UNDER THE ROSE
Never did Horatio Merle show more sweetly the spirit of Christian
humility than during this brief encounter with Ferdinand Spooner.
The very sight of Spooner was abhorrent to the gentle curate, the
name of Spooner he detested, and all memories of Spooner filled the
little man with inexpressible pain, for it was Spooner who was
chiefly connected in his mind with that lamentable afternoon at St.
Timothy's when Horatio had failed to put in an appearance. It was
Spooner who had made the opening address on this occasion and it was
Spooner who afterward spread through the parish the pitiful story of
the peppermint tree. Yet now Horatio showed himself most friendly
and listened with a flush of pink interest while Ferdinand dilated on
his own successful efforts in furthering the interests of the
Progressive Mothers.
"Just to prove my point, Mr. Merle," concluded the pompous visitor,
"I will mention a great and perhaps deserved honor that the
Progressive Mothers have recently extended to me in recognition of my
services in their behalf."
"Horatio!" called a shrill feminine voice at this moment.
"Yes, love," answered Merle, hurrying to the library door. "It is my
wife. Will you excuse me, my dear Mr. Spooner? I am sure Mr.
Fitz-Brown and the Countess will be here in a moment." And he almost
ran from the room so eager was he not to hear about the honor that
had been extended to Ferdinand Spooner.
Left to himself, the distinguished representative of the Progressive
Mothers walked about the conservatory for some minutes, sniffing at
the flowers, and finally, becoming impatient, looked out over the
lawn.
"Very singular why no one comes!" he reflected; then his eyes fell on
Lionel, who, at this moment, emerged from the shrubbery in a
wide-brimmed straw hat and carrying a watering-pot. His trousers
were mud-stained, his hands were red and roughened with toil, but his
face radiated the shining brightness of one who is conscious of his
own well-doing.
"One moment, please!" called Ferdinand Spooner, with an air of
authority.
Lionel came forward slowly, still carrying his watering-pot. "Do you
want to see me?" he asked.
"Well--er--not exactly, but--er--I am Mr. Spooner, Mr. Ferdinand
Spooner, of the Progressive Mothers."
"Oh, I say, are you one of the Progressive Mothers?"
Spooner stared haughtily at this. "I am the secretary of the
Progressive Mothers' Society and I desire to see Mr. Lionel
Fitz-Brown. Will you give him my card, there's a good man?"
"Is it anything important?" drawled Lionel. "I don't think Mr.
Fitz-Brown is up yet."
"Not up yet? Why, it's nearly one o'clock."
"I mean to say he's taking his afternoon bawth. He's very particular
about his afternoon bawth, Mr. Lionel Fitz-Brown is. Can't you tell
me your business?" Then, very confidentially, "I'm the gardener, you
know."
The newcomer thought a moment. "Could you say that Mr. Ferdinand
Spooner has called in regard to certain articles purchased by Mr.
Fitz-Brown at the Progressive Mothers' bazaar? It's a small matter,
only fourteen pounds, but--tell Mr. Fitz-Brown that we would like
very much to have his check."
"Oh, I say!" exclaimed Lionel. "Mr. Fitz-Brown's check won't help
the Progressive Mothers very much."
"Why not?"
"Because his bank account is always overdrawn."
"Dear, dear!" murmured Spooner.
"In fact, if you want my opinion," here the gardener surprised his
listener by a burst of unseemly merriment, "if you really want my
opinion, Mr. Lionel Fitz-Brown is--haw, haw, he's a regular piker."
At this moment the countess appeared in the conservatory door. Her
skirts were pinned up, a handkerchief was tied around her head, and
her eyes were dancing with mischief. At the sight of her, Lionel's
merriment redoubled.
"I was just telling this gentleman," he chuckled, "that Lionel
Fitz-Brown is a regular piker. Isn't he, Kate? Excuse me, this lady
is--the cook, Mr. Ferdinand Spooner."
Kate courtesied demurely.
"Thank you, I don't care for the opinion of the cook," replied
Spooner with dignity. "And I may add that it is most extraordinary
for a gardener to speak in this way of his employer. Will you please
tell Mr. Fitz-Brown that I am waiting?"
"Beg pardon, sir," put in Kate, "but I think it was the Countess
Clendennin who purchased the articles from the Progressive Mothers.
Isn't that so?" She winked at her confederate.
"You're right, it was the countess who bought the articles," agreed
Lionel.
Ferdinand frowned in perplexity. "In that case, my girl, you will
take a message to the countess."
"Couldn't do it, sir. The countess is having her hair dyed.
Besides, you'll never get anything out of her. She never paid a bill
in her life. Did she?" with another wink at Lionel.
"Not she," testified the gardener. "She uses her bills for curl
papers."
"I am shocked at these statements," grieved Ferdinand Spooner, wiping
his brow with a heavily scented handkerchief. "Perhaps, under the
circumstances, I had better take back the articles. Ah! An idea!"
He searched in his trousers pocket and produced a silver piece.
"Don't mention this, but--if you can get the articles for me,
quietly, you understand, I shall be glad to compensate you." He
offered the coin to Lionel.
"Half a crown?" shrugged the gardener. "That's not much, is it,
cook?"
"It's worth ten shillings," declared Kate.
"Very well," agreed Spooner with a pained look. "Get the articles at
once."
"I'll get them," said Lionel and he disappeared into the library.
"I am astonished to hear that the Countess Clendennin dyes her hair,"
reflected Ferdinand.
"That's nothing," giggled Kate. "You ought to hear her swear. And
she smokes like a fish."
"Dear me! This is very sad. Did you say she smokes like--a fish?"
"Like a fish," repeated the cook solemnly.
The visitor's reflections were interrupted here by the return of
Lionel carrying a pink work basket, a yellow embroidered tea cosey, a
green and red sofa pillow and an immense Jack Horner pie covered with
white crinkly paper.
"Here are the articles," said the gardener, and he proceeded to load
them, as best he could, upon the portly person of Ferdinand Spooner.
"It's fortunate I came in a carriage," puffed the latter.
"You're forgetting the rose bush," said Kate.
Spooner glanced dubiously at the rather dejected flower in its tinsel
basket.
"It isn't so very wonderful, is it? Ah! An idea! Will you present
this rose bush to the Countess Clendennin with the compliments of Mr.
Spooner, Mr. Ferdinand Spooner. Don't forget." He moved awkwardly
toward the conservatory door. "Oh, I forgot the ten shillings." He
looked down helplessly at his bulky treasures. "It's rather
difficult for me to--er----"
But Lionel cut him short with a patronizing wave of the hand.
"Don't bother about that, old top."
"Old top!" snorted Spooner.
By this time the countess was laughing hysterically. "Please present
the ten shillings to the Progressive Mothers," she managed to say,
"with the compliments of the gardener and the cook."
"The gardener and the cook!" stormed the disgusted visitor.
"Haw, haw, haw!" roared Lionel, as Ferdinand Spooner vanished across
the lawn like a disgruntled Santa Claus.