"Say on," said the man with the hen encouragingly, "I'm a human being
just like yourself."
"The fact is," I said, "I didn't--didn't know there was a private
garden beyond the hedge. If you will give me my hen--"
"It's hard to say good-by," said the man, stroking the bird's head
with the first finger of his disengaged hand. "She and I are just
beginning to know and appreciate each other. However, if it must be--"
He extended the hand which held the bird, and at this point a hitch
occurred. He did his part of the business--the letting go. It was in
my department--the taking hold--that the thing was bungled. The hen
slipped from my grasp like an eel, stood for a moment overcome by the
surprise of being at liberty once more, then fled and intrenched
itself in some bushes at the farther end of the lawn.
There are times when the most resolute man feels that he can battle no
longer with fate; when everything seems against him and the only
course left is a dignified retreat. But there is one thing essential
to a dignified retreat. One must know the way out. It was that fact
which kept me standing there, looking more foolish than anyone has
ever looked since the world began. I could hardly ask to be conducted
off the premises like the honored guest. Nor would it do to retire by
the way I had come. If I could have leaped the hedge with a single
bound, that would have made a sufficiently dashing and debonair exit.
But the hedge was high, and I was incapable at the moment of achieving
a debonair leap over a footstool.
The man saved the situation. He seemed to possess that magnetic power
over his fellows which marks the born leader. Under his command we
became an organized army. The common object, the pursuit of the hen,
made us friends. In the first minute of the proceedings the Irishman
was addressing me as "me dear boy," and the other man, who had
introduced himself rapidly as Tom Chase, lieutenant in his Majesty's
navy, was shouting directions to me by name. I have never assisted at
any ceremony at which formality was so completely dispensed with. The
ice was not merely broken, it was shivered into a million fragments.
"Go in and drive her out, Garnet," shouted Mr. Chase. "In my
direction, if you can. Look out on the left, Phyllis."
Even in that disturbing moment I could not help noticing his use of
the Christian name. It seemed to me sinister. I did not like the idea
of dashing young lieutenants in the royal navy calling a girl Phyllis
whose eyes had haunted me for just over a week--since, in fact, I had
first seen them. Nevertheless, I crawled into the bushes and dislodged
the hen. She emerged at the spot where Mr. Chase was waiting with his
coat off, and was promptly enveloped in that garment and captured.
"The essence of strategy," observed Mr. Chase approvingly, "is
surprise. A devilish neat piece of work."
I thanked him. He deprecated the thanks. He had, he said, only done
his duty, as a man is bound to do. He then introduced me to the
elderly Irishman, who was, it seemed, a professor--of what I do not
know--at Dublin University. By name, Derrick. He informed me that he
always spent the summer at Lyme Regis.
"I was surprised to see you at Lyme Regis," I said. "When you got out
at Yeovil, I thought I had seen the last of you."
I think I am gifted beyond other men as regards the unfortunate
turning of sentences.
"I meant," I added speedily, "I was afraid I had."
"Ah, of course," he said, "you were in our carriage coming down. I was
confident I had seen you before. I never forget a face."
"It would be a kindness," said Mr. Chase, "if you would forget
Garnet's as now exhibited. You'll excuse the personality, but you
seem to have collected a good deal of the professor's property coming
through that hedge."
"I was wondering," I said with gratitude. "A wash--if I might?"
"Of course, me boy, of course," said the professor. "Tom, take Mr.
Garnet off to your room, and then we'll have some lunch. You'll stay
to lunch, Mr. Garnet?"
I thanked him for his kindness and went off with my friend, the
lieutenant, to the house. We imprisoned the hen in the stables, to its
profound indignation, gave directions for lunch to be served to it,
and made our way to Mr. Chase's room.
"So you've met the professor before?" he said, hospitably laying out a
change of raiment for me--we were fortunately much of a height and
build.
"I have never spoken to him," I said. "We traveled down together in a
very full carriage, and I saw him next day on the beach."
"He's a dear old boy, if you rub him the right way."
"Yes?" I said.
"But--I'm telling you this for your good and guidance--he can cut up
rough. And when he does, he goes off like a four point seven. I think,
if I were you--you don't mind my saying this?--I think, if I were you,
I should _not_ mention Mr. Tim Healy at lunch."