I should like to know?"
+
+"Last week I was Phyllis."
+
+"The week before," went on Reginald, "I was Gerald, and I proposed
+to Millicent."
+
+"I was Millicent, and I accepted him."
+
+"The week before that I was--Good Heavens, think of it--I was
+George!"
+
+"A beastly name, I agree," I said.
+
+"You gave it me."
+
+"Yes, but I wasn't feeling very well that week."
+
+"I was Mabel," put in Dorothy, "and I accepted him."
+
+"No, no, no--no, don't say that. I mean, one doesn't accept people
+called George."
+
+"You made me."
+
+"Did I? I'm awfully sorry. Yes, I quite see your point."
+
+"The week before," went on Reginald remorselessly, "I was--"
+
+"Don't go back into February, please! February is such a rotten
+month with me. Well now, what's your complaint?"
+
+"Just what I said," explained Reginald. "You think you have a new
+hero and heroine every week, but you're mistaken. We are always the
+same; and, personally, I am tired of proposing week after week to
+the same girl."
+
+There was just something about Reginald that I seemed to recognize.
+Just the very slightest something.
+
+"Then who are you really," I asked, "if you're always the same
+person?"
+
+"Yourself. Not really yourself, of course, but yourself as you
+fondly imagine you are."
+
+I laughed scornfully. "You're nothing of the sort. How ridiculous!
+The hero of my own stories, indeed! Myself idealized--then I suppose
+you think you're rather a fine fellow?" I sneered.
+
+"I suppose you think I am."
+
+"No, I don't. I think you are a silly ass. Saying I'm my own hero.
+I'm nothing of the sort. And I suppose Dorothy is me, too?"
+
+"I'm the girl you're in love with," said Dorothy. "Idealized."
+
+"I'm not in love with any one," I denied indignantly.
+
+"Then your ideal girl."
+
+"Ah, you might well be that," I smiled.
+
+I looked at her longingly. She was wonderfully beautiful. I went a
+little closer to her.
+
+"And we've come," said Reginald, putting his oar in again, "to say
+that we're sick of getting engaged every week."
+
+I ignored Reginald altogether.
+
+"Are you really sick of him?" I asked Dorothy.
+
+"Yes!"
+
+"As sick of him as I am?"
+
+"I--I daresay."
+
+"Then let's cross him out," I said. And I went back to the table and
+took up my pen. "Say the word," I said to Dorothy.
+
+"Steady on," began Reginald uneasily. "All I meant was--"
+
+"Personally, as you know," I said to Dorothy, "I think he's a silly
+ass. And if you think so too--"
+
+"I say, look here, old chap--"
+
+Dorothy nodded. I dipped the pen in the ink.
+
+"Then out he goes," I said, and I drew a line through him. When I
+looked up only Dorothy was there....
+
+"Dorothy!" I said. "At last!"
+
+"But my name isn't really Dorothy, you know," she said with a smile.
+"It's Dorothy this week, and last week it was Phyllis, and the week
+before--"
+
+"Then what is it really? Tell me! So that I may know my ideal when I
+see her again."
+
+I got ready to write the name down. I dipped my pen in the ink
+again, and I drew a line through Dorothy, and then I looked up
+questioningly at her, and...
+
+Fool, fool! She was gone!
+
+II faut vivre. You'll see the story in one of the papers this week.
+You'll recognize it, because he is called Harold, and she is called
+Lucy. At the end of the second column he proposes and she accepts
+him. Lucy--of all names! It serves them right.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Holiday Round, by A. A. Milne
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOLIDAY ROUND ***
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