It had to be faced at last. There is a demand for them occasionally,
and people won't put up with that excellent one taken under the
crab-apple tree any longer.
I was caught just right there. The sun was in an indulgent mood and
winked at the signs of advancing age. The bald patch was out of sight,
and the smile would have softened the heart of an income-tax assessor.
I acquired the negative from the amateur performer, and had it
vignetted, which made it better still, as there was a space between
the cashmere sock and the spring trousering in the original that I did
not want attention drawn to. I had a large number of prints made, and
dealt them out to anybody who asked for a photograph of me. At first
they aroused considerable enthusiasm, but after five or six years a
look of doubt began to appear on the faces of the recipients. Hadn't I
got a later one? This was very nice, but--I pointed out that I hadn't
changed at all, or only a very little. At my best I was still like
that; and didn't they want me at my best?
At last a person described by himself as plain-spoken, and by other
people as offensively rude, said that I had never really been as
good-looking as that, with all possible allowances made, and any way
he wanted a photograph and not a memorial card. I took a firm stand,
and said that if he wasn't satisfied with that one he could go without
altogether, and he said in the most insulting way that he supposed he
should be himself again in time if he took a tonic.
A few more episodes of that sort eventually drove me to it. I passed
my _viva-voce_ examination at the hands of the young lady at the desk,
paid my fees, got my testamur, and was shown into the torture-chamber,
where the head executioner was busy adjusting his racks and screws.
I was rather taken with the rustic seat that was standing on a white
fur mat in front of a scene representing the Jungfrau, but he headed
me off it. If I liked the Jungfrau as a background I could have
it, but not with the seat; that was for engaged couples only. He
recommended a pair of skis, or a bobsleigh; he could put a fine fall
of snow into the negative. But as I had arrayed myself in a black
coat, with one of those white waistcoat slips, and a flowing tie with
a pearl pin, I refused this offer, and we decided we wouldn't have a
background at all.
As the man who administered the laughing gas was out at lunch, I
prepared to go through with it in cold blood, and seated myself in the
operating chair in the most natural attitude I could assume--something
like the one I had taken under the crab-tree. I thought I would show
them that there wasn't so much difference after all. But it did not
suit the head mechanic at all. He looked at me with his head on one
side, and then took hold of mine by the chin and the hair and gave it
a twist. I had never worn it at that angle in my life, and I knew it
would put my collar all wrong; but I had to do what he told me. He
arranged my coat so that it should look as if it had been made to
fit somebody else, and disposed my arms in such a way as to give the
sleeves the appearance of trouser legs with rucks in them. I felt
almost more sorry for my tailor than for myself, but I shall send him
one of the prints when I get them; it will be good for him.
We were now ready to tackle the expression. I had chosen one that
would have been suitable for a man with a fair No Trump hand, but
with one suit not fully guarded, as I didn't want to overdo it; but,
judging from the inquisitor's remarks about the graveside, I am quite
ready to admit that it might not have come out like that. I hastily
dealt myself a hundred aces and a long suit of clubs, and he said
that that was better, but I must put off the idea of the funeral
altogether. It was not until I had assumed the appearance of a
reach-me-down Nut with a dislocated neck, being made love to by
six chorus-girls at once, that he condescended to take a look at
me through the peephole. Then he ran up to me, gave my chin another
hitch, pulled my neck another foot or two out of my collar, added a
ruck or two to my sleeves, and said he liked the other side of my face
better, after all.
So we went through it all again, and I worked at it with a will, for I
wanted to see him get under his black cloth and finish the business.
It wasn't as bad as I had thought, but he was not done by any means
when he had fired his first shot. He rammed more cartridges into the
breach, and twisted me into three fresh contortions. He said he was
sure that some of the efforts would turn out magnificently.
I don't feel quite the same confidence myself. I am anxiously
awaiting the result, and trying to get rid of the crick in my neck
and to unbuckle the smile in the meantime. If it doesn't turn out
satisfactorily, I shall get a few lines--not too deep--put into the
negative of the one taken under the crab-tree, and a little hair
painted out--but not too much.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "WORK! I'M NOT AFRAID O' WORK, BUT I CAN'T GET ANY IN
MY LINE."
"WHAT IS YOUR LINE?"
"I USED TO BE A STOCKBROKER, LIDY."]
* * * * *
"Lemnos and Samothrace are to pass to Greece, and Chios and
Wtlylene are to be neutralised."--_Daily Citizen_.
We shall remain anxious until the last-named is sterilized.
* * * * *