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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/5675.txt b/5675.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..63e8284 --- /dev/null +++ b/5675.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10805 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Holiday Round, by A. A. Milne +#2 in our series by A. A. Milne + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**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 *** + +This file should be named 5675.txt or 5675.zip + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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