I can't help turning upon him, and saying, rather angrily, "A cart!" I
feel inclined to add, "You old idiot." Then I say to TREGONY,
encouragingly, "Yes."
"'Only' (continues TREGONY), says the Landlord, joking them, 'mind yew
du bring the wheels back safe and sound.' So they promised, and then
they went about the town till it was rather late and getting dark----"
"Getting _what_?" asks Old RUDDOCK. Everybody annoyed, and two persons
besides myself repeat the word "dark" to him.
With these interruptions, and the consequent necessity of making it all
quite clear, specially when it comes to TREGONY imitating the
conversation between Uncle and Nephew, in two voices, when Old RUDDOCK
perpetually wants to know "_Who_ said that," and so puzzles TREGONY that
sometimes he makes the Uncle take the Nephew's voice, and _vice versa_,
and the story is getting into difficulties, when the servant enters with
a message to our Host from MRS. PENDELL, which brings us to our feet,
and into the drawing-room, TREGONY promising me the story quietly in a
corner.
The other ladies have come. We all try to enter the drawing-room
carelessly, as if the ladies weren't there, or as if we'd been engaged
in some fearful conspiracy in the next room, and were hiding our
consciousness of guilt under a mask of frivolity. MISS BODD, of
Popthlanack, is alone at a table, turning over the pages of a
photographic album. I join her.
_Careful Flash._--Take care never to offer an opinion on photographic or
any other sort of portraits, unless you're quite sure of your ground.
I remark generally that I don't care about photographic portraits.
Before MISS BODD can answer, I hear a rustle behind me, and a voice asks
simply, "Why?"
Good gracious! _It is_--MISS STRAITHMERE! She is staying with the
CLETHERS ["MR. CLETHER is here," PENDELL tells me. "He's written a work
on the Moon. Quite a character----"], and as the REV. MR. CLETHER is the
Rector of Penwiffle, she is not a mile from the house, and will be here
every day.
Singing and playing. MISS STRAITHMERE asks me, "Why I'm so serious? Will
I tell her? _Do. Why?_"
I expect RUDDOCK to sing. He doesn't. MR. CLETHER is talking to him. I
join them. I am anxious to hear what MR. CLETHER'S view of the Moon is.
He replies, "O, nothing particular."
"But," I urge, RUDDOCK listening, "You have made a study of astronomy,
and in these days"--I slip at this moment, because I don't know exactly
what I was going to say; but I rather fancy it was that "In these days
the moon isn't what it was."
MR. CLETHER modestly repudiates knowing more about the moon than other
people, and says that PENDELL is right about his having written a book,
but he has never published it.
"_Why_?" asks MISS STRAITHMERE, joining us.
Carriages. Thank goodness!
I accompany RUDDOCK to the door. He has a gig, and a lantern, like a Guy
Fawkes out for an airing.
I am still expecting a witticism, or rather a _feu de joie_ of humour
and fun, like the last grand bouquet of fireworks that terminates the
show at the Crystal Palace.
PENDELL (who I believe is still drawing him out) says to him, "You'll
have a fine night for your drive," then looks at me and laughs, as much
as to say, "_Now_ you'll hear him, _now_ it's coming. He's shy before a
party, but _now_----"