Mitchell Behaves Decently
For the last few days Bruce had been greatly depressed, his temper more
variable than ever, and he had managed to collect a quite extraordinary
number of entirely new imaginary illnesses. He was very capricious about
them and never carried one completely through, but abandoned it almost
as soon as he had proved to Edith that he really had the symptoms. Until
she was convinced he never gave it up; but the moment she appeared
suitably anxious about one disease he adopted another. She had no doubt
that he would continue to ring the changes on varieties of ill-health
until he had to some extent recovered from the black ingratitude, as he
considered it, of Mitchell, in (what he called) hounding him out of the
amateur theatricals, and not letting him play the part of one line at
which he had slaved night and day.
One evening he came home in quite a different mood, bright and cheerful.
He played with Archie, and looked in the glass a good deal; both of
which signs Edith recognised as hopeful.
'How is your temperature tonight, do you think?' she asked tentatively.
'Oh, I don't know. I can't worry about that. A rather gratifying thing
has happened today, in fact, very gratifying.' He smiled.
'Really? You must tell me about it.'
'However badly a chap behaves--still, when he's really sorry--I mean to
say when he climbs down and begs your pardon, positively crawls at your
feet, you can't hold out, Edith!'
'Of course not. Then did Mitchell--'
'And when you have known a fellow a good many years, and he has always
been fairly decent to you except in the one instance--and when he is in
a real difficulty--Oh, hang it! One is glad to do what one can.'
'Do I gather that there has been a touching scene between you and
Mitchell at the office?'
He glanced at her suspiciously. 'May I ask if you are laughing?'
'Oh, no, no! I was smiling with pleasure, hoping you had made it up.'
'Well, yes, it may be weak of me, but I couldn't see the poor fellow's
scheme absolutely ruined without lending a helping hand. I have got my
share of proper pride, as you know, Edith, but, after all, one has
a heart.'
'What did he do?'
'Do!' exclaimed Bruce triumphantly. 'Do! Only apologised--only begged
me to act with them again--only said that the piece was nothing without
me, that's all! So I forgave him, and he was jolly grateful, I can
tell you.'
'Fancy! Is it the same part?'
'Of course not. Didn't I tell you that the fancy ball in the second act
has been cut out, so of course they don't want a mandarin. No; but Frank
Luscombe has given up his part--chucked it, and they have asked me
to take it.'
'Is it as long as the other one?'
'Longer! I appear twice. Mind you, in a way it's not such an important
part as the other would have been; but the play wouldn't hold together
without it, and, as Mitchell said, Frank Luscombe is such a conceited
chap he thought himself too grand to play a footman. He didn't have the
proper artistic feeling for the whole effect; it appears that he was
grumbling all the time and at last gave it up. Then it occurred to
Mitchell that perhaps I would help him out, and I said I would. It is a
bit of a triumph, isn't it, Edith?'
'A great triumph. Then you will be going back to the rehearsals again?'
'Of course I shall; they begin tomorrow. Mitchell thinks that I shall
make the hit of the evening. Some of these comparatively unimportant
parts, when they are really well played, are more effective than the
chief characters. Mitchell says he saw before, by the rehearsals, what a
tremendous lot of talent I had. But it isn't merely talent, as he said;
what they all noticed was my Personal Magnetism--and I expect that's it.
Fancy a man like Mitchell coming cringing to me, after all that has
passed between us! Mind you, it's a distinct score, Edith!'
'It is, indeed. If you have not got your part with you, you won't want
to work at it tonight. I wonder, as you seem better, whether you would
feel up to listening while I tell you something about the accounts?'
'There you are! How like a woman! The very moment I am a bit cheered up
and hopeful and feeling a little stronger, you begin worrying me again.'
'Dear Bruce, I wasn't going to worry you. I don't want you to do
anything--anything at all but listen, and it really will take hardly any
time at all. You remember you said you weren't strong enough to go
through them, and suggested I should show them to your mother? Well, I
went today, and I only want to tell you what happened.'
'Awfully good of you. What did she say?'
'She didn't say much, and she thought she could arrange it, but not
without speaking to your father.'
'Oh, I say, really? Well, that's all right then. The girl who plays Miss
Vavasour is quite as good as any professional actress, you know; in
fact, she would have made a fortune on the stage. She's a Miss
Flummerfelt. Her father was German by birth. If she weren't a little bit
inclined to be fat, she would be wonderfully handsome. I shall have a
little scene with her in the third act, at least, not really a scene
exactly, but I have to announce her. I open the door and say, "Miss
Vavasour!" and then she rushes up to Lady Jenkins, who is sitting on the
sofa, and tells her the bracelet has been found, and I shut the door.
But there's a great deal, you know, in the tone in which I announce her.
I have to do it in an apparently supercilious but really admiring tone,
to show that all the servants think Miss Vavasour had taken the
bracelet, but that _I_ am certain it isn't true. Frank Luscombe, it
seems, used to say the words without any expression at all, just "Miss
Vavasour!" like that, in an unmeaning sort of way.'
'I see. Your father was at home at the time, so your mother most kindly
said she would go in to him at once, and try to get it settled, just to
spare you the suspense of waiting for a letter about it. Isn't it sweet
and considerate of her?'
'Awfully. In the second act, Lady Jenkins says to me, "Parker, has an
emerald snake bracelet with a ruby head been found in any of the rooms?"
and I have to say, "I will inquire, my lady." And then I move about the
room, putting things in order. She says, "That will do, Parker; you
can go."'
'You seem to make yourself rather a nuisance, then; but do listen,
Bruce. I waited, feeling most frightfully uncomfortable, and I am afraid
there was a fearful row--I felt so sorry for your mother, but you know
the way she has of going straight to the point. She really wasn't long,
though it _seemed_ long. She came back and said--'
'Of course there's one thing Mitchell asked me to do, but I was obliged
to refuse. I can't shave off my moustache.'
'Heavens! You aren't going to play the part of a powdered footman with a
moustache?'
'Yes, I shall; Mitchell doesn't know it yet, but I mean to. I can carry
it off. I can carry off anything.'
'Well, your mother came back and said that your father had given an
ultimatum.'
'Is that all he's given?'
'He will put the thing straight on one condition--it seems it is quite
an easy condition; he's going to write and tell it you. Your mother says
you must agree at once, not argue, and then everything will be
all right.'
'Oh, I am glad. It's all through you, Edith. Thanks, awfully. It's
really very good of you. You should have seen how pleased Mitchell was
when I said I'd do this for him. Simply delighted. Oh, and Mrs Mitchell
is going to call on you. I'll find out which day.'
'I suppose I am to be at home to her now? You told me before not to
receive her, you know.'
'Well, no; if you could manage it without being rude, I would rather she
only left a card. The Mansions look all right from outside, and they are
in a decent neighbourhood and all that, but the flat is so _very_ small.
I hardly like her to see it.'
'Really, Bruce, you are absurd. Does Mitchell suppose that you live in a
palace?'
'Not a _palace_, exactly; but I expect I have given him an impression
that it is--well--all right.'
'Well, so it is. If you think the flat unworthy to be seen by Mrs
Mitchell, why be on visiting terms with her at all? I don't want to be.'
'But, Edith, you can't refuse the advances of a woman like that, the
wife of such a friend of mine as Mitchell. He's a most valuable
friend--a splendid fellow--a thoroughly good sort. You've no idea how
upset he was about our little quarrel the other day. He said he couldn't
sleep at night thinking about it; and his wife, too, was fretting
dreadfully, making herself quite ill. But now, of course, it is
all right.'
'I am not so sure that it is all right; perhaps you will quarrel again
on the moustache question.'
'Oh, no, we shan't! There can't be any more choppings and changings.
After telling the whole company that we buried the hatchet and that I am
going to take Luscombe's part, he wouldn't care to disappoint them all
again. They are very keen, too, on pleasing Miss Flummerfelt, and it
seems Mitchell thought she would be particularly glad I was going to act
with her instead of Luscombe, because, as I say, Luscombe put so little
meaning into the words. It never would have got over the footlights. Old
Mitchell will be too pleased to get me back to worry about a trifle
like that.'
'Well, that's all right. But do you mind writing to your mother tonight,
just a line to thank her for being so kind? It was awfully nice of her,
you know--she stuck up for you like anything, and put all the little
extravagances on to your ill-health; and, you see, she has spared you
having a scene with your father--he is just going to write you a
nice note.'
'Yes, I understand, you told me before; but I have got to write a letter
tonight, a rather important one. I'll write to the mater tomorrow.'
'Oh, Bruce!'
'My dear girl, business first, pleasure after. To write to one's mother
is a pleasure. I wonder what the blessed ultimatum is. Look here, Edith,
don't take any engagements for the next two or three weeks, will you? I
shall want you every evening for rehearsing. I mean to make a good piece
of work of this. I think I shall rather surprise Miss Flummerfelt and
Mitchell.' 'Very well; but still I think you might write to your mother.
Who is the very important business letter to?'
'Why, it's to Clarkson.'