"Hulloa, Melhuish," I said, "after all you had ideal weather for your
_Midsummer Night's Dream_ yesterday."
"Ideal," said Melhuish moodily.
"Really, if you'd picked the day it couldn't have been better. You want
peculiar atmospheric conditions for a pastoral, don't you? Just enough sun,
not too much wind, temperature congenial for sitting out-of-doors. You had
'em all."
Melhuish nodded.
"Your garden must be looking like fairyland too now with the roses out and
the trees in all their full summer greenery."
He nodded again.
"What a setting for the _Dream_! It drew a crowd, of course?"
"Yes, we drew the county."
I sighed regretfully. "How I wish I hadn't funked it, but with my lumbago I
never dare risk damp grass and it looked so awfully like rain in the
morning."
Melhuish suddenly got excited. "_Looked_ like rain!" he said violently. "It
_did_ rain. It rained several drops. I never saw such drops, as big as
saucers. Perhaps you didn't hear the thunder?"
"My dear bean," I said, "it was the thunder which put me off coming to see
you as _Bottom_ and Mrs. Melhuish as _Titania_ in the most idyllic
surroundings I can imagine."
"You wouldn't have seen us in any idyllic surroundings," said Melhuish. He
had relapsed into moodiness again. I could see there was something serious.
"What happened, old friend?" I said gently.
"We began rehearsing during that glorious spell of sunshine in the spring,
when the garden was a carpet of daffodils and it was a sheer joy to play
about out-of-doors. Then the weather broke for a time and we migrated to
the Parish Hall. You know our Parish Hall?"
"Quite well. A little tin place on the left from the rectory."
"That's it. It's got a platform on trestles at one end and a paraffin lamp
in the middle. The Vicar placed it at our disposal when there wasn't a
Women's Institute or a choir practice, and on chilly nights he had the
'Beatrice stove' lit for us. Then the Summer began in real earnest. We got
in extra gardeners, worked like niggers ourselves, and when the turf was in
perfect condition and the thyme was coming up on _Titania's_ bank we fixed
the date and billed the county.
"After that we all got nervous and went about consulting weather forecasts.
_Old Moore_ prophesied heavy rains. The _Daily Mail_ said a cyclone from
New York was on the way. The weather-glasses jumped about and seemed to
know their own minds even less than usual. Three days before the date
thunderstorms were reported all over the country and a fowl was struck by
lightning. But not a drop of rain came to our village.
"At the dress-rehearsal the night before the performance we debated the
weather prospects until the moon rose. _Lysander_ said his bit of seaweed
which he brought from Bognor was as dry as parched peas and he would back
it against any fool barometer. Cocklewhite, our prompter, said he didn't
want to depress the company, but he had a leech in a bottle of water which
rose for fine weather and sank for wet, and he was bound to tell us it was
like lead at the bottom at the present moment. _Hermia_ pointed to the
heavens, 'Red sky at night shepherds' delight,' she quoted. There was no
getting away from the swallows; they were nose-diving to a bird. 'Hang
swallows,' _Oberon_ said; 'put your trust in mosquitoes. Look at my
eyelid.'
"'It's no good talking,' _Theseus_ said; 'nobody can tell until the
morning, and then it'll be up to _Bottom_ to decide by 11.30 whether it's
to be indoors or out. He's our stage-manager and we know his arrangements
in case of rain. They're the only arrangements possible in our little
village, and it's going to be a nightmare instead of a dream if they have
to be carried out. But we can depend upon _Bottom_ to make a wise decision.
He'll notify us and the boy-scouts will notify the audience. All we've got
to do is not to grouse.'
"Cocklewhite said he would phone me the position of his leech at 9 A.M.,
and _Lysander_ promised to report any change in the condition of the
seaweed. I set our glass and _Titania_ and I got up at half-hour intervals
during the night and tapped it. It refused to budge either way.
"At dawn _Titania_ looked out of the window and gave a wild cry. 'Red sky
in the morning shepherds' warning,' she wailed. At breakfast Cocklewhite
phoned that his leech was dead, and he had strong suspicions it had died
from atmospheric pressure. Almost at the same moment _Lysander_ sent word
that his seaweed had gone clammy during the night. Half-an-hour later came
a clap of thunder and the drops of rain I mentioned. I needn't go on. You
can guess the rest."
Melhuish paused.
"But the performance came off, didn't it?" I said.
"Yes, in the Parish Hall. It was a perfect day for a pastoral."
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Profiteer._ "I WANT YOU TO PAINT ME WITH A BOOK IN MY 'AND
AND MY VALET STANDIN' UNOBTRUSIVELY IN THE BACKGROUND IN CASE I MIGHT WISH
TO CALL 'IM."]
* * * * *