AT PLAY
I selected a handkerchief, gave a last look at the weather, which was
beastly, and went down (very late) to breakfast. As I opened the
door there was a sudden hush. Everybody looked eagerly at me. Then
Miss Fortescue tittered.
Well, you know how one feels when that happens. I put my hand
quickly to my tie--it was still there. I squinted down my nose, but
there was no smut. To make quite sure I went over to the glass.
Then Simpson exploded.
Yet nobody spoke. They all sat there watching me, and at last I
began to get nervous. I opened my mouth to say "Good-morning," but
before I got it out Miss Blair gave a little shriek of excitement.
That upset me altogether. I walked up to the tea-pot, and pouring
myself out a cup said, with exaggerated carelessness, "Rotten day,
isn't it?"
And then came the laughter--shout after shout.
I held out my hand to Myra. "Good-bye," I said, "I'm going home.
Thank you for a very jolly time, but I'm not going to be bullied."
"Oh, you dear," she gurgled.
"I am rather sweet before breakfast," I admitted, "but how----"
"It was too heavenly of you. I never thought you would."
"I think I shall go back to bed."
"It was rather rough luck," said Archie, "but of course the later you
are the worse it is for you."
"And the higher the fewer. Quite so. If this is from Breakfast
Table Topics in _The Daily Mirror_, I haven't seen them to-day; but
I'll do my best."
"Archie, explain."
Archie took up a piece of paper from the table, and explained. "It's
like this," he said. "I came down first and looked at the weather,
and said----"
"Anyone would," I put in quickly.
"Well, then, Blair came in and said, 'Beastly day,' and then
Simpson---- Well, I thought I'd write down everybody's first remark,
to see if anybody let the weather alone. Here they are."
"It's awful," put in Myra, "to have one's remarks taken down straight
off. I've quite forgotten what I said."
This was the list:
_Archie_: "Bother." (So he says.)
_Blair_: "What a beastly day!"
_Simpson_: "What a jolly day!"
_The Major_: "Well, not much cricket to-day, hey?"
_Myra_: "Oh dear, what a day!"
_Miss Blair_: "What a terrible day!"
_Miss Fortescue_: "Oh, you poor men--what a day!"
_Thomas_: "Rotten day, isn't it?"
_Me_: "Rotten day, isn't it?"
"I don't think much of Thomas's remark," I said.
Later on in the morning we met (all except the Major, that is) in the
room which Myra calls hers and Archie calls the nursery, and tried to
think of something to do.
"I'm not going to play bridge all day for anyone," said Archie.
"The host should lay himself out to amuse his guests," said Myra.
"Otherwise, his guests will lay him out," I warned him, "to amuse
themselves."
"Well, what do you all want to do?"
"I should like to look at a photograph album," said Thomas.
"Stump cricket."
"What about hide-and-seek?"
"No, I've got it," cried Archie; "we'll be boy scouts."
"Hooray!" cried everybody else.
Archie was already on his hands and knees. "Ha!" he said, "is that
the spoor of the white ant that I see before me? Spoorly not. I
have but been winded by the water-beetle.
"Sound, sound the trumpet, beat the drum,
To all the scouting world proclaim
One crowded stalk upon the turn
Is worth an age without a name."
"Archie!" shrieked Myra in horror. "It is too late," she added, "all
the ladies have swooned."
We arranged sides. Myra and I and Simpson and Thomas against the
others. They were to start first.
"This isn't simply hide-and-seek," said Archie, as they went off.
"You've got to track us fairly. We shall probably 'blaze'
door-posts. When you hear the bleat of a tinned sardine that means
we're ready. Keep your eyes skinned, my hearties, and heaven defend
the right."
"We ought to have bare knees really," said Myra, when they'd gone.
"Boy scouts always do. So that when they go through a bed of nettles
they know they've been."
"I shall stalk the stairs to begin with," I said. "Simpson, you go
down the back way and look as much like a vacuum-cleaner as possible.
Then they won't notice you. Thomas and Myra---- Hush! Listen! Was
that the bleat of a fresh sardine or the tinned variety?"
"Tinned," said Myra. "Let's go."
We went. I took the Queen Anne staircase on my--in the proper
stalking position. I moved very slowly, searching for spoor.
Half-way down the stairs my back fin slipped and I shot over the old
oak at a tremendous pace, landing in the hall like a Channel swimmer.
Looking up, I saw Thomas in front of me. He was examining the door
for "blazes." Myra was next to him, her ear to the ground, listening
for the gallop of horses' hoofs. I got up and went over to them.
"Hast seen aught of a comely wench in parlous case, hight Mistress
Dahlia?" I asked Thomas.
"Boy scouts don't talk like that," he said gruffly.
"I beg your pardon. I was thinking that I was a Cavalier and you
were a Roundhead. Now I perceive that you are just an ordinary
fathead."
"Why," said Myra at the foot of the stairs, "what does this button
mean? Have I found a clue?"
I examined it, and then I looked at my own coat.
"You have," I said. "Somebody has been down those stairs quite
recently, for the button is still warm."
"Where is Scout Simpson?"
At that moment he appeared breathless with excitement.
"I have had an adventure," he said hurriedly, without saluting. "I
was on the back stairs looking like a vacuum-cleaner when suddenly
Archie and Miss Blair appeared. They looked right at me, but didn't
seem to penetrate my disguise. Archie, in fact, leant against me,
and said to Miss Blair: 'I will now tell you of my secret mission. I
carry caviare--I mean despatches--to the general. Breathe but a word
of this to the enemy, and I miss the half-holiday on Saturday. Come,
let us be going, but first to burn the secret code.' And--and then
he struck a match on me, and burned it."
Myra gurgled and hastily looked solemn again. "Proceed, Scout
Simpson," she said, "for the night approaches apace."
"Well, then they started down the stairs, and I went after them on
my--scouting, you know. I made rather a noise at one corner, and
Archie looked round at me, and said to Miss Blair: 'The tadpoles are
out full early. See yonder where one lies basking.' And he came
back, and put his foot on me and said, 'Nay, 'tis but a shadow. Let
us return right hastily. Yet tarry a moment, what time I lay a false
trail.' So they tarried and he wrote a note and dropped it on me.
And, afterwards, I got up and here it is."
"The secret despatch," cried Myra.
"It's addressed to the Scoutmistress, and it says outside: 'Private,
not to be opened till Christmas Day.'"
Myra opened it and read: "Your blessed scouts are everywhere. Let me
just have five minutes with her in the nursery, there's a dear. I'd
do as much for you."
But she didn't read it aloud, and I didn't see it till some time
afterwards. She simply put it away, and smiled, and announced that
the scouts would now adjourn to the billiard-room for pemmican and
other refreshments; which they did. The engagement was announced
that evening.