I never liked Buttinbridge. I considered him a vulgar and pushful fellow.
He had thrust himself into membership of my club and he had forced his
acquaintance upon me.
I was sitting in the club smoking-room the other day when Buttinbridge came
in. His behaviour was characteristic of the man. He walked towards me and
said in a loud voice, "Cheerioh, old Sport!"
I drew the little automatic pistol with which I had provided myself in case
of just such an emergency, took a quick aim and fired. Buttinbridge gave a
convulsive leap, fell face downwards on the hearthrug and lay quite still.
It was a beautiful shot--right in the heart.
The room was fairly full at the moment, and at the sound of the shot
several members looked up from their newspapers. One young fellow--I fancy
he was a country member recently demobilised--who had evidently watched the
incident, exclaimed, "Pretty shot, Sir!" But two or three of the older men
frowned irritably and said, "Sh-sh-sh!"
Seeing that it was incumbent upon me to apologise, I said, in a tone just
loud enough to be audible to all present, "I beg your pardon, gentlemen."
Then I dropped the spent cartridge into an ash-tray, returned the pistol to
my pocket and was just stretching out my hand to touch the bell when old
Withergreen, the _doyen_ of the club, interposed.
"Pardon me," he said, "I am a little deaf, but almost simultaneously with
the fall of this member upon the hearthrug I fancied I heard the report of
a firearm. May I claim an old man's privilege and ask if I am right in
presuming a connection between the two occurrences, and, if so, whether
there has been any recent relaxation of our time-honoured rule against
assassination on the club premises?"
Shouting into his ear-trumpet, I said, "I fired the shot, Sir, which killed
the member now lying upon the hearthrug. I did so because he addressed me
in a form of salutation which I regard as peculiarly objectionable. He
called me 'Old Sport,' an expression used by bookmakers and such."
"Um! Old Port?" mumbled old Withergreen.
"OLD SPORT," I shouted more loudly. Then I stepped to the writing-table,
took a dictionary from among the books of reference, found the place I
wanted and returned to the ear-trumpet.
"I find here," I said, for the benefit of the room at large, for all were
now listening, though with some impatience, "that in calling me a '_sport_'
the deceased member called me a plaything, a diversion. If he had called me
a _sportsman_, which is here defined as 'one who hunts, fishes or fowls,'
he would have been not necessarily more accurate but certainly less
offensive."
At this point there stood up a member whom I recognised as one of the
committee. "I am sure, Sir," he said, "that all present are agreed that you
fired in defence of the purity of English speech, and that the incident was
the outcome of an unfortunate attempt to relieve the financial
embarrassment of the club by relaxing our former rigorous exclusiveness.
Speaking as one of the committee, I have no doubt that the affair will be
dismissed as _justifiable homicide_."
Having bowed my acknowledgments I rang the bell. When the waiter appeared I
bade him "Bring me a black coffee and then clear away the remains of Mr.
Buttinbridge."
* * * * *
Then I was awakened by the voice of Buttinbridge yelling, "Wake up, old
Sport!"
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Grocer._ "NOW, MY MAN, THE BUTTER YOU BROUGHT US LAST
WEEK--EVERY PACKET OF IT WEIGHED ONLY FIFTEEN OUNCES."
_Farmer's Man._ "WELL, TO BE SURE, SIR, WE'D LOST OUR ONE-POUND WEIGHT; BUT
WE TOOK ONE OF YOUR POUND PACKETS OF TEA TO WEIGH IT WITH."]
* * * * *