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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/77900-0.txt b/77900-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c425779 --- /dev/null +++ b/77900-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8426 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77900 *** + + + + + + + [Cover Illustration] + + + + + Vile Bodies + + + A NOVEL BY + EVELYN WAUGH + + + + + + + + + + + + + CHAPMAN & HALL + LONDON + + + + + FIRST PUBLISHED IN 1930 + THIS EDITION, RESET, 1965 + PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY + BUTLER & TANNER LTD + FROME & LONDON + CATALOGUE NO. 4/5055/02 + + + + + WITH LOVE TO + BRYAN MOYNE AND DIANA MOSLEY + + + + + Preface + +This was a totally unplanned novel. I had the facility at the age of 25 +to sit down at my table, set a few characters on the move, write 3000 +words a day, and note with surprise what happened. The composition of +_Vile Bodies_ was interrupted by a sharp disturbance in my private life +and was finished in a very different mood from that in which it was +begun. The reader may, perhaps, notice the transition from gaiety to +bitterness. + +It was the first of my books to be a popular success. _Decline and Fall_ +had been well reviewed but its sales in its first year were small, fewer +than 3000 copies if I remember rightly. _Vile Bodies_ caught the public +fancy for extraneous reasons. ‘The Bright Young People’ with whom it +deals, and of whom I was a member rather on the fringe than in the +centre, were one of the newspaper topics of the time. They were totally +unlike the various, publicized groups of modern youth, being mostly of +good family and education and sharp intelligence, but they were equally +anarchic and short-lived. The jargon most of us spoke came new to the +novel reader and so captivated one prominent dramatic critic that for +weeks he introduced into articles week after week: ‘“Too sick-making”, +as Mr Waugh would say.’ There was also a pretty accurate description of +Mrs Rosa Lewis and her Cavendish Hotel, just on the brink of their +decline but still famous. I think I can claim that this was the first +English novel in which dialogue on the telephone plays a large part. For +reasons of novelty the many gross faults were overlooked. There were not +many comic writers at that time and I filled a gap. I began under the +brief influence of Ronald Firbank but struck out for myself. It is not a +book I enjoy re-reading but there are one or two funny scenes which +redeem it from banality. I like Colonel Blount, though he is a figure +from conventional farce. He was brilliantly played by Athol Stewart in a +very poor dramatic version. I may add that at the time I invented +‘Father Rothschild’ I had never met a Jesuit. + + E. W. + +_Combe Florey_ 1964 + + + + + _‘Well in_ our _country,’ said Alice, still panting a little, + ‘you’d generally get to somewhere else—if you ran very fast for + a long time, as we’ve been doing.’_ + + _‘A slow sort of country!’ said the Queen. ‘Now_, here, _you + see, it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same + place. If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least + twice as fast as that!’_ + + + + _‘If I wasn’t real,’ Alice said—half laughing through her + tears, it all seemed so ridiculous—‘I shouldn’t be able to + cry.’_ + + _‘I hope you don’t suppose those are real tears?’ Tweedledum + interrupted in a tone of great contempt._ + + —A L I C E T H R O U G H T H E L O O K I N G G L A S S + + + + + _Chapter One_ + + +It was clearly going to be a bad crossing. + +With Asiatic resignation Father Rothschild S.J. put down his suitcase in +the corner of the bar and went on deck. (It was a small suitcase of +imitation crocodile hide. The initials stamped on it in Gothic +characters were not Father Rothschild’s, for he had borrowed it that +morning from the _valet-de-chambre_ of his hotel. It contained some +rudimentary underclothes, six important new books in six languages, a +false beard and a school atlas and gazetteer heavily annotated.) +Standing on the deck Father Rothschild leant his elbows on the rail, +rested his chin in his hands and surveyed the procession of passengers +coming up the gangway, each face eloquent of polite misgiving. + +Very few of them were unknown to the Jesuit, for it was his happy knack +to remember everything that could possibly be learned about every one +who could possibly be of any importance. His tongue protruded very +slightly and, had they not all been so concerned with luggage and the +weather, some one might have observed in him a peculiar resemblance to +those plaster reproductions of the gargoyles of Notre Dame which may be +seen in the shop windows of artists’ colourmen tinted the colour of ‘Old +Ivory’, peering intently from among stencil outfits and plasticine and +tubes of water-colour paint. High above his head swung Mrs Melrose Ape’s +travel-worn Packard car, bearing the dust of three continents, against +the darkening sky, and up the companion-way at the head of her angels +strode Mrs Melrose Ape, the woman evangelist. + +‘Faith.’ + +‘Here, Mrs Ape.’ + +‘Charity.’ + +‘Here, Mrs Ape.’ + +‘Fortitude.’ + +‘Here, Mrs Ape.’ + +‘Chastity. . . . Where is Chastity?’ + +‘Chastity didn’t feel well, Mrs Ape. She went below.’ + +‘That girl’s more trouble than she’s worth. Whenever there’s any packing +to be done, Chastity doesn’t feel well. Are all the rest here—Humility, +Prudence, Divine Discontent, Mercy, Justice and Creative Endeavour?’ + +‘Creative Endeavour lost her wings, Mrs Ape. She got talking to a +gentleman in the train. . . . Oh, there she is.’ + +‘Got ’em?’ asked Mrs Ape. + +Too breathless to speak, Creative Endeavour nodded. (Each of the angels +carried her wings in a little black box like a violin case.) + +‘Right,’ said Mrs Ape, ‘and just you hold on to ’em tight and not so +much talking to gentlemen in trains. You’re angels, not a panto, see?’ + +The angels crowded together disconsolately. It was awful when Mrs Ape +was like this. My, how they would pinch Chastity and Creative Endeavour +when they got them alone in their nightshirts. It was bad enough their +going to be so sick without that they had Mrs Ape pitching into them +too. + +Seeing their discomfort, Mrs Ape softened and smiled. She was nothing if +not ‘magnetic’. + +‘Well, girls,’ she said, ‘I must be getting along. They say it’s going +to be rough, but don’t you believe it. If you have peace in your hearts +your stomach will look after itself, and remember if you _do_ feel +queer—_sing_. There’s nothing like it.’ + +‘Good-bye, Mrs Ape, and thank you,’ said the angels; they bobbed +prettily, turned about and trooped aft to the second-class part of the +ship. Mrs Ape watched them benignly, then, squaring her shoulders and +looking (except that she had really no beard to speak of) every inch a +sailor, strode resolutely forrard to the first-class bar. + + + +Other prominent people were embarking, all very unhappy about the +weather; to avert the terrors of sea-sickness they had indulged in every +kind of civilized witchcraft, but they were lacking in faith. + +Miss Runcible was there, and Miles Malpractice, and all the Younger Set. +They had spent a jolly morning strapping each other’s tummies with +sticking plaster (how Miss Runcible had wriggled). + +The Right Honourable Walter Outrage, M.P., last week’s Prime Minister, +was there. Before breakfast that morning (which had suffered in +consequence) Mr Outrage had taken twice the maximum dose of a patent +preparation of chloral, and losing heart later had finished the bottle +in the train. He moved in an uneasy trance, closely escorted by the most +public-looking detective sergeants. These men had been with Mr Outrage +in Paris, and what they did not know about his goings on was not worth +knowing, at least from a novelist’s point of view. (When they spoke +about him to each other they called him ‘the Right Honourable Rape’, but +that was more by way of being a pun about his name than a criticism of +the conduct of his love affairs, in which, if the truth were known, he +displayed a notable diffidence and the liability to panic.) + + + +Lady Throbbing and Mrs Blackwater, those twin sisters whose portrait by +Millais auctioned recently at Christie’s made a record in rock-bottom +prices, were sitting on one of the teak benches eating apples and +drinking what Lady Throbbing, with late Victorian _chic_, called ‘a +bottle of pop’, and Mrs Blackwater, more exotically, called +‘_champagne_’, pronouncing it as though it were French. + +‘Surely, Kitty, that is Mr Outrage, last week’s Prime Minister.’ + +‘Nonsense, Fanny, where?’ + +‘Just in front of the two men with bowler hats, next to the clergyman.’ + +‘It is certainly like his photographs. How strange he looks.’ + +‘Just like poor Throbbing . . . all that last year.’ + +‘. . . And none of us even suspected . . . until they found the bottles +under the board in his dressing-room . . . and we all used to think it +was drink . . .’ + +‘I don’t think one finds _quite_ the same class as Prime Minister +nowadays, do you think?’ + +‘They say that only _one_ person has any influence with Mr Outrage +. . .’ + +‘At the Japanese Embassy . . .’ + +‘Of course, dear, not so loud. But tell me, Fanny, seriously, do you +think really and truly Mr Outrage has IT?’ + +‘He has a very nice figure for a man of his age.’ + +‘Yes, but _his_ age, and the bull-like type is so often disappointing. +Another glass? You will be grateful for it when the ship begins to +move.’ + +‘I quite thought we _were_ moving.’ + +‘How absurd you are, Fanny, and yet I can’t help laughing.’ + +So arm in arm and shaken by little giggles the two tipsy old ladies went +down to their cabin. + +Of the other passengers, some had filled their ears with cotton wool, +others wore smoked glasses, while several ate dry captain’s biscuits +from paper bags, as Red Indians are said to eat snake’s flesh to make +them cunning. Mrs Hoop repeated feverishly over and over again a formula +she had learned from a yogi in New York City. A few ‘good sailors’, +whose luggage bore the labels of many voyages, strode aggressively about +smoking small, foul pipes and trying to get up a four of bridge. + +Two minutes before the advertised time of departure, while the first +admonitory whistling and shouting was going on, a young man came on +board carrying his bag. There was nothing particularly remarkable about +his appearance. He looked exactly as young men like him do look; he was +carrying his own bag, which was disagreeably heavy, because he had no +money left in francs and very little left in anything else. He had been +two months in Paris writing a book and was coming home because, in the +course of his correspondence, he had got engaged to be married. His name +was Adam Fenwick-Symes. + +Father Rothschild smiled at him in a kindly manner. + +‘I doubt whether you remember me,’ he said. ‘We met at Oxford five years +ago at luncheon with the Dean of Balliol. I shall be interested to read +your book when it appears—an autobiography, I understand. And may I be +one of the first to congratulate you on your engagement? I am afraid you +will find your father-in-law a little eccentric—and forgetful. He had a +nasty attack of bronchitis this winter. It’s a draughty house—far too +big for these days. Well, I must go below now. It is going to be rough +and I am a bad sailor. We meet at Lady Metroland’s on the twelfth, if +not, as I hope, before.’ + +Before Adam had time to reply the Jesuit disappeared. Suddenly the head +popped back. + +‘There is an extremely dangerous and disagreeable woman on board—a Mrs +Ape.’ + +Then he was gone again, and almost at once the boat began to slip away +from the quay towards the mouth of the harbour. + +Sometimes the ship pitched and sometimes she rolled and sometimes she +stood quite still and shivered all over, poised above an abyss of dark +water; then she would go swooping down like a scenic railway train into +a windless hollow and up again with a rush into the gale; sometimes she +would burrow her path, with convulsive nosings and scramblings like a +terrier in a rabbit hole; and sometimes she would drop dead like a lift. +It was this last movement that caused the most havoc among the +passengers. + +‘Oh,’ said the Bright Young People. ‘Oh, oh oh.’ + +‘It’s just exactly like being inside a cocktail shaker,’ said Miles +Malpractice. ‘Darling, your face—eau de Nil.’ + +‘Too, too sick-making,’ said Miss Runcible, with one of her rare flashes +of accuracy. + + + +Kitty Blackwater and Fanny Throbbing lay one above the other in their +bunks rigid from wig to toe. + +‘I wonder, do you think the _champagne_ . . . ?’ + +‘Kitty.’ + +‘Yes, Fanny, dear.’ + +‘Kitty, I think, in fact, I am sure I have some sal volatile. . . . +Kitty, I thought that perhaps as you are nearer . . . it would really +hardly be safe for me to try and descend . . . I might break a leg.’ + +‘Not after _champagne_, Fanny, do you think?’ + +‘But I need it. Of course, dear, _if it’s too much trouble_?’ + +‘Nothing is too much trouble, darling, you know that. But now I come to +think of it, I remember, quite clearly, for a fact, that you did _not_ +pack the sal volatile.’ + +‘Oh, Kitty, oh, Kitty, please . . . you would be sorry for this if I +died . . . oh.’ + +‘But I saw the sal volatile on your dressing-table after your luggage +had gone down, dear. I remember thinking, I must take that down to +Fanny, and then, dear, I got confused over the tips, so you see . . .’ + +‘I . . . put . . . it . . . in . . . myself. . . . Next to my brushes +. . . you . . . beast.’ + +‘Oh, Fanny . . .’ + +‘Oh . . . Oh . . . Oh.’ + + + +To Father Rothschild no passage was worse than any other. He thought of +the sufferings of the saints, the mutability of human nature, the Four +Last Things, and between whiles repeated snatches of the penitential +psalms. + + + +The Leader of His Majesty’s Opposition lay sunk in a rather glorious +coma, made splendid by dreams of Oriental imagery—of painted paper +houses; of golden dragons and gardens of almond blossom; of golden limbs +and almond eyes, humble and caressing; of very small golden feet among +almond blossoms; of little painted cups full of golden tea; of a golden +voice singing behind a painted paper screen; of humble, caressing little +golden hands and eyes shaped like almonds and the colour of night. + +Outside his door two very limp detective sergeants had deserted their +posts. + +‘The bloke as could make trouble on a ship like this ’ere deserves to +get away with it,’ they said. + +The ship creaked in every plate, doors slammed, trunks fell about, the +wind howled; the screw, now out of the water, now in, raced and churned, +shaking down hat-boxes like ripe apples; but above all the roar and +clatter there rose from the second-class ladies’ saloon the despairing +voices of Mrs Ape’s angels, in frequently broken unison, singing, +singing, wildly, desperately, as though their hearts would break in the +effort and their minds lose their reason, Mrs Ape’s famous hymn, _There +ain’t no flies on the Lamb of God_. + + + +The Captain and the Chief Officer sat on the bridge engrossed in a +crossword puzzle. + +‘Looks like we may get some heavy weather if the wind gets up,’ he said. +‘Shouldn’t wonder if there wasn’t a bit of a sea running to-night.’ + +‘Well, we can’t always have it quiet like this,’ said the Chief Officer. +‘Word of eighteen letters meaning carnivorous mammal. Search me if I +know how they do think of these things.’ + + + +Adam Fenwick-Symes sat among the good sailors in the smoking-room +drinking his third Irish whisky and wondering how soon he would feel +definitely ill. Already there was a vague depression gathering at the +top of his head. There were thirty-five minutes more, probably longer +with the head wind keeping them back. + +Opposite him sat a much-travelled and chatty journalist telling him +smutty stories. From time to time Adam interposed some more or less +appropriate comment, ‘No, I say that’s a good one,’ or, ‘I must remember +that,’ or just ‘Ha, Ha, Ha,’ but his mind was not really in a receptive +condition. + +Up went the ship, up, up, up, paused and then plunged down with a +sidelong slither. Adam caught at his glass and saved it. Then shut his +eyes. + +‘Now I’ll tell you a drawing-room one,’ said the journalist. + +Behind them a game of cards was in progress among the commercial gents. +At first they had rather a jolly time about it, saying, ‘What ho, she +bumps,’ or ‘Steady, the Buffs,’ when the cards and glasses and ash-tray +were thrown on to the floor, but in the last ten minutes they were +growing notably quieter. It was rather a nasty kind of hush. + +‘. . . And forty aces and two-fifty for the rubber. Shall we cut again +or stay as we are?’ + +‘How about knocking off for a bit? Makes me tired—table moving about +all the time.’ + +‘Why, Arthur, you ain’t feeling ill, surely?’ + +‘’Course I ain’t feeling ill, only tired.’ + +‘Well, of course, if Arthur’s feeling ill . . .’ + +‘Who’d have thought of old Arthur feeling ill?’ + +‘I ain’t feeling ill, I tell you. Just tired. But if you boys want to go +on I’m not the one to spoil a game.’ + +‘Good old Arthur. ’Course he ain’t feeling ill. Look out for the cards, +Bill, up she goes again.’ + +‘What about one all round? Same again?’ + +‘Same again.’ + +‘Good luck, Arthur.’ ‘Good luck.’ ‘Here’s fun.’ ‘Down she goes.’ + +‘Whose deal? You dealt last, didn’t you, Mr Henderson?’ + +‘Yes, Arthur’s deal.’ + +‘Your deal, Arthur. Cheer up, old scout.’ + +‘Don’t you go doing that. It isn’t right to hit a chap on the back like +that.’ + +‘Look out with the cards, Arthur.’ + +‘Well, what d’you expect, being hit on the back like that. Makes me +tired.’ + +‘Here, I got fifteen cards.’ + +‘I wonder if you’ve heard this one,’ said the journalist. ‘There was a +man lived at Aberdeen, and he was terribly keen on fishing, so when he +married, he married a woman with worms. That’s rich, eh? You see he was +keen on fishing, see, and she had worms, see, he lived in Aberdeen. +That’s a good one that is.’ + +‘D’you know, I think I shall go on deck for a minute. A bit stuffy in +here, don’t you think?’ + +‘You can’t do that. The sea’s coming right over it all the time. Not +feeling queer, are you?’ + +‘No, of course I’m not feeling queer. I only thought a little fresh air +. . . Christ, why won’t the damn thing stop?’ + +‘Steady, old boy. I wouldn’t go trying to walk about, not if I were you. +Much better stay just where you are. What you want’s a spot of whisky.’ + +‘Not feeling ill, you know. Just stuffy.’ + +‘That’s all right, old boy. Trust Auntie.’ + +The bridge party was not being a success. + +‘Hullo, Mr Henderson. What’s that spade?’ + +‘That’s the ace that is.’ + +‘I can see it’s the ace. What I mean you didn’t ought to have trumped +that last trick not if you had a spade.’ + +‘What d’you mean, didn’t ought to have trumped it? Trumps led.’ + +‘No, they did _not_. Arthur led a spade.’ + +‘He led a trump, didn’t you, Arthur?’ + +‘Arthur led a spade.’ + +‘He couldn’t have led a spade because for why he put a heart on my king +of spades when I thought he had the queen. He hasn’t got no spades.’ + +‘What d’you mean, not got no spades? I got the queen.’ + +‘Arthur, old man, you _must_ be feeling queer.’ + +‘No, I ain’t, I tell you, just tired. You’d be tired if you’d been hit +on the back same as I was . . . anyway I’m fed up with this game . . . +there go the cards again.’ + +This time no one troubled to pick them up. Presently Mr Henderson said, +‘Funny thing, don’t know why I feel all swimmy of a sudden. Must have +ate something that wasn’t quite right. You never can tell with foreign +foods—all messed up like they do.’ + +‘Now you mention it, I don’t feel too spry myself. Damn bad ventilation +on these Channel boats.’ + +‘That’s what it is. Ventilation. You said it.’ + +‘You know I’m funny. I never feel sea-sick, mind, but I often find going +on boats doesn’t agree with me.’ + +‘I’m like that, too.’ + +‘Ventilation . . . a disgrace.’ + +‘Lord, I shall be glad when we get to Dover. Home, sweet home, eh?’ + +Adam held on very tightly to the brass-bound edge of the table and felt +a little better. He was _not_ going to be sick, and that was that; not +with that gargoyle of a man opposite anyway. They _must_ be in sight of +land soon. + + + +It was at this time, when things were at their lowest, that Mrs Ape +reappeared in the smoking-room. She stood for a second or two in the +entrance balanced between swinging door and swinging door-post; then as +the ship momentarily righted herself, she strode to the bar, her feet +well apart, her hands in the pockets of her tweed coat. + +‘Double rum,’ she said and smiled magnetically at the miserable little +collection of men seated about the room. ‘Why, boys,’ she said, ‘but +you’re looking terrible put out over something. What’s it all about? Is +it your souls that’s wrong or is it that the ship won’t keep still? +Rough? ’Course it’s rough. But let me ask you this. If you’re put out +this way over just an hour’s sea-sickness’ (‘Not sea-sick, ventilation,’ +said Mr Henderson mechanically), ‘what are you going to be like when you +make the mighty big journey that’s waiting for us all? Are you right +with God?’ said Mrs Ape. ‘Are you prepared for death?’ + +‘Oh, am I not?’ said Arthur. ‘I ’aven’t thought of nothing else for the +last half hour.’ + +‘Now, boys, I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. We’re going to sing a +song together, you and me.’ (‘Oh, God,’ said Adam.) ‘You may not know +it, but you are. You’ll feel better for it body _and_ soul. It’s a song +of Hope. You don’t hear much about Hope these days, do you? Plenty about +Faith, plenty about Charity. They’ve forgotten all about Hope. There’s +only one great evil in the world to-day. Despair. I know all about +England, and I tell you straight, boys, I’ve got the goods for you. +Hope’s what you want and Hope’s what I got. Here, steward, hand round +these leaflets. There’s the song on the back. Now all together . . . +sing. Five bob for you, steward, if you can shout me down. Splendid, all +together, boys.’ + +In a rich, very audible voice Mrs Ape led the singing. Her arms rose, +fell and fluttered with the rhythm of the song. The bar steward was hers +already—inaccurate sometimes in his reading of the words, but with a +sustained power in the low notes that defied competition. The journalist +joined in next and Arthur set up a little hum. Soon they were all at it, +singing like blazes, and it is undoubtedly true that they felt the +better for it. + + + +Father Rothschild heard it and turned his face to the wall. + + + +Kitty Blackwater heard it. + +‘Fanny.’ + +‘Well.’ + +‘Fanny, dear, do you hear singing?’ + +‘Yes, dear, thank you.’ + +‘Fanny, dear, I hope they aren’t holding a _service_. I mean, dear, it +sounds so like a hymn. Do you think, possibly, we are _in danger_? +Fanny, are we going to be wrecked?’ + +‘I should be neither surprised nor sorry.’ + +‘Darling, how can you? . . . We should have heard it, shouldn’t we, if +we had actually _hit_ anything? . . . Fanny, dear, if you like I will +have a look for your sal volatile.’ + +‘I hardly think that would be any help, dear, since you _saw_ it on my +dressing-table.’ + +‘I may have been mistaken.’ + +‘You _said_ you _saw_ it.’ + + + +The captain heard it. ‘All the time I been at sea,’ he said, ‘I never +could stand for missionaries.’ + +‘Word of six letters beginning with ZB,’ said the chief officer, +‘meaning “used in astronomic calculation”.’ + +‘Z can’t be right,’ said the captain after a few minutes’ thought. + + + +The Bright Young People heard it. ‘So like one’s first parties,’ said +Miss Runcible, ‘being sick with other people singing.’ + + + +Mrs Hoop heard it. ‘Well,’ she thought, ‘I’m through with theosophy +after this journey. Reckon I’ll give the Catholics the once over.’ + + + +Aft, in the second-class saloon, where the screw was doing its worst, +the angels heard it. It was some time since they had given up singing. + +‘Her again,’ said Divine Discontent. + + + +Mr Outrage alone lay happily undisturbed, his mind absorbed in lovely +dream sequences of a world of little cooing voices, so caressing, so +humble; and dark eyes, night-coloured, the shape of almonds over painted +paper screens; little golden bodies, so flexible, so firm, so surprising +in the positions they assumed. + + + +They were still singing in the smoking-room when, in very little more +than her usual time, the ship came into the harbour at Dover. Then Mrs +Ape, as was her invariable rule, took round the hat and collected nearly +two pounds, not counting her own five shillings which she got back from +the bar steward. ‘Salvation doesn’t do them the same good if they think +it’s free,’ was her favourite axiom. + + + + + _Chapter Two_ + + +‘Have you anything to declare?’ + +‘Wings.’ + +‘Have you wore them?’ + +‘Sure.’ + +‘That’s all right, then.’ + +‘Divine Discontent gets all the smiles all the time,’ complained +Fortitude to Prudence. ‘Golly, but it’s good to be on dry land.’ + +Unsteadily, but with renewed hope, the passengers had disembarked. + +Father Rothschild fluttered a diplomatic _laissez-passer_ and +disappeared in the large car that had been sent to meet him. The others +were jostling one another with their luggage, trying to attract the +Customs officers and longing for a cup of tea. + +‘I got half a dozen of the best stowed away,’ confided the journalist. +‘They’re generally pretty easy after a bad crossing.’ And sure enough he +was soon settled in the corner of a first-class carriage (for the paper +was, of course, paying his expenses) with his luggage safely chalked in +the van. + +It was some time before Adam could get attended to. + +‘I’ve nothing but some very old clothes and some books,’ he said. + +But here he showed himself deficient in tact, for the man’s casual air +disappeared in a flash. + +‘Books, eh?’ he said. ‘And what sort of books, may I ask?’ + +‘Look for yourself.’ + +‘Thank _you_, that’s what I mean to do. _Books_, indeed.’ + +Adam wearily unstrapped and unlocked his suitcase. + +‘Yes,’ said the Customs officer menacingly, as though his worst +suspicions had been confirmed, ‘I should just about say you had got some +books.’ + +One by one he took the books out and piled them on the counter. A copy +of Dante excited his especial disgust. + +‘French, eh?’ he said. ‘I guessed as much, and pretty dirty, too, I +shouldn’t wonder. Now just you wait while I look up these here +_books_’—how he said it!—‘in my list. Particularly against books the +Home Secretary is. If we can’t stamp out literature in the country, we +can at least stop its being brought in from outside. That’s what he said +the other day in Parliament, and I says “Hear, hear. . . .” Hullo, +hullo, what’s this, may I ask?’ + +Gingerly, as though it might at any moment explode, he produced and laid +on the counter a large pile of type-script. + +‘That’s a book too,’ said Adam. ‘One I’ve just written. It is my +memoirs.’ + +‘Ho, it is, is it? Well, I’ll take that along, too, to the chief. You +better come to.’ + +‘But I’ve got to catch the train.’ + +‘You come along. There’s worse things than missing trains,’ he hinted +darkly. + +They went together into an inner office, the walls of which were lined +with contraband pornography and strange instruments, whose purpose Adam +could not guess. From the next room came the shrieks and yells of poor +Miss Runcible, who had been mistaken for a well-known jewel smuggler, +and was being stripped to the skin by two terrific wardresses. + +‘Now then, what’s this about books?’ said the chief. + +With the help of a printed list (which began ‘Aristotle, Works of +(Illustrated)’) they went through Adam’s books, laboriously, one at a +time, spelling out the titles. + +Miss Runcible came through the office, working hard with lipstick and +compact. + +‘Adam, darling, I never saw you on the boat,’ she said. ‘My dear, I +can’t _tell_ you the _things_ that have been happening to me in there. +The way they looked . . . too, too shaming. Positively surgical, my +dear, and _such_ wicked old women, just like _Dowagers_, my dear. As +soon as I get to London I shall ring up every Cabinet Minister and _all_ +the newspapers and give them all the most shy-making details.’ + +The chief was at this time engrossed in Adam’s memoirs, giving vent at +intervals to a sinister chuckling sound that was partly triumphant and +partly derisive, but in the main genuinely appreciative. + +‘Coo, Bert,’ he said. ‘Look at this; that’s rich, ain’t it?’ + +Presently he collected the sheets, tied them together and put them on +one side. + +‘Well, see here,’ he said. ‘You can take these books on architecture and +the dictionary, and I don’t mind stretching a point for once and letting +you have the history books, too. But this book on Economics comes under +Subversive Propaganda. That you leaves behind. And this here +_Purgatorio_ doesn’t look right to me, so that stays behind, pending +inquiries. But as for this autobiography, that’s just downright dirt, +and we burns that straight away, see.’ + +‘But, good heavens, there isn’t a word in the book—you must be +misinterpreting it.’ + +‘Not so much of it. I knows dirt when I sees it or I shouldn’t be where +I am to-day.’ + +‘But do you realize that my whole livelihood depends on this book?’ + +‘And _my_ livelihood depends on stopping works like this coming into the +country. Now ’ook it quick if you don’t want a police-court case.’ + +‘Adam, angel, don’t fuss or we shall miss the train.’ + +Miss Runcible took his arm and led him back to the station and told him +all about a lovely party that was going to happen that night. + + + +‘_Queer_, who felt queer?’ + +‘You did, Arthur.’ + +‘No I never . . . just tired.’ + +‘It certainly was stuffy in there just for a bit.’ + +‘Wonderful how that old girl cheered things up. Got a meeting next week +in the Albert Hall.’ + +‘Shouldn’t be surprised if I didn’t go. What do you say, Mr Henderson?’ + +‘She got a troupe of angels, so she said. All dressed up in white with +wings, lovely. Not a bad-looker herself, if it comes to that.’ + +‘What did you put in the plate, Arthur?’ + +‘Half-crown.’ + +‘So did I. Funny thing, I ain’t never give a half-crown like that +before. She kind of draws it out of you, damned if she doesn’t.’ + +‘You won’t get away from the Albert Hall not without putting your hand +in your pocket.’ + +‘No, but I’d like to see those angels dressed up, eh, Mr Henderson?’ + + + +‘Fanny, surely that is Agatha Runcible, poor Viola Chasm’s daughter?’ + +‘I wonder Viola allows her to go about like that. If she were my +daughter. . . .’ + +‘_Your_ daughter, Fanny. . . .’ + +‘Kitty, that was not kind.’ + +‘My dear, I only meant . . . have you, by the way, heard of her lately?’ + +‘The last we heard was worse than anything, Kitty. She has left Buenos +Aires. I am afraid she has severed her connection with Lady Metroland +altogether. They think that she is in some kind of touring company.’ + +‘Darling, I’m sorry. I should never have mentioned it, but whenever I +see Agatha Runcible I can’t help thinking . . . girls seem to know so +much nowadays. We had to learn everything for ourselves, didn’t we, +Fanny, and it took so long. If I’d had Agatha Runcible’s chances. . . . +Who is the young man with her?’ + +‘I don’t know, and, frankly, I don’t think, do you? . . . He has that +self-contained look.’ + +‘He has very nice eyes. And he moves well.’ + +‘I dare say when it came to the point . . . Still, as I say, if I had +had Agatha Runcible’s advantages . . .’ + +‘What are you looking for, darling?’ + +‘Why, darling, such an extraordinary thing. Here _is_ the sal volatile +next to my brushes all the time.’ + +‘Fanny, how awful of me, if I’d only known . . .’ + +‘I dare say there must have been another bottle you saw on the +dressing-table, sweetest. Perhaps the maid put it there. You never know +at the Lotti, do you?’ + +‘Fanny, forgive me . . .’ + +‘But, dearest, what is there to forgive? After all, you _did see_ +another bottle, didn’t you, Kitty darling?’ + +‘Why, look, there’s Miles.’ + +‘Miles?’ + +‘Your son, darling. My nephew, you know.’ + +‘_Miles._ Do you know, Kitty, I believe it is. He never comes to see me +now, the naughty boy.’ + +‘My dear, he looks terribly _tapette_.’ + +‘Darling, I know. It is a great grief to me. Only I try not to think +about it too much—he had so little chance with poor Throbbing what he +was.’ + +‘The sins of the fathers, Fanny . . .’ + + + +Somewhere not far from Maidstone Mr Outrage became fully conscious. +Opposite him in the carriage the two detectives slept, their bowler hats +jammed forwards on their foreheads, their mouths open, their huge red +hands lying limply in their laps. Rain beat on the windows; the carriage +was intensely cold and smelt of stale tobacco. Inside there were +advertisements of horrible picturesque ruins; outside in the rain were +hoardings advertising patent medicines and dog biscuits. ‘Every +Molassine dog cake wags a tail,’ Mr Outrage read, and the train repeated +over and over again, ‘Right Honourable gent, Right Honourable gent, +Right Honourable gentleman, Right Honourable gent . . .’ + + + +Adam got into the carriage with the Younger Set. They still looked a bit +queer, but they cheered up wonderfully when they heard about Miss +Runcible’s outrageous treatment at the hands of the Customs officers. + +‘_Well_,’ they said, ‘_Well!_ how too, too shaming, Agatha, darling,’ +they said. ‘How devastating, how un-policeman-like, how goat-like, how +sick-making, how too, too awful.’ And then they began talking about +Archie Schwert’s party that night. + +‘Who’s Archie Schwert?’ asked Adam. + +‘Oh, he’s someone new since you went away. The _most_ bogus man. Miles +discovered him, and since then he’s been climbing and climbing and +_climbing_, my dear, till he hardly knows us. He’s rather sweet, really, +only too terribly common, poor darling. He lives at the Ritz, and I +think that’s rather grand, don’t you?’ + +‘Is he giving his party there?’ + +‘My dear, of course not. In Edward Throbbing’s house. He’s Miles’ +brother, you know, only he’s frightfully dim and political, and doesn’t +know anybody. He got ill and went to Kenya or somewhere and left his +perfectly sheepish house in Hertford Street, so we’ve all gone to live +there. You’d better come, too. The caretakers didn’t like it a bit at +first, but we gave them drinks and things, and now they’re simply +thrilled to the marrow about it and spend all their time cutting out +“bits”, my dear, from the papers about our goings on. + +‘One awful thing is we haven’t got a car. Miles broke it, Edward’s, I +mean, and we simply can’t afford to get it mended, so I think we shall +have to move soon. Everything’s getting rather broken up, too, and +dirty, if you know what I mean. Because, you see, there aren’t any +servants, only the butler and his wife, and they are always tight now. +So demoralising. Mary Mouse has been a perfect angel, and sent us great +hampers of caviare and things. . . . She’s paying for Archie’s party +to-night, of course.’ + +‘Do you know, I rather think I’m going to be sick again?’ + +‘Oh, Miles!’ + +(Oh, Bright Young People!) + + + +Packed all together in a second-class carriage, the angels were late in +recovering their good humour. + +‘She’s taken Prudence off in her car again,’ said Divine Discontent, who +once, for one delirious fortnight, had been Mrs Ape’s favourite girl. +‘Can’t see what she sees in her. What’s London like, Fortitude? I never +been there but once.’ + +‘Just exactly heaven. Shops and all.’ + +‘What are the men like, Fortitude?’ + +‘Say, don’t you never think of nothing but _men_, Chastity?’ + +‘I should say I do. I was only asking.’ + +‘Well, they ain’t much to look at, not after the shops. But they has +their uses.’ + +‘Say, did you hear that? You’re a cute one, Fortitude. Did you hear what +Fortitude said? She said “they have their uses”.’ + +‘What, shops?’ + +‘No, silly, men.’ + +‘_Men._ That’s a good one, I should say.’ + +Presently the train arrived at Victoria, and all these passengers were +scattered all over London. + + + +Adam left his bag at Shepheard’s Hotel, and drove straight to Henrietta +Street to see his publishers. It was nearly closing time, so that most +of the staff had packed up and gone home, but by good fortune Mr Sam +Benfleet, the junior director with whom Adam always did his business, +was still in his room correcting proofs for one of his women novelists. +He was a competent young man, with a restrained elegance of appearance +(the stenographer always trembled slightly when she brought him his cup +of tea). + +‘No, she can’t print that,’ he kept saying, endorsing one after another +of the printer’s protests. ‘No, damn it, she can’t print _that_. She’ll +have us all in prison.’ For it was one of his most exacting duties to +‘ginger up’ the more reticent of the manuscripts submitted and ‘tone +down’ the more ‘outspoken’ until he had reduced them all to the +acceptable moral standard of his day. + +He greeted Adam with the utmost cordiality. + +‘Well, well, Adam, how are you? This is nice. Sit down. Have a +cigarette. What a day to arrive in London. Did you have a good +crossing?’ + +‘Not too good.’ + +‘I say, I _am_ sorry. Nothing so beastly as a beastly crossing, is +there? Why don’t you come round to dinner at Wimpole Street to-night? +I’ve got some rather nice Americans coming. Where are you staying?’ + +‘At “Shepheard’s”—Lottie Crump’s.’ + +‘Well, that’s always fun. I’ve been trying to get an autobiography out +of Lottie for ten years. And that reminds me. You’re bringing us your +manuscript, aren’t you? Old Rampole was asking about it only the other +day. It’s a week overdue, you know. I hope you’ll like the preliminary +notices we’ve sent out. We’ve fixed the day of publication for the +second week in December, so as to give it a fortnight’s run before +Johnnie Hoop’s autobiography. That’s going to be a seller. Sails a bit +near the wind in places. We had to cut out some things—you know what +old Rampole is. Johnnie didn’t like it a bit. But I’m looking forward +terribly to reading yours.’ + +‘Well, Sam, rather an awful thing happened about that . . .’ + +‘I say, I hope you’re not going to say it’s not finished. The date on +the contract, you know . . .’ + +‘Oh, it’s finished all right. Burnt.’ + +‘Burnt?’ + +‘Burnt.’ + +‘What an awful thing. I hope you are insured.’ + +Adam explained the circumstances of the destruction of his +autobiography. There was a longish pause while Sam Benfleet thought. + +‘What worries me is how are we going to make that sound convincing to +old Rampole.’ + +‘I should think it sounded convincing enough.’ + +‘You don’t know old Rampole. It’s sometimes very difficult for me, Adam, +working under him. Now if I had my own way I’d say, “Take your own time. +Start again. Don’t worry . . .” But there’s old Rampole. He’s a devil +for contracts, you know, and you did _say_, didn’t you . . . ? It’s all +very difficult. You know, I wish it hadn’t happened.’ + +‘So do I, oddly enough,’ said Adam. + +‘There’s another difficulty. You’ve had an advance already, haven’t you? +Fifty pounds, wasn’t it? Well, you know, _that_ makes things very +difficult. Old Rampole never likes big advances like that to young +authors. You know I hate to say it, but I can’t help feeling that the +best thing would be for you to repay the advance—plus interest, of +course, old Rampole would insist on that—and cancel the contract. Then +if you ever thought of re-writing the book, well, of course, we should +be delighted to consider it. I suppose that—well, I mean, it _would_ be +quite _convenient_, and all that, to repay the advance?’ + +‘Not only inconvenient, but impossible,’ said Adam in no particular +manner. + +There was another pause. + +‘Deuced awkward,’ said Sam Benfleet. ‘It’s a shame the way the Customs +House officers are allowed to take the law into their own hands. Quite +ignorant men, too. Liberty of the subject, I mean, and all that. I tell +you what we’ll do. We’ll start a correspondence about it in the _New +Statesman_. . . . It is all so deuced awkward. But I think I can see a +way out. I suppose you could get the book rewritten in time for the +Spring List? Well, we’ll cancel the contract and forget all about the +advance. No, no, my dear fellow, don’t thank me. If only I was alone +here I’d be doing that kind of thing all day. Now instead we’ll have a +new contract. It won’t be quite so good as the last, I’m afraid. Old +Rampole wouldn’t stand for that. I’ll tell you what, we’ll give you our +standard first-novel contract. I’ve got a printed form here. It won’t +take a minute to fill up. Just sign here.’ + +‘May I just see the terms?’ + +‘Of course, my dear fellow. They look a bit hard at first, I know, but +it’s our usual form. We made a very special case for you, you know. It’s +very simple. No royalty on the first two thousand, then a royalty of two +and a half per cent., rising to five per cent, on the tenth thousand. We +retain serial, cinema, dramatic, American, Colonial and translation +rights, of course. And, of course, an option on your next twelve books +on the same terms. It’s a very straightforward arrangement really. +Doesn’t leave room for any of the disputes which embitter the relations +of author and publisher. Most of our authors are working on a contract +like that. . . . Splendid. Now don’t you bother any more about that +advance. I understand _perfectly_, and I’ll square old Rampole somehow, +even if it comes out of my director’s fees.’ + +‘Square old Rampole,’ repeated Mr Benfleet thoughtfully as Adam went +downstairs. It was fortunate, he reflected, that none of the authors +ever came across the senior partner, that benign old gentleman, who once +a week drove up to board meetings from the country, whose chief interest +in the business was confined to the progress of a little book of his own +about bee-keeping, which they had published twenty years ago and, though +he did not know it, allowed long ago to drop out of print. He often +wondered in his uneasy moments what he would find to say when Rampole +died. + + + +It was about now that Adam remembered that he was engaged to be married. +The name of his young lady was Nina Blount. So he went into a tube +station to a telephone-box, which smelt rather nasty, and rang her up. + +‘Hullo.’ + +‘Hullo.’ + +‘May I speak to Miss Blount, please?’ + +‘I’ll just see if she’s in,’ said Miss Blount’s voice. ‘Who’s speaking, +please?’ She was always rather snobbish about the fiction of having +someone to answer the telephone. + +‘Mr Fenwick-Symes.’ + +‘Oh.’ + +‘Adam, you know. . . . How are you, Nina?’ + +‘Well, I’ve got rather a pain just at present.’ + +‘Poor Nina, shall I come round and see you?’ + +‘No, don’t do that, darling, because I’m just going to have a bath. Why +don’t we dine together?’ + +‘Well, I asked Agatha Runcible to dinner.’ + +‘Why?’ + +‘She’d just had all her clothes taken off by some sailors.’ + +‘Yes, I know, it’s all in the evening paper to-night. . . . Well, I’ll +tell you what. Let’s meet at Archie Schwert’s party. Are you going?’ + +‘I rather said I would.’ + +‘That’s all right, then. Don’t dress up. No one will, except Archie.’ + +‘Oh, I say. Nina, there’s one thing—I don’t think I shall be able to +marry you after all.’ + +‘Oh, _Adam_, you are a bore. Why not?’ + +‘They burnt my book.’ + +‘Beasts. Who did?’ + +‘I’ll tell you about it to-night.’ + +‘Yes, _do_. Good-bye, darling.’ + +‘Good-bye, my sweet.’ + +He hung up the receiver and left the telephone-box. People had crowded +into the Underground station for shelter from the rain, and were shaking +their umbrellas and reading their evening papers. Adam could see the +headlines over their shoulders. + + PEER’S DAUGHTER’S DOVER ORDEAL + SERIOUS ALLEGATIONS BY SOCIETY + BEAUTY + HON. A. RUNCIBLE SAYS ‘TOO + SHAMING’ + +‘Poor pretty,’ said an indignant old woman at his elbow. ‘Disgraceful, I +calls it. And such a good sweet face. I see her picture in the papers +only yesterday. Nasty prying minds. That’s what they got. And her poor +father and all. Look, Jane, there’s a piece about him, too. “Interviewed +at the Carlton Club this evening, Lord Chasm,” that’s her dad, “refused +to make a definite statement. ‘The matter shall not be allowed to rest +here,’ he said.” _And_ quite right, too, I says. You know I feels about +that girl just as though it was me own daughter. Seeing her picture so +often and our Sarah having done the back stairs, Tuesdays, at them flats +where her aunt used to live—the one as had that ’orrible divorce last +year.’ + +Adam bought a paper. He had just ten shillings left in the world. It was +too wet to walk, so he took a very crowded tube train to Dover Street +and hurried across in the rain to Shepheard’s Hotel (which, for the +purposes of the narrative, may be assumed to stand at the corner of Hay +Hill). + + + + + _Chapter Three_ + + +Lottie Crump, proprietress of Shepheard’s Hotel, Dover Street, attended +invariably by two Cairn terriers, is a happy reminder to us that the +splendours of the Edwardian era were not entirely confined to Lady +Anchorage or Mrs Blackwater. She is a fine figure of a woman, singularly +unscathed by any sort of misfortune and superbly oblivious of those +changes in the social order which agitate the more observant _grandes +dames_ of her period. When the war broke out she took down the signed +photograph of the Kaiser and, with some solemnity, hung it in the +men-servants’ lavatory; it was her one combative action; since then she +has had her worries—income-tax forms and drink restrictions and young +men whose fathers she used to know, who give her bad cheques, but these +have been soon forgotten; one can go to Shepheard’s parched with +modernity any day, if Lottie likes one’s face, and still draw up, cool +and uncontaminated, great, healing draughts from the well of Edwardian +certainty. + +Shepheard’s has a plain, neatly pointed brick front and large, plain +doorway. Inside it is like a country house. Lottie is a great one for +sales, and likes, whenever one of the great houses of her day is being +sold up, to take away something for old times’ sake. There is a good +deal too much furniture at Shepheard’s, some of it rare, some of it +hideous beyond description; there is plenty of red plush and red morocco +and innumerable wedding presents of the ’eighties; in particular many of +those massive, mechanical devices covered with crests and monograms, and +associated in some way with cigars. It is the sort of house in which one +expects to find croquet mallets and polo sticks in the bathroom, and +children’s toys at the bottom of one’s chest of drawers, and an estate +map and an archery target—exuding straw—and a bicycle and one of those +walking-sticks which turn into saws, somewhere in passages, between +baize doors, smelling of damp. (As a matter of fact, all you are likely +to find in your room at Lottie’s is an empty champagne bottle or two and +a crumpled camisole.) + +The servants, like the furniture, are old and have seen aristocratic +service. Doge, the head waiter, who is hard of hearing, partially blind, +and tortured with gout, was once a Rothschild’s butler. He had, in fact, +on more than one occasion in Father Rothschild’s youth, dandled him on +his knee, when he came with his father (at one time the fifteenth +richest man in the world) to visit his still richer cousins, but it +would be unlike him to pretend that he ever really liked the embryo +Jesuit who was ‘too clever by half’, given to asking extraordinary +questions, and endowed with a penetrating acumen in the detection of +falsehood and exaggeration. + +Besides Doge, there are innumerable old housemaids always trotting about +with cans of hot water and clean towels. There is also a young Italian +who does most of the work and gets horribly insulted by Lottie, who once +caught him powdering his nose, and will not let him forget it. Indeed, +it is one of the few facts in Lottie’s recent experience that seems +always accessible. + +Lottie’s parlour, in which most of the life of Shepheard’s centres, +contains a comprehensive collection of signed photographs. Most of the +male members of the royal families of Europe are represented (except the +ex-Emperor of Germany who has not been reinstated, although there was a +distinct return of sentiment towards him on the occasion of his second +marriage). There are photographs of young men on horses riding in +steeple-chases, of elderly men leading in the winners of ‘classic’ +races, of horses alone and of young men alone, dressed in tight, white +collars or in the uniform of the Brigade of Guards. There are +caricatures by ‘Spy’, and photographs cut from illustrated papers, many +of them with brief obituary notices, ‘killed in action’. There are +photographs of yachts in full sail and of elderly men in yachting caps; +there are some funny pictures of the earliest kind of motor car. There +are very few writers or painters and no actors, for Lottie is true to +the sound old snobbery of pound sterling and strawberry leaves. + +Lottie was standing in the hall abusing the Italian waiter when Adam +arrived. + +‘Well,’ she said, ‘you are a stranger. Come along in. We were just +thinking about having a little drink. You’ll find a lot of your friends +here.’ + +She led Adam into the parlour, where they found several men, none of +whom Adam had ever seen before. + +‘You all know Lord Thingummy, don’t you?’ said Lottie. + +‘Mr Symes,’ said Adam. + +‘Yes, dear, that’s what I said. Bless you, I knew you before you were +born. How’s your father? Not dead, is he?’ + +‘Yes, I’m afraid he is.’ + +‘Well, I never. I could tell you some things about him. Now let me +introduce you—that’s Mr What’s-his-name, you remember him, don’t you? +And over there in the corner, that’s the Major, and there’s Mr +What-d’you-call-him, and that’s an American, and there’s the King of +Ruritania.’ + +‘Alas, no longer,’ said a sad, bearded man. + +‘Poor chap,’ said Lottie Crump, who always had a weak spot for royalty, +even when deposed. ‘It’s a shame. They gave him the boot after the war. +Hasn’t got a penny. Not that he ever did have much. His wife’s locked up +in a looney house, too.’ + +‘Poor Maria Christina. It is true how Mrs Crump says. Her brains, they +are quite gone out. All the time she thinks everyone is a bomb.’ + +‘It’s perfectly true, poor old girl,’ said Lottie with relish. ‘I drove +the King down Saturday to see her . . . (I won’t have him travelling +third class). It fair brought tears to my eyes. Kept skipping about all +the time, she did, dodging. Thought they were throwing things at her.’ + +‘It is one strange thing, too,’ said the King. ‘All my family they have +bombs thrown at them, but the Queen, never. My poor Uncle Joseph he blow +all to bits one night at the opera, and my sister she find three bombs +in her bed. But my wife, never. But one day her maid is brushing her +hair before dinner, and she said, “Madam,” she said, “the cook has had +lesson from the cook at the French Legation”—the food at my home was +not what you call _chic_. One day it was mutton hot, then mutton cold, +then the same mutton hot again, but less nicer, not _chic_, you +understand me—“he has had lesson from the French cook,” the maid say, +“and he has made one big bomb as a surprise for your dinner party +to-night for the Swedish Minister.” Then the poor Queen say “Oh”, like +so, and since then always her poor brains has was all no-how.’ + +The ex-King of Ruritania sighed heavily and lit a cigar. + +‘Well,’ said Lottie, brushing aside a tear, ‘what about a little drink? +Here, you over there, your Honour Judge What’s-your-name, how about a +drink for the gentlemen?’ + +The American, who, like all the listeners, had been profoundly moved by +the ex-King’s recitation, roused himself to bow and say, ‘I shall esteem +it a great honour if His Majesty and yourself, Mrs Crump, and these +other good gentlemen . . .’ + +‘That’s the way,’ said Lottie. ‘Hi, there, where’s my Fairy Prince? +Powdering hisself again, I suppose. Come here, Nancy, and put away the +beauty cream.’ + +In came the waiter. + +‘Bottle of wine,’ said Lottie, ‘with Judge Thingummy there.’ (Unless +specified in detail, all drinks are champagne in Lottie’s parlour. There +is also a mysterious game played with dice which always ends with +someone giving a bottle of wine to every one in the room, but Lottie has +an equitable soul and she generally sees to it, in making up the bills, +that the richest people pay for everything.) + +After the third or fourth bottle of wine Lottie said, ‘Who d’you think +we’ve got dining upstairs to-night? _Prime Minister._’ + +‘Me, I have never liked Prime Ministers. They talk and talk and then +they talk more. “Sir, you must sign that.” “Sir, you must go here and +there.” “Sir, you must do up that button before you give audience to the +black plenipotentiary from Liberia.” Pah! After the war my people give +me the bird, yes, but they throw my Prime Minister out of the window, +bump right bang on the floor. Ha, ha.’ + +‘He ain’t alone either,’ said Lottie with a terrific wink. + +‘What, Sir James Brown?’ said the Major, shocked in spite of himself. ‘I +don’t believe it.’ + +‘No, name of Outrage.’ + +‘He’s not Prime Minister.’ + +‘Yes, he is. I saw it in the paper.’ + +‘No, he’s not. He went out of office last week.’ + +‘Well I never. How they keep changing. I’ve no patience with it. Doge. +Doge. What’s the Prime Minister’s name?’ + +‘Beg pardon, mum.’ + +‘What’s the name of the Prime Minister? + +‘Not to-night, I don’t think, mum, not as I’ve been informed anyway.’ + +‘What’s the name of the Prime Minister, you stupid old man?’ + +‘Oh, I beg your pardon, mum. I didn’t quite hear you. Sir James Brown, +mum, Bart. A very nice gentleman, so I’ve been told. Conservative, I’ve +heard said. Gloucestershire they come from, I think.’ + +‘There, what did I say?’ said Lottie triumphantly. + +‘It is one very extraordinary thing, your British Constitution,’ said +the ex-King of Ruritania. ‘All the time when I was young they taught me +nothing but British Constitution. My tutor had been a master at your +Eton school. And now when I come to England always there is a different +Prime Minister and no one knows which is which.’ + +‘Oh, sir,’ said the Major, ‘that’s because of the Liberal Party.’ + +‘Liberals? Yes. We, too, had Liberals. I tell you something now, I had a +gold fountain-pen. My godfather, the good Archduke of Austria, give me +one gold fountain-pen with eagles on him. I loved my gold fountain-pen.’ +Tears stood in the King’s eyes. Champagne was a rare luxury to him now. +‘I loved very well my pen with the little eagles. And one day there was +a Liberal Minister. A Count Tampen, one man, Mrs Crump, of exceedingly +evilness. He come to talk to me and he stood at my little escritoire and +he thump and talk too much about somethings I not understand, and when +he go—where was my gold fountain-pen with eagles—gone too.’ + +‘Poor old King,’ said Lottie. ‘I tell you what. You have another drink.’ + +‘. . . Esteem it a great honour,’ said the American, ‘if your Majesty +and these gentlemen and Mrs Crump . . .’ + +‘Doge, tell my little love-bird to come hopping in . . . you there, +Judge wants another bottle of wine.’ + +‘. . . Should honour it a great esteem . . . esteem it a great honour if +Mrs Majesty and these gentlemen and His Crump . . .’ + +‘That’s all right, Judge. Another bottle coming.’ + +‘. . . Should esteem it a great Crump if his honour and these Majesties +and Mrs Gentlemen . . .’ + +‘Yes, yes, that’s all right, Judge. Don’t let him fall down, boys. Bless +me, how these Americans do drink.’ + +‘. . . I should Crump it a great Majesty if Mrs Esteem . . .’ + +And his Honour Judge Skimp of the Federal High Court began to laugh +rather a lot. (It must be remembered in all these people’s favour that +none of them had yet dined.) + +Now there was a very bland, natty, moustachioed young man sitting there +who had been drinking away quietly in the corner without talking to +anyone except for an occasional ‘Cheerio’ to Judge Skimp. Suddenly he +got up and said: + +‘Bet-you-can’t-do-this.’ + +He put three halfpennies on the table, moved them about very +deliberately for a bit, and then looked up with an expression of pride. +‘Only touched each halfpenny five times, and changed their positions +twice,’ he said. ‘Do-it-again if you like.’ + +‘Well, isn’t he a clever boy?’ said Lottie. ‘Wherever did they teach you +that?’ + +‘Chap-in-a-train showed me,’ he said. + +‘It didn’t look very hard,’ said Adam. + +‘Just-you-try. Bet-you-anything-you-like you can’t do it.’ + +‘How much will you bet?’ Lottie loved this kind of thing. + +‘Anything-you-like. Five hundred pounds.’ + +‘Go on,’ said Lottie. ‘You do it. He’s got lots of money.’ + +‘All right,’ said Adam. + +He took the halfpennies and moved them about just as the young man had +done. When he finished he said, ‘How’s that?’ + +‘Well I’m jiggered,’ said the young man. ‘Never saw anyone do it like +that before. I’ve won a lot of money this week with that trick. Here you +are.’ And he took out a note-case and gave Adam a five-hundred-pound +note. Then he sat down in his corner again. + +‘Well,’ said Lottie with approval, ‘that’s sporting. Give the boys a +drink for that.’ + +So they all had another drink. + +Presently the young man stood up again. + +‘Toss you double-or-quits,’ he said. ‘Best-out-of-three.’ + +‘All right,’ said Adam. + +They tossed twice and Adam won both times. + +‘Well I’m jiggered,’ said the young man, handing over another note. +‘You’re a lucky chap.’ + +‘He’s got pots of money,’ said Lottie. ‘A thousand pounds is nothing to +him.’ + +She liked to feel like that about all her guests. Actually in this young +man’s case she was wrong. He happened to have all that money in his +pocket because he had just sold out his few remaining securities to buy +a new motor car. So next day he bought a second-hand motor bicycle +instead. + +Adam felt a little dizzy, so he had another drink. + +‘D’you mind if I telephone?’ he said. + +He rang up Nina Blount. + +‘Is that Nina?’ + +‘Adam, dear, you’re tight already.’ + +‘How d’you know?’ + +‘I can hear it. What is it? I’m just going out to dinner.’ + +‘I just rang up to say that it’s all right about our getting married. +I’ve got a thousand pounds.’ + +‘Oh good. How?’ + +‘I’ll tell you when we meet. Where are you dining?’ + +‘Ritz. Archie. Darling. I _am_ glad about our getting married.’ + +‘So am I. But don’t let’s get intense about it.’ + +‘I wasn’t, and anyway you’re tight.’ + +He went back to the parlour. Miss Runcible had arrived and was standing +in the hall very much dressed up. + +‘Who’s that tart?’ asked Lottie. + +‘That’s not a tart, Lottie, that’s Agatha Runcible.’ + +‘Looks like a tart. How do you do, my dear, come in. We’re just thinking +of having a little drink. You know everyone here, of course, don’t you? +That’s the King with the beard. . . . No, dearie, the King of Ruritania. +You didn’t mind my taking you for a tart, did you, dear? You look so +like one, got up like that. Of course, I can see you aren’t now.’ + +‘_My dear_,’ said Miss Runcible, ‘if you’d seen me this afternoon . . .’ +and she began to tell Lottie Crump about the Customs House. + +‘What would you do if you suddenly got a thousand pounds?’ Adam asked. + +‘A thousand _pound_,’ said the King, his eyes growing dreamy at this +absurd vision. ‘Well, first I should buy a house and a motor car and a +yacht and a new pair of gloves, and then I would start one little +newspaper in my country to say that I must come back and be the King, +and then I don’t know what I do, but I have such fun and grandness +again.’ + +‘But you can’t do all that with a thousand pounds, you know, sir.’ + +‘No . . . can’t I not? . . . not with thousand pound. . . . Oh, well, +then I think I buy a gold pen with eagles on him like the Liberals +stole.’ + +‘I know what I’d do,’ said the Major. ‘I’d put it on a horse.’ + +‘What horse?’ + +‘I can tell you a likely outsider for the November Handicap. Horse named +Indian Runner. It’s at twenty to one at present, and the odds are likely +to lengthen. Now if you were to put a thousand on him to win and he won, +why you’d be rich, wouldn’t you?’ + +‘Yes, so I would. How marvellous. D’you know, I think I’ll do that. It’s +a _very_ good idea. How can I do it?’ + +‘Just you give me the thousand and I’ll arrange it.’ + +‘I say, that’s awfully nice of you.’ + +‘Not at all.’ + +‘No, really, I think that’s frightfully nice of you. Look, here’s the +money. Have a drink, won’t you?’ + +‘No, you have one with me.’ + +‘I said it first.’ + +‘Let’s both have one, then.’ + +‘Wait a minute though, I must go and telephone about this.’ + +He rang up the Ritz and got on to Nina. + +‘Darling, you do telephone a lot, don’t you?’ + +‘Nina, I’ve something very important to say.’ + +‘Yes, darling.’ + +‘Nina, have you heard of a horse called Indian Runner?’ + +‘Yes, I think so. Why?’ + +‘What sort of a horse is it?’ + +‘My dear, quite the worst sort of horse. Mary Mouse’s mother owns it.’ + +‘Not a good horse?’ + +‘No.’ + +‘Not likely to win the November Handicap, I mean.’ + +‘Quite sure not to. I don’t suppose it’ll run even. Why?’ + +‘I say, Nina, d’you know I don’t think we shall be able to get married +after all.’ + +‘Why not, my sweet?’ + +‘You see, I’ve put my thousand pounds on Indian Runner.’ + +‘That was silly. Can’t you get it back?’ + +‘I gave it to a Major.’ + +‘What sort of a Major?’ + +‘Rather a drunk one. I don’t know his name.’ + +‘Well, I should try and catch him. I must go back and eat now. +Good-bye.’ + +But when he got back to Lottie’s parlour the Major was gone. + +‘What Major?’ said Lottie, when he asked about him. ‘I never saw a +Major.’ + +‘The one you introduced me to in the corner.’ + +‘How d’you know he’s a Major?’ + +‘You said he was.’ + +‘My dear boy, I’ve never seen him before. Now I come to think of it, he +did look like a Major, didn’t he? But this sweet little girlie here is +telling me a story. Go on, my dear. I can hardly bear to hear it, it’s +so wicked.’ + +While Miss Runcible finished her story (which began to sound each time +she told it more and more like the most lubricious kind of anti-Turkish +propaganda) the ex-King of Ruritania told Adam about a Major _he_ had +known, who had come from Prussia to reorganize the Ruritanian Army. He +had disappeared south, taking with him all the mess plate of the Royal +Guard, and the Lord Chamberlain’s wife, and a valuable pair of +candlesticks from the Chapel Royal. + +By the time Miss Runcible had finished, Lottie was in a high state of +indignation. + +‘The very idea of it,’ she said. ‘The dirty hounds. And I used to know +your poor father, too, before you were born _or_ thought of. I’ll talk +to the Prime Minister about this,’ she said, taking up the telephone. +‘Give me Outrage,’ she said to the exchange boy. ‘He’s up in number +twelve with a Japanese.’ + +‘Outrage isn’t Prime Minister, Lottie.’ + +‘Of course he is. Didn’t Doge say so. . . . Hullo, is that Outrage? This +is Lottie. A fine chap you are, I don’t think. Tearing the clothes off +the back of a poor innocent girl.’ + +Lottie prattled on. + +Mr Outrage had finished dinner, and, as a matter of fact, the phrasing +of this accusation was not wholly inappropriate to his mood. It was some +minutes before he began to realize that all this talk was only about +Miss Runcible. By that time Lottie’s flow of invective had come to an +end, but she finished finely. + +‘Outrage your name, and Outrage your nature,’ she said, banging down the +receiver. ‘And that’s what I think of _him_. Now how about a little +drink?’ + +But her party was breaking up. The Major was gone. Judge Skimp was +sleeping, his fine white hair in an ash-tray. Adam and Miss Runcible +were talking about where they would dine. Soon only the King remained. +He gave her his arm with a grace he had acquired many years ago; far +away in his sunny little palace, under a great chandelier which +scattered with stars of light like stones from a broken necklace, a +crimson carpet woven with a pattern of crowned ciphers. + +So Lottie and the King went in to dinner together. + +Upstairs in No. 12, which is a suite of notable grandeur, Mr Outrage was +sliding back down the path of self-confidence he had so laboriously +climbed. He really would have brought matters to a crisis if it had not +been for that telephone, he told himself, but now the Baroness was +saying she was sure he was busy, must be wanting her to go: would he +order her car. + +It was so difficult. For a European the implications of an invitation to +dinner _tête-à-tête_ in a private room at Shepheard’s were definitely +clear. Her acceptance on the first night of his return to England had +thrown him into a flutter of expectation. But all through dinner she had +been so self-possessed, so supremely social. Yet, surely, just before +the telephone rang, surely then, when they left the table and moved to +the fire, there had been _something_ in the atmosphere. But you never +know with Orientals. He clutched his knees and said in a voice which +sounded very extraordinary to him, must she go, it was lovely after a +fortnight, and then, desperately, he had thought of her in Paris such a +lot. (Oh, for words, words! That massed treasury of speech that was his +to squander at will, to send bowling and spinning in golden pieces over +the floor of the House of Commons; that glorious largesse of vocables he +cast far and wide, in ringing handfuls about his constituency!) + +The little Baroness Yoshiwara, her golden hands clasped in the lap of +her golden Paquin frock, sat where she had been sent, more puzzled than +Mr Outrage, waiting for orders. What did the clever Englishman want? If +he was busy with his telephone, why did he not send her away; tell her +another time to come: if he wanted to be loved, why did he not tell her +to come over to him? Why did he not pick her out of her red plush chair +and sit her on his knee? Was she, perhaps, looking ugly to-night? She +had thought not. It was so hard to know what these Occidentals wanted. + +Then the telephone rang again. + +‘Will you hold on a minute? Father Rothschild wants to speak to you,’ +said a voice. ‘. . . Is that you, Outrage? Will you be good enough to +come round and see me as soon as you can? There are several things which +I must discuss with you.’ + +‘Really, Rothschild . . . I don’t see why I should. I have a guest.’ + +‘The baroness had better return immediately. The waiter who brought you +your coffee has a brother at the Japanese Embassy.’ + +‘Good God, has he? But why don’t you go and worry Brown? He’s P.M., you +know, not me.’ + +‘You will be in office to-morrow. . . . As soon as possible, please, at +my usual address.’ + +‘Oh, all right.’ + +‘Why, of course.’ + + + + + _Chapter Four_ + + +At Archie Schwert’s party the fifteenth Marquess of Vanburgh, Earl +Vanburgh de Brendon, Baron Brendon, Lord of the Five Isles and +Hereditary Grand Falconer to the Kingdom of Connaught, said to the +eighth Earl of Balcairn, Viscount Erdinge, Baron Cairn of Balcairn, Red +Knight of Lancaster, Count of the Holy Roman Empire and Chenonceaux +Herald to the Duchy of Aquitaine, ‘Hullo,’ he said. ‘Isn’t this a +repulsive party? What are you going to say about it?’ for they were both +of them, as it happened, gossip writers for the daily papers. + +‘I’ve just telephoned my story through,’ said Lord Balcairn. ‘And now +I’m going, thank God.’ + +‘I can’t think of what to say,’ said Lord Vanburgh. ‘My editress said +yesterday she was tired of seeing the same names over and over +again—and here they are again, all of them. There’s Nina Blount’s +engagement being broken off, but she’s not got any publicity value to +speak of. Agatha Runcible’s usually worth a couple of paragraphs, but +they’re featuring her as a front-page news story to-morrow over this +Customs House business.’ + +‘I made rather a good thing over Edward Throbbing being in a log shanty +in Canada which he built himself with the help of one Red Indian. I +thought that was fairly good because, you see, I could contrast that +with Miles being dressed as a Red Indian to-night, don’t you think so, +or don’t you?’ + +‘I say, that’s rather good, may I use it?’ + +‘Well, you can have the shanty, but the Red Indian’s mine.’ + +‘Where is he actually?’ + +‘Heaven knows, Government House at Ottawa, I think.’ + +‘Who’s that awful-looking woman? I’m sure she’s famous in some way. It’s +not Mrs Melrose Ape, is it? I heard she was coming.’ + +‘Who?’ + +‘That one. Making up to Nina.’ + +‘Good lord, no. She’s no one. Mrs Panrast she’s called now.’ + +‘She seems to know you.’ + +‘Yes, I’ve known her all my life. As a matter of fact, she’s my mother.’ + +‘My dear, how too shaming. D’you mind if I put that in?’ + +‘I’d sooner you didn’t. The family can’t bear her. She’s been divorced +twice since then, you know.’ + +‘My dear, of course not, I quite understand.’ + +Five minutes later he was busy at the telephone dictating his story. +‘. . . Orchid stop, new paragraph. One of the most striking women in the +room was Mrs Panrast—P-A-N-R-A-S-T-, no, T for telephone, you +know—formerly Countess of Balcairn. She dresses with that severely +masculine chic, italics, which American women know so well how to +assume, stop. Her son, comma, the present Earl, comma, was with her, +stop. Lord Balcairn is one of the few young men about town. . . . + +‘. . . the Hon. Miles Malpractice was dressed as a Red Indian. He is at +present living in the house of his brother, Lord Throbbing, at which +yesterday’s party was held. His choice of costume was particularly—what +shall I say? hullo, yes—was particularly piquant, italics, since the +latest reports of Lord Throbbing say that he is living in a log shack in +Canada which he built with his own hands, aided by one Red Indian +servant, stop. . . .’ + + + +You see, that was the kind of party Archie Schwert’s party was. + + + +Miss Mouse (in a very enterprising frock by Cheruit) sat on a chair with +her eyes popping out of her head. She never _could_ get used to so much +excitement, never. To-night she had brought a little friend with her—a +Miss Brown—because it was so much more fun if one had some one to talk +to. It was too thrilling to see all that dull money her father had +amassed, metamorphosed in this way into so much glitter and noise and so +many bored young faces. Archie Schwert, as he passed, champagne bottle +in hand, paused to say, ‘How are you, Mary darling? Quite all right?’ + +‘That’s Archie Schwert,’ said Miss Mouse to Miss Brown. ‘Isn’t he too +clever?’ + +‘Is he?’ said Miss Brown, who would have liked a drink, but didn’t know +quite how to set about it. ‘You _are_ lucky to know such amusing people, +Mary darling. I never see any one.’ + +‘Wasn’t the invitation clever? Johnnie Hoop wrote it.’ + +‘Well, yes, I suppose it was. But you know, was it dreadful of me, I +hadn’t heard of any of the names.’[A] + +----- + +[A] Perhaps it should be explained—there were at this time three sorts +of formal invitation card; there was the nice sensible copybook hand +sort with a name and _At Home_ and a date and time and address; then +there was the sort that came from Chelsea, _Noel and Audrey are having a +little whoopee on Saturday evening: do please come and bring a bottle +too, if you can_; and finally there was the sort that Johnnie Hoop used +to adapt from _Blast_ and Marinetti’s _Futurist Manifesto_. These had +two columns of close print; in one was a list of all the things Johnnie +hated, and in the other all the things he thought he liked. Most of the +parties which Miss Mouse financed had invitations written by Johnnie +Hoop. + +----- + +‘My dear, of course you have,’ said Miss Mouse, feeling somewhere in her +depths—those unplumbed places in Miss Mouse’s soul—a tiny, most +unaccustomed flicker of superiority; for she had gone through that +invitation word by word in papa’s library some days ago and knew all +about it. + +She almost wished in this new mood of exaltation that she had come to +the party in fancy dress. It was called a Savage party, that is to say +that Johnnie Hoop had written on the invitation that they were to come +dressed as savages. Numbers of them had done so; Johnnie himself in a +mask and black gloves represented the Maharanee of Pukkapore, somewhat +to the annoyance of the Maharajah, who happened to drop in. The real +aristocracy, the younger members of those two or three great brewing +families which rule London, had done nothing about it. They had come on +from a dance and stood in a little group by themselves, aloof, amused +but not amusing. Pit-a-pat went the heart of Miss Mouse. How she longed +to tear down her dazzling frock to her hips and dance like a Bacchante +before them all. One day she would surprise them all, thought Miss +Mouse. + + + +There was a famous actor making jokes (but it was not so much what he +said as the way he said it that made the people laugh who did laugh). +‘I’ve come to the party as a wild widower,’ he said. They were that kind +of joke—but, of course, he made a droll face when he said it. + +Miss Runcible had changed into Hawaiian costume and was the life and +soul of the evening. + +She had heard some one say something about an Independent Labour Party, +and was furious that she had not been asked. + +There were two men with a lot of explosive powder taking photographs in +another room. Their flashes and bangs had rather a disquieting effect on +the party, causing a feeling of tension, because every one looked +negligent and said what a bore the papers were, and how _too_ like +Archie to let the photographers come, but most of them as a matter of +fact wanted dreadfully to be photographed and the others were frozen +with unaffected terror that they might be taken unawares and then their +mamas would know where they had been when they said they were at the +Bicesters’ dance, and then there would be a row again, which was so +_exhausting_, if nothing else. + +There were Adam and Nina getting rather sentimental. + +‘D’you know,’ she said, pulling out a lump, ‘I’d quite made up my mind +that your hair was dark?’ Archie Schwert, pausing with a bottle of +champagne, said, ‘Don’t be so sadistic, Nina.’ + +‘Go away, hog’s rump,’ said Adam, in Cockney, adding, in softer tones, +‘Are you disappointed?’ + +‘Well, no, but it’s rather disconcerting getting engaged to some one +with dark hair and finding it’s fair.’ + +‘Anyway, we aren’t engaged any more, are we—or are we?’ + +‘I’m not sure that we’re not. How much money _have_ you, Adam?’ + +‘Literally, none, my dear. Poor Agatha had to pay for dinner as it was, +and God knows what I’m going to do about Lottie Crump’s bill.’ + +‘Of course, you know—Adam, don’t fall asleep—there’s always papa. I +believe he’s really much richer than he looks. He might give us some +money until your books start paying.’ + +‘You know, if I wrote a book a month I should be free of that contract +in a year. . . . I hadn’t thought of that before. I don’t at all see why +I shouldn’t do that, do you? . . . or do you?’ + +‘Of course not, darling. I’ll tell you what. We’ll go down and see papa +to-morrow, shall we?’ + +‘Yes, that would be divine, darling.’ + +‘Adam, don’t go to sleep.’ + +‘Sorry, darling, what I meant was that that would be divine.’ + +And he went to sleep for a little, with his head in her lap. + +‘Pretty as a picture,’ said Archie, in Cockney, passing with a bottle of +champagne in his hand. + +‘Wake up, Adam,’ said Nina, pulling out more hair. ‘It’s time to go.’ + +‘That would be divine. . . . I say, have I been asleep?’ + +‘Yes, for hours and hours. You looked rather sweet.’ + +‘And you sat there. . . . I say, Nina, you are getting +sentimental. . . . Where are we going?’ + +There were about a dozen people left at the party; that hard kernel of +gaiety that never breaks. It was about three o’clock. + +‘Let’s go to Lottie Crump’s and have a drink,’ said Adam. + +So they all got into two taxicabs and drove across Berkeley Square to +Dover Street. But at Shepheard’s the night porter said that Mrs Crump +had just gone to bed. He thought that Judge Skimp was still up with some +friends; would they like to join them? They went up to Judge Skimp’s +suite, but there had been a disaster there with a chandelier that one of +his young ladies had tried to swing on. They were bathing her forehead +with champagne; two of them were asleep. + +So Adam’s party went out again, into the rain. + +‘Of course, there’s always the Ritz,’ said Archie. ‘I believe the night +porter can usually get one a drink.’ But he said it in the sort of voice +that made all the others say, no, the Ritz was too, too boring at that +time of night. + +They went to Agatha Runcible’s house, which was quite near, but she +found that she’d lost her latchkey, so that was no good. Soon some one +would say those fatal words, ‘Well, I think it’s time for me to go to +bed. Can I give any one a lift to Knightsbridge?’ and the party would be +over. + +But instead a little breathless voice said, ‘Why don’t you come to _my_ +house?’ + +It was Miss Brown. + +So they all got into taxicabs again and drove rather a long way to Miss +Brown’s house. She turned on the lights in a sombre dining-room and gave +them glasses of whisky and soda. (She turned out to be rather a good +hostess, though over-zealous.) Then Miles said he wanted something to +eat, so they all went downstairs into a huge kitchen lined with every +shape of pot and pan and found some eggs and some bacon and Miss Brown +cooked them. Then they had some more whisky upstairs and Adam feel +asleep again. Presently Vanburgh said, ‘D’you mind if I use the +telephone? I must just send the rest of my story to the paper.’ Miss +Brown took him to a study that looked almost like an office, and he +dictated the rest of his column, and then he came back and had some more +whisky. + +It was a lovely evening for Miss Brown. Flushed with successful +hospitality, she trotted from guest to guest, offering here a box of +matches, there a cigar, there a fruit from the enormous gilt dishes on +the sideboard. To think that all these brilliant people, whom she had +heard so much about, with what envy, from Miss Mouse, should be here in +papa’s dining-room, calling her ‘my dear’ and ‘darling’. And when at +last they said they really had to go, Miss Runcible said, ‘Well, _I_ +can’t go, because I’ve lost my latchkey. D’you mind awfully if I sleep +here?’ + +Miss Brown, her heart in her mouth, but in the most natural way +possible, said, ‘Of course not, Agatha darling, that would be divine.’ + +And then Miss Runcible said, ‘How too divine of you, darling.’ + +_Rapture!_ + + + +At half-past nine the next morning the Brown family came down to +breakfast in the dining-room. + +There were four quiet girls (of whom the Miss Brown who had given the +party was the youngest), their brother worked in a motor shop and had +had to get off early. They were seated at the table when their mama came +down. + +‘Now, children,’ she said, ‘do try to remember to talk to your father at +breakfast. He was quite hurt yesterday. He feels out of things. It’s so +easy to bring him into the conversation if you take a little trouble, +and he does so enjoy hearing about everything.’ + +‘Yes, Mama,’ they said. ‘We do try, you know.’ + +‘And what was the Bicesters’ dance like, Jane?’ she said, pouring out +some coffee. ‘Did you have a good time?’ + +‘It was just too divine,’ said the youngest Miss Brown. + +‘It was _what_, Jane?’ + +‘I mean it was _lovely_, Mama.’ + +‘So I should think. You girls are very lucky nowadays. There were not +nearly so many dances when I was your age. Perhaps two a week in the +season, you know, but _none_ before Christmas ever.’ + +‘Mama.’ + +‘Yes, Jane.’ + +‘Mama. I asked a girl to stay the night.’ + +‘Yes, dear. When? We’re rather full up, you know.’ + +‘Last night, Mama.’ + +‘What an extraordinary thing to do. Did she accept?’ + +‘Yes, she’s here now.’ + +‘_Well_. . . . Ambrose, will you tell Mrs Sparrow to put on another +egg?’ + +‘I’m very sorry, my lady, Mrs Sparrow can’t understand it, but there +_are_ no eggs this morning. She thinks there must have been burglars.’ + +‘Nonsense, Ambrose, who ever heard of burglars coming into a house to +steal eggs?’ + +‘The shells were all over the floor, my lady.’ + +‘I see. That’s all, thank you, Ambrose. Well, Jane, has your guest eaten +all our eggs too?’ + +‘Well, I’m afraid she has . . . at least . . . I mean.’ + +At this moment Agatha Runcible came down to breakfast. She was not +looking her best really in the morning light. + +‘Good morning, all,’ she said in Cockney. ‘I’ve found the right room at +last. D’you know, I popped into a study or something. There was a sweet +old boy sitting at a desk. He _did_ look surprised to see me. Was it +your papa?’ + +‘This is Mama,’ said Jane. + +‘How are you?’ said Miss Runcible. ‘I say, I think it’s quite too sweet +of you to let me come down to breakfast like this.’ (It must be +remembered that she was still in Hawaiian costume.) ‘Are you sure you’re +not _furious_ with me? All this is really much more embarrassing for +_me_, isn’t it, don’t you think . . . or don’t you?’ + +‘Do you take tea or coffee?’ at last Jane’s mother managed to say. +‘Jane, dear, give your friend some breakfast.’ For in the course of a +long public life she had formed the opinion that a judicious offer of +food eased most social situations. + +Then Jane’s father came in. + +‘Martha, the most extraordinary thing! . . . I think I must be losing my +reason. I was in my study just now going over that speech for this +afternoon, when suddenly the door opened and in came a sort of dancing +Hottentot woman half-naked. It just said, “Oh, how shy-making,” and then +disappeared, and . . . oh . . .’ For he had suddenly caught sight of +Miss Runcible ‘. . . oh . . . how do you do? . . . How . . .’ + +‘I don’t think you have met my husband before.’ + +‘Only for a second,’ said Miss Runcible. + +‘I hope you slept well,’ said Jane’s father desperately. + +‘Martha never told me we had a guest. Forgive me if I appeared +inhospitable . . . I—er . . . Oh, why doesn’t somebody else say +something.’ + +Miss Runcible, too, was feeling the strain. She picked up the morning +paper. + +‘Here’s something terribly funny,’ she said, by way of making +conversation. ‘Shall I read it to you?’ + +‘“_Midnight Orgies at No. 10._” My dear, isn’t that divine? Listen, +“_What must be the most extraordinary party of the little season took +place in the small hours of this morning at No. 10, Downing Street. At +about 4 a.m. the policemen who are always posted outside the Prime +Minister’s residence were surprised to witness_”—Isn’t this too +amusing—“_the arrival of a fleet of taxis, from which emerged a gay +throng in exotic fancy dress_”—How I should have loved to have seen it. +Can’t you imagine what they were like?—“_the hostess of what was +described by one of the guests as the brightest party the Bright Young +People have yet given, was no other than Miss Jane Brown, the youngest +of the Prime Minister’s four lovely daughters. The Honourable Agatha +. . ._” Why, what an extraordinary thing. . . . Oh, my God!’ + +Suddenly light came flooding in on Miss Runcible’s mind as once when, in +her débutante days, she had gone behind the scenes at a charity matinée, +and returning had stepped through the wrong door and found herself in a +blaze of flood-lights on the stage in the middle of the last act of +_Othello_. ‘Oh, my God!’ she said, looking round the Brown breakfast +table. ‘Isn’t that just too bad of Vanburgh. He’s always doing that kind +of thing. It really would serve him right if we complained and he lost +his job, don’t you think so, Sir James . . . or . . . don’t you?’ + +Miss Runcible paused and met the eyes of the Brown family once more. + +‘Oh, dear,’ she said, ‘this really is all too bogus.’ + +Then she turned round and, trailing garlands of equatorial flowers, fled +out of the room and out of the house to the huge delight and profit of +the crowd of reporters and Press photographers who were already massed +round the historic front door. + + + + + _Chapter Five_ + + +Adam woke up feeling terribly ill. He rang his bell once or twice, but +nobody came. Later he woke up again and rang the bell. The Italian +waiter appeared, undulating slightly in the doorway. Adam ordered +breakfast. Lottie came in and sat on his bed. + +‘Had a nice breakfast, dear?’ she said. + +‘Not yet,’ said Adam. ‘I’ve only just woken up.’ + +‘That’s right,’ said Lottie. ‘Nothing like a nice breakfast. There was a +young lady for you on the ’phone, but I can’t remember what it was she +said at the minute. We’ve all been upside down this morning. Such a +fuss. Had the police in, we have, ever since I don’t know what time, +drinking up my wine and asking questions and putting their noses where +they’re not wanted. All because Flossie must needs go and swing on the +chandelier. She never had any sense, Flossie. Well, she’s learned her +lesson now, poor girl. Whoever heard of such a thing—swinging on a +chandelier. Poor Judge What’s-his-name is in a terrible state about it. +I said to him it’s not so much the price of the chandelier, I said. What +money can make, money can mend, I said, and that’s the truth, isn’t it, +dear? But what I mind, I said, is having a death in the house and all +the fuss. It doesn’t do _any one_ any good having people killing +theirselves in a house like Flossie did. Now what may _you_ want, my +Italian queen?’ said Lottie as the waiter came in with a tray, the smell +of kippers contending with _nuit de Noel_ rather disagreeably. + +‘Gentleman’s breakfast,’ said the waiter. + +‘And how many _more_ breakfasts do you think he wants, I should like to +know? He’s had his breakfast hours ago while you were powdering your +nose downstairs, haven’t you, dear?’ + +‘No,’ said Adam, ‘as a matter of fact, no.’ + +‘There, do you hear what the gentleman says? _He_ doesn’t want two +breakfasts. Don’t stand there wiggling your behind at me. Take it away +quick or I’ll catch you such a smack. . . . That’s just the way—once +you get the police in every one gets all upset. There’s that boy brings +you two breakfasts and I dare say there’s some poor fellow along the +passage somewhere who hasn’t had any breakfast at all. You can’t get +anywhere without a nice breakfast. Half the young fellows as come here +now don’t have anything except a _cachet Faivre_ and some orange juice. +It’s not right,’ said Lottie, ‘and I’ve spoken to that boy about using +scent twenty times if I’ve spoken once.’ + +The waiter’s head appeared, and with it another wave of _nuit de Noel_. + +‘If you please, madam, the inspectors want to speak to you downstairs, +madam.’ + +‘All right, my little bird of paradise, I’ll be there.’ + +Lottie trotted away and the waiter came sidling back bearing his tray of +kippers and leering at Adam with a horrible intimacy. + +‘Turn on my bath, will you, please,’ said Adam. + +‘Alas, there is a gentleman asleep in the bath. Shall I wake him?’ + +‘No, it doesn’t matter.’ + +‘Will that be all, sir?’ + +‘Yes, thank you.’ + +The waiter stood about fingering the brass knobs at the end of the bed, +smiling ingratiatingly. Then he produced from under his coat a gardenia, +slightly browned at the edges. (He had found it in an evening coat he +had just been brushing.) + +Would the signor perhaps like a buttonhole? . . . Madame Crump was so +severe . . . it was nice sometimes to be able to have a talk with the +gentlemen . . . + +‘No,’ said Adam. ‘Go away.’ For he had a headache. + +The waiter sighed deeply, and walked with pettish steps to the door; +sighed again and took the gardenia to the gentleman in the bathroom. + +Adam ate some breakfast. No kipper, he reflected, is ever as good as it +smells; how this too earthly contact with flesh and bone spoiled the +first happy exhilaration; if only one could live, as Jehovah was said to +have done, on the savour of burnt offerings. He lay back for a little in +his bed thinking about the smells of food, of the greasy horror of fried +fish and the deeply moving smell that came from it; of the intoxicating +breath of bakeries and the dullness of buns. . . . He planned dinners of +enchanting aromatic foods that should be carried under the nose, snuffed +and thrown to the dogs . . . endless dinners, in which one could +alternate flavour with flavour from sunset to dawn without satiety, +while one breathed great draughts of the bouquet of old brandy. . . . Oh +for the wings of a dove, thought Adam, wandering a little from the point +as he fell asleep again (every one is liable to this ninetyish feeling +in the early morning after a party). + + + +Presently the telephone by Adam’s bed began ringing. + +‘Hullo, yes.’ + +‘Lady to speak to you. . . . Hullo, is that you, Adam?’ + +‘Is that Nina?’ + +‘How are you, my darling?’ + +‘_Oh, Nina. . . ._’ + +‘My poor sweet, I feel like that, too. Listen, angel. You haven’t +forgotten that you’re going to see my papa to-day, have you . . . or +have you? I’ve just sent him a wire to say that you’re going to lunch +with him. D’you know where he lives?’ + +‘But you’re coming too?’ + +‘Well, no. I don’t think I will, if you don’t mind. . . . I’ve got +rather a pain.’ + +‘My dear, if you _knew_ what a pain I’ve got. . . .’ + +‘Yes, but that’s different, darling. Anyway, there’s no object in our +both going.’ + +‘But what am I to say?’ + +‘_Darling_, don’t be tiresome. You know perfectly well. Just ask him for +some money.’ + +‘Will he like that?’ + +‘Yes, darling, of course he will. Why will you go _on_? I’ve got to get +up now. Good-bye. Take care of yourself. . . . Ring me up when you get +back and tell me what papa said. By the way, have you seen the paper +this morning?—there’s something so funny about last night. _Too_ bad of +Van. Good-bye.’ + +While Adam was dressing, he realized that he did not know where he was +to go. He rang up again. ‘By the way, Nina, where does your papa live?’ + +‘Didn’t I tell you? It’s a house called Doubting, and it’s all falling +down really. You go to Aylesbury by train and then take a taxi. They’re +the most expensive taxis in the world, too. . . . Have you got any +money?’ + +Adam looked on the dressing-table: ‘About seven shillings,’ he said. + +‘My dear, that’s not enough. You’ll have to make poor papa pay for the +taxi.’ + +‘Will he like that?’ + +‘Yes, of course, he’s an angel.’ + +‘I wish you’d come too, Nina.’ + +‘Darling, I told you. I’ve got such a pain.’ + +Downstairs, as Lottie had said, everything was upside down. That is to +say that there were policemen and reporters teeming in every corner of +the hotel, each with a bottle of champagne and a glass. Lottie, Doge, +Judge Skimp, the Inspector, four plain-clothes men and the body were in +Judge Skimp’s suite. + +‘What is _not_ clear to me, sir,’ said the Inspector, ‘is what +_prompted_ the young lady to swing on the chandelier. Not wishing to +cause offence, sir, and begging your pardon, was she . . . ?’ + +‘Yes,’ said Judge Skimp, ‘she was.’ + +‘_Exactly_,’ said the Inspector. ‘A clear case of misadventure, eh, Mrs +Crump? There’ll have to be an inquest, of course, but I think probably I +shall be able to arrange things so that there is no mention of your name +in the case, sir . . . well, that’s very kind of you, Mrs Crump, perhaps +just one more glass.’ + +‘Lottie,’ said Adam, ‘can you lend me some money?’ + +‘Money, dear? Of course. Doge, have you got any money?’ + +‘I was asleep at the time myself, mum, and was not even made aware of +the occurrence until I was called this morning. Being slightly deaf, the +sound of the disaster . . .’ + +‘Judge What’s-your-name, got any money?’ + +‘I should take it as a great privilege if I could be of any assistance +. . .’ + +‘That’s right, give some to young Thingummy here. That all you want, +deary? Don’t run away. We’re just thinking of having a little +drink. . . . No, not that wine, dear, it’s what we keep for the police. +I’ve just ordered a better bottle if my young butterfly would bring it +along.’ + +Adam had a glass of champagne, hoping it would make him feel a little +better. It made him feel much worse. + +Then he went to Marylebone. It was Armistice Day, and they were selling +artificial poppies in the streets. As he reached the station it struck +eleven and for two minutes all over the country every one was quiet and +serious. Then he went to Aylesbury, reading on the way Balcairn’s +account of Archie Schwert’s party. He was pleased to see himself +described as ‘the brilliant young novelist’, and wondered whether Nina’s +papa read gossip paragraphs, and supposed not. The two women opposite +him in the carriage obviously did. + +‘I no sooner opened the paper,’ said one, ‘than I was on the ’phone _at +once_ to all the ladies of the committee, and we’d sent off a wire to +our Member before one o’clock. We know how to make things hum at the +Bois. I’ve got a copy of what we sent. Look. _Members of the Committee +of the Ladies’ Conservative Association at Chesham Bois wish to express +their extreme displeasure at reports in this morning’s paper of midnight +party at No. 10. They call upon Captain Crutwell_—that’s our Member; +such a nice stamp of man—_strenuously to withhold support to Prime +Minister_. It cost nearly four shillings, but, as I said at the time, it +was not a moment to spoil the ship for a ha’p’orth of tar. Don’t you +agree, Mrs Ithewaite?’ + +‘I do, indeed, Mrs Orraway-Smith. It is clearly a case in which a +mandate from the constituencies is required. I’ll talk to our chairwoman +at Wendover.’ + +‘Yes, do, Mrs Ithewaite. It is in a case like this that the woman’s vote +can count.’ + +‘If it’s a choice between my moral judgement and the nationalization of +banking, I prefer nationalization, if you see what I mean.’ + +‘Exactly what I think. Such a terrible example to the lower classes, +_apart from everything_.’ + +‘That’s what I mean. There’s our Agnes, now. How can I stop her having +young men in the kitchen when she knows that Sir James Brown has parties +like that at all hours of the night. . . .’ + +They were both wearing hats like nothing on earth, which bobbed and +nodded as they spoke. + + + +At Aylesbury Adam got into a Ford taxi and asked to be taken to a house +called Doubting. + +‘Doubting ’All?’ + +‘Well, I suppose so. Is it falling down?’ + +‘Could do with a lick of paint,’ said the driver, a spotty youth. ‘Name +of Blount.’ + +‘That’s it.’ + +‘Long way from here Doubting ’All is. Cost you fifteen bob.’ + +‘All right.’ + +‘If you’re a commercial, I can tell you straight it ain’t no use going +to ’im. Young feller asked me the way there this morning. Driving a +Morris. Wanted to sell him a vacuum cleaner. Old boy ’ad answered an +advertisement asking for a demonstration. When he got there the old boy +wouldn’t even look at it. Can you beat that?’ + +‘No, I’m not trying to sell him anything—at least not exactly.’ + +‘Personal visit, perhaps.’ + +‘Yes.’ + +‘Ah.’ + +Satisfied that his passenger was in earnest about the journey, the +taxi-driver put on some coats—for it was raining—got out of his seat +and cranked up the engine. Presently they started. + +They drove for a mile or two past bungalows and villas and timbered +public houses to a village in which every house seemed to be a garage +and filling station. Here they left the main road and Adam’s discomfort +became acute. + +At last they came to twin octagonal lodges and some heraldic gate-posts +and large wrought-iron gates, behind which could be seen a broad sweep +of ill-kept drive. + +‘Doubting ’All,’ said the driver. + +He blew his horn once or twice, but no lodge-keeper’s wife, aproned and +apple-cheeked, appeared to bob them in. He got out and shook the gates +reproachfully. + +‘Chained-and-locked,’ he said. ‘Try another way.’ + +They drove on for another mile; on the side of the Hall the road was +bordered by dripping trees and a dilapidated stone wall; presently they +reached some cottages and a white gate. This they opened and turned into +a rough track, separated from the park by low iron railings. There were +sheep grazing on either side. One of them had strayed into the drive. It +fled before them in a frenzied trot, stopping and looking round over its +dirty tail and then plunging on again until its agitation brought it to +the side of the path, where they overtook it and passed it. + +The track led to some stables, then behind rows of hothouses, among +potting-sheds and heaps of drenched leaves, past nondescript +outbuildings that had once been laundry and bakery and brewhouse and a +huge kennel where once some one had kept a bear, until suddenly it +turned by a clump of holly and elms and laurel bushes into an open space +that had once been laid with gravel. A lofty Palladian façade stretched +before them and in front of it an equestrian statue pointed a baton +imperiously down the main drive. + +‘’Ere y’are,’ said the driver. + +Adam paid him and went up the steps to the front door. He rang the bell +and waited. Nothing happened. Presently he rang again. At this moment +the door opened. + +‘Don’t ring twice,’ said a very angry old man. ‘What do you want?’ + +‘Is Mr Blount in?’ + +‘There’s no Mr Blount here. This is Colonel Blount’s house.’ + +‘I’m sorry. . . . I think the Colonel is expecting me to luncheon.’ + +‘Nonsense. I’m Colonel Blount,’ and he shut the door. + +The Ford had disappeared. It was still raining hard. Adam rang again. + +‘Yes,’ said Colonel Blount, appearing instantly. + +‘I wonder if you’d let me telephone to the station for a taxi?’ + +‘Not on the telephone. . . . It’s raining. Why don’t you come in? It’s +absurd to walk to the station in this. Have you come about the vacuum +cleaner?’ + +‘No.’ + +‘Funny, I’ve been expecting a man all the morning to show me a vacuum +cleaner. Come in, do. Won’t you stay to luncheon?’ + +‘I should love to.’ + +‘Splendid. I get very little company nowadays. You must forgive me for +opening the door to you myself. My butler is in bed to-day. He suffers +terribly in his feet when it is wet. Both my footmen were killed in the +war. . . . Put your hat and coat here. I hope you haven’t got wet. . . . +I’m sorry you didn’t bring the vacuum cleaner . . . but never mind. How +are you?’ he said, suddenly holding out his hand. + +They shook hands and Colonel Blount led the way down a long corridor, +lined with marble busts on yellow marble pedestals, to a large room full +of furniture, with a fire burning in a fine rococo fireplace. There was +a large leather-topped walnut writing-table under a window opening on to +a terrace. Colonel Blount picked up a telegram and read it. + +‘I’d quite forgotten,’ he said in some confusion. ‘I’m afraid you’ll +think me very discourteous, but it is, after all, impossible for me to +ask you to luncheon. I have a guest coming on very intimate family +business. You understand, don’t you? . . . To tell you the truth, it’s +some young rascal who wants to marry my daughter. I must see him alone +to discuss settlements.’ + +‘Well, I want to marry your daughter, too,’ said Adam. + +‘What an extraordinary coincidence. Are you sure you do?’ + +‘Perhaps the telegram may be about me. What does it say?’ + +‘“_Engaged to marry Adam Symes. Expect him luncheon. Nina._” Are you +Adam Symes?’ + +‘Yes.’ + +‘My dear boy, why didn’t you say so before, instead of going on about a +vacuum cleaner? How are you?’ + +They shook hands again. + +‘If you don’t mind,’ said Colonel Blount, ‘we will keep our business +until after luncheon. I’m afraid everything is looking very bare at +present. You must come down and see the gardens in the summer. We had +some lovely hydrangeas last year. I don’t think I shall live here +another winter. Too big for an old man. I was looking at some of the +houses they’re putting up outside Aylesbury. Did you see them coming +along? Nice little red houses. Bathroom and everything. Quite cheap, +too, and near the cinematographs. I hope you are fond of the +cinematograph too? The Rector and I go a great deal. I hope you’ll like +the Rector. Common little man rather. But he’s got a motor car, useful +that. How long are you staying?’ + +‘I promised Nina I’d be back to-night.’ + +‘That’s a pity. They change the film at the Electra Palace. We might +have gone.’ + +An elderly woman servant came in to announce luncheon. ‘What is at the +Electra Palace, do you know, Mrs Florin?’ + +‘Greta Garbo in _Venetian Kisses_, I think, sir.’ + +‘I don’t really think I like Greta Garbo. I’ve tried to,’ said Colonel +Blount, ‘but I just don’t.’ + +They went in to luncheon in a huge dining-room dark with family +portraits. + +‘If you don’t mind,’ said Colonel Blount, ‘I prefer not to talk at +meals.’ + +He propped a morocco-bound volume of _Punch_ before his plate against a +vast silver urn, from which grew a small castor-oil plant. + +‘Give Mr Symes a book,’ he said. + +Mrs Florin put another volume of _Punch_ beside Adam. + +‘If you come across anything really funny read it to me,’ said Colonel +Blount. + +Then they had luncheon. + +They were nearly an hour over luncheon. Course followed course in +disconcerting abundance while Colonel Blount ate and ate, turning the +leaves of his book and chuckling frequently. They ate hare soup and +boiled turbot and stewed sweetbreads and black Bredenham ham with +Madeira sauce and roast pheasant and a rum omelette and toasted cheese +and fruit. First they drank sherry, then claret, then port. Then Colonel +Blount shut his book with a broad sweep of his arm rather as the +headmaster of Adam’s private school used to shut the Bible after evening +prayers, folded his napkin carefully and stuffed it into a massive +silver ring, muttered some words of grace and finally stood up, saying: + +‘Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m going to have a little nap,’ and +trotted out of the room. + +‘There’s a fire in the library, sir,’ said Mrs Florin. ‘I’ll bring you +your coffee there. The Colonel doesn’t have coffee, he finds it +interferes with his afternoon sleep. What time would you like your +afternoon tea, sir?’ + +‘I ought really to be getting back to London. How long will it be before +the Colonel comes down, do you think?’ + +‘Well, it all depends, sir. Not usually till about five or half-past. +Then he reads until dinner at seven and after dinner gets the Rector to +drive him in to the pictures. A sedentary life, as you might say.’ + +She led Adam into the library and put a silver coffee-pot at his elbow. + +‘I’ll bring you tea at four,’ she said. + +Adam sat in front of the fire in a deep armchair. Outside the rain beat +on the double windows. There were several magazines in the +library—mostly cheap weeklies devoted to the cinema. There was a +stuffed owl and a case of early British remains, bone pins and bits of +pottery and a skull, which had been dug up in the park many years ago +and catalogued by Nina’s governess. There was a cabinet containing the +relics of Nina’s various collecting fevers—some butterflies and a +beetle or two, some fossils and some birds’ eggs and a few postage +stamps. There were some bookcases of superbly unreadable books, a gun, a +butterfly net, an alpenstock in the corner. There were catalogues of +agricultural machines and acetylene plants, lawn mowers, ‘sports +requisites’. There was a fire screen worked with a coat of arms. The +chimney-piece was hung with the embroidered saddle-cloths of Colonel +Blount’s regiment of Lancers. There was an engraving of all the members +of the Royal Yacht Squadron, with a little plan in the corner, marked to +show who was who. There were many other things of equal interest +besides, but before Adam had noticed any more he was fast asleep. + +Mrs Florin woke him at four. The coffee had disappeared and its place +was taken by a silver tray with a lace cloth on it. There was a silver +tea-pot, and a silver kettle with a little spirit-lamp underneath, and a +silver cream jug and a covered silver dish full of muffins. There was +also hot buttered toast and honey and gentleman’s relish and a chocolate +cake, a cherry cake, a seed cake and a fruit cake and some tomato +sandwiches and pepper and salt and currant bread and butter. + +‘Would you care for a lightly boiled egg, sir? The Colonel generally has +one if he’s awake.’ + +‘No, thank you,’ said Adam. He felt a thousand times better for his +rest. When Nina and he were married, he thought, they would often come +down there for the day after a really serious party. For the first time +he noticed an obese liver and white spaniel, which was waking up, too, +on the hearthrug. + +‘Please not to give her muffins,’ said Mrs Florin, ‘it’s the one thing +she’s not supposed to have, and the Colonel will give them to her. He +loves that dog,’ she added with a burst of confidence. ‘Takes her to the +pictures with him of an evening. Not that she can appreciate them really +like a human can.’ + +Adam gave her—the spaniel, not Mrs Florin—a gentle prod with his foot +and a lump of sugar. She licked his shoe with evident cordiality. Adam +was not above feeling flattered by friendliness in dogs. + +He had finished his tea and was filling his pipe when Colonel Blount +came into the library. + +‘Who the devil are you?’ said his host. + +‘Adam Symes,’ said Adam. + +‘Never heard of you. How did you get in? Who gave you tea? What do you +want?’ + +‘You asked me to luncheon,’ said Adam. ‘I came about being married to +Nina.’ + +‘My dear boy, of course. How absurd of me. I’ve such a bad memory for +names. It comes of seeing so few people. How are you?’ + +They shook hands again. + +‘So you’re the young man who’s engaged to Nina,’ said the Colonel, +eyeing him for the first time in the way prospective sons-in-laws are +supposed to be eyed. ‘Now what in the world do you want to get married +for? I shouldn’t, you know, really I shouldn’t. Are you rich?’ + +‘No, not at present, I’m afraid, that’s rather what I wanted to talk +about.’ + +‘How much money have you got?’ + +‘Well, sir, actually at the moment I haven’t got any at all.’ + +‘When did you last have any?’ + +‘I had a thousand pounds last night, but I gave it all to a drunk +Major.’ + +‘Why did you do that?’ + +‘Well, I hoped he’d put it on Indian Runner for the November Handicap.’ + +‘Never heard of the horse. Didn’t he?’ + +‘I don’t think he can have.’ + +‘When will you next have some money?’ + +‘When I’ve written some books.’ + +‘How many books?’ + +‘Twelve.’ + +‘How much will you have then?’ + +‘Probably fifty pounds advance on my thirteenth book.’ + +‘And how long will it take you to write twelve books?’ + +‘About a year.’ + +‘How long would it take most people?’ + +‘About twenty years. Of course, put like that I do see that it sounds +rather hopeless . . . but, you see, Nina and I hoped that you, that is, +that perhaps for the next year until I get my twelve books written, that +you might help us . . .’ + +‘How could I help you? I’ve never written a book in my life.’ + +‘No, we thought you might give us some money.’ + +‘You thought that, did you?’ + +‘Yes, that’s what we thought . . .’ + +Colonel Blount looked at him gravely for some time. Then he said, ‘I +think that an admirable idea. I don’t see any reason at all why I +shouldn’t. How much do you want?’ + +‘That’s really terribly good of you, sir . . . Well, you know, just +enough to live on quietly for a bit. I hardly know . . .’ + +‘Well, would a thousand pounds be any help?’ + +‘Yes, it would indeed. We shall both be terribly grateful.’ + +‘Not at all, my dear boy. Not at all. What did you say your name was?’ + +‘Adam Symes.’ + +Colonel Blount went to the table and wrote out a cheque. ‘There you +are,’ he said. ‘Now don’t go giving that away to another drunk major.’ + +‘Really, sir! I don’t know how to thank you. Nina . . .’ + +‘Not another word. Now I expect that you will want to be off to London +again. We’ll send Mrs Florin across to the Rectory and make the Rector +drive you to the station. Useful having a neighbour with a motor car. +They charge fivepence on the buses from here to Aylesbury. _Robbers._’ + + + +It does not befall many young men to be given a thousand pounds by a +complete stranger twice on successive evenings. Adam laughed aloud in +the Rector’s car as they drove to the station. The Rector, who had been +in the middle of writing a sermon and resented with daily increasing +feeling Colonel Blount’s neighbourly appropriation of his car and +himself, kept his eyes fixed on the streaming windscreen, pretending not +to notice. Adam laughed all the way to Aylesbury, sitting and holding +his knees and shaking all over. The Rector could hardly bring himself to +say good-night when they parted in the station yard. + +There was half an hour to wait for a train and the leaking roof and wet +railway lines had a sobering effect on Adam. He bought an evening paper. +On the front page was an exquisitely funny photograph of Miss Runcible +in Hawaiian costume tumbling down the steps of No. 10 Downing Street. +The Government had fallen that afternoon, he read, being defeated on a +motion rising from the answer to a question about the treatment of Miss +Runcible by Customs House officers. It was generally held in +Parliamentary circles that the deciding factor in this reverse had been +the revolt of the Liberals and the Nonconformist members at the +revelations of the life that was led at No. 10, Downing Street, during +Sir James Brown’s tenancy. The _Evening Mail_ had a leading article, +which drew a fine analogy between Public and Domestic Purity, between +sobriety in the family and in the State. + +There was another small paragraph which interested Adam. + + ‘_Tragedy in West-End Hotel._ + + ‘_The death occurred early this morning at a private hotel in + Dover Street of Miss Florence Ducane, described as being of + independent means, following an accident in which Miss Ducane + fell from a chandelier which she was attempting to mend. The + inquest will be held to-morrow, which will be followed by the + cremation at Golders Green. Miss Ducane, who was formerly + connected with the stage, was well known in business circles._’ + +Which only showed, thought Adam, how much better Lottie Crump knew the +business of avoiding undesirable publicity than Sir James Brown. + + + +When Adam reached London the rain had stopped, but there was a thin fog +drifting in belts before a damp wind. The station was crowded with +office workers hurrying with attaché cases and evening papers to catch +their evening trains home, coughing and sneezing as they went. They +still wore their poppies. Adam went to a telephone-box and rang up Nina. +She had left a message for him that she was having cocktails at Margot +Metroland’s house. He drove to Shepheard’s. + +‘Lottie,’ he said, ‘I’ve got a thousand pounds.’ + +‘Have you, now,’ said Lottie indifferently. She lived on the assumption +that every one she knew always had several thousand pounds. It was to +her as though he had said, ‘Lottie, I have a tall hat.’ + +‘Can you lend me some money till to-morrow till I cash the cheque?’ + +‘What a boy you are for borrowing. Just like your poor father. Here, you +in the corner, lend Mr What-d’you-call-him some money.’ + +A tall Guardsman shook his retreating forehead and twirled his +moustaches. + +‘No good coming to me, Lottie,’ he said in a voice trained to command. + +‘Mean hound,’ said Lottie. ‘Where’s that American?’ + +Judge Skimp, who, since his experiences that morning, had become +profoundly Anglophile, produced two tenpound notes. ‘I shall be only too +proud and honoured . . .’ he said. + +‘Good old Judge Thingummy,’ said Lottie. ‘That’s the way.’ + +Adam hurried out into the hall as another bottle of champagne popped +festively in the parlour. + +‘Doge, ring up the Daimler Hire Company and order a car in my name. Tell +it to go round to Lady Metroland’s—Pastmaster House, Hill Street,’ he +said. Then he put on his hat and walked down Hay Hill, swinging an +umbrella and laughing again, only more quietly, to himself. + +At Lady Metroland’s he kept on his coat and waited in the hall. + +‘Will you please tell Miss Blount I’ve called for her? No, I won’t go +up.’ + +He looked at the hats on the table. Clearly there was quite a party. Two +or three silk hats of people who had dressed early, the rest soft and +black like his own. Then he began to dance again, jigging to himself in +simple high spirits. + +In a minute Nina came down the broad Adam staircase. + +‘Darling, why didn’t you come up? It’s so rude. Margot is longing to see +you.’ + +‘I’m so sorry, Nina. I couldn’t face a party. I’m so excited.’ + +‘Why, what’s happened?’ + +‘Everything. I’ll tell you in the car.’ + +‘Car?’ + +‘Yes, it’ll be here in a minute. We’re going down to the country for +dinner. I can’t tell you how clever I’ve been.’ + +‘But what have you done, darling? Do stop dancing about.’ + +‘Can’t stop. You’ve no idea how clever I am.’ + +‘Adam. Are you tight again?’ + +‘Look out of the window and see if you can see a Daimler waiting.’ + +‘Adam, what _have_ you been doing? I will be told.’ + +‘Look,’ said Adam, producing the cheque. ‘Whatcher think of that?’ he +added in Cockney. + +‘_My dear_, a thousand pounds. Did papa give you that?’ + +‘I earned it,’ said Adam. ‘Oh, I earned it. You should have seen the +luncheon I ate and the jokes I read. I’m going to be married to-morrow. +Oh, Nina, would Margot hate it if I sang in her hall?’ + +‘She’d simply loathe it, darling, and so should I. I’m going to take +care of that cheque. You remember what happened the last time you were +given a thousand pounds.’ + +‘That’s what your papa said.’ + +‘Did you tell him that?’ + +‘I told him everything—and he gave me a thousand pounds.’ + +‘. . . Poor Adam . . .’ said Nina suddenly. + +‘Why did you say that?’ + +‘I don’t know. . . . I believe this is your car. . . .’ + +‘Nina, why did you say “Poor Adam”?’ + +‘. . . Did I? . . . Oh, I don’t know. . . . Oh, I do adore you so.’ + +‘I’m going to be married to-morrow. Are you?’ + +‘Yes, I expect so, dear.’ + +The chauffeur got rather bored while they tried to decide where they +would dine. At every place he suggested they gave a little wail of +dismay. ‘But that’s sure to be full of awful people we know,’ they said. +Maidenhead, Thame, Brighton, he suggested. Finally they decided to go to +Arundel. + +‘It’ll be nearly nine before we get there,’ the chauffeur said. ‘Now +there’s a very nice hotel at Bray. . . .’ + +But they went to Arundel. + +‘We’ll be married to-morrow,’ said Adam in the car. ‘And we won’t ask +anybody to the wedding at all. And we’ll go abroad at once, and just not +come back till I’ve written all those books. Nina, isn’t it divine? +Where shall we go?’ + +‘Anywhere you like, only rather warm, don’t you think?’ + +‘I don’t believe you really think we are going to be married, Nina, do +you, or do you?’ + +‘I don’t know . . . it’s only that I don’t believe that really divine +things like that ever do happen. . . . I don’t know why. . . . Oh, I do +like you so much to-night. If only you _knew_ how sweet you looked +skipping about in Margot’s hall all by yourself. I’d been watching you +for hours before I came down.’ + +‘I shall send the car back,’ said Adam, as they drove through +Pulborough. ‘We can go home by train.’ + +‘If there is a train.’ + +‘There’s bound to be,’ said Adam. But this raised a question in both +their minds that had been unobtrusively agitating them throughout the +journey. Neither said any more on the subject, but there was a distinct +air of constraint in the Daimler from Pulborough onwards. + +This question was settled when they reached the hotel at Arundel. + +‘We want dinner,’ said Adam, ‘and a room for the night.’ + +‘_Darling_, am I going to be seduced?’ + +‘I’m afraid you are. Do you mind terribly?’ + +‘Not as much as all that,’ said Nina, and added in Cockney, ‘Charmed, +I’m sure.’ + +Every one had finished dinner. They dined alone in a corner of the +coffee-room, while the other waiters laid the tables for breakfast, +looking at them resentfully. It was the dreariest kind of English +dinner. After dinner the lounge was awful; there were some golfers in +dinner-jackets playing bridge, and two old ladies. Adam and Nina went +across the stable-yard to the tap-room and sat until closing time in a +warm haze of tobacco smoke listening to the intermittent gossip of the +towns-people. They sat hand-in-hand, unembarrassed; after the first +minute no one noticed them. Just before closing time Adam stood a round +of drinks. They said: + +‘Good health, sir. Best respects, madam,’ and the barman said, ‘Come +along, please. Finish your drinks, please,’ in a peculiar sing-song +tone. + +There was a clock chiming as they crossed the yard and a slightly drunk +farmer trying to start up his car. Then they went up an oak staircase +lined with blunderbusses and coaching prints to their room. + +They had no luggage (the chambermaid remarked on this next day to the +young man who worked at the wireless shop, saying that that was the +worst of being in a main road hotel. You got all sorts). + +Adam undressed very quickly and got into bed; Nina more slowly arranging +her clothes on the chair and fingering the ornaments on the +chimney-piece with less than her usual self-possession. At last she put +out the light. + +‘Do you know,’ she said, trembling slightly as she got into bed, ‘this +is the first time this has happened to me?’ + +‘It’s great fun,’ said Adam, ‘I promise you.’ + +‘I’m sure it is,’ said Nina seriously, ‘I wasn’t saying anything against +it. I was only saying that it hadn’t happened before. . . . Oh, +Adam. . . .’ + + + +‘And you said that really divine things didn’t happen,’ said Adam in the +middle of the night. + +‘I don’t think that this is at all divine,’ said Nina. ‘It’s given me a +pain. And—my dear, that reminds me. I’ve something terribly important +to say to you in the morning.’ + +‘What?’ + +‘Not now, darling. Let’s go to sleep for a little, don’t you think?’ + +Before Nina was properly awake Adam dressed and went out into the rain +to get a shave. He came back bringing two toothbrushes and a bright red +celluloid comb. Nina sat up in bed and combed her hair. She put Adam’s +coat over her back. + +‘My dear, you look exactly like _La Vie Parisienne_,’ said Adam, turning +round from brushing his teeth. + +Then she threw off the coat and jumped out of bed, and he told her that +she looked like a fashion drawing without the clothes. Nina was rather +pleased about that, but she said that it was cold and that she still had +a pain, only not so bad as it was. Then she dressed and they went +downstairs. + +Every one else had had breakfast and the waiters were laying the tables +for luncheon. + +‘By the way,’ said Adam. ‘You said there was something you wanted to +say.’ + +‘Oh, yes, so there is. My dear, something quite awful.’ + +‘Do tell me.’ + +‘Well, it’s about that cheque papa gave you. I’m afraid it won’t help us +as much as you thought.’ + +‘But, darling, it’s a thousand pounds, isn’t it?’ + +‘Just look at it, my sweet.’ She took it out of her bag and handed it +across the table. + +‘I don’t see anything wrong with it,’ said Adam. + +‘Not the signature?’ + +‘Why, good lord, the old idiot’s signed it “Charlie Chaplin”.’ + +‘That’s what I mean, darling.’ + +‘But can’t we get him to alter it? He must be dotty. I’ll go down and +see him again to-day.’ + +‘I shouldn’t do that, dear . . . don’t you see. . . . Of course, he’s +very old, and . . . I dare say you may have made things sound a little +odd . . . don’t you think, dear, _he_ must have thought _you_ a little +dotty? . . . I mean . . . perhaps . . . that cheque was a kind of joke.’ + +‘Well I’m damned . . . this really is a bore. When everything seemed to +be going so well, too. When did you notice the signature, Nina?’ + +‘As soon as you showed it to me, at Margot’s. Only you looked so happy I +didn’t like to say anything. . . . You did look happy, you know, Adam, +and so sweet. I think I really fell in love with you for the first time +when I saw you dancing all alone in the hall.’ + +‘Well I’m damned,’ said Adam again. ‘The old devil.’ + +‘Anyway, you’ve had some fun out of it, haven’t you . . . or haven’t +you?’ + +‘Haven’t _you_?’ + +‘My dear, I never hated anything so much in my life . . . still, as long +as you enjoyed it that’s something.’ + +‘I say, Nina,’ said Adam after some time, ‘we shan’t be able to get +married after all.’ + +‘No, I’m afraid not.’ + +‘It _is_ a bore, isn’t it?’ + +Later he said, ‘I expect that parson thought I was dotty too.’ + +And later, ‘As a matter of fact, it’s rather a good joke, don’t you +think?’ + +‘I think it’s divine.’ + +In the train Nina said: ‘It’s awful to think that I shall probably +never, as long as I live, see you dancing like that again all by +yourself.’ + + + + + _Chapter Six_ + + +That evening Lady Metroland gave a party for Mrs Melrose Ape. Adam found +the telegram of invitation waiting for him on his return to Shepheard’s. +(Lottie had already used the prepaid reply to do some betting with. Some +one had given her a tip for the November Handicap and she wanted to +‘make her little flutter’ before she forgot the name.) He also found an +invitation to luncheon from Simon Balcairn. + +The food at Shepheard’s tends to be mostly game-pie—quite black inside +and full of beaks and shot and inexplicable vertebræ—so Adam was quite +pleased to lunch with Simon Balcairn, though he knew there must be some +slightly sinister motive behind this sudden hospitality. + +They lunched _Chez Espinosa_, the second most expensive restaurant in +London; it was full of oilcloth and Lalique glass, and the sort of +people who liked that sort of thing went there continually and said how +awful it was. + +‘I hope you don’t mind coming to this awful restaurant,’ said Balcairn. +‘The truth is that I get meals free if I mention them occasionally in my +page. Not drinks, unfortunately. Who’s here, Alphonse?’ he asked the +_maître d’hôtel_. + +Alphonse handed him the typewritten slip that was always kept for gossip +writers. + +‘H’m, yes. Quite a good list this morning, Alphonse. I’ll do what I can +about it.’ + +‘Thank you, sir. A table for two? A cocktail?’ + +‘No, I don’t think I want a cocktail. I really haven’t time. Will you +have one, Adam? They aren’t very good here.’ + +‘No, thanks,’ said Adam. + +‘Sure?’ said Balcairn, already making for their table. + +When they were being helped to caviare he looked at the wine list. + +‘The lager is rather good,’ he said. ‘What would you like to drink?’ + +‘Whatever you’re having. . . . I think some lager would be lovely.’ + +‘Two small bottles of lager, please. . . . Are you sure you really like +that better than anything?’ + +‘Yes, really, thank you.’ + +Simon Balcairn looked about him gloomily, occasionally adding a new name +to his list. (It is so depressing to be in a profession in which +literally all conversation is ‘shop’.) + +Presently he said, with a deadly air of carelessness: + +‘Margot Metroland’s got a party to-night, hasn’t she? Are you going?’ + +‘I think probably. I usually like Margot’s parties, don’t you?’ + +‘Yes. . . . Adam, I’ll tell you a very odd thing. She hasn’t sent me an +invitation to this one.’ + +‘I expect she will. I only got mine this morning.’ + +‘. . . Yes . . . who’s that woman just come in in the fur coat? I know +her so well by sight.’ + +‘Isn’t it Lady Everyman?’ + +‘Yes, of course.’ Another name was added to the list. Balcairn paused in +utmost gloom and ate some salad. ‘The thing is . . . she told Agatha +Runcible she wasn’t _going_ to ask me.’ + +‘Why not?’ + +‘Apparently she’s in a rage about something I said about something she +said about Miles.’ + +‘People do take things so seriously,’ said Adam encouragingly. + +‘It means ruin for me,’ said Lord Balcairn. ‘Isn’t that Pamela Popham?’ + +‘I haven’t the least idea.’ + +‘I’m sure it is . . . I must look up the spelling in the stud book when +I get back. I got into awful trouble about spelling the other day. . . . +Ruin. . . . She’s asked Vanburgh.’ + +‘Well, he’s some sort of cousin, isn’t he?’ + +‘It’s so damned unfair. All my cousins are in lunatic asylums or else +they live in the country and do indelicate things with wild animals +. . . Except my mamma, and that’s worse . . . they were furious at the +office about Van getting that Downing Street “scoop”. If I miss this +party I may as well leave Fleet Street for good . . . I may as well put +my head into a gas-oven and have done with it . . . I’m sure if Margot +knew how much it meant to me she wouldn’t mind my coming.’ + +Great tears stood in his eyes threatening to overflow. + +‘All this last week,’ he said, ‘I’ve been reduced to making up my page +from the Court Circular and Debrett . . . No one ever asks me anywhere +now . . .’ + +‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Adam, ‘I know Margot pretty well. If you like +I’ll ring her up and ask if I may bring you.’ + +‘Will you? Will you, Adam? If only you really would. Let’s go and do it +at once. We’ve no time for coffee or liqueurs. Quick, we can telephone +from my office . . . yes, that black hat and my umbrella, no, I’ve lost +the number . . . there, no, there, oh do hurry. . . . Yes, a taxi . . .’ + +They were out in the street and into a taxi before Adam had time to say +any more. Soon they were imbedded in a traffic block in the Strand, and +after a time they reached Balcairn’s office in Fleet Street. + +They went up to a tiny room with ‘Social’ written on the glass of the +door. Its interior seemed not to justify its name. There was one chair, +a typewriter, a telephone, some books of reference and a considerable +litter of photographs. Balcairn’s immediate superior sat in the one +chair. + +‘Hullo,’ she said. ‘So you’re back. Where you been?’ + +‘Espinosa. Here’s the list.’ + +The social editress read it through. ‘Can’t have Kitty Blackwater,’ she +said. ‘Had her yesterday. Others’ll do. Write ’em down to a couple of +paragraphs. Suppose you didn’t notice what they were wearing?’ + +‘Yes,’ said Balcairn eagerly. ‘All of them.’ + +‘Well, you won’t have room to use it. We got to keep everything down for +Lady M.’s party. I’ve cut out the D. of Devonshire altogether. By the +way, the photograph you used yesterday wasn’t the present Countess of +Everyman. It’s an old one of the Dowager. We had ’em both on the ’phone +about it, going on something awful. That’s _you_, again. Got your invite +for to-night?’ + +‘Not yet.’ + +‘You better get it quick. I got to have a first-hand story before we go +to press, see? By the way, know anything about this? Lady R.’s maid sent +it in to-day.’ She picked up a slip of paper: ‘“Rumoured engagement +broken off between Adam Fenwick-Symes, only son of the late Professor +Oliver Fenwick-Symes, and Nina Blount, of Doubting Hall, Aylesbury.” +Never heard of either. Ain’t even been announced, so far as I’m aware +of.’ + +‘You’d better ask him. This is Adam Symes.’ + +‘Hullo, no offence meant, I’m sure. . . . What about it?’ + +‘It is neither announced nor broken off.’ + +‘N.B.G. in fact, eh? Then _that_ goes _there_.’ She put the slip into +the wastepaper basket. ‘That girl’s sent us a lot of bad stuff lately. +Well, I’m off for a bit of lunch. I’ll be over at the Garden Club if +anything urgent turns up. So long.’ + +The editress went out, banging the door labelled ‘Social’, and whistled +as she went down the passage. + +‘You see how they treat me,’ said Lord Balcairn. ‘They were all over me +when I first arrived. I do so wish I were dead.’ + +‘Don’t cry,’ said Adam, ‘it’s too shy-making.’ + +‘I can’t help it . . . oh, do come in.’ + +The door marked ‘Social’ opened and a small boy came in. + +‘Lord Circumference’s butler downstairs with some engagements and a +divorce.’ + +‘Tell him to leave them.’ + +‘Very good, my lord.’ + +‘That’s the only person in this office who’s ever polite to me,’ said +Balcairn as the messenger disappeared. ‘I wish I had something to leave +him in my will. . . . Do ring up Margot. Then I shall at any rate know +the worst. . . . Come in.’ + +‘Gentleman of the name of General Strapper downstairs. Wants to see you +very particular.’ + +‘What about?’ + +‘Couldn’t say, my lord, but he’s got a whip. Seems very put out about +something.’ + +‘Tell him the social editor is having luncheon. . . . Do ring up +Margot.’ + +Adam said, ‘Margot, may I bring some one with me to-night?’ + +‘Well, Adam, I really don’t think you can. I can’t imagine how +everyone’s going to get in as it is. I’m terribly sorry, who is it?’ + +‘Simon Balcairn. He’s particularly anxious to come.’ + +‘I dare say he is. I’m rather against that young man. He’s written +things about me in the papers.’ + +‘_Please_, Margot.’ + +‘Certainly not. I won’t have him inside my house. I’ve only asked Van on +the strictest understanding that he doesn’t write anything about it. I +don’t wish to have anything more to do with Simon Balcairn.’ + +‘My dear, how _rich_ you sound.’ + +‘I feel my full income when that young man is mentioned. Good-bye. See +you to-night.’ + +‘You needn’t tell me,’ said Balcairn. ‘I know what she’s said . . . it’s +no good, is it?’ + +‘I’m afraid not.’ + +‘Done for . . .’ said Balcairn. ‘. . . End of the tether. . . .’ He +turned over some slips of paper listlessly. ‘Would it interest you to +hear that Agatha and Archie are engaged?’ + +‘I don’t believe it.’ + +‘Neither do I. One of our people has just sent it in. Half of what they +send us is lies, and the other half libel . . . they sent us a long +story about Miles and Pamela Popham having spent last night at +Arundel. . . . But we couldn’t use it even if it were true, which it +obviously isn’t, knowing Miles. Thank you for doing what you could . . . +good-bye.’ + +Downstairs in the outer office there was an altercation in progress. A +large man of military appearance was shaking and stamping in front of a +middle-aged woman. Adam recognized the social editress. + +‘Answer me, yes or no,’ the big man was saying. ‘Are you or are you not +responsible for this damnable lie about my daughter?’ + +(He had read in Simon Balcairn’s column that his daughter had been seen +at a night club. To any one better acquainted with Miss Strapper’s +habits of life the paragraph was particularly reticent.) + +‘Yes, or no,’ cried the General, ‘or I’ll shake the life out of you.’ + +‘No.’ + +‘Then who is? Let me get hold of the cad who wrote it. Where is he?’ +roared the General. + +‘Upstairs,’ the social editress managed to say. + +‘More trouble for Simon,’ thought Adam. + + + +Adam went to pick Nina up at her flat. They had arranged to go to a +cinema together. She said, ‘You’re much later than you said. It’s so +boring to be late for a talkie.’ + +He said, ‘Talkies are boring, anyhow.’ + +They treated each other quite differently after their night’s +experiences. Adam was inclined to be egotistical and despondent; Nina +was rather grown-up and disillusioned and distinctly cross. Adam began +to say that as far as he could see he would have to live on at +Shepheard’s now for the rest of his life, or at any rate for the rest of +Lottie’s life, as it wouldn’t be fair to leave without paying the bill. + +Then Nina said, ‘Do be amusing, Adam. I can’t bear you when you’re not +amusing.’ + +Then Adam began to tell her about Simon Balcairn and Margot’s party. He +described how he had seen Simon being horse-whipped in the middle of the +office. + +Nina said, ‘Yes, that’s amusing. Go on like that.’ + +The story of Simon’s whipping lasted them all the way to the cinema. +They were very late for the film Nina wanted to see, and that set them +back again. They didn’t speak for a long time. Then Nina said _à propos_ +of the film, ‘All this fuss about sleeping together. For physical +pleasure I’d sooner go to my dentist any day.’ + +Adam said, ‘You’ll enjoy it more next time.’ + +Nina said, ‘_Next time_,’ and told him that he took too much for +granted. + +Adam said that was a phrase which only prostitutes used. + +Then they started a real quarrel which lasted all through the film and +all the way to Nina’s flat and all the time she was cutting up a lemon +and making a cocktail, until Adam said that if she didn’t stop going on +he would ravish her there and then on her own hearthrug. + +Then Nina went on. + +But by the time that Adam went to dress she had climbed down enough to +admit that perhaps love was a thing one could grow to be fond of after a +time, like smoking a pipe. Still she maintained that it made one feel +very ill at first, and she doubted if it was worth it. + +Then they began to argue at the top of the lift about whether acquired +tastes were ever worth acquiring. Adam said it was imitation, and that +it was natural to man to be imitative, so that acquired tastes were +natural. + +But the presence of the lift boy stopped that argument coming to a +solution as the other had done. + + + +‘My, ain’t this classy,’ said Divine Discontent. + +‘It’s all right,’ said Chastity in a worldly voice. ‘Nothing to make a +song and dance about.’ + +‘Who’s making a song and dance? I just said it was classy—and it _is_ +classy, ain’t it?’ + +‘I suppose everything’s classy to _some_ people.’ + +‘Now you two,’ said Temperance, who had been put in charge of the angels +for the evening, ‘don’t you start anything in here, not with your wings +on. Mrs Ape won’t stand for scrapping in wings, and you know it.’ + +‘Who’s starting anything?’ + +‘Well, you are then.’ + +‘Oh, it’s no use talking to Chastity. She’s too high and mighty to be an +angel now. Went out for a drive with Mrs Panrast in a Rolls Royce,’ said +Fortitude. ‘I saw her. I was so sorry it rained all the time, or it +might have been quite enjoyable, mightn’t it, Chastity?’ + +‘Well, you ought to be glad. Leaves the _men_ for you, Fortitude. Only +they don’t seem to want to take advantage, do they?’ + +Then they talked about men for some time. Divine Discontent thought the +second footman had nice eyes. + +‘And he knows it,’ said Temperance. + +They were all having supper together in what was still called the +schoolroom in Lady Metroland’s house. From the window they could see the +guests arriving for the party. In spite of the rain quite a large crowd +had collected on either side of the awning to criticize the cloaks with +appreciative ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ or contemptuous sniffs. Cars and taxis +drove up in close succession. Lady Circumference splashed up the street +in goloshes, wearing a high fender of diamonds under a tartan umbrella. +The Bright Young People came popping all together, out of some one’s +electric brougham like a litter of pigs, and ran squealing up the steps. +Some ‘gate-crashers’ who had made the mistake of coming in Victorian +fancy dress were detected and repulsed. They hurried home to change for +a second assault. No one wanted to miss Mrs Ape’s _début_. + +But the angels were rather uneasy. They had been dressed ever since +seven o’clock in their white shifts, gold sashes and wings. It was now +past ten, and the strain was beginning to tell, for it was impossible to +sit back comfortably in wings. + +‘Oh, I wish they’d hurry up so we could get it over,’ said Creative +Endeavour. ‘Mrs Ape said we could have some champagne afterwards if we +sang nice.’ + +‘I don’t mind betting _she’s_ doing herself pretty well, down there.’ + +‘_Chastity!_’ + +‘Oh, _all_ right.’ + +Then the footman with the nice eyes came to clear the table. He gave +them a friendly wink as he shut the door. ‘Pretty creatures,’ he +thought. ‘Blooming shame that they’re so religious . . . wasting the +best years of their lives.’ + +(There had been a grave debate in the servants’ hall about the exact +status of angels. Even Mr Blenkinsop, the butler, had been uncertain. +‘Angels are certainly not guests,’ he had said, ‘and I don’t think they +are deputations. Nor they ain’t governesses either, nor clergy not +strictly speaking; they’re not entertainers, because entertainers _dine_ +nowadays, the more’s the pity.’ + +‘I believe they’re decorators,’ said Mrs Blouse, ‘or else charitable +workers.’ + +‘Charitable workers are governesses, Mrs Blouse. There is nothing to be +gained by multiplying social distinctions indefinitely. Decorators are +either guests or workmen.’ + +After further discussion the conclusion was reached that angels were +nurses, and that became the official ruling of the household. But the +second footman was of the opinion that they were ‘young persons’, pure +and simple, ‘and very nice too’, for nurses cannot, except in very rare +cases, be winked at, and clearly angels could.) + +‘What we want to know, Chastity,’ said Creative Endeavour, ‘is how you +come to take up with Mrs Panrast at all.’ + +‘Yes,’ said the Angels, ‘yes. It’s not like _you_, Chastity, to go +riding in a motor car with a woman.’ They fluttered their feathers in a +menacing way. ‘Let’s third-degree her,’ said Humility with rather nasty +relish. + +(There was a system of impromptu jurisdiction among the Angels which +began with innuendo, went on to crossexamination, pinches and slaps and +ended, as a rule, in tears and kisses.) + +Faced by this circle of spiteful and haloed faces, Chastity began to +lose her air of superiority. + +‘Why shouldn’t I ride with a friend,’ she asked plaintively, ‘without +all you girls pitching on me like this?’ + +‘_Friend_,’ said Creative Endeavour. ‘You never saw her before to-day,’ +and she gave her a nasty pinch just above the elbow. + +‘_Ooooh!_’ said Chastity. ‘_OOh, please_ . . . beast.’ + +Then they all pinched her all over, but precisely and judiciously, so as +not to disturb her wings or halo, for this was no orgy (sometimes in +their bedrooms, they gave way, but not here, in Lady Metroland’s +schoolroom, before an important first night). + +‘Ooh,’ said Chastity, ‘_OOh, ow, ooh, ow. Please_, beasts, swine, cads +. . . _please_ . . . oh . . . well, if you must know, I thought she +_was_ a man.’ + +‘Thought she was a _man_, Chastity? That doesn’t sound right to me.’ + +‘Well, she looks like a man and—and she _goes on_ like a man. I saw her +sitting at a table in a tea-shop. She hadn’t got a hat on, and I +couldn’t see her skirt . . . ooh . . . how can I tell you if you keep +pinching . . . and she smiled and so, well, I went and had some tea with +her, and she said would I go out with her in her motor car, and I said +yes and, ooh, I wish I hadn’t now.’ + +‘What did she say in the motor car, Chastity?’ + +‘I forget—nothing much.’ + +‘Oh, what.’ ‘Do tell us.’ ‘We’ll never pinch you again if you tell us.’ +‘I’m sorry if I hurt you, Chastity, do tell _me_.’ ‘You’d _better_ tell +us.’ + +‘No, I can’t, _really_—I don’t remember, I tell you.’ + +‘Give her another little nip, girls.’ + +‘Ooh, ooh, ooh, _stop_. I’ll tell you.’ + +Their heads were close together and they were so deeply engrossed in the +story that they did not hear Mrs Ape’s entry. + +‘Smut again,’ said a terrible voice. ‘Girls, I’m sick ashamed of you.’ + +Mrs Ape looked magnificent in a gown of heavy gold brocade embroidered +with texts. + +‘I’m sick ashamed of you,’ repeated Mrs Ape, ‘and you’ve made Chastity +cry again, just before the big act. If you must bully some one, _why_ +choose Chastity? You all know by this time that crying always gives her +a red nose. How do _I_ look, I should like to know, standing up in front +of a lot of angels with red noses. You don’t ever think of nothing but +your own pleasures, do you? _Sluts._’ This last word was spoken with a +depth of expression that set the angels trembling. ‘There’ll be no +champagne for any one to-night, see. And if you don’t sing perfectly, +I’ll give the whole lot of you a good hiding, see. Now, come on, now, +and for the love of the Lamb, Chastity, _do something to your nose_. +They’ll think it’s a temperance meeting to see you like that.’ + +It was a brilliant scene into which the disconsolate angels trooped two +minutes later. Margot Metroland shook hands with each of them as they +came to the foot of the staircase, appraising them, one by one, with an +expert eye. + +‘You don’t look happy, my dear,’ she found time to say to Chastity, as +she led them across the ballroom to their platform, banked in orchids at +the far end. ‘If you feel you want a change, let me know later, and I +can get you a job in South America. _I mean it._’ + +‘Oh, thank you,’ said Chastity, ‘but I could never leave Mrs Ape.’ + +‘Well, think it over, child. You’re far too pretty a girl to waste your +time singing hymns. Tell that other girl, the red-headed one, that I can +probably find a place for her, too.’ + +‘What, Humility? Don’t you have nothing to do with her. She’s a fiend.’ + +‘Well, some men like rough stuff, but I don’t want any one who makes +trouble with the other girls.’ + +‘She makes trouble all right. Look at that bruise.’ + +‘My dear!’ + +Margot Metroland and Mrs Ape led the angels up the steps between the +orchids and stood them at the back of the platform facing the room. +Chastity stood next to Creative Endeavour. + +‘Please, Chastity, I’m sorry if we hurt you,’ said Creative Endeavour. +‘I didn’t pinch hard, did I?’ + +‘Yes,’ said Chastity. ‘Like hell you did.’ + +A slightly sticky hand tried to take hers, but she clenched her fist. +She would go to South America and work for Lady Metroland . . . and she +wouldn’t say anything about it to Humility either. She glared straight +in front of her, saw Mrs Panrast and dropped her eyes. + + + +The ballroom was filled with little gilt chairs and the chairs with +people. Lord Vanburgh, conveniently seated near the door, through which +he could slip away to the telephone, was taking them all in. They were +almost all, in some way or another, notable. The motives for Margot +Metroland’s second marriage[B] had been mixed, but entirely worldly; +chief among them had been the desire to reestablish her somewhat shaken +social position, and her party that night testified to her success, for +while many people can entertain the Prime Minister and the Duchess of +Stayle and Lady Circumference, and anybody can, and often against her +will does, entertain Miles Malpractice and Agatha Runcible, it is only a +very confident hostess who will invite both these sets together at the +same time, differing, as they do, upon almost all questions of principle +and deportment. Standing near Vanburgh, by the door, was a figure who +seemed in himself to typify the change that had come over Pastmaster +House when Margot Beste-Chetwynd became Lady Metroland; an unobtrusive +man of rather less than average height, whose black beard, falling in +tight burnished curls, nearly concealed the order of St Michael and St +George which he wore round his neck; he wore a large signet ring on the +little finger of his left hand outside his white glove; there was an +orchid in his buttonhole. His eyes, youthful but grave, wandered among +the crowd; occasionally he bowed with grace and decision. Several people +were asking about him. + +----- + +[B] See _Decline and Fall_. + +----- + +‘See the beaver with the medal,’ said Humility to Faith. + +‘Who is that _very_ important young man?’ asked Mrs Blackwater of Lady +Throbbing. + +‘I don’t know, dear. He bowed to _you_.’ + +‘He bowed to _you_, dear.’ + +‘How very nice . . . I wasn’t quite sure. . . . He reminds me a little +of dear Prince Anrep.’ + +‘It’s so nice in these days, isn’t it, dearest, to see some one who +really looks . . . don’t you think?’ + +‘You mean the beard?’ + +‘_The beard among other things_, darling.’ + + + +Father Rothschild was conspiring with Mr Outrage and Lord Metroland. He +stopped short in the middle of his sentence. + +‘Forgive me,’ he said, ‘but there are spies everywhere. That man with +the beard, do you know him?’ + +Lord Metroland thought vaguely he had something to do with the Foreign +Office; Mr Outrage seemed to remember having seen him before. + +‘_Exactly_,’ said Father Rothschild. ‘I think it would be better if we +continued our conversation in private. I have been watching him. _He is +bowing across the room to empty places and to people whose backs are +turned to him._’ The Great Men withdrew to Lord Metroland’s study. +Father Rothschild closed the door silently and looked behind the +curtains. + +‘Shall I lock the door?’ asked Lord Metroland. + +‘No,’ said the Jesuit. ‘A lock does not prevent a spy from hearing; but +it does hinder us, inside, from catching the spy.’ + +‘Well, I should never have thought of that,’ said Mr Outrage in frank +admiration. + + + +‘How pretty Nina Blount is,’ said Lady Throbbing, busy from the front +row with her lorgnette, ‘but don’t you think, a little changed; almost +as though . . .’ + +‘You notice everything, darling.’ + +‘When you get to our age, dear, there is so little left, but I do +believe Miss Blount must have had an _experience_ . . . she’s sitting +next to Miles. You know I heard from Edward to-night. He’s on his way +back. It will be a great blow for Miles because he’s been living in +Edward’s house all this time. To tell you the truth I’m a little glad +because from what I hear from Anne Opalthorpe, who lives opposite, the +things that go on . . . he’s got a friend staying there now. Such an odd +man—a dirt-track racer. But then it’s no use attempting to disguise the +fact, is there. . . . There’s Mrs Panrast . . . yes, dear, of course you +know her, she used to be Eleanor Balcairn . . . now _why_ does dear +Margot ask any one like that, do you think? . . . it is not as though +Margot was so innocent . . . and there’s Lord Monomark . . . yes, the +man who owns those _amusing_ papers . . . they say that he and Margot, +but _before_ her marriage, of course (her second marriage, I mean), but +you never know, do you, how things _crop_ up again? . . . I wonder where +Peter Pastmaster is? . . . he never stays to Margot’s parties . . . he +was at dinner, of course, and, my dear, _how_ he drank. . . . He can’t +be more than twenty-one. . . . Oh, so that is Mrs Ape. What a coarse +face . . . no dear, of course she can’t hear . . . she looks like a +_procureuse_ . . . but perhaps I shouldn’t say that _here_, should I?’ + + + +Adam came and sat next to Nina. + +‘Hullo,’ they said to each other. + +‘My dear, do look at Mary Mouse’s new young man,’ said Nina. + +Adam looked and saw that Mary was sitting next to the Maharajah of +Pukkapore. + +‘I call that a pretty pair,’ he said. + +‘Oh, how bored I feel,’ said Nina. + + + +Mr Benfleet was there talking to two poets. They said ‘. . . and I wrote +to tell William that I didn’t write the review, but it was true that +Tony did read me the review over the telephone when I was very sleepy +before he sent it in. I thought it was best to tell him the truth +because he would hear it from Tony anyway. Only I said I advised him not +to publish it just as I had advised William not to publish the book in +the first place. Well Tony rang up Michael and told him that I’d said +that William thought Michael had written the review because of the +reviews I had written of Michael’s book last November, though, as a +matter of fact, it was Tony himself who wrote it. . . .’ + +‘Too bad,’ said Mr Benfleet. ‘Too bad.’ + +‘. . . but is that any reason, even if I had written it, why Michael +should tell Tony that I had stolen five pounds from William?’ + +‘Certainly not,’ said Mr Benfleet. ‘Too bad.’ + +‘Of course, they’re _simply_ not _gentlemen_, either of them. That’s all +it is, only one’s shy of saying it nowadays.’ + +Mr Benfleet shook his head sadly and sympathetically. + + + +Then Mrs Melrose Ape stood up to speak. A hush fell in the gilt ballroom +beginning at the back and spreading among the chairs until only Mrs +Blackwater’s voice was heard exquisitely articulating some details of +Lady Metroland’s past. Then she, too, was silent and Mrs Ape began her +oration about Hope. + +‘Brothers and Sisters,’ she said in a hoarse, stirring voice. Then she +paused and allowed her eyes, renowned throughout three continents for +their magnetism, to travel among the gilded chairs. (It was one of her +favourite openings.) ‘_Just you look at yourselves_,’ she said. + +Magically, self-doubt began to spread in the audience. Mrs Panrast +stirred uncomfortably; had that silly little girl been talking, she +wondered. + +‘Darling,’ whispered Miss Runcible, ‘is my nose awful?’ + +Nina thought how once, only twenty-four hours ago, she had been in love. +Mr Benfleet thought should he have made it three per cent. on the tenth +thousand. The gate-crashers wondered whether it would not have been +better to have stayed at home. (Once in Kansas City Mrs Ape had got no +further than these opening words; there had been a tornado of emotion +and all the seats in the hall had been broken to splinters. It was there +that Humility had joined the Angels.) There were a thousand things in +Lady Throbbing’s past. . . . Every heart found something to bemoan. + +‘She’s got ’em again,’ whispered Creative Endeavour. ‘Got ’em stiff.’ + +Lord Vanburgh slipped from the room to telephone through some racy +paragraphs about fashionable piety. + +Mary Mouse shed two little tears and felt for the brown, bejewelled hand +of the Maharajah. + +But suddenly on that silence vibrant with self-accusation broke the +organ voice of England, the hunting-cry of the _ancien régime_. Lady +Circumference gave a resounding snort of disapproval: + +‘What a damned impudent woman,’ she said. + +Adam and Nina and Miss Runcible began to giggle, and Margot Metroland +for the first time in her many parties was glad to realize that the +guest of the evening was going to be a failure. It had been an awkward +moment. + + + +In the study Father Rothschild and Mr Outrage were plotting with +enthusiasm. Lord Metroland was smoking a cigar and wondering how soon he +could get away. He wanted to hear Mrs Ape and to have another look at +those Angels. There was one with red hair. . . . Besides all this +statesmanship and foreign policy had always bored him. In his years in +the Commons he had always liked a good scrap, and often thought a little +wistfully of those orgies of competitive dissimulation in which he had +risen to eminence. Even now, when some straightforward, easily +intelligible subject was under discussion, such as poor people’s wages +or public art, he enjoyed from time to time making a sonorous speech to +the Upper House. But this sort of thing was not at all in his line. + +Suddenly Father Rothschild turned out the light. + +‘There’s some one coming down the passage,’ he said. + +‘Quick, get behind the curtains.’ + +‘Really, Rothschild . . .’ said Mr Outrage. + +‘I say . . .’ said Lord Metroland. + +‘_Quick_,’ said Father Rothschild. + +The three statesmen hid themselves. Lord Metroland, still smoking, his +head thrown back and his cigar erect. They heard the door open. The +light was turned on. A match was struck. Then came the slight tinkle of +the telephone as someone lifted the receiver. + +‘Central ten thousand,’ said a slightly muffled voice. + +‘_Now_,’ said Father Rothschild, and stepped through the curtain. + +The bearded stranger who had excited his suspicions was standing at the +table smoking one of Lord Metroland’s cigars and holding the telephone. + +‘Oh, hullo,’ he said, ‘I didn’t know you were here. Just thought I’d use +the telephone. So sorry. Won’t disturb you. Jolly party, isn’t it? +Good-bye.’ + +‘Stay exactly where you are,’ said Father Rothschild, ‘and take off that +beard.’ + +‘Damned if I do,’ said the stranger crossly. ‘It’s no use talking to me +as though I were one of your choir boys . . . you old _bully_.’ + +‘Take off that beard,’ said Father Rothschild. + +‘Take off that beard,’ said Lord Metroland and the Prime Minister, +emerging suddenly from behind the curtain. + +This concurrence of Church and State, coming so unexpectedly after an +evening of prolonged embarrassment, was too much for Simon. + +‘Oh, all right,’ he said, ‘if you _will_ make such a _thing_ about it +. . . it hurts too frightfully, if you knew . . . it ought to be soaked +in hot water . . . ooh . . . ow.’ + +He gave some tugs at the black curls, and bit by bit they came away. + +‘_There_’, he said. ‘Now I should go and make Lady Throbbing take off +her wig. . . . I should have a really jolly evening while you’re about +it, if I were you.’ + +‘I seem to have over-estimated the gravity of the situation,’ said +Father Rothschild. + +‘Who is it, after all this?’ said Mr Outrage. ‘Where are those +detectives? What does it all mean?’ + +‘That’ said Father Rothschild bitterly, ‘is _Mr Chatterbox_.’ + +‘Never heard of him. I don’t believe there is such a person. . . . +_Chatterbox_, indeed . . . you make us hide behind a curtain and then +you tell us that some young man in a false beard is called Chatterbox. +Really, Rothschild . . .’ + +‘Lord Balcairn,’ said Lord Metroland, ‘will you kindly leave my house +immediately?’ + +‘_Is_ this young man called Chatterbox or is he not? . . . Upon my soul, +I believe you’re all crazy.’ + +‘Oh yes, I’m going,’ said Simon. ‘You didn’t think I was going to go +back to the party like this, did you?—or did you?’ Indeed, he looked +very odd with little patches of black hair still adhering to parts of +his chin and cheeks. + +‘Lord Monomark is here this evening. I shall certainly inform him of +your behaviour . . .’ + +‘He writes for the papers,’ Father Rothschild tried to explain to the +Prime Minister. + +‘Well, damn it, so do I, but I don’t wear a false beard and call myself +Chatterbox. . . . I simply do not understand what has happened. . . . +Where are those detectives? . . . Will no one explain? . . . _You treat +me like a child_,’ he said. It was all like one of those Cabinet +meetings, when they all talked about something he didn’t understand and +paid no attention to him. + +Father Rothschild led him away, and attempted with almost humiliating +patience and tact to make clear to him some of the complexities of +modern journalism. + +‘I don’t believe a word of it,’ the Prime Minister kept saying. ‘It’s +all humbug. You’re keeping something back. . . . _Chatterbox_, indeed.’ + +Simon Balcairn was given his hat and coat and shown to the door. The +crowd round the awning had dispersed. It was still raining. He walked +back to his little flat in Bourdon Street. The rain washed a few of the +remaining locks from his face; it dripped down his collar. + +They were washing a car outside his front door; he crept between it and +his dustbin, fitted his latchkey in the lock and went upstairs. His flat +was like _Chez Espinosa_—all oilcloth and Lalique glass; there were +some enterprising photographs by David Lennox, a gramophone (on the +instalment system) and numberless cards of invitation on the +mantelpiece. His bath towel was where he had left it on his bed. + +Simon went to the ice box in the kitchen and chipped off some ice. Then +he made himself a cocktail. Then he went to the telephone. + +‘Central ten thousand . . .’ he said. ‘. . . give me Mrs Brace. Hullo, +this is Balcairn.’ + +‘Well . . . gotcher story?’ + +‘Oh yes, I’ve got my story, only this isn’t gossip, it’s news—front +page. You’ll have to fill up the Chatterbox page on Espinosa’s.’ + +‘Hell!’ + +‘Wait till you see the story. . . . Hullo, give me news, will you. . . . +This is Balcairn. Put on one of the boys to take this down, will you? +. . . ready? All right.’ + +At his glass-topped table, sipping his cocktail, Simon Balcairn dictated +his last story. + +‘_Scenes of wild religious enthusiasm, comma, reminiscent of a negro +camp-meeting in Southern America, comma, broke out in the heart of +Mayfair yesterday evening at the party given for the famous American +Revivalist Mrs Ape by the Viscountess Metroland, formerly the Hon. Mrs +Beste-Chetwynd, at her historic mansion, Pastmaster House, stop. The +magnificent ballroom can never have enshrined a more brilliant assembly +. . ._’ + +It was his swan-song. Lie after monstrous lie bubbled up in his brain. + +‘_. . . The Hon. Agatha Runcible joined Mrs Ape among the orchids and +led the singing, tears coursing down her face . . ._’ + +Excitement spread at the _Excess_ office. The machines were stopped. The +night staff of reporters, slightly tipsy, as always at that hour, stood +over the stenographer as he typed. The compositors snatched the sheets +of copy as they came. The sub-editors began ruthlessly cutting and +scrapping; they suppressed important political announcements, garbled +the evidence at a murder trial, reduced the dramatic criticism to one +caustic paragraph, to make room for Simon’s story. + +It came through ‘hot and strong, as nice as mother makes it,’ as one of +them remarked. + +‘Little Lord Fauntleroy’s on a good thing at last,’ said another. + +‘What-ho,’ said a third appreciatively. + +‘_. . . barely had Lady Everyman finished before the Countess of +Throbbing rose to confess her sins, and in a voice broken with emotion +disclosed the hitherto unverified details of the parentage of the +present Earl. . . ._’ + +‘Tell Mr Edwardes to look up photographs of all three of ’em,’ said the +assistant news editor. + +‘_. . . The Marquess of Vanburgh shaken by sobs of contrition . . . . +Mrs Panrast, singing feverishly. . . . Lady Anchorage with downcast +eyes._’ + +‘_. . . The Archbishop of Canterbury, who up to now had remained unmoved +by the general emotion, then testified that at Eton in the ’eighties he +and Sir James Brown . . ._’ + +‘_. . . the Duchess of Stayle next threw down her emerald and diamond +tiara, crying “a Guilt Offering”, an example which was quickly followed +by the Countess of Circumference and Lady Brown, until a veritable rain +of precious stones fell on to the parquet flooring, heirlooms of +priceless value rolling among Tecla pearls and Chanel diamonds. A blank +cheque fluttered from the hands of the Maharajah of Pukkapore . . ._’ + +It made over two columns, and when Simon finally rang off, after +receiving the congratulations of his colleagues, he was for the first +time in his journalistic experience perfectly happy about his work. He +finished the watery dregs of the cocktail shaker and went into the +kitchen. He shut the door and the window and opened the door of the gas +oven. Inside it was very black and dirty and smelled of meat. He spread +a sheet of newspaper on the lowest tray and lay down, resting his head +on it. Then he noticed that by some mischance he had chosen Vanburgh’s +gossip-page in the _Morning Despatch_. He put in another sheet. (There +were crumbs on the floor.) Then he turned on the gas. It came +surprisingly with a loud roar; the wind of it stirred his hair and the +remaining particles of his beard. At first he held his breath. Then he +thought that was silly and gave a sniff. The sniff made him cough, and +coughing made him breathe, and breathing made him feel very ill; but +soon he fell into a coma and presently died. + +So the last Earl of Balcairn went, as they say, to his fathers (who had +fallen in many lands and for many causes, as the eccentricities of +British Foreign Policy and their own wandering natures had directed +them; at Acre and Agincourt and Killiecrankie, in Egypt and America. One +had been picked white by fishes as the tides rolled him among the +tree-tops of a submarine forest; some had grown black and unfit for +consideration under tropical suns; while many of them lay in marble +tombs of extravagant design). + + + +At Pastmaster House, Lady Metroland and Lord Monomark were talking about +him. Lord Monomark was roaring with boyish laughter. + +‘That’s a great lad,’ he said. ‘Came in a false beard, did he? That’s +peppy. What’d you say his name was? I’ll raise him to-morrow first +thing.’ + +And he turned to give Simon’s name to an attendant secretary. + +And when Lady Metroland began to expostulate, he shut her up rather +discourteously. + +‘Shucks, Margot,’ he said. ‘You know better than to get on a high horse +with me.’ + + + + + _Chapter Seven_ + + +Then Adam became Mr Chatterbox. He and Nina were lunching at Espinosa’s +and quarrelling half-heartedly when a business-like, Eton-cropped woman +came across to their table, whom Adam recognized as the social editress +of the _Daily Excess_. + +‘See here,’ she said, ‘weren’t you over at the office with Balcairn the +day he did himself in?’ + +‘Yes.’ + +‘Well, a pretty mess he’s let us in for. Sixty-two writs for libel up to +date and more coming in. And that’s not the worst. Left me to do his job +and mine. I was wondering if you could tell me the names of any of these +people and anything about them.’ + +Adam pointed out a few well-worn faces. + +‘Yes, they ain’t no good. They’re on the black list. You see, Monomark +was in an awful way about Balcairn’s story of Lady Metroland’s party, +and he’s sent down a chit that none of the people who are bringing +actions against the paper can be mentioned again. Well, I ask you, +what’s one to do? It’s just bricks without straw. Why, we can’t even +mention the Prime Minister or the Archbishop of Canterbury. I suppose +you don’t know of any one who’d care to take on the job? They’d have to +be a pretty good mutt, if they would.’ + +‘What do they pay?’ + +‘Ten pounds a week and expenses. Know any one?’ + +‘I’d do it myself for that.’ + +‘_You?_’ The social editress looked at him sceptically. ‘Would you be +any good?’ + +‘I’ll try for a week or two.’ + +‘That’s about as long as any one sticks it. All right, come back to the +office with me when you’ve finished lunch. You can’t cause more trouble +than Balcairn, anyhow, and he looked the goods at first.’ + +‘Now we can get married,’ said Nina. + + + +Meanwhile the libel actions against the authors, printers and publishers +of Simon Balcairn’s last story practically paralysed the judicial system +of the country. The old brigade, led by Mrs Blackwater, threw themselves +with relish into an orgy of litigation such as they had not seen since +the war (one of the younger counsel causing Lady Throbbing particular +delight. . . . ‘I do think, when you get to my age, dear, there is +something _sympathetique_ about a wig, don’t you? . . .’). The younger +generation for the most part allowed their cases to be settled out of +court and later gave a very delightful party on the proceeds in a +captive dirigible. Miss Runcible, less well advised, filled two albums +with Press cuttings portraying her various appearances at the Law +Courts, sometimes as plaintiff, sometimes as witness, sometimes (in a +hat borrowed from Miss Mouse) as part of the queue of ‘fashionably +dressed women waiting for admission’, once as an intruder being removed +by an usher from the Press gallery, and finally as prisoner being +sentenced to a fine of ten pounds or seven days’ imprisonment for +contempt of court. + +The proceedings were considerably complicated by the behaviour of Mrs +Ape, who gave an interview in which she fully confirmed Simon Balcairn’s +story. She also caused her Press agent to wire a further account to all +parts of the world. She then left the country with her angels, having +received a sudden call to ginger up the religious life of Oberammergau. + +At intervals letters arrived from Buenos Aires in which Chastity and +Divine Discontent spoke rather critically of Latin American +entertainment. + +‘They didn’t know when they was well off,’ said Mrs Ape. + +‘It don’t sound much different from us,’ said Creative Endeavour +wistfully. + +‘They won’t be dead five minutes before _they_ see the difference,’ said +Mrs Ape. + +Edward Throbbing and two secretaries returned to Hertford Street +somewhat inopportunely for Miles and his dirt-track racer, who were +obliged to move into Shepheard’s. Miles said that the thing he resented +about his brother’s return was not so much the inconvenience as the +expense. For some weeks Throbbing suffered from the successive +discoveries by his secretaries of curious and compromising things in all +parts of the house; his butler, too, seemed changed. He hiccoughed +heavily while serving dinner to two Secretaries of State, complained of +spiders in his bath and the sound of musical instruments, and finally +had ‘the horrors’, ran mildly amok in the pantry with the kitchen poker, +and had to be taken away in a van. Long after these immediate causes of +distress had been removed, the life of Throbbing’s secretaries was +periodically disturbed by ambiguous telephone calls and the visits of +menacing young men who wanted new suits or tickets to America, or a +fiver to go on with. + +But all these events, though of wide general interest, are of necessity +a closed book to the readers of Mr Chatterbox’s page. + +Lord Monomark’s black list had made a devastating change in the +personnel of the _Daily Excess_ gossip. In a single day Mr Chatterbox’s +readers found themselves plunged into a murky underworld of nonentities. +They were shown photographs of the misshapen daughters of backwoods +peers carrying buckets of meal to their fathers’ chickens; they learned +of the engagement of the younger sister of the Bishop of Chertsey and of +a dinner party given in Elm Park Gardens by the widow of a High +Commissioner to some of the friends she had made in their colony. There +were details of the blameless home life of women novelists, photographed +with their spaniels before rose-covered cottages; stories of +undergraduate ‘rags’ and regimental reunion dinners; anecdotes from +Harley Street and the Inns of Court; snaps and snippets about cocktail +parties given in basement flats by spotty announcers at the B.B.C., of +tea dances in Gloucester Terrace and jokes made at High Table by dons. + +Urged on by the taunts of the social editress, Adam brought new +enterprise and humanity into this sorry column. He started a series of +‘Notable Invalids’, which was from the first, wildly successful. He +began chattily. ‘_At a dinner party the other evening my neighbour and I +began to compile a list of the most popular deaf peeresses. First, of +course, came old Lady ——. . ._’ + +Next day he followed it up with a page about deaf peers and statesmen; +then about the one-legged, blind and bald. Postcards of appreciation +poured in from all over the country. + +‘_I have read your column for many years now_,’ wrote a correspondent +from Bude, ‘_but this is the first time I have really enjoyed it. I have +myself been deaf for a long time, and it is a great comfort to me to +know that my affliction is shared by so many famous men and women. Thank +you, Mr Chatterbox, and good luck to you._’ + +Another wrote: ‘_Ever since childhood I have been cursed with abnormally +large ears which have been a source of ridicule to me and a serious +handicap in my career (I am a chub fuddler). I should be so glad to know +whether any great people have suffered in the same way._’ + +Finally, he ransacked the lunatic asylums and mental houses of the +country, and for nearly a week ran an extremely popular series under the +heading ‘Titled Eccentrics’. + +‘_It is not generally known that the Earl of ——, who lives in strict +retirement, has the unusual foible of wearing costume of the Napoleonic +Period. So great, indeed, is his detestation of modern dress that on one +occasion . . ._’ + +‘_Lord ——, whose public appearances are regrettably rare nowadays, is +a close student of comparative religions. There is an amusing story of +how, when lunching with the then Dean of Westminster, Lord —— startled +his host by proclaiming that so far from being of divine ordinance, the +Ten Commandments were, in point of fact, composed by himself and +delivered by him to Moses on Sinai. . . ._’ + +‘_Lady ——, whose imitations of animal sounds are so lifelike that she +can seldom be persuaded to converse in any other way, . . ._’ + +And so on. + +Besides this, arguing that people did not really mind _whom_ they read +about provided that a kind of vicarious inquisitiveness into the lives +of others was satisfied, Adam began to invent people. + +He invented a sculptor called Provna, the son of a Polish nobleman, who +lived in a top-floor studio in Grosvenor House. Most of his work (which +was all in private hands) was constructed in cork, vulcanite and steel. +The Metropolitan Museum at New York, Mr Chatterbox learned, had been +negotiating for some time to purchase a specimen, but so far had been +unable to outbid the collectors. + +Such is the power of the Press, that soon after this a steady output of +early Provnas began to travel from Warsaw to Bond Street and from Bond +Street to California, while Mrs Hoop announced to her friends that +Provna was at the moment at work on a bust of Johnny, which she intended +to present to the nation (a statement which Adam was unable to record +owing to the presence of Mrs Hoop’s name on the black list, but which +duly appeared, under a photograph of Johnny, in the Marquess of +Vanburgh’s rival column). + +Encouraged by his success, Adam began gradually to introduce to his +readers a brilliant and lovely company. He mentioned them casually at +first in lists of genuine people. There was a popular young attaché at +the Italian Embassy called Count Cincinnati. He was descended from the +famous Roman Consul, Cincinnatus, and bore a plough as his crest. Count +Cincinnati was held to be the best amateur ’cellist in London. Adam saw +him one evening dancing at the Café de la Paix. A few evenings later +Lord Vanburgh noticed him at Covent Garden, remarking that his +collection of the original designs for the Russian ballet was unequalled +in Europe. Two days later Adam sent him to Monte Carlo for a few days’ +rest, and Vanburgh hinted that there was more in this visit than met the +eye, and mentioned the daughter of a well-known American hostess who was +staying there at her aunt’s villa. + +There was a Captain Angus Stuart-Kerr, too, whose rare appearances in +England were a delight to his friends; unlike most big-game hunters, he +was an expert and indefatigable dancer. Much to Adam’s disgust he found +Captain Stuart-Kerr taken up by an unknown gossip writer in a twopenny, +illustrated weekly, who saw him at a point-to-point meeting, and +remarked that he was well known as the hardest rider in the Hebrides. +Adam put a stop to that next day. + +‘_Some people_,’ he wrote, ‘_are under the impression that Captain Angus +Stuart-Kerr, whom I mentioned on this page a short time ago, is a keen +rider. Perhaps they are confusing him with Alastair Kerr-Stuart, of +Inverauchty, a very distant cousin. Captain Stuart-Kerr never rides, and +for a very interesting reason. There is an old Gaelic rhyme repeated +among his clansmen which says in rough translation “the Laird rides well +on two legs”. Tradition has it that when the head of the house mounts a +horse the clan will be dispersed._’[C] + +----- + +[C] This story, slightly expanded, found its way later into a volume of +Highland Legends called _Tales from the Mist_, which has been approved +to be read in elementary schools. This shows the difference between what +is called a ‘living’ as opposed to a ‘dead’ folk tradition. + +----- + +But Adam’s most important creation was Mrs Andrew Quest. There was +always some difficulty about introducing English people into his column +as his readers had a way of verifying his references in Debrett (as he +knew to his cost, for one day, having referred to the engagement of the +third and youngest daughter of a Welsh baronet, he received six +postcards, eighteen telephone calls, a telegram and a personal visit of +protest to inform him that there are two equally beautiful sisters still +in the schoolroom. The social editress had been scathing about this). +However, he put Imogen Quest down one day, quietly and decisively, as +the most lovely and popular of the younger married set. And from the +first she exhibited signs of a marked personality. Adam wisely eschewed +any attempts at derivation, but his readers nodded to each other and +speedily supplied her with an exalted if irregular origin. Everything +else Adam showered upon her. She had slightly more than average height, +and was very dark and slim, with large Laurencin eyes and the negligent +grace of the trained athlete (she fenced with the sabre for half an hour +every morning before breakfast). Even Provna, who was notoriously +indifferent to conventional beauty, described her as ‘justifying the +century’. + +Her clothes were incomparable, with just that suggestion of the +haphazard which raised them high above the mere _chic_ of the mannequin. + +Her character was a lovely harmony of contending virtues—she was witty +and tender hearted; passionate and serene, sensual and temperate, +impulsive and discreet. + +Her set, the most intimate and brilliant in Europe, achieved a superb +mean between those two poles of savagery Lady Circumference and Lady +Metroland. + +Soon Imogen Quest became a byword for social inaccessibility—the final +goal for all climbers. + +Adam went one day to a shop in Hanover Square to watch Nina buy some +hats and was seriously incommoded by the heaps of bandboxes disposed on +the chairs and dressing-tables ostentatiously addressed to Mrs Andrew +Quest. He could hear her name spoken reverently in cocktail clubs, and +casually let slip in such phrases as ‘My dear, I never see Peter now. He +spends all his time with Imogen Quest,’ or ‘As Imogen would say . . .’ +or ‘I think the Quests have got one like that. I must ask them where it +came from.’ And this knowledge on the intangible Quest set, moving among +them in uncontrolled dignity of life, seemed to leaven and sweeten the +lives of Mr Chatterbox’s readers. + +One day Imogen gave a party, the preparations for which occupied several +paragraphs. On the following day Adam found his table deep in letters of +complaint from gate-crashers who had found the house in Seamore Place +untenanted. + +Finally a message came down that Lord Monomark was interested in Mrs +Quest; could Mr Chatterbox arrange a meeting. That day the Quests sailed +for Jamaica. + +Adam also attempted in an unobtrusive way to exercise some influence +over the clothes of his readers. ‘_I noticed at the Café de la Paix +yesterday evening_,’ he wrote, ‘_that two of the smartest men in the +room were wearing black suède shoes with their evening clothes—one of +them, who shall be nameless, was a Very Important Person indeed. I hear +that this fashion, which comes, like so many others, from New York, is +likely to become popular over here this season._’ A few days later he +mentioned Captain Stuart-Kerr’s appearance at the Embassy ‘_wearing, of +course, the ultra-fashionable black suède shoes_’. In a week he was +gratified to notice that Johnny Hoop and Archie Schwert had both +followed Captain Stuart-Kerr’s lead, while in a fortnight the big +emporiums of ready-made clothes in Regent Street had transposed their +tickets in the windows and arranged rows of black suède shoes on a +silver step labelled ‘For evening wear’. + +His attempt to introduce a bottle-green bowler hat, however, was not +successful; in fact, a ‘well-known St James’s Street hatter’, when +interviewed by an evening paper on the subject, said that he had never +seen or heard of such a thing, and though he would not refuse to +construct one if requested to by an old customer, he was of the opinion +that no old customer of his would require a hat of that kind (though +there was a sad case of an impoverished old beau who attempted to stain +a grey hat with green ink, as once in years gone by he had been used to +dye the carnation for his buttonhole). + +As the days passed, Mr Chatterbox’s page became almost wholly +misleading. With sultanesque caprice Adam would tell his readers of +inaccessible eating-houses which were now the centre of fashion; he +drove them to dance in temperance hotels in Bloomsbury. In a paragraph +headed ‘Montparnasse in Belgravia’, he announced that the buffet at +Sloane Square tube station had become the haunt of the most modern +artistic coterie (Mr Benfleet hurried there on his first free evening, +but saw no one but Mrs Hoop and Lord Vanburgh and a plebeian topper with +a celluloid collar). + +As a last resort, on those hopeless afternoons when invention failed and +that black misanthropy settled on him which waits alike on gossip writer +and novelist, Adam sometimes found consolation in seizing upon some +gentle and self-effacing citizen and transfiguring him with a blaze of +notoriety. + +He did this with a man called Ginger. + +As part of his duties, which led him into many unusual places, Adam and +Nina went up to Manchester for the November Handicap. Here they had the +disheartening experience of seeing Indian Runner come in an easy winner +and the totalisator paying out thirty-five to one. It was during the +bottle-green bowler campaign, and Adam was searching in vain for any +sign of his influence when, suddenly, among the crowd, he saw the genial +red face of the drunk Major to whom he had entrusted his thousand pounds +at Lottie’s. It seemed odd that a man so bulky could be so elusive. Adam +was not sure whether the Major saw him, but in some mysterious way +Adam’s pursuit coincided with the Major’s complete disappearance. The +crowd became very dense, brandishing flasks and sandwiches. When Adam +reached the spot where the Major had stood he found two policemen +arresting a pickpocket. + +‘’Ere, who are you pushing?’ asked the spectators. + +‘Have you seen a drunk Major anywhere?’ asked Adam. + +But no one could help him, and he returned disconsolately to Nina, whom +he found in conversation with a young man with a curly red moustache. + +The young man said he was fed up with racing, and Adam said he was too; +so the young man said why didn’t they come back to London in his bus, so +Adam and Nina said they would. The bus turned out to be a very large, +brand-new racing car, and they got to London in time for dinner. Nina +explained that the young man used to play with her as a child, and that +he had been doing something military in Ceylon for the last five years. +The young man’s name was Eddy Littlejohn, but over dinner he said, look +here, would they call him Ginger; every one else did. So they began to +call him Ginger, and he said wouldn’t it be a good idea if they had +another bottle of fizz, and Nina and Adam said yes, it would, so they +had a magnum and got very friendly. + +‘You know,’ said Ginger, ‘it was awful luck meeting you two to-day. I +was getting awfully fed up with London. It’s so damn slow. I came back +meaning to have a good time, you know, paint the place red a bit, and +all that. Well, the other day I was reading the paper, and there was a +bit that said that the posh place to go to dance nowadays was the +Casanova Hotel in Bloomsbury. Well, it seemed a bit rum to me—place I’d +never heard of, you know—but, still, I’d been away for some time and +places change and all that, so I put on my bib and tucker and toddled +off, hoping for a bit of innocent amusement. Well, I mean to say, you +never saw such a place. There were only about three people dancing, so I +said, “Where’s the bar?” And they said, “Bar!” And I said, “You know, +for a drink.” And they said, well, they could probably make me some +coffee. And I said, “No, not coffee.” And then they said they hadn’t got +a licence for what they called alcohol. Well, I mean to say, if that’s +the best London can do, give me Colombo. I wonder who writes things like +that in the papers?’ + +‘As a matter of fact, _I_ do.’ + +‘I say no, do you? You must be frightfully brainy. Did you write all +that about the green bowlers?’ + +‘Yes.’ + +‘Well, I mean to say, whoever heard of a green bowler, I mean. . . . I +tell you what, you know, I believe it was all a leg pull. You know, I +think that’s damn funny. Why, a whole lot of poor mutts may have gone +and bought green bowlers.’ + +After this they went on to the Café de la Paix, where they met Johnny +Hoop, who asked them all to the party in a few days’ time in the captive +balloon. + +But Ginger was not to be had twice. + +‘Oh, no you know,’ he said, ‘not in a captive balloon. You’re trying to +pull the old leg again. Whoever heard of a party in a captive balloon? I +mean to say, suppose one fell out, I mean?’ + +Adam telephoned his page through to the _Excess_, and soon after this a +coloured singer appeared, paddling his black suède shoes in a pool of +limelight, who excited Ginger’s disapproval. He didn’t mind niggers, +Ginger said; remarking justly that niggers were all very well in their +place, but, after all, one didn’t come all the way from Colombo to +London just to see niggers. So they left the Café de la Paix, and went +to Lottie’s, where Ginger became a little moody, saying that London +wasn’t home to him any more and that things were changed. + +‘You know,’ said Ginger, ‘all the time I’ve been out in Ceylon I’ve +always said to myself, “As soon as the governor kicks the bucket, and I +come in for the family doubloons and pieces of eight, I’m going to come +back to England and have a real old bust.” And now when it comes to the +point there doesn’t seem to be anything I much want to do.’ + +‘How about a little drink?’ said Lottie. + +So Ginger had a drink, and then he and an American sang the Eton Boating +Song several times. At the end of the evening he admitted that there was +some life left in the jolly old capital of the Empire. + +Next day Mr Chatterbox’s readers learned that: ‘_Captain “Ginger” +Littlejohn, as he is known to his intimates, was one of the well-known +sporting figures at the November Handicap who favoured the new +bottle-green bowler. Captain Littlejohn is one of the wealthiest and +best-known bachelors in Society, and I have lately heard his name spoken +of in connection with the marriage of the daughter of a famous ducal +house. He came all the way to yesterday’s races in his own motor +omnibus, which he drives himself . . ._’ + +For some days Ginger’s name figured largely on Adam’s page, to his +profound embarrassment. Several engagements were predicted for him, it +was rumoured that he had signed a contract with a film company, that he +had bought a small island in the Bristol Channel which he proposed to +turn into a country club, and that his forthcoming novel about Singalese +life contained many very thinly disguised portraits of London +celebrities. + +But the green bowler joke had gone too far. Adam was sent for by Lord +Monomark. + +‘Now see here, Symes,’ said the great man, ‘I like your page. It’s +peppy; it’s got plenty of new names in it and it’s got the intimate +touch I like. I read it every day and so does my daughter. Keep on that +way and you’ll be all right. But _what’s all this about bottle-green +bowlers_?’ + +‘Well, of course, sir, they’re only worn by a limited number of people +at present, but . . .’ + +‘Have you got one? Show me a green bowler.’ + +‘I don’t wear one myself, I’m afraid.’ + +‘Well, where d’you see ’em? I haven’t seen one yet. My daughter hasn’t +seen one. Who does wear ’em? Where do they buy ’em? That’s what I want +to know. Now see here, Symes, I don’t say that there ain’t any such +thing as a green bowler; there may be and again there mayn’t. But from +now on there are going to be no more bottle-green bowlers in my paper. +See. And another thing. This Count Cincinnati. I don’t say _he_ doesn’t +exist. He may do and he mayn’t. But the Italian Ambassador doesn’t know +anything about him and the Almanak de Gotha doesn’t. So as far as my +paper goes that’s good enough for him. And I don’t want any more about +Espinosa’s. They made out my bill wrong last night. + +‘Got those three things clear? Tabulate them in the mind—1, 2, 3, +that’s the secret of memory. Tab-u-late. All right, then, run along now +and tell the Home Secretary he can come right in. You’ll find him +waiting in the passage—ugly little man with a pince-nez.’ + + + + + _Chapter Eight_ + + +Two nights later Adam and Nina took Ginger to the party in the captive +dirigible. It was not a really good evening. The long drive in Ginger’s +car to the degraded suburb where the airship was moored chilled and +depressed them, dissipating the gaiety which had flickered rather +spasmodically over Ginger’s dinner. + +The airship seemed to fill the whole field, tethered a few feet from the +ground by innumerable cables over which they stumbled painfully on the +way to the steps. These had been covered by a socially minded caterer +with a strip of red carpet. + +Inside, the saloons were narrow and hot, communicating to each other by +spiral staircases and metal alleys. There were protrusions at every +corner, and Miss Runcible had made herself a mass of bruises in the +first half hour. There was a band and a bar and all the same faces. It +was the first time that a party was given in an airship. + +Adam went aloft to a kind of terrace. Acres of inflated silk blotted out +the sky, stirring just perceptibly in the breeze. The lights of other +cars arriving lit up the uneven grass. A few louts had collected round +the gates to jeer. There were two people making love to each other near +him on the terrace, reclining on cushions. There was also a young woman +he did not know, holding one of the stays and breathing heavily; +evidently she felt unwell. One of the lovers lit a cigar and Adam +observed that they were Mary Mouse and the Maharajah of Pukkapore. + +Presently Nina joined him. ‘It seems such a waste,’ she said, thinking +of Mary and the Maharajah, ‘that two very rich people like that should +fall in love with each other.’ + +‘Nina,’ said Adam, ‘let’s get married soon, don’t you think?’ + +‘Yes, it’s a bore not being married.’ + +The young woman who felt ill passed by them, walking shakily, to try and +find her coat and her young man to take her home. + +‘. . . I don’t know if it sounds absurd,’ said Adam, ‘but I do feel that +a marriage ought to _go on_—for quite a long time, I mean. D’you feel +that too, at all?’ + +‘Yes, it’s one of the things about a marriage!’ + +‘I’m glad you feel that. I didn’t quite know if you did. Otherwise it’s +all rather bogus, isn’t it?’ + +‘I think you ought to go and see papa again,’ said Nina. ‘It’s never any +good writing. Go and tell him that you’ve got a job and are terribly +rich and that we’re going to be married before Christmas!’ + +‘All right. I’ll do that.’ + +‘. . . D’you remember last month we arranged for you to go and see him +the first time? . . . just like this . . . it was at Archie Schwert’s +party . . .’ + +‘Oh, Nina, _what a lot of parties_.’ + +(. . . Masked parties, Savage parties, Victorian parties, Greek parties, +Wild West parties, Russian parties, Circus parties, parties where one +had to dress as somebody else, almost naked parties in St John’s Wood, +parties in flats and studios and houses and ships and hotels and night +clubs, in windmills and swimming baths, tea parties at school where one +ate muffins and meringues and tinned crab, parties at Oxford where one +drank brown sherry and smoked Turkish cigarettes, dull dances in London +and comic dances in Scotland and disgusting dances in Paris—all that +succession and repetition of massed humanity. . . . Those vile bodies +. . .) + +He leant his forehead, to cool it, on Nina’s arm and kissed her in the +hollow of her forearm. + +‘I _know_, darling,’ she said, and put her hand on his hair. + +Ginger came strutting jauntily by, his hands clasped under his +coat-tails. + +‘Hullo, you two,’ he said. ‘Pretty good show this, what.’ + +‘Are you enjoying yourself, Ginger?’ + +‘_Rather._ I say, I’ve met an awful good chap called Miles. Regular +topper. You know, _pally_. That’s what I like about a really decent +party—you meet such topping fellows. I mean some chaps it takes +absolutely years to know but a chap like Miles I feel is a pal straight +away.’ + +Presently cars began to drive away again. Miss Runcible said that she +had heard of a divine night club near Leicester Square somewhere where +you could get a drink at any hour of the night. It was called the St +Christopher’s Social Club. + +So they all went there in Ginger’s car. + +On the way Ginger said, ‘That cove Miles, you know, he’s awfully _queer_ +. . .’ + +St Christopher’s Social Club took some time to find. + +It was a little door at the side of a shop, and the man who opened it +held his foot against it and peeped round. + +They paid ten shillings each and signed false names in the visitor’s +book. Then they went downstairs to a very hot room full of cigarette +smoke; there were unsteady tables with bamboo legs round the walls and +there were some people in shirt sleeves dancing on a shiny linoleum +floor. + +There was a woman in a yellow beaded frock playing a piano and another +in red playing the fiddle. + +They ordered some whisky. The waiter said he was sorry, but he couldn’t +oblige, not that night he couldn’t. The police had just rung up to say +that they were going to make a raid any minute. If they liked they could +have some nice kippers. + +Miss Runcible said that kippers were not very drunk-making and that the +whole club seemed bogus to her. + +Ginger said well anyway they had better have some kippers now they were +there. Then he asked Nina to dance and she said no. Then he asked Miss +Runcible and she said no, too. + +Then they ate kippers. + +Presently one of the men in shirt sleeves (who had clearly had a lot to +drink before the St Christopher Social Club knew about the police) came +up to their table and said to Adam: + +‘You don’t know me. I’m Gilmour. I don’t want to start a row in front of +ladies, but when I see a howling cad I like to tell him so.’ + +Adam said, ‘Why do you spit when you talk?’ + +Gilmour said, ‘That is a very unfortunate physical disability, and it +shows what a howling cad you are that you mention it.’ + +Then Ginger said, ‘Same to you, old boy, with nobs on.’ + +Then Gilmour said, ‘Hullo, Ginger, old scout.’ + +And Ginger said, ‘Why, it’s Bill. You mustn’t mind Bill. Awfully stout +chap. Met him on the boat.’ + +Gilmour said, ‘Any pal of Ginger’s is a pal of mine.’ + +So Adam and Gilmour shook hands. + +Gilmour said, ‘This is a pretty low joint, anyhow. You chaps come round +to my place and have a drink.’ + +So they went to Gilmour’s place. + +Gilmour’s place was a bed-sitting room in Ryder Street. + +So they sat on the bed in Gilmour’s place and drank whisky while Gilmour +was sick next door. + +And Ginger said, ‘There’s nowhere like London really you know.’ + + + +That same evening while Adam and Nina sat on the deck of the dirigible a +party of quite a different sort was being given at Anchorage House. This +last survivor of the noble town houses of London was, in its time, of +dominating and august dimensions, and even now, when it had become a +mere ‘picturesque bit’ lurking in a ravine between concrete skyscrapers, +its pillared façade, standing back from the street and obscured by +railings and some wisps of foliage, had grace and dignity and +other-worldliness enough to cause a flutter or two in Mrs Hoop’s heart +as she drove into the forecourt. + +‘Can’t you just see the _ghosts_? she said to Lady Circumference on the +stairs. ‘Pit and Fox and Burke and Lady Hamilton and Beau Brummel and Dr +Johnson’ (a concurrence of celebrities, it may be remarked, at which +something memorable might surely have occurred). ‘Can’t you just _see_ +them—in their buckled shoes?’ + +Lady Circumference raised her lorgnette and surveyed the stream of +guests debouching from the cloak-rooms like City workers from the +Underground. She saw Mr Outrage and Lord Metroland in consultation about +the Censorship Bill (a statesmanlike and much-needed measure which +empowered a committee of five atheists to destroy all books, pictures +and films they considered undesirable, without any nonsense about +defence or appeal). She saw both Archbishops, the Duke and Duchess of +Stayle, Lord Vanburgh and Lady Metroland, Lady Throbbing and Edward +Throbbing and Mrs Blackwater, Mrs Mouse and Lord Monomark and a superb +Levantine, and behind and about them a great concourse of pious and +honourable people (many of whom made the Anchorage House reception the +one outing of the year), their women-folk well gowned in rich and +durable stuffs, their men-folk ablaze with orders; people who had +represented their country in foreign places and sent their sons to die +for her in battle, people of decent and temperate life, uncultured, +unaffected, unembarrassed, unassuming, unambitious people, of +independent judgment and marked eccentricities, kind people who cared +for animals and the deserving poor, brave and rather unreasonable +people, that fine phalanx of the passing order, approaching as one day +at the Last Trump they hoped to meet their Maker, with decorous and +frank cordiality to shake Lady Anchorage by the hand at the top of her +staircase. Lady Circumference saw all this and sniffed the exhalation of +her own herd. But she saw no ghosts. + +‘That’s all my eye,’ she said. + +But Mrs Hoop ascended step by step in a confused but very glorious dream +of eighteenth-century elegance. + + + +The Presence of Royalty was heavy as thunder in the drawing-room. + +The Baroness Yoshiwara and the Prime Minister met once more. + +‘I tried to see you twice this week,’ she said, ‘but always you were +busy. We are leaving London. Perhaps you heard? My husband has been +moved to Washington. It was his wish to go. . .’ + +‘No. I say, Baroness . . . I had no idea. That’s very bad news. We shall +all miss you terribly.’ + +‘I thought perhaps I would come to make my adieux. One day next week.’ + +‘Why, yes, of course, that would be delightful. You must both come to +dine. I’ll get my secretary to fix something up to-morrow.’ + +‘It has been nice being in London . . . you were kind.’ + +‘Not a bit. I don’t know what London would be without our guests from +abroad.’ + +‘Oh, twenty damns to your great pig-face,’ said the Baroness suddenly +and turned away. + +Mr Outrage watched her bewildered. Finally he said, ‘For East is East +and West is West and never the twain shall meet’ (which was a poor +conclusion for a former Foreign Secretary). + +Edward Throbbing stood talking to the eldest daughter of the Duchess of +Stayle. She was some inches taller than him and inclined slightly so +that, in the general murmur of conversation, she should not miss any of +his colonial experience. She wore a frock such as only Duchesses can +obtain for their elder daughters, a garment curiously puckered and +puffed up and enriched with old lace at improbable places, from which +her pale beauty emerged as though from a clumsily tied parcel. Neither +powder, rouge nor lipstick had played any part in her toilet and her +colourless hair was worn long and bound across her forehead in a broad +fillet. Long pearl drops hung from her ears and she wore a tight little +collar of pearls round her throat. It was generally understood that now +Edward Throbbing was back these two would become engaged to be married. + +Lady Ursula was acquiescent if unenthusiastic. When she thought about +marriage at all, which was rarely (for her chief interests were a girls’ +club in Canning Town and a younger brother at school), she thought what +a pity it was that one had to be so ill to have children. Her married +friends spoke of this almost with relish and her mother with awe. + +An innate dilatoriness of character rather than any doubt of the +ultimate issue kept Edward from verbal proposal. He had decided to +arrange everything before Christmas and that was enough. He had no doubt +that a suitable occasion would soon be devised for him. It was clearly +suitable that he should marry before he was thirty. Now and then when he +was with Ursula he felt a slight quickening of possessive impulse +towards her fragility and distance; occasionally when he read some +rather lubricious novel or saw much love-making on the stage he would +translate the characters in his mind and put Lady Ursula, often +incongruously, in the place of the heroine. He had no doubt that he was +in love. Perhaps he would propose this very evening and get it over. It +was up to Lady Ursula to engineer an occasion. Meanwhile he kept the +conversation on to the subject of labour problems in Montreal, about +which his information was extensive and accurate. + +‘He’s a nice, steady boy,’ said the Duchess, ‘and it’s a comfort, +nowadays, to see two young people so genuinely fond of each other. Of +course, nothing is actually arranged yet, but I was talking to Fanny +Throbbing yesterday, and apparently Edward has already spoken to her on +the subject. I think that everything will be settled before Christmas. +Of course, there’s not a great deal of money, but one’s learnt not to +expect that nowadays, and Mr Outrage speaks very highly of his ability. +Quite one of the coming men in the party.’ + +‘Well,’ said Lady Circumference, ‘you know your own business, but if you +ask me I shouldn’t care to see a daughter of mine marry into that +family. Bad hats every one of them. Look at the father and the sister, +and from all I hear the brother is rotten all through.’ + +‘I don’t say it’s a match I should have chosen myself. There’s certainly +a bad strain in the Malpractices . . . but you know how headstrong +children are nowadays, and they seem so fond of each other . . . and +there seem so few young men about. At least I never seem to see any.’ + +‘Young toads, the whole lot of them,’ said Lady Circumference. + +‘And these _terrible_ parties which I’m told they give. I don’t know +what I should have done if Ursula had ever wanted to go to them . . . +the poor Chasms. . . .’ + +‘If I were Viola Chasm I’d give that girl a thunderin’ good hidin’.’ + + + +The topic of the Younger Generation spread through the company like a +yawn. Royalty remarked on their absence and those happy mothers who had +even one docile daughter in tow swelled with pride and commiseration. + +‘I’m told that they’re having another of their parties,’ said Mrs Mouse, +‘in an aeroplane this time.’ + +‘In an aeroplane? How very extraordinary.’ + +‘Of course, I never hear a word from Mary, but her maid told my maid +. . .’ + +‘What I always wonder, Kitty dear, is what they actually _do_ at these +parties of theirs, I mean, _do_ they . . . ?’ + +‘My dear, from all I hear, I think they do.’ + +‘Oh, to be young again, Kitty. When I think, my dear, of all the trouble +and exertion which we had to go through to be even moderately bad . . . +those passages in the early morning, and mama sleeping next door.’ + +‘And yet, my dear, I doubt very much whether they really _appreciate_ it +all as much as we should . . . young people take things so much for +granted. _Si la jeunesse savait._’ + +‘_Si la vieillesse pouvait_, Kitty.’ + + + +Later that evening Mr Outrage stood almost alone in the supper-room +drinking a glass of champagne. Another episode in his life was closed, +another of those tantalizing glimpses of felicity capriciously +withdrawn. Poor Mr Outrage, thought Mr Outrage; poor, poor old Outrage, +always just on the verge of revelation, of some sublime and +transfiguring experience; always frustrated. . . . Just Prime Minister, +nothing more, bullied by his colleagues, a source of income to low +caricaturists. Was Mr Outrage an immortal soul, thought Mr Outrage; had +he wings, was he free and unconfined, was he born for eternity? He +sipped his champagne, fingered his ribbon of the Order of Merit, and +resigned himself to the dust. + +Presently he was joined by Lord Metroland and Father Rothschild. + +‘Margot’s left—gone on to some party in an airship. I’ve been talking +to Lady Anchorage for nearly an hour about the younger generation.’ + +‘Every one seems to have been talking about the younger generation +to-night. The most boring subject I know.’ + +‘Well, after all, what does all this stand for if there’s going to be no +one to carry it on?’ + +‘All what?’ Mr Outrage looked round the supper-room, deserted save for +two footmen who leant against the walls looking as waxen as the clumps +of flowers sent up that morning from hothouses in the country. ‘What +does all what stand for?’ + +‘All this business of government.’ + +‘As far as I’m concerned it stands for a damned lot of hard work and +precious little in return. If those young people can find a way to get +on without it, good luck to them.’ + +‘I see what Metroland means,’ said Father Rothschild. + +‘Blessed if I do. Anyway I’ve got no children myself, and I’m thankful +for it. I don’t understand them, and I don’t want to. They had a chance +after the war that no generation has ever had. There was a whole +civilization to be saved and remade—and all they seem to do is to play +the fool. Mind you, I’m all in favour of them having a fling. I dare say +that Victorian ideas _were_ a bit strait-laced. Saving your cloth, +Rothschild, it’s only human nature to run a bit loose when one’s young. +But there’s something wanton about these young people to-day. That +stepson of yours, Metroland, and that girl of poor old Chasm’s and young +Throbbing’s brother.’ + +‘Don’t you think,’ said Father Rothschild gently, ‘that perhaps it is +all in some way historical? I don’t think people ever _want_ to lose +their faith either in religion or anything else. I know very few young +people, but it seems to me that they are all possessed with an almost +fatal hunger for permanence. I think all these divorces show that. +People aren’t content just to muddle along nowadays. . . . And this word +“bogus” they all use. . . . They won’t make the best of a bad job +nowadays. My private schoolmaster used to say, “If a thing’s worth doing +at all, it’s worth doing well.” My Church has taught that in different +words for several centuries. But these young people have got hold of +another end of the stick, and for all we know it may be the right one. +They say, “If a thing’s not worth doing well, it’s not worth doing at +all.” It makes everything very difficult for them.’ + +‘Good heavens, I should think it did. What a darned silly principle. I +mean to say if one didn’t do anything that wasn’t worth doing well—why, +what _would_ one do? I’ve always maintained that success in this world +depends on knowing exactly how little effort each job is worth . . . +distribution of energy. . . . And, I suppose, most people would admit +that I was a pretty successful man.’ + +‘Yes, I suppose they would, Outrage,’ said Father Rothschild, looking at +him rather quizzically. + +But that self-accusing voice in the Prime Minister’s heart was silent. +There was nothing like a little argument for settling the mind. +Everything became so simple as soon as it was put into words. + +‘And anyway, what do you mean by “historical”?’ + +‘Well, it’s like this war that’s coming. . . .’ + +‘_What war?_’ said the Prime Minister sharply. ‘No one has said anything +to me about a war. I really think I should have been told. I’ll be +damned,’ he said defiantly, ‘if they shall have a war without consulting +me. What’s a Cabinet for if there’s not more mutual confidence than +that? What do they want a war for, anyway?’ + +‘That’s the whole point. No one talks about it, and no one wants it. No +one talks about it _because_ no one wants it. They’re all afraid to +breathe a word about it.’ + +‘Well, hang it all, if no one wants it, who’s going to make them have +it?’ + +‘Wars don’t start nowadays because people want them. We long for peace, +and fill our newspapers with conferences about disarmament and +arbitration, but there is a radical instability in our whole +world-order, and soon we shall all be walking into the jaws of +destruction again, protesting our pacific intentions.’ + +‘Well, you seem to know all about it,’ said Mr Outrage, ‘and I think I +should have been told sooner. This will have to mean a coalition with +that old wind-bag Brown, I suppose.’ + +‘Anyhow,’ said Lord Metroland, ‘I don’t see how all that explains why my +stepson should drink like a fish and go about everywhere with a +negress.’ + +‘I think they’re connected, you know,’ said Father Rothschild. ‘But it’s +all very difficult.’ + +Then they separated. + +Father Rothschild pulled on a pair of overall trousers in the forecourt +and, mounting his motor cycle, disappeared into the night, for he had +many people to see and much business to transact before he went to bed. + +Lord Metroland left the house in some depression. Margot had taken the +car, but it was scarcely five minutes’ walk to Hill Street. He took a +vast cigar from his case, lit it and sank his chin in the astrakhan +collar of his coat, conforming almost exactly to the popular conception +of a highly enviable man. But his heart was heavy. What a lot of +nonsense Rothschild had talked. At least he hoped it was nonsense. + +By ill-fortune he arrived on the doorstep to find Peter Pastmaster +fumbling with the lock, and they entered together. Lord Metroland +noticed a tall hat on the table by the door. ‘Young Trumpington’s, I +suppose,’ he thought. His stepson did not once look at him, but made +straight for the stairs, walking unsteadily, his hat on the back of his +head, his umbrella still in his hand. + +‘Good-night, Peter,’ said Lord Metroland. + +‘Oh, go to hell,’ said his stepson thickly, then, turning on the stairs, +he added, ‘I’m going abroad to-morrow for a few weeks. Will you tell my +mother?’ + +‘Have a good time,’ said Lord Metroland. ‘You’ll find it just as cold +everywhere, I’m afraid. Would you care to take the yacht? No one’s using +it.’ + +‘Oh, go to hell.’ + +Lord Metroland went into the study to finish his cigar. It would be +awkward if he met young Trumpington on the stairs. He sat down in a very +comfortable chair. . . . A radical instability, Rothschild had said, +radical instability. . . . He looked round his study and saw shelves of +books—the _Dictionary of National Biography_, the _Encyclopædia +Britannica_ in an early and very bulky edition, _Who’s Who_, Debrett, +Burke, Whitaker, several volumes of Hansard, some Blue Books and +Atlases—a safe in the corner painted green with a brass handle, his +writing table, his secretary’s table, some very comfortable chairs and +some very business-like chairs, a tray with decanters and a plate of +sandwiches, his evening mail laid out on the table . . . radical +instability, indeed. How like poor old Outrage to let himself get taken +in by that charlatan of a Jesuit. + +He heard the front door open and shut behind Alastair Trumpington. + +Then he rose and went quickly upstairs, leaving his cigar smouldering in +the ash-tray, filling the study with fragrant smoke. + +Quarter of a mile away the Duchess of Stayle went, as she always did, to +say good-night to her eldest daughter. She crossed the room and drew up +the window a few inches, for it was a cold and raw night. Then she went +over to the bed and smoothed the pillow. + +‘Good-night, dear child,’ she said, ‘I thought you looked sweet +to-night.’ + +Lady Ursula wore a white cambric night-gown with a little yoke collar +and long sleeves. Her hair hung in two plaits. + +‘Mama,’ she said. ‘Edward proposed to me to-night.’ + +‘_Darling._ What a funny girl you are. Why didn’t you tell me before? +You weren’t frightened, were you? You know that your father and I are +delighted at anything that makes our little girl happy.’ + +‘Well, I said I wouldn’t marry him . . . I’m sorry.’ + +‘But, my dear, it’s nothing to be sorry about. Leave it to your old +mother. I’ll put it all right for you in the morning.’ + +‘But, Mama, I don’t want to marry him. I didn’t know until it actually +came to the point. I’d always meant to marry him, as you know. But +somehow, when he actually asked me . . . I just couldn’t.’ + +‘There, dear child, you mustn’t worry any more. You know perfectly well, +don’t you, that your father and I would not let you do anything you +didn’t want. It’s a matter that only you can decide. After all, it’s +your life and your happiness at stake, not ours, isn’t it, Ursula . . . +but I _think_ you’d better marry Edward.’ + +‘But, Mama, I don’t want to . . . I couldn’t . . . it would kill me!’ + +‘Now, now, my pet mustn’t worry her head about it any more. You know +your father and I only want _your_ happiness, dear one. No one is going +to make my darling girl do anything she doesn’t want to. . . . Papa +shall see Edward in the morning and make everything all right . . . dear +Lady Anchorage was only saying to-night what a lovely bride you will +make.’ + +‘But, Mama . . .’ + +‘Not another word, dear child. It’s very late and you’ve got to look +your best for Edward to-morrow, haven’t you, love?’ + +The Duchess closed the door softly and went to her own room. Her husband +was in his dressing-room. + +‘Andrew.’ + +‘What is it, dear? I’m saying my prayers.’ + +‘Edward proposed to Ursula to-night.’ + +‘Ah!’ + +‘Aren’t you glad?’ + +‘I told you, dear, I’m trying to say my prayers.’ + +‘It’s a real joy to see the dear children so happy.’ + + + + + _Chapter Nine_ + + +At luncheon time next day Adam rang up Nina. + +‘Nina, darling, are you awake?’ + +‘Well, I wasn’t . . .’ + +‘Listen, do you really want me to go and see your papa to-day?’ + +‘Did we say you were going to?’ + +‘Yes.’ + +‘Why?’ + +‘To say could we be married now I had a job.’ + +‘I remember . . . yes, go and see him, darling. It would be nice to be +married.’ + +‘But, listen, what about my page?’ + +‘What page, angel?’ + +‘My page in the _Excess_ . . . my job, you know.’ + +‘Oh . . . well, look . . . Ginger and I will write that for you.’ + +‘Wouldn’t that be a bore?’ + +‘I think it would be divine. I know just the sort of things you +say. . . . I expect Ginger does too by now, the poor angel . . . how he +did enjoy himself last night. . . . I’m going to sleep now . . . such a +pain . . . good-bye, my sweet.’ + +Adam had some luncheon. Agatha Runcible was at the next table with +Archie Schwert. She said they were all going to some motor races next +day. Would Adam and Nina come, too. Adam said yes. Then he went to +Aylesbury. + +There were two women on the other side of the carriage, and they, too, +were talking about the Younger Generation. + +‘. . . and it’s a very good position, too, for a boy of that age, and +I’ve told him and his father told him. “You ought to think yourself +lucky,” I’ve said, “to get a good position like that in these days, +particularly when it’s so hard to get a position at all of any kind _or_ +sort.” And there’s Mrs Hemingway with her son next door who left school +eighteen months ago, and there he is kicking his heels about the house +all day and doing nothing, and taking a correspondence course in civil +engineering. “It’s a very good position,” I told him, “and, of course, +you can’t expect _work_ to be interesting, though no doubt after a time +you get used to it just as your father’s done, and would probably miss +it if you hadn’t it to do”—you know how Alfred gets on his holidays, +doesn’t know what to do with himself half the time, just looks at the +sea and says, “Well, this _is_ a change,” and then starts wondering how +things are at the office. Well, I told Bob that, but it’s no good, and +all he wants to do is to go into the motor business; well, as I said to +him, the motor business is all right for them that have influence, but +what could Bob hope to do throwing up a good job, too, and with nothing +to fall back on supposing things did go wrong. But, no, Bob is all for +motors, and, of course, you know it doesn’t really do having him living +at home. He and his father don’t get on. You can’t have two men in a +house together and both wanting the bath at the same time, and I suppose +it’s only natural that Bob should feel he ought to have his own way a +bit more now that he’s earning his own money. But, then, what is he to +do? He can’t go and live on his own with his present salary, and I +shouldn’t be any too pleased to see him doing it even if he could afford +it—you know what it is with young people, how easy it is to get into +mischief when they’re left to themselves. And there are a great many of +Bob’s friends now that I don’t really approve of, not to have in and out +of the house, you know the way they do come. He meets them at the hockey +club he goes to Saturdays. And they’re most of them earning more money +than he is, or, at any rate, they seem to have more to throw about, and +it isn’t good for a boy being about with those that have more money than +him. It only makes him discontented. And I did think at one time that +perhaps Bob was thinking of Betty Rylands, you know Mrs Rylands’ girl at +the Laurels, such nice people, and they used to play tennis together and +people remarked how much they were about, but now he never seems to pay +any attention to her, it’s all his hockey friends, and I said one +Saturday, “Wouldn’t you like to ask Betty over to tea?” and he said, +“Well, you can if you like,” and she came looking ever so sweet, and, +would you believe it, Bob went out and didn’t come in at all until +supper time. Well, you can’t expect any girl to put up with that, and +now she’s practically engaged to that young Anderson boy who’s in the +wireless business.’ + +‘Well, and there’s our Lily now. You know how she would go in for being +a manicurist. Her father didn’t like it, and for a long time he wouldn’t +have it at all. He said it was just an excuse for holding hands, but, +anyway, I said, “If that’s what the girl wants to do, and if she can +make good money doing it, I think you ought to be able to trust your own +daughter better than to stand in her way.” I’m a modern, you see. “We’re +not living in the Victorian Age,” I told him. Well, she’s in a very nice +job. Bond Street—and they treat her very fair, and we’ve no complaints +on that score, but now there’s this man she’s met there—he’s old enough +to be her father—well, middle-aged anyway—but very smart, you know, +neat little grey moustache, absolute gentleman, with a Morris Oxford +saloon. And he comes and takes her out for drives Sundays, and sometimes +he fetches her after work and takes her to the pictures, and always most +polite and well spoken to me and my husband, just as you’d expect, +seeing the sort of man he is, and he sent us all tickets for the theatre +the other night. Very affable, calls me “Ma”, if you please . . . and, +anyway, I _hope_ there’s no harm in it . . .’ + +‘Now our Bob . . .’ + +They got out at Berkhamsted, and a man got in who wore a bright brown +suit and spent his time doing sums, which never seemed to come right, in +a little note-book with a stylographic pen. ‘Has he given all to his +daughters?’ thought Adam. + +He drove out to Doubting by a bus which took him as far as the village +of petrol pumps. From there he walked down the lane to the park gates. +To his surprise these stood open, and as he approached he narrowly +missed being run down by a large and ramshackle car which swept in at a +high speed; he caught a glimpse of two malignant female eyes which +glared contemptuously at him from the small window at the back. Still +more surprising was a large notice which hung on the central pier of the +gates and said: ‘=No Admittance Except on Business=.’ As Adam +walked up the drive two lorries thundered past him. Then a man appeared +with a red flag. + +‘Hi! You can’t go that way. They’re shooting in front. Go round by the +stables, whoever you are.’ + +Wondering vaguely what kind of sport this could be, Adam followed the +side path indicated. He listened for sounds of firing, but hearing +nothing except distant shouting and what seemed to be a string band, he +concluded that the Colonel was having a poor day. It seemed odd, anyway, +to go shooting in front of one’s house with a string band, and +automatically Adam began making up a paragraph about it: + +‘_Colonel Blount, father of the lovely Miss Nina Blount referred to +above, rarely comes to London nowadays. He devotes himself instead to +shooting on his estate in Buckinghamshire. The coverts, which are among +the most richly stocked in the county, lie immediately in front of the +house, and many amusing stories are related of visitors who have +inadvertently found themselves in the line of fire. . . . Colonel Blount +has the curious eccentricity of being unable to shoot his best except to +the accompaniment of violin and ’cello._ (_Mr “Ginger” Littlejohn has +the similar foible that he can only fish to the sound of the flageolet +. . .)_’ + +He had not gone very far in his detour before he was again stopped, this +time by a man dressed in a surplice, episcopal lawn sleeves and scarlet +hood and gown; he was smoking a cigar. + +‘Here, what in hell do _you_ want?’ said the Bishop. + +‘I came to see Colonel Blount.’ + +‘Well, you can’t, son. They’re just shooting him now.’ + +‘Good heavens. What for?’ + +‘Oh, nothing important. He’s just one of the Wesleyans, you know—we’re +trying to polish off the whole crowd this afternoon while the weather’s +good.’ + +Adam found himself speechless before this cold-blooded bigotry. + +‘What d’you want to see the old geezer about, anyway?’ + +‘Well, it hardly seems any good now. I came to tell him that I’d got a +job on the _Excess_.’ + +‘The devil you have. Why didn’t you say so before? Always pleased to see +gentlemen of the Press. Have a weed?’ A large cigar-case appeared from +the recesses of the episcopal bosom. ‘I’m Bishop Philpotts, you know,’ +he said, slipping a voluminously clothed arm through Adam’s. ‘I dare say +you’d like to come round to the front and see the fun. I should think +they’d be just singing their last hymn now. It’s been uphill work,’ he +confided as they walked round the side of the house, ‘and there’s been +some damned bad management. Why, yesterday, they kept Miss La Touche +waiting the whole afternoon, and then the light was so bad when they did +shoot her that they made a complete mess of her—we had the machine out +and ran over all the bits carefully last night after dinner—you never +saw such rotten little scraps—quite unrecognizable half of them. We +didn’t dare show them to her husband—he’d be sick to death about it—so +we just cut out a few shots to keep and threw away the rest. I say, +you’re not feeling queer, are you? You look all green suddenly. Find the +weed a bit strong?’ + +‘Was—was she a Wesleyan too?’ + +‘My dear boy, she’s playing lead . . . she’s Selina. Countess of +Huntingdon. . . . There, now you can see them at work.’ + +They had rounded the wing and were now in full view of the front of the +house, where all was activity and animation. A dozen or so men and women +in eighteenth-century costume were standing in a circle singing +strongly, while in their centre stood a small man in a long clerical +coat and a full white wig, conducting them. A string band was playing +not far off and round the singers clustered numerous men in shirt +sleeves bearing megaphones, cinematograph cameras, microphones, sheaves +of paper and arc lamps. Not far away, waiting their turn to be useful, +stood a coach and four, a detachment of soldiers and some scene shifters +with the transept of Exeter Cathedral in sections of canvas and +matchboarding. + +‘The Colonel’s somewhere in that little crowd singing the hymn,’ said +the Bishop. ‘He was crazy to be allowed to come on as a super, and as +he’s letting us the house dirt cheap Isaacs said he might. I don’t +believe he’s ever been so happy in his life.’ + +As they approached the hymn stopped. + +‘All right,’ said one of the men with megaphones. ‘You can beat it. +We’ll shoot the duel now. I shall want two supers to carry the body. The +rest of you are through for the afternoon.’ + +A man in a leather apron, worsted stockings and flaxen wig emerged from +the retreating worshippers. + +‘Oh, please, Mr Isaacs,’ he said, ‘please may _I_ carry the body?’ + +‘All right, Colonel, if you want to. Run in and tell them in the +wardrobe to give you a smock and a pitchfork.’ + +‘Thank you so much,’ said Colonel Blount, trotting off towards his +house. Then he stopped. ‘I suppose,’ he said, ‘I suppose it wouldn’t be +better for me to carry a sword?’ + +‘No, pitchfork, and hurry up about it or I shan’t let you carry the body +at all; some one go and find Miss La Touche.’ + +The young lady whom Adam had seen in the motor car came down the steps +of the house in a feathered hat, riding habit and braided cape. She +carried a hunting crop in her hand. Her face was painted very yellow. + +‘Do I or do I not have a horse in this scene, Mr Isaacs? I’ve been round +to Bertie and he says all the horses are needed for the coach.’ + +‘I’m sorry, Effie, you do _not_ and it’s no good taking on. We only got +four horses and you know that, and you saw what it was like when we +tried to move the coach with two. So you’ve just got to face it. You +comes across the fields on foot.’ + +‘Dirty Yid,’ said Effie La Touche. + +‘The trouble about this film,’ said the Bishop, ‘is that we haven’t +enough capital. It’s heart-breaking. Here we have a first-rate company, +first-rate producer, first-rate scene, first-rate story and the whole +thing being hung up for want of a few hundred pounds. How can he expect +to get the best out of Miss La Touche if they won’t give her a horse? No +girl will stand for that sort of treatment. If I were Isaacs I’d scrap +the whole coach sooner. It’s no sense getting a star and not treating +her right. Isaacs is putting every one’s back up the way he goes on. +Wanted to do the whole of my cathedral scene with twenty-five supers. +But you’re here to give us a write up, aren’t you? I’ll call Isaacs +across and let him give you the dope. . . . _Isaacs!_’ + +‘Yuh?’ + +‘_Daily Excess_ here.’ + +‘Where?’ + +‘Here.’ + +‘I’ll be right over.’ He put on his coat, buttoned it tightly at the +waist and strode across the lawn, extending a hand of welcome. Adam +shook it and felt what seemed to be a handful of rings under his +fingers. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mister. Now just you ask me anything you +want about this film because I’m just here to answer. Have you got my +name? Have a card. That’s the name of the company in the corner. Not the +one that’s scratched out. The one written above. _The Wonderfilm Company +of Great Britain_. Now this film,’ he said, in what seemed a +well-practised little speech, ‘of which you have just witnessed a mere +fragment marks a stepping stone in the development of the British Film +Industry. It is the most important All-Talkie super-religious film to be +produced solely in this country by British artists and management and by +British capital. It has been directed throughout regardless of +difficulty and expense, and supervised by a staff of expert historians +and theologians. Nothing has been omitted that would contribute to the +meticulous accuracy of every detail. The life of that great social and +religious reformer John Wesley is for the first time portrayed to a +British public in all its humanity and tragedy. . . . Look here, I’ve +got all this written out. I’ll have them give you a copy before you go. +Come and see the duel. . . . + +‘That’s Wesley and Whitefield just going to start. Of course, it’s not +them really. Two fencing instructors we got over from the gym. at +Aylesbury. That’s what I mean when I say we spare no expense to get the +details accurate. Ten bob each we’re paying them for the afternoon.’ + +‘But did Wesley and Whitefield fight a duel?’ + +‘Well, it’s not actually recorded, but it’s known that they quarrelled +and there was only one way of settling quarrels in those days. They’re +both in love with Selina, Countess of Huntingdon, you see. She comes to +stop them, but arrives too late. Whitefield has escaped in the coach and +Wesley is lying wounded. That’s a scene that’ll go over big. Then she +takes him back to her home and nurses him back to health. I tell you, +this is going to make film history. D’you know what the Wesleyan +population of the British Isles is? Well nor do I, but I’ve been told +and _you’ld be surprised_. Well every one of those is going to come and +see this film and there’s going to be discussions about it in all the +chapels. We’re recording extracts from Wesley’s sermons and we’re +singing all his own hymns. I’m glad your paper’s interested. You can +tell them from me that we’re on a big thing. . . . There’s one thing +though,’ said Mr Isaacs, suddenly becoming confidential, ‘which I +shouldn’t tell many people. But I think you’ll understand because you’ve +seen some of our work here and the sort of scale it’s on, and you can +imagine that expenses are pretty heavy. Why, I’m paying Miss La Touche +alone over ten pounds a week. And the truth is—I don’t mind telling +you—we’re beginning to feel the wind a bit. It’s going to be a big +success _when_ and _if_ it’s finished. Now, suppose there was some +one—yourself, for instance, or one of your friends—who had a little +bit of loose capital he wanted to invest—a thousand pounds, say—well, +I wouldn’t mind selling him a half-share. It’s not a gamble, mind—it’s +a certain winner. If I cared to go into the open market with it, it +would be snapped up before you could say knife. But I don’t want to do +that and I’ll tell you why. This is a British company and I don’t want +to let any of those foreign speculators in on it, and once you let the +shares get into the open market you can’t tell who’s buying them, see. +Now why leave money idle bringing in four and a half or five per cent. +when you might be doubling it in six months?’ + +‘I’m afraid it’s no use coming to me for capital,’ said Adam. ‘Do you +think I could possibly see Colonel Blount?’ + +‘One of the things I hate in life,’ said Mr Isaacs, ‘is seeing any one +lose an opportunity. Now listen, I’ll make you a fair offer. I can see +you’re interested in this film. Now I’ll sell you the whole thing—film +we’ve made up to date, artists’ contracts, copyright of scenario, +everything for five hundred quid. Then all you have to do is to finish +it off and your fortune’s made and I shall be cursing for not having +held on longer. How about it?’ + +‘It’s very good of you, but really I don’t think I can afford it at the +moment.’ + +‘Just as you like,’ said Mr Isaacs airily. ‘There’s many who _can_ who’d +jump at the offer, only I thought I’d let you in on it first because I +could see you were a smart kid. . . . Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll let +you have it for four hundred. Can’t say fairer than that, can I? And +wouldn’t do it for any one but you.’ + +‘I’m terribly sorry, Mr Isaacs, but I didn’t come to buy your film. I +came to see Colonel Blount.’ + +‘Well, I shouldn’t have thought you were the sort of chap to let an +opportunity like that slip through your fingers. Now I’ll give you one +more chance and after that mind, the offer is closed. I’ll sell you it +for three-fifty. Take it or leave it. That’s my last word. Of course, +you’re not in any way obliged to buy,’ said Mr Isaacs rather haughtily, +‘but I assure you that you’ll regret it from the bottom of your heart if +you don’t.’ + +‘I’m sorry,’ said Adam, ‘I think it’s a wonderfully generous offer, but +the truth is I simply don’t want to buy a film at all.’ + +‘In that case,’ said Mr Isaacs, ‘I shall return to my business.’ + +Not till sunset did the Wonderfilm Company of Great Britain rest. Adam +watched them from the lawn. He saw the two fencing instructors in long +black coats and white neck bands lunging and parrying manfully until one +of them fell; then the cameras stopped and his place was taken by the +leading actor (who had been obliged through the exigencies of the +wardrobe to lend his own coat). Whitefield took the place (and the wig) +of the victor and fled to the coach. Effie La Touche appeared from the +shrubbery still defiantly carrying her hunting crop. Close-ups followed +of Effie and Wesley and Effie and Wesley together. Then Colonel Blount +and another super appeared as yokels and carried the wounded preacher +back to the house. All this took a long time as the action was +frequently held up by minor mishaps and once when the whole scene had +been triumphantly enacted the chief cameraman found that he had +forgotten to put in a new roll of film (‘Can’t think how I come to make +a mistake like that, Mr Isaacs’). Finally the horses were taken out of +the coach and mounted by grenadiers and a few shots taken of them +plunging despairingly up the main drive. + +‘Part of Butcher Cumberland’s army,’ explained Mr Isaacs. ‘It’s always +good to work in a little atmosphere like that. Gives more educational +value. Besides we hire the horses by the day so we might as well get all +we can out of them while they’re here. If we don’t use ’em in Wesley we +can fit ’em in somewhere else. A hundred foot or so of galloping horses +is always useful.’ + +When everything was over Adam managed to see Colonel Blount, but it was +not a satisfactory interview. + +‘I’m afraid I’ve really got very little time to spare,’ he said. ‘To +tell you the truth, I’m at work on a scenario of my own. They tell me +you come from the _Excess_ and want to write about the film. It’s a +glorious film, isn’t it? Of course, you know, I have very little to do +with it really. I have let them the house and have acted one or two +small parts in the crowd. I don’t have to pay for them though.’ + +‘No, I should think not.’ + +‘My dear boy, all the others have to. I knocked a little off the rent of +the house, but I don’t actually _pay_. In fact, you might almost say I +was a professional already. You see, Mr Isaacs is the principal of the +National Academy of Cinematographic Art. He’s got a little office in +Edgware Road, just one room, you know, to interview candidates in. Well, +if he thinks that they’re promising enough—he doesn’t take any one, +mind, only a chosen few—he takes them on as pupils. As Mr Isaacs says, +the best kind of training is practical work, so he produces a film +straight away and pays the professionals out of the pupils’ fees. It’s +really a very simple and sensible plan. All the characters in “John +Wesley” are pupils, except Wesley himself and Whitefield and the Bishop +and, of course, Miss La Touche—she’s the wife of the man who looks +after the Edgware Road office when Mr Isaacs is away. Even the cameramen +are only learning. It makes everything so exciting, you know. This is +the third film Mr Isaacs has produced. The first went wrong, through Mr +Isaacs trusting one of the pupils to develop it. Of course, he made him +pay damages—that’s in the contract they all have to sign—but the film +was ruined, and Mr Isaacs said it was disheartening—he nearly gave up +the cinema altogether. But then a lot more pupils came along, so they +produced another, which was _very_ good indeed. Quite a revolution in +Film Art, Mr Isaacs said, but that was boycotted through professional +jealousy. None of the theatres would show it. But that’s been made all +right now. Mr Isaacs has got in with the ring, he says, and this is +going to establish Wonderfilms as the leading company in the country. +What’s more, he’s offered me a half share in it for five thousand +pounds. It’s wonderfully generous, when he might keep it all to himself, +but he says that he must have some one who understands _acting_ from the +practical side of the board of directors. Funnily enough, my bank +manager is very much against my going in for it. In fact, he’s putting +every obstacle in my way. . . . But I dare say Mr Isaacs would sooner +you didn’t put any of this into your paper.’ + +‘What I really came about was your daughter, Nina.’ + +‘Oh, she’s not taking any part in the film at all. To tell you the +truth, I very much doubt whether she has any real talent. It’s funny how +these things often skip a generation. My father, now, was a very bad +actor indeed—though he always used to take a leading part when we had +theatricals at Christmas. Upon my soul, he used to make himself look +quite ridiculous sometimes. I remember once he did a skit of Henry +Irving in _The Bells_. . . .’ + +‘I’m afraid you’ve forgotten me, sir, but I came here last month to see +you about Nina. Well, she wanted me to tell you that I’m Mr Chatterbox +now. . . .’ + +‘Chatterbox . . . no, my boy, I’m afraid I don’t remember you. My +memory’s not what it was. . . . There’s a Canon Chatterbox at Worcester +I used to know . . . he was up at New College with me . . . unusual +name.’ + +‘Mr Chatterbox on the _Daily Excess_.’ + +‘No, no, my dear boy, I assure you not. He was ordained just after I +went down and was chaplain somewhere abroad—Bermuda, I think. Then he +came home and went to Worcester. He was never on the _Daily Excess_ in +his life.’ + +‘No, no, sir, _I’m_ on the _Daily Excess_.’ + +‘Well, you ought to know your own staff, certainly. He _may_ have left +Worcester and taken to journalism. A great many parsons do nowadays. I +know. But I must say that he’s the last fellow I should have expected it +of. Awful stupid fellow. Besides, he must be at least seventy. . . . +Well, well . . . who would have thought it. Good-bye, my boy, I’ve +enjoyed our talk.’ + +‘Oh, sir,’ cried Adam, as Colonel Blount began to walk away. ‘You don’t +understand—I want to marry Nina.’ + +‘Well, it’s no good coming here,’ said the Colonel crossly. ‘I told you, +she’s somewhere in London. She’s got nothing to do with the film at all. +You’ll have to go and ask her about it. Anyway, I happen to know she’s +engaged already. There was a young ass of a chap down here about it the +other day . . . the Rector said he was off his head. Laughed the whole +time—bad sign that—still, Nina wants to marry him for some reason. So +I’m afraid you’re too late, my boy. I’m sorry . . . and, anyway, the +Rector’s behaved very badly about this film. Wouldn’t lend his car. I +suppose it’s because of the Wesleyanism. Narrow-minded, that. . . . +Well, good-bye. So nice of you to come. Remember me to Canon Chatterbox. +I must look him up next time I come to London and pull his leg about +it. . . . Writing for the papers, indeed, at his age.’ + +And Colonel Blount retired victorious. + + + +Late that evening Adam and Nina sat in the gallery of the Café de la +Paix eating oysters. + +‘Well we won’t bother any more about papa,’ she said. ‘We’ll just get +married at once.’ + +‘We shall be terribly poor.’ + +‘Well, we shan’t be any poorer than we are now. . . . I think it will be +divine. . . . Besides, we’ll be terribly economical. Miles says he’s +discovered a place near Tottenham Court Road where you can get oysters +for three and six a dozen.’ + +‘Wouldn’t they be rather ill-making?’ + +‘Well, Miles said the only odd thing about them is that they all taste a +little different. . . . I had lunch with Miles to-day. He rang up to +find where you were. He wanted to sell Edward Throbbing’s engagement to +the _Excess_. But Van offered him five guineas for it, so he gave it to +them.’ + +‘I’m sorry we missed that. The editor will be furious. By the way, how +did the gossip page go? Did you manage to fill it all right?’ + +‘My dear, I think I did rather well. You see Van and Miles didn’t know I +was in the trade, so they talked about Edward’s engagement a whole lot, +so I went and put it in . . . was that very caddish? . . . and I wrote a +lot about Edward and the girl he’s to marry. I used to know her when I +came out, and that took up half the page. So I just put in a few +imaginary ones like you do, so then it was finished.’ + +‘What did you say in the imaginary ones?’ + +‘Oh, I don’t know. I said I saw Count Cincinnati going into Espinosa’s +in a green bowler . . . things like that.’ + +‘_You said that?_’ + +‘Yes, wasn’t it a good thing to say. . . . Angel, is anything wrong?’ + +‘Oh, God.’ + +Adam dashed to the telephone. + +‘Central ten thousand . . . put me through to the night editor. . . . +Look here, I’ve got to make a correction in the Chatterbox page . . . +it’s urgent.’ + +‘Sorry, Symes. Last edition went to bed half an hour ago. Got everything +made up early to-night.’ + +So Adam went back to finish his oysters. + +‘Bad tabulation there,’ said Lord Monomark next morning, when he saw the +paragraph. + + + +So Miles Malpractice became Mr Chatterbox. + + + +‘Now we can’t be married,’ said Nina. + + + + + _Chapter Ten_ + + +Adam and Miss Runcible and Miles and Archie Schwert went up to the motor +races in Archie Schwert’s car. It was a long and cold drive. Miss +Runcible wore trousers and Miles touched up his eyelashes in the +dining-room of the hotel where they stopped for luncheon. So they were +asked to leave. At the next hotel they made Miss Runcible stay outside, +and brought her cold lamb and pickles in the car. Archie thought it +would be nice to have champagne, and worried the wine waiter about dates +(a subject which had always been repugnant to him). They spent a long +time over luncheon because it was warm there, and they drank Kümmel over +the fire until Miss Runcible came in very angrily to fetch them out. + +Then Archie said he was too sleepy to drive any more, so Adam changed +places with him and lost the way, and they travelled miles in the wrong +direction down a limitless bye-pass road. + +And then it began to be dark and the rain got worse. They stopped for +dinner at another hotel, where every one giggled at Miss Runcible’s +trousers in a dining-room hung with copper warming pans. + +Presently they came to the town where the race was to be run. They drove +to the hotel where the dirt-track racer was staying. It was built in the +Gothic style of 1860, large, dark and called the Imperial. + +They had wired him to book them rooms, but ‘Bless you,’ said the woman +at the counter marked ‘Reception’, ‘all our rooms have been booked for +the last six months. I couldn’t fit you in anywhere, not if you was the +Speed Kings themselves, I couldn’t. I don’t suppose you’ll find anything +in the town to-night. You might try at the Station Hotel. That’s your +only chance.’ + +At the Station Hotel they made Miss Runcible wait outside, but with no +better success. + +‘I might put one of you on the sofa in the bar parlour, there’s only a +married couple in there at present and two little boys, or if you didn’t +mind sitting up all night, there’s always the palm lounge.’ As for a +bed, that was out of the question. They might try at the ‘Royal George’, +but she doubted very much whether they’d _like_ that even if there was +room, which she was pretty sure there was not. + +Then Miss Runcible thought that she remembered that there were some +friends of her father who lived quite near, so she found out their +telephone number and rang them up, but they said no, they were sorry, +but they had a completely full house and practically no servants, and +that as far as they knew they had never heard of Lord Chasm. So that was +no good. + +Then they went to several more hotels, sinking through the various +graduations of Old Established Family and Commercial, plain Commercial, +High Class Board Residence pension terms, Working Girls’ Hostel, plain +Pub. and Clean Beds: Gentlemen Only. All were full. At last, by the edge +of a canal, they came to the ‘Royal George’. The landlady stood at the +door and rounded off an argument with an elderly little man in a bowler +hat. + +‘First ’e takes off ’is boots in the saloon bar,’ she said, enlisting +the sympathy of her new audience, ‘which is not the action of a +gentleman.’ + +‘They was wet,’ said the little man, ‘wet as ’ell.’ + +‘Well, and who wants your wet boots on the counter, I should like to +know. Then, if you please, he calls me a conspiring woman because I +tells him to stop and put them on before he goes ’ome.’ + +‘Want to go ’ome,’ said the little man. ‘’Ome to my wife and kids. +_Trying to keep a man from ’is wife._’ + +‘No one wants to keep you from your wife, you old silly. All I says is +for Gawd’s sake put on your boots before you go ’ome. What’ll your wife +think of you coming ’ome without boots.’ + +‘She won’t mind ’ow I come ’ome. Why, bless you, I ain’t been ’ome at +all for five years. It’s ’ard to be separated from a wife and kids by a +conspiring woman trying to make yer put on yer boots.’ + +‘My dear, she’s quite right, you know,’ said Miss Runcible. ‘You’d far +better put on your boots.’ + +‘There, ’ear what the lady says. Lady says you’ve to put on your boots.’ + +The little man took his boots from the landlady, looked at Miss Runcible +with a searching glance, and threw them into the canal. ‘_Lady_,’ he +said with feeling. ‘_Trousers_,’ and then he paddled off in his socks +into the darkness. + +‘There ain’t no ’arm in ’im really,’ said the landlady, ‘only he do get +a bit wild when he’s ’ad the drink. Wasting good boots like that. . . . +I expect he’ll spend the night in the lock-up.’ + +‘Won’t he get back to his wife, poor sweet?’ + +‘Lor’ bless you, no. She lives in London.’ + +At this stage Archie Schwert, whose humanitarian interests were narrower +than Miss Runcible’s, lost interest in the discussion. + +‘The thing we want to know is, can you let us have beds for the night?’ + +The landlady looked at him suspiciously. + +‘Bed or beds?’ + +‘Beds.’ + +‘Might do.’ She looked from the car to Miss Runcible’s trousers and back +to the car again, weighing them against each other. ‘Cost you a quid +each,’ she said at last. + +‘Can you find room for us all?’ + +‘Well,’ she said, ‘which of you’s with the young lady?’ + +‘I’m afraid I’m all alone,’ said Miss Runcible. ‘Isn’t it too shaming?’ + +‘Never you mind, dearie, luck’ll turn one day. Well, now, how can we all +fit in? There’s one room empty. I can sleep with our Sarah, and that +leaves a bed for the gentlemen—then if the young lady wouldn’t mind +coming in with me and Sarah . . .’ + +‘If you don’t think it rude, I think I’d sooner have the empty bed,’ +said Miss Runcible, rather faintly. ‘You see,’ she added, with tact, ‘I +snore so terribly.’ + +‘Bless you, so does our Sarah. _We_ don’t mind . . . still, if you’d +_rather_ . . .’ + +‘Really, I think I should,’ said Miss Runcible. + +‘Well then, I could put Mr Titchcock on the floor, couldn’t I?’ + +‘Yes,’ said Miles, ‘just you put Mr Titchcock on the floor.’ + +‘And if the other gentleman don’t mind going on the landing. . . . Well, +we’ll manage somehow, see if we don’t.’ + +So they all drank some gin together in the back parlour and they woke Mr +Titchcock up and made him help with the luggage and they gave him some +gin, too, and he said it was all the same to him whether he slept on the +floor or in bed, and he was very pleased to be of any service to any one +and didn’t mind if he did have another drop just as a night-cap, as they +might say; and at last they all went to bed, very tired, but fairly +contented, and oh, how they were bitten by bugs all that night. + +Adam had secured one of the bedrooms. He awoke early to find rain +beating on the window. He looked out and saw a grey sky, some kind of +factory and the canal from whose shallow waters rose little islands of +scrap-iron and bottles; a derelict perambulator lay partially submerged +under the opposite bank. In his room stood a chest of drawers full of +horrible fragments of stuff, a washhand stand with a highly coloured +basin, an empty jug and an old toothbrush. There was also a rotund +female bust covered in shiny red material, and chopped off short, as in +primitive martyrdoms, at neck, waist and elbows; a thing known as a +dressmaker’s ‘dummy’ (there had been one of these in Adam’s home which +they used to call ‘Jemima’—one day he stabbed ‘Jemima’ with a chisel +and scattered stuffing over the nursery floor and was punished. A more +enlightened age would have seen a complex in this action and worried +accordingly. Anyway he was made to sweep up all the stuffing himself). + +Adam was very thirsty, but there was a light green moss in the bottom of +the water bottle that repelled him. He got into bed again and found some +one’s handkerchief (presumably Mr Titchcock’s) under the pillow. + +He woke again a little later to find Miss Runcible dressed in pyjamas +and a fur coat sitting on his bed. + +‘Darling,’ she said, ‘there’s no looking-glass in my room and no bath +anywhere, and I trod on some one cold and soft asleep in the passage, +and I’ve been awake all night killing bugs with drops of face lotion, +and everything smells, and I feel so low I could die.’ + +‘For heaven’s sake let’s go away,’ said Adam. + +So they woke Miles and Archie Schwert, and ten minutes later they all +stole out of the ‘Royal George’ carrying their suitcases. + +‘I wonder, do you think we ought to leave some money?’ asked Adam, but +the others all said no. + +‘Well, perhaps we ought to pay for the gin,’ said Miss Runcible. + +So they left five shillings on the bar and drove away to the ‘Imperial’. + +It was still very early, but every one seemed to be awake, running in +and out of the lifts carrying crash-helmets and overalls. Miles’ friend, +they were told, had been out before dawn, presumably at his garage. Adam +met some reporters whom he used to see about the _Excess_ office. They +told him that it was any one’s race, and that the place to see the fun +was Headlong Corner, where there had been three deaths the year before, +and it was worse this year, because they’d been putting down wet tar. It +was nothing more or less than a death trap, the reporters said. Then +they went away to interview some more drivers. All teams were confident +of victory, they said. + +Meanwhile Miss Runcible discovered an empty bathroom and came down +half-an-hour later all painted up and wearing a skirt and feeling quite +herself again and ready for anything. So they went in to breakfast. + +The dining-room was very full indeed. There were Speed Kings of all +nationalities, unimposing men mostly with small moustaches and +apprehensive eyes; they were reading the forecasts in the morning papers +and eating what might (and in some cases did) prove to be their last +meal on earth. There were a great number of journalists making the best +of an ‘out-of-town’ job; there were a troop of nondescript ‘fans’, +knowledgeable young men with bright jumpers tucked inside their belted +trousers, old public-school ties, check tweeds, loose mouths and +scarcely discernible Cockney accents; there were R.A.C. officials and +A.A. officials, and the representatives of oil firms and tyre +manufacturers. There was one disconsolate family who had come to the +town for the christening of a niece. (No one had warned them that there +was a motor race on; their hotel bill _was_ a shock.) + +‘Very better-making,’ said Miss Runcible with approval as she ate her +haddock. + +Scraps of highly technical conversation rose on all sides of them. + +‘. . . Changed the whole engine over after they’d been scrutineered. Any +one else would have been disqualified . . .’ + +‘. . . just cruising round at fifty . . .’ + +‘. . . stung by a bee just as he was taking the corner, missed the tree +by inches and landed up in the Town Hall. There was a Riley coming up +behind, spun round twice, climbed the bank, turned right over and caught +fire . . .’ + +‘. . . local overheating at the valve-heads. It’s no sense putting a +supercharger in that engine at all . . .’ + +‘Headlong Corner’s jam. All you want to do is to brake right down to +forty or forty-five at the white cottage, then rev. up opposite the pub. +and get straight away in second on the near side of the road. A child +could do it. It’s the double bend just after the railway bridge where +you’ll get the funny stuff.’ + +‘. . . kept flagging him down from the pits. I tell you that bunch don’t +want him to win.’ + +‘. . . She wouldn’t tell me her name, but she said she’d meet me at the +same place to-night and gave me a sprig of white heather for the car. I +lost it, like a fool. She said she’d look out for it too . . .’ + +‘. . . Only offers a twenty pound bonus this year . . .’ + +‘. . . lapped at seventy-five . . .’ + +‘. . . Burst his gasket and blew out his cylinder heads . . .’ + +‘. . . Broke both arms and cracked his skull in two places . . .’ + +‘. . . Tailwag . . .’ + +‘. . . Speed-wobble . . .’ + +‘. . . Merc . . .’ + +‘. . . Mag . . .’ + +‘. . . crash . . .’ + +When they finished breakfast Miss Runcible and Adam and Archie Schwert +and Miles went to the garage to look for their Speed King. They found +him hard at work listening to his engine. A corner of the garage had +been roped off and the floor strewn with sand as though for a boxing +match. + +Outside this ring clustered a group of predatory little boys with +autograph albums and leaking fountain-pens, and inside, surrounded by +attendants, stood the essential parts of a motor car. The engine was +running and the whole machine shook with fruitless exertion. Clouds of +dark smoke came from it, and a shattering roar which reverberated from +concrete floor and corrugated iron roof into every corner of the +building so that speech and thought became insupportable and all the +senses were numbed. At frequent intervals this high and heart-breaking +note was varied by sharp detonations, and it was these apparently which +were causing anxiety, for at each report Miles’ friend, who clearly +could not have been unduly sensitive to noise, gave a little wince and +looked significantly at his head mechanic. + +Apart from the obvious imperfection of its sound, the car gave the +impression to an uninstructed observer of being singularly unfinished. +In fact, it was obviously still under construction. It had only three +wheels; the fourth being in the hands of a young man in overalls, who, +in the intervals of tossing back from his eyes a curtain of yellow hair, +was beating it with a hammer. It also had no seats, and another mechanic +was screwing down slabs of lead ballast in the place where one would +have expected to find them. It had no bonnet; that was in the hands of a +sign painter, who was drawing a black number 13 in a white circle. There +was a similar number on the back, and a mechanic was engaged in fixing +another number board over one of the headlights. There was a mechanic, +too, making a windscreen of wire gauze, and a mechanic lying flat doing +something to the back axle with a tin of grate polish and a rag. Two +more mechanics were helping Miles’ friend to listen to the bangs. ‘As if +we couldn’t have heard them from Berkeley Square,’ said Miss Runcible. + +The truth is that motor cars offer a very happy illustration of the +metaphysical distinction between ‘being’ and ‘becoming’. Some cars, mere +vehicles with no purpose above bare locomotion, mechanical drudges such +as Lady Metroland’s Hispano Suiza, or Mrs Mouse’s Rolls Royce, or Lady +Circumference’s 1912 Daimler, or the ‘general reader’s’ Austin Seven, +these have definite ‘being’ just as much as their occupants. They are +bought all screwed up and numbered and painted, and there they stay +through various declensions of ownership, brightened now and then with a +lick of paint or temporarily rejuvenated by the addition of some minor +organ, but still maintaining their essential identity to the scrap heap. + +Not so the _real_ cars, that become masters of men; those vital +creations of metal who exist solely for their own propulsion through +space, for whom their drivers, clinging precariously at the steering +wheel, are as important as his stenographer to a stockbroker. These are +in perpetual flux; a vortex of combining and disintegrating units; like +the confluence of traffic at some spot where many roads meet, streams of +mechanism come together, mingle and separate again. + +Miles’ friend, even had it been possible in the uproar, seemed +indisposed to talk. He waved abstractedly and went on with his +listening. Presently he came across and shouted: + +‘Sorry I can’t spare a moment, I’ll see you in the pits. I’ve got you +some brassards.’ + +‘My dear, what _can_ that be?’ + +He handed them each a strip of white linen, terminating in tape. + +‘For your arms,’ he shouted. ‘You can’t get into the pits without them.’ + +‘My dear, what bliss! Fancy their having pits.’ + +Then they tied on their brassards. Miss Runcible’s said ‘SPARE DRIVER’; +Adam’s, ‘DEPOT STAFF’; Miles’ ‘SPARE MECHANIC’ and Archie’s, ‘OWNER’S +REPRESENTATIVE.’ + +Up till now the little boys round the rope had been sceptical of the +importance of Miss Runcible and her friends, but as soon as they saw +these badges of rank they pressed forward with their autograph books. +Archie signed them all with the utmost complaisance, and even drew a +slightly unsuitable picture in one of them. Then they drove away in +Archie’s car. + +The race was not due to start until noon, but any indecision which they +may have felt about the employment of the next few hours was settled for +them by the local police, who were engaged in directing all traffic, +irrespective of its particular inclinations, on the road to the course. +No pains had been spared about this point of organization; several days +before, the Chief Constable had issued a little route map which was to +be memorized by all constables on point duty, and so well had they +learned their lesson that from early that morning until late in the +afternoon no vehicle approaching the town from any direction escaped +being drawn into that broad circuit marked by the arrows and dotted line +A-B which led to the temporary car park behind the Grand Stand. (Many +doctors, thus diverted, spent an enjoyable day without apparent +prejudice to their patients.) + +The advance of the spectators had already assumed the form of a slow and +unbroken stream. Some came on foot from the railway station, carrying +sandwiches and camp stools; some on tandem bicycles; some in ‘runabouts’ +or motor cycle side-car combinations, but most were in modestly priced +motor cars. Their clothes and demeanour proclaimed them as belonging to +the middle rank; a few brought portable wireless sets with them and +other evidence of gaiety, but the general air of the procession was one +of sobriety and purpose. This was no Derby day holiday-making; they had +not snatched a day from the office to squander it among gipsies and +roundabouts and thimble-and-pea men. They were there for the race. As +they crawled along in bottom gear in a fog of exhaust gas, they +discussed the technicalities of motor car design and the possibilities +of bloodshed, and studied their maps of the course to pick out the most +dangerous corners. + +The detour planned by the Chief Constable was a long one, lined with +bungalows and converted railway carriages. Banners floated over it +between the telegraph posts, mostly advertising the _Morning Despatch_, +which was organizing the race and paying for the victor’s trophy—a +silver gilt figure of odious design, symbolizing Fame embracing Speed. +(This at the moment was under careful guard in the stewards’ room, for +the year before it had been stolen on the eve of the race by the +official time-keeper, who pawned it for a ridiculously small sum in +Manchester, and was subsequently deprived of his position and sent to +gaol.) Other advertisements proclaimed the superiorities of various +sorts of petrol and sparking plugs, while some said ‘£100 =for Loss +of Limb. Insure To-day=.’ There was also an elderly man walking +among the motor cars with a blue and white banner inscribed, +‘=Without Shedding of Blood is no Remission of Sin=’, while a +smartly dressed young man was doing a brisk trade in bogus tickets for +the Grand Stand. + +Adam sat in the back of the car with Miles, who was clearly put out +about his friend’s lack of cordiality. ‘What I can’t make out,’ he said, +‘is why we came to this beastly place at all. I suppose I ought to be +thinking of something to write for the _Excess_. I _know_ this is just +going to be the most dreary day we’ve ever spent.’ + +Adam felt inclined to agree. Suddenly he became aware that some one was +trying to attract his attention. + +‘There’s an awful man shouting “Hi” at you,’ said Miles. ‘My dear, _your +friends_.’ + +Adam turned and saw not three yards away, separated from him by a young +woman riding a push-bicycle in khaki shorts, her companion, who bore a +knapsack on his shoulders, and a small boy selling programmes, the +long-sought figure of the drunk Major. He looked sober enough this +morning, dressed in a bowler hat and Burberry, and he was waving +frantically to Adam from the dicky of a coupé car. + +‘Hi!’ cried the drunk Major. ‘Hi! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’ + +‘I’ve been looking for you,’ shouted Adam. ‘I want some money.’ + +‘Can’t hear—what do you want?’ + +‘Money.’ + +‘It’s no good—these infernal things make too much noise. What’s your +name? Lottie had forgotten.’ + +‘Adam Symes.’ + +‘Can’t hear.’ + +The line of traffic, creeping forward yard by yard, had at last reached +the point B on the Chief Constable’s map, where the dotted lines +diverged. A policeman stood at the crossing directing the cars right and +left, some to the parking place behind the Grand Stand, others to the +mound above the pits. Archie turned on to the left. The drunk Major’s +car accelerated and swept away to the right. + +‘_I must know your name_,’ he cried. All the drivers seemed to choose +this moment to sound their horns; the woman cyclist at Adam’s elbow rang +her bell; the male cyclist tooted a little horn like a Paris taxi, and +the programme boy yelled in his ear, ‘Official programme—map of the +course—all the drivers.’ + +‘Adam Symes,’ he shouted desperately, but the Major threw up his hands +in despair and he disappeared in the crowd. + +‘_The way you pick people up . . ._’ said Miles, startled into +admiration. + +‘The pits’ turned out to be a line of booths, built of wood and +corrugated iron immediately opposite the Grand Stand. Many of the cars +had already arrived and stood at their ‘pits’, surrounded by a knot of +mechanics and spectators; they seemed to be already under repair. Busy +officials hurried up and down, making entries in their lists. Over their +heads a vast loud speaker was relaying the music of a military band. + +The Grand Stand was still fairly empty, but the rest of the course was +already lined with people. It stretched up and down hill for a circle of +thirteen or fourteen miles, and those who were fortunate enough to own +cottages or public houses at the more dangerous corners had covered +their roofs with unstable wooden forms, and were selling tickets like +very expensive hot cakes. A grass-covered hill rose up sharply behind +the pits. On this had been erected a hoarding where a troop of Boy +Scouts were preparing to score the laps, passing the time contentedly +with ginger beer, toffee, and rough-and-tumble fights. Behind the +hoarding was a barbed wire fence, and behind that again a crowd of +spectators and several refreshment tents. A wooden bridge, advertising +the _Morning Despatch_, had been built on the road. At various points +officials might be seen attempting to understand each other over a field +telephone. Sometimes the band would stop and a voice would announce, +‘Will Mr So-and-So kindly report at once to the time-keeper’s office’; +then the band would go on. + +Miss Runcible and her party found their way to the pit numbered 13 and +sat on the matchboard counter smoking and signing autograph books. An +official bore down on them. + +‘No smoking in the pits, please.’ + +‘My dear, I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t know.’ + +There were six open churns behind Miss Runcible, four containing petrol +and two water. She threw her cigarette over her shoulder, and by a +beneficent attention of Providence which was quite rare in her career it +fell into the water. Had it fallen into the petrol it would probably +have been all up with Miss Runcible. + +Presently No. 13 appeared. Miles’ friend and his mechanic wearing +overalls, crash-helmets, and goggles, jumped out, opened the bonnet and +began to reconstruct it again. + +‘They didn’t ought to have a No. 13 at all,’ said the mechanic. ‘It +isn’t fair.’ + +Miss Runcible lit another cigarette. + +‘No smoking in the pits, _please_,’ said the official. + +‘My dear, how _awful_ of me. I quite forgot.’ + +(This time it fell in the mechanic’s luncheon basket and lay smouldering +quietly on a leg of chicken until it had burnt itself out.) + +Miles’ friend began filling up his petrol tank with the help of a very +large funnel. + +‘Listen,’ he said. ‘You’re not allowed to hand me anything direct, but +if Edwards holds up his left hand as we come past the pits, that means +we shall be stopping next lap for petrol. So what you’ve got to do is to +fill up a couple of cans and put them on the shelf with the funnel for +Edwards to take. If Edwards holds up his right hand . . .’ elaborate +instructions followed. ‘You’re in charge of the depôt,’ he said to +Archie. ‘D’you think you’ve got all the signals clear? The race may +depend on them, remember.’ + +‘What does it mean if I wave the blue flag?’ + +‘That you want me to stop.’ + +‘Why should I want you to stop?’ + +‘Well, you might see something wrong—leaking tank or anything like +that, or the officials might want the number plate cleaned.’ + +‘I think perhaps I won’t do anything much about the blue flag. It seems +rather too bogus for me.’ + +Miss Runcible lit another cigarette. + +‘Will you kindly leave the pits if you wish to smoke?’ said the +official. + +‘What a damned rude man,’ said Miss Runcible. ‘Let’s go up to that +divine tent and get a drink.’ + +They climbed the hill past the Boy Scouts, found a gate in the wire +fence, and eventually reached the refreshment tent. Here an atmosphere +of greater geniality prevailed. A profusion of men in plus-fours were +having ‘quick ones’ before the start. There was no nonsense about not +smoking. There was a middle-aged woman sitting on the grass with a +bottle of stout and a baby. + +‘Home from home,’ said Miss Runcible. + +Suddenly the military band stopped and a voice said, ‘Five minutes to +twelve. All drivers and mechanics on the other side of the track, +please.’ + +There was a hush all over the course, and the refreshment tent began to +empty quickly. + +‘Darling, we shall miss the start.’ + +‘Still, a drink _would_ be nice.’ + +So they went into the tent. + +‘Four whiskies, please,’ said Archie Schwert. + +‘You’ll miss the start,’ said the barmaid. + +‘What a pig that man was,’ said Miss Runcible. ‘Even if we weren’t +supposed to smoke, he might at least have asked us politely.’ + +‘My dear, it was only you.’ + +‘Well, I think that made it worse.’ + +‘Lor’, Miss,’ said the barmaid. ‘You surely ain’t going to miss the +start?’ + +‘It’s the one thing I want to see more than anything . . . my dear, I +believe they’re off already.’ + +The sudden roar of sixty high-power engines rose from below. ‘They +_have_ started . . . how too shaming.’ They went to the door of the +tent. Part of the road was visible over the heads of the spectators, and +they caught a glimpse of the cars running all jammed together like pigs +being driven through a gate; one by one they shook themselves free and +disappeared round the bend with a high shriek of acceleration. + +‘They’ll be round again in quarter of an hour,’ said Archie. ‘Let’s have +another drink.’ + +‘Who was ahead?’ asked the barmaid anxiously. + +‘I couldn’t see for certain,’ said Miss Runcible, ‘but I’m fairly sure +it was No. 13.’ + +‘_My!_’ + +The refreshment tent soon began to fill up again. The general opinion +seemed to be that it was going to be a close race between No. 13 and No. +28, a red Omega car, driven by Marino, the Italian ‘ace’. + +‘Dirtiest driver I ever seen,’ said one man with relish. + +‘Why, over at Belfast ’e was just tipping ’em all into the ditches, just +like winking.’ + +‘There’s one thing you _can_ be sure of. They won’t _both_ finish.’ + +‘It’s sheer murder the way that Marino drives—a fair treat to see ’im.’ + +‘He’s a one all right—a real artist and no mistake about it.’ + +Adam and Miss Runcible and Archie and Miles went back to their pit. + +‘After all,’ said Miss Runcible, ‘the poor sweet may be wanting all +sorts of things and signalling away like mad, and no one there to pay +any attention to him—so discouraging.’ + +By this time the cars were fairly evenly spread out over the course. +They flashed by intermittently with dazzling speed and a shriek; one or +two drew into their pits and the drivers leapt out, trembling like +leaves, to tinker with the works. One had already come to grief—a large +German whose tyre had burst—punctured, some said, by a hireling of +Marino’s. It had left the road and shot up a tree like a cat chased by a +dog. Two little American cars had failed to start; their team worked +desperately at them amid derisive comments from the crowd. Suddenly two +cars appeared coming down the straight, running abreast within two feet +of each other. + +‘It’s No. 13,’ cried Miss Runcible, really excited at last. ‘And there’s +that Italian devil just beside it. Come on, thirteen! Come on!’ she +cried, dancing in the pit and waving a flag she found at hand. ‘Come on. +Oh! Well done, thirteen.’ + +The cars were gone in a flash and succeeded by others. + +‘Agatha, darling, you shouldn’t have waved the blue flag.’ + +‘My dear, how awful. Why not?’ + +‘Well, that means that he’s to stop next lap.’ + +‘Good God. Did I wave a blue flag?’ + +‘My dear, you know you did.’ + +‘_How_ shaming. What _am_ I to say to him?’ + +‘Let’s all go away before he comes back.’ + +‘D’you know, I think we’d better. He might be furious, mightn’t he? +Let’s go to the tent and have another drink—don’t you think, or don’t +you?’ + +So No. 13 pit was again deserted. + + + +‘What did I say?’ said the mechanic. ‘The moment I heard we’d drawn this +blinkin’ number I knew we was in for trouble.’ + + + +The first person they saw when they reached the refreshment tent was the +drunk Major. + +‘Your boy friend again,’ said Miles. + +‘Well, there you are,’ said the Major. ‘D’you know I’ve been chasing you +all over London. What have you been doing with yourself all this time?’ + +‘I’ve been staying at Lottie’s.’ + +‘Well, she said she’d never heard of you. You see, I don’t mind +admitting I’d had a few too many that night, and to tell you the truth I +woke up with things all rather a blur. Well then I found a thousand +pounds in my pocket, and it all came back to me. There’d been a cove at +Lottie’s who gave me a thousand pounds to put on Indian Runner. Well, as +far as I knew, Indian Runner was no good. I didn’t want to lose your +money for you, but the devil of it was I didn’t know you from Adam.’ (‘I +think that’s a perfect joke,’ said Miss Runcible.) ‘And apparently +Lottie didn’t either. You’d have thought it was easy enough to trace the +sort of chap who deals out thousands of pounds to total strangers, but I +couldn’t find one fingerprint.’ + +‘Do you mean,’ said Adam, a sudden delirious hope rising in his heart, +‘that you’ve still got my thousand?’ + +‘Not so fast,’ said the Major. ‘I’m spinning this yarn. Well, on the day +of the race I didn’t know what to do. One half of me said, keep the +thousand. The chap’s bound to turn up some time, and it’s his business +to do his own punting—the other half said, put it on the favourite for +him and give him a run for his money.’ + +‘So you put it on the favourite?’ Adam’s heart felt like lead again. + +‘No, I didn’t. In the end I said, well, the young chap must be +frightfully rich. If he likes to throwaway his money, it’s none of my +business, so I planked it all on Indian Runner for you.’ + +‘You mean . . .’ + +‘I mean I’ve got the nice little packet of thirty-five thou. waiting +until you condescend to call for it.’ + +‘Good heavens . . . look here, have a drink, won’t you?’ + +‘That’s a thing I never refuse.’ + +‘Archie, lend me some money until I get this fortune.’ + +‘How much?’ + +‘Enough to buy five bottles of champagne.’ + +‘Yes, if you can get them.’ + +The barmaid had a case of champagne at the back of the tent. (‘People +often feel queer through watching the cars go by so fast—ladies +especially,’ she explained.) So they took a bottle each and sat on the +side of the hill and drank to Adam’s prosperity. + +‘Hullo, everybody,’ said the loud speaker. ‘Car No. 28, the Italian +Omega, driven by Captain Marino, has just completed the course in twelve +minutes one second, lapping at an average speed of 78·3 miles per hour. +This is the fastest time yet recorded.’ + +A burst of applause greeted this announcement, but Adam said, ‘I’ve +rather lost interest in this race.’ + +‘Look here, old boy,’ the Major said when they were well settled down, +‘I’m rather in a hole. Makes me feel an awful ass, saying so, but the +truth is I got my note-case pinched in the crowd. Of course, I’ve got +plenty of small change to see me back to the hotel and they’ll take a +cheque of mine there, naturally, but the fact is I was keen to make a +few bets with some chaps I hardly know. I wonder, old boy, could you +possibly lend me a fiver? I can give it to you at the same time as I +hand over the thirty-five thousand.’ + +‘Why, of course,’ said Adam. ‘Archie, lend me a fiver, can you?’ + +‘Awfully good of you,’ said the Major, tucking the notes into his hip +pocket. ‘Would it be all the same if you made it a tenner while we’re +about it?’ + +‘I’m sorry,’ said Archie, with a touch of coldness. ‘I’ve only just got +enough to get home with.’ + +‘That’s all right, old boy, _I_ understand. Not another word. . . . +Well, here’s to us all.’ + +‘I was on the course at the November Handicap,’ said Adam. ‘I thought I +saw you.’ + +‘It would have saved a lot of fuss if we’d met, wouldn’t it? Still, +all’s well that end’s well.’ + +‘What an _angelic_ man your Major is,’ said Miss Runcible. + +When they had finished their champagne, the Major—now indisputably +drunk—rose to go. + +‘Look here, old boy,’ he said. ‘I must be toddling along now. Got to see +some chaps. Thanks no end for the binge. So jolly having met you all +again. Bye-bye, little lady.’ + +‘When shall we meet again?’ said Adam. + +‘Any time, old boy. Tickled to death to see you any time you care to +drop in. Always a pew and a drink for old friends. So long everybody.’ + +‘But couldn’t I come and see you soon? About the money, you know.’ + +‘Sooner the better, old boy. Though I don’t know what you mean about +money.’ + +‘My thirty-five thousand.’ + +‘Why, yes, to be sure. Fancy my forgetting that. I tell you what. You +roll along to-night to the Imperial and I’ll give it to you then. Jolly +glad to get it off my chest. Seven o’clock at the American bar—or a +little before.’ + +‘Let’s go back and look at the motor cars,’ said Archie. + +They went down the hill feeling buoyant and detached (as one should if +one drinks a great deal before luncheon). When they reached the pits +they decided they were hungry. It seemed too far to climb up to the +dining tent, so they ate as much of the mechanic’s lunch as Miss +Runcible’s cigarette had spared. Then a mishap happened to No. 13. It +drew into the side uncertainly, with the mechanic holding the steering +wheel. A spanner, he told them, thrown from Marino’s car as they were +passing him under the railway bridge, had hit Miles’ friend on the +shoulder. The mechanic helped him get out, and supported him to the Red +Cross tent. ‘May as well scratch,’ he said. ‘He won’t be good for +anything more this afternoon. It’s asking for trouble having a No. 13.’ +Miles went to help his friend, leaving Miss Runcible and Adam and Archie +staring rather stupidly at their motor car. Archie hiccoughed slightly +as he ate the mechanic’s apple. + +Soon an official appeared. + +‘What happened here?’ he said. + +‘Driver’s just been murdered,’ said Archie. ‘Spanner under the railway +bridge. Marino.’ + +‘Well, are you going to scratch? Who’s spare driver?’ + +‘I don’t know. Do you, Adam? I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if they +hadn’t murdered the spare driver, too.’ + +‘I’m spare driver,’ said Miss Runcible. ‘It’s on my arm.’ + +‘She’s spare driver. Look, it’s on her arm.’ + +‘Well, do you want to scratch?’ + +‘Don’t you scratch, Agatha.’ + +‘No, I don’t want to scratch.’ + +‘All right. What’s your name?’ + +‘Agatha. I’m the spare driver. It’s on my arm.’ + +‘I can see it is—all right, start off as soon as you like.’ + +‘Agatha,’ repeated Miss Runcible firmly as she climbed into the car. +‘It’s on my arm.’ + +‘I say, Agatha,’ said Adam. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ + +‘It’s on my arm,’ said Miss Runcible severely. + +‘I mean, are you quite certain it’s absolutely safe?’ + +‘Not _absolutely_ safe, Adam. Not if they throw spanners. But I’ll go +quite slowly at first until I’m used to it. Just you see. Coming too?’ + +‘I’ll stay and wave the flag,’ said Adam. + +‘That’s right. Good-bye . . . goodness, how too stiff-scaring. . . .’ + +The car shot out into the middle of the road, missed a collision by a +foot, swung round and disappeared with a roar up the road. + +‘I say, Archie, is it all right being tight in a car, if it’s on a race +course? They won’t run her in or anything?’ + +‘No, no, that’s all right. All tight on the race course.’ + +‘Sure?’ + +‘Sure.’ + +‘All of them?’ + +‘Absolutely every one—tight as houses.’ + +‘That’s all right then. Let’s go and have a drink.’ + +So they went up the hill again, through the Boy Scouts, to the +refreshment tent. + +It was not long before Miss Runcible was in the news. + +‘Hullo, everybody,’ said the loud speaker. ‘No 13, the English +Plunket-Bowse, driven by Miss Agatha, came into collision at Headlong +Corner with No. 28, the Italian Omega car, driven by Captain Marino. No +13 righted itself and continued on the course. No. 28 overturned and has +retired from the race.’ + +‘Well done, Agatha,’ said Archie. + +A few minutes later: + +‘Hullo, everybody. No. 13, the English Plunket-Bowse, driven by Miss +Agatha, has just completed the course in nine minutes forty-one seconds. +This constitutes a record for the course.’ + +Patriotic cheers broke out on all sides, and Miss Runcible’s health was +widely drunk in the refreshment tent. + +A few minutes later: + +‘Hullo, everybody; I have to contradict the announcement recently made +that No. 13, the English Plunket-Bowse, driven by Miss Agatha, had +established a record for the course. The stewards have now reported that +No. 13 left the road just after the level crossing and cut across +country for five miles, rejoining the track at the Red Lion corner. The +lap has therefore been disallowed by the judges.’ + +A few minutes later: + +‘Hullo, everybody; No. 13, the English Plunket-Bowse car, driven by Miss +Agatha, has retired from the race. It disappeared from the course some +time ago, turning left instead of right at Church Corner, and was last +seen proceeding south on the bye-road, apparently out of control.’ + +‘My dear, that’s lucky for me,’ said Miles. ‘A really good story my +second day on the paper. This ought to do me good with the +_Excess_—_very_ rich-making,’ and he hurried off to the post office +tent—which was one of the amenities of the course—to despatch a long +account of Miss Runcible’s disaster. + +Adam accompanied him and sent a wire to Nina: ‘_Drunk Major in +refreshment tent not bogus thirty-five thousand married to-morrow +everything perfect Agatha lost love Adam._’ + +‘That seems quite clear,’ he said. + +They went to the hospital tent after this—another amenity of the +course—to see how Miles’ friend was getting on. He seemed in some pain +and showed anxiety about his car. + +‘I think it’s very heartless of him,’ said Adam. ‘He ought to be worried +about Agatha. It only shows . . .’ + +‘Motor men _are_ heartless,’ said Miles, with a sigh. + +Presently Captain Marino was borne in on a stretcher. He turned on his +side with a deep groan and spat at Miles’ friend as he went past him. He +also spat at the doctor who came to bandage him and bit one of the +V.A.D.’s. + +They said Captain Marino was no gentleman in the hospital tent. + +There was no chance of leaving the course before the end of the race, +Archie was told, and the race would not be over for at least two hours. +Round and round went the stream of cars. At intervals the Boy Scouts +posted a large red R against one or other of the numbers, as engine +trouble or collision or Headlong Corner took its toll. A long queue +stretched along the top of the hill from the door of the luncheon tent. +Then it began to rain. + +There was nothing for it but to go back to the bar. + +At dusk the last car completed its course. The silver gilt trophy was +presented to the winner. The loud speaker broadcast ‘God Save the King’, +and a cheerful ‘Good-bye, everybody.’ The tail of the queue outside the +dining tent were respectfully informed that no more luncheons could be +served. The barmaids in the refreshment tent said, ‘All glasses, ladies +and gentlemen, please.’ The motor ambulances began a final round of the +track to pick up survivors. Then Adam and Miles and Archie Schwert went +to look for their car. + +Darkness fell during the drive back. It took an hour to reach the town. +Adam and Miles and Archie Schwert did not talk much. The effect of their +drinks had now entered on that secondary stage, vividly described in +temperance handbooks, when the momentary illusion of well-being and +exhilaration gives place to melancholy, indigestion and moral decay. +Adam tried to concentrate his thoughts upon his sudden wealth, but they +seemed unable to adhere to this high pinnacle, and as often as he +impelled them up, slithered back helplessly to his present physical +discomfort. + +The sluggish procession in which they were moving led them eventually to +the centre of the town and the soberly illuminated front of the Imperial +Hotel. A torrential flow of wet and hungry motor enthusiasts swept and +eddied about the revolving doors. + +‘I shall die if I don’t eat something soon,’ said Miles. ‘Let’s leave +Agatha until we’ve had a meal.’ + +But the manager of the ‘Imperial’ was unimpressed by numbers or +necessity and manfully upheld the integrity of British hotel-keeping. +Tea, he explained, was served daily in the Palm Court, with orchestra on +Thursdays and Sundays, between the hours of four and six. A _table +d’hôte_ dinner was served in the dining-room from seven-thirty until +nine o’clock. An _à la carte_ dinner was also served in the grill room +at the same time. It was now twenty minutes past six. If the gentlemen +cared to return in an hour and ten minutes he would do his best to +accommodate them, but he could not promise to reserve a table. Things +were busy that day. There had been motor races in the neighbourhood, he +explained. + +The commissionaire was more helpful, and told them that there was a +tea-shop restaurant called the Café Royal a little way down the High +Street, next to the Cinema. He seemed, however, to have given the same +advice to all comers, for the Café Royal was crowded and overflowing. +Every one was being thoroughly cross, but only the most sarcastic and +overbearing were given tables, and only the gross and outrageous were +given food. Adam and Miles and Archie Schwert then tried two more +tea-shops, one kept by ‘ladies’ and called ‘The Honest Injun’, a +workmen’s dining-room and a fried-fish shop. Eventually they bought a +bag of mixed biscuits at a co-operative store, which they ate in the +Palm Court of the ‘Imperial’, maintaining a moody silence. + +It was now after seven, and Adam remembered his appointment in the +American bar. There, too, inevitably, was a dense crowd. Some of the +‘Speed Kings’ themselves had appeared, pink from their baths, wearing +dinner-jackets and stiff white shirts, each in his circle of admirers. +Adam struggled to the bar. + +‘Have you seen a drunk Major in here anywhere?’ he asked. + +The barmaid sniffed. ‘I should think not, indeed,’ she said. ‘And I +shouldn’t serve him if he _did_ come in. I don’t have people of that +description in _my_ bar. _The very idea._’ + +‘Well, perhaps he’s not drunk now. But have you seen a stout, red-faced +man, with a single eyeglass and a turned-up moustache?’ + +‘Well, there _was_ some one like that not so long ago. Are you a friend +of his?’ + +‘I want to see him badly.’ + +‘Well, all I can say is I wish you’d try and look after him and don’t +bring him in here again. Going on something awful he was. Broke two +glasses and got very quarrelsome with the other gentlemen. He had three +or four pound notes in his hand. Kept waving them about and saying, +“D’you know what? I met a mutt to-day. I owe him thirty-five thousand +pounds and he lent me a fiver.” Well, that’s not the way to talk before +strangers, is it? He went out ten minutes ago. I was glad to see the +back of him, I can tell you.’ + +‘Did he say that—about having met a mutt?’ + +‘Didn’t stop saying it the whole time he was in here—most monotonous.’ + +But as Adam left the bar he saw the Major coming out of the gentlemen’s +lavatory. He was walking very deliberately, and stared at Adam with a +glazed and vacant eye. + +‘Hi!’ cried Adam. ‘Hi!’ + +‘Cheerio,’ said the drunk Major distantly. + +‘I say,’ said Adam. ‘What about my thirty-five thousand pounds?’ + +The drunk Major stopped and adjusted his monocle. + +‘Thirty-five thousand and five pounds,’ he said. ‘What about them?’ + +‘Well, where are they?’ + +‘They’re safe enough. National and Provincial Union Bank of England, +Limited. A perfectly sound and upright company. I’d trust them with more +than that if I had it. I’d trust them with a million, old boy, honest I +would. One of those fine old companies, you know. They don’t make +companies like that now. I’d trust that bank with my wife and +kiddies. . . . You mustn’t think I’d put your money into anything that +wasn’t straight, old boy. You ought to know me well enough for +that. . . .’ + +‘No, of course not. It’s terribly kind of you to have looked after +it—you said you’d give me a cheque this evening. Don’t you remember?’ + +The drunk Major looked at him craftily. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘That’s another +matter. I told _some one_ I’d give him a cheque. But how am I to know it +was you? . . . I’ve got to be careful, you know. Suppose you were just a +crook dressed up. I don’t say you are, mind, but supposing. Where’ld I +be then? You have to look at both sides of a case like this.’ + +‘Oh, God. . . . I’ve got two friends here who’ll swear to you I’m Adam +Symes. Will that do?’ + +‘Might be a gang. Besides _I_ don’t know that the name of the chap who +gave me the thousand _was_ Adam what-d’you-call-it at all. Only your +word for it. I’ll tell you what,’ said the Major, sitting down in a deep +armchair, ‘I’ll sleep on it. Just forty winks. I’ll let you know my +decision when I wake up. Don’t think me suspicious, old boy, but I’ve +got to be careful . . . other chap’s money, you know . . .’ And he fell +asleep. + +Adam struggled through the crowd to the Palm Court, where he had left +Miles and Archie. News of No. 13 had just come through. The car had been +found piled up on the market cross of a large village about fifteen +miles away (doing irreparable damage to a monument already scheduled for +preservation by the Office of Works). But there was no sign of Miss +Runcible. + +‘I suppose we ought to do something about it,’ said Miles. ‘This is the +most miserable day I ever spent. Did you get your fortune?’ + +‘The Major was too drunk to recognize me. He’s just gone to sleep.’ + +‘_Well._’ + +‘We must go to this beastly village and look for Agatha.’ + +‘I can’t leave my Major. He’ll probably wake up soon and give the +fortune to the first person he sees.’ + +‘Let’s just go and shake him until he gives us the fortune now,’ said +Miles. + +But this was impracticable, for when they reached the chair where Adam +had left him, the drunk Major was gone. + +The hall porter remembered him going out quite clearly. He had pressed a +pound into his hand, saving, ‘Met-a-mutt-to-day,’ and taken a taxi to +the station. + +‘D’you know,’ said Adam. ‘I don’t believe that I’m ever going to get +that fortune.’ + +‘Well, I don’t see that you’ve very much to complain of,’ said Archie. +‘You’re no worse off than you were. _I’ve_ lost a fiver and five bottles +of champagne.’ + +‘That’s true,’ said Adam, a little consoled. + + + +They got into the car and drove through the rain to the village where +the Plunket-Bowse had been found. There it stood, still smoking and +partially recognizable, surrounded by admiring villagers. A constable in +a waterproof cape was doing his best to preserve it intact from the +raids of souvenir hunters who were collecting the smaller fragments. + +No one seemed to have witnessed the disaster. The younger members of the +community were all at the races, while the elders were engaged in their +afternoon naps. One thought he had heard a crash. + +Inquiries at the railway station, however, disclosed that a young lady, +much dishevelled in appearance, and wearing some kind of band on her +arm, had appeared in the booking office early that afternoon and asked +where she was. On being told, she said, well, she wished she wasn’t, +because some one had left an enormous stone spanner in the middle of the +road. She admitted feeling rather odd. The station-master had asked her +if she would like to come in and sit down and offered to get her some +brandy. She said, ‘No, no more brandy,’ and bought a first-class ticket +to London. She had left on the 3.25 train. + +‘So that’s all right,’ said Archie. + +Then they left the village and presently found an hotel on the Great +North Road, where they dined and spent the night. They reached London by +luncheon time next day, and learned that Miss Runcible had been found +early that morning staring fixedly at a model engine in the central hall +at Euston Station. In answer to some gentle questions, she replied that +to the best of her knowledge she had no name, pointing to the brassard +on her arm, as if in confirmation of this fact. She had come in a motor +car, she explained, which would not stop. It was full of bugs which she +had tried to kill with drops of face lotion. One of them threw a +spanner. There had been a stone thing in the way. They shouldn’t put up +symbols like that in the middle of the road, should they, or should +they? + +So they conveyed her to a nursing home in Wimpole Street and kept her +for some time in a darkened room. + + + + + _Chapter Eleven_ + + +Adam rang up Nina. + +‘Darling, I’ve been so happy about your telegram. Is it really true?’ + +‘No, I’m afraid not.’ + +‘The Major _is_ bogus?’ + +‘Yes.’ + +‘You haven’t got any money?’ + +‘No.’ + +‘We aren’t going to be married to-day?’ + +‘No.’ + +‘I see.’ + +‘Well?’ + +‘I said, I see.’ + +‘Is that all?’ + +‘Yes, that’s all, Adam.’ + +‘I’m sorry.’ + +‘I’m sorry, too. Good-bye.’ + +‘Good-bye, Nina.’ + +Later Nina rang up Adam. + +‘Darling, is that you? I’ve got something rather awful to tell you.’ + +‘Yes?’ + +‘You’ll be furious.’ + +‘Well?’ + +‘I’m engaged to be married.’ + +‘Who to?’ + +‘I hardly think I can tell you.’ + +‘Who?’ + +‘Adam, you won’t be beastly about it, will you?’ + +‘Who is it?’ + +‘Ginger.’ + +‘I don’t believe it.’ + +‘Well, I am. That’s all there is to it.’ + +‘You’re going to marry Ginger?’ + +‘Yes.’ + +‘I see.’ + +‘Well?’ + +‘I said, I see.’ + +‘Is that all?’ + +‘Yes, that’s all, Nina.’ + +‘When shall I see you?’ + +‘I don’t want ever to see you again.’ + +‘I see.’ + +‘Well?’ + +‘I said, I see.’ + +‘Well, good-bye.’ + +‘Good-bye. . . . I’m sorry, Adam.’ + + + + + _Chapter Twelve_ + + +Ten days later Adam bought some flowers at the corner of Wigmore Street +and went to call on Miss Runcible at her nursing home. He was shown +first into the matron’s room. She had numerous photographs in silver +frames and a very nasty fox terrier. She smoked a cigarette in a greedy +way, making slight sucking noises. + +‘Just taking a moment off in my den,’ she explained. ‘Down, Spot, down. +But I can see you’re fond of dogs,’ she added, as Adam gave Spot a +half-hearted pat on the head. ‘So you want to see Miss Runcible? Well, I +ought to warn you first that she must have no kind of excitement +whatever. She’s had a severe shock. Are you a relation, may I ask?’ + +‘No, only a friend.’ + +‘A very _special_ friend, perhaps, eh?’ said the Matron archly. ‘Never +mind, I’ll spare your blushes. Just you run up and see her. But not more +than five minutes, mind, or you’ll have me on your tracks.’ + +There was a reek of ether on the stairs which reminded Adam of the times +when, waiting to take her to luncheon, he had sat on Nina’s bed while +she did her face. (She invariably made him turn his back until it was +over, having a keen sense of modesty about this one part of her toilet, +in curious contrast to some girls, who would die rather than be seen in +their underclothes, and yet openly flaunt unpainted faces in front of +anyone.) + +It hurt Adam deeply to think much about Nina. + +Outside Miss Runcible’s door hung a very interesting chart which showed +the fluctuations of her temperature and pulse and many other curious +details of her progress. He studied this with pleasure until a nurse, +carrying a tray of highly polished surgical instruments, gave him such a +look that he felt obliged to turn away. + +Miss Runcible lay in a high, narrow bed in a darkened room. + +A nurse was crocheting at her side when Adam entered. She rose, dropping +a few odds and ends from her lap, and said, ‘There’s someone come to see +you, dear. Now remember you aren’t to talk much,’ She took the flowers +from Adam’s hand, said, ‘Look, what lovelies. Aren’t you a lucky girl?’ +and left the room with them. She returned a moment later carrying them +in a jug of water. ‘There, the thirsties,’ she said. ‘Don’t they love to +get back to the nice cool water?’ + +Then she went out again. + +‘Darling,’ said a faint voice from the bed, ‘I can’t really see who it +is. Would it be awful to draw the curtains?’ + +Adam crossed the room and let in the light of the grey December +afternoon. + +‘My dear, how blind-making. There are some cocktail things in the +wardrobe. Do make a big one. The nurses love them so. It’s such a nice +nursing home this, Adam, only all the nurses are starved, and there’s a +breath-taking young man next door who keeps putting his head in and +asking how I am. _He_ fell out of an _aeroplane_, which is rather grand, +don’t you think?’ + +‘How are you feeling, Agatha?’ + +‘Well, rather odd, to tell you the truth. . . . How’s Nina?’ + +‘She’s got engaged to be married—haven’t you heard?’ + +‘My dear, the nurses are interested in no one but Princess Elizabeth. Do +tell me.’ + +‘A young man called Ginger.’ + +‘_Well?_’ + +‘Don’t you remember him? He came on with us after the airship party.’ + +‘Not the one who was sick?’ + +‘No, the other.’ + +‘I don’t remember . . . does Nina call him Ginger?’ + +‘Yes.’ + +‘Why?’ + +‘He asked her to.’ + +‘_Well?_’ + +‘She used to play with him when they were children. So she’s going to +marry him.’ + +‘My dear, isn’t that rather sad-making for you?’ + +‘I’m desperate about it. I’m thinking of committing suicide, like +Simon.’ + +‘Don’t do that, darling . . . did Simon commit suicide?’ + +‘My dear, you know he did. The night all those libel actions started.’ + +‘Oh, _that_ Simon. I thought you meant _Simon_.’ + +‘Who’s Simon?’ + +‘The young man who fell out of the aeroplane. The nurses call him Simple +Simon because it’s affected his brains . . . but, Adam I _am_ sorry +about Nina. I’ll tell you what we’ll do. As soon as I’m well again we’ll +make Mary Mouse give a lovely party to cheer you up.’ + +‘Haven’t you heard about Mary?’ + +‘No, what?’ + +‘She went off to Monte Carlo with the Maharajah of Pukkapore.’ + +‘_My dear_, aren’t the Mice furious?’ + +‘She’s just receiving religious instruction before her official +reception as a royal concubine. Then they’re going to India.’ + +‘How people are _disappearing_, Adam. Did you get that money from the +drunk Major?’ + +‘No, he disappeared too.’ + +‘D’you know, all that time when I was dotty I had the most awful dreams. +I thought we were all driving round and round in a motor race and none +of us could stop, and there was an enormous audience composed entirely +of gossip writers and gate-crashers and Archie Schwert and people like +that, all shouting to us at once to go faster, and car after car kept +crashing until I was left all alone driving and driving—and then I used +to crash and wake up.’ + +Then the door opened, and Miles came popping in. + +‘Agatha, Adam, my dears. The _time_ I’ve had trying to get in. I can’t +tell you how bogus they were downstairs. First I said I was Lord Chasm, +and that wasn’t any good; and I said I was one of the doctors, and that +wasn’t any good; and I said I was your young man, and _that_ wasn’t any +good; and I said I was a gossip writer, and they let me up at once and +said I wasn’t to excite you, but would I put a piece in my paper about +their nursing home. _How_ are you, Aggie darling? I brought up some new +records.’ + +‘You are angelic. Do let’s try them. There’s a gramophone under the +bed.’ + +‘There’s a whole lot more people coming to see you to-day. I saw them +all at luncheon at Margot’s. Johnny Hoop and Van and Archie Schwert. I +wonder if they’ll all manage to get in.’ + +They got in. + +So soon there was quite a party, and Simon appeared from next door in a +very gay dressing-gown, and they played the new records and Miss +Runcible moved her bandaged limbs under the bedclothes in negro rhythm. + +Last of all, Nina came in looking quite lovely and very ill. + +‘Nina, I hear you’re engaged.’ + +‘Yes, it’s very lucky. My papa has just put all his money into a cinema +film and lost it all.’ + +‘My dear, it doesn’t matter at all. My papa lost all his twice. It +doesn’t make a bit of difference. That’s just one of the things one has +to learn about losing all one’s money. . . . Is it true that you really +call him Ginger?’ + +‘Well, yes, only, Agatha, please don’t be unkind about it.’ + +And the gramophone was playing the song which the black man sang at the +Café de la Paix. + +Then the nurse came in. + +‘Well, you are noisy ones, and no mistake,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what +the matron would say if she were here.’ + +‘Have a chocolate, sister?’ + +‘_Ooh, chocs!_’ + +Adam made another cocktail. + +Miles sat on Miss Runcible’s bed and took up the telephone and began +dictating some paragraphs about the nursing home. + +‘What it is to have a friend in the Press,’ said the nurse. + +Adam brought her a cocktail. ‘Shall I?’ she said. ‘I hope you haven’t +made it too strong. Suppose it goes to my head? What would the patients +think if their sister came in tiddly. Well, if you’re _sure_ it won’t +hurt me, thanks.’ + +‘_. . . Yesterday I visited the Hon. Agatha Runcible comma Lord Chasm’s +lovely daughter comma at the Wimpole Street nursing home where she is +recovering from the effects of the motor accident recently described in +this column stop Miss Runcible was entertaining quite a large party +which included . . ._’ + +Adam, handing round cocktails, came to Nina. + +‘I thought we were never going to meet each other again.’ + +‘We were obviously bound to, weren’t we?’ + +‘Agatha’s looking better than I expected, isn’t she? What an amusing +nursing home.’ + +‘Nina, I must see you again. Come back to Lottie’s this evening and have +dinner with me.’ + +‘No.’ + +‘_Please._’ + +‘No. Ginger wouldn’t like it.’ + +‘Nina, you aren’t in love with him?’ + +‘No, I don’t think so.’ + +‘Are you in love with me?’ + +‘I don’t know . . . I was once.’ + +‘Nina, I’m absolutely miserable not seeing you. Do come and dine with me +to-night. What can be the harm in that?’ + +‘My dear, I know exactly what it will mean.’ + +‘Well, why not?’ + +‘You see, Ginger’s not like us really about that sort of thing. He’d be +furious.’ + +‘Well, what about me? Surely I have first claim?’ + +‘Darling, don’t _bully_. Besides, I used to play with Ginger as a child. +His hair was a very pretty colour then.’ + + + +‘_. . . Mr “Johnny” Hoop, whose memoirs are to be published next month, +told me that he intends to devote his time to painting in future, and is +going to Paris to study in the spring. He is to be taken into the studio +of . . ._’ + + + +‘For the last time, Nina . . .’ + +‘Well, I suppose I must.’ + +‘_Angel!_’ + +‘I believe you knew I was going to.’ + + + +‘_. . . Miss Nina Blount, whose engagement to Mr “Ginger” Littlejohn, +the well-known polo player. . . . Mr Schwert . . ._’ + + + +‘If only you were as rich as Ginger, Adam, or only half as rich. Or if +only you had any money at all.’ + +‘Well,’ said the Matron, appearing suddenly. ‘Whoever heard of cocktails +and a gramophone in a concussion case? Sister Briggs, pull down those +curtains at once. Out you go, the whole lot of you. Why, I’ve known +cases die with less.’ + +Indeed, Miss Runcible was already showing signs of strain. She was +sitting bolt upright in bed, smiling deliriously, and bowing her +bandaged head to imaginary visitors. + +‘_Darling_,’ she said. ‘How _too_ divine . . . _how_ are you? . . . and +how are _you_? . . . how angelic of you all to come . . . only you must +be careful not to fall out at the corners . . . ooh, just missed it. +There goes that nasty Italian car . . . I wish I knew which thing was +which in this car . . . darling, do try and drive more straight, my +sweet, you were nearly into me then. . . . Faster . . .’ + +‘That’s all right, Miss Runcible, that’s all right. You mustn’t get +excited,’ said the Matron. ‘Sister Briggs, run for the ice-pack +quickly.’ + +‘All friends here,’ said Miss Runcible, smiling radiantly. +‘Faster. . . . Faster . . . it’ll stop all right when the time comes +. . .’ + +That evening Miss Runcible’s temperature went rocketing up the chart in +a way which aroused great interest throughout the nursing home. Sister +Briggs, over her evening cup of cocoa, said she would be sorry to lose +that case. Such a nice bright girl—but terribly excitable. + +At Shepheard’s Hotel Lottie said to Adam: + +‘That chap’s been in here again after you.’ + +‘What chap, Lottie?’ + +‘How do I know what chap? Same chap as before.’ + +‘You never told me about a chap.’ + +‘Didn’t I dear? Well, I meant to.’ + +‘What did he want?’ + +‘I don’t know—something about money. Dun, I expect. Says he is coming +back to-morrow.’ + +‘Well, tell him I’ve gone to Manchester.’ + +‘That’s right, dear. . . . What about a glass of wine?’ + + + +Later that evening Nina said: ‘You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself +very much to-night.’ + +‘Sorry, am I being a bore?’ + +‘I think I shall go home.’ + +‘Yes.’ + +‘Adam, darling, what’s the matter?’ + +‘I don’t know. . . . Nina, do you ever feel that things simply can’t go +on much longer?’ + +‘What d’you mean by things—us or everything?’ + +‘Everything.’ + +‘No—I wish I did.’ + +‘I dare say you’re right . . . what are you looking for?’ + +‘Clothes.’ + +‘Why?’ + +‘Oh, Adam, what _do_ you want . . . you’re too impossible this evening.’ + +‘Don’t let’s talk any more, Nina, d’you mind?’ + +Later he said: ‘I’d give anything in the world for something different.’ + +‘Different from me or different from everything?’ + +‘Different from everything . . . only I’ve got nothing . . . what’s the +good of talking?’ + +‘Oh, Adam, my dearest . . .’ + +‘Yes?’ + +‘Nothing.’ + + + +When Adam came down next morning Lottie was having her morning glass of +champagne in the parlour. + +‘So your little bird’s flown, has she? Sit down and have a glass of +wine. That dun’s been in again. I told him you was in Manchester.’ + +‘Splendid.’ + +‘Seemed rather shirty about it. Said he’d go and look for you.’ + +‘Better still.’ + +Then something happened which Adam had been dreading or days. Lottie +suddenly said: + +‘And that reminds me. What about _my_ little bill?’ + +‘Oh, yes,’ said Adam, ‘I’ve been meaning to ask for it. Have it made out +and sent up to me some time, will you?’ + +‘I’ve got it here. Bless you, what a lot you seem to have drunk.’ + +‘Yes, I do, don’t I? Are you sure some of this champagne wasn’t the +Judge’s?’ + +‘Well, it may have been,’ admitted Lottie. ‘We get a bit muddled with +the books now and then.’ + +‘Well, thank you so much, I’ll send you down a cheque for this.’ + +‘No, dear,’ said Lottie. ‘Suppose you write it down here. Here’s the +pen, here’s the ink, and here’s a blank cheque book.’ + +(Bills are delivered infrequently and irregularly at Lottie’s, but when +they come, there is no getting away from them.) Adam wrote out a cheque +for seventy-eight pounds sixteen shillings. + +‘And twopence for the cheque,’ said Lottie. + +_And twopence_, Adam added. + +‘There’s a dear,’ said Lottie, blotting the cheque and locking it away +in a drawer. ‘Why, look who’s turned up. If it isn’t Mr Thingummy.’ + +It was Ginger. + +‘Good morning, Mrs Crump,’ he said rather stiffly. + +‘Come and sit down and have a glass of wine, dear. Why I knew you before +you were born.’ + +‘Hullo, Ginger,’ said Adam. + +‘Look here, Symes,’ said Ginger, looking in an embarrassed manner at the +glass of champagne which had been put into his hand, ‘I want to speak to +you. Perhaps we can go somewhere where we shan’t be disturbed.’ + +‘Bless you, boys, I won’t disturb you,’ said Lottie. ‘Just you have a +nice talk. I’ve got lots to see to.’ + +She left the parlour, and soon her voice could be heard raised in anger +against the Italian waiter. + +‘Well?’ said Adam. + +‘Look here, Symes,’ said Ginger, ‘what I mean to say is, what I’m going +to say may sound damned unpleasant, you know, and all that, but look +here, you know, damn it, I mean _the better man won_—not that I mean +I’m the _better_ man. Wouldn’t say that for a minute. And, anyway, +Nina’s a damn sight too good for either of us. It’s just that I’ve been +lucky. Awful rough luck on you, I mean, and all that, but still, when +you come to think of it, after all, well, look here, damn it, I mean, +d’you see what I mean?’ + +‘Not quite,’ said Adam gently. ‘Now tell me again. Is it something about +Nina?’ + +‘Yes, it is,’ said Ginger in a rush. ‘Nina and I are engaged, and I’m +not going to have you butting in or there’ll be hell to pay.’ He paused, +rather taken aback at his own eloquence. + +‘What makes you think I’m butting in?’ + +‘Well, hang it all, she dined with you last night, didn’t she, and +stayed out jolly late, too.’ + +‘How do you know how late she stayed out?’ + +‘Well, as a matter of fact, you see I wanted to speak to her about +something rather important, so I rang her up once or twice and didn’t +get an answer until three o’clock.’ + +‘I suppose you rang her up about every ten minutes?’ + +‘Oh no, damn it, not as often as that,’ said Ginger. ‘No, no, not as +often as that. I know it sounds rather unsporting and all that, but you +see I wanted to speak to her, and, anyway, when I did get through, she +just said she had a pain and didn’t want to talk: _well, I mean to say_. +After all, I mean, one is a gentleman. It isn’t as though you were just +a sort of friend of the family, is it? I mean, you were more or less +engaged to her yourself, weren’t you, at one time? Well, what would you +have thought if I’d come butting in? You must look at it like that, from +my point of view, too, mustn’t you, I mean?’ + +‘Well, I think that’s rather what did happen.’ + +‘Oh no, look here, Symes, I mean, damn it; you mustn’t say things like +that. D’you know all the time I was out East I had Nina’s photograph +over my bed, honest I did. I expect you think that’s sentimental and all +that, but what I mean is I didn’t stop thinking of that girl once all +the time I was away. Mind you, there were lots of other frightfully +jolly girls out there, and I don’t say I didn’t sometimes get jolly +pally with them, you know, tennis and gymkhana and all that sort of +thing, I mean, and dancing in the evenings, but never anything serious, +you know. Nina was the only girl I really thought of, and I’d sort of +made up my mind when I came home to look her up, and if she’d have me +. . . see what I mean? So you see it’s awfully rough luck on me when +someone comes butting in. You must see that, don’t you?’ + +‘Yes,’ said Adam. + +‘And there’s another thing, you know, sentiment and all that apart. I +mean Nina’s a girl who likes nice clothes and things, you know, comfort +and all that. Well, I mean to say, of course, her father’s a topping old +boy, absolutely one of the best, but he’s rather an ass about money, if +you know what I mean. What I mean, Nina’s going to be frightfully hard +up, and all that, and I mean you haven’t got an awful lot of money, have +you?’ + +‘I haven’t any at all.’ + +‘No, I mean, that’s what I mean. _Awfully rough on you._ No one thinks +the worse of you, respects you for it, I mean earning a living and all +that. Heaps of fellows haven’t any money nowadays. I could give you the +names of dozens of stout fellows, absolute toppers, who simply haven’t a +bean. No, all I mean is, when it comes to marrying, then that does make +a difference, doesn’t it?’ + +‘What you’ve been trying to say all this time is that you’re not sure of +Nina?’ + +‘Oh, rot, my dear fellow, absolute bilge. Damn it, I’d trust Nina +anywhere, of course I would. After all, damn it, what does being in love +mean if you can’t trust a person?’ + +(‘What, indeed?’ thought Adam), and he said, ‘Now, Ginger, tell the +truth. What’s Nina worth to you?’ + +‘Good Lord, why what an extraordinary thing to ask; everything in the +world of course. I’d go through fire and water for that girl.’ + +‘Well, I’ll sell her to you.’ + +‘No, why, look here, good God, damn it, I mean . . .’ + +‘I’ll sell my share in her for a hundred pounds.’ + +‘You pretend to be fond of Nina and you talk about her like that! Why, +hang it, it’s not decent. Besides, a hundred pounds is the deuce of a +lot. I mean, getting married is a damned expensive business, don’t you +know. And I’m just getting a couple of polo ponies over from Ireland. +That’s going to cost a hell of a lot, what with one thing and another.’ + +‘A hundred down, and I leave Nina to you, I think it’s cheap.’ + +‘Fifty.’ + +‘A hundred.’ + +‘Seventy-five.’ + +‘A hundred.’ + +‘I’m damned if I’ll pay more than seventy-five.’ + +‘I’ll take seventy-eight pounds sixteen and twopence. I can’t go lower +than that.’ + +‘All right, I’ll pay that. _You really will go away?_’ + +‘I’ll try, Ginger. Have a drink.’ + +‘No, thank you . . . this only shows what an escape Nina’s had—poor +little girl.’ + +‘Good-bye, Ginger.’ + +‘Good-bye, Symes.’ + +‘Young Thingummy going?’ said Lottie, appearing in the door. ‘I was just +thinking about a little drink.’ + +Adam went to the telephone-box. . . .’Hullo, is that Nina?’ + +‘Who’s speaking, please? I don’t think Miss Blount is in.’ + +‘Mr Fenwick-Symes.’ + +‘Oh, Adam. I was afraid it was Ginger. I woke up feeling I just couldn’t +bear him. He rang up last night just as I got in.’ + +‘I know. Nina, darling, something awful’s happened.’ + +‘What?’ + +‘Lottie presented me with her bill.’ + +‘Darling, what _did_ you do?’ + +‘Well, I did something rather extraordinary. . . . My dear, I sold +_you_.’ + +‘Darling . . . _who to_?’ + +‘Ginger. You fetched seventy-eight pounds sixteen and twopence.’ + +‘_Well?_’ + +‘And now I never am going to see you again.’ + +‘Oh, but Adam, I think this is beastly of you; I don’t want not to see +you again.’ + +‘I’m sorry. . . . Good-bye, Nina, darling.’ + +‘Good-bye, Adam, my sweet. But I think you’re rather a cad.’ + + + +Next day Lottie said to Adam, ‘You know that chap I said came here +asking for you?’ + +‘The dun?’ + +‘Well, he wasn’t a dun. I’ve just remembered. He’s a chap who used to +come here quite a lot until he had a fight with a Canadian. He was here +the night that silly Flossie killed herself on the chandelier.’ + +‘Not the drunk Major?’ + +‘He wasn’t drunk yesterday. Not so as you’d notice anyway. Red-faced +chap with an eyeglass. You ought to remember him, dear. He was the one +made that bet for you on the November Handicap.’ + +‘But I must get hold of him at once. What’s his name?’ + +‘Ah, that I couldn’t tell you. I _did_ know, but it’s slipped my memory. +He’s gone to Manchester to look for you. Pity your missing him!’ + +Then Adam rang up Nina. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘Don’t do anything sudden +about Ginger. I may be able to buy you back. The drunk Major has turned +up again.’ + +‘But, darling, it’s too late. Ginger and I got married this morning. I’m +just packing for our honeymoon. We’re going in an aeroplane.’ + +‘Ginger wasn’t taking any chances, was he? Darling, don’t go.’ + +‘No, I must. Ginger says he knows a “tophole little spot not far from +Monte with a very decent nine-hole golf course”.’ + +‘_Well?_’ + +‘_Yes, I know_ . . . we shall only be away a few days. We’re coming back +to spend Christmas with papa. Perhaps we shall be able to arrange +something when we get back. I do hope so.’ + +‘Good-bye.’ + +‘Good-bye.’ + + + +Ginger looked out of the aeroplane: ‘I say, Nina,’ he shouted, ‘when you +were young did you ever have to learn a thing out of a poetry book +about: “_This scepter’d isle, this earth of majesty, this something or +other Eden_”? D’you know what I mean? “_this happy breed of men, this +little world, this precious stone set in the silver sea . . ._ + + “_This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England_ + _This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings_ + _Feared by their breed and famous by their birth . . ._” + +I forget how it goes on. Something about a stubborn Jew. But you know +the thing I mean?’ + +‘It comes in a play.’ + +‘No, a blue poetry book.’ + +‘I acted in it.’ + +‘Well, they may have put it into a play since. It was in a blue poetry +book when I learned it. Anyway, you know what I mean?’ + +‘Yes, why?’ + +‘Well, I mean to say, don’t you feel somehow, up in the air like this +and looking down and seeing everything underneath. I mean, don’t you +have a sort of feeling rather like that, if you see what I mean?’ + +Nina looked down and saw inclined at an odd angle a horizon of +straggling red suburb; arterial roads dotted with little cars; +factories, some of them working, others empty and decaying; a disused +canal; some distant hills sown with bungalows; wireless masts and +overhead power cables; men and women were indiscernible except as tiny +spots; they were marrying and shopping and making money and having +children. The scene lurched and tilted again as the aeroplane struck a +current of air. + +‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ said Nina. + +‘Poor little girl,’ said Ginger. ‘That’s what the paper bags are for.’ + + + +There was rarely more than a quarter of a mile of the black road to be +seen at one time. It unrolled like a length of cinema film. At the edges +was confusion; a fog spinning past: ‘_Faster, faster_,’ they shouted +above the roar of the engine. The road rose suddenly and the white car +soared up the sharp ascent without slackening speed. At the summit of +the hill there was a corner. Two cars had crept up, one on each side, +and were closing in. ‘Faster,’ cried Miss Runcible, ‘Faster.’ + +‘Quietly, dear, quietly. You’re disturbing every one. You must lie quiet +or you’ll never get well. Everything’s quite all right. There’s nothing +to worry about. Nothing at all.’ + +They were trying to make her lie down. How could one drive properly +lying down? + +Another frightful corner. The car leant over on two wheels, tugging +outwards; it was drawn across the road until it was within a few inches +of the bank. One ought to brake down at the corners, but one couldn’t +see them coming lying flat on one’s back like this. The back wheels +wouldn’t hold the road at this speed. Skidding all over the place. + +‘_Faster. Faster._’ + +The stab of a hypodermic needle. + +‘There’s nothing to worry about, dear . . . _nothing at all . . . +nothing_.’ + + + + + _Chapter Thirteen_ + + +The film had been finished, and every one had gone away; Wesley and +Whitefield, Bishop Philpotts and Miss La Touche, Mr Isaacs, and all his +pupils from the National Academy of Cinematographic Art. The park lay +deep in snow, a clean expanse of white, shadowless and unspotted save +for tiny broad arrows stamped by the hungry birds. The bellringers were +having their final practice, and the air was alive with pealing bells. + +Inside the dining-room Florin and Mrs Florin and Ada, the +fifteen-year-old housemaid, were arranging branches of holly above the +frames of the family portraits. Florin held the basket, Mrs Florin held +the steps and Ada put the decorations in their places. Colonel Blount +was having his afternoon nap upstairs. + +Florin had a secret. It was a white calico banner of great age lettered +in red ribbon with the words ‘=Welcome Home=’. He had always +known where it was, just where to put his hand on it, at the top of the +black trunk in the far attic behind the two hip baths and the ’cello +case. + +‘The Colonel’s mother made it’, he explained, ‘when he first went away +to school, and it was always hung out in the hall whenever he and Mister +Eric came back for the holidays. It used to be the first thing he’d look +for when he came into the house—even when he was a grown man home on +leave. “Where’s my banner?” he’d say. We’ll have it up for Miss +Nina—Mrs Littlejohn, I should say.’ + +Ada said should they put some holly in Captain and Mrs Littlejohn’s +bedroom. + +Mrs Florin said, whoever heard of holly in a bedroom, and she wasn’t +sure but that it was unlucky to take it upstairs. + +Ada said, ‘Well, perhaps just a bit of mistletoe over the bed.’ + +Mrs Florin said Ada was too young to think about things like that, and +she ought to be ashamed of herself. + +Florin said would Ada stop arguing and answering back and come into the +hall to put up the banner. One string went on the nose of the +rhinoceros, he explained, the other round the giraffe. + +Presently Colonel Blount came down. + +‘Should I light the fires in the big drawing-room?’ asked Mrs Florin. + +‘Fires in the big drawing-room? No, why should you want to do that, Mrs +Florin?’ + +‘Because of Captain and Mrs Littlejohn—you haven’t forgotten, have you, +sir, that they’re coming to stay this afternoon?’ + +‘Captain and Mrs Fiddlesticks. Never heard of them. Who asked them to +stay I should like to know? _I_ didn’t. Don’t know who they are. Don’t +want them. . . . Besides, now I come to think of it, Miss Nina and her +husband said they were coming down. I can’t have the whole house turned +into an hotel. If these people come, Florin, whoever they are, you tell +them to go away. You understand? I won’t have them, and I think it’s +very presumptuous of whoever asked them. It is not their place to invite +guests here without consulting me.’ + +‘Should I be lighting the fires in the big drawing-room for Miss Nina +and her young gentleman, sir?’ + +‘Yes, yes, certainly . . . and a fire in their bedroom, of course. And, +Florin, I want you to come down to the cellar with me to look out some +port . . . I’ve got the keys here. . . . I have a feeling I’m going to +like Miss Nina’s husband,’ he confided on their way to the cellar. ‘I +hear very good reports of him—a decent, steady young fellow, and not at +all badly off. Miss Nina said in her letter that he used to come over +here as a little boy. D’you remember him, Florin? Blest if I do. . . . +What’s the name again?’ + +‘Littlejohn, sir.’ + +‘Yes. Littlejohn, to be sure. I had the name on the tip of my tongue +only a minute ago. _Littlejohn._ I must remember that.’ + +‘His father used to live over at Oakshott, sir. A very wealthy +gentleman. Shipowners, I think they were. Young Mr Littlejohn used to go +riding with Miss Nina, sir. Regular little monkey he was, sir, +red-headed . . . a terrible one for cats.’ + +‘Well, well, I dare say he’s grown out of that. Mind the step, Florin, +it’s all broken away. Hold the lamp higher, can’t you, man. Now, what +did we come for? Port, yes, port. Now, there’s some ’96 somewhere, only +a few bottles left. What does it say on this bin? I can’t read. Bring +the light over here.’ + +‘We drank up the last of the ’96, sir, when the film-acting gentlemen +was here.’ + +‘Did we, Florin, did we? We shouldn’t have done that, you know.’ + +‘Very particular about his wine, Mr Isaacs was. My instructions was to +give them whatever they wanted.’ + +‘Yes, but ’96 port. . . . Well, well. Take up two bottles of the ’04. +Now, what else do we want? Claret—yes, _claret_. Claret, claret, +claret, claret. Where do I keep the claret, Florin?’ + + + +Colonel Blount was just having tea—he had finished a brown boiled egg +and was spreading a crumpet with honey—when Florin opened the library +door and announced ‘Captain and Mrs Littlejohn, sir.’ + +And Adam and Nina came in. + +Colonel Blount put down his crumpet and rose to greet them. + +‘Well, Nina, it’s a long time since you came to see your old father. So +this is my son-in-law, eh? How do you do, my boy. Come and sit down, +both of you. Florin will bring some more cups directly. . . . Well,’ he +said, giving Adam a searching glance, ‘I can’t say I should have +recognized you. I used to know your father very well indeed at one time. +Used to be a neighbour of mine over at where-was-it. I expect you’ve +forgotten those days. You used to come over here to ride with Nina. You +can’t have been more than ten or eleven. . . . Funny, something gave me +an idea you had red hair . . .’ + +‘I expect you’d heard him called “Ginger”,’ said Nina, ‘and that made +you think of it.’ + +‘Something of the kind, I dare say . . . extraordinary thing to call him +“Ginger” when he’s got ordinary fair hair . . . anyway, I’m very glad to +see you, very glad. I’m afraid it’ll be a very quiet week-end. We don’t +see many people here now. Florin says he’s asked a Captain and Mrs +Something-or-other to come and stay, damn his impudence, but I said I +wouldn’t see them. Why should I entertain Florin’s friends? Servants +seem to think after they’ve been with you some time they can do anything +they like. There was poor old Lady Graybridge, now—they only found out +after her death that her man had been letting lodgings all the time in +the North Wing. She never could understand why none of the fruit ever +came into the dining-room—the butler and his boarders were eating it +all in the servants’ hall. And after she was ill, and couldn’t leave her +room, he laid out a golf links in the park . . . shocking state of +affairs. I don’t believe Florin would do a thing like that—still, you +never know. It’s the thin edge of the wedge asking people down for the +week-end.’ + + + +In the kitchen Florin said: ‘_That’s_ not the Mr Littlejohn I used to +know.’ + +Mrs Florin said, ‘It’s the young gentleman that came here to luncheon +last month.’ + +Ada said, ‘He’s very nice looking.’ + +Florin and Mrs Florin said, ‘You be quiet, Ada. Have you taken the hot +water up to their bedroom yet? Have you taken up their suitcases? Have +you unpacked them? Did you brush the Colonel’s evening suit? Do you +expect Mr Florin and Mrs Florin to do _all_ the work of the house? And +look at your apron again, you wretched girl, if it isn’t the second +you’ve dirtied to-day.’ + +Florin added, ‘Anyway, Miss Nina noticed the banner.’ + + + +In the library Colonel Blount said, ‘I’ve got a treat for you to-night, +anyway. The last two reels of my cinema film have just come back from +being developed. I thought we’d run through it to-night. We shall have +to go across to the Rectory, because the rector’s got electric light, +the lucky fellow. I told him to expect us. He didn’t seem very pleased +about it. Said he had to preach three sermons to-morrow, and be up at +six for early service. That’s not the Christmas spirit. Didn’t want to +bring the car round to fetch us either. It’s only a matter of a quarter +of a mile, no trouble to _him_, and how can we walk in the snow carrying +all the apparatus? I said to him, “If you practised a little more +Christianity yourself we might be more willing to subscribe to your +foreign missions and Boy Scouts and organ funds.” Had him there. Dammit, +I put the man in his job myself—if I haven’t a right to his car, who +has?’ + +When they went up to change for dinner Nina said to Adam, ‘I knew papa +would never recognize you.’ + +Adam said, ‘Look, some one’s put mistletoe over our bed.’ + +‘I think you gave the Florins rather a surprise.’ + +‘My dear, what will the Rector say? He drove me to the station the first +time I came. He thought I was mad.’ + +‘. . . Poor Ginger. I wonder, are we treating him terribly badly? . . . +It seemed a direct act of fate that he should have been called up to +join his regiment just at this moment.’ + +‘I left him a cheque to pay for you.’ + +‘Darling, you know it’s a bad one.’ + +‘No cheque is bad until it’s refused by the bank. To-morrow’s Christmas, +then Boxing Day, then Sunday. He can’t pay it in until Monday, and +anything may have happened by then. The drunk Major may have turned up. +If the worst comes to the worst I can always send you back to him.’ + +‘I expect it will end with that. . . . Darling, the honeymoon _was_ hell +. . . frightfully cold, and Ginger insisted on walking about on a +terrace after dinner to see the moon on the Mediterranean—he played +golf all day, and made friends with the other English people in the +hotel. I can’t tell you what it was like . . . too spirit-crushing, as +poor Agatha used to say.’ + +‘Did I tell you I went to Agatha’s funeral? There was practically no one +there except the Chasms and some aunts. I went with Van, rather tight, +and got stared at. I think they felt I was partly responsible for the +accident . . .’ + +‘What about Miles?’ + +‘He’s had to leave the country, didn’t you know?’ + +‘Darling, I only came back from my honeymoon to-day. I haven’t heard +anything. . . . You know there seems to be none of us left now except +you and me.’ + +‘And Ginger.’ + +‘Yes, and Ginger.’ + + + +The cinematograph exhibition that evening was not really a success. + +The Rector arrived while they were finishing dinner, and was shown into +the dining-room shaking the snow from the shoulders of his overcoat. + +‘Come in, Rector, come in. We shan’t be many minutes now. Take a glass +of port and sit down. You’ve met my daughter, haven’t you? And this is +my new son-in-law.’ + +‘I think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting him before too.’ + +‘Nonsense, first time he’s been here since he was so high—long before +your time.’ + +The Rector sipped his port and kept eyeing Adam over the top of his +glass in a way which made Nina giggle. Then Adam giggled too, and the +Rector’s suspicions were confirmed. In this way relations were already +on an uneasy basis before they reached the Rectory. The Colonel, +however, was far too intent over the transport of his apparatus to +notice anything. + +‘This is your first visit here?’ said the Rector as he drove through the +snow. + +‘I lived near here as a boy, you know,’ said Adam. + +‘Ah . . . but you were down here the other day, were you not? The +Colonel often forgets things. . . .’ + +‘No, no. I haven’t been here for fifteen years.’ + +‘I _see_,’ said the Rector with sinister emphasis, and murmured under +his breath, ‘Remarkable . . . very sad and remarkable.’ + +The Rector’s wife was disposed to make rather a party of it, and had +arranged some coffee and chocolate biscuits in the drawing-room, but the +Colonel soon put an end to any frivolity of this kind by plunging them +all in darkness. + +He took out the bulbs of their electric lights and fitted in the plug of +his lantern. A bright beam shot across the drawing-room like a +searchlight, picking out the Rector, who was whispering in his wife’s +ear the news of his discovery. + +‘. . . the same young man I told you of,’ he was saying. ‘Quite off his +head, poor boy. He didn’t even remember coming here before. One expects +that sort of thing in a man of the Colonel’s age, but for a young man +like that . . . a very bad look out for the next generation . . .’ + +The Colonel paused in his preparation. + +‘I say, Rector, I’ve just thought of something. I wish old Florin were +here. He was in bed half the time they were taking the film. I know he’d +love to see it. Could you be a good chap and run up in the car and fetch +him?’ + +‘No, really, Colonel, I hardly think that’s necessary. I’ve just put the +car away.’ + +‘I won’t start before you come back, if that’s what you’re thinking of. +It’ll take me some time to get everything fixed up. We’ll wait for you. +I promise you that.’ + +‘My dear Colonel, it’s snowing heavily—practically a blizzard. Surely +it would be a mistaken kindness to drag an elderly man out of doors on a +night like this in order to see a film which, I have no doubt, will soon +be on view all over the country?’ + +‘All right, Rector, just as you think best. I only thought after all it +is Christmas . . . damn the thing; I got a nasty shock then.’ + +Adam and Nina and the Rector and his wife sat in the dark patiently. +After a time the Colonel unrolled a silvered screen. + +‘Just help me take all these things off the chimney-piece some one,’ he +said. + +The Rector’s wife scuttered to the preservation of her ornaments. + +‘Will it bear, do you think?’ asked the Colonel, mounting precariously +on the top of the piano, and exhibiting in his excitement an astonishing +fund of latent vitality. ‘Now hand up the screen to me, will you? That’s +splendid. You don’t mind a couple of screws in your wall, do you, +Rector? Quite small ones.’ + +Presently the screen was fixed and the lens directed so that it threw on +to it a small square of light. + +The audience sat down expectantly. + +‘_Now_,’ said the Colonel, and set the machine in motion. + +There was a whirring sound, and suddenly there appeared on the screen +the spectacle of four uniformed horsemen galloping backwards down the +drive. + +‘Hullo,’ said the Colonel. ‘Something wrong there . . . that’s funny. I +must have forgotten to rewind it.’ + +The horsemen disappeared, and there was a fresh whirring as the film was +transferred to another spool. + +‘_Now_,’ said the Colonel, and sure enough there appeared in small and +clear letters the notice, ‘=The Wonderfilm Company of Great Britain +Presents=’. This legend, vibrating a good deal, but without other +variation, filled the screen for some time—(‘Of course, I shall cut the +captions a bit before it’s shown commercially,’ explained the +Colonel)—until its place was taken by ‘EFFIE LA TOUCHE IN’. This +announcement was displayed for practically no time at all; indeed, they +had scarcely had time to read it before it was whisked away obliquely. +(‘Damn,’ said the Colonel. ‘Skidded.’) There followed another long +pause, and then: + + ‘A B R A N D F R O M T H E B U R N I N G , A + F I L M B A S E D O N T H E L I F E O F J O H N + W E S L E Y .’ + + (‘_There_,’ said the Colonel.) + + ‘E I G H T E E N T H C E N T U R Y E N G L A N D .’ + +There came in breathless succession four bewigged men in fancy costume, +sitting round a card table. There were glasses, heaps of money and +candles on the table. They were clearly gambling feverishly and drinking +a lot. (‘There’s a song there really,’ said the Colonel, ‘only I’m +afraid I haven’t got a talkie apparatus yet.’) Then a highwayman holding +up the coach which Adam had seen; then some beggars starving outside +Doubting Church; then some ladies in fancy costume dancing a minuet. +Sometimes the heads of the dancers would disappear above the top of the +pictures; sometimes they would sink waist deep as though in a quicksand; +once Mr Isaacs appeared at the side in shirt sleeves, waving them on. +(‘I’ll have him out,’ said the Colonel.) + +‘E P W O R T H R E C T O R Y , L I N C O L N S H I R E ( E N G . )’ + +(‘That’s in case it’s taken up in the States,’ said the Colonel. ‘I +don’t believe there is a Lincolnshire over there, but it’s always +courteous to put that in case.’) + +A corner of Doubting Hall appeared with clouds of smoke billowing from +the windows. A clergyman was seen handing out a succession of children +with feverish rapidity of action. (‘It’s on fire, you see,’ said the +Colonel. ‘We did that quite simply, by burning some stuff Isaacs had. It +did make a smell.’) + +So the film went on eventfully for about half an hour. One of its +peculiarities was that whenever the story reached a point of dramatic +and significant action, the film seemed to get faster and faster. +Villagers trotted to church as though galvanized; lovers shot in and out +of windows; horses flashed past like motor cars; riots happened so +quickly that they were hardly noticed. On the other hand, any scene of +repose or inaction, a conversation in a garden between two clergymen, +Mrs Wesley at her prayers, Lady Huntingdon asleep, etc., seemed +prolonged almost unendurably. Even Colonel Blount suspected this +imperfection. + +‘I think I might cut a bit there,’ he said, after Wesley had sat +uninterruptedly composing a pamphlet for four and a half minutes. + +When the reel came to an end every one stirred luxuriously. + +‘Well, that was very nice,’ said the Rector’s wife, ‘very nice and +instructive.’ + +‘I really must congratulate you, Colonel. A production of absorbing +interest. I had no idea Wesley’s life was so full of adventure. I see I +must read up my Lecky.’ + +‘Too divine, Papa.’ + +‘Thank you so much, sir, I enjoyed that immensely.’ + +‘But, bless you, that isn’t the end,’ said the Colonel. ‘There are four +more reels yet.’ + +‘Oh, that’s good.’ ‘But how delightful.’ ‘Splendid.’ ‘Oh.’ + +But the full story was never shown. Just at the beginning of the second +part—when Wesley in America was being rescued from Red Indians by Lady +Huntingdon disguised as a cowboy—there occurred one of the mishaps from +which the largest super-cinemas are not absolutely immune. There was a +sudden crackling sound, a long blue spark, and the light was +extinguished. + +‘Oh, dear,’ said the Colonel, ‘I wonder what’s happened now. We were +just getting to such an exciting place.’ He bent all his energies on the +apparatus, recklessly burning his fingers, while his audience sat in +darkness. Presently the door opened and a housemaid appeared carrying a +candle. + +‘If you please, mum,’ she said, ‘the light’s gone out all over the +house.’ + +The Rector hurried across to the door and tried the switch in the +passage. He clicked it up and down several times; he tapped it like a +barometer and shook it slightly. + +‘It looks as though the wires were fused,’ he said. + +‘Really, Rector, how very inconvenient,’ said the Colonel crossly. ‘I +can’t possibly show the film without electric current. Surely there must +be something you can do?’ + +‘I am afraid it will be a job for an electrician; it will be scarcely +possible to get one before Monday,’ said the Rector with scarcely +Christian calm. ‘In fact it is clear to me that my wife and myself and +my whole household will have to spend the entire Christmas week-end in +darkness.’ + +‘Well,’ said the Colonel. ‘I never expected this to happen. Of course, I +know it’s just as disappointing for you as it is for me. All the same +. . .’ + +The housemaid brought in some candles and a bicycle lamp. + +‘There’s only these in the house, sir,’ she said, ‘and the shops don’t +open till Monday.’ + +‘I don’t think in the circumstances my hospitality can be of much more +use to you, can it, Colonel? Perhaps you would like me to ring up and +get a taxi out from Aylesbury.’ + +‘What’s that? _Taxi?_ Why, it’s ridiculous to get a taxi out from +Aylesbury to go a quarter of a mile!’ + +‘I’m sure Mrs Littlejohn wouldn’t like to walk all the way on a night +like this?’ + +‘Perhaps a taxi would be a good idea, Papa.’ + +‘Of course, if you’ld care to take shelter here . . . it may clear up a +little. But I think you’ld find it very wretched, sitting here in the +dark?’ + +‘No, no, of course, order a taxi,’ said the Colonel. + +On the way back to the house he said, ‘I’d half made up my mind to lend +him some of our lamps for the week-end. I certainly shan’t now. Fancy +hiring a taxi seven miles to drive us a few hundred yards. On Christmas +Eve, too. No wonder they find it hard to fill their churches when that’s +their idea of Christian fellowship. Just when I’d brought my film all +that way to show them . . .’ + +Next morning Adam and Nina woke up under Ada’s sprig of mistletoe to +hear the bells ringing for Christmas across the snow. ‘Come all to +church, good people; good people come to church.’ They had each hung up +a stocking the evening before, and Adam had put a bottle of scent and a +scent spray into Nina’s, and she had put two ties and a new kind of +safety razor into his. Ada brought them their tea and wished them a +happy Christmas. Nina had remembered to get a present for each of the +Florins, but had forgotten Ada, so she gave her the bottle of scent. + +‘Darling,’ said Adam, ‘it cost twenty-five shillings—on Archie +Schwert’s account at Asprey.’ + +Later they put some crumbs of their bread and butter on the windowsill +and a robin redbreast came to eat them. The whole day was like that. + +Adam and Nina breakfasted alone in the dining-room. There was a row of +silver plates kept hot by spirit lamps which held an omelette and +devilled partridges and kedgeree and kidneys and sole and some rolls; +there was also a ham and a tongue and some brawn and a dish of pickled +herrings. Nina ate an apple and Adam ate some toast. + +Colonel Blount came down at eleven wearing a grey tail coat. He wished +them a very good morning and they exchanged gifts. Adam gave him a box +of cigars; Nina gave him a large illustrated book about modern cinema +production; he gave Nina a seed pearl brooch which had belonged to her +mother, and he gave Adam a calendar with a coloured picture of a bulldog +smoking a clay pipe and a thought from Longfellow for each day in the +year. + +At half-past eleven they all went to Matins. + +‘It will be a lesson to him in true Christian forgiveness,’ said the +Colonel (but he ostentatiously read his Bible throughout the sermon). +After church they called in at two or three cottages. Florin had been +round the day before distributing parcels of grocery. They were all +pleased and interested to meet Miss Nina’s husband. Many of them +remembered him as a little boy, and remarked that he had grown out of +all recognition. They reminded him with relish of many embarrassing +episodes in Ginger’s childhood, chiefly acts of destruction and cruelty +to cats. + + + +After luncheon they went down to see all the decorations in the +servants’ hall. + +This was a yearly custom of some antiquity, and the Florins had prepared +for it by hanging paper streamers from the gas brackets. Ada was having +middle-day dinner with her parents who lived among the petrol pumps at +Doubting village, so the Florins ate their turkey and plum pudding +alone. + +‘I’ve seen as many as twenty-five sitting down to Christmas dinner at +this table,’ said Florin. ‘Regular parties they used to have when the +Colonel and Mr Eric were boys. Theatricals and all the house turned +topsy-turvy, and every gentleman with his own valet.’ + +‘Ah,’ said Mrs Florin. + +‘Times is changed,’ said Florin, picking a tooth. + +‘Ah,’ said Mrs Florin. + +Then the family came in from the dining-room. + +The Colonel knocked on the door and said, ‘May we come in, Mrs Florin?’ + +‘That you may, sir, and welcome,’ said Mrs Florin. + +Then Adam and Nina and the Colonel admired the decorations and handed +over their presents wrapped in tissue paper. Then the Colonel said, ‘I +think we should take a glass of wine together.’ + +Florin opened a bottle of sherry which he had brought up that morning +and poured out the glasses, handing one first to Nina, then to Mrs +Florin, then to the Colonel, then to Adam, and, finally, taking one for +himself. + +‘My very best wishes to you, Mrs Florin,’ said the Colonel, raising his +glass, ‘and to you, Florin. The years go by, and we none of us get any +younger, but I hope and trust that there are many Christmases in store +for us yet. Mrs Florin certainly doesn’t look a day older than when she +first came here. My best wishes to you both for another year of health +and happiness.’ + +Mrs Florin said, ‘Best respects, sir, and thank you, sir, and the same +to you.’ + +Florin said, ‘And a great pleasure it is to see Miss Nina—Mrs +Littlejohn, I should say—with us once more at her old home, and her +husband too, and I’m sure Mrs Florin and me wish them every happiness +and prosperity in their married life together, and all I can say, if +they can be as happy together as me and Mrs Florin has been, well, +that’s the best I can wish them.’ + +Then the family went away, and the house settled down to its afternoon +nap. + + + +After dinner that night Adam and the Colonel filled up their port +glasses and turned their chairs towards the fire. Nina had gone into the +drawing-room to smoke. + +‘You know,’ said the Colonel, poking back a log with his foot, ‘I’m very +glad that Nina has married you, my boy. I’ve liked you from the moment I +saw you. She’s a headstrong girl—always was—but I knew that she’d make +a sensible choice in the end. I foresee a very agreeable life ahead of +you two young people.’ + +‘I hope so, sir.’ + +‘I’m sure of it, my boy. She’s very nearly made several mistakes. There +was an ass of a fellow here the other day wanting to marry her. A +journalist. Awful silly fellow. He told me my old friend Canon +Chatterbox was working on his paper. Well, I didn’t like to contradict +him—he ought to have known, after all—but I thought it was funny at +the time, and then, d’you know, after he’d gone I was going through some +old papers upstairs and I came on a cutting from the _Worcester Herald_ +describing his funeral. He died in 1912. Well, he must have been a +muddle-headed sort of fellow to make a mistake like that, mustn’t he? +. . . Have some port?’ + +‘Thank you.’ + +‘Then there was another chap. Came here selling vacuum cleaners, if you +please, and asked me to give him a thousand pounds! Impudent young cub. +I soon sent him about his business. . . . But you’re different, +Littlejohn. Just the sort of son-in-law I’d have chosen for myself. Your +marriage has been a great happiness to me, my boy.’ + +At this moment Nina came in to say that there were carol singers outside +the drawing-room window. + +‘Bring ’em in,’ said the Colonel. ‘Bring ’em in. They come every year. +And tell Florin to bring up the punch.’ + +Florin brought up the punch in a huge silver punch bowl and Nina brought +in the waits. They stood against the sideboard, caps in hand, blinking +in the gaslight, and very red about the nose and cheeks with the sudden +warmth. + + ‘_Oh, tidings of comfort and joy_,’ they sang, ‘_comfort and + joy, Oh, tidings of comfort and joy_.’ + +They sang _Good King Wenceslas_, and _The First Noel_, and _Adeste +Fideles_, and _While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks_. Then Florin ladled +out the punch, seeing that the younger ones did not get the glasses +intended for their elders, but that each, according to his capacity, got +a little more, but not much more, than was good for him. + +The Colonel tasted the punch and pronounced it excellent. He then asked +the carol singers their names and where they came from, and finally gave +their leader five shillings and sent them off into the snow. + +‘It’s been just like this every year, as long as I can remember,’ said +the Colonel. ‘We always had a party at Christmas when we were boys . . . +acted some very amusing charades too . . . always a glass of sherry +after luncheon in the servants’ hall and carol singers in the +evening. . . . Tell me,’ he said, suddenly changing the subject, ‘did +you _really_ like what you saw of the film yesterday?’ + +‘It was the most divine film I ever saw, Papa.’ + +‘I enjoyed it enormously, sir, really I did.’ + +‘Did you? Did you? Well, I’m glad to hear that. I don’t believe the +Rector did—not properly. Of course, you only saw a bit of it, most +disappointing. I didn’t like to say so at the time, but I thought it +most negligent of him to have his electric light in that sort of +condition so that it wouldn’t last out for one evening. Most +inconsiderate to any one who wants to show a film. But it’s a glorious +film, isn’t it? You did think so?’ + +‘I never enjoyed a film so much, honestly.’ + +‘It makes a stepping stone in the development of the British film +industry,’ said the Colonel dreamily. ‘It is the most important +all-talkie super-religious film to be produced solely in this country by +British artists and management and by British capital. It has been +directed throughout regardless of difficulty and expense, and supervised +by a staff of expert historians and theologians. Nothing has been +omitted that would contribute to the meticulous accuracy of every +detail. The life of that great social and religious reformer John Wesley +is for the first time portrayed to a British public in all its humanity +and tragedy. . . . I’m glad you realized all that, my boy, because as a +matter of fact, I had a proposal to make to you about it. I’m getting an +old man and can’t do everything, and I feel my services should be better +spent in future as actor and producer, rather than on the commercial +side. One needs some one young to manage that. Now what I thought was, +that perhaps you would care to come in with me as business partner. I +bought the whole thing from Isaacs and, as you’re one of the family, I +shouldn’t mind selling you a half-share for, say, two thousand pounds. I +know that that isn’t much to you, and you’ld be humanly certain to +double your money in a few months. What do you say to it?’ + +‘_Well_ . . .’ said Adam. + +But he was never called upon to answer, for just at that moment the door +of the dining-room opened and the Rector came in. + +‘Hullo, Rector, come in. This is very neighbourly of you to come and +call at this time of night. A happy Christmas to you.’ + +‘Colonel Blount, I’ve got very terrible news. I had to come over and +tell you . . .’ + +‘I say, I am sorry. Nothing wrong at the Rectory, I hope?’ + +‘Worse, far worse. My wife and I were sitting over the fire after +dinner, and as we couldn’t read—not having any light—we put on the +wireless. They were having a very pretty carol service. Suddenly they +stopped in the middle and a special news bulletin was read. . . . +Colonel, the most terrible and unexpected thing—_War has been +declared_.’ + + + + + _Happy Ending_ + + +On a splintered tree stump in the biggest battlefield in the history of +the world, Adam sat down and read a letter from Nina. It had arrived +early the day before, but in the intensive fighting which followed he +had not had a spare minute in which to open it. + + _Doubting Hall_, + _Aylesbury_. + + ‘_Dearest Adam,—I wonder how you are. It is difficult to know + what is happening quite because the papers say such odd things. + Van has got a divine job making up all the war news, and he + invented a lovely story about you the other day, how you’d saved + hundreds of people’s lives, and there’s what they call a popular + agitation saying why haven’t you got the V.C., so probably you + will have by now, isn’t it amusing?_ + + ‘_Ginger and I are very well. Ginger has a job in an office in + Whitehall and wears a very grand sort of uniform, and, my dear, + I’m going to have a baby, isn’t it too awful? But Ginger has + quite made up his mind it’s his, and is as pleased as anything, + so that’s all right. He’s quite forgiven you about last + Christmas, and says anyway you’re doing your bit now, and in war + time one lets bygones be bygones._ + + ‘_Doubting is a hospital, did you know? Papa shows his film to + the wounded and they adore it. I saw Mr Benfleet, and he said + how awful it was when one had given all one’s life in the cause + of culture to see everything one’s stood for swept away, but + he’s doing very well with his “Sword Unsheathed” series of war + poets._ + + ‘_There’s a new Government order that we have to sleep in gas + masks because of the bombs, but no one does. They’ve put Archie + in prison as an undesirable alien, Ginger saw to that, he’s + terrific about spies. I’m sick such a lot because of this baby, + but everyone says it’s patriotic to have babies in war time. + Why?_ + + ‘_Lots of love, my angel, take care of your dear self._ + + _N._’ + +He put it back in its envelope and buttoned it into his breast-pocket. +Then he took out a pipe, filled it and began to smoke. The scene all +round him was one of unrelieved desolation; a great expanse of mud in +which every visible object was burnt or broken. Sounds of firing +thundered from beyond the horizon, and somewhere above the grey clouds +there were aeroplanes. He had had no sleep for thirty-six hours. It was +growing dark. + +Presently he became aware of a figure approaching, painfully picking his +way among the strands of barbed wire which strayed across the ground +like drifting cobweb; a soldier clearly. As he came nearer Adam saw that +he was levelling towards him a liquid fire-projector. Adam tightened his +fingers about his Huxdane-Halley bomb (for the dissemination of leprosy +germs), and in this posture of mutual suspicion they met. Through the +dusk Adam recognized the uniform of an English staff officer. He put the +bomb back in his pocket and saluted. + +The newcomer lowered his liquid-fire projector and raised his gas mask. +‘You’re English, are you?’ he said. ‘Can’t see a thing. Broken my damned +monocle.’ + +‘Why,’ said Adam. ‘You’re the drunk Major.’ + +‘I’m not drunk, damn you, sir,’ said the drunk Major, ‘and, what’s more, +I’m a General. What the deuce are _you_ doing here?’ + +‘Well,’ said Adam. ‘I’ve lost my platoon.’ + +‘Lost your platoon. . . . I’ve lost my whole bloody division!’ + +‘Is the battle over, sir?’ + +‘I don’t know, can’t see a thing. It was going on all right last time I +heard of it. My car’s broken down somewhere over there. My driver went +out to try and find some one to help and got lost, and I went out to +look for him, and now I’ve lost the car too. Damn difficult country to +find one’s way about in. No landmarks. . . . Funny meeting you. I owe +you some money.’ + +‘Thirty-five thousand pounds.’ + +‘Thirty-five thousand and five. Looked for you everywhere before this +scrap started. I can give you the money now if you like.’ + +‘The pound’s not worth much nowadays, is it?’ + +‘About nothing. Still, I may as well give you a cheque. It’ll buy you a +couple of drinks and a newspaper. Talking of drinks, I’ve got a case of +bubbly in the car if we could only find it. Salvaged it out of an R.A.F. +mess that got bombed back at H.Q. Wish I could find that car.’ + +Eventually they did find it. A Daimler limousine sunk to the axles in +mud. + +‘Get in and sit down,’ said the General hospitably. ‘I’ll turn the light +on in a second.’ + +Adam climbed in and found that it was not empty. In the corner, crumpled +up in a French military greatcoat, was a young woman fast asleep. + +‘_Hullo_, I’d forgotten all about you,’ said the General. ‘I picked up +this little lady on the road. I can’t introduce you, because I don’t +know her name. Wake up, mademoiselle.’ + +The girl gave a little cry and opened two startled eyes. + +‘That’s all right, little lady, nothing to be scared about—all friends +here. _Parlez anglais?_’ + +‘Sure,’ said the girl. + +‘Well, what about a spot?’ said the General, peeling the tinfoil from +the top of a bottle. ‘You’ll find some glasses in the locker.’ + +The woebegone fragment of womanhood in the corner looked a little less +terrified when she saw the wine. She recognized it as the symbol of +international good will. + +‘Now perhaps our fair visitor will tell us her name,’ said the General. + +‘I dunno,’ she said. + +‘Oh, come, little one, you mustn’t be shy.’ + +‘I dunno. I been called a lot of things. I was called Chastity once. +Then there was a lady at a party, and she sent me to Buenos Aires, and +then when the war came she brought me back again, and I was with the +soldiers training at Salisbury Plain. That was swell. They called me +bunny—I don’t know why. Then they sent me over here and I was with the +Canadians, what they called me wasn’t nice, and then they left me behind +when they retreated and I took up with some foreigners. They were nice +too, though they _were_ fighting against the English. Then _they_ ran +away, and the lorry I was in got stuck in the ditch, so I got in with +some other foreigners who were on the same side as the English, and they +were beasts, but I met an American doctor who had white hair, and he +called me Emily because he said I reminded him of his daughter back +home, so he took me to Paris and we had a lovely week till he took up +with another girl in a night club, so he left me behind in Paris when he +went back to the front, and I hadn’t no money and they made a fuss about +my passport, so they called me _numero mille soixante dix huit_, and +they sent me and a lot of other girls off to the East to be with the +soldiers there. At least they would have done only the ship got blown +up, so I was rescued and the French sent me up here in a train with some +different girls who were very unrefined. Then I was in a tin hut with +the girls, and then yesterday they had friends and I was alone, so I +went for a walk, and when I came back the hut was gone and the girls +were gone, and there didn’t seem any one anywhere until you came in your +car, and now I don’t rightly know where I am. _My_, isn’t war awful?’ + +The General opened another bottle of champagne. + +‘Well, you’re as right as rain now, little lady,’ he said, ‘so let’s see +you smile and look happy. You mustn’t sit there scowling, you know—far +too pretty a little mouth for that. Let me take off that heavy coat. +Look, I’ll wrap it round your knees. There, now, isn’t that better? +. . . Fine, strong little legs, eh? . . .’ + +Adam did not embarrass them. The wine and the deep cushions and the +accumulated fatigue of two days’ fighting drew him away from them and, +oblivious to all the happy emotion pulsing near him, he sank into sleep. + +The windows of the stranded motor car shone over the wasted expanse of +the battlefield. Then the General pulled down the blinds, shutting out +that sad scene. + +‘Cosier now, eh?’ he said. + +And Chastity in the prettiest way possible fingered the decorations on +his uniform and asked him all about them. + +And presently, like a circling typhoon, the sounds of battle began to +return. + + THE END + + + + + TRANSCRIBER NOTES + +Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple +spellings occur, majority use has been employed. + +Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors +occur. + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77900 *** diff --git a/77900-h/77900-h.htm b/77900-h/77900-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3166a08 --- /dev/null +++ b/77900-h/77900-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9504 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> + <title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Vile Bodies by Evelyn Waugh</title> + <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg"/> + <style type="text/css"> + .footnote-id { + text-indent:1.5em; + vertical-align:super; + font-size:smaller; + } + body { margin-left:8%;margin-right:10%; } + .it { font-style:italic; } + .bold { font-weight:bold; } + .sc { font-variant:small-caps; } + .gesp { letter-spacing:0.2em; 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} + div.blockquote100percent { margin:1em auto; width:100%; } + div.blockquote100percent p { text-align:left; } + div.footnote { margin:0 .5em; } + p.footnote { text-indent:1.5em; } + p.line { text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; } + div.lgp p.line0 { text-indent:-3em; margin:0 auto 0 3em; } + .pindent { margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-indent:1.5em; } + .noindent { margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-indent:0; } + .hang { padding-left:1.5em; text-indent:-1.5em; } + </style> + <style type="text/css"> + h1 { font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold; text-align:center; } + .poetry-container { font-size:1em; + margin-top:.5em; margin-bottom:.5em; + margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; } + div.blockquote { margin-top:.5em; margin-bottom:.5em; } + .pindent {margin-top: 0.3em; margin-bottom: 0em;} + .dropcap { float:none; font-size: 250%; margin:-0.2em 0.0em 0 0; } + </style> + </head> + <body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77900 ***</div> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/cover.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0000' style='width:350px;height:auto;'/> +</div> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<div class='lgc' style=''> <!-- rend=';' --> +<p class='line0' style='margin-top:1em;font-size:3em;font-weight:bold;font-style:italic;'>Vile Bodies</p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line0' style='font-weight:bold;'><span style='font-size:smaller'>A NOVEL BY</span></p> +<p class='line0' style='font-weight:bold;'><span style='font-size:larger'>EVELYN WAUGH</span></p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line'> </p> +<p class='line0' style='font-weight:bold;'>CHAPMAN & HALL</p> +<p class='line0' style='font-weight:bold;'>LONDON</p> +</div> <!-- end rend --> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<div class='lgc' style=''> <!-- rend=';fs:.9em;' --> +<p class='line0' style='font-size:.9em;'>FIRST PUBLISHED IN 1930</p> +<p class='line0' style='font-size:.9em;'>THIS EDITION, RESET, 1965</p> +<p class='line0' style='font-size:.9em;'>PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY</p> +<p class='line0' style='font-size:.9em;'>BUTLER & TANNER LTD</p> +<p class='line0' style='font-size:.9em;'>FROME & LONDON</p> +<p class='line0' style='font-size:.9em;'>CATALOGUE NO. 4/5055/02</p> +</div> <!-- end rend --> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<div class='lgc' style='margin-top:2em;'> <!-- rend=';' --> +<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:smaller'>WITH LOVE TO</span></p> +<p class='line0'>BRYAN MOYNE AND DIANA MOSLEY</p> +</div> <!-- end rend --> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<p class='line0' style='text-align:center;margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:1em;font-size:1.5em;font-weight:bold;'>Preface</p> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='dropcap'>T</span>his was a totally unplanned novel. I had the facility at +the age of 25 to sit down at my table, set a few characters +on the move, write 3000 words a day, and note with surprise +what happened. The composition of <span class='it'>Vile Bodies</span> was interrupted +by a sharp disturbance in my private life and was +finished in a very different mood from that in which it was +begun. The reader may, perhaps, notice the transition from +gaiety to bitterness.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was the first of my books to be a popular success. +<span class='it'>Decline and Fall</span> had been well reviewed but its sales in its +first year were small, fewer than 3000 copies if I remember +rightly. <span class='it'>Vile Bodies</span> caught the public fancy for extraneous +reasons. ‘The Bright Young People’ with whom it deals, and +of whom I was a member rather on the fringe than in the +centre, were one of the newspaper topics of the time. They +were totally unlike the various, publicized groups of modern +youth, being mostly of good family and education and sharp +intelligence, but they were equally anarchic and short-lived. +The jargon most of us spoke came new to the novel +reader and so captivated one prominent dramatic critic that +for weeks he introduced into articles week after week: +‘ “Too sick-making”, as Mr Waugh would say.’ There was +also a pretty accurate description of Mrs Rosa Lewis and her +Cavendish Hotel, just on the brink of their decline but still +famous. I think I can claim that this was the first English +novel in which dialogue on the telephone plays a large part. +For reasons of novelty the many gross faults were overlooked. +There were not many comic writers at that time and +I filled a gap. I began under the brief influence of Ronald +Firbank but struck out for myself. It is not a book I enjoy +re-reading but there are one or two funny scenes which +redeem it from banality. I like Colonel Blount, though he is +a figure from conventional farce. He was brilliantly played +by Athol Stewart in a very poor dramatic version. I may add +that at the time I invented ‘Father Rothschild’ I had never +met a Jesuit.</p> + +<p class='line0' style='text-align:right;margin-right:1em;'>E. W.</p> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='it'>Combe Florey</span> 1964</p> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<div class='blockquote'> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='it'>‘Well in</span> our <span class='it'>country,’ said Alice, still panting a little, +‘you’d generally get to somewhere else—if you ran +very fast for a long time, as we’ve been doing.’</span></p> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>‘A slow sort of country!’ said the Queen. ‘Now</span>, +here, <span class='it'>you see, it takes all the running you can do, to +keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere +else, you must run at least twice as fast as that!’</span></p> + +<hr class='tbk100'/> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>‘If I wasn’t real,’ Alice said—half laughing +through her tears, it all seemed so ridiculous—‘I +shouldn’t be able to cry.’</span></p> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>‘I hope you don’t suppose those are real tears?’ +Tweedledum interrupted in a tone of great contempt.</span></p> + +<p class='line0' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;font-size:.8em;'>—<span class='gesp'>ALICE THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS</span></p> + +</div> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<div><h1><span class='it'>Chapter One</span></h1></div> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='dropcap'>I</span>t was clearly going to be a bad crossing.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>With Asiatic resignation Father Rothschild S.J. put down +his suitcase in the corner of the bar and went on deck. (It +was a small suitcase of imitation crocodile hide. The initials +stamped on it in Gothic characters were not Father Rothschild’s, +for he had borrowed it that morning from the +<span class='it'>valet-de-chambre</span> of his hotel. It contained some rudimentary +underclothes, six important new books in six languages, +a false beard and a school atlas and gazetteer heavily annotated.) +Standing on the deck Father Rothschild leant his +elbows on the rail, rested his chin in his hands and surveyed +the procession of passengers coming up the gangway, each +face eloquent of polite misgiving.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Very few of them were unknown to the Jesuit, for it was +his happy knack to remember everything that could possibly +be learned about every one who could possibly be of +any importance. His tongue protruded very slightly and, +had they not all been so concerned with luggage and the +weather, some one might have observed in him a peculiar +resemblance to those plaster reproductions of the gargoyles +of Notre Dame which may be seen in the shop windows of +artists’ colourmen tinted the colour of ‘Old Ivory’, peering +intently from among stencil outfits and plasticine and +tubes of water-colour paint. High above his head swung +Mrs Melrose Ape’s travel-worn Packard car, bearing the +dust of three continents, against the darkening sky, and up +the companion-way at the head of her angels strode Mrs +Melrose Ape, the woman evangelist.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Faith.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Here, Mrs Ape.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Charity.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Here, Mrs Ape.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Fortitude.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Here, Mrs Ape.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Chastity. . . . Where is Chastity?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Chastity didn’t feel well, Mrs Ape. She went below.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That girl’s more trouble than she’s worth. Whenever +there’s any packing to be done, Chastity doesn’t feel well. +Are all the rest here—Humility, Prudence, Divine Discontent, +Mercy, Justice and Creative Endeavour?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Creative Endeavour lost her wings, Mrs Ape. She got +talking to a gentleman in the train. . . . Oh, there she is.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Got ’em?’ asked Mrs Ape.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Too breathless to speak, Creative Endeavour nodded. +(Each of the angels carried her wings in a little black box +like a violin case.)</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Right,’ said Mrs Ape, ‘and just you hold on to ’em +tight and not so much talking to gentlemen in trains. +You’re angels, not a panto, see?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The angels crowded together disconsolately. It was awful +when Mrs Ape was like this. My, how they would pinch +Chastity and Creative Endeavour when they got them +alone in their nightshirts. It was bad enough their going +to be so sick without that they had Mrs Ape pitching into +them too.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Seeing their discomfort, Mrs Ape softened and smiled. +She was nothing if not ‘magnetic’.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, girls,’ she said, ‘I must be getting along. They say +it’s going to be rough, but don’t you believe it. If you have +peace in your hearts your stomach will look after itself, and +remember if you <span class='it'>do</span> feel queer—<span class='it'>sing</span>. There’s nothing like +it.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Good-bye, Mrs Ape, and thank you,’ said the angels; +they bobbed prettily, turned about and trooped aft to the +second-class part of the ship. Mrs Ape watched them benignly, +then, squaring her shoulders and looking (except +that she had really no beard to speak of) every inch a +sailor, strode resolutely forrard to the first-class bar.</p> + +<hr class='tbk101'/> + +<p class='pindent'>Other prominent people were embarking, all very unhappy +about the weather; to avert the terrors of sea-sickness +they had indulged in every kind of civilized witchcraft, +but they were lacking in faith.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Miss Runcible was there, and Miles Malpractice, and all +the Younger Set. They had spent a jolly morning strapping +each other’s tummies with sticking plaster (how Miss +Runcible had wriggled).</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The Right Honourable Walter Outrage, M.P., last +week’s Prime Minister, was there. Before breakfast that +morning (which had suffered in consequence) Mr Outrage +had taken twice the maximum dose of a patent preparation +of chloral, and losing heart later had finished the bottle in +the train. He moved in an uneasy trance, closely escorted +by the most public-looking detective sergeants. These men +had been with Mr Outrage in Paris, and what they did not +know about his goings on was not worth knowing, at least +from a novelist’s point of view. (When they spoke about +him to each other they called him ‘the Right Honourable +Rape’, but that was more by way of being a pun about his +name than a criticism of the conduct of his love affairs, in +which, if the truth were known, he displayed a notable +diffidence and the liability to panic.)</p> + +<hr class='tbk102'/> + +<p class='pindent'>Lady Throbbing and Mrs Blackwater, those twin sisters +whose portrait by Millais auctioned recently at Christie’s +made a record in rock-bottom prices, were sitting on one of +the teak benches eating apples and drinking what Lady +Throbbing, with late Victorian <span class='it'>chic</span>, called ‘a bottle of +pop’, and Mrs Blackwater, more exotically, called ‘<span class='it'>champagne</span>’, +pronouncing it as though it were French.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Surely, Kitty, that is Mr Outrage, last week’s Prime +Minister.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Nonsense, Fanny, where?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Just in front of the two men with bowler hats, next to +the clergyman.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It is certainly like his photographs. How strange he looks.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Just like poor Throbbing . . . all that last year.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . And none of us even suspected . . . until they found +the bottles under the board in his dressing-room . . . and +we all used to think it was drink . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I don’t think one finds <span class='it'>quite</span> the same class as Prime +Minister nowadays, do you think?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘They say that only <span class='it'>one</span> person has any influence with +Mr Outrage . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘At the Japanese Embassy . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Of course, dear, not so loud. But tell me, Fanny, +seriously, do you think really and truly Mr Outrage has IT?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘He has a very nice figure for a man of his age.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, but <span class='it'>his</span> age, and the bull-like type is so often disappointing. +Another glass? You will be grateful for it when +the ship begins to move.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I quite thought we <span class='it'>were</span> moving.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘How absurd you are, Fanny, and yet I can’t help +laughing.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So arm in arm and shaken by little giggles the two tipsy +old ladies went down to their cabin.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Of the other passengers, some had filled their ears with +cotton wool, others wore smoked glasses, while several ate +dry captain’s biscuits from paper bags, as Red Indians are +said to eat snake’s flesh to make them cunning. Mrs Hoop +repeated feverishly over and over again a formula she had +learned from a yogi in New York City. A few ‘good sailors’, +whose luggage bore the labels of many voyages, strode +aggressively about smoking small, foul pipes and trying to +get up a four of bridge.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Two minutes before the advertised time of departure, +while the first admonitory whistling and shouting was +going on, a young man came on board carrying his bag. +There was nothing particularly remarkable about his appearance. +He looked exactly as young men like him do look; +he was carrying his own bag, which was disagreeably heavy, +because he had no money left in francs and very little left +in anything else. He had been two months in Paris writing +a book and was coming home because, in the course of his +correspondence, he had got engaged to be married. His +name was Adam Fenwick-Symes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Father Rothschild smiled at him in a kindly manner.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I doubt whether you remember me,’ he said. ‘We met +at Oxford five years ago at luncheon with the Dean of +Balliol. I shall be interested to read your book when it +appears—an autobiography, I understand. And may I be +one of the first to congratulate you on your engagement? +I am afraid you will find your father-in-law a little eccentric—and +forgetful. He had a nasty attack of bronchitis this +winter. It’s a draughty house—far too big for these days. +Well, I must go below now. It is going to be rough and I am +a bad sailor. We meet at Lady Metroland’s on the twelfth, +if not, as I hope, before.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Before Adam had time to reply the Jesuit disappeared. +Suddenly the head popped back.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘There is an extremely dangerous and disagreeable +woman on board—a Mrs Ape.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then he was gone again, and almost at once the boat +began to slip away from the quay towards the mouth of +the harbour.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Sometimes the ship pitched and sometimes she rolled +and sometimes she stood quite still and shivered all over, +poised above an abyss of dark water; then she would go +swooping down like a scenic railway train into a windless +hollow and up again with a rush into the gale; sometimes +she would burrow her path, with convulsive nosings and +scramblings like a terrier in a rabbit hole; and sometimes +she would drop dead like a lift. It was this last movement +that caused the most havoc among the passengers.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh,’ said the Bright Young People. ‘Oh, oh oh.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It’s just exactly like being inside a cocktail shaker,’ said +Miles Malpractice. ‘Darling, your face—eau de Nil.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Too, too sick-making,’ said Miss Runcible, with one of +her rare flashes of accuracy.</p> + +<hr class='tbk103'/> + +<p class='pindent'>Kitty Blackwater and Fanny Throbbing lay one above the +other in their bunks rigid from wig to toe.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I wonder, do you think the <span class='it'>champagne</span> . . . ?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Kitty.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, Fanny, dear.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Kitty, I think, in fact, I am sure I have some sal volatile. +. . . Kitty, I thought that perhaps as you are nearer . . . +it would really hardly be safe for me to try and descend . . . +I might break a leg.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Not after <span class='it'>champagne</span>, Fanny, do you think?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘But I need it. Of course, dear, <span class='it'>if it’s too much trouble</span>?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Nothing is too much trouble, darling, you know that. +But now I come to think of it, I remember, quite clearly, +for a fact, that you did <span class='it'>not</span> pack the sal volatile.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, Kitty, oh, Kitty, please . . . you would be sorry for +this if I died . . . oh.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘But I saw the sal volatile on your dressing-table after +your luggage had gone down, dear. I remember thinking, I +must take that down to Fanny, and then, dear, I got confused +over the tips, so you see . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I . . . put . . . it . . . in . . . myself. . . . Next to my +brushes . . . you . . . beast.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, Fanny . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh . . . Oh . . . Oh.’</p> + +<hr class='tbk104'/> + +<p class='pindent'>To Father Rothschild no passage was worse than any +other. He thought of the sufferings of the saints, the +mutability of human nature, the Four Last Things, and +between whiles repeated snatches of the penitential psalms.</p> + +<hr class='tbk105'/> + +<p class='pindent'>The Leader of His Majesty’s Opposition lay sunk in a +rather glorious coma, made splendid by dreams of Oriental +imagery—of painted paper houses; of golden dragons and +gardens of almond blossom; of golden limbs and almond +eyes, humble and caressing; of very small golden feet among +almond blossoms; of little painted cups full of golden tea; +of a golden voice singing behind a painted paper screen; +of humble, caressing little golden hands and eyes shaped +like almonds and the colour of night.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Outside his door two very limp detective sergeants had +deserted their posts.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘The bloke as could make trouble on a ship like this ’ere +deserves to get away with it,’ they said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The ship creaked in every plate, doors slammed, trunks +fell about, the wind howled; the screw, now out of the +water, now in, raced and churned, shaking down hat-boxes +like ripe apples; but above all the roar and clatter there rose +from the second-class ladies’ saloon the despairing voices +of Mrs Ape’s angels, in frequently broken unison, singing, +singing, wildly, desperately, as though their hearts would +break in the effort and their minds lose their reason, Mrs +Ape’s famous hymn, <span class='it'>There ain’t no flies on the Lamb of God</span>.</p> + +<hr class='tbk106'/> + +<p class='pindent'>The Captain and the Chief Officer sat on the bridge engrossed +in a crossword puzzle.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Looks like we may get some heavy weather if the wind +gets up,’ he said. ‘Shouldn’t wonder if there wasn’t a bit of +a sea running to-night.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, we can’t always have it quiet like this,’ said the +Chief Officer. ‘Word of eighteen letters meaning carnivorous +mammal. Search me if I know how they do think of +these things.’</p> + +<hr class='tbk107'/> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam Fenwick-Symes sat among the good sailors in the +smoking-room drinking his third Irish whisky and wondering +how soon he would feel definitely ill. Already there was +a vague depression gathering at the top of his head. There +were thirty-five minutes more, probably longer with the +head wind keeping them back.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Opposite him sat a much-travelled and chatty journalist +telling him smutty stories. From time to time Adam interposed +some more or less appropriate comment, ‘No, I say +that’s a good one,’ or, ‘I must remember that,’ or just ‘Ha, +Ha, Ha,’ but his mind was not really in a receptive condition.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Up went the ship, up, up, up, paused and then plunged +down with a sidelong slither. Adam caught at his glass and +saved it. Then shut his eyes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Now I’ll tell you a drawing-room one,’ said the journalist.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Behind them a game of cards was in progress among the +commercial gents. At first they had rather a jolly time about +it, saying, ‘What ho, she bumps,’ or ‘Steady, the Buffs,’ +when the cards and glasses and ash-tray were thrown on to +the floor, but in the last ten minutes they were growing +notably quieter. It was rather a nasty kind of hush.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . And forty aces and two-fifty for the rubber. Shall +we cut again or stay as we are?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘How about knocking off for a bit? Makes me tired—table +moving about all the time.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Why, Arthur, you ain’t feeling ill, surely?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘ ’Course I ain’t feeling ill, only tired.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, of course, if Arthur’s feeling ill . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Who’d have thought of old Arthur feeling ill?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I ain’t feeling ill, I tell you. Just tired. But if you boys +want to go on I’m not the one to spoil a game.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Good old Arthur. ’Course he ain’t feeling ill. Look out +for the cards, Bill, up she goes again.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What about one all round? Same again?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Same again.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Good luck, Arthur.’ ‘Good luck.’ ‘Here’s fun.’ ‘Down she +goes.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Whose deal? You dealt last, didn’t you, Mr Henderson?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, Arthur’s deal.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Your deal, Arthur. Cheer up, old scout.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Don’t you go doing that. It isn’t right to hit a chap on +the back like that.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Look out with the cards, Arthur.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, what d’you expect, being hit on the back like that. +Makes me tired.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Here, I got fifteen cards.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I wonder if you’ve heard this one,’ said the journalist. +‘There was a man lived at Aberdeen, and he was terribly +keen on fishing, so when he married, he married a woman +with worms. That’s rich, eh? You see he was keen on +fishing, see, and she had worms, see, he lived in Aberdeen. +That’s a good one that is.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘D’you know, I think I shall go on deck for a minute. A +bit stuffy in here, don’t you think?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You can’t do that. The sea’s coming right over it all +the time. Not feeling queer, are you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, of course I’m not feeling queer. I only thought a +little fresh air . . . Christ, why won’t the damn thing stop?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Steady, old boy. I wouldn’t go trying to walk about, not +if I were you. Much better stay just where you are. What +you want’s a spot of whisky.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Not feeling ill, you know. Just stuffy.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s all right, old boy. Trust Auntie.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The bridge party was not being a success.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Hullo, Mr Henderson. What’s that spade?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s the ace that is.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I can see it’s the ace. What I mean you didn’t ought to +have trumped that last trick not if you had a spade.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What d’you mean, didn’t ought to have trumped it? +Trumps led.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, they did <span class='it'>not</span>. Arthur led a spade.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘He led a trump, didn’t you, Arthur?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Arthur led a spade.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘He couldn’t have led a spade because for why he put a +heart on my king of spades when I thought he had the +queen. He hasn’t got no spades.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What d’you mean, not got no spades? I got the queen.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Arthur, old man, you <span class='it'>must</span> be feeling queer.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, I ain’t, I tell you, just tired. You’d be tired if you’d +been hit on the back same as I was . . . anyway I’m fed up +with this game . . . there go the cards again.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>This time no one troubled to pick them up. Presently +Mr Henderson said, ‘Funny thing, don’t know why I feel +all swimmy of a sudden. Must have ate something that +wasn’t quite right. You never can tell with foreign foods—all +messed up like they do.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Now you mention it, I don’t feel too spry myself. Damn +bad ventilation on these Channel boats.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s what it is. Ventilation. You said it.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You know I’m funny. I never feel sea-sick, mind, but +I often find going on boats doesn’t agree with me.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m like that, too.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Ventilation . . . a disgrace.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Lord, I shall be glad when we get to Dover. Home, sweet +home, eh?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam held on very tightly to the brass-bound edge of +the table and felt a little better. He was <span class='it'>not</span> going to be sick, +and that was that; not with that gargoyle of a man opposite +anyway. They <span class='it'>must</span> be in sight of land soon.</p> + +<hr class='tbk108'/> + +<p class='pindent'>It was at this time, when things were at their lowest, that +Mrs Ape reappeared in the smoking-room. She stood for a +second or two in the entrance balanced between swinging +door and swinging door-post; then as the ship momentarily +righted herself, she strode to the bar, her feet well apart, +her hands in the pockets of her tweed coat.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Double rum,’ she said and smiled magnetically at the +miserable little collection of men seated about the room. +‘Why, boys,’ she said, ‘but you’re looking terrible put out +over something. What’s it all about? Is it your souls that’s +wrong or is it that the ship won’t keep still? Rough? ’Course +it’s rough. But let me ask you this. If you’re put out this +way over just an hour’s sea-sickness’ (‘Not sea-sick, +ventilation,’ said Mr Henderson mechanically), ‘what are +you going to be like when you make the mighty big journey +that’s waiting for us all? Are you right with God?’ said Mrs +Ape. ‘Are you prepared for death?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, am I not?’ said Arthur. ‘I ’aven’t thought of nothing +else for the last half hour.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Now, boys, I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. We’re +going to sing a song together, you and me.’ (‘Oh, God,’ said +Adam.) ‘You may not know it, but you are. You’ll feel +better for it body <span class='it'>and</span> soul. It’s a song of Hope. You don’t +hear much about Hope these days, do you? Plenty about +Faith, plenty about Charity. They’ve forgotten all about +Hope. There’s only one great evil in the world to-day. +Despair. I know all about England, and I tell you straight, +boys, I’ve got the goods for you. Hope’s what you want and +Hope’s what I got. Here, steward, hand round these leaflets. +There’s the song on the back. Now all together . . . sing. +Five bob for you, steward, if you can shout me down. +Splendid, all together, boys.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>In a rich, very audible voice Mrs Ape led the singing. Her +arms rose, fell and fluttered with the rhythm of the song. +The bar steward was hers already—inaccurate sometimes in +his reading of the words, but with a sustained power in the +low notes that defied competition. The journalist joined +in next and Arthur set up a little hum. Soon they were all +at it, singing like blazes, and it is undoubtedly true that they +felt the better for it.</p> + +<hr class='tbk109'/> + +<p class='pindent'>Father Rothschild heard it and turned his face to the wall.</p> + +<hr class='tbk110'/> + +<p class='pindent'>Kitty Blackwater heard it.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Fanny.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Fanny, dear, do you hear singing?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, dear, thank you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Fanny, dear, I hope they aren’t holding a <span class='it'>service</span>. I +mean, dear, it sounds so like a hymn. Do you think, possibly, +we are <span class='it'>in danger</span>? Fanny, are we going to be wrecked?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I should be neither surprised nor sorry.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Darling, how can you? . . . We should have heard it, +shouldn’t we, if we had actually <span class='it'>hit</span> anything? . . . Fanny, +dear, if you like I will have a look for your sal volatile.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I hardly think that would be any help, dear, since you +<span class='it'>saw</span> it on my dressing-table.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I may have been mistaken.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You <span class='it'>said</span> you <span class='it'>saw</span> it.’</p> + +<hr class='tbk111'/> + +<p class='pindent'>The captain heard it. ‘All the time I been at sea,’ he said, +‘I never could stand for missionaries.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Word of six letters beginning with ZB,’ said the chief +officer, ‘meaning “used in astronomic calculation”.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Z can’t be right,’ said the captain after a few minutes’ +thought.</p> + +<hr class='tbk112'/> + +<p class='pindent'>The Bright Young People heard it. ‘So like one’s first +parties,’ said Miss Runcible, ‘being sick with other people +singing.’</p> + +<hr class='tbk113'/> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs Hoop heard it. ‘Well,’ she thought, ‘I’m through +with theosophy after this journey. Reckon I’ll give the +Catholics the once over.’</p> + +<hr class='tbk114'/> + +<p class='pindent'>Aft, in the second-class saloon, where the screw was doing +its worst, the angels heard it. It was some time since they +had given up singing.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Her again,’ said Divine Discontent.</p> + +<hr class='tbk115'/> + +<p class='pindent'>Mr Outrage alone lay happily undisturbed, his mind +absorbed in lovely dream sequences of a world of little +cooing voices, so caressing, so humble; and dark eyes, +night-coloured, the shape of almonds over painted paper +screens; little golden bodies, so flexible, so firm, so surprising +in the positions they assumed.</p> + +<hr class='tbk116'/> + +<p class='pindent'>They were still singing in the smoking-room when, in +very little more than her usual time, the ship came into the +harbour at Dover. Then Mrs Ape, as was her invariable +rule, took round the hat and collected nearly two pounds, +not counting her own five shillings which she got back from +the bar steward. ‘Salvation doesn’t do them the same good +if they think it’s free,’ was her favourite axiom.</p> + +<div><h1><span class='it'>Chapter Two</span></h1></div> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='dropcap'>‘H</span>ave you anything to declare?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Wings.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Have you wore them?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Sure.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s all right, then.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Divine Discontent gets all the smiles all the time,’ complained +Fortitude to Prudence. ‘Golly, but it’s good to be on +dry land.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Unsteadily, but with renewed hope, the passengers had +disembarked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Father Rothschild fluttered a diplomatic <span class='it'>laissez-passer</span> +and disappeared in the large car that had been sent to meet +him. The others were jostling one another with their +luggage, trying to attract the Customs officers and longing +for a cup of tea.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I got half a dozen of the best stowed away,’ confided +the journalist. ‘They’re generally pretty easy after a bad +crossing.’ And sure enough he was soon settled in the corner +of a first-class carriage (for the paper was, of course, paying +his expenses) with his luggage safely chalked in the van.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was some time before Adam could get attended to.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’ve nothing but some very old clothes and some books,’ +he said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But here he showed himself deficient in tact, for the +man’s casual air disappeared in a flash.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Books, eh?’ he said. ‘And what sort of books, may I +ask?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Look for yourself.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Thank <span class='it'>you</span>, that’s what I mean to do. <span class='it'>Books</span>, indeed.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam wearily unstrapped and unlocked his suitcase.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes,’ said the Customs officer menacingly, as though his +worst suspicions had been confirmed, ‘I should just about +say you had got some books.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>One by one he took the books out and piled them on the +counter. A copy of Dante excited his especial disgust.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘French, eh?’ he said. ‘I guessed as much, and pretty +dirty, too, I shouldn’t wonder. Now just you wait while I +look up these here <span class='it'>books</span>’—how he said it!—‘in my list. +Particularly against books the Home Secretary is. If we can’t +stamp out literature in the country, we can at least stop its +being brought in from outside. That’s what he said the +other day in Parliament, and I says “Hear, hear. . . .” +Hullo, hullo, what’s this, may I ask?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Gingerly, as though it might at any moment explode, he +produced and laid on the counter a large pile of type-script.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s a book too,’ said Adam. ‘One I’ve just written. It +is my memoirs.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Ho, it is, is it? Well, I’ll take that along, too, to the chief. +You better come to.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘But I’ve got to catch the train.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You come along. There’s worse things than missing +trains,’ he hinted darkly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They went together into an inner office, the walls of +which were lined with contraband pornography and strange +instruments, whose purpose Adam could not guess. From the +next room came the shrieks and yells of poor Miss Runcible, +who had been mistaken for a well-known jewel smuggler, +and was being stripped to the skin by two terrific wardresses.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Now then, what’s this about books?’ said the chief.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>With the help of a printed list (which began ‘Aristotle, +Works of (Illustrated)’) they went through Adam’s books, +laboriously, one at a time, spelling out the titles.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Miss Runcible came through the office, working hard +with lipstick and compact.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Adam, darling, I never saw you on the boat,’ she said. +‘My dear, I can’t <span class='it'>tell</span> you the <span class='it'>things</span> that have been happening +to me in there. The way they looked . . . too, too +shaming. Positively surgical, my dear, and <span class='it'>such</span> wicked old +women, just like <span class='it'>Dowagers</span>, my dear. As soon as I get to +London I shall ring up every Cabinet Minister and <span class='it'>all</span> the +newspapers and give them all the most shy-making details.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The chief was at this time engrossed in Adam’s memoirs, +giving vent at intervals to a sinister chuckling sound that +was partly triumphant and partly derisive, but in the main +genuinely appreciative.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Coo, Bert,’ he said. ‘Look at this; that’s rich, ain’t it?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Presently he collected the sheets, tied them together and +put them on one side.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, see here,’ he said. ‘You can take these books on +architecture and the dictionary, and I don’t mind stretching +a point for once and letting you have the history books, too. +But this book on Economics comes under Subversive Propaganda. +That you leaves behind. And this here <span class='it'>Purgatorio</span> +doesn’t look right to me, so that stays behind, pending +inquiries. But as for this autobiography, that’s just downright +dirt, and we burns that straight away, see.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘But, good heavens, there isn’t a word in the book—you +must be misinterpreting it.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Not so much of it. I knows dirt when I sees it or I +shouldn’t be where I am to-day.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘But do you realize that my whole livelihood depends on +this book?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘And <span class='it'>my</span> livelihood depends on stopping works like this +coming into the country. Now ’ook it quick if you don’t +want a police-court case.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Adam, angel, don’t fuss or we shall miss the train.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Miss Runcible took his arm and led him back to the +station and told him all about a lovely party that was going +to happen that night.</p> + +<hr class='tbk117'/> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Queer</span>, who felt queer?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You did, Arthur.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No I never . . . just tired.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It certainly was stuffy in there just for a bit.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Wonderful how that old girl cheered things up. Got a +meeting next week in the Albert Hall.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Shouldn’t be surprised if I didn’t go. What do you say, +Mr Henderson?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘She got a troupe of angels, so she said. All dressed up in +white with wings, lovely. Not a bad-looker herself, if it +comes to that.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What did you put in the plate, Arthur?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Half-crown.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘So did I. Funny thing, I ain’t never give a half-crown +like that before. She kind of draws it out of you, damned +if she doesn’t.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You won’t get away from the Albert Hall not without +putting your hand in your pocket.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, but I’d like to see those angels dressed up, eh, Mr +Henderson?’</p> + +<hr class='tbk118'/> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Fanny, surely that is Agatha Runcible, poor Viola +Chasm’s daughter?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I wonder Viola allows her to go about like that. If she +were my daughter. . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Your</span> daughter, Fanny. . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Kitty, that was not kind.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, I only meant . . . have you, by the way, heard +of her lately?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘The last we heard was worse than anything, Kitty. She +has left Buenos Aires. I am afraid she has severed her +connection with Lady Metroland altogether. They think +that she is in some kind of touring company.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Darling, I’m sorry. I should never have mentioned it, +but whenever I see Agatha Runcible I can’t help thinking +. . . girls seem to know so much nowadays. We had to +learn everything for ourselves, didn’t we, Fanny, and it +took so long. If I’d had Agatha Runcible’s chances. . . . +Who is the young man with her?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I don’t know, and, frankly, I don’t think, do you? . . . +He has that self-contained look.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘He has very nice eyes. And he moves well.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I dare say when it came to the point . . . Still, as I say, +if I had had Agatha Runcible’s advantages . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What are you looking for, darling?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Why, darling, such an extraordinary thing. Here <span class='it'>is</span> the +sal volatile next to my brushes all the time.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Fanny, how awful of me, if I’d only known . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I dare say there must have been another bottle you saw +on the dressing-table, sweetest. Perhaps the maid put it +there. You never know at the Lotti, do you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Fanny, forgive me . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘But, dearest, what is there to forgive? After all, you <span class='it'>did +see</span> another bottle, didn’t you, Kitty darling?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Why, look, there’s Miles.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Miles?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Your son, darling. My nephew, you know.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Miles.</span> Do you know, Kitty, I believe it is. He never +comes to see me now, the naughty boy.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, he looks terribly <span class='it'>tapette</span>.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Darling, I know. It is a great grief to me. Only I try +not to think about it too much—he had so little chance with +poor Throbbing what he was.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘The sins of the fathers, Fanny . . .’</p> + +<hr class='tbk119'/> + +<p class='pindent'>Somewhere not far from Maidstone Mr Outrage became +fully conscious. Opposite him in the carriage the two +detectives slept, their bowler hats jammed forwards on +their foreheads, their mouths open, their huge red hands +lying limply in their laps. Rain beat on the windows; the +carriage was intensely cold and smelt of stale tobacco. Inside +there were advertisements of horrible picturesque +ruins; outside in the rain were hoardings advertising +patent medicines and dog biscuits. ‘Every Molassine dog +cake wags a tail,’ Mr Outrage read, and the train repeated +over and over again, ‘Right Honourable gent, Right +Honourable gent, Right Honourable gentleman, Right +Honourable gent . . .’</p> + +<hr class='tbk120'/> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam got into the carriage with the Younger Set. They +still looked a bit queer, but they cheered up wonderfully +when they heard about Miss Runcible’s outrageous treatment +at the hands of the Customs officers.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Well</span>,’ they said, ‘<span class='it'>Well!</span> how too, too shaming, Agatha, +darling,’ they said. ‘How devastating, how un-policeman-like, +how goat-like, how sick-making, how too, too awful.’ +And then they began talking about Archie Schwert’s party +that night.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Who’s Archie Schwert?’ asked Adam.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, he’s someone new since you went away. The <span class='it'>most</span> +bogus man. Miles discovered him, and since then he’s been +climbing and climbing and <span class='it'>climbing</span>, my dear, till he +hardly knows us. He’s rather sweet, really, only too terribly +common, poor darling. He lives at the Ritz, and I think +that’s rather grand, don’t you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Is he giving his party there?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, of course not. In Edward Throbbing’s house. +He’s Miles’ brother, you know, only he’s frightfully dim and +political, and doesn’t know anybody. He got ill and went to +Kenya or somewhere and left his perfectly sheepish house in +Hertford Street, so we’ve all gone to live there. You’d +better come, too. The caretakers didn’t like it a bit at first, +but we gave them drinks and things, and now they’re +simply thrilled to the marrow about it and spend all their +time cutting out “bits”, my dear, from the papers about +our goings on.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘One awful thing is we haven’t got a car. Miles broke it, +Edward’s, I mean, and we simply can’t afford to get it +mended, so I think we shall have to move soon. Everything’s +getting rather broken up, too, and dirty, if you +know what I mean. Because, you see, there aren’t any +servants, only the butler and his wife, and they are always +tight now. So demoralising. Mary Mouse has been a perfect +angel, and sent us great hampers of caviare and things. . . . +She’s paying for Archie’s party to-night, of course.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Do you know, I rather think I’m going to be sick again?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, Miles!’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>(Oh, Bright Young People!)</p> + +<hr class='tbk121'/> + +<p class='pindent'>Packed all together in a second-class carriage, the angels +were late in recovering their good humour.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘She’s taken Prudence off in her car again,’ said Divine +Discontent, who once, for one delirious fortnight, had been +Mrs Ape’s favourite girl. ‘Can’t see what she sees in her. +What’s London like, Fortitude? I never been there but +once.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Just exactly heaven. Shops and all.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What are the men like, Fortitude?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Say, don’t you never think of nothing but <span class='it'>men</span>, Chastity?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I should say I do. I was only asking.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, they ain’t much to look at, not after the shops. +But they has their uses.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Say, did you hear that? You’re a cute one, Fortitude. +Did you hear what Fortitude said? She said “they have +their uses”.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What, shops?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, silly, men.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Men.</span> That’s a good one, I should say.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Presently the train arrived at Victoria, and all these +passengers were scattered all over London.</p> + +<hr class='tbk122'/> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam left his bag at Shepheard’s Hotel, and drove +straight to Henrietta Street to see his publishers. It was +nearly closing time, so that most of the staff had packed up +and gone home, but by good fortune Mr Sam Benfleet, the +junior director with whom Adam always did his business, +was still in his room correcting proofs for one of his women +novelists. He was a competent young man, with a restrained +elegance of appearance (the stenographer always +trembled slightly when she brought him his cup of tea).</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, she can’t print that,’ he kept saying, endorsing one +after another of the printer’s protests. ‘No, damn it, she +can’t print <span class='it'>that</span>. She’ll have us all in prison.’ For it was one +of his most exacting duties to ‘ginger up’ the more reticent +of the manuscripts submitted and ‘tone down’ the more +‘outspoken’ until he had reduced them all to the acceptable +moral standard of his day.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He greeted Adam with the utmost cordiality.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, well, Adam, how are you? This is nice. Sit down. +Have a cigarette. What a day to arrive in London. Did you +have a good crossing?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Not too good.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I say, I <span class='it'>am</span> sorry. Nothing so beastly as a beastly crossing, +is there? Why don’t you come round to dinner at Wimpole +Street to-night? I’ve got some rather nice Americans +coming. Where are you staying?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘At “Shepheard’s”—Lottie Crump’s.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, that’s always fun. I’ve been trying to get an +autobiography out of Lottie for ten years. And that reminds +me. You’re bringing us your manuscript, aren’t you? Old +Rampole was asking about it only the other day. It’s a week +overdue, you know. I hope you’ll like the preliminary +notices we’ve sent out. We’ve fixed the day of publication +for the second week in December, so as to give it a fortnight’s +run before Johnnie Hoop’s autobiography. That’s +going to be a seller. Sails a bit near the wind in places. We +had to cut out some things—you know what old Rampole +is. Johnnie didn’t like it a bit. But I’m looking forward +terribly to reading yours.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, Sam, rather an awful thing happened about +that . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I say, I hope you’re not going to say it’s not finished. +The date on the contract, you know . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, it’s finished all right. Burnt.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Burnt?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Burnt.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What an awful thing. I hope you are insured.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam explained the circumstances of the destruction of +his autobiography. There was a longish pause while Sam +Benfleet thought.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What worries me is how are we going to make that +sound convincing to old Rampole.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I should think it sounded convincing enough.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You don’t know old Rampole. It’s sometimes very difficult +for me, Adam, working under him. Now if I had my +own way I’d say, “Take your own time. Start again. Don’t +worry . . .” But there’s old Rampole. He’s a devil for contracts, +you know, and you did <span class='it'>say</span>, didn’t you . . . ? It’s all +very difficult. You know, I wish it hadn’t happened.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘So do I, oddly enough,’ said Adam.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘There’s another difficulty. You’ve had an advance already, +haven’t you? Fifty pounds, wasn’t it? Well, you +know, <span class='it'>that</span> makes things very difficult. Old Rampole never +likes big advances like that to young authors. You know I +hate to say it, but I can’t help feeling that the best thing +would be for you to repay the advance—plus interest, of +course, old Rampole would insist on that—and cancel the +contract. Then if you ever thought of re-writing the book, +well, of course, we should be delighted to consider it. I +suppose that—well, I mean, it <span class='it'>would</span> be quite <span class='it'>convenient</span>, +and all that, to repay the advance?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Not only inconvenient, but impossible,’ said Adam in no +particular manner.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There was another pause.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Deuced awkward,’ said Sam Benfleet. ‘It’s a shame the +way the Customs House officers are allowed to take the law +into their own hands. Quite ignorant men, too. Liberty of +the subject, I mean, and all that. I tell you what we’ll do. +We’ll start a correspondence about it in the <span class='it'>New Statesman</span>. +. . . It is all so deuced awkward. But I think I can see a way +out. I suppose you could get the book rewritten in time +for the Spring List? Well, we’ll cancel the contract and forget +all about the advance. No, no, my dear fellow, don’t +thank me. If only I was alone here I’d be doing that kind +of thing all day. Now instead we’ll have a new contract. It +won’t be quite so good as the last, I’m afraid. Old Rampole +wouldn’t stand for that. I’ll tell you what, we’ll give you our +standard first-novel contract. I’ve got a printed form here. +It won’t take a minute to fill up. Just sign here.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘May I just see the terms?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Of course, my dear fellow. They look a bit hard at first, +I know, but it’s our usual form. We made a very special +case for you, you know. It’s very simple. No royalty on the +first two thousand, then a royalty of two and a half per cent., +rising to five per cent, on the tenth thousand. We retain +serial, cinema, dramatic, American, Colonial and translation +rights, of course. And, of course, an option on your next +twelve books on the same terms. It’s a very straightforward +arrangement really. Doesn’t leave room for any of the disputes +which embitter the relations of author and publisher. +Most of our authors are working on a contract like that. . . . +Splendid. Now don’t you bother any more about that advance. +I understand <span class='it'>perfectly</span>, and I’ll square old Rampole +somehow, even if it comes out of my director’s fees.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Square old Rampole,’ repeated Mr Benfleet thoughtfully +as Adam went downstairs. It was fortunate, he reflected, +that none of the authors ever came across the senior +partner, that benign old gentleman, who once a week drove +up to board meetings from the country, whose chief interest +in the business was confined to the progress of a little book of +his own about bee-keeping, which they had published +twenty years ago and, though he did not know it, allowed +long ago to drop out of print. He often wondered in his +uneasy moments what he would find to say when Rampole +died.</p> + +<hr class='tbk123'/> + +<p class='pindent'>It was about now that Adam remembered that he was +engaged to be married. The name of his young lady was +Nina Blount. So he went into a tube station to a telephone-box, +which smelt rather nasty, and rang her up.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Hullo.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Hullo.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘May I speak to Miss Blount, please?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’ll just see if she’s in,’ said Miss Blount’s voice. ‘Who’s +speaking, please?’ She was always rather snobbish about the +fiction of having someone to answer the telephone.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Mr Fenwick-Symes.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Adam, you know. . . . How are you, Nina?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, I’ve got rather a pain just at present.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Poor Nina, shall I come round and see you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, don’t do that, darling, because I’m just going to +have a bath. Why don’t we dine together?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, I asked Agatha Runcible to dinner.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Why?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘She’d just had all her clothes taken off by some sailors.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, I know, it’s all in the evening paper to-night. . . . +Well, I’ll tell you what. Let’s meet at Archie Schwert’s +party. Are you going?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I rather said I would.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s all right, then. Don’t dress up. No one will, +except Archie.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, I say. Nina, there’s one thing—I don’t think I shall +be able to marry you after all.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, <span class='it'>Adam</span>, you are a bore. Why not?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘They burnt my book.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Beasts. Who did?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’ll tell you about it to-night.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, <span class='it'>do</span>. Good-bye, darling.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Good-bye, my sweet.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He hung up the receiver and left the telephone-box. +People had crowded into the Underground station for +shelter from the rain, and were shaking their umbrellas +and reading their evening papers. Adam could see the +headlines over their shoulders.</p> + +<div class='lgc' style='margin-top:1em;margin-bottom:1em;'> <!-- rend=';' --> +<p class='line0'>PEER’S DAUGHTER’S DOVER ORDEAL</p> +<p class='line0'>SERIOUS ALLEGATIONS BY SOCIETY</p> +<p class='line0'>BEAUTY</p> +<p class='line0'>HON. A. RUNCIBLE SAYS ‘TOO</p> +<p class='line0'>SHAMING’</p> +</div> <!-- end rend --> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Poor pretty,’ said an indignant old woman at his elbow. +‘Disgraceful, I calls it. And such a good sweet face. I see +her picture in the papers only yesterday. Nasty prying +minds. That’s what they got. And her poor father and all. +Look, Jane, there’s a piece about him, too. “Interviewed +at the Carlton Club this evening, Lord Chasm,” that’s her +dad, “refused to make a definite statement. ‘The matter +shall not be allowed to rest here,’ he said.” <span class='it'>And</span> quite right, +too, I says. You know I feels about that girl just as though +it was me own daughter. Seeing her picture so often and our +Sarah having done the back stairs, Tuesdays, at them flats +where her aunt used to live—the one as had that ’orrible +divorce last year.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam bought a paper. He had just ten shillings left in the +world. It was too wet to walk, so he took a very crowded +tube train to Dover Street and hurried across in the rain to +Shepheard’s Hotel (which, for the purposes of the narrative, +may be assumed to stand at the corner of Hay Hill).</p> + +<div><h1><span class='it'>Chapter Three</span></h1></div> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='dropcap'>L</span>ottie Crump, proprietress of Shepheard’s Hotel, Dover +Street, attended invariably by two Cairn terriers, is a happy +reminder to us that the splendours of the Edwardian era +were not entirely confined to Lady Anchorage or Mrs Blackwater. +She is a fine figure of a woman, singularly unscathed +by any sort of misfortune and superbly oblivious of those +changes in the social order which agitate the more observant +<span class='it'>grandes dames</span> of her period. When the war broke out she +took down the signed photograph of the Kaiser and, with +some solemnity, hung it in the men-servants’ lavatory; it +was her one combative action; since then she has had her +worries—income-tax forms and drink restrictions and +young men whose fathers she used to know, who give her +bad cheques, but these have been soon forgotten; one can +go to Shepheard’s parched with modernity any day, if +Lottie likes one’s face, and still draw up, cool and uncontaminated, +great, healing draughts from the well of +Edwardian certainty.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Shepheard’s has a plain, neatly pointed brick front and +large, plain doorway. Inside it is like a country house. Lottie +is a great one for sales, and likes, whenever one of the +great houses of her day is being sold up, to take away something +for old times’ sake. There is a good deal too much +furniture at Shepheard’s, some of it rare, some of it +hideous beyond description; there is plenty of red plush and +red morocco and innumerable wedding presents of the +’eighties; in particular many of those massive, mechanical +devices covered with crests and monograms, and associated +in some way with cigars. It is the sort of house in which one +expects to find croquet mallets and polo sticks in the +bathroom, and children’s toys at the bottom of one’s chest of +drawers, and an estate map and an archery target—exuding +straw—and a bicycle and one of those walking-sticks which +turn into saws, somewhere in passages, between baize +doors, smelling of damp. (As a matter of fact, all you are +likely to find in your room at Lottie’s is an empty champagne +bottle or two and a crumpled camisole.)</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The servants, like the furniture, are old and have seen +aristocratic service. Doge, the head waiter, who is hard of +hearing, partially blind, and tortured with gout, was once +a Rothschild’s butler. He had, in fact, on more than one +occasion in Father Rothschild’s youth, dandled him on his +knee, when he came with his father (at one time the +fifteenth richest man in the world) to visit his still richer +cousins, but it would be unlike him to pretend that he ever +really liked the embryo Jesuit who was ‘too clever by half’, +given to asking extraordinary questions, and endowed with +a penetrating acumen in the detection of falsehood and +exaggeration.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Besides Doge, there are innumerable old housemaids +always trotting about with cans of hot water and clean +towels. There is also a young Italian who does most of the +work and gets horribly insulted by Lottie, who once caught +him powdering his nose, and will not let him forget it. +Indeed, it is one of the few facts in Lottie’s recent experience +that seems always accessible.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Lottie’s parlour, in which most of the life of Shepheard’s +centres, contains a comprehensive collection of signed photographs. +Most of the male members of the royal families of +Europe are represented (except the ex-Emperor of Germany +who has not been reinstated, although there was a distinct +return of sentiment towards him on the occasion of his +second marriage). There are photographs of young men on +horses riding in steeple-chases, of elderly men leading in +the winners of ‘classic’ races, of horses alone and of young +men alone, dressed in tight, white collars or in the uniform +of the Brigade of Guards. There are caricatures by ‘Spy’, +and photographs cut from illustrated papers, many of them +with brief obituary notices, ‘killed in action’. There are +photographs of yachts in full sail and of elderly men in +yachting caps; there are some funny pictures of the earliest +kind of motor car. There are very few writers or painters +and no actors, for Lottie is true to the sound old snobbery of +pound sterling and strawberry leaves.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Lottie was standing in the hall abusing the Italian waiter +when Adam arrived.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well,’ she said, ‘you are a stranger. Come along in. +We were just thinking about having a little drink. You’ll +find a lot of your friends here.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She led Adam into the parlour, where they found several +men, none of whom Adam had ever seen before.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You all know Lord Thingummy, don’t you?’ said Lottie.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Mr Symes,’ said Adam.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, dear, that’s what I said. Bless you, I knew you +before you were born. How’s your father? Not dead, is he?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, I’m afraid he is.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, I never. I could tell you some things about him. +Now let me introduce you—that’s Mr What’s-his-name, +you remember him, don’t you? And over there in the corner, +that’s the Major, and there’s Mr What-d’you-call-him, +and that’s an American, and there’s the King of Ruritania.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Alas, no longer,’ said a sad, bearded man.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Poor chap,’ said Lottie Crump, who always had a weak +spot for royalty, even when deposed. ‘It’s a shame. They +gave him the boot after the war. Hasn’t got a penny. Not +that he ever did have much. His wife’s locked up in a looney +house, too.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Poor Maria Christina. It is true how Mrs Crump says. +Her brains, they are quite gone out. All the time she thinks +everyone is a bomb.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It’s perfectly true, poor old girl,’ said Lottie with relish. +‘I drove the King down Saturday to see her . . . (I won’t +have him travelling third class). It fair brought tears to my +eyes. Kept skipping about all the time, she did, dodging. +Thought they were throwing things at her.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It is one strange thing, too,’ said the King. ‘All my +family they have bombs thrown at them, but the Queen, +never. My poor Uncle Joseph he blow all to bits one night at +the opera, and my sister she find three bombs in her bed. +But my wife, never. But one day her maid is brushing her +hair before dinner, and she said, “Madam,” she said, “the +cook has had lesson from the cook at the French Legation”—the +food at my home was not what you call <span class='it'>chic</span>. One day +it was mutton hot, then mutton cold, then the same mutton +hot again, but less nicer, not <span class='it'>chic</span>, you understand me—“he +has had lesson from the French cook,” the maid say, “and +he has made one big bomb as a surprise for your dinner party +to-night for the Swedish Minister.” Then the poor +Queen say “Oh”, like so, and since then always her poor +brains has was all no-how.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The ex-King of Ruritania sighed heavily and lit a cigar.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well,’ said Lottie, brushing aside a tear, ‘what about +a little drink? Here, you over there, your Honour Judge +What’s-your-name, how about a drink for the gentlemen?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The American, who, like all the listeners, had been profoundly +moved by the ex-King’s recitation, roused himself +to bow and say, ‘I shall esteem it a great honour if His +Majesty and yourself, Mrs Crump, and these other good +gentlemen . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s the way,’ said Lottie. ‘Hi, there, where’s my +Fairy Prince? Powdering hisself again, I suppose. Come +here, Nancy, and put away the beauty cream.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>In came the waiter.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Bottle of wine,’ said Lottie, ‘with Judge Thingummy +there.’ (Unless specified in detail, all drinks are champagne +in Lottie’s parlour. There is also a mysterious game played +with dice which always ends with someone giving a bottle +of wine to every one in the room, but Lottie has an equitable +soul and she generally sees to it, in making up the bills, that +the richest people pay for everything.)</p> + +<p class='pindent'>After the third or fourth bottle of wine Lottie said, +‘Who d’you think we’ve got dining upstairs to-night? <span class='it'>Prime +Minister.</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Me, I have never liked Prime Ministers. They talk and +talk and then they talk more. “Sir, you must sign that.” +“Sir, you must go here and there.” “Sir, you must do up +that button before you give audience to the black plenipotentiary +from Liberia.” Pah! After the war my people +give me the bird, yes, but they throw my Prime Minister +out of the window, bump right bang on the floor. Ha, ha.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘He ain’t alone either,’ said Lottie with a terrific wink.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What, Sir James Brown?’ said the Major, shocked in spite +of himself. ‘I don’t believe it.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, name of Outrage.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘He’s not Prime Minister.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, he is. I saw it in the paper.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, he’s not. He went out of office last week.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well I never. How they keep changing. I’ve no patience +with it. Doge. Doge. What’s the Prime Minister’s name?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Beg pardon, mum.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What’s the name of the Prime Minister?</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Not to-night, I don’t think, mum, not as I’ve been informed +anyway.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What’s the name of the Prime Minister, you stupid old +man?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, I beg your pardon, mum. I didn’t quite hear you. +Sir James Brown, mum, Bart. A very nice gentleman, so +I’ve been told. Conservative, I’ve heard said. Gloucestershire +they come from, I think.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘There, what did I say?’ said Lottie triumphantly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It is one very extraordinary thing, your British Constitution,’ +said the ex-King of Ruritania. ‘All the time when +I was young they taught me nothing but British Constitution. +My tutor had been a master at your Eton school. And +now when I come to England always there is a different +Prime Minister and no one knows which is which.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, sir,’ said the Major, ‘that’s because of the Liberal +Party.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Liberals? Yes. We, too, had Liberals. I tell you something +now, I had a gold fountain-pen. My godfather, the +good Archduke of Austria, give me one gold fountain-pen +with eagles on him. I loved my gold fountain-pen.’ Tears +stood in the King’s eyes. Champagne was a rare luxury to +him now. ‘I loved very well my pen with the little eagles. +And one day there was a Liberal Minister. A Count Tampen, +one man, Mrs Crump, of exceedingly evilness. He come to +talk to me and he stood at my little escritoire and he thump +and talk too much about somethings I not understand, and +when he go—where was my gold fountain-pen with eagles—gone +too.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Poor old King,’ said Lottie. ‘I tell you what. You have +another drink.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . Esteem it a great honour,’ said the American, ‘if +your Majesty and these gentlemen and Mrs Crump . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Doge, tell my little love-bird to come hopping in . . . +you there, Judge wants another bottle of wine.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . Should honour it a great esteem . . . esteem it a +great honour if Mrs Majesty and these gentlemen and His +Crump . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s all right, Judge. Another bottle coming.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . Should esteem it a great Crump if his honour and +these Majesties and Mrs Gentlemen . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, yes, that’s all right, Judge. Don’t let him fall down, +boys. Bless me, how these Americans do drink.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . I should Crump it a great Majesty if Mrs Esteem +. . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>And his Honour Judge Skimp of the Federal High Court +began to laugh rather a lot. (It must be remembered in all +these people’s favour that none of them had yet dined.)</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Now there was a very bland, natty, moustachioed young +man sitting there who had been drinking away quietly in +the corner without talking to anyone except for an occasional +‘Cheerio’ to Judge Skimp. Suddenly he got up and +said:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Bet-you-can’t-do-this.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He put three halfpennies on the table, moved them about +very deliberately for a bit, and then looked up with an expression +of pride. ‘Only touched each halfpenny five times, +and changed their positions twice,’ he said. ‘Do-it-again if +you like.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, isn’t he a clever boy?’ said Lottie. ‘Wherever did +they teach you that?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Chap-in-a-train showed me,’ he said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It didn’t look very hard,’ said Adam.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Just-you-try. Bet-you-anything-you-like you can’t do it.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘How much will you bet?’ Lottie loved this kind of +thing.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Anything-you-like. Five hundred pounds.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Go on,’ said Lottie. ‘You do it. He’s got lots of money.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘All right,’ said Adam.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He took the halfpennies and moved them about just as +the young man had done. When he finished he said, ‘How’s +that?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well I’m jiggered,’ said the young man. ‘Never saw +anyone do it like that before. I’ve won a lot of money this +week with that trick. Here you are.’ And he took out a note-case +and gave Adam a five-hundred-pound note. Then he sat +down in his corner again.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well,’ said Lottie with approval, ‘that’s sporting. Give +the boys a drink for that.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So they all had another drink.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Presently the young man stood up again.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Toss you double-or-quits,’ he said. ‘Best-out-of-three.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘All right,’ said Adam.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They tossed twice and Adam won both times.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well I’m jiggered,’ said the young man, handing over +another note. ‘You’re a lucky chap.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘He’s got pots of money,’ said Lottie. ‘A thousand pounds +is nothing to him.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She liked to feel like that about all her guests. Actually +in this young man’s case she was wrong. He happened to +have all that money in his pocket because he had just sold +out his few remaining securities to buy a new motor car. +So next day he bought a second-hand motor bicycle instead.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam felt a little dizzy, so he had another drink.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘D’you mind if I telephone?’ he said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He rang up Nina Blount.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Is that Nina?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Adam, dear, you’re tight already.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘How d’you know?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I can hear it. What is it? I’m just going out to dinner.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I just rang up to say that it’s all right about our getting +married. I’ve got a thousand pounds.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh good. How?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’ll tell you when we meet. Where are you dining?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Ritz. Archie. Darling. I <span class='it'>am</span> glad about our getting +married.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘So am I. But don’t let’s get intense about it.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I wasn’t, and anyway you’re tight.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He went back to the parlour. Miss Runcible had arrived +and was standing in the hall very much dressed up.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Who’s that tart?’ asked Lottie.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s not a tart, Lottie, that’s Agatha Runcible.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Looks like a tart. How do you do, my dear, come in. +We’re just thinking of having a little drink. You know +everyone here, of course, don’t you? That’s the King with +the beard. . . . No, dearie, the King of Ruritania. You +didn’t mind my taking you for a tart, did you, dear? You +look so like one, got up like that. Of course, I can see you +aren’t now.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>My dear</span>,’ said Miss Runcible, ‘if you’d seen me this +afternoon . . .’ and she began to tell Lottie Crump about +the Customs House.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What would you do if you suddenly got a thousand +pounds?’ Adam asked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘A thousand <span class='it'>pound</span>,’ said the King, his eyes growing +dreamy at this absurd vision. ‘Well, first I should buy a +house and a motor car and a yacht and a new pair of gloves, +and then I would start one little newspaper in my country +to say that I must come back and be the King, and then I +don’t know what I do, but I have such fun and grandness +again.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘But you can’t do all that with a thousand pounds, you +know, sir.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No . . . can’t I not? . . . not with thousand pound. . . . +Oh, well, then I think I buy a gold pen with eagles on him +like the Liberals stole.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I know what I’d do,’ said the Major. ‘I’d put it on a +horse.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What horse?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I can tell you a likely outsider for the November +Handicap. Horse named Indian Runner. It’s at twenty to one +at present, and the odds are likely to lengthen. Now if you +were to put a thousand on him to win and he won, why you’d +be rich, wouldn’t you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, so I would. How marvellous. D’you know, I think +I’ll do that. It’s a <span class='it'>very</span> good idea. How can I do it?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Just you give me the thousand and I’ll arrange it.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I say, that’s awfully nice of you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Not at all.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, really, I think that’s frightfully nice of you. Look, +here’s the money. Have a drink, won’t you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, you have one with me.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I said it first.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Let’s both have one, then.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Wait a minute though, I must go and telephone about +this.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He rang up the Ritz and got on to Nina.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Darling, you do telephone a lot, don’t you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Nina, I’ve something very important to say.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, darling.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Nina, have you heard of a horse called Indian Runner?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, I think so. Why?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What sort of a horse is it?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, quite the worst sort of horse. Mary Mouse’s +mother owns it.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Not a good horse?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Not likely to win the November Handicap, I mean.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Quite sure not to. I don’t suppose it’ll run even. Why?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I say, Nina, d’you know I don’t think we shall be able to +get married after all.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Why not, my sweet?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You see, I’ve put my thousand pounds on Indian +Runner.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That was silly. Can’t you get it back?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I gave it to a Major.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What sort of a Major?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Rather a drunk one. I don’t know his name.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, I should try and catch him. I must go back and +eat now. Good-bye.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But when he got back to Lottie’s parlour the Major was +gone.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What Major?’ said Lottie, when he asked about him. +‘I never saw a Major.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘The one you introduced me to in the corner.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘How d’you know he’s a Major?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You said he was.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear boy, I’ve never seen him before. Now I come to +think of it, he did look like a Major, didn’t he? But this +sweet little girlie here is telling me a story. Go on, my +dear. I can hardly bear to hear it, it’s so wicked.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>While Miss Runcible finished her story (which began to +sound each time she told it more and more like the most +lubricious kind of anti-Turkish propaganda) the ex-King of +Ruritania told Adam about a Major <span class='it'>he</span> had known, who +had come from Prussia to reorganize the Ruritanian Army. +He had disappeared south, taking with him all the mess +plate of the Royal Guard, and the Lord Chamberlain’s +wife, and a valuable pair of candlesticks from the Chapel +Royal.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>By the time Miss Runcible had finished, Lottie was in a +high state of indignation.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘The very idea of it,’ she said. ‘The dirty hounds. And +I used to know your poor father, too, before you were born +<span class='it'>or</span> thought of. I’ll talk to the Prime Minister about this,’ +she said, taking up the telephone. ‘Give me Outrage,’ she +said to the exchange boy. ‘He’s up in number twelve with a +Japanese.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Outrage isn’t Prime Minister, Lottie.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Of course he is. Didn’t Doge say so. . . . Hullo, is that +Outrage? This is Lottie. A fine chap you are, I don’t think. +Tearing the clothes off the back of a poor innocent girl.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Lottie prattled on.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mr Outrage had finished dinner, and, as a matter of fact, +the phrasing of this accusation was not wholly inappropriate +to his mood. It was some minutes before he began to realize +that all this talk was only about Miss Runcible. By that +time Lottie’s flow of invective had come to an end, but she +finished finely.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Outrage your name, and Outrage your nature,’ she +said, banging down the receiver. ‘And that’s what I think +of <span class='it'>him</span>. Now how about a little drink?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But her party was breaking up. The Major was gone. +Judge Skimp was sleeping, his fine white hair in an ash-tray. +Adam and Miss Runcible were talking about where +they would dine. Soon only the King remained. He gave +her his arm with a grace he had acquired many years ago; +far away in his sunny little palace, under a great chandelier +which scattered with stars of light like stones from a broken +necklace, a crimson carpet woven with a pattern of crowned +ciphers.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So Lottie and the King went in to dinner together.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Upstairs in No. 12, which is a suite of notable grandeur, +Mr Outrage was sliding back down the path of self-confidence +he had so laboriously climbed. He really would have +brought matters to a crisis if it had not been for that telephone, +he told himself, but now the Baroness was saying she +was sure he was busy, must be wanting her to go: would he +order her car.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was so difficult. For a European the implications of an +invitation to dinner <span class='it'>tête-à-tête</span> in a private room at Shepheard’s +were definitely clear. Her acceptance on the first +night of his return to England had thrown him into a +flutter of expectation. But all through dinner she had been +so self-possessed, so supremely social. Yet, surely, just before +the telephone rang, surely then, when they left the table +and moved to the fire, there had been <span class='it'>something</span> in the +atmosphere. But you never know with Orientals. He clutched +his knees and said in a voice which sounded very extraordinary +to him, must she go, it was lovely after a fortnight, +and then, desperately, he had thought of her in Paris such +a lot. (Oh, for words, words! That massed treasury of speech +that was his to squander at will, to send bowling and spinning +in golden pieces over the floor of the House of Commons; +that glorious largesse of vocables he cast far and wide, +in ringing handfuls about his constituency!)</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The little Baroness Yoshiwara, her golden hands clasped +in the lap of her golden Paquin frock, sat where she had +been sent, more puzzled than Mr Outrage, waiting for +orders. What did the clever Englishman want? If he was +busy with his telephone, why did he not send her away; +tell her another time to come: if he wanted to be loved, +why did he not tell her to come over to him? Why did he +not pick her out of her red plush chair and sit her on his +knee? Was she, perhaps, looking ugly to-night? She had +thought not. It was so hard to know what these Occidentals +wanted.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then the telephone rang again.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Will you hold on a minute? Father Rothschild wants to +speak to you,’ said a voice. ‘. . . Is that you, Outrage? Will +you be good enough to come round and see me as soon as +you can? There are several things which I must discuss with +you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Really, Rothschild . . . I don’t see why I should. I have +a guest.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘The baroness had better return immediately. The waiter +who brought you your coffee has a brother at the Japanese +Embassy.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Good God, has he? But why don’t you go and worry +Brown? He’s P.M., you know, not me.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You will be in office to-morrow. . . . As soon as possible, +please, at my usual address.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, all right.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Why, of course.’</p> + +<div><h1><span class='it'>Chapter Four</span></h1></div> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='dropcap'>A</span>t Archie Schwert’s party the fifteenth Marquess of +Vanburgh, Earl Vanburgh de Brendon, Baron Brendon, +Lord of the Five Isles and Hereditary Grand Falconer to the +Kingdom of Connaught, said to the eighth Earl of Balcairn, +Viscount Erdinge, Baron Cairn of Balcairn, Red Knight of +Lancaster, Count of the Holy Roman Empire and Chenonceaux +Herald to the Duchy of Aquitaine, ‘Hullo,’ he said. +‘Isn’t this a repulsive party? What are you going to say about +it?’ for they were both of them, as it happened, gossip +writers for the daily papers.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’ve just telephoned my story through,’ said Lord Balcairn. +‘And now I’m going, thank God.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I can’t think of what to say,’ said Lord Vanburgh. ‘My +editress said yesterday she was tired of seeing the same +names over and over again—and here they are again, all +of them. There’s Nina Blount’s engagement being broken +off, but she’s not got any publicity value to speak of. Agatha +Runcible’s usually worth a couple of paragraphs, but they’re +featuring her as a front-page news story to-morrow over +this Customs House business.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I made rather a good thing over Edward Throbbing being +in a log shanty in Canada which he built himself with the help +of one Red Indian. I thought that was fairly good because, +you see, I could contrast that with Miles being dressed as +a Red Indian to-night, don’t you think so, or don’t you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I say, that’s rather good, may I use it?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, you can have the shanty, but the Red Indian’s mine.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Where is he actually?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Heaven knows, Government House at Ottawa, I think.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Who’s that awful-looking woman? I’m sure she’s famous +in some way. It’s not Mrs Melrose Ape, is it? I heard she +was coming.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Who?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That one. Making up to Nina.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Good lord, no. She’s no one. Mrs Panrast she’s called now.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘She seems to know you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, I’ve known her all my life. As a matter of fact, +she’s my mother.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, how too shaming. D’you mind if I put that in?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’d sooner you didn’t. The family can’t bear her. She’s +been divorced twice since then, you know.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, of course not, I quite understand.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Five minutes later he was busy at the telephone dictating +his story. ‘. . . Orchid stop, new paragraph. One of +the most striking women in the room was Mrs Panrast—P-A-N-R-A-S-T-, +no, T for telephone, you know—formerly +Countess of Balcairn. She dresses with that severely +masculine chic, italics, which American women know so +well how to assume, stop. Her son, comma, the present +Earl, comma, was with her, stop. Lord Balcairn is one of +the few young men about town. . . .</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . the Hon. Miles Malpractice was dressed as a Red +Indian. He is at present living in the house of his brother, +Lord Throbbing, at which yesterday’s party was held. His +choice of costume was particularly—what shall I say? +hullo, yes—was particularly piquant, italics, since the latest +reports of Lord Throbbing say that he is living in a log +shack in Canada which he built with his own hands, aided +by one Red Indian servant, stop. . . .’</p> + +<hr class='tbk124'/> + +<p class='pindent'>You see, that was the kind of party Archie Schwert’s +party was.</p> + +<hr class='tbk125'/> + +<p class='pindent'>Miss Mouse (in a very enterprising frock by Cheruit) sat +on a chair with her eyes popping out of her head. She never +<span class='it'>could</span> get used to so much excitement, never. To-night +she had brought a little friend with her—a Miss Brown—because +it was so much more fun if one had some one to talk +to. It was too thrilling to see all that dull money her father +had amassed, metamorphosed in this way into so much +glitter and noise and so many bored young faces. Archie +Schwert, as he passed, champagne bottle in hand, paused to +say, ‘How are you, Mary darling? Quite all right?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s Archie Schwert,’ said Miss Mouse to Miss Brown. +‘Isn’t he too clever?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Is he?’ said Miss Brown, who would have liked a drink, +but didn’t know quite how to set about it. ‘You <span class='it'>are</span> lucky +to know such amusing people, Mary darling. I never see +any one.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Wasn’t the invitation clever? Johnnie Hoop wrote it.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, yes, I suppose it was. But you know, was it dreadful +of me, I hadn’t heard of any of the names.’<a id='rA'/><a href='#fA' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[A]</span></sup></a></p> + +<hr class='footnotemark'/> + +<div class='footnote'> +<p class='footnote'> +<span class='footnote-id' id='fA'><a href='#rA'>[A]</a></span> + +Perhaps it should be explained—there were at this time three +sorts of formal invitation card; there was the nice sensible copybook +hand sort with a name and <span class='it'>At Home</span> and a date and time and +address; then there was the sort that came from Chelsea, <span class='it'>Noel and +Audrey are having a little whoopee on Saturday evening: do please +come and bring a bottle too, if you can</span>; and finally there was the +sort that Johnnie Hoop used to adapt from <span class='it'>Blast</span> and Marinetti’s +<span class='it'>Futurist Manifesto</span>. These had two columns of close print; in one +was a list of all the things Johnnie hated, and in the other all the +things he thought he liked. Most of the parties which Miss Mouse +financed had invitations written by Johnnie Hoop.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class='footnotemark'/> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, of course you have,’ said Miss Mouse, feeling +somewhere in her depths—those unplumbed places in Miss +Mouse’s soul—a tiny, most unaccustomed flicker of superiority; +for she had gone through that invitation word by +word in papa’s library some days ago and knew all about it.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She almost wished in this new mood of exaltation that +she had come to the party in fancy dress. It was called a +Savage party, that is to say that Johnnie Hoop had written +on the invitation that they were to come dressed as savages. +Numbers of them had done so; Johnnie himself in a mask +and black gloves represented the Maharanee of Pukkapore, +somewhat to the annoyance of the Maharajah, who happened +to drop in. The real aristocracy, the younger members +of those two or three great brewing families which rule +London, had done nothing about it. They had come on from +a dance and stood in a little group by themselves, aloof, +amused but not amusing. Pit-a-pat went the heart of Miss +Mouse. How she longed to tear down her dazzling frock to +her hips and dance like a Bacchante before them all. One +day she would surprise them all, thought Miss Mouse.</p> + +<hr class='tbk126'/> + +<p class='pindent'>There was a famous actor making jokes (but it was not +so much what he said as the way he said it that made the +people laugh who did laugh). ‘I’ve come to the party as a +wild widower,’ he said. They were that kind of joke—but, +of course, he made a droll face when he said it.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Miss Runcible had changed into Hawaiian costume and +was the life and soul of the evening.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She had heard some one say something about an Independent +Labour Party, and was furious that she had not been +asked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There were two men with a lot of explosive powder +taking photographs in another room. Their flashes and +bangs had rather a disquieting effect on the party, causing +a feeling of tension, because every one looked negligent +and said what a bore the papers were, and how <span class='it'>too</span> like +Archie to let the photographers come, but most of them as a +matter of fact wanted dreadfully to be photographed and +the others were frozen with unaffected terror that they +might be taken unawares and then their mamas would +know where they had been when they said they were at +the Bicesters’ dance, and then there would be a row again, +which was so <span class='it'>exhausting</span>, if nothing else.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There were Adam and Nina getting rather sentimental.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘D’you know,’ she said, pulling out a lump, ‘I’d quite +made up my mind that your hair was dark?’ Archie Schwert, +pausing with a bottle of champagne, said, ‘Don’t be +so sadistic, Nina.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Go away, hog’s rump,’ said Adam, in Cockney, adding, +in softer tones, ‘Are you disappointed?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, no, but it’s rather disconcerting getting engaged +to some one with dark hair and finding it’s fair.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Anyway, we aren’t engaged any more, are we—or are +we?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m not sure that we’re not. How much money <span class='it'>have</span> you, +Adam?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Literally, none, my dear. Poor Agatha had to pay for +dinner as it was, and God knows what I’m going to do about +Lottie Crump’s bill.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Of course, you know—Adam, don’t fall asleep—there’s +always papa. I believe he’s really much richer than he looks. +He might give us some money until your books start +paying.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You know, if I wrote a book a month I should be free +of that contract in a year. . . . I hadn’t thought of that +before. I don’t at all see why I shouldn’t do that, do you? +. . . or do you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Of course not, darling. I’ll tell you what. We’ll go down +and see papa to-morrow, shall we?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, that would be divine, darling.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Adam, don’t go to sleep.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Sorry, darling, what I meant was that that would be +divine.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>And he went to sleep for a little, with his head in her +lap.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Pretty as a picture,’ said Archie, in Cockney, passing +with a bottle of champagne in his hand.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Wake up, Adam,’ said Nina, pulling out more hair. +‘It’s time to go.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That would be divine. . . . I say, have I been asleep?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, for hours and hours. You looked rather sweet.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘And you sat there. . . . I say, Nina, you are getting +sentimental. . . . Where are we going?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There were about a dozen people left at the party; that +hard kernel of gaiety that never breaks. It was about three +o’clock.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Let’s go to Lottie Crump’s and have a drink,’ said Adam.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So they all got into two taxicabs and drove across Berkeley +Square to Dover Street. But at Shepheard’s the night porter +said that Mrs Crump had just gone to bed. He thought that +Judge Skimp was still up with some friends; would they +like to join them? They went up to Judge Skimp’s suite, but +there had been a disaster there with a chandelier that one of +his young ladies had tried to swing on. They were bathing +her forehead with champagne; two of them were asleep.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So Adam’s party went out again, into the rain.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Of course, there’s always the Ritz,’ said Archie. ‘I +believe the night porter can usually get one a drink.’ But +he said it in the sort of voice that made all the others say, +no, the Ritz was too, too boring at that time of night.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They went to Agatha Runcible’s house, which was quite +near, but she found that she’d lost her latchkey, so that +was no good. Soon some one would say those fatal words, +‘Well, I think it’s time for me to go to bed. Can I give any +one a lift to Knightsbridge?’ and the party would be over.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But instead a little breathless voice said, ‘Why don’t +you come to <span class='it'>my</span> house?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was Miss Brown.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So they all got into taxicabs again and drove rather a +long way to Miss Brown’s house. She turned on the lights +in a sombre dining-room and gave them glasses of whisky +and soda. (She turned out to be rather a good hostess, +though over-zealous.) Then Miles said he wanted something +to eat, so they all went downstairs into a huge kitchen lined +with every shape of pot and pan and found some eggs and +some bacon and Miss Brown cooked them. Then they had +some more whisky upstairs and Adam feel asleep again. +Presently Vanburgh said, ‘D’you mind if I use the telephone? +I must just send the rest of my story to the paper.’ +Miss Brown took him to a study that looked almost like an +office, and he dictated the rest of his column, and then he +came back and had some more whisky.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was a lovely evening for Miss Brown. Flushed with +successful hospitality, she trotted from guest to guest, +offering here a box of matches, there a cigar, there a fruit +from the enormous gilt dishes on the sideboard. To think +that all these brilliant people, whom she had heard so much +about, with what envy, from Miss Mouse, should be here in +papa’s dining-room, calling her ‘my dear’ and ‘darling’. And +when at last they said they really had to go, Miss Runcible +said, ‘Well, <span class='it'>I</span> can’t go, because I’ve lost my latchkey. D’you +mind awfully if I sleep here?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Miss Brown, her heart in her mouth, but in the most +natural way possible, said, ‘Of course not, Agatha darling, +that would be divine.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>And then Miss Runcible said, ‘How too divine of you, +darling.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>Rapture!</span></p> + +<hr class='tbk127'/> + +<p class='pindent'>At half-past nine the next morning the Brown family +came down to breakfast in the dining-room.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There were four quiet girls (of whom the Miss Brown +who had given the party was the youngest), their brother +worked in a motor shop and had had to get off early. +They were seated at the table when their mama came +down.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Now, children,’ she said, ‘do try to remember to talk +to your father at breakfast. He was quite hurt yesterday. +He feels out of things. It’s so easy to bring him into the +conversation if you take a little trouble, and he does so +enjoy hearing about everything.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, Mama,’ they said. ‘We do try, you know.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘And what was the Bicesters’ dance like, Jane?’ she said, +pouring out some coffee. ‘Did you have a good time?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It was just too divine,’ said the youngest Miss +Brown.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It was <span class='it'>what</span>, Jane?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I mean it was <span class='it'>lovely</span>, Mama.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘So I should think. You girls are very lucky nowadays. +There were not nearly so many dances when I was your +age. Perhaps two a week in the season, you know, but <span class='it'>none</span> +before Christmas ever.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Mama.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, Jane.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Mama. I asked a girl to stay the night.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, dear. When? We’re rather full up, you know.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Last night, Mama.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What an extraordinary thing to do. Did she accept?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, she’s here now.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Well</span>. . . . Ambrose, will you tell Mrs Sparrow to put +on another egg?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m very sorry, my lady, Mrs Sparrow can’t understand +it, but there <span class='it'>are</span> no eggs this morning. She thinks there +must have been burglars.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Nonsense, Ambrose, who ever heard of burglars coming +into a house to steal eggs?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘The shells were all over the floor, my lady.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I see. That’s all, thank you, Ambrose. Well, Jane, has +your guest eaten all our eggs too?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, I’m afraid she has . . . at least . . . I mean.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>At this moment Agatha Runcible came down to breakfast. +She was not looking her best really in the morning +light.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Good morning, all,’ she said in Cockney. ‘I’ve found the +right room at last. D’you know, I popped into a study or +something. There was a sweet old boy sitting at a desk. +He <span class='it'>did</span> look surprised to see me. Was it your papa?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘This is Mama,’ said Jane.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘How are you?’ said Miss Runcible. ‘I say, I think it’s +quite too sweet of you to let me come down to breakfast like +this.’ (It must be remembered that she was still in Hawaiian +costume.) ‘Are you sure you’re not <span class='it'>furious</span> with me? +All this is really much more embarrassing for <span class='it'>me</span>, isn’t it, +don’t you think . . . or don’t you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Do you take tea or coffee?’ at last Jane’s mother managed +to say. ‘Jane, dear, give your friend some breakfast.’ For in +the course of a long public life she had formed the opinion +that a judicious offer of food eased most social situations.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then Jane’s father came in.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Martha, the most extraordinary thing! . . . I think I +must be losing my reason. I was in my study just now going +over that speech for this afternoon, when suddenly the door +opened and in came a sort of dancing Hottentot woman +half-naked. It just said, “Oh, how shy-making,” and then +disappeared, and . . . oh . . .’ For he had suddenly caught +sight of Miss Runcible ‘. . . oh . . . how do you do? . . . +How . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I don’t think you have met my husband before.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Only for a second,’ said Miss Runcible.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I hope you slept well,’ said Jane’s father desperately.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Martha never told me we had a guest. Forgive me if I +appeared inhospitable . . . I—er . . . Oh, why doesn’t somebody +else say something.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Miss Runcible, too, was feeling the strain. She picked up +the morning paper.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Here’s something terribly funny,’ she said, by way of +making conversation. ‘Shall I read it to you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘ “<span class='it'>Midnight Orgies at No. 10.</span>” My dear, isn’t that divine? +Listen, “<span class='it'>What must be the most extraordinary party of the +little season took place in the small hours of this morning at +No. 10, Downing Street. At about 4 a.m. the policemen who +are always posted outside the Prime Minister’s residence were +surprised to witness</span>”—Isn’t this too amusing—“<span class='it'>the arrival +of a fleet of taxis, from which emerged a gay throng in +exotic fancy dress</span>”—How I should have loved to have seen +it. Can’t you imagine what they were like?—“<span class='it'>the hostess +of what was described by one of the guests as the brightest +party the Bright Young People have yet given, was no other +than Miss Jane Brown, the youngest of the Prime Minister’s +four lovely daughters. The Honourable Agatha . . .</span>” Why, +what an extraordinary thing. . . . Oh, my God!’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Suddenly light came flooding in on Miss Runcible’s mind +as once when, in her débutante days, she had gone behind +the scenes at a charity matinée, and returning had stepped +through the wrong door and found herself in a blaze of +flood-lights on the stage in the middle of the last act of +<span class='it'>Othello</span>. ‘Oh, my God!’ she said, looking round the Brown +breakfast table. ‘Isn’t that just too bad of Vanburgh. He’s +always doing that kind of thing. It really would serve him +right if we complained and he lost his job, don’t you think +so, Sir James . . . or . . . don’t you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Miss Runcible paused and met the eyes of the Brown +family once more.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, dear,’ she said, ‘this really is all too bogus.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then she turned round and, trailing garlands of equatorial +flowers, fled out of the room and out of the house to +the huge delight and profit of the crowd of reporters and +Press photographers who were already massed round the +historic front door.</p> + +<div><h1><span class='it'>Chapter Five</span></h1></div> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='dropcap'>A</span>dam woke up feeling terribly ill. He rang his bell once +or twice, but nobody came. Later he woke up again and +rang the bell. The Italian waiter appeared, undulating +slightly in the doorway. Adam ordered breakfast. Lottie +came in and sat on his bed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Had a nice breakfast, dear?’ she said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Not yet,’ said Adam. ‘I’ve only just woken up.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s right,’ said Lottie. ‘Nothing like a nice breakfast. +There was a young lady for you on the ’phone, but I +can’t remember what it was she said at the minute. We’ve +all been upside down this morning. Such a fuss. Had the +police in, we have, ever since I don’t know what time, drinking +up my wine and asking questions and putting their noses +where they’re not wanted. All because Flossie must needs +go and swing on the chandelier. She never had any sense, +Flossie. Well, she’s learned her lesson now, poor girl. +Whoever heard of such a thing—swinging on a chandelier. +Poor Judge What’s-his-name is in a terrible state about it. +I said to him it’s not so much the price of the chandelier, I +said. What money can make, money can mend, I said, and +that’s the truth, isn’t it, dear? But what I mind, I said, is +having a death in the house and all the fuss. It doesn’t do +<span class='it'>any one</span> any good having people killing theirselves in a +house like Flossie did. Now what may <span class='it'>you</span> want, my Italian +queen?’ said Lottie as the waiter came in with a tray, the +smell of kippers contending with <span class='it'>nuit de Noel</span> rather disagreeably.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Gentleman’s breakfast,’ said the waiter.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘And how many <span class='it'>more</span> breakfasts do you think he wants, +I should like to know? He’s had his breakfast hours ago +while you were powdering your nose downstairs, haven’t +you, dear?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No,’ said Adam, ‘as a matter of fact, no.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘There, do you hear what the gentleman says? <span class='it'>He</span> +doesn’t want two breakfasts. Don’t stand there wiggling +your behind at me. Take it away quick or I’ll catch you +such a smack. . . . That’s just the way—once you get the +police in every one gets all upset. There’s that boy brings +you two breakfasts and I dare say there’s some poor fellow +along the passage somewhere who hasn’t had any breakfast +at all. You can’t get anywhere without a nice breakfast. +Half the young fellows as come here now don’t have anything +except a <span class='it'>cachet Faivre</span> and some orange juice. It’s +not right,’ said Lottie, ‘and I’ve spoken to that boy about +using scent twenty times if I’ve spoken once.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The waiter’s head appeared, and with it another wave of +<span class='it'>nuit de Noel</span>.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘If you please, madam, the inspectors want to speak to +you downstairs, madam.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘All right, my little bird of paradise, I’ll be there.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Lottie trotted away and the waiter came sidling back +bearing his tray of kippers and leering at Adam with a horrible +intimacy.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Turn on my bath, will you, please,’ said Adam.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Alas, there is a gentleman asleep in the bath. Shall I +wake him?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, it doesn’t matter.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Will that be all, sir?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, thank you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The waiter stood about fingering the brass knobs at the +end of the bed, smiling ingratiatingly. Then he produced +from under his coat a gardenia, slightly browned at the +edges. (He had found it in an evening coat he had just been +brushing.)</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Would the signor perhaps like a buttonhole? . . . +Madame Crump was so severe . . . it was nice sometimes +to be able to have a talk with the gentlemen . . .</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No,’ said Adam. ‘Go away.’ For he had a headache.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The waiter sighed deeply, and walked with pettish steps +to the door; sighed again and took the gardenia to the +gentleman in the bathroom.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam ate some breakfast. No kipper, he reflected, is ever +as good as it smells; how this too earthly contact with flesh +and bone spoiled the first happy exhilaration; if only one +could live, as Jehovah was said to have done, on the savour +of burnt offerings. He lay back for a little in his bed thinking +about the smells of food, of the greasy horror of fried fish +and the deeply moving smell that came from it; of the +intoxicating breath of bakeries and the dullness of buns. . . . +He planned dinners of enchanting aromatic foods that +should be carried under the nose, snuffed and thrown to the +dogs . . . endless dinners, in which one could alternate +flavour with flavour from sunset to dawn without satiety, +while one breathed great draughts of the bouquet of old +brandy. . . . Oh for the wings of a dove, thought Adam, +wandering a little from the point as he fell asleep again +(every one is liable to this ninetyish feeling in the early +morning after a party).</p> + +<hr class='tbk128'/> + +<p class='pindent'>Presently the telephone by Adam’s bed began ringing.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Hullo, yes.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Lady to speak to you. . . . Hullo, is that you, Adam?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Is that Nina?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘How are you, my darling?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Oh, Nina. . . .</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My poor sweet, I feel like that, too. Listen, angel. You +haven’t forgotten that you’re going to see my papa to-day, +have you . . . or have you? I’ve just sent him a wire to say +that you’re going to lunch with him. D’you know where he +lives?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘But you’re coming too?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, no. I don’t think I will, if you don’t mind. . . . +I’ve got rather a pain.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, if you <span class='it'>knew</span> what a pain I’ve got. . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, but that’s different, darling. Anyway, there’s no +object in our both going.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘But what am I to say?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Darling</span>, don’t be tiresome. You know perfectly well. +Just ask him for some money.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Will he like that?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, darling, of course he will. Why will you go <span class='it'>on</span>? +I’ve got to get up now. Good-bye. Take care of yourself. +. . . Ring me up when you get back and tell me what papa +said. By the way, have you seen the paper this morning?—there’s +something so funny about last night. <span class='it'>Too</span> bad of +Van. Good-bye.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>While Adam was dressing, he realized that he did not +know where he was to go. He rang up again. ‘By the way, +Nina, where does your papa live?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Didn’t I tell you? It’s a house called Doubting, and it’s all +falling down really. You go to Aylesbury by train and then +take a taxi. They’re the most expensive taxis in the world, +too. . . . Have you got any money?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam looked on the dressing-table: ‘About seven shillings,’ +he said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, that’s not enough. You’ll have to make poor +papa pay for the taxi.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Will he like that?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, of course, he’s an angel.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I wish you’d come too, Nina.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Darling, I told you. I’ve got such a pain.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Downstairs, as Lottie had said, everything was upside +down. That is to say that there were policemen and reporters +teeming in every corner of the hotel, each with a bottle +of champagne and a glass. Lottie, Doge, Judge Skimp, the +Inspector, four plain-clothes men and the body were in +Judge Skimp’s suite.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What is <span class='it'>not</span> clear to me, sir,’ said the Inspector, ‘is +what <span class='it'>prompted</span> the young lady to swing on the chandelier. +Not wishing to cause offence, sir, and begging your pardon, +was she . . . ?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes,’ said Judge Skimp, ‘she was.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Exactly</span>,’ said the Inspector. ‘A clear case of misadventure, +eh, Mrs Crump? There’ll have to be an inquest, of +course, but I think probably I shall be able to arrange +things so that there is no mention of your name in the case, +sir . . . well, that’s very kind of you, Mrs Crump, perhaps +just one more glass.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Lottie,’ said Adam, ‘can you lend me some money?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Money, dear? Of course. Doge, have you got any money?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I was asleep at the time myself, mum, and was not even +made aware of the occurrence until I was called this morning. +Being slightly deaf, the sound of the disaster . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Judge What’s-your-name, got any money?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I should take it as a great privilege if I could be of any +assistance . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s right, give some to young Thingummy here. +That all you want, deary? Don’t run away. We’re just +thinking of having a little drink. . . . No, not that wine, +dear, it’s what we keep for the police. I’ve just ordered a +better bottle if my young butterfly would bring it along.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam had a glass of champagne, hoping it would make +him feel a little better. It made him feel much worse.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then he went to Marylebone. It was Armistice Day, and +they were selling artificial poppies in the streets. As he +reached the station it struck eleven and for two minutes all +over the country every one was quiet and serious. Then he +went to Aylesbury, reading on the way Balcairn’s account +of Archie Schwert’s party. He was pleased to see himself +described as ‘the brilliant young novelist’, and wondered +whether Nina’s papa read gossip paragraphs, and supposed +not. The two women opposite him in the carriage obviously +did.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I no sooner opened the paper,’ said one, ‘than I was on +the ’phone <span class='it'>at once</span> to all the ladies of the committee, and +we’d sent off a wire to our Member before one o’clock. We +know how to make things hum at the Bois. I’ve got a copy of +what we sent. Look. <span class='it'>Members of the Committee of the +Ladies’ Conservative Association at Chesham Bois wish to +express their extreme displeasure at reports in this morning’s +paper of midnight party at No. 10. They call upon Captain +Crutwell</span>—that’s our Member; such a nice stamp of man—<span class='it'>strenuously +to withhold support to Prime Minister</span>. It cost +nearly four shillings, but, as I said at the time, it was not +a moment to spoil the ship for a ha’p’orth of tar. Don’t +you agree, Mrs Ithewaite?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I do, indeed, Mrs Orraway-Smith. It is clearly a case in +which a mandate from the constituencies is required. I’ll +talk to our chairwoman at Wendover.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, do, Mrs Ithewaite. It is in a case like this that the +woman’s vote can count.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘If it’s a choice between my moral judgement and the +nationalization of banking, I prefer nationalization, if you +see what I mean.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Exactly what I think. Such a terrible example to the +lower classes, <span class='it'>apart from everything</span>.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s what I mean. There’s our Agnes, now. How can +I stop her having young men in the kitchen when she +knows that Sir James Brown has parties like that at all +hours of the night. . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They were both wearing hats like nothing on earth, +which bobbed and nodded as they spoke.</p> + +<hr class='tbk129'/> + +<p class='pindent'>At Aylesbury Adam got into a Ford taxi and asked to be +taken to a house called Doubting.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Doubting ’All?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, I suppose so. Is it falling down?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Could do with a lick of paint,’ said the driver, a spotty +youth. ‘Name of Blount.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s it.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Long way from here Doubting ’All is. Cost you fifteen bob.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘All right.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘If you’re a commercial, I can tell you straight it ain’t +no use going to ’im. Young feller asked me the way there +this morning. Driving a Morris. Wanted to sell him a +vacuum cleaner. Old boy ’ad answered an advertisement +asking for a demonstration. When he got there the old boy +wouldn’t even look at it. Can you beat that?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, I’m not trying to sell him anything—at least not +exactly.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Personal visit, perhaps.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Ah.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Satisfied that his passenger was in earnest about the +journey, the taxi-driver put on some coats—for it was +raining—got out of his seat and cranked up the engine. +Presently they started.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They drove for a mile or two past bungalows and villas +and timbered public houses to a village in which every +house seemed to be a garage and filling station. Here they +left the main road and Adam’s discomfort became acute.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>At last they came to twin octagonal lodges and some +heraldic gate-posts and large wrought-iron gates, behind +which could be seen a broad sweep of ill-kept drive.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Doubting ’All,’ said the driver.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He blew his horn once or twice, but no lodge-keeper’s +wife, aproned and apple-cheeked, appeared to bob them in. +He got out and shook the gates reproachfully.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Chained-and-locked,’ he said. ‘Try another way.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They drove on for another mile; on the side of the Hall +the road was bordered by dripping trees and a dilapidated +stone wall; presently they reached some cottages and a white +gate. This they opened and turned into a rough track, +separated from the park by low iron railings. There were +sheep grazing on either side. One of them had strayed into +the drive. It fled before them in a frenzied trot, stopping and +looking round over its dirty tail and then plunging on again +until its agitation brought it to the side of the path, where +they overtook it and passed it.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The track led to some stables, then behind rows of hothouses, +among potting-sheds and heaps of drenched leaves, +past nondescript outbuildings that had once been laundry +and bakery and brewhouse and a huge kennel where once +some one had kept a bear, until suddenly it turned by a +clump of holly and elms and laurel bushes into an open +space that had once been laid with gravel. A lofty Palladian +façade stretched before them and in front of it an equestrian +statue pointed a baton imperiously down the main drive.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘ ’Ere y’are,’ said the driver.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam paid him and went up the steps to the front door. +He rang the bell and waited. Nothing happened. Presently +he rang again. At this moment the door opened.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Don’t ring twice,’ said a very angry old man. ‘What do +you want?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Is Mr Blount in?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘There’s no Mr Blount here. This is Colonel Blount’s house.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m sorry. . . . I think the Colonel is expecting me to +luncheon.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Nonsense. I’m Colonel Blount,’ and he shut the door.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The Ford had disappeared. It was still raining hard. Adam +rang again.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes,’ said Colonel Blount, appearing instantly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I wonder if you’d let me telephone to the station for a +taxi?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Not on the telephone. . . . It’s raining. Why don’t you +come in? It’s absurd to walk to the station in this. Have you +come about the vacuum cleaner?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Funny, I’ve been expecting a man all the morning to +show me a vacuum cleaner. Come in, do. Won’t you stay to +luncheon?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I should love to.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Splendid. I get very little company nowadays. You must +forgive me for opening the door to you myself. My butler is +in bed to-day. He suffers terribly in his feet when it is wet. +Both my footmen were killed in the war. . . . Put your hat +and coat here. I hope you haven’t got wet. . . . I’m sorry +you didn’t bring the vacuum cleaner . . . but never mind. +How are you?’ he said, suddenly holding out his hand.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They shook hands and Colonel Blount led the way down +a long corridor, lined with marble busts on yellow marble +pedestals, to a large room full of furniture, with a fire +burning in a fine rococo fireplace. There was a large leather-topped +walnut writing-table under a window opening on to +a terrace. Colonel Blount picked up a telegram and read it.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’d quite forgotten,’ he said in some confusion. ‘I’m +afraid you’ll think me very discourteous, but it is, after all, +impossible for me to ask you to luncheon. I have a guest +coming on very intimate family business. You understand, +don’t you? . . . To tell you the truth, it’s some young rascal +who wants to marry my daughter. I must see him alone to +discuss settlements.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, I want to marry your daughter, too,’ said Adam.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What an extraordinary coincidence. Are you sure you do?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Perhaps the telegram may be about me. What does it say?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘ “<span class='it'>Engaged to marry Adam Symes. Expect him luncheon. +Nina.</span>” Are you Adam Symes?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear boy, why didn’t you say so before, instead of +going on about a vacuum cleaner? How are you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They shook hands again.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘If you don’t mind,’ said Colonel Blount, ‘we will keep our +business until after luncheon. I’m afraid everything is +looking very bare at present. You must come down and see +the gardens in the summer. We had some lovely hydrangeas +last year. I don’t think I shall live here another winter. Too +big for an old man. I was looking at some of the houses +they’re putting up outside Aylesbury. Did you see them +coming along? Nice little red houses. Bathroom and everything. +Quite cheap, too, and near the cinematographs. I +hope you are fond of the cinematograph too? The Rector and +I go a great deal. I hope you’ll like the Rector. Common +little man rather. But he’s got a motor car, useful that. How +long are you staying?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I promised Nina I’d be back to-night.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s a pity. They change the film at the Electra +Palace. We might have gone.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>An elderly woman servant came in to announce luncheon. +‘What is at the Electra Palace, do you know, Mrs Florin?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Greta Garbo in <span class='it'>Venetian Kisses</span>, I think, sir.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I don’t really think I like Greta Garbo. I’ve tried to,’ said +Colonel Blount, ‘but I just don’t.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They went in to luncheon in a huge dining-room dark +with family portraits.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘If you don’t mind,’ said Colonel Blount, ‘I prefer not to +talk at meals.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He propped a morocco-bound volume of <span class='it'>Punch</span> before his +plate against a vast silver urn, from which grew a small +castor-oil plant.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Give Mr Symes a book,’ he said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs Florin put another volume of <span class='it'>Punch</span> beside Adam.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘If you come across anything really funny read it to me,’ +said Colonel Blount.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then they had luncheon.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They were nearly an hour over luncheon. Course followed +course in disconcerting abundance while Colonel Blount ate +and ate, turning the leaves of his book and chuckling frequently. +They ate hare soup and boiled turbot and stewed +sweetbreads and black Bredenham ham with Madeira sauce +and roast pheasant and a rum omelette and toasted cheese +and fruit. First they drank sherry, then claret, then port. +Then Colonel Blount shut his book with a broad sweep of his +arm rather as the headmaster of Adam’s private school used +to shut the Bible after evening prayers, folded his napkin +carefully and stuffed it into a massive silver ring, muttered +some words of grace and finally stood up, saying:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m going to have a +little nap,’ and trotted out of the room.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘There’s a fire in the library, sir,’ said Mrs Florin. ‘I’ll +bring you your coffee there. The Colonel doesn’t have +coffee, he finds it interferes with his afternoon sleep. What +time would you like your afternoon tea, sir?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I ought really to be getting back to London. How long +will it be before the Colonel comes down, do you think?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, it all depends, sir. Not usually till about five or +half-past. Then he reads until dinner at seven and after +dinner gets the Rector to drive him in to the pictures. A +sedentary life, as you might say.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She led Adam into the library and put a silver coffee-pot +at his elbow.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’ll bring you tea at four,’ she said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam sat in front of the fire in a deep armchair. Outside +the rain beat on the double windows. There were several +magazines in the library—mostly cheap weeklies devoted to +the cinema. There was a stuffed owl and a case of early +British remains, bone pins and bits of pottery and a skull, +which had been dug up in the park many years ago and +catalogued by Nina’s governess. There was a cabinet containing +the relics of Nina’s various collecting fevers—some +butterflies and a beetle or two, some fossils and some birds’ +eggs and a few postage stamps. There were some bookcases +of superbly unreadable books, a gun, a butterfly net, an +alpenstock in the corner. There were catalogues of agricultural +machines and acetylene plants, lawn mowers, ‘sports +requisites’. There was a fire screen worked with a coat of +arms. The chimney-piece was hung with the embroidered +saddle-cloths of Colonel Blount’s regiment of Lancers. There +was an engraving of all the members of the Royal Yacht +Squadron, with a little plan in the corner, marked to show +who was who. There were many other things of equal interest +besides, but before Adam had noticed any more he was +fast asleep.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs Florin woke him at four. The coffee had disappeared +and its place was taken by a silver tray with a lace cloth on it. +There was a silver tea-pot, and a silver kettle with a little +spirit-lamp underneath, and a silver cream jug and a covered +silver dish full of muffins. There was also hot buttered toast +and honey and gentleman’s relish and a chocolate cake, a +cherry cake, a seed cake and a fruit cake and some tomato +sandwiches and pepper and salt and currant bread and +butter.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Would you care for a lightly boiled egg, sir? The Colonel +generally has one if he’s awake.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, thank you,’ said Adam. He felt a thousand times +better for his rest. When Nina and he were married, he +thought, they would often come down there for the day after +a really serious party. For the first time he noticed an obese +liver and white spaniel, which was waking up, too, on the +hearthrug.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Please not to give her muffins,’ said Mrs Florin, ‘it’s the +one thing she’s not supposed to have, and the Colonel will +give them to her. He loves that dog,’ she added with a burst +of confidence. ‘Takes her to the pictures with him of an +evening. Not that she can appreciate them really like a +human can.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam gave her—the spaniel, not Mrs Florin—a gentle +prod with his foot and a lump of sugar. She licked his shoe +with evident cordiality. Adam was not above feeling flattered +by friendliness in dogs.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He had finished his tea and was filling his pipe when +Colonel Blount came into the library.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Who the devil are you?’ said his host.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Adam Symes,’ said Adam.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Never heard of you. How did you get in? Who gave you +tea? What do you want?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You asked me to luncheon,’ said Adam. ‘I came about +being married to Nina.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear boy, of course. How absurd of me. I’ve such a +bad memory for names. It comes of seeing so few people. +How are you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They shook hands again.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘So you’re the young man who’s engaged to Nina,’ said +the Colonel, eyeing him for the first time in the way prospective +sons-in-laws are supposed to be eyed. ‘Now what in +the world do you want to get married for? I shouldn’t, you +know, really I shouldn’t. Are you rich?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, not at present, I’m afraid, that’s rather what I +wanted to talk about.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘How much money have you got?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, sir, actually at the moment I haven’t got any at all.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘When did you last have any?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I had a thousand pounds last night, but I gave it all to a +drunk Major.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Why did you do that?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, I hoped he’d put it on Indian Runner for the +November Handicap.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Never heard of the horse. Didn’t he?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I don’t think he can have.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘When will you next have some money?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘When I’ve written some books.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘How many books?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Twelve.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘How much will you have then?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Probably fifty pounds advance on my thirteenth book.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘And how long will it take you to write twelve books?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘About a year.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘How long would it take most people?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘About twenty years. Of course, put like that I do see that +it sounds rather hopeless . . . but, you see, Nina and I hoped +that you, that is, that perhaps for the next year until I get +my twelve books written, that you might help us . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘How could I help you? I’ve never written a book in my +life.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, we thought you might give us some money.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You thought that, did you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, that’s what we thought . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Colonel Blount looked at him gravely for some time. +Then he said, ‘I think that an admirable idea. I don’t see any +reason at all why I shouldn’t. How much do you want?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s really terribly good of you, sir . . . Well, you +know, just enough to live on quietly for a bit. I hardly +know . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, would a thousand pounds be any help?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, it would indeed. We shall both be terribly grateful.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Not at all, my dear boy. Not at all. What did you say +your name was?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Adam Symes.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Colonel Blount went to the table and wrote out a cheque. +‘There you are,’ he said. ‘Now don’t go giving that away to +another drunk major.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Really, sir! I don’t know how to thank you. Nina . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Not another word. Now I expect that you will want to be +off to London again. We’ll send Mrs Florin across to the +Rectory and make the Rector drive you to the station. Useful +having a neighbour with a motor car. They charge fivepence +on the buses from here to Aylesbury. <span class='it'>Robbers.</span>’</p> + +<hr class='tbk130'/> + +<p class='pindent'>It does not befall many young men to be given a thousand +pounds by a complete stranger twice on successive evenings. +Adam laughed aloud in the Rector’s car as they drove to the +station. The Rector, who had been in the middle of writing a +sermon and resented with daily increasing feeling Colonel +Blount’s neighbourly appropriation of his car and himself, +kept his eyes fixed on the streaming windscreen, pretending +not to notice. Adam laughed all the way to Aylesbury, sitting +and holding his knees and shaking all over. The Rector +could hardly bring himself to say good-night when they +parted in the station yard.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There was half an hour to wait for a train and the leaking +roof and wet railway lines had a sobering effect on Adam. He +bought an evening paper. On the front page was an exquisitely +funny photograph of Miss Runcible in Hawaiian costume +tumbling down the steps of No. 10 Downing Street. +The Government had fallen that afternoon, he read, being +defeated on a motion rising from the answer to a question +about the treatment of Miss Runcible by Customs House +officers. It was generally held in Parliamentary circles that +the deciding factor in this reverse had been the revolt of the +Liberals and the Nonconformist members at the revelations +of the life that was led at No. 10, Downing Street, during Sir +James Brown’s tenancy. The <span class='it'>Evening Mail</span> had a leading +article, which drew a fine analogy between Public and +Domestic Purity, between sobriety in the family and in the +State.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There was another small paragraph which interested +Adam.</p> + +<div class='blockquote100percent'> + +<p class='line0' style='text-align:center;'>‘<span class='it'>Tragedy in West-End Hotel.</span></p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>The death occurred early this morning at a private hotel in +Dover Street of Miss Florence Ducane, described as being of +independent means, following an accident in which Miss +Ducane fell from a chandelier which she was attempting to +mend. The inquest will be held to-morrow, which will be +followed by the cremation at Golders Green. Miss Ducane, +who was formerly connected with the stage, was well known in +business circles.</span>’</p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'>Which only showed, thought Adam, how much better +Lottie Crump knew the business of avoiding undesirable +publicity than Sir James Brown.</p> + +<hr class='tbk131'/> + +<p class='pindent'>When Adam reached London the rain had stopped, but +there was a thin fog drifting in belts before a damp wind. +The station was crowded with office workers hurrying with +attaché cases and evening papers to catch their evening +trains home, coughing and sneezing as they went. They still +wore their poppies. Adam went to a telephone-box and rang +up Nina. She had left a message for him that she was having +cocktails at Margot Metroland’s house. He drove to Shepheard’s.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Lottie,’ he said, ‘I’ve got a thousand pounds.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Have you, now,’ said Lottie indifferently. She lived on +the assumption that every one she knew always had several +thousand pounds. It was to her as though he had said, +‘Lottie, I have a tall hat.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Can you lend me some money till to-morrow till I cash +the cheque?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What a boy you are for borrowing. Just like your poor +father. Here, you in the corner, lend Mr What-d’you-call-him +some money.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A tall Guardsman shook his retreating forehead and +twirled his moustaches.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No good coming to me, Lottie,’ he said in a voice trained +to command.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Mean hound,’ said Lottie. ‘Where’s that American?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Judge Skimp, who, since his experiences that morning, had +become profoundly Anglophile, produced two tenpound +notes. ‘I shall be only too proud and honoured . . .’ he said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Good old Judge Thingummy,’ said Lottie. ‘That’s the +way.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam hurried out into the hall as another bottle of champagne +popped festively in the parlour.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Doge, ring up the Daimler Hire Company and order a +car in my name. Tell it to go round to Lady Metroland’s—Pastmaster +House, Hill Street,’ he said. Then he put on his +hat and walked down Hay Hill, swinging an umbrella and +laughing again, only more quietly, to himself.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>At Lady Metroland’s he kept on his coat and waited in the +hall.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Will you please tell Miss Blount I’ve called for her? No, I +won’t go up.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He looked at the hats on the table. Clearly there was quite +a party. Two or three silk hats of people who had dressed +early, the rest soft and black like his own. Then he began to +dance again, jigging to himself in simple high spirits.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>In a minute Nina came down the broad Adam staircase.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Darling, why didn’t you come up? It’s so rude. Margot is +longing to see you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m so sorry, Nina. I couldn’t face a party. I’m so excited.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Why, what’s happened?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Everything. I’ll tell you in the car.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Car?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, it’ll be here in a minute. We’re going down to the +country for dinner. I can’t tell you how clever I’ve been.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘But what have you done, darling? Do stop dancing about.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Can’t stop. You’ve no idea how clever I am.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Adam. Are you tight again?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Look out of the window and see if you can see a Daimler +waiting.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Adam, what <span class='it'>have</span> you been doing? I will be told.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Look,’ said Adam, producing the cheque. ‘Whatcher +think of that?’ he added in Cockney.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>My dear</span>, a thousand pounds. Did papa give you that?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I earned it,’ said Adam. ‘Oh, I earned it. You should have +seen the luncheon I ate and the jokes I read. I’m going to be +married to-morrow. Oh, Nina, would Margot hate it if I +sang in her hall?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘She’d simply loathe it, darling, and so should I. I’m +going to take care of that cheque. You remember what +happened the last time you were given a thousand pounds.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s what your papa said.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Did you tell him that?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I told him everything—and he gave me a thousand +pounds.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . Poor Adam . . .’ said Nina suddenly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Why did you say that?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I don’t know. . . . I believe this is your car. . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Nina, why did you say “Poor Adam”?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . Did I? . . . Oh, I don’t know. . . . Oh, I do adore you +so.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m going to be married to-morrow. Are you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, I expect so, dear.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The chauffeur got rather bored while they tried to decide +where they would dine. At every place he suggested they +gave a little wail of dismay. ‘But that’s sure to be full of +awful people we know,’ they said. Maidenhead, Thame, +Brighton, he suggested. Finally they decided to go to +Arundel.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It’ll be nearly nine before we get there,’ the chauffeur +said. ‘Now there’s a very nice hotel at Bray. . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But they went to Arundel.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘We’ll be married to-morrow,’ said Adam in the car. +‘And we won’t ask anybody to the wedding at all. And we’ll +go abroad at once, and just not come back till I’ve written all +those books. Nina, isn’t it divine? Where shall we go?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Anywhere you like, only rather warm, don’t you think?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I don’t believe you really think we are going to be +married, Nina, do you, or do you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I don’t know . . . it’s only that I don’t believe that really +divine things like that ever do happen. . . . I don’t know +why. . . . Oh, I do like you so much to-night. If only you +<span class='it'>knew</span> how sweet you looked skipping about in Margot’s hall +all by yourself. I’d been watching you for hours before I +came down.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I shall send the car back,’ said Adam, as they drove +through Pulborough. ‘We can go home by train.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘If there is a train.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘There’s bound to be,’ said Adam. But this raised a +question in both their minds that had been unobtrusively +agitating them throughout the journey. Neither said any +more on the subject, but there was a distinct air of constraint +in the Daimler from Pulborough onwards.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>This question was settled when they reached the hotel at +Arundel.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘We want dinner,’ said Adam, ‘and a room for the +night.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Darling</span>, am I going to be seduced?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m afraid you are. Do you mind terribly?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Not as much as all that,’ said Nina, and added in Cockney, +‘Charmed, I’m sure.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Every one had finished dinner. They dined alone in a +corner of the coffee-room, while the other waiters laid the +tables for breakfast, looking at them resentfully. It was the +dreariest kind of English dinner. After dinner the lounge +was awful; there were some golfers in dinner-jackets playing +bridge, and two old ladies. Adam and Nina went across the +stable-yard to the tap-room and sat until closing time in a +warm haze of tobacco smoke listening to the intermittent +gossip of the towns-people. They sat hand-in-hand, unembarrassed; +after the first minute no one noticed them. Just +before closing time Adam stood a round of drinks. They said:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Good health, sir. Best respects, madam,’ and the barman +said, ‘Come along, please. Finish your drinks, please,’ +in a peculiar sing-song tone.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There was a clock chiming as they crossed the yard and a +slightly drunk farmer trying to start up his car. Then they +went up an oak staircase lined with blunderbusses and +coaching prints to their room.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They had no luggage (the chambermaid remarked on this +next day to the young man who worked at the wireless shop, +saying that that was the worst of being in a main road hotel. +You got all sorts).</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam undressed very quickly and got into bed; Nina +more slowly arranging her clothes on the chair and fingering +the ornaments on the chimney-piece with less than her +usual self-possession. At last she put out the light.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Do you know,’ she said, trembling slightly as she got into +bed, ‘this is the first time this has happened to me?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It’s great fun,’ said Adam, ‘I promise you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m sure it is,’ said Nina seriously, ‘I wasn’t saying anything +against it. I was only saying that it hadn’t happened +before. . . . Oh, Adam. . . .’</p> + +<hr class='tbk132'/> + +<p class='pindent'>‘And you said that really divine things didn’t happen,’ +said Adam in the middle of the night.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I don’t think that this is at all divine,’ said Nina. ‘It’s +given me a pain. And—my dear, that reminds me. I’ve +something terribly important to say to you in the morning.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Not now, darling. Let’s go to sleep for a little, don’t you +think?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Before Nina was properly awake Adam dressed and went +out into the rain to get a shave. He came back bringing two +toothbrushes and a bright red celluloid comb. Nina sat up in +bed and combed her hair. She put Adam’s coat over her +back.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, you look exactly like <span class='it'>La Vie Parisienne</span>,’ said +Adam, turning round from brushing his teeth.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then she threw off the coat and jumped out of bed, and +he told her that she looked like a fashion drawing without +the clothes. Nina was rather pleased about that, but she said +that it was cold and that she still had a pain, only not so bad +as it was. Then she dressed and they went downstairs.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Every one else had had breakfast and the waiters were +laying the tables for luncheon.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘By the way,’ said Adam. ‘You said there was something +you wanted to say.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, yes, so there is. My dear, something quite awful.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Do tell me.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, it’s about that cheque papa gave you. I’m afraid it +won’t help us as much as you thought.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘But, darling, it’s a thousand pounds, isn’t it?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Just look at it, my sweet.’ She took it out of her bag and +handed it across the table.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I don’t see anything wrong with it,’ said Adam.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Not the signature?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Why, good lord, the old idiot’s signed it “Charlie Chaplin”.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s what I mean, darling.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘But can’t we get him to alter it? He must be dotty. I’ll +go down and see him again to-day.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I shouldn’t do that, dear . . . don’t you see. . . . Of +course, he’s very old, and . . . I dare say you may have made +things sound a little odd . . . don’t you think, dear, <span class='it'>he</span> must +have thought <span class='it'>you</span> a little dotty? . . . I mean . . . perhaps . . . +that cheque was a kind of joke.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well I’m damned . . . this really is a bore. When everything +seemed to be going so well, too. When did you notice +the signature, Nina?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘As soon as you showed it to me, at Margot’s. Only you +looked so happy I didn’t like to say anything. . . . You did +look happy, you know, Adam, and so sweet. I think I really +fell in love with you for the first time when I saw you +dancing all alone in the hall.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well I’m damned,’ said Adam again. ‘The old devil.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Anyway, you’ve had some fun out of it, haven’t you +. . . or haven’t you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Haven’t <span class='it'>you</span>?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, I never hated anything so much in my life . . . +still, as long as you enjoyed it that’s something.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I say, Nina,’ said Adam after some time, ‘we shan’t be +able to get married after all.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, I’m afraid not.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It <span class='it'>is</span> a bore, isn’t it?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Later he said, ‘I expect that parson thought I was dotty +too.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>And later, ‘As a matter of fact, it’s rather a good joke, +don’t you think?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I think it’s divine.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>In the train Nina said: ‘It’s awful to think that I shall +probably never, as long as I live, see you dancing like that +again all by yourself.’</p> + +<div><h1><span class='it'>Chapter Six</span></h1></div> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='dropcap'>T</span>hat evening Lady Metroland gave a party for Mrs Melrose +Ape. Adam found the telegram of invitation waiting for +him on his return to Shepheard’s. (Lottie had already used +the prepaid reply to do some betting with. Some one had +given her a tip for the November Handicap and she wanted +to ‘make her little flutter’ before she forgot the name.) +He also found an invitation to luncheon from Simon +Balcairn.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The food at Shepheard’s tends to be mostly game-pie—quite +black inside and full of beaks and shot and inexplicable +vertebræ—so Adam was quite pleased to lunch with +Simon Balcairn, though he knew there must be some +slightly sinister motive behind this sudden hospitality.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They lunched <span class='it'>Chez Espinosa</span>, the second most expensive +restaurant in London; it was full of oilcloth and Lalique +glass, and the sort of people who liked that sort of thing went +there continually and said how awful it was.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I hope you don’t mind coming to this awful restaurant,’ +said Balcairn. ‘The truth is that I get meals free if I mention +them occasionally in my page. Not drinks, unfortunately. +Who’s here, Alphonse?’ he asked the <span class='it'>maître d’hôtel</span>.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Alphonse handed him the typewritten slip that was +always kept for gossip writers.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘H’m, yes. Quite a good list this morning, Alphonse. I’ll +do what I can about it.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Thank you, sir. A table for two? A cocktail?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, I don’t think I want a cocktail. I really haven’t time. +Will you have one, Adam? They aren’t very good here.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, thanks,’ said Adam.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Sure?’ said Balcairn, already making for their table.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>When they were being helped to caviare he looked at the +wine list.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘The lager is rather good,’ he said. ‘What would you like +to drink?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Whatever you’re having. . . . I think some lager would +be lovely.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Two small bottles of lager, please. . . . Are you sure you +really like that better than anything?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, really, thank you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Simon Balcairn looked about him gloomily, occasionally +adding a new name to his list. (It is so depressing to be in a +profession in which literally all conversation is ‘shop’.)</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Presently he said, with a deadly air of carelessness:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Margot Metroland’s got a party to-night, hasn’t she? Are +you going?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I think probably. I usually like Margot’s parties, don’t +you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes. . . . Adam, I’ll tell you a very odd thing. She hasn’t +sent me an invitation to this one.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I expect she will. I only got mine this morning.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . Yes . . . who’s that woman just come in in the fur +coat? I know her so well by sight.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Isn’t it Lady Everyman?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, of course.’ Another name was added to the list. +Balcairn paused in utmost gloom and ate some salad. ‘The +thing is . . . she told Agatha Runcible she wasn’t <span class='it'>going</span> to +ask me.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Why not?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Apparently she’s in a rage about something I said about +something she said about Miles.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘People do take things so seriously,’ said Adam encouragingly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It means ruin for me,’ said Lord Balcairn. ‘Isn’t that +Pamela Popham?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I haven’t the least idea.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m sure it is . . . I must look up the spelling in the stud +book when I get back. I got into awful trouble about spelling +the other day. . . . Ruin. . . . She’s asked Vanburgh.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, he’s some sort of cousin, isn’t he?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It’s so damned unfair. All my cousins are in lunatic +asylums or else they live in the country and do indelicate +things with wild animals . . . Except my mamma, and that’s +worse . . . they were furious at the office about Van getting +that Downing Street “scoop”. If I miss this party I may as +well leave Fleet Street for good . . . I may as well put my +head into a gas-oven and have done with it . . . I’m sure if +Margot knew how much it meant to me she wouldn’t mind +my coming.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Great tears stood in his eyes threatening to overflow.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘All this last week,’ he said, ‘I’ve been reduced to making +up my page from the Court Circular and Debrett . . . No +one ever asks me anywhere now . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Adam, ‘I know Margot pretty +well. If you like I’ll ring her up and ask if I may bring you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Will you? Will you, Adam? If only you really would. +Let’s go and do it at once. We’ve no time for coffee or +liqueurs. Quick, we can telephone from my office . . . yes, +that black hat and my umbrella, no, I’ve lost the number +. . . there, no, there, oh do hurry. . . . Yes, a taxi . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They were out in the street and into a taxi before Adam +had time to say any more. Soon they were imbedded in a +traffic block in the Strand, and after a time they reached +Balcairn’s office in Fleet Street.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They went up to a tiny room with ‘Social’ written on the +glass of the door. Its interior seemed not to justify its name. +There was one chair, a typewriter, a telephone, some books +of reference and a considerable litter of photographs. Balcairn’s +immediate superior sat in the one chair.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Hullo,’ she said. ‘So you’re back. Where you been?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Espinosa. Here’s the list.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The social editress read it through. ‘Can’t have Kitty +Blackwater,’ she said. ‘Had her yesterday. Others’ll do. +Write ’em down to a couple of paragraphs. Suppose you +didn’t notice what they were wearing?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes,’ said Balcairn eagerly. ‘All of them.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, you won’t have room to use it. We got to keep +everything down for Lady M.’s party. I’ve cut out the D. of +Devonshire altogether. By the way, the photograph you +used yesterday wasn’t the present Countess of Everyman. +It’s an old one of the Dowager. We had ’em both on the +’phone about it, going on something awful. That’s <span class='it'>you</span>, +again. Got your invite for to-night?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Not yet.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You better get it quick. I got to have a first-hand story +before we go to press, see? By the way, know anything about +this? Lady R.’s maid sent it in to-day.’ She picked up a slip of +paper: ‘ “Rumoured engagement broken off between Adam +Fenwick-Symes, only son of the late Professor Oliver Fenwick-Symes, +and Nina Blount, of Doubting Hall, Aylesbury.” +Never heard of either. Ain’t even been announced, +so far as I’m aware of.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You’d better ask him. This is Adam Symes.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Hullo, no offence meant, I’m sure. . . . What about it?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It is neither announced nor broken off.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘N.B.G. in fact, eh? Then <span class='it'>that</span> goes <span class='it'>there</span>.’ She put the slip +into the wastepaper basket. ‘That girl’s sent us a lot of bad +stuff lately. Well, I’m off for a bit of lunch. I’ll be over at the +Garden Club if anything urgent turns up. So long.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The editress went out, banging the door labelled ‘Social’, +and whistled as she went down the passage.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You see how they treat me,’ said Lord Balcairn. ‘They were +all over me when I first arrived. I do so wish I were dead.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Don’t cry,’ said Adam, ‘it’s too shy-making.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I can’t help it . . . oh, do come in.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The door marked ‘Social’ opened and a small boy came in.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Lord Circumference’s butler downstairs with some engagements +and a divorce.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Tell him to leave them.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Very good, my lord.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s the only person in this office who’s ever polite to +me,’ said Balcairn as the messenger disappeared. ‘I wish I +had something to leave him in my will. . . . Do ring up +Margot. Then I shall at any rate know the worst. . . . Come in.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Gentleman of the name of General Strapper downstairs. +Wants to see you very particular.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What about?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Couldn’t say, my lord, but he’s got a whip. Seems very +put out about something.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Tell him the social editor is having luncheon. . . . Do +ring up Margot.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam said, ‘Margot, may I bring some one with me to-night?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, Adam, I really don’t think you can. I can’t imagine +how everyone’s going to get in as it is. I’m terribly sorry, +who is it?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Simon Balcairn. He’s particularly anxious to come.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I dare say he is. I’m rather against that young man. He’s +written things about me in the papers.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Please</span>, Margot.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Certainly not. I won’t have him inside my house. I’ve +only asked Van on the strictest understanding that he +doesn’t write anything about it. I don’t wish to have anything +more to do with Simon Balcairn.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, how <span class='it'>rich</span> you sound.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I feel my full income when that young man is mentioned. +Good-bye. See you to-night.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You needn’t tell me,’ said Balcairn. ‘I know what she’s +said . . . it’s no good, is it?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m afraid not.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Done for . . .’ said Balcairn. ‘. . . End of the tether. . . .’ +He turned over some slips of paper listlessly. ‘Would it +interest you to hear that Agatha and Archie are engaged?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I don’t believe it.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Neither do I. One of our people has just sent it in. Half of +what they send us is lies, and the other half libel . . . they +sent us a long story about Miles and Pamela Popham having +spent last night at Arundel. . . . But we couldn’t use it even +if it were true, which it obviously isn’t, knowing Miles. +Thank you for doing what you could . . . good-bye.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Downstairs in the outer office there was an altercation in +progress. A large man of military appearance was shaking +and stamping in front of a middle-aged woman. Adam +recognized the social editress.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Answer me, yes or no,’ the big man was saying. ‘Are you +or are you not responsible for this damnable lie about my +daughter?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>(He had read in Simon Balcairn’s column that his +daughter had been seen at a night club. To any one better +acquainted with Miss Strapper’s habits of life the paragraph +was particularly reticent.)</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, or no,’ cried the General, ‘or I’ll shake the life out +of you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Then who is? Let me get hold of the cad who wrote it. +Where is he?’ roared the General.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Upstairs,’ the social editress managed to say.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘More trouble for Simon,’ thought Adam.</p> + +<hr class='tbk133'/> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam went to pick Nina up at her flat. They had arranged +to go to a cinema together. She said, ‘You’re much later +than you said. It’s so boring to be late for a talkie.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He said, ‘Talkies are boring, anyhow.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They treated each other quite differently after their +night’s experiences. Adam was inclined to be egotistical and +despondent; Nina was rather grown-up and disillusioned and +distinctly cross. Adam began to say that as far as he could see +he would have to live on at Shepheard’s now for the rest of +his life, or at any rate for the rest of Lottie’s life, as it +wouldn’t be fair to leave without paying the bill.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then Nina said, ‘Do be amusing, Adam. I can’t bear you +when you’re not amusing.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then Adam began to tell her about Simon Balcairn and +Margot’s party. He described how he had seen Simon being +horse-whipped in the middle of the office.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Nina said, ‘Yes, that’s amusing. Go on like that.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The story of Simon’s whipping lasted them all the way to +the cinema. They were very late for the film Nina wanted to +see, and that set them back again. They didn’t speak for a +long time. Then Nina said <span class='it'>à propos</span> of the film, ‘All this fuss +about sleeping together. For physical pleasure I’d sooner go +to my dentist any day.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam said, ‘You’ll enjoy it more next time.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Nina said, ‘<span class='it'>Next time</span>,’ and told him that he took too much +for granted.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam said that was a phrase which only prostitutes used.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then they started a real quarrel which lasted all through +the film and all the way to Nina’s flat and all the time she +was cutting up a lemon and making a cocktail, until Adam +said that if she didn’t stop going on he would ravish her +there and then on her own hearthrug.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then Nina went on.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But by the time that Adam went to dress she had climbed +down enough to admit that perhaps love was a thing one +could grow to be fond of after a time, like smoking a pipe. +Still she maintained that it made one feel very ill at first, +and she doubted if it was worth it.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then they began to argue at the top of the lift about +whether acquired tastes were ever worth acquiring. Adam +said it was imitation, and that it was natural to man to be +imitative, so that acquired tastes were natural.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But the presence of the lift boy stopped that argument +coming to a solution as the other had done.</p> + +<hr class='tbk134'/> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My, ain’t this classy,’ said Divine Discontent.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It’s all right,’ said Chastity in a worldly voice. ‘Nothing to +make a song and dance about.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Who’s making a song and dance? I just said it was classy—and +it <span class='it'>is</span> classy, ain’t it?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I suppose everything’s classy to <span class='it'>some</span> people.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Now you two,’ said Temperance, who had been put in +charge of the angels for the evening, ‘don’t you start anything +in here, not with your wings on. Mrs Ape won’t stand +for scrapping in wings, and you know it.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Who’s starting anything?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, you are then.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, it’s no use talking to Chastity. She’s too high and +mighty to be an angel now. Went out for a drive with Mrs +Panrast in a Rolls Royce,’ said Fortitude. ‘I saw her. I was so +sorry it rained all the time, or it might have been quite +enjoyable, mightn’t it, Chastity?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, you ought to be glad. Leaves the <span class='it'>men</span> for you, +Fortitude. Only they don’t seem to want to take advantage, +do they?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then they talked about men for some time. Divine Discontent +thought the second footman had nice eyes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘And he knows it,’ said Temperance.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They were all having supper together in what was still +called the schoolroom in Lady Metroland’s house. From the +window they could see the guests arriving for the party. In +spite of the rain quite a large crowd had collected on either +side of the awning to criticize the cloaks with appreciative +‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ or contemptuous sniffs. Cars and taxis drove +up in close succession. Lady Circumference splashed up the +street in goloshes, wearing a high fender of diamonds under +a tartan umbrella. The Bright Young People came popping +all together, out of some one’s electric brougham like a litter +of pigs, and ran squealing up the steps. Some ‘gate-crashers’ +who had made the mistake of coming in Victorian fancy +dress were detected and repulsed. They hurried home to +change for a second assault. No one wanted to miss Mrs +Ape’s <span class='it'>début</span>.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But the angels were rather uneasy. They had been +dressed ever since seven o’clock in their white shifts, gold +sashes and wings. It was now past ten, and the strain was +beginning to tell, for it was impossible to sit back comfortably +in wings.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, I wish they’d hurry up so we could get it over,’ said +Creative Endeavour. ‘Mrs Ape said we could have some +champagne afterwards if we sang nice.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I don’t mind betting <span class='it'>she’s</span> doing herself pretty well, +down there.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Chastity!</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, <span class='it'>all</span> right.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then the footman with the nice eyes came to clear the +table. He gave them a friendly wink as he shut the door. +‘Pretty creatures,’ he thought. ‘Blooming shame that they’re +so religious . . . wasting the best years of their lives.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>(There had been a grave debate in the servants’ hall about +the exact status of angels. Even Mr Blenkinsop, the butler, +had been uncertain. ‘Angels are certainly not guests,’ he had +said, ‘and I don’t think they are deputations. Nor they ain’t +governesses either, nor clergy not strictly speaking; they’re +not entertainers, because entertainers <span class='it'>dine</span> nowadays, the +more’s the pity.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I believe they’re decorators,’ said Mrs Blouse, ‘or else +charitable workers.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Charitable workers are governesses, Mrs Blouse. There is +nothing to be gained by multiplying social distinctions indefinitely. +Decorators are either guests or workmen.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>After further discussion the conclusion was reached that +angels were nurses, and that became the official ruling of +the household. But the second footman was of the opinion +that they were ‘young persons’, pure and simple, ‘and very +nice too’, for nurses cannot, except in very rare cases, be +winked at, and clearly angels could.)</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What we want to know, Chastity,’ said Creative Endeavour, +‘is how you come to take up with Mrs Panrast at +all.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes,’ said the Angels, ‘yes. It’s not like <span class='it'>you</span>, Chastity, to +go riding in a motor car with a woman.’ They fluttered their +feathers in a menacing way. ‘Let’s third-degree her,’ said +Humility with rather nasty relish.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>(There was a system of impromptu jurisdiction among the +Angels which began with innuendo, went on to crossexamination, +pinches and slaps and ended, as a rule, in tears +and kisses.)</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Faced by this circle of spiteful and haloed faces, Chastity +began to lose her air of superiority.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Why shouldn’t I ride with a friend,’ she asked plaintively, +‘without all you girls pitching on me like this?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Friend</span>,’ said Creative Endeavour. ‘You never saw her +before to-day,’ and she gave her a nasty pinch just above the +elbow.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Ooooh!</span>’ said Chastity. ‘<span class='it'>OOh, please</span> . . . beast.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then they all pinched her all over, but precisely and +judiciously, so as not to disturb her wings or halo, for this +was no orgy (sometimes in their bedrooms, they gave way, +but not here, in Lady Metroland’s schoolroom, before an +important first night).</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Ooh,’ said Chastity, ‘<span class='it'>OOh, ow, ooh, ow. Please</span>, beasts, +swine, cads . . . <span class='it'>please</span> . . . oh . . . well, if you must know, I +thought she <span class='it'>was</span> a man.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Thought she was a <span class='it'>man</span>, Chastity? That doesn’t sound +right to me.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, she looks like a man and—and she <span class='it'>goes on</span> like a +man. I saw her sitting at a table in a tea-shop. She hadn’t got +a hat on, and I couldn’t see her skirt . . . ooh . . . how can I +tell you if you keep pinching . . . and she smiled and so, +well, I went and had some tea with her, and she said would +I go out with her in her motor car, and I said yes and, ooh, I +wish I hadn’t now.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What did she say in the motor car, Chastity?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I forget—nothing much.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, what.’ ‘Do tell us.’ ‘We’ll never pinch you again if +you tell us.’ ‘I’m sorry if I hurt you, Chastity, do tell <span class='it'>me</span>.’ +‘You’d <span class='it'>better</span> tell us.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, I can’t, <span class='it'>really</span>—I don’t remember, I tell you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Give her another little nip, girls.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Ooh, ooh, ooh, <span class='it'>stop</span>. I’ll tell you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Their heads were close together and they were so deeply +engrossed in the story that they did not hear Mrs Ape’s +entry.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Smut again,’ said a terrible voice. ‘Girls, I’m sick +ashamed of you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs Ape looked magnificent in a gown of heavy gold +brocade embroidered with texts.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m sick ashamed of you,’ repeated Mrs Ape, ‘and you’ve +made Chastity cry again, just before the big act. If you must +bully some one, <span class='it'>why</span> choose Chastity? You all know by this +time that crying always gives her a red nose. How do <span class='it'>I</span> look, +I should like to know, standing up in front of a lot of angels +with red noses. You don’t ever think of nothing but your +own pleasures, do you? <span class='it'>Sluts.</span>’ This last word was spoken +with a depth of expression that set the angels trembling. +‘There’ll be no champagne for any one to-night, see. And if +you don’t sing perfectly, I’ll give the whole lot of you a good +hiding, see. Now, come on, now, and for the love of the +Lamb, Chastity, <span class='it'>do something to your nose</span>. They’ll think it’s +a temperance meeting to see you like that.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was a brilliant scene into which the disconsolate angels +trooped two minutes later. Margot Metroland shook hands +with each of them as they came to the foot of the staircase, +appraising them, one by one, with an expert eye.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You don’t look happy, my dear,’ she found time to say to +Chastity, as she led them across the ballroom to their platform, +banked in orchids at the far end. ‘If you feel you want +a change, let me know later, and I can get you a job in South +America. <span class='it'>I mean it.</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, thank you,’ said Chastity, ‘but I could never leave +Mrs Ape.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, think it over, child. You’re far too pretty a girl to +waste your time singing hymns. Tell that other girl, the red-headed +one, that I can probably find a place for her, too.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What, Humility? Don’t you have nothing to do with her. +She’s a fiend.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, some men like rough stuff, but I don’t want any +one who makes trouble with the other girls.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘She makes trouble all right. Look at that bruise.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear!’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Margot Metroland and Mrs Ape led the angels up the +steps between the orchids and stood them at the back of the +platform facing the room. Chastity stood next to Creative +Endeavour.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Please, Chastity, I’m sorry if we hurt you,’ said Creative +Endeavour. ‘I didn’t pinch hard, did I?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes,’ said Chastity. ‘Like hell you did.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A slightly sticky hand tried to take hers, but she clenched +her fist. She would go to South America and work for Lady +Metroland . . . and she wouldn’t say anything about it to +Humility either. She glared straight in front of her, saw +Mrs Panrast and dropped her eyes.</p> + +<hr class='tbk135'/> + +<p class='pindent'>The ballroom was filled with little gilt chairs and the +chairs with people. Lord Vanburgh, conveniently seated +near the door, through which he could slip away to the +telephone, was taking them all in. They were almost all, in +some way or another, notable. The motives for Margot +Metroland’s second marriage<a id='rB'/><a href='#fB' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[B]</span></sup></a> had been mixed, but entirely +worldly; chief among them had been the desire to reestablish +her somewhat shaken social position, and her party that +night testified to her success, for while many people can +entertain the Prime Minister and the Duchess of Stayle and +Lady Circumference, and anybody can, and often against +her will does, entertain Miles Malpractice and Agatha +Runcible, it is only a very confident hostess who will invite +both these sets together at the same time, differing, as they +do, upon almost all questions of principle and deportment. +Standing near Vanburgh, by the door, was a figure who +seemed in himself to typify the change that had come over +Pastmaster House when Margot Beste-Chetwynd became +Lady Metroland; an unobtrusive man of rather less than +average height, whose black beard, falling in tight burnished +curls, nearly concealed the order of St Michael and St +George which he wore round his neck; he wore a large signet +ring on the little finger of his left hand outside his white +glove; there was an orchid in his buttonhole. His eyes, +youthful but grave, wandered among the crowd; occasionally +he bowed with grace and decision. Several people +were asking about him.</p> + +<hr class='footnotemark'/> + +<div class='footnote'> +<p class='footnote'> +<span class='footnote-id' id='fB'><a href='#rB'>[B]</a></span> + +See <span class='it'>Decline and Fall</span>.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class='footnotemark'/> + +<p class='pindent'>‘See the beaver with the medal,’ said Humility to Faith.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Who is that <span class='it'>very</span> important young man?’ asked Mrs +Blackwater of Lady Throbbing.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I don’t know, dear. He bowed to <span class='it'>you</span>.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘He bowed to <span class='it'>you</span>, dear.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘How very nice . . . I wasn’t quite sure. . . . He reminds +me a little of dear Prince Anrep.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It’s so nice in these days, isn’t it, dearest, to see some one +who really looks . . . don’t you think?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You mean the beard?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>The beard among other things</span>, darling.’</p> + +<hr class='tbk136'/> + +<p class='pindent'>Father Rothschild was conspiring with Mr Outrage and +Lord Metroland. He stopped short in the middle of his sentence.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Forgive me,’ he said, ‘but there are spies everywhere. +That man with the beard, do you know him?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Lord Metroland thought vaguely he had something to do +with the Foreign Office; Mr Outrage seemed to remember +having seen him before.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Exactly</span>,’ said Father Rothschild. ‘I think it would be +better if we continued our conversation in private. I have +been watching him. <span class='it'>He is bowing across the room to empty +places and to people whose backs are turned to him.</span>’ The +Great Men withdrew to Lord Metroland’s study. Father +Rothschild closed the door silently and looked behind the +curtains.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Shall I lock the door?’ asked Lord Metroland.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No,’ said the Jesuit. ‘A lock does not prevent a spy from +hearing; but it does hinder us, inside, from catching the +spy.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, I should never have thought of that,’ said Mr +Outrage in frank admiration.</p> + +<hr class='tbk137'/> + +<p class='pindent'>‘How pretty Nina Blount is,’ said Lady Throbbing, busy +from the front row with her lorgnette, ‘but don’t you think, +a little changed; almost as though . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You notice everything, darling.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘When you get to our age, dear, there is so little left, but I +do believe Miss Blount must have had an <span class='it'>experience</span> . . . +she’s sitting next to Miles. You know I heard from Edward +to-night. He’s on his way back. It will be a great blow for +Miles because he’s been living in Edward’s house all this +time. To tell you the truth I’m a little glad because from +what I hear from Anne Opalthorpe, who lives opposite, the +things that go on . . . he’s got a friend staying there now. +Such an odd man—a dirt-track racer. But then it’s no use +attempting to disguise the fact, is there. . . . There’s Mrs +Panrast . . . yes, dear, of course you know her, she used to +be Eleanor Balcairn . . . now <span class='it'>why</span> does dear Margot ask any +one like that, do you think? . . . it is not as though Margot +was so innocent . . . and there’s Lord Monomark . . . yes, +the man who owns those <span class='it'>amusing</span> papers . . . they say that +he and Margot, but <span class='it'>before</span> her marriage, of course (her +second marriage, I mean), but you never know, do you, how +things <span class='it'>crop</span> up again? . . . I wonder where Peter Pastmaster +is? . . . he never stays to Margot’s parties . . . he was at +dinner, of course, and, my dear, <span class='it'>how</span> he drank. . . . He +can’t be more than twenty-one. . . . Oh, so that is Mrs Ape. +What a coarse face . . . no dear, of course she can’t hear . . . +she looks like a <span class='it'>procureuse</span> . . . but perhaps I shouldn’t say +that <span class='it'>here</span>, should I?’</p> + +<hr class='tbk138'/> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam came and sat next to Nina.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Hullo,’ they said to each other.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, do look at Mary Mouse’s new young man,’ said +Nina.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam looked and saw that Mary was sitting next to the +Maharajah of Pukkapore.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I call that a pretty pair,’ he said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, how bored I feel,’ said Nina.</p> + +<hr class='tbk139'/> + +<p class='pindent'>Mr Benfleet was there talking to two poets. They said +‘. . . and I wrote to tell William that I didn’t write the +review, but it was true that Tony did read me the review +over the telephone when I was very sleepy before he sent it +in. I thought it was best to tell him the truth because he +would hear it from Tony anyway. Only I said I advised him +not to publish it just as I had advised William not to publish +the book in the first place. Well Tony rang up Michael and +told him that I’d said that William thought Michael had +written the review because of the reviews I had written of +Michael’s book last November, though, as a matter of fact, +it was Tony himself who wrote it. . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Too bad,’ said Mr Benfleet. ‘Too bad.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . but is that any reason, even if I had written it, why +Michael should tell Tony that I had stolen five pounds from +William?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Certainly not,’ said Mr Benfleet. ‘Too bad.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Of course, they’re <span class='it'>simply</span> not <span class='it'>gentlemen</span>, either of them. +That’s all it is, only one’s shy of saying it nowadays.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mr Benfleet shook his head sadly and sympathetically.</p> + +<hr class='tbk140'/> + +<p class='pindent'>Then Mrs Melrose Ape stood up to speak. A hush fell in the +gilt ballroom beginning at the back and spreading among the +chairs until only Mrs Blackwater’s voice was heard exquisitely +articulating some details of Lady Metroland’s past. Then +she, too, was silent and Mrs Ape began her oration about Hope.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Brothers and Sisters,’ she said in a hoarse, stirring voice. +Then she paused and allowed her eyes, renowned throughout +three continents for their magnetism, to travel among +the gilded chairs. (It was one of her favourite openings.) +‘<span class='it'>Just you look at yourselves</span>,’ she said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Magically, self-doubt began to spread in the audience. +Mrs Panrast stirred uncomfortably; had that silly little girl +been talking, she wondered.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Darling,’ whispered Miss Runcible, ‘is my nose awful?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Nina thought how once, only twenty-four hours ago, she +had been in love. Mr Benfleet thought should he have made +it three per cent. on the tenth thousand. The gate-crashers +wondered whether it would not have been better to have +stayed at home. (Once in Kansas City Mrs Ape had got no +further than these opening words; there had been a tornado +of emotion and all the seats in the hall had been broken to +splinters. It was there that Humility had joined the Angels.) +There were a thousand things in Lady Throbbing’s past. +. . . Every heart found something to bemoan.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘She’s got ’em again,’ whispered Creative Endeavour. +‘Got ’em stiff.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Lord Vanburgh slipped from the room to telephone +through some racy paragraphs about fashionable piety.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mary Mouse shed two little tears and felt for the brown, +bejewelled hand of the Maharajah.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But suddenly on that silence vibrant with self-accusation +broke the organ voice of England, the hunting-cry of the +<span class='it'>ancien régime</span>. Lady Circumference gave a resounding snort +of disapproval:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What a damned impudent woman,’ she said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam and Nina and Miss Runcible began to giggle, and +Margot Metroland for the first time in her many parties was +glad to realize that the guest of the evening was going to be a +failure. It had been an awkward moment.</p> + +<hr class='tbk141'/> + +<p class='pindent'>In the study Father Rothschild and Mr Outrage were +plotting with enthusiasm. Lord Metroland was smoking a +cigar and wondering how soon he could get away. He wanted +to hear Mrs Ape and to have another look at those Angels. +There was one with red hair. . . . Besides all this statesmanship +and foreign policy had always bored him. In his +years in the Commons he had always liked a good scrap, and +often thought a little wistfully of those orgies of competitive +dissimulation in which he had risen to eminence. Even now, +when some straightforward, easily intelligible subject was +under discussion, such as poor people’s wages or public art, +he enjoyed from time to time making a sonorous speech to the +Upper House. But this sort of thing was not at all in his line.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Suddenly Father Rothschild turned out the light.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘There’s some one coming down the passage,’ he said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Quick, get behind the curtains.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Really, Rothschild . . .’ said Mr Outrage.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I say . . .’ said Lord Metroland.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Quick</span>,’ said Father Rothschild.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The three statesmen hid themselves. Lord Metroland, +still smoking, his head thrown back and his cigar erect. They +heard the door open. The light was turned on. A match was +struck. Then came the slight tinkle of the telephone as +someone lifted the receiver.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Central ten thousand,’ said a slightly muffled voice.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Now</span>,’ said Father Rothschild, and stepped through the +curtain.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The bearded stranger who had excited his suspicions was +standing at the table smoking one of Lord Metroland’s +cigars and holding the telephone.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, hullo,’ he said, ‘I didn’t know you were here. Just +thought I’d use the telephone. So sorry. Won’t disturb you. +Jolly party, isn’t it? Good-bye.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Stay exactly where you are,’ said Father Rothschild, ‘and +take off that beard.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Damned if I do,’ said the stranger crossly. ‘It’s no use +talking to me as though I were one of your choir boys . . . +you old <span class='it'>bully</span>.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Take off that beard,’ said Father Rothschild.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Take off that beard,’ said Lord Metroland and the Prime +Minister, emerging suddenly from behind the curtain.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>This concurrence of Church and State, coming so unexpectedly +after an evening of prolonged embarrassment, was +too much for Simon.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, all right,’ he said, ‘if you <span class='it'>will</span> make such a <span class='it'>thing</span> +about it . . . it hurts too frightfully, if you knew . . . it +ought to be soaked in hot water . . . ooh . . . ow.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He gave some tugs at the black curls, and bit by bit they +came away.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>There</span>’, he said. ‘Now I should go and make Lady +Throbbing take off her wig. . . . I should have a really jolly +evening while you’re about it, if I were you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I seem to have over-estimated the gravity of the situation,’ +said Father Rothschild.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Who is it, after all this?’ said Mr Outrage. ‘Where are +those detectives? What does it all mean?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’ said Father Rothschild bitterly, ‘is <span class='it'>Mr Chatterbox</span>.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Never heard of him. I don’t believe there is such a person. . . . +<span class='it'>Chatterbox</span>, indeed . . . you make us hide behind a +curtain and then you tell us that some young man in a false +beard is called Chatterbox. Really, Rothschild . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Lord Balcairn,’ said Lord Metroland, ‘will you kindly +leave my house immediately?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Is</span> this young man called Chatterbox or is he not? . . . +Upon my soul, I believe you’re all crazy.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh yes, I’m going,’ said Simon. ‘You didn’t think I was +going to go back to the party like this, did you?—or did +you?’ Indeed, he looked very odd with little patches of black +hair still adhering to parts of his chin and cheeks.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Lord Monomark is here this evening. I shall certainly inform +him of your behaviour . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘He writes for the papers,’ Father Rothschild tried to +explain to the Prime Minister.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, damn it, so do I, but I don’t wear a false beard and +call myself Chatterbox. . . . I simply do not understand +what has happened. . . . Where are those detectives? . . . +Will no one explain? . . . <span class='it'>You treat me like a child</span>,’ he said. +It was all like one of those Cabinet meetings, when they all +talked about something he didn’t understand and paid no +attention to him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Father Rothschild led him away, and attempted with +almost humiliating patience and tact to make clear to him +some of the complexities of modern journalism.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I don’t believe a word of it,’ the Prime Minister kept +saying. ‘It’s all humbug. You’re keeping something back. +. . . <span class='it'>Chatterbox</span>, indeed.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Simon Balcairn was given his hat and coat and shown to +the door. The crowd round the awning had dispersed. It was +still raining. He walked back to his little flat in Bourdon +Street. The rain washed a few of the remaining locks from +his face; it dripped down his collar.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They were washing a car outside his front door; he crept +between it and his dustbin, fitted his latchkey in the lock +and went upstairs. His flat was like <span class='it'>Chez Espinosa</span>—all oilcloth +and Lalique glass; there were some enterprising +photographs by David Lennox, a gramophone (on the +instalment system) and numberless cards of invitation on the +mantelpiece. His bath towel was where he had left it on his bed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Simon went to the ice box in the kitchen and chipped off +some ice. Then he made himself a cocktail. Then he went to +the telephone.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Central ten thousand . . .’ he said. ‘. . . give me Mrs +Brace. Hullo, this is Balcairn.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well . . . gotcher story?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh yes, I’ve got my story, only this isn’t gossip, it’s news—front +page. You’ll have to fill up the Chatterbox page on +Espinosa’s.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Hell!’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Wait till you see the story. . . . Hullo, give me news, will +you. . . . This is Balcairn. Put on one of the boys to take this +down, will you? . . . ready? All right.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>At his glass-topped table, sipping his cocktail, Simon Balcairn +dictated his last story.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Scenes of wild religious enthusiasm, comma, reminiscent of +a negro camp-meeting in Southern America, comma, broke +out in the heart of Mayfair yesterday evening at the party +given for the famous American Revivalist Mrs Ape by the +Viscountess Metroland, formerly the Hon. Mrs Beste-Chetwynd, +at her historic mansion, Pastmaster House, stop. The +magnificent ballroom can never have enshrined a more brilliant +assembly . . .</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was his swan-song. Lie after monstrous lie bubbled up +in his brain.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>. . . The Hon. Agatha Runcible joined Mrs Ape among +the orchids and led the singing, tears coursing down her face +. . .</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Excitement spread at the <span class='it'>Excess</span> office. The machines were +stopped. The night staff of reporters, slightly tipsy, as +always at that hour, stood over the stenographer as he +typed. The compositors snatched the sheets of copy as they +came. The sub-editors began ruthlessly cutting and scrapping; +they suppressed important political announcements, +garbled the evidence at a murder trial, reduced the dramatic +criticism to one caustic paragraph, to make room for Simon’s +story.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It came through ‘hot and strong, as nice as mother makes +it,’ as one of them remarked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Little Lord Fauntleroy’s on a good thing at last,’ said +another.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What-ho,’ said a third appreciatively.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>. . . barely had Lady Everyman finished before the Countess +of Throbbing rose to confess her sins, and in a voice broken +with emotion disclosed the hitherto unverified details of the +parentage of the present Earl. . . .</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Tell Mr Edwardes to look up photographs of all three of +’em,’ said the assistant news editor.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>. . . The Marquess of Vanburgh shaken by sobs of contrition +. . . . Mrs Panrast, singing feverishly. . . . Lady Anchorage +with downcast eyes.</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>. . . The Archbishop of Canterbury, who up to now had +remained unmoved by the general emotion, then testified that +at Eton in the ’eighties he and Sir James Brown . . .</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>. . . the Duchess of Stayle next threw down her emerald +and diamond tiara, crying “a Guilt Offering”, an example +which was quickly followed by the Countess of Circumference +and Lady Brown, until a veritable rain of precious stones fell +on to the parquet flooring, heirlooms of priceless value rolling +among Tecla pearls and Chanel diamonds. A blank cheque +fluttered from the hands of the Maharajah of Pukkapore . . .</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It made over two columns, and when Simon finally rang +off, after receiving the congratulations of his colleagues, he +was for the first time in his journalistic experience perfectly +happy about his work. He finished the watery dregs of the +cocktail shaker and went into the kitchen. He shut the door +and the window and opened the door of the gas oven. Inside +it was very black and dirty and smelled of meat. He +spread a sheet of newspaper on the lowest tray and lay down, +resting his head on it. Then he noticed that by some mischance +he had chosen Vanburgh’s gossip-page in the <span class='it'>Morning +Despatch</span>. He put in another sheet. (There were crumbs +on the floor.) Then he turned on the gas. It came surprisingly +with a loud roar; the wind of it stirred his hair and the remaining +particles of his beard. At first he held his breath. +Then he thought that was silly and gave a sniff. The sniff +made him cough, and coughing made him breathe, and +breathing made him feel very ill; but soon he fell into a +coma and presently died.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So the last Earl of Balcairn went, as they say, to his +fathers (who had fallen in many lands and for many causes, +as the eccentricities of British Foreign Policy and their own +wandering natures had directed them; at Acre and Agincourt +and Killiecrankie, in Egypt and America. One had +been picked white by fishes as the tides rolled him among +the tree-tops of a submarine forest; some had grown black +and unfit for consideration under tropical suns; while many +of them lay in marble tombs of extravagant design).</p> + +<hr class='tbk142'/> + +<p class='pindent'>At Pastmaster House, Lady Metroland and Lord Monomark +were talking about him. Lord Monomark was roaring +with boyish laughter.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s a great lad,’ he said. ‘Came in a false beard, did +he? That’s peppy. What’d you say his name was? I’ll raise +him to-morrow first thing.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>And he turned to give Simon’s name to an attendant +secretary.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>And when Lady Metroland began to expostulate, he shut +her up rather discourteously.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Shucks, Margot,’ he said. ‘You know better than to get +on a high horse with me.’</p> + +<div><h1><span class='it'>Chapter Seven</span></h1></div> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='dropcap'>T</span>hen Adam became Mr Chatterbox. He and Nina were +lunching at Espinosa’s and quarrelling half-heartedly when +a business-like, Eton-cropped woman came across to their +table, whom Adam recognized as the social editress of the +<span class='it'>Daily Excess</span>.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘See here,’ she said, ‘weren’t you over at the office with +Balcairn the day he did himself in?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, a pretty mess he’s let us in for. Sixty-two writs for +libel up to date and more coming in. And that’s not the +worst. Left me to do his job and mine. I was wondering if +you could tell me the names of any of these people and anything +about them.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam pointed out a few well-worn faces.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, they ain’t no good. They’re on the black list. You +see, Monomark was in an awful way about Balcairn’s story +of Lady Metroland’s party, and he’s sent down a chit that +none of the people who are bringing actions against the +paper can be mentioned again. Well, I ask you, what’s one +to do? It’s just bricks without straw. Why, we can’t even +mention the Prime Minister or the Archbishop of Canterbury. +I suppose you don’t know of any one who’d care to take +on the job? They’d have to be a pretty good mutt, if they +would.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What do they pay?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Ten pounds a week and expenses. Know any one?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’d do it myself for that.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>You?</span>’ The social editress looked at him sceptically. +‘Would you be any good?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’ll try for a week or two.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s about as long as any one sticks it. All right, come +back to the office with me when you’ve finished lunch. You +can’t cause more trouble than Balcairn, anyhow, and he +looked the goods at first.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Now we can get married,’ said Nina.</p> + +<hr class='tbk143'/> + +<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile the libel actions against the authors, printers +and publishers of Simon Balcairn’s last story practically +paralysed the judicial system of the country. The old brigade, +led by Mrs Blackwater, threw themselves with relish into an +orgy of litigation such as they had not seen since the war +(one of the younger counsel causing Lady Throbbing particular +delight. . . . ‘I do think, when you get to my age, +dear, there is something <span class='it'>sympathetique</span> about a wig, don’t +you? . . .’). The younger generation for the most part +allowed their cases to be settled out of court and later gave a +very delightful party on the proceeds in a captive dirigible. +Miss Runcible, less well advised, filled two albums with +Press cuttings portraying her various appearances at the +Law Courts, sometimes as plaintiff, sometimes as witness, +sometimes (in a hat borrowed from Miss Mouse) as part of +the queue of ‘fashionably dressed women waiting for admission’, +once as an intruder being removed by an usher +from the Press gallery, and finally as prisoner being sentenced +to a fine of ten pounds or seven days’ imprisonment +for contempt of court.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The proceedings were considerably complicated by the +behaviour of Mrs Ape, who gave an interview in which she +fully confirmed Simon Balcairn’s story. She also caused her +Press agent to wire a further account to all parts of the +world. She then left the country with her angels, having +received a sudden call to ginger up the religious life of Oberammergau.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>At intervals letters arrived from Buenos Aires in which +Chastity and Divine Discontent spoke rather critically of +Latin American entertainment.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘They didn’t know when they was well off,’ said Mrs Ape.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It don’t sound much different from us,’ said Creative +Endeavour wistfully.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘They won’t be dead five minutes before <span class='it'>they</span> see the +difference,’ said Mrs Ape.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Edward Throbbing and two secretaries returned to Hertford +Street somewhat inopportunely for Miles and his dirt-track +racer, who were obliged to move into Shepheard’s. +Miles said that the thing he resented about his brother’s +return was not so much the inconvenience as the expense. +For some weeks Throbbing suffered from the successive +discoveries by his secretaries of curious and compromising +things in all parts of the house; his butler, too, seemed +changed. He hiccoughed heavily while serving dinner to +two Secretaries of State, complained of spiders in his bath +and the sound of musical instruments, and finally had ‘the +horrors’, ran mildly amok in the pantry with the kitchen +poker, and had to be taken away in a van. Long after these +immediate causes of distress had been removed, the life of +Throbbing’s secretaries was periodically disturbed by ambiguous +telephone calls and the visits of menacing young +men who wanted new suits or tickets to America, or a fiver +to go on with.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But all these events, though of wide general interest, are +of necessity a closed book to the readers of Mr Chatterbox’s +page.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Lord Monomark’s black list had made a devastating +change in the personnel of the <span class='it'>Daily Excess</span> gossip. In a +single day Mr Chatterbox’s readers found themselves plunged +into a murky underworld of nonentities. They were shown +photographs of the misshapen daughters of backwoods peers +carrying buckets of meal to their fathers’ chickens; they +learned of the engagement of the younger sister of the +Bishop of Chertsey and of a dinner party given in Elm Park +Gardens by the widow of a High Commissioner to some of +the friends she had made in their colony. There were +details of the blameless home life of women novelists, photographed +with their spaniels before rose-covered cottages; +stories of undergraduate ‘rags’ and regimental reunion dinners; +anecdotes from Harley Street and the Inns of Court; +snaps and snippets about cocktail parties given in basement +flats by spotty announcers at the B.B.C., of tea dances in +Gloucester Terrace and jokes made at High Table by dons.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Urged on by the taunts of the social editress, Adam +brought new enterprise and humanity into this sorry column. +He started a series of ‘Notable Invalids’, which was +from the first, wildly successful. He began chattily. ‘<span class='it'>At a +dinner party the other evening my neighbour and I began to +compile a list of the most popular deaf peeresses. First, of +course, came old Lady ——. . .</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Next day he followed it up with a page about deaf peers +and statesmen; then about the one-legged, blind and bald. +Postcards of appreciation poured in from all over the country.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>I have read your column for many years now</span>,’ wrote a +correspondent from Bude, ‘<span class='it'>but this is the first time I have +really enjoyed it. I have myself been deaf for a long time, and +it is a great comfort to me to know that my affliction is shared +by so many famous men and women. Thank you, Mr Chatterbox, +and good luck to you.</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Another wrote: ‘<span class='it'>Ever since childhood I have been cursed +with abnormally large ears which have been a source of +ridicule to me and a serious handicap in my career (I am a +chub fuddler). I should be so glad to know whether any great +people have suffered in the same way.</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Finally, he ransacked the lunatic asylums and mental +houses of the country, and for nearly a week ran an +extremely popular series under the heading ‘Titled Eccentrics’.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>It is not generally known that the Earl of ——, who lives +in strict retirement, has the unusual foible of wearing costume +of the Napoleonic Period. So great, indeed, is his detestation +of modern dress that on one occasion . . .</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Lord ——, whose public appearances are regrettably rare +nowadays, is a close student of comparative religions. There +is an amusing story of how, when lunching with the then Dean +of Westminster, Lord —— startled his host by proclaiming +that so far from being of divine ordinance, the Ten Commandments +were, in point of fact, composed by himself and +delivered by him to Moses on Sinai. . . .</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Lady ——, whose imitations of animal sounds are so lifelike +that she can seldom be persuaded to converse in any other +way, . . .</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>And so on.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Besides this, arguing that people did not really mind +<span class='it'>whom</span> they read about provided that a kind of vicarious inquisitiveness +into the lives of others was satisfied, Adam +began to invent people.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He invented a sculptor called Provna, the son of a Polish +nobleman, who lived in a top-floor studio in Grosvenor +House. Most of his work (which was all in private hands) +was constructed in cork, vulcanite and steel. The Metropolitan +Museum at New York, Mr Chatterbox learned, had +been negotiating for some time to purchase a specimen, but +so far had been unable to outbid the collectors.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Such is the power of the Press, that soon after this a steady +output of early Provnas began to travel from Warsaw to +Bond Street and from Bond Street to California, while Mrs +Hoop announced to her friends that Provna was at the +moment at work on a bust of Johnny, which she intended +to present to the nation (a statement which Adam was +unable to record owing to the presence of Mrs Hoop’s name +on the black list, but which duly appeared, under a photograph +of Johnny, in the Marquess of Vanburgh’s rival +column).</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Encouraged by his success, Adam began gradually to +introduce to his readers a brilliant and lovely company. He +mentioned them casually at first in lists of genuine people. +There was a popular young attaché at the Italian Embassy +called Count Cincinnati. He was descended from the famous +Roman Consul, Cincinnatus, and bore a plough as his crest. +Count Cincinnati was held to be the best amateur ’cellist in +London. Adam saw him one evening dancing at the Café de +la Paix. A few evenings later Lord Vanburgh noticed him at +Covent Garden, remarking that his collection of the original +designs for the Russian ballet was unequalled in Europe. +Two days later Adam sent him to Monte Carlo for a few +days’ rest, and Vanburgh hinted that there was more in this +visit than met the eye, and mentioned the daughter of a +well-known American hostess who was staying there at her +aunt’s villa.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There was a Captain Angus Stuart-Kerr, too, whose rare +appearances in England were a delight to his friends; unlike +most big-game hunters, he was an expert and indefatigable +dancer. Much to Adam’s disgust he found Captain Stuart-Kerr +taken up by an unknown gossip writer in a twopenny, +illustrated weekly, who saw him at a point-to-point meeting, +and remarked that he was well known as the hardest rider +in the Hebrides. Adam put a stop to that next day.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Some people</span>,’ he wrote, ‘<span class='it'>are under the impression that +Captain Angus Stuart-Kerr, whom I mentioned on this page a +short time ago, is a keen rider. Perhaps they are confusing +him with Alastair Kerr-Stuart, of Inverauchty, a very +distant cousin. Captain Stuart-Kerr never rides, and for +a very interesting reason. There is an old Gaelic rhyme +repeated among his clansmen which says in rough translation +“the Laird rides well on two legs”. Tradition has it that +when the head of the house mounts a horse the clan will be +dispersed.</span>’<a id='rC'/><a href='#fC' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[C]</span></sup></a></p> + +<hr class='footnotemark'/> + +<div class='footnote'> +<p class='footnote'> +<span class='footnote-id' id='fC'><a href='#rC'>[C]</a></span> + +This story, slightly expanded, found its way later into a +volume of Highland Legends called <span class='it'>Tales from the Mist</span>, which +has been approved to be read in elementary schools. This shows +the difference between what is called a ‘living’ as opposed to a +‘dead’ folk tradition.</p> + +</div> + +<hr class='footnotemark'/> + +<p class='pindent'>But Adam’s most important creation was Mrs Andrew +Quest. There was always some difficulty about introducing +English people into his column as his readers had a way of +verifying his references in Debrett (as he knew to his cost, +for one day, having referred to the engagement of the third +and youngest daughter of a Welsh baronet, he received six +postcards, eighteen telephone calls, a telegram and a personal +visit of protest to inform him that there are two +equally beautiful sisters still in the schoolroom. The social +editress had been scathing about this). However, he put +Imogen Quest down one day, quietly and decisively, as the +most lovely and popular of the younger married set. And +from the first she exhibited signs of a marked personality. +Adam wisely eschewed any attempts at derivation, but his +readers nodded to each other and speedily supplied her +with an exalted if irregular origin. Everything else Adam +showered upon her. She had slightly more than average +height, and was very dark and slim, with large Laurencin +eyes and the negligent grace of the trained athlete (she +fenced with the sabre for half an hour every morning before +breakfast). Even Provna, who was notoriously indifferent +to conventional beauty, described her as ‘justifying the +century’.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Her clothes were incomparable, with just that suggestion +of the haphazard which raised them high above the mere +<span class='it'>chic</span> of the mannequin.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Her character was a lovely harmony of contending virtues—she +was witty and tender hearted; passionate and +serene, sensual and temperate, impulsive and discreet.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Her set, the most intimate and brilliant in Europe, +achieved a superb mean between those two poles of savagery +Lady Circumference and Lady Metroland.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Soon Imogen Quest became a byword for social inaccessibility—the +final goal for all climbers.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam went one day to a shop in Hanover Square to +watch Nina buy some hats and was seriously incommoded +by the heaps of bandboxes disposed on the chairs and dressing-tables +ostentatiously addressed to Mrs Andrew Quest. +He could hear her name spoken reverently in cocktail clubs, +and casually let slip in such phrases as ‘My dear, I never +see Peter now. He spends all his time with Imogen Quest,’ +or ‘As Imogen would say . . .’ or ‘I think the Quests have +got one like that. I must ask them where it came from.’ And +this knowledge on the intangible Quest set, moving among +them in uncontrolled dignity of life, seemed to leaven and +sweeten the lives of Mr Chatterbox’s readers.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>One day Imogen gave a party, the preparations for which +occupied several paragraphs. On the following day Adam found +his table deep in letters of complaint from gate-crashers +who had found the house in Seamore Place untenanted.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Finally a message came down that Lord Monomark was +interested in Mrs Quest; could Mr Chatterbox arrange a +meeting. That day the Quests sailed for Jamaica.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam also attempted in an unobtrusive way to exercise +some influence over the clothes of his readers. ‘<span class='it'>I noticed at +the Café de la Paix yesterday evening</span>,’ he wrote, ‘<span class='it'>that two +of the smartest men in the room were wearing black suède +shoes with their evening clothes—one of them, who shall be +nameless, was a Very Important Person indeed. I hear that +this fashion, which comes, like so many others, from New +York, is likely to become popular over here this season.</span>’ A +few days later he mentioned Captain Stuart-Kerr’s appearance +at the Embassy ‘<span class='it'>wearing, of course, the ultra-fashionable +black suède shoes</span>’. In a week he was gratified to notice +that Johnny Hoop and Archie Schwert had both followed +Captain Stuart-Kerr’s lead, while in a fortnight the big +emporiums of ready-made clothes in Regent Street had +transposed their tickets in the windows and arranged rows +of black suède shoes on a silver step labelled ‘For evening +wear’.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>His attempt to introduce a bottle-green bowler hat, however, +was not successful; in fact, a ‘well-known St James’s +Street hatter’, when interviewed by an evening paper on +the subject, said that he had never seen or heard of such a +thing, and though he would not refuse to construct one if +requested to by an old customer, he was of the opinion that +no old customer of his would require a hat of that kind +(though there was a sad case of an impoverished old beau +who attempted to stain a grey hat with green ink, as once in +years gone by he had been used to dye the carnation for his +buttonhole).</p> + +<p class='pindent'>As the days passed, Mr Chatterbox’s page became almost +wholly misleading. With sultanesque caprice Adam would +tell his readers of inaccessible eating-houses which were now +the centre of fashion; he drove them to dance in temperance +hotels in Bloomsbury. In a paragraph headed ‘Montparnasse +in Belgravia’, he announced that the buffet at Sloane +Square tube station had become the haunt of the most +modern artistic coterie (Mr Benfleet hurried there on his +first free evening, but saw no one but Mrs Hoop and Lord +Vanburgh and a plebeian topper with a celluloid collar).</p> + +<p class='pindent'>As a last resort, on those hopeless afternoons when invention +failed and that black misanthropy settled on him +which waits alike on gossip writer and novelist, Adam +sometimes found consolation in seizing upon some gentle +and self-effacing citizen and transfiguring him with a blaze +of notoriety.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He did this with a man called Ginger.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>As part of his duties, which led him into many unusual +places, Adam and Nina went up to Manchester for the +November Handicap. Here they had the disheartening +experience of seeing Indian Runner come in an easy winner +and the totalisator paying out thirty-five to one. It was +during the bottle-green bowler campaign, and Adam was +searching in vain for any sign of his influence when, +suddenly, among the crowd, he saw the genial red face of +the drunk Major to whom he had entrusted his thousand +pounds at Lottie’s. It seemed odd that a man so bulky could +be so elusive. Adam was not sure whether the Major saw +him, but in some mysterious way Adam’s pursuit coincided +with the Major’s complete disappearance. The crowd became +very dense, brandishing flasks and sandwiches. When Adam +reached the spot where the Major had stood he found two +policemen arresting a pickpocket.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘ ’Ere, who are you pushing?’ asked the spectators.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Have you seen a drunk Major anywhere?’ asked Adam.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But no one could help him, and he returned disconsolately +to Nina, whom he found in conversation with a young man +with a curly red moustache.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The young man said he was fed up with racing, and +Adam said he was too; so the young man said why didn’t +they come back to London in his bus, so Adam and Nina said +they would. The bus turned out to be a very large, brand-new +racing car, and they got to London in time for dinner. +Nina explained that the young man used to play with her as +a child, and that he had been doing something military in +Ceylon for the last five years. The young man’s name was +Eddy Littlejohn, but over dinner he said, look here, would +they call him Ginger; every one else did. So they began +to call him Ginger, and he said wouldn’t it be a good idea +if they had another bottle of fizz, and Nina and Adam +said yes, it would, so they had a magnum and got very +friendly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You know,’ said Ginger, ‘it was awful luck meeting you +two to-day. I was getting awfully fed up with London. It’s +so damn slow. I came back meaning to have a good time, +you know, paint the place red a bit, and all that. Well, the +other day I was reading the paper, and there was a bit that +said that the posh place to go to dance nowadays was the +Casanova Hotel in Bloomsbury. Well, it seemed a bit rum to +me—place I’d never heard of, you know—but, still, I’d been +away for some time and places change and all that, so I put +on my bib and tucker and toddled off, hoping for a bit of +innocent amusement. Well, I mean to say, you never saw +such a place. There were only about three people dancing, so +I said, “Where’s the bar?” And they said, “Bar!” And I +said, “You know, for a drink.” And they said, well, they +could probably make me some coffee. And I said, “No, not +coffee.” And then they said they hadn’t got a licence for +what they called alcohol. Well, I mean to say, if that’s the +best London can do, give me Colombo. I wonder who writes +things like that in the papers?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘As a matter of fact, <span class='it'>I</span> do.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I say no, do you? You must be frightfully brainy. Did you +write all that about the green bowlers?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, I mean to say, whoever heard of a green bowler, I +mean. . . . I tell you what, you know, I believe it was all a +leg pull. You know, I think that’s damn funny. Why, a +whole lot of poor mutts may have gone and bought green +bowlers.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>After this they went on to the Café de la Paix, where they +met Johnny Hoop, who asked them all to the party in a few +days’ time in the captive balloon.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But Ginger was not to be had twice.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, no you know,’ he said, ‘not in a captive balloon. +You’re trying to pull the old leg again. Whoever heard of a +party in a captive balloon? I mean to say, suppose one fell +out, I mean?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam telephoned his page through to the <span class='it'>Excess</span>, and +soon after this a coloured singer appeared, paddling his +black suède shoes in a pool of limelight, who excited Ginger’s +disapproval. He didn’t mind niggers, Ginger said; +remarking justly that niggers were all very well in their +place, but, after all, one didn’t come all the way from +Colombo to London just to see niggers. So they left the Café +de la Paix, and went to Lottie’s, where Ginger became a +little moody, saying that London wasn’t home to him any +more and that things were changed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You know,’ said Ginger, ‘all the time I’ve been out in +Ceylon I’ve always said to myself, “As soon as the governor +kicks the bucket, and I come in for the family doubloons +and pieces of eight, I’m going to come back to England and +have a real old bust.” And now when it comes to the point +there doesn’t seem to be anything I much want to do.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘How about a little drink?’ said Lottie.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So Ginger had a drink, and then he and an American sang +the Eton Boating Song several times. At the end of the +evening he admitted that there was some life left in the jolly +old capital of the Empire.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Next day Mr Chatterbox’s readers learned that: ‘<span class='it'>Captain +“Ginger” Littlejohn, as he is known to his intimates, was +one of the well-known sporting figures at the November +Handicap who favoured the new bottle-green bowler. Captain +Littlejohn is one of the wealthiest and best-known bachelors in +Society, and I have lately heard his name spoken of in +connection with the marriage of the daughter of a famous +ducal house. He came all the way to yesterday’s races in his +own motor omnibus, which he drives himself . . .</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>For some days Ginger’s name figured largely on Adam’s +page, to his profound embarrassment. Several engagements +were predicted for him, it was rumoured that he had signed +a contract with a film company, that he had bought a small +island in the Bristol Channel which he proposed to turn into +a country club, and that his forthcoming novel about +Singalese life contained many very thinly disguised portraits +of London celebrities.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But the green bowler joke had gone too far. Adam was +sent for by Lord Monomark.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Now see here, Symes,’ said the great man, ‘I like your +page. It’s peppy; it’s got plenty of new names in it and it’s +got the intimate touch I like. I read it every day and so does +my daughter. Keep on that way and you’ll be all right. But +<span class='it'>what’s all this about bottle-green bowlers</span>?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, of course, sir, they’re only worn by a limited +number of people at present, but . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Have you got one? Show me a green bowler.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I don’t wear one myself, I’m afraid.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, where d’you see ’em? I haven’t seen one yet. My +daughter hasn’t seen one. Who does wear ’em? Where do +they buy ’em? That’s what I want to know. Now see here, +Symes, I don’t say that there ain’t any such thing as a green +bowler; there may be and again there mayn’t. But from +now on there are going to be no more bottle-green bowlers +in my paper. See. And another thing. This Count Cincinnati. +I don’t say <span class='it'>he</span> doesn’t exist. He may do and he mayn’t. But +the Italian Ambassador doesn’t know anything about him +and the Almanak de Gotha doesn’t. So as far as my paper +goes that’s good enough for him. And I don’t want any more +about Espinosa’s. They made out my bill wrong last night.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Got those three things clear? Tabulate them in the mind—1, +2, 3, that’s the secret of memory. Tab-u-late. All right, +then, run along now and tell the Home Secretary he can +come right in. You’ll find him waiting in the passage—ugly +little man with a pince-nez.’</p> + +<div><h1><span class='it'>Chapter Eight</span></h1></div> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='dropcap'>T</span>wo nights later Adam and Nina took Ginger to the party +in the captive dirigible. It was not a really good evening. +The long drive in Ginger’s car to the degraded suburb +where the airship was moored chilled and depressed them, +dissipating the gaiety which had flickered rather spasmodically +over Ginger’s dinner.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The airship seemed to fill the whole field, tethered a few +feet from the ground by innumerable cables over which they +stumbled painfully on the way to the steps. These had been +covered by a socially minded caterer with a strip of red +carpet.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Inside, the saloons were narrow and hot, communicating +to each other by spiral staircases and metal alleys. There +were protrusions at every corner, and Miss Runcible had +made herself a mass of bruises in the first half hour. There +was a band and a bar and all the same faces. It was the first +time that a party was given in an airship.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam went aloft to a kind of terrace. Acres of inflated silk +blotted out the sky, stirring just perceptibly in the breeze. +The lights of other cars arriving lit up the uneven grass. A +few louts had collected round the gates to jeer. There were +two people making love to each other near him on the +terrace, reclining on cushions. There was also a young +woman he did not know, holding one of the stays and breathing +heavily; evidently she felt unwell. One of the lovers lit a +cigar and Adam observed that they were Mary Mouse and +the Maharajah of Pukkapore.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Presently Nina joined him. ‘It seems such a waste,’ she +said, thinking of Mary and the Maharajah, ‘that two very +rich people like that should fall in love with each other.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Nina,’ said Adam, ‘let’s get married soon, don’t you +think?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, it’s a bore not being married.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The young woman who felt ill passed by them, walking +shakily, to try and find her coat and her young man to take +her home.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . I don’t know if it sounds absurd,’ said Adam, ‘but I +do feel that a marriage ought to <span class='it'>go on</span>—for quite a long +time, I mean. D’you feel that too, at all?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, it’s one of the things about a marriage!’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m glad you feel that. I didn’t quite know if you did. +Otherwise it’s all rather bogus, isn’t it?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I think you ought to go and see papa again,’ said Nina. +‘It’s never any good writing. Go and tell him that you’ve +got a job and are terribly rich and that we’re going to be +married before Christmas!’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘All right. I’ll do that.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . D’you remember last month we arranged for you to +go and see him the first time? . . . just like this . . . it was at +Archie Schwert’s party . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, Nina, <span class='it'>what a lot of parties</span>.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>(. . . Masked parties, Savage parties, Victorian parties, +Greek parties, Wild West parties, Russian parties, Circus +parties, parties where one had to dress as somebody else, +almost naked parties in St John’s Wood, parties in flats and +studios and houses and ships and hotels and night clubs, in +windmills and swimming baths, tea parties at school where +one ate muffins and meringues and tinned crab, parties at +Oxford where one drank brown sherry and smoked Turkish +cigarettes, dull dances in London and comic dances in Scotland +and disgusting dances in Paris—all that succession and +repetition of massed humanity. . . . Those vile bodies . . .)</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He leant his forehead, to cool it, on Nina’s arm and kissed +her in the hollow of her forearm.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I <span class='it'>know</span>, darling,’ she said, and put her hand on his hair.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Ginger came strutting jauntily by, his hands clasped +under his coat-tails.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Hullo, you two,’ he said. ‘Pretty good show this, what.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Are you enjoying yourself, Ginger?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Rather.</span> I say, I’ve met an awful good chap called Miles. +Regular topper. You know, <span class='it'>pally</span>. That’s what I like about a +really decent party—you meet such topping fellows. I mean +some chaps it takes absolutely years to know but a chap like +Miles I feel is a pal straight away.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Presently cars began to drive away again. Miss Runcible +said that she had heard of a divine night club near Leicester +Square somewhere where you could get a drink at any hour +of the night. It was called the St Christopher’s Social Club.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So they all went there in Ginger’s car.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>On the way Ginger said, ‘That cove Miles, you know, +he’s awfully <span class='it'>queer</span> . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>St Christopher’s Social Club took some time to find.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was a little door at the side of a shop, and the man who +opened it held his foot against it and peeped round.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They paid ten shillings each and signed false names in the +visitor’s book. Then they went downstairs to a very hot room +full of cigarette smoke; there were unsteady tables with +bamboo legs round the walls and there were some people in +shirt sleeves dancing on a shiny linoleum floor.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There was a woman in a yellow beaded frock playing a +piano and another in red playing the fiddle.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They ordered some whisky. The waiter said he was sorry, +but he couldn’t oblige, not that night he couldn’t. The police +had just rung up to say that they were going to make a raid +any minute. If they liked they could have some nice kippers.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Miss Runcible said that kippers were not very drunk-making +and that the whole club seemed bogus to her.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Ginger said well anyway they had better have some +kippers now they were there. Then he asked Nina to dance +and she said no. Then he asked Miss Runcible and she said +no, too.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then they ate kippers.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Presently one of the men in shirt sleeves (who had clearly +had a lot to drink before the St Christopher Social Club knew +about the police) came up to their table and said to Adam:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You don’t know me. I’m Gilmour. I don’t want to start a +row in front of ladies, but when I see a howling cad I like to +tell him so.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam said, ‘Why do you spit when you talk?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Gilmour said, ‘That is a very unfortunate physical disability, +and it shows what a howling cad you are that you +mention it.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then Ginger said, ‘Same to you, old boy, with nobs on.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then Gilmour said, ‘Hullo, Ginger, old scout.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>And Ginger said, ‘Why, it’s Bill. You mustn’t mind Bill. +Awfully stout chap. Met him on the boat.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Gilmour said, ‘Any pal of Ginger’s is a pal of mine.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So Adam and Gilmour shook hands.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Gilmour said, ‘This is a pretty low joint, anyhow. You +chaps come round to my place and have a drink.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So they went to Gilmour’s place.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Gilmour’s place was a bed-sitting room in Ryder Street.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So they sat on the bed in Gilmour’s place and drank +whisky while Gilmour was sick next door.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>And Ginger said, ‘There’s nowhere like London really +you know.’</p> + +<hr class='tbk144'/> + +<p class='pindent'>That same evening while Adam and Nina sat on the deck +of the dirigible a party of quite a different sort was being +given at Anchorage House. This last survivor of the noble +town houses of London was, in its time, of dominating and +august dimensions, and even now, when it had become a +mere ‘picturesque bit’ lurking in a ravine between concrete +skyscrapers, its pillared façade, standing back from the street +and obscured by railings and some wisps of foliage, had +grace and dignity and other-worldliness enough to cause a +flutter or two in Mrs Hoop’s heart as she drove into the forecourt.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Can’t you just see the <span class='it'>ghosts</span>? she said to Lady Circumference +on the stairs. ‘Pit and Fox and Burke and Lady +Hamilton and Beau Brummel and Dr Johnson’ (a concurrence +of celebrities, it may be remarked, at which something +memorable might surely have occurred). ‘Can’t you +just <span class='it'>see</span> them—in their buckled shoes?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Lady Circumference raised her lorgnette and surveyed +the stream of guests debouching from the cloak-rooms like +City workers from the Underground. She saw Mr Outrage +and Lord Metroland in consultation about the Censorship +Bill (a statesmanlike and much-needed measure which empowered +a committee of five atheists to destroy all books, +pictures and films they considered undesirable, without any +nonsense about defence or appeal). She saw both Archbishops, +the Duke and Duchess of Stayle, Lord Vanburgh +and Lady Metroland, Lady Throbbing and Edward Throbbing +and Mrs Blackwater, Mrs Mouse and Lord Monomark +and a superb Levantine, and behind and about them a great +concourse of pious and honourable people (many of whom +made the Anchorage House reception the one outing of the +year), their women-folk well gowned in rich and durable +stuffs, their men-folk ablaze with orders; people who had +represented their country in foreign places and sent their +sons to die for her in battle, people of decent and temperate +life, uncultured, unaffected, unembarrassed, unassuming, +unambitious people, of independent judgment and marked +eccentricities, kind people who cared for animals and the +deserving poor, brave and rather unreasonable people, that +fine phalanx of the passing order, approaching as one day at +the Last Trump they hoped to meet their Maker, with +decorous and frank cordiality to shake Lady Anchorage by +the hand at the top of her staircase. Lady Circumference +saw all this and sniffed the exhalation of her own herd. But +she saw no ghosts.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s all my eye,’ she said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But Mrs Hoop ascended step by step in a confused but +very glorious dream of eighteenth-century elegance.</p> + +<hr class='tbk145'/> + +<p class='pindent'>The Presence of Royalty was heavy as thunder in the +drawing-room.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The Baroness Yoshiwara and the Prime Minister met +once more.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I tried to see you twice this week,’ she said, ‘but always +you were busy. We are leaving London. Perhaps you heard? +My husband has been moved to Washington. It was his +wish to go. . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No. I say, Baroness . . . I had no idea. That’s very bad +news. We shall all miss you terribly.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I thought perhaps I would come to make my adieux. +One day next week.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Why, yes, of course, that would be delightful. You must +both come to dine. I’ll get my secretary to fix something up +to-morrow.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It has been nice being in London . . . you were kind.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Not a bit. I don’t know what London would be without +our guests from abroad.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, twenty damns to your great pig-face,’ said the +Baroness suddenly and turned away.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mr Outrage watched her bewildered. Finally he said, +‘For East is East and West is West and never the twain shall +meet’ (which was a poor conclusion for a former Foreign +Secretary).</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Edward Throbbing stood talking to the eldest daughter of +the Duchess of Stayle. She was some inches taller than him +and inclined slightly so that, in the general murmur of +conversation, she should not miss any of his colonial experience. +She wore a frock such as only Duchesses can obtain +for their elder daughters, a garment curiously puckered and +puffed up and enriched with old lace at improbable places, +from which her pale beauty emerged as though from a +clumsily tied parcel. Neither powder, rouge nor lipstick had +played any part in her toilet and her colourless hair was +worn long and bound across her forehead in a broad fillet. +Long pearl drops hung from her ears and she wore a tight +little collar of pearls round her throat. It was generally +understood that now Edward Throbbing was back these +two would become engaged to be married.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Lady Ursula was acquiescent if unenthusiastic. When she +thought about marriage at all, which was rarely (for her +chief interests were a girls’ club in Canning Town and a +younger brother at school), she thought what a pity it was +that one had to be so ill to have children. Her married +friends spoke of this almost with relish and her mother with +awe.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>An innate dilatoriness of character rather than any doubt +of the ultimate issue kept Edward from verbal proposal. He +had decided to arrange everything before Christmas and +that was enough. He had no doubt that a suitable occasion +would soon be devised for him. It was clearly suitable that +he should marry before he was thirty. Now and then when +he was with Ursula he felt a slight quickening of possessive +impulse towards her fragility and distance; occasionally +when he read some rather lubricious novel or saw much love-making +on the stage he would translate the characters in his +mind and put Lady Ursula, often incongruously, in the place +of the heroine. He had no doubt that he was in love. Perhaps +he would propose this very evening and get it over. It was up +to Lady Ursula to engineer an occasion. Meanwhile he kept +the conversation on to the subject of labour problems in +Montreal, about which his information was extensive and +accurate.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘He’s a nice, steady boy,’ said the Duchess, ‘and it’s a +comfort, nowadays, to see two young people so genuinely +fond of each other. Of course, nothing is actually arranged +yet, but I was talking to Fanny Throbbing yesterday, and +apparently Edward has already spoken to her on the subject. +I think that everything will be settled before Christmas. Of +course, there’s not a great deal of money, but one’s learnt not +to expect that nowadays, and Mr Outrage speaks very highly +of his ability. Quite one of the coming men in the party.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well,’ said Lady Circumference, ‘you know your own +business, but if you ask me I shouldn’t care to see a daughter +of mine marry into that family. Bad hats every one of them. +Look at the father and the sister, and from all I hear the +brother is rotten all through.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I don’t say it’s a match I should have chosen myself. +There’s certainly a bad strain in the Malpractices . . . but +you know how headstrong children are nowadays, and they +seem so fond of each other . . . and there seem so few young +men about. At least I never seem to see any.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Young toads, the whole lot of them,’ said Lady Circumference.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘And these <span class='it'>terrible</span> parties which I’m told they give. I +don’t know what I should have done if Ursula had ever +wanted to go to them . . . the poor Chasms. . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘If I were Viola Chasm I’d give that girl a thunderin’ +good hidin’.’</p> + +<hr class='tbk146'/> + +<p class='pindent'>The topic of the Younger Generation spread through the +company like a yawn. Royalty remarked on their absence +and those happy mothers who had even one docile daughter +in tow swelled with pride and commiseration.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m told that they’re having another of their parties,’ +said Mrs Mouse, ‘in an aeroplane this time.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘In an aeroplane? How very extraordinary.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Of course, I never hear a word from Mary, but her maid +told my maid . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What I always wonder, Kitty dear, is what they actually +<span class='it'>do</span> at these parties of theirs, I mean, <span class='it'>do</span> they . . . ?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, from all I hear, I think they do.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, to be young again, Kitty. When I think, my dear, of +all the trouble and exertion which we had to go through to +be even moderately bad . . . those passages in the early +morning, and mama sleeping next door.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘And yet, my dear, I doubt very much whether they +really <span class='it'>appreciate</span> it all as much as we should . . . young +people take things so much for granted. <span class='it'>Si la jeunesse savait.</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Si la vieillesse pouvait</span>, Kitty.’</p> + +<hr class='tbk147'/> + +<p class='pindent'>Later that evening Mr Outrage stood almost alone in the +supper-room drinking a glass of champagne. Another episode +in his life was closed, another of those tantalizing +glimpses of felicity capriciously withdrawn. Poor Mr Outrage, +thought Mr Outrage; poor, poor old Outrage, always +just on the verge of revelation, of some sublime and transfiguring +experience; always frustrated. . . . Just Prime +Minister, nothing more, bullied by his colleagues, a source of +income to low caricaturists. Was Mr Outrage an immortal +soul, thought Mr Outrage; had he wings, was he free and +unconfined, was he born for eternity? He sipped his champagne, +fingered his ribbon of the Order of Merit, and +resigned himself to the dust.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Presently he was joined by Lord Metroland and Father +Rothschild.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Margot’s left—gone on to some party in an airship. I’ve +been talking to Lady Anchorage for nearly an hour about +the younger generation.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Every one seems to have been talking about the younger +generation to-night. The most boring subject I know.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, after all, what does all this stand for if there’s +going to be no one to carry it on?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘All what?’ Mr Outrage looked round the supper-room, +deserted save for two footmen who leant against the walls +looking as waxen as the clumps of flowers sent up that +morning from hothouses in the country. ‘What does all +what stand for?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘All this business of government.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘As far as I’m concerned it stands for a damned lot of hard +work and precious little in return. If those young people can +find a way to get on without it, good luck to them.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I see what Metroland means,’ said Father Rothschild.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Blessed if I do. Anyway I’ve got no children myself, and +I’m thankful for it. I don’t understand them, and I don’t +want to. They had a chance after the war that no generation +has ever had. There was a whole civilization to be saved and +remade—and all they seem to do is to play the fool. Mind +you, I’m all in favour of them having a fling. I dare say that +Victorian ideas <span class='it'>were</span> a bit strait-laced. Saving your cloth, +Rothschild, it’s only human nature to run a bit loose when +one’s young. But there’s something wanton about these +young people to-day. That stepson of yours, Metroland, and +that girl of poor old Chasm’s and young Throbbing’s +brother.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Don’t you think,’ said Father Rothschild gently, ‘that +perhaps it is all in some way historical? I don’t think people +ever <span class='it'>want</span> to lose their faith either in religion or anything +else. I know very few young people, but it seems to me +that they are all possessed with an almost fatal hunger for +permanence. I think all these divorces show that. People +aren’t content just to muddle along nowadays. . . . And this +word “bogus” they all use. . . . They won’t make the best of +a bad job nowadays. My private schoolmaster used to say, “If +a thing’s worth doing at all, it’s worth doing well.” My +Church has taught that in different words for several centuries. +But these young people have got hold of another end +of the stick, and for all we know it may be the right one. +They say, “If a thing’s not worth doing well, it’s not worth +doing at all.” It makes everything very difficult for them.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Good heavens, I should think it did. What a darned silly +principle. I mean to say if one didn’t do anything that +wasn’t worth doing well—why, what <span class='it'>would</span> one do? I’ve +always maintained that success in this world depends on +knowing exactly how little effort each job is worth . . . +distribution of energy. . . . And, I suppose, most people +would admit that I was a pretty successful man.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, I suppose they would, Outrage,’ said Father Rothschild, +looking at him rather quizzically.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But that self-accusing voice in the Prime Minister’s heart +was silent. There was nothing like a little argument for +settling the mind. Everything became so simple as soon as it +was put into words.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘And anyway, what do you mean by “historical”?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, it’s like this war that’s coming. . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>What war?</span>’ said the Prime Minister sharply. ‘No one +has said anything to me about a war. I really think I should +have been told. I’ll be damned,’ he said defiantly, ‘if they +shall have a war without consulting me. What’s a Cabinet +for if there’s not more mutual confidence than that? What +do they want a war for, anyway?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s the whole point. No one talks about it, and no one +wants it. No one talks about it <span class='it'>because</span> no one wants it. +They’re all afraid to breathe a word about it.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, hang it all, if no one wants it, who’s going to make +them have it?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Wars don’t start nowadays because people want them. +We long for peace, and fill our newspapers with conferences +about disarmament and arbitration, but there is a radical +instability in our whole world-order, and soon we shall all be +walking into the jaws of destruction again, protesting our +pacific intentions.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, you seem to know all about it,’ said Mr Outrage, +‘and I think I should have been told sooner. This will have +to mean a coalition with that old wind-bag Brown, I suppose.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Anyhow,’ said Lord Metroland, ‘I don’t see how all that +explains why my stepson should drink like a fish and go +about everywhere with a negress.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I think they’re connected, you know,’ said Father Rothschild. +‘But it’s all very difficult.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then they separated.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Father Rothschild pulled on a pair of overall trousers in +the forecourt and, mounting his motor cycle, disappeared +into the night, for he had many people to see and much +business to transact before he went to bed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Lord Metroland left the house in some depression. Margot +had taken the car, but it was scarcely five minutes’ walk to +Hill Street. He took a vast cigar from his case, lit it and sank +his chin in the astrakhan collar of his coat, conforming +almost exactly to the popular conception of a highly enviable +man. But his heart was heavy. What a lot of +nonsense Rothschild had talked. At least he hoped it was +nonsense.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>By ill-fortune he arrived on the doorstep to find Peter +Pastmaster fumbling with the lock, and they entered together. +Lord Metroland noticed a tall hat on the table by the +door. ‘Young Trumpington’s, I suppose,’ he thought. His +stepson did not once look at him, but made straight for the +stairs, walking unsteadily, his hat on the back of his head, his +umbrella still in his hand.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Good-night, Peter,’ said Lord Metroland.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, go to hell,’ said his stepson thickly, then, turning on +the stairs, he added, ‘I’m going abroad to-morrow for a few +weeks. Will you tell my mother?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Have a good time,’ said Lord Metroland. ‘You’ll find it +just as cold everywhere, I’m afraid. Would you care to take +the yacht? No one’s using it.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, go to hell.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Lord Metroland went into the study to finish his cigar. It +would be awkward if he met young Trumpington on the +stairs. He sat down in a very comfortable chair. . . . A +radical instability, Rothschild had said, radical instability. +. . . He looked round his study and saw shelves of books—the +<span class='it'>Dictionary of National Biography</span>, the <span class='it'>Encyclopædia +Britannica</span> in an early and very bulky edition, <span class='it'>Who’s Who</span>, +Debrett, Burke, Whitaker, several volumes of Hansard, +some Blue Books and Atlases—a safe in the corner painted +green with a brass handle, his writing table, his secretary’s +table, some very comfortable chairs and some very business-like +chairs, a tray with decanters and a plate of sandwiches, +his evening mail laid out on the table . . . radical instability, +indeed. How like poor old Outrage to let himself get taken in +by that charlatan of a Jesuit.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He heard the front door open and shut behind Alastair +Trumpington.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then he rose and went quickly upstairs, leaving his cigar +smouldering in the ash-tray, filling the study with fragrant +smoke.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Quarter of a mile away the Duchess of Stayle went, as she +always did, to say good-night to her eldest daughter. She +crossed the room and drew up the window a few inches, for +it was a cold and raw night. Then she went over to the bed +and smoothed the pillow.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Good-night, dear child,’ she said, ‘I thought you looked +sweet to-night.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Lady Ursula wore a white cambric night-gown with a +little yoke collar and long sleeves. Her hair hung in two +plaits.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Mama,’ she said. ‘Edward proposed to me to-night.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Darling.</span> What a funny girl you are. Why didn’t you tell +me before? You weren’t frightened, were you? You know +that your father and I are delighted at anything that makes +our little girl happy.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, I said I wouldn’t marry him . . . I’m sorry.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘But, my dear, it’s nothing to be sorry about. Leave it to +your old mother. I’ll put it all right for you in the morning.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘But, Mama, I don’t want to marry him. I didn’t know +until it actually came to the point. I’d always meant to +marry him, as you know. But somehow, when he actually +asked me . . . I just couldn’t.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘There, dear child, you mustn’t worry any more. You +know perfectly well, don’t you, that your father and I would +not let you do anything you didn’t want. It’s a matter that +only you can decide. After all, it’s your life and your happiness +at stake, not ours, isn’t it, Ursula . . . but I <span class='it'>think</span> you’d +better marry Edward.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘But, Mama, I don’t want to . . . I couldn’t . . . it would +kill me!’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Now, now, my pet mustn’t worry her head about it any +more. You know your father and I only want <span class='it'>your</span> happiness, +dear one. No one is going to make my darling girl do +anything she doesn’t want to. . . . Papa shall see Edward in +the morning and make everything all right . . . dear Lady +Anchorage was only saying to-night what a lovely bride +you will make.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘But, Mama . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Not another word, dear child. It’s very late and you’ve +got to look your best for Edward to-morrow, haven’t you, +love?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The Duchess closed the door softly and went to her own +room. Her husband was in his dressing-room.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Andrew.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What is it, dear? I’m saying my prayers.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Edward proposed to Ursula to-night.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Ah!’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Aren’t you glad?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I told you, dear, I’m trying to say my prayers.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It’s a real joy to see the dear children so happy.’</p> + +<div><h1><span class='it'>Chapter Nine</span></h1></div> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='dropcap'>A</span>t luncheon time next day Adam rang up Nina.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Nina, darling, are you awake?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, I wasn’t . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Listen, do you really want me to go and see your papa +to-day?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Did we say you were going to?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Why?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘To say could we be married now I had a job.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I remember . . . yes, go and see him, darling. It would be +nice to be married.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘But, listen, what about my page?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What page, angel?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My page in the <span class='it'>Excess</span> . . . my job, you know.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh . . . well, look . . . Ginger and I will write that for +you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Wouldn’t that be a bore?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I think it would be divine. I know just the sort of things +you say. . . . I expect Ginger does too by now, the poor +angel . . . how he did enjoy himself last night. . . . I’m +going to sleep now . . . such a pain . . . good-bye, my sweet.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam had some luncheon. Agatha Runcible was at the +next table with Archie Schwert. She said they were all +going to some motor races next day. Would Adam and Nina +come, too. Adam said yes. Then he went to Aylesbury.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There were two women on the other side of the carriage, +and they, too, were talking about the Younger Generation.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . and it’s a very good position, too, for a boy of that +age, and I’ve told him and his father told him. “You ought +to think yourself lucky,” I’ve said, “to get a good position +like that in these days, particularly when it’s so hard to get a +position at all of any kind <span class='it'>or</span> sort.” And there’s Mrs Hemingway +with her son next door who left school eighteen months +ago, and there he is kicking his heels about the house all day +and doing nothing, and taking a correspondence course in +civil engineering. “It’s a very good position,” I told him, +“and, of course, you can’t expect <span class='it'>work</span> to be interesting, +though no doubt after a time you get used to it just as your +father’s done, and would probably miss it if you hadn’t it to +do”—you know how Alfred gets on his holidays, doesn’t +know what to do with himself half the time, just looks at the +sea and says, “Well, this <span class='it'>is</span> a change,” and then starts +wondering how things are at the office. Well, I told Bob that, +but it’s no good, and all he wants to do is to go into the +motor business; well, as I said to him, the motor business is +all right for them that have influence, but what could Bob +hope to do throwing up a good job, too, and with nothing to +fall back on supposing things did go wrong. But, no, Bob is +all for motors, and, of course, you know it doesn’t really do +having him living at home. He and his father don’t get on. +You can’t have two men in a house together and both wanting +the bath at the same time, and I suppose it’s only +natural that Bob should feel he ought to have his own way a +bit more now that he’s earning his own money. But, then, +what is he to do? He can’t go and live on his own with his +present salary, and I shouldn’t be any too pleased to see him +doing it even if he could afford it—you know what it is with +young people, how easy it is to get into mischief when they’re +left to themselves. And there are a great many of Bob’s +friends now that I don’t really approve of, not to have in and +out of the house, you know the way they do come. He meets +them at the hockey club he goes to Saturdays. And they’re +most of them earning more money than he is, or, at any +rate, they seem to have more to throw about, and it isn’t +good for a boy being about with those that have more money +than him. It only makes him discontented. And I did think +at one time that perhaps Bob was thinking of Betty Rylands, +you know Mrs Rylands’ girl at the Laurels, such nice people, +and they used to play tennis together and people remarked +how much they were about, but now he never seems to pay +any attention to her, it’s all his hockey friends, and I said +one Saturday, “Wouldn’t you like to ask Betty over to tea?” +and he said, “Well, you can if you like,” and she came looking +ever so sweet, and, would you believe it, Bob went out +and didn’t come in at all until supper time. Well, you can’t +expect any girl to put up with that, and now she’s practically +engaged to that young Anderson boy who’s in the wireless +business.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, and there’s our Lily now. You know how she would +go in for being a manicurist. Her father didn’t like it, and +for a long time he wouldn’t have it at all. He said it was just +an excuse for holding hands, but, anyway, I said, “If that’s +what the girl wants to do, and if she can make good money +doing it, I think you ought to be able to trust your own +daughter better than to stand in her way.” I’m a modern, +you see. “We’re not living in the Victorian Age,” I told him. +Well, she’s in a very nice job. Bond Street—and they treat +her very fair, and we’ve no complaints on that score, but +now there’s this man she’s met there—he’s old enough to be +her father—well, middle-aged anyway—but very smart, +you know, neat little grey moustache, absolute gentleman, +with a Morris Oxford saloon. And he comes and takes her +out for drives Sundays, and sometimes he fetches her after +work and takes her to the pictures, and always most polite +and well spoken to me and my husband, just as you’d expect, +seeing the sort of man he is, and he sent us all tickets for the +theatre the other night. Very affable, calls me “Ma”, if you +please . . . and, anyway, I <span class='it'>hope</span> there’s no harm in it . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Now our Bob . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They got out at Berkhamsted, and a man got in who wore +a bright brown suit and spent his time doing sums, which +never seemed to come right, in a little note-book with a +stylographic pen. ‘Has he given all to his daughters?’ thought +Adam.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He drove out to Doubting by a bus which took him as far +as the village of petrol pumps. From there he walked down +the lane to the park gates. To his surprise these stood open, +and as he approached he narrowly missed being run down by +a large and ramshackle car which swept in at a high speed; +he caught a glimpse of two malignant female eyes which +glared contemptuously at him from the small window at the +back. Still more surprising was a large notice which hung on +the central pier of the gates and said: ‘<span class='sc'>No Admittance +Except on Business</span>.’ As Adam walked up the drive two +lorries thundered past him. Then a man appeared with a red +flag.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Hi! You can’t go that way. They’re shooting in front. Go +round by the stables, whoever you are.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Wondering vaguely what kind of sport this could be, +Adam followed the side path indicated. He listened for +sounds of firing, but hearing nothing except distant shouting +and what seemed to be a string band, he concluded that the +Colonel was having a poor day. It seemed odd, anyway, to go +shooting in front of one’s house with a string band, and +automatically Adam began making up a paragraph about it:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Colonel Blount, father of the lovely Miss Nina Blount referred +to above, rarely comes to London nowadays. He devotes +himself instead to shooting on his estate in Buckinghamshire. +The coverts, which are among the most richly stocked in the +county, lie immediately in front of the house, and many +amusing stories are related of visitors who have inadvertently +found themselves in the line of fire. . . . Colonel Blount has the +curious eccentricity of being unable to shoot his best except to +the accompaniment of violin and ’cello.</span> (<span class='it'>Mr “Ginger” Littlejohn +has the similar foible that he can only fish to the sound of +the flageolet . . .)</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He had not gone very far in his detour before he was +again stopped, this time by a man dressed in a surplice, +episcopal lawn sleeves and scarlet hood and gown; he was +smoking a cigar.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Here, what in hell do <span class='it'>you</span> want?’ said the Bishop.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I came to see Colonel Blount.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, you can’t, son. They’re just shooting him now.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Good heavens. What for?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, nothing important. He’s just one of the Wesleyans, +you know—we’re trying to polish off the whole crowd this +afternoon while the weather’s good.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam found himself speechless before this cold-blooded +bigotry.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What d’you want to see the old geezer about, anyway?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, it hardly seems any good now. I came to tell him +that I’d got a job on the <span class='it'>Excess</span>.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘The devil you have. Why didn’t you say so before? +Always pleased to see gentlemen of the Press. Have a +weed?’ A large cigar-case appeared from the recesses of the +episcopal bosom. ‘I’m Bishop Philpotts, you know,’ he said, +slipping a voluminously clothed arm through Adam’s. ‘I +dare say you’d like to come round to the front and see the +fun. I should think they’d be just singing their last hymn +now. It’s been uphill work,’ he confided as they walked +round the side of the house, ‘and there’s been some damned +bad management. Why, yesterday, they kept Miss La +Touche waiting the whole afternoon, and then the light was +so bad when they did shoot her that they made a complete +mess of her—we had the machine out and ran over all the +bits carefully last night after dinner—you never saw such +rotten little scraps—quite unrecognizable half of them. We +didn’t dare show them to her husband—he’d be sick to +death about it—so we just cut out a few shots to keep and +threw away the rest. I say, you’re not feeling queer, are you? +You look all green suddenly. Find the weed a bit strong?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Was—was she a Wesleyan too?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear boy, she’s playing lead . . . she’s Selina. Countess +of Huntingdon. . . . There, now you can see them at +work.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They had rounded the wing and were now in full view +of the front of the house, where all was activity and animation. +A dozen or so men and women in eighteenth-century +costume were standing in a circle singing strongly, while in +their centre stood a small man in a long clerical coat and a +full white wig, conducting them. A string band was playing +not far off and round the singers clustered numerous men in +shirt sleeves bearing megaphones, cinematograph cameras, +microphones, sheaves of paper and arc lamps. Not far away, +waiting their turn to be useful, stood a coach and four, a +detachment of soldiers and some scene shifters with the +transept of Exeter Cathedral in sections of canvas and matchboarding.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘The Colonel’s somewhere in that little crowd singing the +hymn,’ said the Bishop. ‘He was crazy to be allowed to come +on as a super, and as he’s letting us the house dirt cheap +Isaacs said he might. I don’t believe he’s ever been so happy +in his life.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>As they approached the hymn stopped.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘All right,’ said one of the men with megaphones. ‘You +can beat it. We’ll shoot the duel now. I shall want two +supers to carry the body. The rest of you are through for the +afternoon.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A man in a leather apron, worsted stockings and flaxen +wig emerged from the retreating worshippers.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, please, Mr Isaacs,’ he said, ‘please may <span class='it'>I</span> carry the +body?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘All right, Colonel, if you want to. Run in and tell them +in the wardrobe to give you a smock and a pitchfork.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Thank you so much,’ said Colonel Blount, trotting off +towards his house. Then he stopped. ‘I suppose,’ he said, ‘I +suppose it wouldn’t be better for me to carry a sword?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, pitchfork, and hurry up about it or I shan’t let you +carry the body at all; some one go and find Miss La Touche.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The young lady whom Adam had seen in the motor car +came down the steps of the house in a feathered hat, riding +habit and braided cape. She carried a hunting crop in her +hand. Her face was painted very yellow.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Do I or do I not have a horse in this scene, Mr Isaacs? I’ve +been round to Bertie and he says all the horses are needed +for the coach.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m sorry, Effie, you do <span class='it'>not</span> and it’s no good taking on. +We only got four horses and you know that, and you saw +what it was like when we tried to move the coach with two. So +you’ve just got to face it. You comes across the fields on foot.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Dirty Yid,’ said Effie La Touche.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘The trouble about this film,’ said the Bishop, ‘is that we +haven’t enough capital. It’s heart-breaking. Here we have a +first-rate company, first-rate producer, first-rate scene, first-rate +story and the whole thing being hung up for want of a +few hundred pounds. How can he expect to get the best out +of Miss La Touche if they won’t give her a horse? No girl +will stand for that sort of treatment. If I were Isaacs I’d +scrap the whole coach sooner. It’s no sense getting a star and +not treating her right. Isaacs is putting every one’s back up +the way he goes on. Wanted to do the whole of my cathedral +scene with twenty-five supers. But you’re here to give us a +write up, aren’t you? I’ll call Isaacs across and let him give +you the dope. . . . <span class='it'>Isaacs!</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yuh?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Daily Excess</span> here.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Where?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Here.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’ll be right over.’ He put on his coat, buttoned it tightly +at the waist and strode across the lawn, extending a hand of +welcome. Adam shook it and felt what seemed to be a handful +of rings under his fingers. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mister. +Now just you ask me anything you want about this film +because I’m just here to answer. Have you got my name? +Have a card. That’s the name of the company in the corner. +Not the one that’s scratched out. The one written above. +<span class='it'>The Wonderfilm Company of Great Britain</span>. Now this film,’ +he said, in what seemed a well-practised little speech, ‘of +which you have just witnessed a mere fragment marks a +stepping stone in the development of the British Film +Industry. It is the most important All-Talkie super-religious +film to be produced solely in this country by British artists +and management and by British capital. It has been directed +throughout regardless of difficulty and expense, and supervised +by a staff of expert historians and theologians. Nothing +has been omitted that would contribute to the meticulous +accuracy of every detail. The life of that great social and +religious reformer John Wesley is for the first time portrayed +to a British public in all its humanity and tragedy. . . . Look +here, I’ve got all this written out. I’ll have them give you a +copy before you go. Come and see the duel. . . .</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s Wesley and Whitefield just going to start. Of +course, it’s not them really. Two fencing instructors we got +over from the gym. at Aylesbury. That’s what I mean when +I say we spare no expense to get the details accurate. Ten +bob each we’re paying them for the afternoon.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘But did Wesley and Whitefield fight a duel?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, it’s not actually recorded, but it’s known that they +quarrelled and there was only one way of settling quarrels in +those days. They’re both in love with Selina, Countess of +Huntingdon, you see. She comes to stop them, but arrives +too late. Whitefield has escaped in the coach and Wesley is +lying wounded. That’s a scene that’ll go over big. Then she +takes him back to her home and nurses him back to health. I +tell you, this is going to make film history. D’you know +what the Wesleyan population of the British Isles is? Well +nor do I, but I’ve been told and <span class='it'>you’ld be surprised</span>. Well +every one of those is going to come and see this film and +there’s going to be discussions about it in all the chapels. +We’re recording extracts from Wesley’s sermons and we’re +singing all his own hymns. I’m glad your paper’s interested. +You can tell them from me that we’re on a big thing. . . . +There’s one thing though,’ said Mr Isaacs, suddenly becoming +confidential, ‘which I shouldn’t tell many people. But I +think you’ll understand because you’ve seen some of our +work here and the sort of scale it’s on, and you can imagine +that expenses are pretty heavy. Why, I’m paying Miss La +Touche alone over ten pounds a week. And the truth is—I +don’t mind telling you—we’re beginning to feel the wind a +bit. It’s going to be a big success <span class='it'>when</span> and <span class='it'>if</span> it’s finished. +Now, suppose there was some one—yourself, for instance, or +one of your friends—who had a little bit of loose capital he +wanted to invest—a thousand pounds, say—well, I wouldn’t +mind selling him a half-share. It’s not a gamble, mind—it’s +a certain winner. If I cared to go into the open market with +it, it would be snapped up before you could say knife. But I +don’t want to do that and I’ll tell you why. This is a British +company and I don’t want to let any of those foreign speculators +in on it, and once you let the shares get into the open +market you can’t tell who’s buying them, see. Now why +leave money idle bringing in four and a half or five per cent. +when you might be doubling it in six months?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m afraid it’s no use coming to me for capital,’ said +Adam. ‘Do you think I could possibly see Colonel Blount?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘One of the things I hate in life,’ said Mr Isaacs, ‘is seeing +any one lose an opportunity. Now listen, I’ll make you a fair +offer. I can see you’re interested in this film. Now I’ll sell +you the whole thing—film we’ve made up to date, artists’ +contracts, copyright of scenario, everything for five hundred +quid. Then all you have to do is to finish it off and your +fortune’s made and I shall be cursing for not having held on +longer. How about it?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It’s very good of you, but really I don’t think I can +afford it at the moment.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Just as you like,’ said Mr Isaacs airily. ‘There’s many +who <span class='it'>can</span> who’d jump at the offer, only I thought I’d let you +in on it first because I could see you were a smart kid. . . . +Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll let you have it for four hundred. +Can’t say fairer than that, can I? And wouldn’t do it for any +one but you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m terribly sorry, Mr Isaacs, but I didn’t come to buy +your film. I came to see Colonel Blount.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, I shouldn’t have thought you were the sort of chap +to let an opportunity like that slip through your fingers. +Now I’ll give you one more chance and after that mind, the +offer is closed. I’ll sell you it for three-fifty. Take it or leave +it. That’s my last word. Of course, you’re not in any way +obliged to buy,’ said Mr Isaacs rather haughtily, ‘but I +assure you that you’ll regret it from the bottom of your heart +if you don’t.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m sorry,’ said Adam, ‘I think it’s a wonderfully generous +offer, but the truth is I simply don’t want to buy a film +at all.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘In that case,’ said Mr Isaacs, ‘I shall return to my +business.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Not till sunset did the Wonderfilm Company of Great +Britain rest. Adam watched them from the lawn. He saw the +two fencing instructors in long black coats and white neck +bands lunging and parrying manfully until one of them fell; +then the cameras stopped and his place was taken by the +leading actor (who had been obliged through the exigencies +of the wardrobe to lend his own coat). Whitefield took the +place (and the wig) of the victor and fled to the coach. Effie +La Touche appeared from the shrubbery still defiantly +carrying her hunting crop. Close-ups followed of Effie and +Wesley and Effie and Wesley together. Then Colonel Blount +and another super appeared as yokels and carried the +wounded preacher back to the house. All this took a long +time as the action was frequently held up by minor mishaps +and once when the whole scene had been triumphantly +enacted the chief cameraman found that he had forgotten to +put in a new roll of film (‘Can’t think how I come to make a +mistake like that, Mr Isaacs’). Finally the horses were taken +out of the coach and mounted by grenadiers and a few +shots taken of them plunging despairingly up the main +drive.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Part of Butcher Cumberland’s army,’ explained Mr +Isaacs. ‘It’s always good to work in a little atmosphere like +that. Gives more educational value. Besides we hire the +horses by the day so we might as well get all we can out of +them while they’re here. If we don’t use ’em in Wesley we +can fit ’em in somewhere else. A hundred foot or so of galloping +horses is always useful.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>When everything was over Adam managed to see Colonel +Blount, but it was not a satisfactory interview.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m afraid I’ve really got very little time to spare,’ he +said. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m at work on a scenario of my +own. They tell me you come from the <span class='it'>Excess</span> and want to +write about the film. It’s a glorious film, isn’t it? Of course, +you know, I have very little to do with it really. I have let +them the house and have acted one or two small parts in the +crowd. I don’t have to pay for them though.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, I should think not.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear boy, all the others have to. I knocked a little off +the rent of the house, but I don’t actually <span class='it'>pay</span>. In fact, you +might almost say I was a professional already. You see, Mr +Isaacs is the principal of the National Academy of Cinematographic +Art. He’s got a little office in Edgware Road, just one +room, you know, to interview candidates in. Well, if he +thinks that they’re promising enough—he doesn’t take any +one, mind, only a chosen few—he takes them on as pupils. +As Mr Isaacs says, the best kind of training is practical work, +so he produces a film straight away and pays the professionals +out of the pupils’ fees. It’s really a very simple and +sensible plan. All the characters in “John Wesley” are +pupils, except Wesley himself and Whitefield and the Bishop +and, of course, Miss La Touche—she’s the wife of the man +who looks after the Edgware Road office when Mr Isaacs is +away. Even the cameramen are only learning. It makes +everything so exciting, you know. This is the third film Mr +Isaacs has produced. The first went wrong, through Mr +Isaacs trusting one of the pupils to develop it. Of course, he +made him pay damages—that’s in the contract they all have +to sign—but the film was ruined, and Mr Isaacs said it was +disheartening—he nearly gave up the cinema altogether. +But then a lot more pupils came along, so they produced +another, which was <span class='it'>very</span> good indeed. Quite a revolution in +Film Art, Mr Isaacs said, but that was boycotted through professional +jealousy. None of the theatres would show it. But +that’s been made all right now. Mr Isaacs has got in with +the ring, he says, and this is going to establish Wonderfilms +as the leading company in the country. What’s more, he’s +offered me a half share in it for five thousand pounds. It’s +wonderfully generous, when he might keep it all to himself, +but he says that he must have some one who understands +<span class='it'>acting</span> from the practical side of the board of directors. Funnily +enough, my bank manager is very much against my +going in for it. In fact, he’s putting every obstacle in my +way. . . . But I dare say Mr Isaacs would sooner you didn’t +put any of this into your paper.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What I really came about was your daughter, Nina.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, she’s not taking any part in the film at all. To tell you +the truth, I very much doubt whether she has any real +talent. It’s funny how these things often skip a generation. +My father, now, was a very bad actor indeed—though he +always used to take a leading part when we had theatricals at +Christmas. Upon my soul, he used to make himself look +quite ridiculous sometimes. I remember once he did a skit of +Henry Irving in <span class='it'>The Bells</span>. . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m afraid you’ve forgotten me, sir, but I came here last +month to see you about Nina. Well, she wanted me to tell +you that I’m Mr Chatterbox now. . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Chatterbox . . . no, my boy, I’m afraid I don’t remember +you. My memory’s not what it was. . . . There’s a Canon +Chatterbox at Worcester I used to know . . . he was up at +New College with me . . . unusual name.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Mr Chatterbox on the <span class='it'>Daily Excess</span>.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, no, my dear boy, I assure you not. He was ordained +just after I went down and was chaplain somewhere abroad—Bermuda, +I think. Then he came home and went +to Worcester. He was never on the <span class='it'>Daily Excess</span> in his +life.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, no, sir, <span class='it'>I’m</span> on the <span class='it'>Daily Excess</span>.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, you ought to know your own staff, certainly. He +<span class='it'>may</span> have left Worcester and taken to journalism. A great +many parsons do nowadays. I know. But I must say that +he’s the last fellow I should have expected it of. Awful +stupid fellow. Besides, he must be at least seventy. . . . +Well, well . . . who would have thought it. Good-bye, my +boy, I’ve enjoyed our talk.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, sir,’ cried Adam, as Colonel Blount began to walk +away. ‘You don’t understand—I want to marry Nina.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, it’s no good coming here,’ said the Colonel crossly. +‘I told you, she’s somewhere in London. She’s got nothing +to do with the film at all. You’ll have to go and ask her about +it. Anyway, I happen to know she’s engaged already. There +was a young ass of a chap down here about it the other day +. . . the Rector said he was off his head. Laughed the whole +time—bad sign that—still, Nina wants to marry him for +some reason. So I’m afraid you’re too late, my boy. I’m +sorry . . . and, anyway, the Rector’s behaved very badly +about this film. Wouldn’t lend his car. I suppose it’s because +of the Wesleyanism. Narrow-minded, that. . . . Well, good-bye. +So nice of you to come. Remember me to Canon +Chatterbox. I must look him up next time I come to London +and pull his leg about it. . . . Writing for the papers, indeed, +at his age.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>And Colonel Blount retired victorious.</p> + +<hr class='tbk148'/> + +<p class='pindent'>Late that evening Adam and Nina sat in the gallery of +the Café de la Paix eating oysters.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well we won’t bother any more about papa,’ she said. +‘We’ll just get married at once.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘We shall be terribly poor.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, we shan’t be any poorer than we are now. . . . I +think it will be divine. . . . Besides, we’ll be terribly economical. +Miles says he’s discovered a place near Tottenham +Court Road where you can get oysters for three and six a +dozen.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Wouldn’t they be rather ill-making?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, Miles said the only odd thing about them is that +they all taste a little different. . . . I had lunch with Miles +to-day. He rang up to find where you were. He wanted to +sell Edward Throbbing’s engagement to the <span class='it'>Excess</span>. But Van +offered him five guineas for it, so he gave it to them.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m sorry we missed that. The editor will be furious. By +the way, how did the gossip page go? Did you manage to fill +it all right?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, I think I did rather well. You see Van and +Miles didn’t know I was in the trade, so they talked about +Edward’s engagement a whole lot, so I went and put it in +. . . was that very caddish? . . . and I wrote a lot about Edward +and the girl he’s to marry. I used to know her when I +came out, and that took up half the page. So I just put in a +few imaginary ones like you do, so then it was finished.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What did you say in the imaginary ones?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, I don’t know. I said I saw Count Cincinnati going +into Espinosa’s in a green bowler . . . things like that.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>You said that?</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, wasn’t it a good thing to say. . . . Angel, is anything +wrong?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, God.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam dashed to the telephone.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Central ten thousand . . . put me through to the night +editor. . . . Look here, I’ve got to make a correction in the +Chatterbox page . . . it’s urgent.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Sorry, Symes. Last edition went to bed half an hour ago. +Got everything made up early to-night.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So Adam went back to finish his oysters.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Bad tabulation there,’ said Lord Monomark next morning, +when he saw the paragraph.</p> + +<hr class='tbk149'/> + +<p class='pindent'>So Miles Malpractice became Mr Chatterbox.</p> + +<hr class='tbk150'/> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Now we can’t be married,’ said Nina.</p> + +<div><h1><span class='it'>Chapter Ten</span></h1></div> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='dropcap'>A</span>dam and Miss Runcible and Miles and Archie Schwert +went up to the motor races in Archie Schwert’s car. It was a +long and cold drive. Miss Runcible wore trousers and Miles +touched up his eyelashes in the dining-room of the hotel +where they stopped for luncheon. So they were asked to +leave. At the next hotel they made Miss Runcible stay +outside, and brought her cold lamb and pickles in the car. +Archie thought it would be nice to have champagne, and +worried the wine waiter about dates (a subject which had +always been repugnant to him). They spent a long time over +luncheon because it was warm there, and they drank Kümmel +over the fire until Miss Runcible came in very angrily +to fetch them out.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then Archie said he was too sleepy to drive any more, so +Adam changed places with him and lost the way, and they +travelled miles in the wrong direction down a limitless bye-pass +road.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>And then it began to be dark and the rain got worse. They +stopped for dinner at another hotel, where every one giggled +at Miss Runcible’s trousers in a dining-room hung with +copper warming pans.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Presently they came to the town where the race was to be +run. They drove to the hotel where the dirt-track racer was +staying. It was built in the Gothic style of 1860, large, dark +and called the Imperial.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They had wired him to book them rooms, but ‘Bless you,’ +said the woman at the counter marked ‘Reception’, ‘all +our rooms have been booked for the last six months. I couldn’t +fit you in anywhere, not if you was the Speed Kings themselves, +I couldn’t. I don’t suppose you’ll find anything in the +town to-night. You might try at the Station Hotel. That’s +your only chance.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>At the Station Hotel they made Miss Runcible wait outside, +but with no better success.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I might put one of you on the sofa in the bar parlour, +there’s only a married couple in there at present and two +little boys, or if you didn’t mind sitting up all night, there’s +always the palm lounge.’ As for a bed, that was out of the +question. They might try at the ‘Royal George’, but she +doubted very much whether they’d <span class='it'>like</span> that even if there +was room, which she was pretty sure there was not.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then Miss Runcible thought that she remembered that +there were some friends of her father who lived quite near, +so she found out their telephone number and rang them up, +but they said no, they were sorry, but they had a completely +full house and practically no servants, and that as far +as they knew they had never heard of Lord Chasm. So that +was no good.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then they went to several more hotels, sinking through +the various graduations of Old Established Family and +Commercial, plain Commercial, High Class Board Residence +pension terms, Working Girls’ Hostel, plain Pub. and Clean +Beds: Gentlemen Only. All were full. At last, by the edge of +a canal, they came to the ‘Royal George’. The landlady +stood at the door and rounded off an argument with an +elderly little man in a bowler hat.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘First ’e takes off ’is boots in the saloon bar,’ she said, +enlisting the sympathy of her new audience, ‘which is not +the action of a gentleman.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘They was wet,’ said the little man, ‘wet as ’ell.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, and who wants your wet boots on the counter, I +should like to know. Then, if you please, he calls me a +conspiring woman because I tells him to stop and put them +on before he goes ’ome.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Want to go ’ome,’ said the little man. ‘ ’Ome to my wife +and kids. <span class='it'>Trying to keep a man from ’is wife.</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No one wants to keep you from your wife, you old silly. All +I says is for Gawd’s sake put on your boots before you go ’ome. +What’ll your wife think of you coming ’ome without boots.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘She won’t mind ’ow I come ’ome. Why, bless you, I +ain’t been ’ome at all for five years. It’s ’ard to be separated +from a wife and kids by a conspiring woman trying to make +yer put on yer boots.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, she’s quite right, you know,’ said Miss Runcible. +‘You’d far better put on your boots.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘There, ’ear what the lady says. Lady says you’ve to put +on your boots.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The little man took his boots from the landlady, looked at +Miss Runcible with a searching glance, and threw them into +the canal. ‘<span class='it'>Lady</span>,’ he said with feeling. ‘<span class='it'>Trousers</span>,’ and +then he paddled off in his socks into the darkness.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘There ain’t no ’arm in ’im really,’ said the landlady, +‘only he do get a bit wild when he’s ’ad the drink. Wasting +good boots like that. . . . I expect he’ll spend the night in +the lock-up.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Won’t he get back to his wife, poor sweet?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Lor’ bless you, no. She lives in London.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>At this stage Archie Schwert, whose humanitarian interests +were narrower than Miss Runcible’s, lost interest in the +discussion.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘The thing we want to know is, can you let us have beds +for the night?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The landlady looked at him suspiciously.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Bed or beds?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Beds.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Might do.’ She looked from the car to Miss Runcible’s +trousers and back to the car again, weighing them against +each other. ‘Cost you a quid each,’ she said at last.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Can you find room for us all?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well,’ she said, ‘which of you’s with the young lady?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m afraid I’m all alone,’ said Miss Runcible. ‘Isn’t it too +shaming?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Never you mind, dearie, luck’ll turn one day. Well, now, +how can we all fit in? There’s one room empty. I can sleep +with our Sarah, and that leaves a bed for the gentlemen—then +if the young lady wouldn’t mind coming in with me +and Sarah . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘If you don’t think it rude, I think I’d sooner have the +empty bed,’ said Miss Runcible, rather faintly. ‘You see,’ +she added, with tact, ‘I snore so terribly.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Bless you, so does our Sarah. <span class='it'>We</span> don’t mind . . . still, if +you’d <span class='it'>rather</span> . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Really, I think I should,’ said Miss Runcible.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well then, I could put Mr Titchcock on the floor, +couldn’t I?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes,’ said Miles, ‘just you put Mr Titchcock on the floor.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘And if the other gentleman don’t mind going on the +landing. . . . Well, we’ll manage somehow, see if we don’t.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So they all drank some gin together in the back parlour +and they woke Mr Titchcock up and made him help with the +luggage and they gave him some gin, too, and he said it was +all the same to him whether he slept on the floor or in bed, +and he was very pleased to be of any service to any one and +didn’t mind if he did have another drop just as a night-cap, +as they might say; and at last they all went to bed, very +tired, but fairly contented, and oh, how they were bitten by +bugs all that night.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam had secured one of the bedrooms. He awoke early +to find rain beating on the window. He looked out and saw a +grey sky, some kind of factory and the canal from whose +shallow waters rose little islands of scrap-iron and bottles; a +derelict perambulator lay partially submerged under the +opposite bank. In his room stood a chest of drawers full of +horrible fragments of stuff, a washhand stand with a highly +coloured basin, an empty jug and an old toothbrush. There +was also a rotund female bust covered in shiny red material, +and chopped off short, as in primitive martyrdoms, at neck, +waist and elbows; a thing known as a dressmaker’s ‘dummy’ +(there had been one of these in Adam’s home which they +used to call ‘Jemima’—one day he stabbed ‘Jemima’ with a +chisel and scattered stuffing over the nursery floor and was +punished. A more enlightened age would have seen a complex +in this action and worried accordingly. Anyway he was +made to sweep up all the stuffing himself).</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam was very thirsty, but there was a light green moss +in the bottom of the water bottle that repelled him. He got +into bed again and found some one’s handkerchief (presumably +Mr Titchcock’s) under the pillow.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He woke again a little later to find Miss Runcible dressed +in pyjamas and a fur coat sitting on his bed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Darling,’ she said, ‘there’s no looking-glass in my room +and no bath anywhere, and I trod on some one cold and soft +asleep in the passage, and I’ve been awake all night killing +bugs with drops of face lotion, and everything smells, and I +feel so low I could die.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘For heaven’s sake let’s go away,’ said Adam.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So they woke Miles and Archie Schwert, and ten minutes +later they all stole out of the ‘Royal George’ carrying their +suitcases.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I wonder, do you think we ought to leave some money?’ +asked Adam, but the others all said no.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, perhaps we ought to pay for the gin,’ said Miss +Runcible.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So they left five shillings on the bar and drove away to the +‘Imperial’.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was still very early, but every one seemed to be awake, +running in and out of the lifts carrying crash-helmets and +overalls. Miles’ friend, they were told, had been out before +dawn, presumably at his garage. Adam met some reporters +whom he used to see about the <span class='it'>Excess</span> office. They told him +that it was any one’s race, and that the place to see the fun +was Headlong Corner, where there had been three deaths +the year before, and it was worse this year, because they’d +been putting down wet tar. It was nothing more or less than +a death trap, the reporters said. Then they went away to +interview some more drivers. All teams were confident of +victory, they said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile Miss Runcible discovered an empty bathroom +and came down half-an-hour later all painted up and wearing +a skirt and feeling quite herself again and ready for anything. +So they went in to breakfast.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The dining-room was very full indeed. There were Speed +Kings of all nationalities, unimposing men mostly with +small moustaches and apprehensive eyes; they were reading +the forecasts in the morning papers and eating what might +(and in some cases did) prove to be their last meal on earth. +There were a great number of journalists making the best of +an ‘out-of-town’ job; there were a troop of nondescript ‘fans’, +knowledgeable young men with bright jumpers tucked inside +their belted trousers, old public-school ties, check +tweeds, loose mouths and scarcely discernible Cockney +accents; there were R.A.C. officials and A.A. officials, and +the representatives of oil firms and tyre manufacturers. +There was one disconsolate family who had come to the +town for the christening of a niece. (No one had warned them +that there was a motor race on; their hotel bill <span class='it'>was</span> a shock.)</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Very better-making,’ said Miss Runcible with approval +as she ate her haddock.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Scraps of highly technical conversation rose on all sides of +them.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . Changed the whole engine over after they’d been +scrutineered. Any one else would have been disqualified . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . just cruising round at fifty . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . stung by a bee just as he was taking the corner, +missed the tree by inches and landed up in the Town Hall. +There was a Riley coming up behind, spun round twice, +climbed the bank, turned right over and caught fire . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . local overheating at the valve-heads. It’s no sense +putting a supercharger in that engine at all . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Headlong Corner’s jam. All you want to do is to brake +right down to forty or forty-five at the white cottage, then +rev. up opposite the pub. and get straight away in second +on the near side of the road. A child could do it. It’s the +double bend just after the railway bridge where you’ll get +the funny stuff.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . kept flagging him down from the pits. I tell you that +bunch don’t want him to win.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . She wouldn’t tell me her name, but she said she’d +meet me at the same place to-night and gave me a sprig of +white heather for the car. I lost it, like a fool. She said she’d +look out for it too . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . Only offers a twenty pound bonus this year . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . lapped at seventy-five . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . Burst his gasket and blew out his cylinder heads . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . Broke both arms and cracked his skull in two places . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . Tailwag . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . Speed-wobble . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . Merc . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . Mag . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . crash . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>When they finished breakfast Miss Runcible and Adam +and Archie Schwert and Miles went to the garage to look for +their Speed King. They found him hard at work listening +to his engine. A corner of the garage had been roped off +and the floor strewn with sand as though for a boxing +match.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Outside this ring clustered a group of predatory little boys +with autograph albums and leaking fountain-pens, and inside, +surrounded by attendants, stood the essential parts of a +motor car. The engine was running and the whole machine +shook with fruitless exertion. Clouds of dark smoke came +from it, and a shattering roar which reverberated from +concrete floor and corrugated iron roof into every corner of +the building so that speech and thought became insupportable +and all the senses were numbed. At frequent intervals +this high and heart-breaking note was varied by sharp detonations, +and it was these apparently which were causing +anxiety, for at each report Miles’ friend, who clearly could +not have been unduly sensitive to noise, gave a little wince +and looked significantly at his head mechanic.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Apart from the obvious imperfection of its sound, the car +gave the impression to an uninstructed observer of being +singularly unfinished. In fact, it was obviously still under +construction. It had only three wheels; the fourth being in +the hands of a young man in overalls, who, in the intervals +of tossing back from his eyes a curtain of yellow hair, was +beating it with a hammer. It also had no seats, and another +mechanic was screwing down slabs of lead ballast in the +place where one would have expected to find them. It had +no bonnet; that was in the hands of a sign painter, who was +drawing a black number 13 in a white circle. There was a +similar number on the back, and a mechanic was engaged in +fixing another number board over one of the headlights. +There was a mechanic, too, making a windscreen of wire +gauze, and a mechanic lying flat doing something to the +back axle with a tin of grate polish and a rag. Two more +mechanics were helping Miles’ friend to listen to the bangs. +‘As if we couldn’t have heard them from Berkeley Square,’ +said Miss Runcible.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The truth is that motor cars offer a very happy illustration +of the metaphysical distinction between ‘being’ and ‘becoming’. +Some cars, mere vehicles with no purpose above bare +locomotion, mechanical drudges such as Lady Metroland’s +Hispano Suiza, or Mrs Mouse’s Rolls Royce, or Lady Circumference’s +1912 Daimler, or the ‘general reader’s’ Austin +Seven, these have definite ‘being’ just as much as their +occupants. They are bought all screwed up and numbered +and painted, and there they stay through various declensions +of ownership, brightened now and then with a lick of +paint or temporarily rejuvenated by the addition of some +minor organ, but still maintaining their essential identity to +the scrap heap.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Not so the <span class='it'>real</span> cars, that become masters of men; those +vital creations of metal who exist solely for their own propulsion +through space, for whom their drivers, clinging +precariously at the steering wheel, are as important as his +stenographer to a stockbroker. These are in perpetual flux; a +vortex of combining and disintegrating units; like the confluence +of traffic at some spot where many roads meet, +streams of mechanism come together, mingle and separate +again.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Miles’ friend, even had it been possible in the uproar, +seemed indisposed to talk. He waved abstractedly and went +on with his listening. Presently he came across and shouted:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Sorry I can’t spare a moment, I’ll see you in the pits. I’ve +got you some brassards.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, what <span class='it'>can</span> that be?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He handed them each a strip of white linen, terminating +in tape.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘For your arms,’ he shouted. ‘You can’t get into the pits +without them.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, what bliss! Fancy their having pits.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then they tied on their brassards. Miss Runcible’s said +‘<span class='sc'>Spare Driver</span>’; Adam’s, ‘<span class='sc'>Depot Staff</span>’; Miles’ +‘<span class='sc'>Spare Mechanic</span>’ and Archie’s, ‘<span class='sc'>Owner’s Representative</span>.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Up till now the little boys round the rope had been +sceptical of the importance of Miss Runcible and her friends, +but as soon as they saw these badges of rank they pressed +forward with their autograph books. Archie signed them all +with the utmost complaisance, and even drew a slightly unsuitable +picture in one of them. Then they drove away in +Archie’s car.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The race was not due to start until noon, but any indecision +which they may have felt about the employment of +the next few hours was settled for them by the local police, +who were engaged in directing all traffic, irrespective of its +particular inclinations, on the road to the course. No pains +had been spared about this point of organization; several +days before, the Chief Constable had issued a little route +map which was to be memorized by all constables on point +duty, and so well had they learned their lesson that from +early that morning until late in the afternoon no vehicle +approaching the town from any direction escaped being +drawn into that broad circuit marked by the arrows and +dotted line A-B which led to the temporary car park behind +the Grand Stand. (Many doctors, thus diverted, spent an +enjoyable day without apparent prejudice to their patients.)</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The advance of the spectators had already assumed the +form of a slow and unbroken stream. Some came on foot +from the railway station, carrying sandwiches and camp +stools; some on tandem bicycles; some in ‘runabouts’ or +motor cycle side-car combinations, but most were in modestly +priced motor cars. Their clothes and demeanour proclaimed +them as belonging to the middle rank; a few brought +portable wireless sets with them and other evidence of gaiety, +but the general air of the procession was one of sobriety and +purpose. This was no Derby day holiday-making; they had +not snatched a day from the office to squander it among +gipsies and roundabouts and thimble-and-pea men. They +were there for the race. As they crawled along in bottom +gear in a fog of exhaust gas, they discussed the technicalities +of motor car design and the possibilities of bloodshed, and +studied their maps of the course to pick out the most dangerous +corners.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The detour planned by the Chief Constable was a long +one, lined with bungalows and converted railway carriages. +Banners floated over it between the telegraph posts, mostly +advertising the <span class='it'>Morning Despatch</span>, which was organizing +the race and paying for the victor’s trophy—a silver gilt +figure of odious design, symbolizing Fame embracing Speed. +(This at the moment was under careful guard in the stewards’ +room, for the year before it had been stolen on the eve +of the race by the official time-keeper, who pawned it for a +ridiculously small sum in Manchester, and was subsequently +deprived of his position and sent to gaol.) Other +advertisements proclaimed the superiorities of various sorts of +petrol and sparking plugs, while some said ‘£100 <span class='sc'>for Loss +of Limb. Insure To-day</span>.’ There was also an elderly +man walking among the motor cars with a blue and white +banner inscribed, ‘<span class='sc'>Without Shedding of Blood is no +Remission of Sin</span>’, while a smartly dressed young man +was doing a brisk trade in bogus tickets for the Grand Stand.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam sat in the back of the car with Miles, who was +clearly put out about his friend’s lack of cordiality. ‘What +I can’t make out,’ he said, ‘is why we came to this beastly +place at all. I suppose I ought to be thinking of something +to write for the <span class='it'>Excess</span>. I <span class='it'>know</span> this is just going to be the +most dreary day we’ve ever spent.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam felt inclined to agree. Suddenly he became aware +that some one was trying to attract his attention.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘There’s an awful man shouting “Hi” at you,’ said +Miles. ‘My dear, <span class='it'>your friends</span>.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam turned and saw not three yards away, separated +from him by a young woman riding a push-bicycle in khaki +shorts, her companion, who bore a knapsack on his shoulders, +and a small boy selling programmes, the long-sought figure +of the drunk Major. He looked sober enough this morning, +dressed in a bowler hat and Burberry, and he was waving +frantically to Adam from the dicky of a coupé car.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Hi!’ cried the drunk Major. ‘Hi! I’ve been looking for you +everywhere.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’ve been looking for you,’ shouted Adam. ‘I want some +money.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Can’t hear—what do you want?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Money.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It’s no good—these infernal things make too much +noise. What’s your name? Lottie had forgotten.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Adam Symes.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Can’t hear.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The line of traffic, creeping forward yard by yard, had at +last reached the point B on the Chief Constable’s map, +where the dotted lines diverged. A policeman stood at the +crossing directing the cars right and left, some to the parking +place behind the Grand Stand, others to the mound above +the pits. Archie turned on to the left. The drunk Major’s +car accelerated and swept away to the right.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>I must know your name</span>,’ he cried. All the drivers seemed +to choose this moment to sound their horns; the woman +cyclist at Adam’s elbow rang her bell; the male cyclist tooted +a little horn like a Paris taxi, and the programme boy +yelled in his ear, ‘Official programme—map of the course—all +the drivers.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Adam Symes,’ he shouted desperately, but the Major +threw up his hands in despair and he disappeared in the +crowd.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>The way you pick people up . . .</span>’ said Miles, startled into +admiration.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘The pits’ turned out to be a line of booths, built of wood +and corrugated iron immediately opposite the Grand Stand. +Many of the cars had already arrived and stood at their ‘pits’, +surrounded by a knot of mechanics and spectators; they +seemed to be already under repair. Busy officials hurried up +and down, making entries in their lists. Over their heads a +vast loud speaker was relaying the music of a military band.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The Grand Stand was still fairly empty, but the rest of the +course was already lined with people. It stretched up and +down hill for a circle of thirteen or fourteen miles, and +those who were fortunate enough to own cottages or public +houses at the more dangerous corners had covered their +roofs with unstable wooden forms, and were selling tickets +like very expensive hot cakes. A grass-covered hill rose up +sharply behind the pits. On this had been erected a hoarding +where a troop of Boy Scouts were preparing to score the laps, +passing the time contentedly with ginger beer, toffee, and +rough-and-tumble fights. Behind the hoarding was a barbed +wire fence, and behind that again a crowd of spectators and +several refreshment tents. A wooden bridge, advertising the +<span class='it'>Morning Despatch</span>, had been built on the road. At various +points officials might be seen attempting to understand each +other over a field telephone. Sometimes the band would +stop and a voice would announce, ‘Will Mr So-and-So +kindly report at once to the time-keeper’s office’; then the +band would go on.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Miss Runcible and her party found their way to the pit +numbered 13 and sat on the matchboard counter smoking +and signing autograph books. An official bore down on them.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No smoking in the pits, please.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t know.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There were six open churns behind Miss Runcible, four +containing petrol and two water. She threw her cigarette +over her shoulder, and by a beneficent attention of Providence +which was quite rare in her career it fell into the +water. Had it fallen into the petrol it would probably have +been all up with Miss Runcible.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Presently No. 13 appeared. Miles’ friend and his mechanic +wearing overalls, crash-helmets, and goggles, jumped out, +opened the bonnet and began to reconstruct it again.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘They didn’t ought to have a No. 13 at all,’ said the +mechanic. ‘It isn’t fair.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Miss Runcible lit another cigarette.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No smoking in the pits, <span class='it'>please</span>,’ said the official.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, how <span class='it'>awful</span> of me. I quite forgot.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>(This time it fell in the mechanic’s luncheon basket and +lay smouldering quietly on a leg of chicken until it had +burnt itself out.)</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Miles’ friend began filling up his petrol tank with the +help of a very large funnel.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Listen,’ he said. ‘You’re not allowed to hand me anything +direct, but if Edwards holds up his left hand as we come past +the pits, that means we shall be stopping next lap for petrol. +So what you’ve got to do is to fill up a couple of cans and put +them on the shelf with the funnel for Edwards to take. If +Edwards holds up his right hand . . .’ elaborate instructions +followed. ‘You’re in charge of the depôt,’ he said to Archie. +‘D’you think you’ve got all the signals clear? The race may +depend on them, remember.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What does it mean if I wave the blue flag?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That you want me to stop.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Why should I want you to stop?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, you might see something wrong—leaking tank or +anything like that, or the officials might want the number +plate cleaned.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I think perhaps I won’t do anything much about the blue +flag. It seems rather too bogus for me.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Miss Runcible lit another cigarette.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Will you kindly leave the pits if you wish to smoke?’ said +the official.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What a damned rude man,’ said Miss Runcible. ‘Let’s go +up to that divine tent and get a drink.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They climbed the hill past the Boy Scouts, found a gate +in the wire fence, and eventually reached the refreshment +tent. Here an atmosphere of greater geniality prevailed. A +profusion of men in plus-fours were having ‘quick ones’ +before the start. There was no nonsense about not smoking. +There was a middle-aged woman sitting on the grass with a +bottle of stout and a baby.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Home from home,’ said Miss Runcible.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Suddenly the military band stopped and a voice said, ‘Five +minutes to twelve. All drivers and mechanics on the other +side of the track, please.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There was a hush all over the course, and the refreshment +tent began to empty quickly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Darling, we shall miss the start.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Still, a drink <span class='it'>would</span> be nice.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So they went into the tent.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Four whiskies, please,’ said Archie Schwert.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You’ll miss the start,’ said the barmaid.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What a pig that man was,’ said Miss Runcible. ‘Even if +we weren’t supposed to smoke, he might at least have asked +us politely.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, it was only you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, I think that made it worse.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Lor’, Miss,’ said the barmaid. ‘You surely ain’t going to +miss the start?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It’s the one thing I want to see more than anything . . . +my dear, I believe they’re off already.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The sudden roar of sixty high-power engines rose from +below. ‘They <span class='it'>have</span> started . . . how too shaming.’ They +went to the door of the tent. Part of the road was visible +over the heads of the spectators, and they caught a glimpse +of the cars running all jammed together like pigs being +driven through a gate; one by one they shook themselves +free and disappeared round the bend with a high shriek of +acceleration.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘They’ll be round again in quarter of an hour,’ said +Archie. ‘Let’s have another drink.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Who was ahead?’ asked the barmaid anxiously.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I couldn’t see for certain,’ said Miss Runcible, ‘but I’m +fairly sure it was No. 13.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>My!</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The refreshment tent soon began to fill up again. The +general opinion seemed to be that it was going to be a close +race between No. 13 and No. 28, a red Omega car, driven by +Marino, the Italian ‘ace’.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Dirtiest driver I ever seen,’ said one man with relish.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Why, over at Belfast ’e was just tipping ’em all into the +ditches, just like winking.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘There’s one thing you <span class='it'>can</span> be sure of. They won’t <span class='it'>both</span> +finish.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It’s sheer murder the way that Marino drives—a fair +treat to see ’im.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘He’s a one all right—a real artist and no mistake about it.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam and Miss Runcible and Archie and Miles went +back to their pit.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘After all,’ said Miss Runcible, ‘the poor sweet may be +wanting all sorts of things and signalling away like mad, and +no one there to pay any attention to him—so discouraging.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>By this time the cars were fairly evenly spread out over +the course. They flashed by intermittently with dazzling +speed and a shriek; one or two drew into their pits and the +drivers leapt out, trembling like leaves, to tinker with the +works. One had already come to grief—a large German +whose tyre had burst—punctured, some said, by a hireling +of Marino’s. It had left the road and shot up a tree like a cat +chased by a dog. Two little American cars had failed to +start; their team worked desperately at them amid derisive +comments from the crowd. Suddenly two cars appeared +coming down the straight, running abreast within two feet +of each other.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It’s No. 13,’ cried Miss Runcible, really excited at last. +‘And there’s that Italian devil just beside it. Come on, thirteen! +Come on!’ she cried, dancing in the pit and waving a +flag she found at hand. ‘Come on. Oh! Well done, thirteen.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The cars were gone in a flash and succeeded by others.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Agatha, darling, you shouldn’t have waved the blue flag.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, how awful. Why not?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, that means that he’s to stop next lap.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Good God. Did I wave a blue flag?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, you know you did.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>How</span> shaming. What <span class='it'>am</span> I to say to him?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Let’s all go away before he comes back.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘D’you know, I think we’d better. He might be furious, +mightn’t he? Let’s go to the tent and have another drink—don’t +you think, or don’t you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So No. 13 pit was again deserted.</p> + +<hr class='tbk151'/> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What did I say?’ said the mechanic. ‘The moment I +heard we’d drawn this blinkin’ number I knew we was in +for trouble.’</p> + +<hr class='tbk152'/> + +<p class='pindent'>The first person they saw when they reached the refreshment +tent was the drunk Major.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Your boy friend again,’ said Miles.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, there you are,’ said the Major. ‘D’you know I’ve +been chasing you all over London. What have you been +doing with yourself all this time?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’ve been staying at Lottie’s.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, she said she’d never heard of you. You see, I +don’t mind admitting I’d had a few too many that night, and +to tell you the truth I woke up with things all rather a blur. +Well then I found a thousand pounds in my pocket, and it +all came back to me. There’d been a cove at Lottie’s who +gave me a thousand pounds to put on Indian Runner. Well, +as far as I knew, Indian Runner was no good. I didn’t want +to lose your money for you, but the devil of it was I didn’t +know you from Adam.’ (‘I think that’s a perfect joke,’ said +Miss Runcible.) ‘And apparently Lottie didn’t either. You’d +have thought it was easy enough to trace the sort of chap +who deals out thousands of pounds to total strangers, but I +couldn’t find one fingerprint.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Do you mean,’ said Adam, a sudden delirious hope rising +in his heart, ‘that you’ve still got my thousand?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Not so fast,’ said the Major. ‘I’m spinning this yarn. Well, +on the day of the race I didn’t know what to do. One half of +me said, keep the thousand. The chap’s bound to turn up +some time, and it’s his business to do his own punting—the +other half said, put it on the favourite for him and give him +a run for his money.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘So you put it on the favourite?’ Adam’s heart felt like +lead again.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, I didn’t. In the end I said, well, the young chap must be +frightfully rich. If he likes to throwaway his money, it’s none +of my business, so I planked it all on Indian Runner for you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You mean . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I mean I’ve got the nice little packet of thirty-five thou. +waiting until you condescend to call for it.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Good heavens . . . look here, have a drink, won’t you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s a thing I never refuse.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Archie, lend me some money until I get this fortune.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘How much?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Enough to buy five bottles of champagne.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, if you can get them.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The barmaid had a case of champagne at the back of the +tent. (‘People often feel queer through watching the cars go +by so fast—ladies especially,’ she explained.) So they took a +bottle each and sat on the side of the hill and drank to +Adam’s prosperity.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Hullo, everybody,’ said the loud speaker. ‘Car No. 28, the +Italian Omega, driven by Captain Marino, has just completed +the course in twelve minutes one second, lapping at +an average speed of 78·3 miles per hour. This is the fastest +time yet recorded.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A burst of applause greeted this announcement, but +Adam said, ‘I’ve rather lost interest in this race.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Look here, old boy,’ the Major said when they were well +settled down, ‘I’m rather in a hole. Makes me feel an awful +ass, saying so, but the truth is I got my note-case pinched in +the crowd. Of course, I’ve got plenty of small change to see +me back to the hotel and they’ll take a cheque of mine there, +naturally, but the fact is I was keen to make a few bets with +some chaps I hardly know. I wonder, old boy, could you +possibly lend me a fiver? I can give it to you at the same time +as I hand over the thirty-five thousand.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Why, of course,’ said Adam. ‘Archie, lend me a fiver, can +you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Awfully good of you,’ said the Major, tucking the notes +into his hip pocket. ‘Would it be all the same if you made it a +tenner while we’re about it?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m sorry,’ said Archie, with a touch of coldness. ‘I’ve +only just got enough to get home with.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s all right, old boy, <span class='it'>I</span> understand. Not another word. +. . . Well, here’s to us all.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I was on the course at the November Handicap,’ said +Adam. ‘I thought I saw you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It would have saved a lot of fuss if we’d met, wouldn’t it? +Still, all’s well that end’s well.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What an <span class='it'>angelic</span> man your Major is,’ said Miss Runcible.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>When they had finished their champagne, the Major—now +indisputably drunk—rose to go.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Look here, old boy,’ he said. ‘I must be toddling along +now. Got to see some chaps. Thanks no end for the binge. So +jolly having met you all again. Bye-bye, little lady.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘When shall we meet again?’ said Adam.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Any time, old boy. Tickled to death to see you any time +you care to drop in. Always a pew and a drink for old friends. +So long everybody.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘But couldn’t I come and see you soon? About the money, +you know.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Sooner the better, old boy. Though I don’t know what +you mean about money.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My thirty-five thousand.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Why, yes, to be sure. Fancy my forgetting that. I tell you +what. You roll along to-night to the Imperial and I’ll give it +to you then. Jolly glad to get it off my chest. Seven o’clock +at the American bar—or a little before.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Let’s go back and look at the motor cars,’ said Archie.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They went down the hill feeling buoyant and detached +(as one should if one drinks a great deal before luncheon). +When they reached the pits they decided they were hungry. +It seemed too far to climb up to the dining tent, so they ate as +much of the mechanic’s lunch as Miss Runcible’s cigarette +had spared. Then a mishap happened to No. 13. It drew into +the side uncertainly, with the mechanic holding the steering +wheel. A spanner, he told them, thrown from Marino’s car +as they were passing him under the railway bridge, had hit +Miles’ friend on the shoulder. The mechanic helped him get +out, and supported him to the Red Cross tent. ‘May as well +scratch,’ he said. ‘He won’t be good for anything more this +afternoon. It’s asking for trouble having a No. 13.’ Miles +went to help his friend, leaving Miss Runcible and Adam +and Archie staring rather stupidly at their motor car. +Archie hiccoughed slightly as he ate the mechanic’s apple.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Soon an official appeared.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What happened here?’ he said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Driver’s just been murdered,’ said Archie. ‘Spanner +under the railway bridge. Marino.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, are you going to scratch? Who’s spare driver?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I don’t know. Do you, Adam? I shouldn’t be a bit surprised +if they hadn’t murdered the spare driver, too.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m spare driver,’ said Miss Runcible. ‘It’s on my arm.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘She’s spare driver. Look, it’s on her arm.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, do you want to scratch?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Don’t you scratch, Agatha.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, I don’t want to scratch.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘All right. What’s your name?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Agatha. I’m the spare driver. It’s on my arm.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I can see it is—all right, start off as soon as you like.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Agatha,’ repeated Miss Runcible firmly as she climbed +into the car. ‘It’s on my arm.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I say, Agatha,’ said Adam. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It’s on my arm,’ said Miss Runcible severely.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I mean, are you quite certain it’s absolutely safe?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Not <span class='it'>absolutely</span> safe, Adam. Not if they throw spanners. +But I’ll go quite slowly at first until I’m used to it. Just +you see. Coming too?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’ll stay and wave the flag,’ said Adam.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s right. Good-bye . . . goodness, how too stiff-scaring. . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The car shot out into the middle of the road, missed a +collision by a foot, swung round and disappeared with a roar +up the road.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I say, Archie, is it all right being tight in a car, if it’s on a +race course? They won’t run her in or anything?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, no, that’s all right. All tight on the race course.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Sure?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Sure.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘All of them?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Absolutely every one—tight as houses.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s all right then. Let’s go and have a drink.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So they went up the hill again, through the Boy Scouts, +to the refreshment tent.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was not long before Miss Runcible was in the news.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Hullo, everybody,’ said the loud speaker. ‘No 13, the +English Plunket-Bowse, driven by Miss Agatha, came into +collision at Headlong Corner with No. 28, the Italian +Omega car, driven by Captain Marino. No 13 righted itself +and continued on the course. No. 28 overturned and has +retired from the race.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well done, Agatha,’ said Archie.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A few minutes later:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Hullo, everybody. No. 13, the English Plunket-Bowse, +driven by Miss Agatha, has just completed the course in nine +minutes forty-one seconds. This constitutes a record for the +course.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Patriotic cheers broke out on all sides, and Miss Runcible’s +health was widely drunk in the refreshment tent.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A few minutes later:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Hullo, everybody; I have to contradict the announcement +recently made that No. 13, the English Plunket-Bowse, +driven by Miss Agatha, had established a record for the +course. The stewards have now reported that No. 13 left the +road just after the level crossing and cut across country for +five miles, rejoining the track at the Red Lion corner. The +lap has therefore been disallowed by the judges.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A few minutes later:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Hullo, everybody; No. 13, the English Plunket-Bowse +car, driven by Miss Agatha, has retired from the race. It +disappeared from the course some time ago, turning left +instead of right at Church Corner, and was last seen proceeding +south on the bye-road, apparently out of control.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, that’s lucky for me,’ said Miles. ‘A really good +story my second day on the paper. This ought to do me good +with the <span class='it'>Excess</span>—<span class='it'>very</span> rich-making,’ and he hurried off to +the post office tent—which was one of the amenities of the +course—to despatch a long account of Miss Runcible’s +disaster.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam accompanied him and sent a wire to Nina: ‘<span class='it'>Drunk +Major in refreshment tent not bogus thirty-five thousand +married to-morrow everything perfect Agatha lost love +Adam.</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That seems quite clear,’ he said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They went to the hospital tent after this—another amenity +of the course—to see how Miles’ friend was getting on. +He seemed in some pain and showed anxiety about his car.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I think it’s very heartless of him,’ said Adam. ‘He ought +to be worried about Agatha. It only shows . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Motor men <span class='it'>are</span> heartless,’ said Miles, with a sigh.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Presently Captain Marino was borne in on a stretcher. +He turned on his side with a deep groan and spat at Miles’ +friend as he went past him. He also spat at the doctor who +came to bandage him and bit one of the V.A.D.’s.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They said Captain Marino was no gentleman in the +hospital tent.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There was no chance of leaving the course before the end +of the race, Archie was told, and the race would not be over +for at least two hours. Round and round went the stream of +cars. At intervals the Boy Scouts posted a large red R +against one or other of the numbers, as engine trouble or +collision or Headlong Corner took its toll. A long queue +stretched along the top of the hill from the door of the +luncheon tent. Then it began to rain.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There was nothing for it but to go back to the bar.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>At dusk the last car completed its course. The silver gilt +trophy was presented to the winner. The loud speaker +broadcast ‘God Save the King’, and a cheerful ‘Good-bye, +everybody.’ The tail of the queue outside the dining tent +were respectfully informed that no more luncheons could be +served. The barmaids in the refreshment tent said, ‘All +glasses, ladies and gentlemen, please.’ The motor ambulances +began a final round of the track to pick up survivors. +Then Adam and Miles and Archie Schwert went to +look for their car.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Darkness fell during the drive back. It took an hour to +reach the town. Adam and Miles and Archie Schwert did not +talk much. The effect of their drinks had now entered on +that secondary stage, vividly described in temperance handbooks, +when the momentary illusion of well-being and exhilaration +gives place to melancholy, indigestion and moral +decay. Adam tried to concentrate his thoughts upon his +sudden wealth, but they seemed unable to adhere to this +high pinnacle, and as often as he impelled them up, slithered +back helplessly to his present physical discomfort.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The sluggish procession in which they were moving led +them eventually to the centre of the town and the soberly +illuminated front of the Imperial Hotel. A torrential flow of +wet and hungry motor enthusiasts swept and eddied about +the revolving doors.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I shall die if I don’t eat something soon,’ said Miles. +‘Let’s leave Agatha until we’ve had a meal.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But the manager of the ‘Imperial’ was unimpressed by +numbers or necessity and manfully upheld the integrity of +British hotel-keeping. Tea, he explained, was served daily +in the Palm Court, with orchestra on Thursdays and Sundays, +between the hours of four and six. A <span class='it'>table d’hôte</span> +dinner was served in the dining-room from seven-thirty +until nine o’clock. An <span class='it'>à la carte</span> dinner was also served in the +grill room at the same time. It was now twenty minutes +past six. If the gentlemen cared to return in an hour and ten +minutes he would do his best to accommodate them, but he +could not promise to reserve a table. Things were busy that +day. There had been motor races in the neighbourhood, he +explained.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The commissionaire was more helpful, and told them that +there was a tea-shop restaurant called the Café Royal a little +way down the High Street, next to the Cinema. He seemed, +however, to have given the same advice to all comers, for the +Café Royal was crowded and overflowing. Every one was +being thoroughly cross, but only the most sarcastic and overbearing +were given tables, and only the gross and outrageous +were given food. Adam and Miles and Archie +Schwert then tried two more tea-shops, one kept by ‘ladies’ +and called ‘The Honest Injun’, a workmen’s dining-room +and a fried-fish shop. Eventually they bought a bag of +mixed biscuits at a co-operative store, which they ate in the +Palm Court of the ‘Imperial’, maintaining a moody silence.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was now after seven, and Adam remembered his +appointment in the American bar. There, too, inevitably, +was a dense crowd. Some of the ‘Speed Kings’ themselves +had appeared, pink from their baths, wearing dinner-jackets +and stiff white shirts, each in his circle of admirers. Adam +struggled to the bar.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Have you seen a drunk Major in here anywhere?’ he +asked.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The barmaid sniffed. ‘I should think not, indeed,’ she +said. ‘And I shouldn’t serve him if he <span class='it'>did</span> come in. I don’t +have people of that description in <span class='it'>my</span> bar. <span class='it'>The very idea.</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, perhaps he’s not drunk now. But have you seen a +stout, red-faced man, with a single eyeglass and a turned-up +moustache?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, there <span class='it'>was</span> some one like that not so long ago. Are +you a friend of his?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I want to see him badly.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, all I can say is I wish you’d try and look after him +and don’t bring him in here again. Going on something +awful he was. Broke two glasses and got very quarrelsome +with the other gentlemen. He had three or four pound notes +in his hand. Kept waving them about and saying, “D’you +know what? I met a mutt to-day. I owe him thirty-five +thousand pounds and he lent me a fiver.” Well, that’s not +the way to talk before strangers, is it? He went out ten +minutes ago. I was glad to see the back of him, I can tell +you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Did he say that—about having met a mutt?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Didn’t stop saying it the whole time he was in here—most +monotonous.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But as Adam left the bar he saw the Major coming out of +the gentlemen’s lavatory. He was walking very deliberately, +and stared at Adam with a glazed and vacant eye.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Hi!’ cried Adam. ‘Hi!’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Cheerio,’ said the drunk Major distantly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I say,’ said Adam. ‘What about my thirty-five thousand +pounds?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The drunk Major stopped and adjusted his monocle.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Thirty-five thousand and five pounds,’ he said. ‘What +about them?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, where are they?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘They’re safe enough. National and Provincial Union +Bank of England, Limited. A perfectly sound and upright +company. I’d trust them with more than that if I had it. +I’d trust them with a million, old boy, honest I would. One +of those fine old companies, you know. They don’t make +companies like that now. I’d trust that bank with my wife +and kiddies. . . . You mustn’t think I’d put your money into +anything that wasn’t straight, old boy. You ought to know +me well enough for that. . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, of course not. It’s terribly kind of you to have looked +after it—you said you’d give me a cheque this evening. +Don’t you remember?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The drunk Major looked at him craftily. ‘Ah,’ he said. +‘That’s another matter. I told <span class='it'>some one</span> I’d give him a +cheque. But how am I to know it was you? . . . I’ve got to be +careful, you know. Suppose you were just a crook dressed up. +I don’t say you are, mind, but supposing. Where’ld I be +then? You have to look at both sides of a case like this.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, God. . . . I’ve got two friends here who’ll swear to +you I’m Adam Symes. Will that do?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Might be a gang. Besides <span class='it'>I</span> don’t know that the name of +the chap who gave me the thousand <span class='it'>was</span> Adam what-d’you-call-it +at all. Only your word for it. I’ll tell you what,’ said +the Major, sitting down in a deep armchair, ‘I’ll sleep on it. +Just forty winks. I’ll let you know my decision when I wake +up. Don’t think me suspicious, old boy, but I’ve got to be +careful . . . other chap’s money, you know . . .’ And he fell +asleep.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam struggled through the crowd to the Palm Court, +where he had left Miles and Archie. News of No. 13 had just +come through. The car had been found piled up on the +market cross of a large village about fifteen miles away +(doing irreparable damage to a monument already scheduled +for preservation by the Office of Works). But there was no +sign of Miss Runcible.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I suppose we ought to do something about it,’ said +Miles. ‘This is the most miserable day I ever spent. Did you +get your fortune?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘The Major was too drunk to recognize me. He’s just gone +to sleep.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Well.</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘We must go to this beastly village and look for Agatha.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I can’t leave my Major. He’ll probably wake up soon and +give the fortune to the first person he sees.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Let’s just go and shake him until he gives us the fortune +now,’ said Miles.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But this was impracticable, for when they reached the +chair where Adam had left him, the drunk Major was gone.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The hall porter remembered him going out quite clearly. +He had pressed a pound into his hand, saving, ‘Met-a-mutt-to-day,’ +and taken a taxi to the station.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘D’you know,’ said Adam. ‘I don’t believe that I’m ever +going to get that fortune.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, I don’t see that you’ve very much to complain of,’ +said Archie. ‘You’re no worse off than you were. <span class='it'>I’ve</span> lost a +fiver and five bottles of champagne.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s true,’ said Adam, a little consoled.</p> + +<hr class='tbk153'/> + +<p class='pindent'>They got into the car and drove through the rain to the +village where the Plunket-Bowse had been found. There it +stood, still smoking and partially recognizable, surrounded +by admiring villagers. A constable in a waterproof cape was +doing his best to preserve it intact from the raids of souvenir +hunters who were collecting the smaller fragments.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>No one seemed to have witnessed the disaster. The +younger members of the community were all at the races, +while the elders were engaged in their afternoon naps. One +thought he had heard a crash.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Inquiries at the railway station, however, disclosed that a +young lady, much dishevelled in appearance, and wearing +some kind of band on her arm, had appeared in the booking +office early that afternoon and asked where she was. On +being told, she said, well, she wished she wasn’t, because +some one had left an enormous stone spanner in the middle +of the road. She admitted feeling rather odd. The station-master +had asked her if she would like to come in and sit +down and offered to get her some brandy. She said, ‘No, no +more brandy,’ and bought a first-class ticket to London. She +had left on the 3.25 train.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘So that’s all right,’ said Archie.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then they left the village and presently found an hotel on +the Great North Road, where they dined and spent the +night. They reached London by luncheon time next day, +and learned that Miss Runcible had been found early that +morning staring fixedly at a model engine in the central hall +at Euston Station. In answer to some gentle questions, she +replied that to the best of her knowledge she had no name, +pointing to the brassard on her arm, as if in confirmation of +this fact. She had come in a motor car, she explained, which +would not stop. It was full of bugs which she had tried to kill +with drops of face lotion. One of them threw a spanner. +There had been a stone thing in the way. They shouldn’t +put up symbols like that in the middle of the road, should +they, or should they?</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So they conveyed her to a nursing home in Wimpole +Street and kept her for some time in a darkened room.</p> + +<div><h1><span class='it'>Chapter Eleven</span></h1></div> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='dropcap'>A</span>dam rang up Nina.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Darling, I’ve been so happy about your telegram. Is it +really true?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, I’m afraid not.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘The Major <span class='it'>is</span> bogus?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You haven’t got any money?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘We aren’t going to be married to-day?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I see.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I said, I see.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Is that all?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, that’s all, Adam.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m sorry.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m sorry, too. Good-bye.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Good-bye, Nina.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Later Nina rang up Adam.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Darling, is that you? I’ve got something rather awful to +tell you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You’ll be furious.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m engaged to be married.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Who to?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I hardly think I can tell you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Who?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Adam, you won’t be beastly about it, will you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Who is it?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Ginger.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I don’t believe it.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, I am. That’s all there is to it.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You’re going to marry Ginger?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I see.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I said, I see.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Is that all?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, that’s all, Nina.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘When shall I see you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I don’t want ever to see you again.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I see.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I said, I see.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, good-bye.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Good-bye. . . . I’m sorry, Adam.’</p> + +<div><h1><span class='it'>Chapter Twelve</span></h1></div> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='dropcap'>T</span>en days later Adam bought some flowers at the corner of +Wigmore Street and went to call on Miss Runcible at her +nursing home. He was shown first into the matron’s room. +She had numerous photographs in silver frames and a very +nasty fox terrier. She smoked a cigarette in a greedy way, +making slight sucking noises.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Just taking a moment off in my den,’ she explained. +‘Down, Spot, down. But I can see you’re fond of dogs,’ she +added, as Adam gave Spot a half-hearted pat on the head. +‘So you want to see Miss Runcible? Well, I ought to warn +you first that she must have no kind of excitement whatever. +She’s had a severe shock. Are you a relation, may I +ask?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, only a friend.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘A very <span class='it'>special</span> friend, perhaps, eh?’ said the Matron +archly. ‘Never mind, I’ll spare your blushes. Just you run up +and see her. But not more than five minutes, mind, or +you’ll have me on your tracks.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There was a reek of ether on the stairs which reminded +Adam of the times when, waiting to take her to luncheon, he +had sat on Nina’s bed while she did her face. (She invariably +made him turn his back until it was over, having a keen +sense of modesty about this one part of her toilet, in curious +contrast to some girls, who would die rather than be seen in +their underclothes, and yet openly flaunt unpainted faces in +front of anyone.)</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It hurt Adam deeply to think much about Nina.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Outside Miss Runcible’s door hung a very interesting +chart which showed the fluctuations of her temperature and +pulse and many other curious details of her progress. He +studied this with pleasure until a nurse, carrying a tray of +highly polished surgical instruments, gave him such a look +that he felt obliged to turn away.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Miss Runcible lay in a high, narrow bed in a darkened +room.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A nurse was crocheting at her side when Adam entered. +She rose, dropping a few odds and ends from her lap, and +said, ‘There’s someone come to see you, dear. Now remember +you aren’t to talk much,’ She took the flowers from +Adam’s hand, said, ‘Look, what lovelies. Aren’t you a +lucky girl?’ and left the room with them. She returned a +moment later carrying them in a jug of water. ‘There, the +thirsties,’ she said. ‘Don’t they love to get back to the nice +cool water?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then she went out again.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Darling,’ said a faint voice from the bed, ‘I can’t really +see who it is. Would it be awful to draw the curtains?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam crossed the room and let in the light of the grey +December afternoon.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, how blind-making. There are some cocktail +things in the wardrobe. Do make a big one. The nurses love +them so. It’s such a nice nursing home this, Adam, only all +the nurses are starved, and there’s a breath-taking young +man next door who keeps putting his head in and asking how +I am. <span class='it'>He</span> fell out of an <span class='it'>aeroplane</span>, which is rather grand, +don’t you think?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘How are you feeling, Agatha?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, rather odd, to tell you the truth. . . . How’s +Nina?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘She’s got engaged to be married—haven’t you heard?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, the nurses are interested in no one but Princess +Elizabeth. Do tell me.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘A young man called Ginger.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Well?</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Don’t you remember him? He came on with us after the +airship party.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Not the one who was sick?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, the other.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I don’t remember . . . does Nina call him Ginger?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Why?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘He asked her to.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Well?</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘She used to play with him when they were children. So +she’s going to marry him.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, isn’t that rather sad-making for you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m desperate about it. I’m thinking of committing +suicide, like Simon.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Don’t do that, darling . . . did Simon commit suicide?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, you know he did. The night all those libel +actions started.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, <span class='it'>that</span> Simon. I thought you meant <span class='it'>Simon</span>.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Who’s Simon?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘The young man who fell out of the aeroplane. The +nurses call him Simple Simon because it’s affected his +brains . . . but, Adam I <span class='it'>am</span> sorry about Nina. I’ll tell you +what we’ll do. As soon as I’m well again we’ll make Mary +Mouse give a lovely party to cheer you up.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Haven’t you heard about Mary?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, what?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘She went off to Monte Carlo with the Maharajah of Pukkapore.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>My dear</span>, aren’t the Mice furious?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘She’s just receiving religious instruction before her +official reception as a royal concubine. Then they’re going to +India.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘How people are <span class='it'>disappearing</span>, Adam. Did you get that +money from the drunk Major?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, he disappeared too.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘D’you know, all that time when I was dotty I had the +most awful dreams. I thought we were all driving round and +round in a motor race and none of us could stop, and there +was an enormous audience composed entirely of gossip +writers and gate-crashers and Archie Schwert and people +like that, all shouting to us at once to go faster, and car after +car kept crashing until I was left all alone driving and driving—and +then I used to crash and wake up.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then the door opened, and Miles came popping in.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Agatha, Adam, my dears. The <span class='it'>time</span> I’ve had trying to get +in. I can’t tell you how bogus they were downstairs. First I +said I was Lord Chasm, and that wasn’t any good; and I said +I was one of the doctors, and that wasn’t any good; and I +said I was your young man, and <span class='it'>that</span> wasn’t any good; and I +said I was a gossip writer, and they let me up at once and +said I wasn’t to excite you, but would I put a piece in my +paper about their nursing home. <span class='it'>How</span> are you, Aggie darling? +I brought up some new records.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You are angelic. Do let’s try them. There’s a gramophone +under the bed.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘There’s a whole lot more people coming to see you to-day. +I saw them all at luncheon at Margot’s. Johnny Hoop and +Van and Archie Schwert. I wonder if they’ll all manage to +get in.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They got in.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So soon there was quite a party, and Simon appeared from +next door in a very gay dressing-gown, and they played the +new records and Miss Runcible moved her bandaged limbs +under the bedclothes in negro rhythm.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Last of all, Nina came in looking quite lovely and very ill.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Nina, I hear you’re engaged.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, it’s very lucky. My papa has just put all his money +into a cinema film and lost it all.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, it doesn’t matter at all. My papa lost all his +twice. It doesn’t make a bit of difference. That’s just one of +the things one has to learn about losing all one’s money. . . . +Is it true that you really call him Ginger?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, yes, only, Agatha, please don’t be unkind about it.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>And the gramophone was playing the song which the +black man sang at the Café de la Paix.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then the nurse came in.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, you are noisy ones, and no mistake,’ she said. ‘I +don’t know what the matron would say if she were here.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Have a chocolate, sister?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Ooh, chocs!</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam made another cocktail.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Miles sat on Miss Runcible’s bed and took up the telephone +and began dictating some paragraphs about the nursing +home.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What it is to have a friend in the Press,’ said the nurse.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam brought her a cocktail. ‘Shall I?’ she said. ‘I hope +you haven’t made it too strong. Suppose it goes to my head? +What would the patients think if their sister came in tiddly. +Well, if you’re <span class='it'>sure</span> it won’t hurt me, thanks.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>. . . Yesterday I visited the Hon. Agatha Runcible comma +Lord Chasm’s lovely daughter comma at the Wimpole Street +nursing home where she is recovering from the effects of the +motor accident recently described in this column stop Miss +Runcible was entertaining quite a large party which included +. . .</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam, handing round cocktails, came to Nina.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I thought we were never going to meet each other again.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘We were obviously bound to, weren’t we?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Agatha’s looking better than I expected, isn’t she? What +an amusing nursing home.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Nina, I must see you again. Come back to Lottie’s this +evening and have dinner with me.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Please.</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No. Ginger wouldn’t like it.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Nina, you aren’t in love with him?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, I don’t think so.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Are you in love with me?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I don’t know . . . I was once.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Nina, I’m absolutely miserable not seeing you. Do come +and dine with me to-night. What can be the harm in that?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, I know exactly what it will mean.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, why not?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You see, Ginger’s not like us really about that sort of +thing. He’d be furious.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, what about me? Surely I have first claim?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Darling, don’t <span class='it'>bully</span>. Besides, I used to play with Ginger +as a child. His hair was a very pretty colour then.’</p> + +<hr class='tbk154'/> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>. . . Mr “Johnny” Hoop, whose memoirs are to be published +next month, told me that he intends to devote his time to +painting in future, and is going to Paris to study in the spring. +He is to be taken into the studio of . . .</span>’</p> + +<hr class='tbk155'/> + +<p class='pindent'>‘For the last time, Nina . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, I suppose I must.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Angel!</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I believe you knew I was going to.’</p> + +<hr class='tbk156'/> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>. . . Miss Nina Blount, whose engagement to Mr “Ginger” +Littlejohn, the well-known polo player. . . . Mr +Schwert . . .</span>’</p> + +<hr class='tbk157'/> + +<p class='pindent'>‘If only you were as rich as Ginger, Adam, or only half as +rich. Or if only you had any money at all.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well,’ said the Matron, appearing suddenly. ‘Whoever +heard of cocktails and a gramophone in a concussion case? +Sister Briggs, pull down those curtains at once. Out you +go, the whole lot of you. Why, I’ve known cases die with +less.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Indeed, Miss Runcible was already showing signs of +strain. She was sitting bolt upright in bed, smiling +deliriously, and bowing her bandaged head to imaginary +visitors.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Darling</span>,’ she said. ‘How <span class='it'>too</span> divine . . . <span class='it'>how</span> are you? . . . +and how are <span class='it'>you</span>? . . . how angelic of you all to come . . . +only you must be careful not to fall out at the corners . . . +ooh, just missed it. There goes that nasty Italian car . . . I +wish I knew which thing was which in this car . . . darling, +do try and drive more straight, my sweet, you were nearly +into me then. . . . Faster . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s all right, Miss Runcible, that’s all right. You +mustn’t get excited,’ said the Matron. ‘Sister Briggs, run for +the ice-pack quickly.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘All friends here,’ said Miss Runcible, smiling radiantly. +‘Faster. . . . Faster . . . it’ll stop all right when the time +comes . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>That evening Miss Runcible’s temperature went rocketing +up the chart in a way which aroused great interest +throughout the nursing home. Sister Briggs, over her evening +cup of cocoa, said she would be sorry to lose that case. +Such a nice bright girl—but terribly excitable.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>At Shepheard’s Hotel Lottie said to Adam:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That chap’s been in here again after you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What chap, Lottie?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘How do I know what chap? Same chap as before.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You never told me about a chap.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Didn’t I dear? Well, I meant to.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What did he want?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I don’t know—something about money. Dun, I expect. +Says he is coming back to-morrow.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, tell him I’ve gone to Manchester.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s right, dear. . . . What about a glass of wine?’</p> + +<hr class='tbk158'/> + +<p class='pindent'>Later that evening Nina said: ‘You don’t seem to be enjoying +yourself very much to-night.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Sorry, am I being a bore?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I think I shall go home.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Adam, darling, what’s the matter?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I don’t know. . . . Nina, do you ever feel that things +simply can’t go on much longer?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What d’you mean by things—us or everything?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Everything.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No—I wish I did.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I dare say you’re right . . . what are you looking for?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Clothes.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Why?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, Adam, what <span class='it'>do</span> you want . . . you’re too impossible +this evening.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Don’t let’s talk any more, Nina, d’you mind?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Later he said: ‘I’d give anything in the world for something +different.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Different from me or different from everything?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Different from everything . . . only I’ve got nothing +. . . what’s the good of talking?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, Adam, my dearest . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Nothing.’</p> + +<hr class='tbk159'/> + +<p class='pindent'>When Adam came down next morning Lottie was having +her morning glass of champagne in the parlour.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘So your little bird’s flown, has she? Sit down and have a +glass of wine. That dun’s been in again. I told him you was +in Manchester.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Splendid.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Seemed rather shirty about it. Said he’d go and look for +you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Better still.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then something happened which Adam had been dreading +or days. Lottie suddenly said:</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘And that reminds me. What about <span class='it'>my</span> little bill?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, yes,’ said Adam, ‘I’ve been meaning to ask for it. +Have it made out and sent up to me some time, will you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’ve got it here. Bless you, what a lot you seem to have +drunk.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, I do, don’t I? Are you sure some of this champagne +wasn’t the Judge’s?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, it may have been,’ admitted Lottie. ‘We get a bit +muddled with the books now and then.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, thank you so much, I’ll send you down a cheque for +this.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, dear,’ said Lottie. ‘Suppose you write it down here. +Here’s the pen, here’s the ink, and here’s a blank cheque +book.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>(Bills are delivered infrequently and irregularly at Lottie’s, +but when they come, there is no getting away from +them.) Adam wrote out a cheque for seventy-eight pounds +sixteen shillings.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘And twopence for the cheque,’ said Lottie.</p> + +<p class='pindent'><span class='it'>And twopence</span>, Adam added.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘There’s a dear,’ said Lottie, blotting the cheque and +locking it away in a drawer. ‘Why, look who’s turned up. If +it isn’t Mr Thingummy.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>It was Ginger.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Good morning, Mrs Crump,’ he said rather stiffly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Come and sit down and have a glass of wine, dear. Why I +knew you before you were born.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Hullo, Ginger,’ said Adam.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Look here, Symes,’ said Ginger, looking in an embarrassed +manner at the glass of champagne which had been +put into his hand, ‘I want to speak to you. Perhaps we can go +somewhere where we shan’t be disturbed.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Bless you, boys, I won’t disturb you,’ said Lottie. ‘Just +you have a nice talk. I’ve got lots to see to.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>She left the parlour, and soon her voice could be heard +raised in anger against the Italian waiter.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well?’ said Adam.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Look here, Symes,’ said Ginger, ‘what I mean to say is, +what I’m going to say may sound damned unpleasant, you +know, and all that, but look here, you know, damn it, I +mean <span class='it'>the better man won</span>—not that I mean I’m the <span class='it'>better</span> +man. Wouldn’t say that for a minute. And, anyway, Nina’s +a damn sight too good for either of us. It’s just that I’ve been +lucky. Awful rough luck on you, I mean, and all that, but +still, when you come to think of it, after all, well, look here, +damn it, I mean, d’you see what I mean?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Not quite,’ said Adam gently. ‘Now tell me again. Is it +something about Nina?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, it is,’ said Ginger in a rush. ‘Nina and I are engaged, +and I’m not going to have you butting in or there’ll be hell +to pay.’ He paused, rather taken aback at his own eloquence.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What makes you think I’m butting in?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, hang it all, she dined with you last night, didn’t +she, and stayed out jolly late, too.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘How do you know how late she stayed out?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, as a matter of fact, you see I wanted to speak to her +about something rather important, so I rang her up once or +twice and didn’t get an answer until three o’clock.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I suppose you rang her up about every ten minutes?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh no, damn it, not as often as that,’ said Ginger. ‘No, +no, not as often as that. I know it sounds rather unsporting +and all that, but you see I wanted to speak to her, and, anyway, +when I did get through, she just said she had a pain +and didn’t want to talk: <span class='it'>well, I mean to say</span>. After all, I +mean, one is a gentleman. It isn’t as though you were just a +sort of friend of the family, is it? I mean, you were more or +less engaged to her yourself, weren’t you, at one time? +Well, what would you have thought if I’d come butting in? +You must look at it like that, from my point of view, too, +mustn’t you, I mean?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, I think that’s rather what did happen.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh no, look here, Symes, I mean, damn it; you mustn’t +say things like that. D’you know all the time I was out East I +had Nina’s photograph over my bed, honest I did. I expect +you think that’s sentimental and all that, but what I mean +is I didn’t stop thinking of that girl once all the time I was +away. Mind you, there were lots of other frightfully jolly +girls out there, and I don’t say I didn’t sometimes get jolly +pally with them, you know, tennis and gymkhana and all +that sort of thing, I mean, and dancing in the evenings, but +never anything serious, you know. Nina was the only girl I +really thought of, and I’d sort of made up my mind when I +came home to look her up, and if she’d have me . . . see +what I mean? So you see it’s awfully rough luck on me +when someone comes butting in. You must see that, don’t +you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes,’ said Adam.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘And there’s another thing, you know, sentiment and all +that apart. I mean Nina’s a girl who likes nice clothes and +things, you know, comfort and all that. Well, I mean to say, +of course, her father’s a topping old boy, absolutely one of +the best, but he’s rather an ass about money, if you know +what I mean. What I mean, Nina’s going to be frightfully +hard up, and all that, and I mean you haven’t got an awful +lot of money, have you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I haven’t any at all.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, I mean, that’s what I mean. <span class='it'>Awfully rough on you.</span> +No one thinks the worse of you, respects you for it, I mean +earning a living and all that. Heaps of fellows haven’t any +money nowadays. I could give you the names of dozens of +stout fellows, absolute toppers, who simply haven’t a bean. +No, all I mean is, when it comes to marrying, then that does +make a difference, doesn’t it?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What you’ve been trying to say all this time is that +you’re not sure of Nina?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, rot, my dear fellow, absolute bilge. Damn it, I’d +trust Nina anywhere, of course I would. After all, damn it, +what does being in love mean if you can’t trust a person?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>(‘What, indeed?’ thought Adam), and he said, ‘Now, +Ginger, tell the truth. What’s Nina worth to you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Good Lord, why what an extraordinary thing to ask; +everything in the world of course. I’d go through fire and +water for that girl.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, I’ll sell her to you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, why, look here, good God, damn it, I mean . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’ll sell my share in her for a hundred pounds.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You pretend to be fond of Nina and you talk about her +like that! Why, hang it, it’s not decent. Besides, a hundred +pounds is the deuce of a lot. I mean, getting married is a +damned expensive business, don’t you know. And I’m just +getting a couple of polo ponies over from Ireland. That’s +going to cost a hell of a lot, what with one thing and another.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘A hundred down, and I leave Nina to you, I think it’s +cheap.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Fifty.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘A hundred.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Seventy-five.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘A hundred.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m damned if I’ll pay more than seventy-five.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’ll take seventy-eight pounds sixteen and twopence. I +can’t go lower than that.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘All right, I’ll pay that. <span class='it'>You really will go away?</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’ll try, Ginger. Have a drink.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, thank you . . . this only shows what an escape Nina’s +had—poor little girl.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Good-bye, Ginger.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Good-bye, Symes.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Young Thingummy going?’ said Lottie, appearing in the +door. ‘I was just thinking about a little drink.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam went to the telephone-box. . . .’Hullo, is that Nina?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Who’s speaking, please? I don’t think Miss Blount is in.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Mr Fenwick-Symes.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, Adam. I was afraid it was Ginger. I woke up feeling I +just couldn’t bear him. He rang up last night just as I got in.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I know. Nina, darling, something awful’s happened.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Lottie presented me with her bill.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Darling, what <span class='it'>did</span> you do?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, I did something rather extraordinary. . . . My +dear, I sold <span class='it'>you</span>.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Darling . . . <span class='it'>who to</span>?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Ginger. You fetched seventy-eight pounds sixteen and +twopence.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Well?</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘And now I never am going to see you again.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, but Adam, I think this is beastly of you; I don’t want +not to see you again.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m sorry. . . . Good-bye, Nina, darling.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Good-bye, Adam, my sweet. But I think you’re rather a +cad.’</p> + +<hr class='tbk160'/> + +<p class='pindent'>Next day Lottie said to Adam, ‘You know that chap I said +came here asking for you?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘The dun?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, he wasn’t a dun. I’ve just remembered. He’s a chap +who used to come here quite a lot until he had a fight with a +Canadian. He was here the night that silly Flossie killed +herself on the chandelier.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Not the drunk Major?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘He wasn’t drunk yesterday. Not so as you’d notice anyway. +Red-faced chap with an eyeglass. You ought to remember +him, dear. He was the one made that bet for you on the +November Handicap.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘But I must get hold of him at once. What’s his name?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Ah, that I couldn’t tell you. I <span class='it'>did</span> know, but it’s slipped +my memory. He’s gone to Manchester to look for you. Pity +your missing him!’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then Adam rang up Nina. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘Don’t do +anything sudden about Ginger. I may be able to buy you +back. The drunk Major has turned up again.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘But, darling, it’s too late. Ginger and I got married this +morning. I’m just packing for our honeymoon. We’re going +in an aeroplane.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Ginger wasn’t taking any chances, was he? Darling, +don’t go.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, I must. Ginger says he knows a “tophole little spot not +far from Monte with a very decent nine-hole golf course”.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Well?</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Yes, I know</span> . . . we shall only be away a few days. We’re +coming back to spend Christmas with papa. Perhaps we shall +be able to arrange something when we get back. I do hope so.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Good-bye.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Good-bye.’</p> + +<hr class='tbk161'/> + +<p class='pindent'>Ginger looked out of the aeroplane: ‘I say, Nina,’ he +shouted, ‘when you were young did you ever have to learn +a thing out of a poetry book about: “<span class='it'>This scepter’d isle, this +earth of majesty, this something or other Eden</span>”? D’you +know what I mean? “<span class='it'>this happy breed of men, this little +world, this precious stone set in the silver sea . . .</span></p> + + + <div class='poetry-container' style=''> + <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> +<div class='stanza-outer'> +<p class='line0'>“<span class='it'>This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England</span></p> +<p class='line0'><span class='it'>This nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings</span></p> +<p class='line0'><span class='it'>Feared by their breed and famous by their birth . . .</span>”</p> +</div> +</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> + +<p class='noindent'>I forget how it goes on. Something about a stubborn Jew. +But you know the thing I mean?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It comes in a play.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, a blue poetry book.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I acted in it.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, they may have put it into a play since. It was in a +blue poetry book when I learned it. Anyway, you know +what I mean?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, why?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, I mean to say, don’t you feel somehow, up in the +air like this and looking down and seeing everything underneath. +I mean, don’t you have a sort of feeling rather like +that, if you see what I mean?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Nina looked down and saw inclined at an odd angle a +horizon of straggling red suburb; arterial roads dotted with +little cars; factories, some of them working, others empty +and decaying; a disused canal; some distant hills sown with +bungalows; wireless masts and overhead power cables; men +and women were indiscernible except as tiny spots; they +were marrying and shopping and making money and having +children. The scene lurched and tilted again as the aeroplane +struck a current of air.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ said Nina.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Poor little girl,’ said Ginger. ‘That’s what the paper bags +are for.’</p> + +<hr class='tbk162'/> + +<p class='pindent'>There was rarely more than a quarter of a mile of the +black road to be seen at one time. It unrolled like a length of +cinema film. At the edges was confusion; a fog spinning +past: ‘<span class='it'>Faster, faster</span>,’ they shouted above the roar of the +engine. The road rose suddenly and the white car soared up +the sharp ascent without slackening speed. At the summit of +the hill there was a corner. Two cars had crept up, one on +each side, and were closing in. ‘Faster,’ cried Miss Runcible, +‘Faster.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Quietly, dear, quietly. You’re disturbing every one. You +must lie quiet or you’ll never get well. Everything’s quite +all right. There’s nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>They were trying to make her lie down. How could one +drive properly lying down?</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Another frightful corner. The car leant over on two +wheels, tugging outwards; it was drawn across the road until +it was within a few inches of the bank. One ought to brake +down at the corners, but one couldn’t see them coming lying +flat on one’s back like this. The back wheels wouldn’t hold +the road at this speed. Skidding all over the place.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Faster. Faster.</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The stab of a hypodermic needle.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘There’s nothing to worry about, dear . . . <span class='it'>nothing at all +. . . nothing</span>.’</p> + +<div><h1><span class='it'>Chapter Thirteen</span></h1></div> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='dropcap'>T</span>he film had been finished, and every one had gone away; +Wesley and Whitefield, Bishop Philpotts and Miss La +Touche, Mr Isaacs, and all his pupils from the National +Academy of Cinematographic Art. The park lay deep in +snow, a clean expanse of white, shadowless and unspotted +save for tiny broad arrows stamped by the hungry birds. The +bellringers were having their final practice, and the air was +alive with pealing bells.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Inside the dining-room Florin and Mrs Florin and Ada, +the fifteen-year-old housemaid, were arranging branches of +holly above the frames of the family portraits. Florin held +the basket, Mrs Florin held the steps and Ada put the +decorations in their places. Colonel Blount was having his +afternoon nap upstairs.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Florin had a secret. It was a white calico banner of great +age lettered in red ribbon with the words ‘<span class='sc'>Welcome +Home</span>’. He had always known where it was, just where to +put his hand on it, at the top of the black trunk in the far +attic behind the two hip baths and the ’cello case.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘The Colonel’s mother made it’, he explained, ‘when he +first went away to school, and it was always hung out in the +hall whenever he and Mister Eric came back for the holidays. +It used to be the first thing he’d look for when he came +into the house—even when he was a grown man home on +leave. “Where’s my banner?” he’d say. We’ll have it up for +Miss Nina—Mrs Littlejohn, I should say.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Ada said should they put some holly in Captain and Mrs +Littlejohn’s bedroom.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs Florin said, whoever heard of holly in a bedroom, +and she wasn’t sure but that it was unlucky to take it upstairs.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Ada said, ‘Well, perhaps just a bit of mistletoe over the +bed.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs Florin said Ada was too young to think about things +like that, and she ought to be ashamed of herself.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Florin said would Ada stop arguing and answering back +and come into the hall to put up the banner. One string +went on the nose of the rhinoceros, he explained, the other +round the giraffe.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Presently Colonel Blount came down.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Should I light the fires in the big drawing-room?’ asked +Mrs Florin.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Fires in the big drawing-room? No, why should you want +to do that, Mrs Florin?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Because of Captain and Mrs Littlejohn—you haven’t +forgotten, have you, sir, that they’re coming to stay this +afternoon?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Captain and Mrs Fiddlesticks. Never heard of them. +Who asked them to stay I should like to know? <span class='it'>I</span> didn’t. +Don’t know who they are. Don’t want them. . . . Besides, +now I come to think of it, Miss Nina and her husband said +they were coming down. I can’t have the whole house +turned into an hotel. If these people come, Florin, whoever +they are, you tell them to go away. You understand? I +won’t have them, and I think it’s very presumptuous of +whoever asked them. It is not their place to invite guests +here without consulting me.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Should I be lighting the fires in the big drawing-room +for Miss Nina and her young gentleman, sir?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, yes, certainly . . . and a fire in their bedroom, of +course. And, Florin, I want you to come down to the cellar +with me to look out some port . . . I’ve got the keys here. +. . . I have a feeling I’m going to like Miss Nina’s husband,’ +he confided on their way to the cellar. ‘I hear very good +reports of him—a decent, steady young fellow, and not at all +badly off. Miss Nina said in her letter that he used to come +over here as a little boy. D’you remember him, Florin? +Blest if I do. . . . What’s the name again?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Littlejohn, sir.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes. Littlejohn, to be sure. I had the name on the tip of my +tongue only a minute ago. <span class='it'>Littlejohn.</span> I must remember that.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘His father used to live over at Oakshott, sir. A very +wealthy gentleman. Shipowners, I think they were. Young +Mr Littlejohn used to go riding with Miss Nina, sir. +Regular little monkey he was, sir, red-headed . . . a terrible +one for cats.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, well, I dare say he’s grown out of that. Mind the +step, Florin, it’s all broken away. Hold the lamp higher, +can’t you, man. Now, what did we come for? Port, yes, port. +Now, there’s some ’96 somewhere, only a few bottles left. +What does it say on this bin? I can’t read. Bring the light +over here.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘We drank up the last of the ’96, sir, when the film-acting +gentlemen was here.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Did we, Florin, did we? We shouldn’t have done that, +you know.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Very particular about his wine, Mr Isaacs was. My instructions +was to give them whatever they wanted.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, but ’96 port. . . . Well, well. Take up two bottles +of the ’04. Now, what else do we want? Claret—yes, <span class='it'>claret</span>. +Claret, claret, claret, claret. Where do I keep the claret, +Florin?’</p> + +<hr class='tbk163'/> + +<p class='pindent'>Colonel Blount was just having tea—he had finished a +brown boiled egg and was spreading a crumpet with honey—when +Florin opened the library door and announced ‘Captain +and Mrs Littlejohn, sir.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>And Adam and Nina came in.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Colonel Blount put down his crumpet and rose to greet them.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, Nina, it’s a long time since you came to see your +old father. So this is my son-in-law, eh? How do you do, my +boy. Come and sit down, both of you. Florin will bring some +more cups directly. . . . Well,’ he said, giving Adam a +searching glance, ‘I can’t say I should have recognized you. I +used to know your father very well indeed at one time. Used +to be a neighbour of mine over at where-was-it. I expect +you’ve forgotten those days. You used to come over here to +ride with Nina. You can’t have been more than ten or +eleven. . . . Funny, something gave me an idea you had red +hair . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I expect you’d heard him called “Ginger”,’ said Nina, +‘and that made you think of it.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Something of the kind, I dare say . . . extraordinary +thing to call him “Ginger” when he’s got ordinary fair hair +. . . anyway, I’m very glad to see you, very glad. I’m afraid +it’ll be a very quiet week-end. We don’t see many people +here now. Florin says he’s asked a Captain and Mrs Something-or-other +to come and stay, damn his impudence, but I +said I wouldn’t see them. Why should I entertain Florin’s +friends? Servants seem to think after they’ve been with you +some time they can do anything they like. There was poor +old Lady Graybridge, now—they only found out after her +death that her man had been letting lodgings all the time in +the North Wing. She never could understand why none of +the fruit ever came into the dining-room—the butler and +his boarders were eating it all in the servants’ hall. And after +she was ill, and couldn’t leave her room, he laid out a golf links +in the park . . . shocking state of affairs. I don’t believe Florin +would do a thing like that—still, you never know. It’s the thin +edge of the wedge asking people down for the week-end.’</p> + +<hr class='tbk164'/> + +<p class='pindent'>In the kitchen Florin said: ‘<span class='it'>That’s</span> not the Mr Littlejohn I +used to know.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs Florin said, ‘It’s the young gentleman that came here +to luncheon last month.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Ada said, ‘He’s very nice looking.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Florin and Mrs Florin said, ‘You be quiet, Ada. Have you +taken the hot water up to their bedroom yet? Have you +taken up their suitcases? Have you unpacked them? Did you +brush the Colonel’s evening suit? Do you expect Mr Florin +and Mrs Florin to do <span class='it'>all</span> the work of the house? And look at +your apron again, you wretched girl, if it isn’t the second +you’ve dirtied to-day.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Florin added, ‘Anyway, Miss Nina noticed the banner.’</p> + +<hr class='tbk165'/> + +<p class='pindent'>In the library Colonel Blount said, ‘I’ve got a treat for you +to-night, anyway. The last two reels of my cinema film have +just come back from being developed. I thought we’d run +through it to-night. We shall have to go across to the Rectory, +because the rector’s got electric light, the lucky fellow. I +told him to expect us. He didn’t seem very pleased about it. +Said he had to preach three sermons to-morrow, and be up +at six for early service. That’s not the Christmas spirit. +Didn’t want to bring the car round to fetch us either. It’s +only a matter of a quarter of a mile, no trouble to <span class='it'>him</span>, and +how can we walk in the snow carrying all the apparatus? I +said to him, “If you practised a little more Christianity yourself +we might be more willing to subscribe to your foreign +missions and Boy Scouts and organ funds.” Had him there. +Dammit, I put the man in his job myself—if I haven’t a +right to his car, who has?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>When they went up to change for dinner Nina said to +Adam, ‘I knew papa would never recognize you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam said, ‘Look, some one’s put mistletoe over our bed.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I think you gave the Florins rather a surprise.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear, what will the Rector say? He drove me to the +station the first time I came. He thought I was mad.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . Poor Ginger. I wonder, are we treating him terribly +badly? . . . It seemed a direct act of fate that he should have +been called up to join his regiment just at this moment.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I left him a cheque to pay for you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Darling, you know it’s a bad one.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No cheque is bad until it’s refused by the bank. To-morrow’s +Christmas, then Boxing Day, then Sunday. He +can’t pay it in until Monday, and anything may have happened +by then. The drunk Major may have turned up. If the +worst comes to the worst I can always send you back to him.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I expect it will end with that. . . . Darling, the honeymoon +<span class='it'>was</span> hell . . . frightfully cold, and Ginger insisted on +walking about on a terrace after dinner to see the moon on +the Mediterranean—he played golf all day, and made +friends with the other English people in the hotel. I can’t +tell you what it was like . . . too spirit-crushing, as poor +Agatha used to say.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Did I tell you I went to Agatha’s funeral? There was practically +no one there except the Chasms and some aunts. I +went with Van, rather tight, and got stared at. I think they +felt I was partly responsible for the accident . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What about Miles?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘He’s had to leave the country, didn’t you know?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Darling, I only came back from my honeymoon to-day. I +haven’t heard anything. . . . You know there seems to be +none of us left now except you and me.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘And Ginger.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Yes, and Ginger.’</p> + +<hr class='tbk166'/> + +<p class='pindent'>The cinematograph exhibition that evening was not really +a success.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The Rector arrived while they were finishing dinner, and +was shown into the dining-room shaking the snow from the +shoulders of his overcoat.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Come in, Rector, come in. We shan’t be many +minutes now. Take a glass of port and sit down. You’ve +met my daughter, haven’t you? And this is my new son-in-law.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting him before too.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Nonsense, first time he’s been here since he was so high—long +before your time.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The Rector sipped his port and kept eyeing Adam over the +top of his glass in a way which made Nina giggle. Then +Adam giggled too, and the Rector’s suspicions were confirmed. +In this way relations were already on an uneasy +basis before they reached the Rectory. The Colonel, however, +was far too intent over the transport of his apparatus to +notice anything.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘This is your first visit here?’ said the Rector as he drove +through the snow.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I lived near here as a boy, you know,’ said Adam.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Ah . . . but you were down here the other day, were you +not? The Colonel often forgets things. . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, no. I haven’t been here for fifteen years.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I <span class='it'>see</span>,’ said the Rector with sinister emphasis, and murmured +under his breath, ‘Remarkable . . . very sad and remarkable.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The Rector’s wife was disposed to make rather a party of +it, and had arranged some coffee and chocolate biscuits in the +drawing-room, but the Colonel soon put an end to any +frivolity of this kind by plunging them all in darkness.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>He took out the bulbs of their electric lights and fitted in +the plug of his lantern. A bright beam shot across the +drawing-room like a searchlight, picking out the Rector, +who was whispering in his wife’s ear the news of his discovery.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘. . . the same young man I told you of,’ he was saying. +‘Quite off his head, poor boy. He didn’t even remember +coming here before. One expects that sort of thing in a man +of the Colonel’s age, but for a young man like that . . . a +very bad look out for the next generation . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The Colonel paused in his preparation.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I say, Rector, I’ve just thought of something. I wish old +Florin were here. He was in bed half the time they were +taking the film. I know he’d love to see it. Could you be a +good chap and run up in the car and fetch him?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, really, Colonel, I hardly think that’s necessary. I’ve +just put the car away.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I won’t start before you come back, if that’s what you’re +thinking of. It’ll take me some time to get everything fixed +up. We’ll wait for you. I promise you that.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My dear Colonel, it’s snowing heavily—practically a blizzard. +Surely it would be a mistaken kindness to drag an +elderly man out of doors on a night like this in order to see a +film which, I have no doubt, will soon be on view all over +the country?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘All right, Rector, just as you think best. I only thought +after all it is Christmas . . . damn the thing; I got a nasty +shock then.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam and Nina and the Rector and his wife sat in the +dark patiently. After a time the Colonel unrolled a silvered +screen.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Just help me take all these things off the chimney-piece +some one,’ he said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The Rector’s wife scuttered to the preservation of her +ornaments.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Will it bear, do you think?’ asked the Colonel, mounting +precariously on the top of the piano, and exhibiting in his +excitement an astonishing fund of latent vitality. ‘Now hand +up the screen to me, will you? That’s splendid. You don’t +mind a couple of screws in your wall, do you, Rector? Quite +small ones.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Presently the screen was fixed and the lens directed so +that it threw on to it a small square of light.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The audience sat down expectantly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Now</span>,’ said the Colonel, and set the machine in motion.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>There was a whirring sound, and suddenly there appeared +on the screen the spectacle of four uniformed horsemen +galloping backwards down the drive.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Hullo,’ said the Colonel. ‘Something wrong there . . . +that’s funny. I must have forgotten to rewind it.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The horsemen disappeared, and there was a fresh whirring +as the film was transferred to another spool.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Now</span>,’ said the Colonel, and sure enough there appeared +in small and clear letters the notice, ‘<span class='sc'>The Wonderfilm +Company of Great Britain Presents</span>’. This legend, +vibrating a good deal, but without other variation, filled the +screen for some time—(‘Of course, I shall cut the captions a +bit before it’s shown commercially,’ explained the Colonel)—until +its place was taken by ‘<span class='sc'>Effie la Touche in</span>’. +This announcement was displayed for practically no time at +all; indeed, they had scarcely had time to read it before it +was whisked away obliquely. (‘Damn,’ said the Colonel. +‘Skidded.’) There followed another long pause, and then:</p> + +<div class='blockquote100percent'> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='sc'><span class='gesp'>A Brand from the Burning, a Film Based on the Life of John Wesley.</span></span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>(‘<span class='it'>There</span>,’ said the Colonel.)</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='sc'><span class='gesp'>Eighteenth Century England.</span></span>’</p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'>There came in breathless succession four bewigged men in +fancy costume, sitting round a card table. There were +glasses, heaps of money and candles on the table. They were +clearly gambling feverishly and drinking a lot. (‘There’s a +song there really,’ said the Colonel, ‘only I’m afraid I +haven’t got a talkie apparatus yet.’) Then a highwayman +holding up the coach which Adam had seen; then some +beggars starving outside Doubting Church; then some ladies +in fancy costume dancing a minuet. Sometimes the heads of +the dancers would disappear above the top of the pictures; +sometimes they would sink waist deep as though in a quicksand; +once Mr Isaacs appeared at the side in shirt sleeves, +waving them on. (‘I’ll have him out,’ said the Colonel.)</p> + +<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:1em;margin-bottom:1em;'>‘<span class='sc'><span class='gesp'>Epworth Rectory, Lincolnshire (Eng.)</span></span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>(‘That’s in case it’s taken up in the States,’ said the +Colonel. ‘I don’t believe there is a Lincolnshire over there, +but it’s always courteous to put that in case.’)</p> + +<p class='pindent'>A corner of Doubting Hall appeared with clouds of smoke +billowing from the windows. A clergyman was seen handing +out a succession of children with feverish rapidity of action. +(‘It’s on fire, you see,’ said the Colonel. ‘We did that quite +simply, by burning some stuff Isaacs had. It did make a +smell.’)</p> + +<p class='pindent'>So the film went on eventfully for about half an hour. +One of its peculiarities was that whenever the story reached +a point of dramatic and significant action, the film seemed +to get faster and faster. Villagers trotted to church as though +galvanized; lovers shot in and out of windows; horses flashed +past like motor cars; riots happened so quickly that they +were hardly noticed. On the other hand, any scene of repose +or inaction, a conversation in a garden between two clergymen, +Mrs Wesley at her prayers, Lady Huntingdon asleep, +etc., seemed prolonged almost unendurably. Even Colonel +Blount suspected this imperfection.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I think I might cut a bit there,’ he said, after Wesley +had sat uninterruptedly composing a pamphlet for four and +a half minutes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>When the reel came to an end every one stirred luxuriously.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, that was very nice,’ said the Rector’s wife, ‘very +nice and instructive.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I really must congratulate you, Colonel. A production of +absorbing interest. I had no idea Wesley’s life was so full of +adventure. I see I must read up my Lecky.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Too divine, Papa.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Thank you so much, sir, I enjoyed that immensely.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘But, bless you, that isn’t the end,’ said the Colonel. +‘There are four more reels yet.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, that’s good.’ ‘But how delightful.’ ‘Splendid.’ ‘Oh.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But the full story was never shown. Just at the beginning +of the second part—when Wesley in America was being +rescued from Red Indians by Lady Huntingdon disguised as +a cowboy—there occurred one of the mishaps from which +the largest super-cinemas are not absolutely immune. There +was a sudden crackling sound, a long blue spark, and the +light was extinguished.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, dear,’ said the Colonel, ‘I wonder what’s happened +now. We were just getting to such an exciting place.’ He +bent all his energies on the apparatus, recklessly burning +his fingers, while his audience sat in darkness. Presently +the door opened and a housemaid appeared carrying a +candle.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘If you please, mum,’ she said, ‘the light’s gone out all +over the house.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The Rector hurried across to the door and tried the +switch in the passage. He clicked it up and down several +times; he tapped it like a barometer and shook it +slightly.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It looks as though the wires were fused,’ he said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Really, Rector, how very inconvenient,’ said the Colonel +crossly. ‘I can’t possibly show the film without electric +current. Surely there must be something you can do?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I am afraid it will be a job for an electrician; it will be +scarcely possible to get one before Monday,’ said the Rector +with scarcely Christian calm. ‘In fact it is clear to me that +my wife and myself and my whole household will have to +spend the entire Christmas week-end in darkness.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well,’ said the Colonel. ‘I never expected this to happen. +Of course, I know it’s just as disappointing for you as it is for +me. All the same . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The housemaid brought in some candles and a bicycle +lamp.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘There’s only these in the house, sir,’ she said, ‘and the +shops don’t open till Monday.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I don’t think in the circumstances my hospitality can be +of much more use to you, can it, Colonel? Perhaps you would +like me to ring up and get a taxi out from Aylesbury.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘What’s that? <span class='it'>Taxi?</span> Why, it’s ridiculous to get a taxi out +from Aylesbury to go a quarter of a mile!’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m sure Mrs Littlejohn wouldn’t like to walk all the way +on a night like this?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Perhaps a taxi would be a good idea, Papa.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Of course, if you’ld care to take shelter here . . . it may +clear up a little. But I think you’ld find it very wretched, +sitting here in the dark?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘No, no, of course, order a taxi,’ said the Colonel.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>On the way back to the house he said, ‘I’d half made up +my mind to lend him some of our lamps for the week-end. +I certainly shan’t now. Fancy hiring a taxi seven miles to +drive us a few hundred yards. On Christmas Eve, too. No +wonder they find it hard to fill their churches when that’s +their idea of Christian fellowship. Just when I’d brought my +film all that way to show them . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Next morning Adam and Nina woke up under Ada’s sprig +of mistletoe to hear the bells ringing for Christmas across +the snow. ‘Come all to church, good people; good people +come to church.’ They had each hung up a stocking the +evening before, and Adam had put a bottle of scent and a +scent spray into Nina’s, and she had put two ties and a new +kind of safety razor into his. Ada brought them their tea and +wished them a happy Christmas. Nina had remembered to +get a present for each of the Florins, but had forgotten Ada, +so she gave her the bottle of scent.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Darling,’ said Adam, ‘it cost twenty-five shillings—on +Archie Schwert’s account at Asprey.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Later they put some crumbs of their bread and butter on +the windowsill and a robin redbreast came to eat them. The +whole day was like that.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam and Nina breakfasted alone in the dining-room. +There was a row of silver plates kept hot by spirit lamps +which held an omelette and devilled partridges and kedgeree +and kidneys and sole and some rolls; there was also a ham +and a tongue and some brawn and a dish of pickled herrings. +Nina ate an apple and Adam ate some toast.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Colonel Blount came down at eleven wearing a grey tail +coat. He wished them a very good morning and they exchanged +gifts. Adam gave him a box of cigars; Nina gave him +a large illustrated book about modern cinema production; he +gave Nina a seed pearl brooch which had belonged to her +mother, and he gave Adam a calendar with a coloured picture +of a bulldog smoking a clay pipe and a thought from +Longfellow for each day in the year.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>At half-past eleven they all went to Matins.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It will be a lesson to him in true Christian forgiveness,’ +said the Colonel (but he ostentatiously read his Bible +throughout the sermon). After church they called in at two +or three cottages. Florin had been round the day before +distributing parcels of grocery. They were all pleased and +interested to meet Miss Nina’s husband. Many of them +remembered him as a little boy, and remarked that he had +grown out of all recognition. They reminded him with +relish of many embarrassing episodes in Ginger’s childhood, +chiefly acts of destruction and cruelty to cats.</p> + +<hr class='tbk167'/> + +<p class='pindent'>After luncheon they went down to see all the decorations +in the servants’ hall.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>This was a yearly custom of some antiquity, and the +Florins had prepared for it by hanging paper streamers from +the gas brackets. Ada was having middle-day dinner with +her parents who lived among the petrol pumps at Doubting +village, so the Florins ate their turkey and plum pudding +alone.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’ve seen as many as twenty-five sitting down to +Christmas dinner at this table,’ said Florin. ‘Regular parties +they used to have when the Colonel and Mr Eric were boys. +Theatricals and all the house turned topsy-turvy, and every +gentleman with his own valet.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Ah,’ said Mrs Florin.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Times is changed,’ said Florin, picking a tooth.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Ah,’ said Mrs Florin.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then the family came in from the dining-room.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The Colonel knocked on the door and said, ‘May we come +in, Mrs Florin?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That you may, sir, and welcome,’ said Mrs Florin.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then Adam and Nina and the Colonel admired the +decorations and handed over their presents wrapped in tissue +paper. Then the Colonel said, ‘I think we should take a glass +of wine together.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Florin opened a bottle of sherry which he had brought up +that morning and poured out the glasses, handing one first +to Nina, then to Mrs Florin, then to the Colonel, then to +Adam, and, finally, taking one for himself.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘My very best wishes to you, Mrs Florin,’ said the Colonel, +raising his glass, ‘and to you, Florin. The years go by, and +we none of us get any younger, but I hope and trust that +there are many Christmases in store for us yet. Mrs Florin +certainly doesn’t look a day older than when she first came +here. My best wishes to you both for another year of health +and happiness.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Mrs Florin said, ‘Best respects, sir, and thank you, sir, +and the same to you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Florin said, ‘And a great pleasure it is to see Miss Nina—Mrs +Littlejohn, I should say—with us once more at her old +home, and her husband too, and I’m sure Mrs Florin and me +wish them every happiness and prosperity in their married +life together, and all I can say, if they can be as happy together +as me and Mrs Florin has been, well, that’s the best I +can wish them.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Then the family went away, and the house settled down +to its afternoon nap.</p> + +<hr class='tbk168'/> + +<p class='pindent'>After dinner that night Adam and the Colonel filled up +their port glasses and turned their chairs towards the fire. +Nina had gone into the drawing-room to smoke.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘You know,’ said the Colonel, poking back a log with his +foot, ‘I’m very glad that Nina has married you, my boy. I’ve +liked you from the moment I saw you. She’s a headstrong +girl—always was—but I knew that she’d make a sensible +choice in the end. I foresee a very agreeable life ahead of +you two young people.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I hope so, sir.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m sure of it, my boy. She’s very nearly made several +mistakes. There was an ass of a fellow here the other day +wanting to marry her. A journalist. Awful silly fellow. He +told me my old friend Canon Chatterbox was working on +his paper. Well, I didn’t like to contradict him—he ought +to have known, after all—but I thought it was funny at the +time, and then, d’you know, after he’d gone I was going +through some old papers upstairs and I came on a cutting +from the <span class='it'>Worcester Herald</span> describing his funeral. He died +in 1912. Well, he must have been a muddle-headed sort of +fellow to make a mistake like that, mustn’t he? . . . Have +some port?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Thank you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Then there was another chap. Came here selling vacuum +cleaners, if you please, and asked me to give him a thousand +pounds! Impudent young cub. I soon sent him about his +business. . . . But you’re different, Littlejohn. Just the sort +of son-in-law I’d have chosen for myself. Your marriage has +been a great happiness to me, my boy.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>At this moment Nina came in to say that there were carol +singers outside the drawing-room window.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Bring ’em in,’ said the Colonel. ‘Bring ’em in. They +come every year. And tell Florin to bring up the punch.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Florin brought up the punch in a huge silver punch bowl +and Nina brought in the waits. They stood against the sideboard, +caps in hand, blinking in the gaslight, and very red +about the nose and cheeks with the sudden warmth.</p> + +<div class='blockquote100percent'> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Oh, tidings of comfort and joy</span>,’ they sang, ‘<span class='it'>comfort and joy, +Oh, tidings of comfort and joy</span>.’</p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'>They sang <span class='it'>Good King Wenceslas</span>, and <span class='it'>The First Noel</span>, and +<span class='it'>Adeste Fideles</span>, and <span class='it'>While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks</span>. +Then Florin ladled out the punch, seeing that the younger +ones did not get the glasses intended for their elders, but +that each, according to his capacity, got a little more, but +not much more, than was good for him.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The Colonel tasted the punch and pronounced it excellent. +He then asked the carol singers their names and where they +came from, and finally gave their leader five shillings and +sent them off into the snow.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It’s been just like this every year, as long as I can remember,’ +said the Colonel. ‘We always had a party at +Christmas when we were boys . . . acted some very amusing +charades too . . . always a glass of sherry after luncheon in +the servants’ hall and carol singers in the evening. . . . +Tell me,’ he said, suddenly changing the subject, ‘did you +<span class='it'>really</span> like what you saw of the film yesterday?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It was the most divine film I ever saw, Papa.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I enjoyed it enormously, sir, really I did.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Did you? Did you? Well, I’m glad to hear that. I don’t +believe the Rector did—not properly. Of course, you only +saw a bit of it, most disappointing. I didn’t like to say so at +the time, but I thought it most negligent of him to have his +electric light in that sort of condition so that it wouldn’t last +out for one evening. Most inconsiderate to any one who +wants to show a film. But it’s a glorious film, isn’t it? You +did think so?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I never enjoyed a film so much, honestly.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘It makes a stepping stone in the development of the +British film industry,’ said the Colonel dreamily. ‘It is the +most important all-talkie super-religious film to be produced +solely in this country by British artists and management +and by British capital. It has been directed throughout +regardless of difficulty and expense, and supervised by a staff +of expert historians and theologians. Nothing has been +omitted that would contribute to the meticulous accuracy of +every detail. The life of that great social and religious +reformer John Wesley is for the first time portrayed to a +British public in all its humanity and tragedy. . . . I’m glad +you realized all that, my boy, because as a matter of fact, I +had a proposal to make to you about it. I’m getting an old +man and can’t do everything, and I feel my services should +be better spent in future as actor and producer, rather than +on the commercial side. One needs some one young to +manage that. Now what I thought was, that perhaps you +would care to come in with me as business partner. I +bought the whole thing from Isaacs and, as you’re one of the +family, I shouldn’t mind selling you a half-share for, say, +two thousand pounds. I know that that isn’t much to you, +and you’ld be humanly certain to double your money in a +few months. What do you say to it?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Well</span> . . .’ said Adam.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>But he was never called upon to answer, for just at that +moment the door of the dining-room opened and the Rector +came in.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Hullo, Rector, come in. This is very neighbourly of you +to come and call at this time of night. A happy Christmas to +you.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Colonel Blount, I’ve got very terrible news. I had to come +over and tell you . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I say, I am sorry. Nothing wrong at the Rectory, I hope?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Worse, far worse. My wife and I were sitting over the +fire after dinner, and as we couldn’t read—not having any +light—we put on the wireless. They were having a very +pretty carol service. Suddenly they stopped in the middle +and a special news bulletin was read. . . . Colonel, the most +terrible and unexpected thing—<span class='it'>War has been declared</span>.’</p> + +<div><h1><span class='it'>Happy Ending</span></h1></div> + +<p class='noindent'><span class='dropcap'>O</span>n a splintered tree stump in the biggest battlefield in +the history of the world, Adam sat down and read a letter +from Nina. It had arrived early the day before, but in the +intensive fighting which followed he had not had a spare +minute in which to open it.</p> + +<div class='blockquote100percent'> + +<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:3em;'><span class='it'>Doubting Hall</span>,</p> + +<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;'><span class='it'>Aylesbury</span>.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Dearest Adam,—I wonder how you are. It is difficult to +know what is happening quite because the papers say such odd +things. Van has got a divine job making up all the war news, +and he invented a lovely story about you the other day, how +you’d saved hundreds of people’s lives, and there’s what they +call a popular agitation saying why haven’t you got the +V.C., so probably you will have by now, isn’t it amusing?</span></p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Ginger and I are very well. Ginger has a job in an office in +Whitehall and wears a very grand sort of uniform, and, my +dear, I’m going to have a baby, isn’t it too awful? But Ginger +has quite made up his mind it’s his, and is as pleased as anything, +so that’s all right. He’s quite forgiven you about last +Christmas, and says anyway you’re doing your bit now, and +in war time one lets bygones be bygones.</span></p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Doubting is a hospital, did you know? Papa shows his film +to the wounded and they adore it. I saw Mr Benfleet, and he +said how awful it was when one had given all one’s life in the +cause of culture to see everything one’s stood for swept away, +but he’s doing very well with his “Sword Unsheathed” series +of war poets.</span></p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>There’s a new Government order that we have to sleep in +gas masks because of the bombs, but no one does. They’ve put +Archie in prison as an undesirable alien, Ginger saw to that, +he’s terrific about spies. I’m sick such a lot because of this +baby, but everyone says it’s patriotic to have babies in war +time. Why?</span></p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Lots of love, my angel, take care of your dear self.</span></p> + +<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:0em;'><span class='it'>N.</span>’</p> + +</div> + +<p class='pindent'>He put it back in its envelope and buttoned it into his +breast-pocket. Then he took out a pipe, filled it and began to +smoke. The scene all round him was one of unrelieved +desolation; a great expanse of mud in which every visible +object was burnt or broken. Sounds of firing thundered +from beyond the horizon, and somewhere above the grey +clouds there were aeroplanes. He had had no sleep for +thirty-six hours. It was growing dark.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Presently he became aware of a figure approaching, +painfully picking his way among the strands of barbed wire +which strayed across the ground like drifting cobweb; a +soldier clearly. As he came nearer Adam saw that he was +levelling towards him a liquid fire-projector. Adam tightened +his fingers about his Huxdane-Halley bomb (for the +dissemination of leprosy germs), and in this posture of +mutual suspicion they met. Through the dusk Adam recognized +the uniform of an English staff officer. He put the +bomb back in his pocket and saluted.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The newcomer lowered his liquid-fire projector and raised +his gas mask. ‘You’re English, are you?’ he said. ‘Can’t see a +thing. Broken my damned monocle.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Why,’ said Adam. ‘You’re the drunk Major.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I’m not drunk, damn you, sir,’ said the drunk Major, +‘and, what’s more, I’m a General. What the deuce are <span class='it'>you</span> +doing here?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well,’ said Adam. ‘I’ve lost my platoon.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Lost your platoon. . . . I’ve lost my whole bloody division!’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Is the battle over, sir?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I don’t know, can’t see a thing. It was going on all right +last time I heard of it. My car’s broken down somewhere +over there. My driver went out to try and find some one to +help and got lost, and I went out to look for him, and now +I’ve lost the car too. Damn difficult country to find one’s +way about in. No landmarks. . . . Funny meeting you. I +owe you some money.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Thirty-five thousand pounds.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Thirty-five thousand and five. Looked for you everywhere +before this scrap started. I can give you the money +now if you like.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘The pound’s not worth much nowadays, is it?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘About nothing. Still, I may as well give you a cheque. +It’ll buy you a couple of drinks and a newspaper. Talking of +drinks, I’ve got a case of bubbly in the car if we could only +find it. Salvaged it out of an R.A.F. mess that got bombed +back at H.Q. Wish I could find that car.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Eventually they did find it. A Daimler limousine sunk to +the axles in mud.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Get in and sit down,’ said the General hospitably. ‘I’ll +turn the light on in a second.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam climbed in and found that it was not empty. In +the corner, crumpled up in a French military greatcoat, was +a young woman fast asleep.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘<span class='it'>Hullo</span>, I’d forgotten all about you,’ said the General. ‘I +picked up this little lady on the road. I can’t introduce you, +because I don’t know her name. Wake up, mademoiselle.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The girl gave a little cry and opened two startled +eyes.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘That’s all right, little lady, nothing to be scared about—all +friends here. <span class='it'>Parlez anglais?</span>’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Sure,’ said the girl.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, what about a spot?’ said the General, peeling the +tinfoil from the top of a bottle. ‘You’ll find some glasses in +the locker.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The woebegone fragment of womanhood in the corner +looked a little less terrified when she saw the wine. She +recognized it as the symbol of international good will.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Now perhaps our fair visitor will tell us her name,’ said +the General.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I dunno,’ she said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Oh, come, little one, you mustn’t be shy.’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘I dunno. I been called a lot of things. I was called Chastity +once. Then there was a lady at a party, and she sent me +to Buenos Aires, and then when the war came she brought +me back again, and I was with the soldiers training at +Salisbury Plain. That was swell. They called me bunny—I +don’t know why. Then they sent me over here and I was +with the Canadians, what they called me wasn’t nice, and +then they left me behind when they retreated and I took up +with some foreigners. They were nice too, though they <span class='it'>were</span> +fighting against the English. Then <span class='it'>they</span> ran away, and the +lorry I was in got stuck in the ditch, so I got in with some +other foreigners who were on the same side as the English, +and they were beasts, but I met an American doctor who +had white hair, and he called me Emily because he said I +reminded him of his daughter back home, so he took me to +Paris and we had a lovely week till he took up with another +girl in a night club, so he left me behind in Paris when he +went back to the front, and I hadn’t no money and they +made a fuss about my passport, so they called me <span class='it'>numero +mille soixante dix huit</span>, and they sent me and a lot of other +girls off to the East to be with the soldiers there. At least +they would have done only the ship got blown up, so I was +rescued and the French sent me up here in a train with some +different girls who were very unrefined. Then I was in a tin +hut with the girls, and then yesterday they had friends and +I was alone, so I went for a walk, and when I came back the +hut was gone and the girls were gone, and there didn’t seem +any one anywhere until you came in your car, and now I +don’t rightly know where I am. <span class='it'>My</span>, isn’t war awful?’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The General opened another bottle of champagne.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Well, you’re as right as rain now, little lady,’ he said, ‘so +let’s see you smile and look happy. You mustn’t sit there +scowling, you know—far too pretty a little mouth for that. +Let me take off that heavy coat. Look, I’ll wrap it round +your knees. There, now, isn’t that better? . . . Fine, strong +little legs, eh? . . .’</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Adam did not embarrass them. The wine and the deep +cushions and the accumulated fatigue of two days’ fighting +drew him away from them and, oblivious to all the happy +emotion pulsing near him, he sank into sleep.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>The windows of the stranded motor car shone over the +wasted expanse of the battlefield. Then the General pulled +down the blinds, shutting out that sad scene.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>‘Cosier now, eh?’ he said.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>And Chastity in the prettiest way possible fingered the +decorations on his uniform and asked him all about them.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>And presently, like a circling typhoon, the sounds of battle +began to return.</p> + +<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:2em;font-size:.8em;'>THE END</p> + +<hr class='pbk'/> + +<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:4em;margin-bottom:2em;font-size:1.2em;'>TRANSCRIBER NOTES</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. +Where multiple spellings occur, majority use has been +employed.</p> + +<p class='pindent'>Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious +printer errors occur.</p> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77900 ***</div> + </body> + <!-- created with fpgen.py 4.58a on 2019-01-06 08:40:28 GMT --> +</html> diff --git a/77900-h/images/cover.jpg b/77900-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c64d910 --- /dev/null +++ b/77900-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c72794 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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