"Nine," said Archie, separating his latest victim from the marmalade
spoon and dropping it into the hot water. "This is going to be a
sanguinary day. With a pretty late cut into the peach jelly Mr A.
Mannering reached double figures. Ten. Battles are being won while
Thomas still sleeps. Any advance on ten?"
"Does that include MY wasp?" asked Myra.
"There are only ten here," said Archie, looking into the basin, "and
they're all mine. I remember them perfectly. What was yours like?"
"Well, I didn't exactly kill him. I smacked him with a teaspoon and
asked him to go away. And he went on to your marmalade, so I expect
you thought he was yours. But it was really mine, and I don't think
it's very sporting of you to kill another person's wasp."
"Have one of mine," I said, pushing my plate across. "Have
Bernard--he's sitting on the green-gage."
"I don't really want to kill anything. I killed a rabbit once and I
wished I hadn't."
"I nearly killed a rabbit once, and I wished I had."
"Great sportsmen at a glance," said Archie. "Tell us about it before
it goes into your reminiscences."
"It was a fierce affair while it lasted. The rabbit was sitting down
and I was standing up, so that I rather had the advantage of him at
the start. I waited till he seemed to be asleep and then fired."
"And missed him?"
"Y-yes. He heard the report, though. I mean, you mustn't think he
ignored me altogether. I moved him. He got up and went away all
right."
"A very lucky escape for you," said Archie. "I once knew a man who
was gored to death by an angry rabbit." He slashed in the air with
his napkin. "Fifteen. Dahlia, let's have breakfast indoors
to-morrow. This is very jolly but it's just as hot, and it doesn't
get Thomas up any earlier, as we hoped."
All that day we grilled in the heat. Myra and I started a game of
croquet in the morning, but after one shot each we agreed to abandon
it as a draw--slightly in my favour, because I had given her the
chipped mallet. And in the afternoon, Thomas and Simpson made a
great effort to get up enthusiasm for lawn-tennis. Each of them
returned the other's service into the net until the score stood at
eight all, at which point they suddenly realized that nothing but
the violent death of one of the competitors would ever end the
match. They went on to ten all to make sure, and then retired to the
lemonade and wasp jug, Simpson missing a couple of dead bodies by
inches only. And after dinner it was hotter than ever.
"The heat in my room," announced Archie, "breaks all records. The
thermometer says a hundred and fifty, the barometer says very dry,
we've had twenty-five hours' sunshine, and there's not a drop of
rain recorded in the soap-dish. Are we going to take this lying
down?"
"No," said Thomas, "let's sleep out to-night."
"What do you say, Dahlia?"
"It's a good idea. You can all sleep on the croquet lawn, and Myra
and I will take the tennis lawn."
"Hadn't you better have the croquet lawn? Thomas walks in his sleep,
and we don't want to have him going through hoops all night."
"You'll have to bring down your own mattresses," went on Dahlia,
"and you've not got to walk about the garden in the early morning,
at least not until Myra and I are up, and if you're going to fall
over croquet hoops you mustn't make a noise. That's all the rules, I
think."
"I'm glad we've got the tennis lawn," said Myra; "it's much
smoother. Do you prefer the right-hand court, dear, or the
left-hand?"
"We shall be very close to Nature to-night," said Archie. "Now we
shall know whether it really is the nightjar, or Simpson gargling."
We were very close to Nature that night, but in the early morning
still closer. I was awakened by the noise of Simpson talking, as I
hoped, in his sleep. However, it appeared that he was awake and
quite conscious of the things he was saying.
"I can't help it," he explained to Archie, who had given expression
to the general opinion about it; "these bally wasps are all over
me."
"It's your own fault," said Archie. "Why do you egg them on? I don't
have wasps all over ME."
"Conf--There! I've been stung."
"You've been what?"
"Stung."
"Stung. Where?"
"In the neck."
"In the neck?" Archie turned over to me. "Simpson," he said, "has
been stung in the neck. Tell Thomas."