The blue-coat chauffeur tucked Mr. Withersq and his Selia within the
car which spead on greased wheels of lightning through the western of
London and out into the more rustical parts where there were trees.
Quick oh quick they moved and Selia’s heart came in her mouth several
times with people and no small quantity of dogs they shaved past.
Twilight had settled when they drew up with a good toot on their
grunty hooter at the white wicker gate of the country home of the
Countess on the evening of the proper day as they had somewhat
artfully arranged only to arrive in time for dinner.
As well as they could see squinting through the darkness it was a very
low house and very broad like a tennis club but of course more grand
looking very nice with nice smelling flowers about and two white
peacocks strolling on the lawn. But alas to their dismay no one was at
home. Only a little page-boy and he was a stuttering one, and had some
trouble to get out that the family was on the river in their boat, so
that Mr. Withersq gave him a sixpence and let him go.
“Dear me” said he waving away the chauffeur who took off the car, “we
are nicely sold and shall get no grub.”
“Yes indeed” said Selia very crossly “I think we had better go home
again” for she had a vacancy.
“Not so” cried he “we have not come so far for nothing. Come with me.”
Now Selia was more than a bit tired and only followed him because she
hoped to be fed rebuffing his kindly arm, she tottered on her high
heels beside him in smothering rage. But past experiences had taught
our hero. “Fear not” he said “you will be well filled yet, for Unckle
Burt has not died for nothing.”
And he led her through the dark lanes under the creepy trees towards
the spottling lights of a near village. Selia was a good bit afraid as
she feared to step on a frog or some other vermin and went picking her
way. Still she had a pluck and kept moving only wishing herself
elsewhere.
Soon they struck a cosy little pub where a man was hissing outside
over the feet of a horse which he was washing. Selia looked at the
horse which exchanged her glance but Mr. Withersq looked in the pub.
He came out in a short moment to find his sweet leaning against the
animal.
“All is well,” said he, “our party is close at hand.”
“Nasty lot they might have waited for us,” said she. “For I am
footsore and have empty rumblings also.”
“Excuse me, sir,” said the horse’s man, coming up under its stomach,
“but there is a nice little ham and beef shop a few doors away.”
Casting a cold look on this fellow, Selia took the talk up. “Show the
gentleman the way,” said she, “and pop me on the horse, for I must
have a sit down and do not care to demean myself by entering a public
house.”
The horse, hearing his name mentioned, turned to have a stare, but she
cared little for that, knowing to be firm with the dumb creatures is
best, so she made a severe face at it.
“Show a leg,” cried Harold gallantly, and with a good grasp on her,
and the man pushing too, they got her up on the horse.
“That’s better,” she said, getting comfortable, and finding it a nice
broad beast as she had hoped. So Mr. Withersq and the man disapeared,
leaving Selia bravely seated on the steed, which champed its bit
somewhat, but every time it moved she cried “Whoo!” and it obeyed her,
to the surprise of some yokels who peeked forth from the pub. Before
long Mr. Withersq and the man came back, the latter bearing some paper
bags.
“Hurrah, I have food!” cried Harold, “and I am feeling most poetical.
This good man will give you a lift on this horse to the Countess’s
boat, so off we go.”
At this the little procession set off, but first Selia cried “Oh pray
give me a bite for I am perishing.” At this Mr. Withersq rustled in a
bag and drew forth a sandwich and passed it up to her. So off they
went in the darkness of the night, Selia on the horse, and
Mr. Withersq holding one of her feet to steady her, while she chewed a
rather mysterious sandwich, not being able to see what it was, and
bumping a good bit on the heaving animal. The horse’s man led the way
down another lane, followed by some rude cheers from the pub. Before
long they saw water, and in a few moments drew a halt.
“Coo-ee!” howled the man.
From out a large, white place looming with myriad twinkling lights an
answering voice cried “Coo-ee!”
“Is it another house?” said Selia. “I dont see no boat.”
“It is the boat,” cried the horse’s man.
Lo! on the river’s edge was a great boat like a steamer, bedecked with
fairy lamps, and at the sound of our hero’s arrival many voices noised
out and forms were seen on the deck. Never had Selia beheld such a
vision as this grand boat.
“Well, it is just like a house,” cried she.
“It is a houseboat,” said Harold, “for I read it up in an etiquette
book.”
Oh how Selia laughed to hear this! “So that is where all your stiff
new ways come from, is it!” jested she, though not so coyly as she
would, as her horse was sipping a little of the river, and it was hard
to sit on it so sloping.
“Ha, welcome!” the voice of the Countess was then heard. “Come aboard,
pray! We were expecting you to supper, but still, better late than
never.”
So Selia dropped from the horse, jolting herself a good bit, and
together with Mr. Withersq mounted a small ladder from the river’s
edge up the side of this magnificent boat, and so arrived safe on the
deck, at which a throng, bobbing up from all directions, seized on
them with merry hand shakings, and cooings of delight, for they had
been given up, and their arrival proved a welcome diversion, and
Lipstick barked madly his eyes more polished than ever. The Countess
who was in a tight dress of black beads sewn on stuff like a serpent
grasped warmly their hands and seemed more glad than before for no
doubt their fame had spread more and so she thought them worth her
while.
“Let me introduce you to the folk” she said kindly, motioning to the
group of about six behind her.
“This is the well-known Mr. Bross” she continued picking on a
pear-shaped gent with plump legs in white trousers and a short evening
jacket, so he came up smiling with blandness.
“Pleased to meet you Mr. Poet” said he and the Countess wispered to
Selia “He is rather an amusing man we have asked him ten times before
it is a pity he is nearly finished.”
“How is that” said Selia bowing to him.
“Oh he is no good at much but foreign langwages” said the Countess
merrily, “and he only knows fifteen. You see as he is not very high
born we expect him to amuse us, and he sings very well so he has to
burst into song after breakfast on Sundays to take away the rather
chilly feeling on Sunday mornings. As he has already sung in ten
different langwages and of course we wouldn’t like the same one twice,
he only has five more weekends to come.”
The langwage-singer sighed at this no doubt overhearing, and gave way
to a greyish-coloured fellow reeking a little of wine. “This is
Mr. Panter, you must have heard of him” said the Countess. “He makes
reputations.”
“Is that so” said Selia who was keeping her end up very well, “what
does he make them of?”
“Ah dear girl you do not understand” simpered the other lady, “we
always ask him down for when one gets a bit stale of people and they
have not done anything in the way of a stunt lately, he makes up such
sweet little stories about everyone that they become quite nice again,
and for some he makes up entire reputations for a consideration, and
they live on them.”
“Oh I see” said Selia “it is a business.”
“Naturally” said the Countess kindly “for they all want to live you
know and as cats have the artfulness to live by being cats and so
getting milk and meat, so many are compelled to live by having
reputations which causes them to be asked about and fed. Mr. Panter
has the most magnificent set of offices near the British Museum.”
“I must remember him” said Selia “he might come in useful some day
when we want to be noticed.”
“Tush” twittered her friend “Mr. Panter leaves ladys to look after
their own reputations, dont you sir?” and this remark drew a laugh
from a priestly looking damsel with many ropes of pearls about her
elegant long neck, lolling in a deckchair near their feet, so Selia
was now introduced to her and as well as she could grasp this lady did
nothing but be an earl’s sister because of course if you are nobel
that is enough and saves many pains.
“I hear” said the earls sister who was most languid and archy in her
way of speaking and holding herself, “that Mr. Bross is learning
Welsh.”
“Dear me” said Selia “now he will be able to come again for another
week-end more.”
“Certenly not” said the Countess proudly, “this is not a political
house-boat, we are artists and I do not think we could bear Welsh
after breakfast even on Sundays. I must speak to him and try to urge
him to learn something else.”
So she got up and went off to do so.
Meanwhile Mr. Withersq had rather sidled away towards a nice little
girl in a cream frock very low and fluffy, and had talked to her and
she had opened wide great eyes of amaze to him to hear so great a poet
speak ordinary. He was now muttering something with many muffled
laughs to a very tall oldish man in a suit of pearl grey silk, and
munching a fish sandwich which from time to time he dipped in a glass
of champagne he had had brought him by a menial attired as a sailor.
From the chair in which she had sunk Selia pawed at her Harold’s near
trouser. So he passed her down some food which she wolfed up. Then as
she was tired and could not make out much of the various persons
around who were all smoking long cigarettes and by their talk seemed
to have endless little private jokes of their own, she went off to
bed, which was down some steep brass-tipped stairs with a rope
bannister, into the bowels of the boat. Imagine her surprise when she
opened her room door to find Scrogg knitting a sock within.
“Goodday” cried Scrogg springing up and ready to unfasten her, and
“Goodevening” said Selia stifling her yawn with a smile “how did ever
you come here Scrogg?”
“I thought you would like me” said Scrogg humbly, “so I came up the
river in a little row-boat I keep for emergencies.”
“I see” said Selia “that was very nice of you I’m sure. I am very
tired though.”
“No wonder madame” said the maid throwing her pink Greecian nightdress
over her head nimbly, “with so many clever people about, for the
Countess only has the first class cream at her boat parties.”
“Hurrah” cried Selia “what a funny pillow!” and lo the bed she jumped
in was built to the wall like a real boat’s bed and her pillow was
like a life-buoy but made in feathers with a white linen cover and
frilled with real lace. Scrogg then quickly fixed up a hammock across
the little room, under the round window, and went to bed in it, and
thus to the sound of the slapping waves mistress and maid snoozed
while Mr. Withersq talked of his poetry to the company on deck, still
all swigging champagne till the early hours.
Selia slept late next day for the fresh air made her drowsy and only
peeped out of her bed in time to hear in the distance the loud end of
Mr. Bross’s Sunday morning song and the applause after it. Scrogg then
entered with a tray of rolls and coffee.
“The Countess asked me to tell you the song was a great success” she
said with her usual curtsey, “it was in Yiddish this week.”
“Oh” said Selia rubbing her eyes up for the day, “how clever!” for she
unluckily did not know where this was spoken. When she had just
finished up her breakfast a thunderous knock sounded on her door and
Scrogg opened.
“Dear me” said this good servant, for who should stand there but
Mr. Withersq in a grand navy bathing costume embroidered with anchors
and wearing canvas boots. Selia modestly hid in her bed.
“None of that now” said he “all is al fresco here, so nip up. You will
find a bathing costume under the pillow, and I give you five minutes.”
So with a good grin he withdrew leaving Selia to spring up and quickly
dress in the dinky suit which as he had said she would find under the
lifebuoy pillow. She shrank a little from the eyes of the men and also
swanked a bit too because of the Countess who was in a pea-green suit,
and the Earls sister in mauve and the nice little girl in orange, but
Selia was all in black like Annette Kellermann.
“Hurrah” quoth she as she appeared and they all cheered also for
Selia was indeed a fine girl and Mr. Withersq patted his own back and
jumped for joy to see her, knocking over a pot of flowers ornamenting
the boat. The water below sparkled and looked a bit cold, the birds
sang and the trees were nice and green.
“One two three” said the Countess and at three such a splash occurred
as all the party threw themselves recklessly into the water, followed
by Lipstick the dog. Selia felt happy to find them flesh and blood
after all and Harold trod the water in glee. They all had a merry
sport, and Selia raced the gentleman who had been in grey silk but now
in striped drawers, ending by ducking him.
When the swim was over they all climbed very dripping on the deck to
be received by menials with hot towels and so away to their rooms to
dress, after which lunch arrived. It was a splendid repast with salmon
and not tinned either, and after lunch Mr. Withersq recited a new
poem he had made that very day, which pleased them all very much and
he got a stamp from the Earls sister to post it to the King, and
Panter slapped him on the shoulder and swore never to forget him.
True to their rule Mr. Withersq and Selia prepared to depart early and
amid much goodbyes climbed over the side and down the ladder to terra
firma where their car awaited them, and waved themselves off, while
Scrogg meanwhile was seen to get into her little boat and soon
vanished round the corner of the water rowing hard.
As Selia sank back into the car with a parting wave to the boat,
Mr. Withersq caught her in a firm kiss.
“Tush” she said “have done.” But she was not so vexed as she seemed
for she loved him but of course she still had to be a bit coy.
“I think we are doing very well” said he smacking his lips, and
emerging a great cigar from his pocket. “Bross gave me this and I
think he will consent to come to our parties when we have a house.”
Selia blushed at his meaning glance at this word, and then said “No
doubt he will be glad to dear Harold. And it will not be so long now
for next week I hope to show them the stuff I am made of and have my
photo in the weekly papers, which is fame.”
So hand in hand with Mr. Withersq puffing the big cigar they glided
back to London and their hotel.