of his acted forcefully upon the red corpuscles, his Uncle Wilfred had
been right. Until that moment Augustine had never supposed that he had
any red corpuscles; but now, as he sat waiting for Mrs Wardle to bring
him his fried egg, he could feel them dancing about all over him. They
seemed to be forming rowdy parties and sliding down his spine. His eyes
sparkled, and from sheer joy of living he sang a few bars from the hymn
for those of riper years at sea.
He was still singing when Mrs Wardle entered with a dish.
'What's this?' demanded Augustine, eyeing it dangerously.
'A nice fried egg, sir.'
'And what, pray, do you mean by nice? It may be an amiable egg. It may
be a civil, well-meaning egg. But if you think it is fit for human
consumption, adjust that impression. Go back to your kitchen, woman;
select another; and remember this time that you are a cook, not an
incinerating machine. Between an egg that is fried and an egg that is
cremated there is a wide and substantial difference. This difference,
if you wish to retain me as a lodger in these far too expensive rooms,
you will endeavour to appreciate.'
The glowing sense of well-being with which Augustine had begun the
day did not diminish with the passage of time. It seemed, indeed, to
increase. So full of effervescing energy did the young man feel that,
departing from his usual custom of spending the morning crouched over
the fire, he picked up his hat, stuck it at a rakish angle on his head,
and sallied out for a healthy tramp across the fields.
It was while he was returning, flushed and rosy, that he observed
a sight which is rare in the country districts of England--the
spectacle of a bishop running. It is not often in a place like Lower
Briskett-in-the-Midden that you see a bishop at all; and when you do he
is either riding in a stately car or pacing at a dignified walk. This
one was sprinting like a Derby winner, and Augustine paused to drink in
the sight.
The bishop was a large, burly bishop, built for endurance rather than
speed; but he was making excellent going. He flashed past Augustine in
a whirl of flying gaiters: and then, proving himself thereby no mere
specialist but a versatile all-round athlete, suddenly dived for a tree
and climbed rapidly into its branches. His motive, Augustine readily
divined, was to elude a rough, hairy dog which was toiling in his wake.
The dog reached the tree a moment after his quarry had climbed it, and
stood there, barking.
Augustine strolled up.
'Having a little trouble with the dumb friend, bish?' he asked,
genially.
The bishop peered down from his eyrie.
'Young man,' he said, 'save me!'
'Right most indubitably ho!' replied Augustine. 'Leave it to me.'
Until today he had always been terrified of dogs, but now he did not
hesitate. Almost quicker than words can tell, he picked up a stone,
discharged it at the animal, and whooped cheerily as it got home with
a thud. The dog, knowing when he had had enough, removed himself at
some forty-five m.p.h.; and the bishop, descending cautiously, clasped
Augustine's hand in his.
'My preserver!' said the bishop.
'Don't give it another thought,' said Augustine, cheerily. 'Always glad
to do a pal a good turn. We clergymen must stick together.'
'I thought he had me for a minute.'
'Quite a nasty customer. Full of rude energy.'
The bishop nodded.
'His eye was not dim, nor his natural force abated. Deuteronomy xxxiv,
7,' he agreed. 'I wonder if you can direct me to the vicarage? I fear I
have come a little out of my way.'
'I'll take you there.'
'Thank you. Perhaps it would be as well if you did not come in. I have
a serious matter to discuss with old Pieface--I mean, with the Rev.
Stanley Brandon.'
'I have a serious matter to discuss with his daughter. I'll just hang
about the garden.'
'You are a very excellent young man,' said the bishop, as they walked
along. 'You are a curate, eh?'
'At present. But,' said Augustine, tapping his companion on the chest,
'just watch my smoke. That's all I ask you to do--just watch my smoke.'
'I will. You should rise to great heights--to the very top of the tree.'
'Like you did just now, eh? Ha, ha!'
'Ha, ha!' said the bishop. 'You young rogue!'
He poked Augustine in the ribs.
'Ha, ha, ha!' said Augustine.
He slapped the bishop on the back.
'But all joking aside,' said the bishop as they entered the vicarage
grounds, 'I really shall keep my eye on you and see that you receive
the swift preferment which your talents and character deserve. I say to
you, my dear young friend, speaking seriously and weighing my words,
that the way you picked that dog off with that stone was the smoothest
thing I ever saw. And I am a man who always tells the strict truth.'
'Great is truth and mighty above all things. Esdras iv, 41,' said
Augustine.
He turned away and strolled towards the laurel bushes, which were his
customary meeting-place with Jane. The bishop went on to the front door
and rang the bell.
* * * * *
Although they had made no definite appointment, Augustine was surprised
when the minutes passed and no Jane appeared. He did not know that she
had been told off by her father to entertain the bishop's wife that
morning, and show her the sights of Lower Briskett-in-the-Midden. He
waited some quarter of an hour with growing impatience, and was about
to leave when suddenly from the house there came to his ears the sound
of voices raised angrily.
He stopped. The voices appeared to proceed from a room on the ground
floor facing the garden.
Running lightly over the turf, Augustine paused outside the window and
listened. The window was open at the bottom, and he could hear quite
distinctly.
The vicar was speaking in a voice that vibrated through the room.
'Is that so?' said the vicar.
'Yes, it is!' said the bishop.
'Ha, ha!'
'Ha, ha! to you, and see how you like it!' rejoined the bishop with
spirit.
Augustine drew a step closer. It was plain that Jane's fears had been
justified and that there was serious trouble afoot between these two
old schoolfellows. He peeped in. The vicar, his hands behind his
coat-tails, was striding up and down the carpet, while the bishop, his
back to the fireplace, glared defiance at him from the hearth-rug.
'Who ever told you you were an authority on chasubles?' demanded the
vicar.
'That's all right who told me,' rejoined the bishop.
'I don't believe you know what a chasuble is.'
'Is that so?'
'Well, what is it, then?'
'It's a circular cloak hanging from the shoulders, elaborately
embroidered with a pattern and with orphreys. And you can argue as much
as you like, young Pieface, but you can't get away from the fact that
there are too many orphreys on yours. And what I'm telling you is that
you've jolly well got to switch off a few of these orphreys or you'll
get it in the neck.'
The vicar's eyes glittered furiously.
'Is that so?' he said. 'Well, I just won't, so there! And it's like
your cheek coming here and trying to high-hat me. You seem to have
forgotten that I knew you when you were an inky-faced kid at school,
and that, if I liked, I could tell the world one or two things about
you which would probably amuse it.'
'My past is an open book.'
'Is it?' The vicar laughed malevolently. 'Who put the white mouse in
the French master's desk?'
The bishop started.
'Who put jam in the dormitory prefect's bed?' he retorted.
'Who couldn't keep his collar clean?'
'Who used to wear a dickey?' The bishop's wonderful organ-like voice,
whose softest whisper could be heard throughout a vast cathedral, rang
out in tone of thunder. 'Who was sick at the house supper?'
The vicar quivered from head to foot. His rubicund face turned a deeper
crimson.
'You know jolly well,' he said, in shaking accents, 'that there was
something wrong with the turkey. Might have upset anyone.'
'The only thing wrong with the turkey was that you ate too much of it.
If you had paid as much attention to developing your soul as you did to
developing your tummy, you might by now,' said the bishop, 'have risen
to my own eminence.'
'Oh, might I?'
'No, perhaps I am wrong. You never had the brain.'
The vicar uttered another discordant laugh.
'Brain is good! We know all about your eminence, as you call it, and
how you rose to that eminence.'
'What do you mean?'
'You are a bishop. How you became one we will not inquire.'
'What do you mean?'
'What I say. We will not inquire.'
'Why don't you inquire?'
'Because,' said the vicar, 'it is better not!'
The bishop's self-control left him. His face contorted with fury, he
took a step forward. And simultaneously Augustine sprang lightly into
the room.
'Now, now, now!' said Augustine. 'Now, now, now, now, now!'
The two men stood transfixed. They stared at the intruder dumbly.
'Come, come!' said Augustine.
The vicar was the first to recover. He glowered at Augustine.
'What do you mean by jumping through my window?' he thundered. 'Are you
a curate or a harlequin?'
Augustine met his gaze with an unfaltering eye.
'I am a curate,' he replied, with a dignity that well became him. 'And,
as a curate, I cannot stand by and see two superiors of the cloth, who
are moreover old schoolfellows, forgetting themselves. It isn't right.
Absolutely not right, my old superiors of the cloth.'
The vicar bit his lip. The bishop bowed his head.
'Listen,' proceeded Augustine, placing a hand on the shoulder of each.
'I hate to see you two dear good chaps quarrelling like this.'
'He started it,' said the vicar, sullenly.
'Never mind who started it.' Augustine silenced the bishop with a curt
gesture as he made to speak. 'Be sensible, my dear fellows. Respect the
decencies of debate. Exercise a little good-humoured give-and-take. You
say,' he went on, turning to the bishop, 'that our good friend here has
too many orphreys on his chasuble?'
'I do. And I stick to it.'
'Yes, yes, yes. But what,' said Augustine, soothingly, 'are a few
orphreys between friends? Reflect! You and our worthy vicar here were
at school together. You are bound by the sacred ties of the old Alma
Mater. With him you sported on the green. With him you shared a crib
and threw inked darts in the hour supposed to be devoted to the study
of French. Do these things mean nothing to you? Do these memories touch
no chord?' He turned appealingly from one to the other. 'Vicar! Bish!'
The vicar had moved away and was wiping his eyes. The bishop fumbled
for a pocket-handkerchief. There was a silence.
'Sorry, Pieface,' said the bishop, in a choking voice.
'Shouldn't have spoken as I did, Boko,' mumbled the vicar.
'If you want to know what I think,' said the bishop, 'you are right in
attributing your indisposition at the house supper to something wrong
with the turkey. I recollect saying at the time that the bird should
never have been served in such a condition.'
'And when you put that white mouse in the French master's desk,' said
the vicar, 'you performed one of the noblest services to humanity of
which there is any record. They ought to have made you a bishop on the
spot.'
'Pieface!'
'Boko!'
The two men clasped hands.
'Splendid!' said Augustine. 'Everything hotsy-totsy now?'
'Quite, quite,' said the vicar.
'As far as I am concerned, completely hotsy-totsy,' said the bishop. He
turned to his old friend solicitously. 'You will continue to wear all
the orphreys you want--will you not, Pieface?'
'No, no. I see now that I was wrong. From now on, Boko, I abandon
orphreys altogether.'
'But, Pieface--'
'It's all right,' the vicar assured him. 'I can take them or leave them
alone.'
'Splendid fellow!' The bishop coughed to hide his emotion, and there
was another silence. 'I think, perhaps,' he went on, after a pause,
'I should be leaving you now, my dear chap, and going in search of my
wife. She is with your daughter, I believe, somewhere in the village.'
'They are coming up the drive now.'
'Ah, yes, I see them. A charming girl, your daughter.'
Augustine clapped him on the shoulder.
'Bish,' he exclaimed, 'you said a mouthful. She is the dearest,
sweetest girl in the whole world. And I should be glad, vicar, if you
would give your consent to our immediate union. I love Jane with a good
man's fervour, and I am happy to inform you that my sentiments are
returned. Assure us, therefore, of your approval, and I will go at once
and have the banns put up.'
The vicar leaped as though he had been stung. Like so many vicars, he
had a poor opinion of curates, and he had always regarded Augustine as
rather below than above the general norm or level of the despised class.
'What!' he cried.
'A most excellent idea,' said the bishop, beaming. 'A very happy
notion, I call it.'
'My daughter!' The vicar seemed dazed. 'My daughter marry a curate!'
'You were a curate once yourself, Pieface.'
'Yes, but not a curate like that.'
'No!' said the bishop. 'You were not. Nor was I. Better for us both
had we been. This young man, I would have you know, is the most
outstandingly excellent young man I have ever encountered. Are you
aware that scarcely an hour ago he saved me with the most consummate
address from a large shaggy dog with black spots and a kink in his
tail? I was sorely pressed, Pieface, when this young man came up and,
with a readiness of resource and an accuracy of aim which it would be
impossible to over-praise, got that dog in the short ribs with a rock
and sent him flying.'
The vicar seemed to be struggling with some powerful emotion. His eyes
had widened.
'A dog with black spots?'
'Very black spots. But no blacker, I fear, than the heart they hid.'
'And he really plugged him in the short ribs?'
'As far as I could see, squarely in the short ribs.'
The vicar held out his hand.
'Mulliner,' he said, 'I was not aware of this. In the light of the
facts which have just been drawn to my attention, I have no hesitation
in saying that my objections are removed. I have had it in for that
dog since the second Sunday before Septuagesima, when he pinned me by
the ankle as I paced beside the river composing a sermon on Certain
Alarming Manifestations of the So-called Modern Spirit. Take Jane. I
give my consent freely. And may she be as happy as any girl with such a
husband ought to be.'
A few more affecting words were exchanged, and then the bishop and
Augustine left the house. The bishop was silent and thoughtful.
'I owe you a great deal, Mulliner,' he said at length.
'Oh, I don't know,' said Augustine. 'Would you say that?'
'A very great deal. You saved me from a terrible disaster. Had you not
leaped through that window at that precise juncture and intervened, I
really believe I should have pasted my dear old friend Brandon in the
eye. I was sorely exasperated.'
'Our good vicar can be trying at times,' agreed Augustine.
'My fist was already clenched, and I was just hauling off for the
swing when you checked me. What the result would have been, had you
not exhibited a tact and discretion beyond your years, I do not like
to think. I might have been unfrocked.' He shivered at the thought,
though the weather was mild. 'I could never have shown my face at the
Athenaeum again. But, tut, tut!' went on the bishop, patting Augustine
on the shoulder, 'let us not dwell on what might have been. Speak to me
of yourself. The vicar's charming daughter--you really love her?'
'I do, indeed.'
The bishop's face had grown grave.
'Think well, Mulliner,' he said. 'Marriage is a serious affair. Do not
plunge into it without due reflection. I myself am a husband, and,
though singularly blessed in the possession of a devoted help-meet,
cannot but feel sometimes that a man is better off as a bachelor.
Women, Mulliner, are odd.'
'True,' said Augustine.
'My own dear wife is the best of women. And, as I never weary of
saying, a good woman is a wondrous creature, cleaving to the right and
the good under all change; lovely in youthful comeliness, lovely all
her life in comeliness of heart. And yet--'
'And yet?' said Augustine.
The bishop mused for a moment. He wriggled a little with an expression
of pain, and scratched himself between the shoulder-blades.
'Well, I'll tell you,' said the bishop. 'It is a warm and pleasant day
today, is it not?'
'Exceptionally clement,' said Augustine.
'A fair, sunny day, made gracious by a temperate westerly breeze. And
yet, Mulliner, if you will credit my statement, my wife insisted on
my putting on my thick winter woollies this morning. Truly,' sighed
the bishop, 'as a jewel of gold in a swine's snout, so is a fair woman
which is without discretion. Proverbs xi, 21.'
'Twenty-two,' corrected Augustine.
'I should have said twenty-two. They are made of thick flannel, and I
have an exceptionally sensitive skin. Oblige me, my dear fellow, by
rubbing me in the small of the back with the ferrule of your stick. I
think it will ease the irritation.'
'But, my poor dear old bish,' said Augustine, sympathetically, 'this
must not be.'
The bishop shook his head ruefully.
'You would not speak so hardily, Mulliner, if you knew my wife. There
is no appeal from her decrees.'
'Nonsense,' cried Augustine, cheerily. He looked through the trees to
where the lady bishopess, escorted by Jane, was examining a lobelia
through her lorgnette with just the right blend of cordiality and
condescension. 'I'll fix that for you in a second.'
The bishop clutched at his arm.
'My boy! What are you going to do?'
'I'm just going to have a word with your wife and put the matter up to
her as a reasonable woman. Thick winter woollies on a day like this!
Absurd!' said Augustine. 'Preposterous! I never heard such rot.'
The bishop gazed after him with a laden heart. Already he had come
to love this young man like a son: and to see him charging so
light-heartedly into the very jaws of destruction afflicted him with
a deep and poignant sadness. He knew what his wife was like when even
the highest in the land attempted to thwart her; and this brave lad was
but a curate. In another moment she would be looking at him through
her lorgnette: and England was littered with the shrivelled remains of
curates at whom the lady bishopess had looked through her lorgnette. He
had seen them wilt like salted slugs at the episcopal breakfast-table.
He held his breath. Augustine had reached the lady bishopess, and the
lady bishopess was even now raising her lorgnette.
The bishop shut his eyes and turned away. And then--years afterwards,
it seemed to him--a cheery voice hailed him: and, turning, he perceived
Augustine bounding back through the trees.
'It's all right, bish,' said Augustine.
'All--all right?' faltered the bishop.
'Yes. She says you can go and change into the thin cashmere.'
The bishop reeled.
'But--but--but what did you say to her? What arguments did you employ?'
'Oh, I just pointed out what a warm day it was and jollied her along a
bit--'
'Jollied her along a bit!'
'And she agreed in the most friendly and cordial manner. She has asked
me to call at the Palace one of these days.'
The bishop seized Augustine's hand.
'My boy,' he said in a broken voice, 'you shall do more than call at
the Palace. You shall come and live at the Palace. Become my secretary,
Mulliner, and name your own salary. If you intend to marry, you will
require an increased stipend. Become my secretary, boy, and never leave
my side. I have needed somebody like you for years.'
* * * * *
It was late in the afternoon when Augustine returned to his rooms, for
he had been invited to lunch at the vicarage and had been the life and
soul of the cheery little party.
'A letter for you, sir,' said Mrs Wardle, obsequiously.
Augustine took the letter.
'I am sorry to say I shall be leaving you shortly, Mrs Wardle.'
'Oh, sir! If there's anything I can do--'
'Oh, it's not that. The fact is, the bishop has made me his secretary,
and I shall have to shift my toothbrush and spats to the Palace, you
see.'
'Well, fancy that, sir! Why, you'll be a bishop yourself one of these
days.'
'Possibly,' said Augustine. 'Possibly. And now let me read this.'
He opened the letter. A thoughtful frown appeared on his face as he
read.
My dear Augustine,
I am writing in some haste to tell you that the impulsiveness of
your aunt has led to a rather serious mistake.
She tells me that she dispatched to you yesterday by parcels post a
sample bottle of my new Buck-U-Uppo, which she obtained without my
knowledge from my laboratory. Had she mentioned what she was
intending to do, I could have prevented a very unfortunate
occurrence.
Mulliner's Buck-U-Uppo is of two grades or qualities--the A and the
B. The A is a mild, but strengthening, tonic designed for human
invalids. The B, on the other hand, is purely for circulation in
the animal kingdom, and was invented to fill a long-felt want
throughout our Indian possessions.
As you are doubtless aware, the favourite pastime of the Indian
Maharajahs is the hunting of the tiger of the jungle from the backs
of elephants; and it has happened frequently in the past that hunts
have been spoiled by the failure of the elephant to see eye to eye
with its owner in the matter of what constitutes sport.
Too often elephants, on sighting the tiger, have turned and
galloped home: and it was to correct this tendency on their part
that I invented Mulliner's Buck-U-Uppo 'B'. One teaspoonful of the
Buck-U-Uppo 'B' administered in its morning bran-mash will cause the
most timid elephant to trumpet loudly and charge the fiercest tiger
without a qualm.
Abstain, therefore, from taking any of the contents of the bottle
you now possess,
And believe me,
Your affectionate uncle,
Wilfred Mulliner
Augustine remained for some time in deep thought after perusing this
communication. Then, rising, he whistled a few bars of the psalm
appointed for the twenty-sixth of June and left the room.
Half an hour later a telegraphic message was speeding over the wires.
It ran as follows:
Wilfred Mulliner,
The Gables,
Lesser Lossingham,
Salop.
Letter received. Send immediately, C.O.D., three cases of the 'B'.
'Blessed shall be thy basket and thy store.' Deuteronomy xxviii, 5.
Augustine
4
THE BISHOP'S MOVE
Another Sunday was drawing to a close, and Mr Mulliner had come into
the bar-parlour of the Anglers' Rest wearing on his head, in place of
the seedy old wideawake which usually adorned it, a glistening top-hat.
From this, combined with the sober black of his costume and the rather
devout voice in which he ordered hot Scotch and lemon, I deduced that
he had been attending Evensong.
'Good sermon?' I asked.
'Quite good. The new curate preached. He seems a nice young fellow.'
'Speaking of curates,' I said, 'I have often wondered what became of
your nephew--the one you were telling me about the other day.'
'Augustine?'
'The fellow who took the Buck-U-Uppo.'
'That was Augustine. And I am pleased and not a little touched,' said
Mr Mulliner, beaming, 'that you should have remembered the trivial
anecdote which I related. In this self-centred world one does not
always find such a sympathetic listener to one's stories. Let me see,
where did we leave Augustine?'
'He had just become the bishop's secretary and gone to live at the
Palace.'
'Ah, yes. We will take up his career, then, some six months after the
date which you have indicated.'
* * * * *
It was the custom of the good Bishop of Stortford--for, like all the
prelates of our Church, he loved his labours--to embark upon the duties
of the day (said Mr Mulliner) in a cheerful and jocund spirit. Usually,
as he entered his study to dispatch such business as might have arisen
from the correspondence which had reached the Palace by the first
post, there was a smile upon his face and possibly upon his lips a
snatch of some gay psalm. But on the morning on which this story begins
an observer would have noted that he wore a preoccupied, even a sombre,
look. Reaching the study door, he hesitated as if reluctant to enter;
then, pulling himself together with a visible effort, he turned the
handle.
'Good morning, Mulliner, my boy,' he said. His manner was noticeably
embarrassed.
Augustine glanced brightly up from the pile of letters which he was
opening.
'Cheerio, Bish. How's the lumbago today?'
'I find the pain sensibly diminished, thank you, Mulliner--in fact,
almost non-existent. This pleasant weather seems to do me good. For lo!
the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on
the earth; the time of the singing birds is come, and the voice of the
turtle is heard in the land. Song of Solomon ii, 11, 12.'
'Good work,' said Augustine. 'Well, there's nothing much of interest in
these letters so far. The Vicar of St Beowulf's in the West wants to
know, How about incense?'
'Tell him he mustn't.'
'Right ho.'
The bishop stroked his chin uneasily. He seemed to be nerving himself
for some unpleasant task.
'Mulliner,' he said.
'Hullo?'