"I know I'm a baby about it. Forgive me. But it's getting on my mind. Do
tell Jane about the cup."
"It's awfully hard," she said, after a little thought. "You see, it's
such a very, very small thing that it never seems quite the right moment
for it. And if, after I'd told her, she said 'What?' I couldn't possibly
say it again."
"You must be very articulate the first time. Lead the conversation
slowly round to long-jumping or the difficulty of reading on your head,
and then casually but articulately----"
"Well, we'll see," said Celia. "Of course, if I ever caught her doing
it, I'd tell her. Perhaps I shall."
Well, we saw. We saw that the thing still went on. The direct approach
to Jane was evidently impossible. So I tried sarcasm.
Sarcasm, directed into the blue in the hope of hitting the person you
want, may not be effective, but it does relieve the feelings. I had a
thoroughly sarcastic morning all to myself. My deadly irony took the
form of turning _everything_ in the library upside-down. The cup was in
position already; I turned up two pewter mugs (third prizes in
Consolation Races), the flower bowls, the cigarette box, the lamp, a
stool, half-a-dozen pictures, two photographs and the mahogany clock.
They all stood on their heads and sneered at Jane. "Why don't you do the
thing properly while you're about it?" they said to her. I felt
extremely well after I had finished.
Celia stood in the door and gurgled to herself.
"You baby," she smiled.
"On the contrary," I said, "I have made a dignified yet subtle protest.
You wouldn't move in the matter so I had to do something. I flatter
myself that a sense of her past silliness will rush over Jane like a
flood when she comes in here to-morrow morning."
"If Jane's flooded at all," said Celia, "it will be with the idea that
the master's mad. But I don't think she'll notice it particularly."
Next morning everything was right side up again--except the cup.
"It's no good," I told Celia; "she is obviously determined. Perhaps it
means more than we think to her to have that cup upside-down. Its
beauty, the memories it brings back, the symbolism of it, these things
touch some hidden spring ... Still I _am_ master in my own house." And I
turned the cup round again....
Another month passed and I could bear it no longer. Yesterday I made up
my mind. I would speak to Jane myself. I turned my First Prize the right
way up, and then looked for Celia.
"Celia," I said firmly, "where is Jane?"
"She's gone out," said Celia softly. "Her--her man goes off to-day."
***
An hour later, with bands playing and people cheering, they wheeled out
of barracks, brown and businesslike. Jane was in the front somewhere,
waving her handkerchief--not such a silly Jane, after all. And at the
back, very proud for her, Celia and I stood silent, with a something in
the throat that had come there suddenly....
And this morning the cup was upside-down again. Well, well, if she likes
it that way, that way let it be.
But take warning, O Jane! When your man--here's luck to him!--comes
back, then I shall assert myself once more. My cup, "Long Jump, 1739.
First Prize," shall stand the right way up; either that or you leave my
service. I am determined about this....
Meanwhile we can share the daily paper.