When Mr. Walford Sploshington bought Hydra House we all hoped that
beyond papering and painting, dabbing on a bit of plaster where it was
needed, and grubbing the groundsel in the drive, he would allow it to
remain in the state of old-world picturesqueness in which he had found
it. We would not have objected even if he had decided on having water
laid on; although this would be getting dangerously near our limit, as
there was a dear old draw-well in the garden and one in the ripping old
courtyard. We were justly proud of the fact of Hydra House being the
finest and purest example of Tudor architecture in our corner of
England. When I say "we" I mean the Weatherspoons, the Malcomson-Pagets,
Gaddingham, and one or two others, and myself. It was as near to being a
mansion as it is reasonable to expect a house to be without its being
actually a mansion; and there was a romance in its very name that
compelled our reverence. The first owner--the ancestor in a direct line
of the gentleman who, because of the increased cost of petrol combined
with the Undeveloped Land Tax, was obliged to sell it to Mr. Walford
Sploshington, the highest bidder--was one of those fine fellows who in
the spacious days of ELIZABETH did so much towards making England what
she is to-day, or rather what she was until the General Election of
1906. On one of his voyages of adventure he visited the Hydra Islands,
in the Gulf of AEgina, where he became enamoured of the daughter of a
vineyard proprietor. As she heartily reciprocated his affection, he
married her, and, bringing her home to England, installed her as
mistress of a brand-new home presented to him by a grateful Queen and
country. Given a similar set of circumstances, ninety-nine out of any
hundred newly-married men would have done as he did, and called it Hydra
House.
But Mr. Walford Sploshington disappointed us. He did more: he grieved
us; he insulted our instincts, sentimental and artistic, and he offended
our eyes. He filled in the dear old wells. He mutilated the Tudor garden
out of all semblance of a Tudor garden. He enlarged the windows and made
bays of them. He painted a vivid green all the exposed timbering that is
the characteristic feature of Tudor houses. In short, he did everything
to outrage the decencies. He even carried his vandalisms out to the old
gateway. There he erected two Corinthian columns, and spanned them with
the roof of a pagoda. It was a surprise to us that he retained the
ancient name of Hydra House. We had expected, even hoped, that he would
change it to something ornate and vulgar, and so leave nothing to remind
us of the old place of which we had all been so fond and proud. But one
sunny morning a sign-painter began work on the Corinthian columns.
Gaddingham and I did not, of course, stand to watch him; but, having
occasion to pass the pagoda during the afternoon, I happened upon
Sploshington himself, standing in the middle of the road, poising his
head this way and that, and quite obviously lost in admiration of ten
six-inch gilt letters, five on each column.
The five on the left-hand column made up the mystery word "Mydra." Those
on the right constituted "Mouse." Of course, I got it right almost the
moment I had passed. What I had taken to be an "M" in each word was
merely a highly-ornamental "H" with its horizontal bar sagging in the
centre with the weight of its grandeur. There had never been a name on
the gate in the whole history of Hydra House, but we agreed that
Sploshington felt that after all his vandalism no one would recognise
the place unless he labelled it, and, of course, he was unequal to
providing a plain, unassuming label.
Then Gaddingham and I took counsel together, and we decided that I
should write a nice letter to Sploshington. This is what I wrote:--
DEAR SIR,--I trust you will pardon the liberty I am taking in writing to
you, but a friend of mine and I have made a small bet on a question
which, as it happens, no one but you is in a position to decide. Passing
your gate the other day, we were both struck by the beauty of the gilt
stencilling on the column on either side, more especially by the chaste
idea followed out in the ornamentation of the initial letters--the
"H's." They are, as I am convinced you are aware, suggestive of the
letter "M," and this it is that has led to the little difference between
my friend and myself. I hold the opinion that this suggestion is
intentional, and that in giving your instructions to the decorator's
artist you had in mind the celebrated Mouse of Mydra. My friend, whose
strong point, I regret to say, is not history, confessed, ignorance of
this famous animal, and I had to enlighten him there and then by telling
him how the sagacious little creature saved the life of the King of
Mydra by nibbling at his ear while he slept one night, all unconscious
of an outbreak of fire in the palace, thereby rousing him in time to
enable him to make his escape. And how, in gratitude, the King decreed
that every family in his realm should on every 1st of April--the date of
the fire--receive three barley loaves, a Dutch cheese, and a stoop of
ale; and every child be given a pink sugar-mouse. My friend, however,
holds to the opinion that the resemblance of the "H" to an "M" is merely
accidental. As we have both backed our fancy, as the saying is, to the
extent of five shillings, we shall be grateful if you will settle the
little dispute for us.
Yours faithfully,