"Francesca," I said, "how would you describe my nose?"
"Your nose?" she said.
"Yes," I said, "my nose."
"But why," she said, "do you want your nose described?"
"I am not the one," I said, "who wants my nose described. It is Sir
EDWARD GREY, the--ahem--Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. In the
midst of all his tremendous duties he still has time to ask me to tell
him what my nose is like."
"This," said Francesca, "is the short cut to Colney Hatch. Will
somebody tell me what this man is talking about?"
"I will," I said. "I am talking about my nose. There is no mystery about
it."
"No," she said, "your nose is there all right. I can see it with the
naked eye."
"Do not," I said, "give way to frivolity. I may have to go to France.
Therefore I may want a passport. I am now filling in an application for
it, and I find to my regret that I have got to give details of my
personal appearance, including my nose. I ask you to help me, and all
you can do is to allude darkly to Colney Hatch. Is that kind? Is it even
wifely?"
"But why can't you describe it yourself?"
"Don't be absurd, Francesca. What does a man know about his own nose? He
only sees it full-face for a few minutes every morning when he's shaving
or parting his hair. If he ever does catch a glimpse of it in profile
the dreadful and unexpected sight unmans him and he does his best to
forget it. I give you my word of honour, Francesca, I haven't the
vaguest notion what my nose is really like."
"Well," she said, "I think you might safely put it down as a loud blower
and a hearty sneezer."
"I'm sure," I said, "that wouldn't satisfy Sir EDWARD GREY. He doesn't
want to know what it sounds like, but what it looks like."
"How would 'fine and substantial' suit it?"
"Ye--es," I said, "that might do if by 'fine' you mean delicate----"
"I don't," she said.
"And if 'substantial' is to be equivalent to handsome."
"It isn't," she said.
"Then we'll abandon that line. How would 'aquiline' do? Aren't some
noses called aquiline?"
"Yes," she said, "but yours has never been one of them. Try again."
"Francesca," I said pleadingly, "do not suggest to me that my nose is
turned up, because I cannot bear it. I do not want to have a turned-up
nose, and what's more I don't mean to have one, not even to please the
British Foreign Office and all its permanent officials."
"It shan't have a turned-up nose, then. It shall have a Roman nose."
"Bravo!" I cried "Bravo! Roman it shall be," and I dipped my pen and
prepared to write the word down in the blank space on the application
form.
"Stop!" said Francesca. "Don't do anything rash. Now that I look at you
again I'm not sure that yours is a Roman nose."
"Oh, Francesca, do not say such cruel, such upsetting things. It must,
it shall be Roman."
"What," she asked, "is a Roman nose?"
"Mine is," I said eagerly. "No nose was ever one-half so Roman as mine.
It is the noblest Roman of them all."
"No," she said, with a sigh, "it won't do. I can't pass it as Roman."
"All right," I said, "I'll put it down as 'non-Roman.'"
"Yes, do," she said, "and let's get on to something else."
"Eyes," I said. "How shall I describe them?"
"Green," said Francesca.
"No, grey."
"Green."
"Grey."
"Let's compromise on grey-green."
"Right," I said. "Grey-green and gentle. Sir EDWARD GREY will appreciate
that. Oh, bother! I've written it in the space devoted to 'hair.'
However it's easy to----"
"Don't scratch it out," she said. "It's a stroke of genius. I've often
wondered what I ought to say about your hair, and now I know. Oh, my
grey-green-and-gentle-haired one!"
"Very well," I said, "it shall be as you wish. But what about my eyes?"
"Write down 'see hair' in their space and the trick's done."
"Francesca," I said, "you're wonderful this morning. Now I know what it
is to have a real helper. Complexion next, please. Isn't 'fresh' a good
word for complexion?"
"Yes, for some."
"Another illusion gone," I said. "No matter; I've noticed that people
who fill up blank spaces always use the word 'normal' at least once. I
shall call my complexion normal and get it over."
After this there was no further difficulty. I took the remaining blank
spaces in my stride, and in a few minutes the application form was
filled up. Having then secured a clergyman who consented to guarantee my
personal respectability and having attached two photographs of myself I
packed the whole thing off to the Foreign Office. I have not yet had any
special acknowledgment from Sir EDWARD GREY, but I take this opportunity
to warn the French authorities that within a few days a gentleman with a
non-Roman nose, grey-green and gentle hair, see-hair eyes and a normal
complexion may be seeking admission to their country.
R. C. L.
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[Illustration: THE RESOURCEFUL LOVER.
TEUTON TROUBADOUR (_serenading the fair Columbia_). "IF SHE WON'T LISTEN
TO MY LOVE-SONGS, I'LL TRY HER WITH A BRICK!"]
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[Illustration: _Bright Youth._ "YES, I'M THINKIN' OF GETTIN' A
COMMISSION IN SOMETHING. WHAT ABOUT JOININ' THAT CROWD WITH THE JOLLY
LITTLE RED TABS ON THEIR COLLARS? THEY LOOK SO DOOCID SMART."]
* * * * *