A Few of its Consequences
I REGRET to state that when Grace and I came to “the boys” in the
dining-room, we discovered seven gentlemen seated round the dining-room
table, engaged in a game called baccarat. It was reassuring to find,
however, that they were playing for nominal stakes, and that it was
being conducted under evident difficulties.
“Didn’t father say he positively wouldn’t have it!” cried Miss Grace.
“Oh, there will be a row if he catches you at it. Do drop it, there’s
good men.”
“He’ll put up with anything to-night,” said Toddles brazenly, “now that
Tom’s got a trial with the county.”
“I’ll tell you a piece of prime news, if you’ll just drop it, boys,”
said Grace coaxingly. But the amount of restraint she practised to hold
back the prime news in question must have been wonderful. I suppose it
is that women have such remarkable powers of diplomacy.
“Has that demoralising little Ranjy got another two hundred?” cried
Number Three in the batting averages apprehensively. “Because if he
has, I shall just chuck up the sponge; I can’t hope to catch him.”
“Better than that, Archie,” said his sister darkly, “_ever_ so much
better than that. _Can’t_ you guess?”
Grace, on her own part, however, spared him the trouble. She was no
longer able to suppress her eagerness. Impulsively straightening the
telegram that was crushed in her hands she read out its contents at the
top of a victorious voice.
Baccarat was forgotten. Led by Grace herself, the company gave three
rousing cheers for Stoddart, then another three for Charlie. Then,
on the suggestion of the Rev. Mr. Elphinstone, another three for
the bearer of the news, which was, of course, Miss Grace. Then, on
the suggestion of Miss Grace, there were three for the Rev. Mr.
Elphinstone, though why nobody knew exactly; and in the end everybody
was cheering everybody else, and generally kicking up the most horrible
noise it was possible to make. The redoubtable Toddles, who scaled a
little over nine stones himself, was endeavouring to carry fourteen
stones ten pounds, in the person of Charlie, round the room by his own
force of character, when the Rector appeared from his study with a look
not all pleasure upon his face.
“If you would like the hose,” said he, “I think you’ll find it in
the garden.” His daughter cut his observations short, however, by
brandishing the telegram before him. Directly he read it, the change in
his tone and manner was almost ludicrous.
“Dear me!” he said. “How very good of Stoddart. I’m very pleased, I’m
sure. I congratulate you heartily, my boy, very heartily. Laura, will
you please have the goodness to ring for Jennings. We must celebrate
this auspicious occasion in the time-honoured way I think.”
“Hear, hear!” said the full assembly.
“Only time on record, Father, you know,” said Grace, who was trying
desperately hard to keep her enthusiasm under restraint, “that Stoddy’s
ever taken two of one family together. And who’ll say dreams are rot
now?” she demanded fiercely. “What price mine? Hasn’t it come true?”
“There’s no ‘name inadvertently omitted’ about it, though,” said the
literal Charlie.
“All the same,” said Archie, “it’s near enough to give Grace no end of
a reputation with the Society of Psychical Research.”
“The Society of Sikey--what?” said Grace. “Mustn’t it hurt you, Archie,
to be so clever?”
The apparition of the butler, however, restored the tone to the
proceedings.
“I think, Jennings,” said the Rector, “that there should be just two
bottles of that champagne left in the third bin. Will you please bring
it up.”
“Miss Laura had it yesterday, sir,” said Jennings.
“Miss Laura had it yesterday, sir,” said the Rector, with the majesty
of an archbishop. “But pray, sir, will you have the goodness to explain
what Miss Laura has to do with it?”
“Miss Laura came to me yesterday, sir,” said Jennings apprehensively,
“and told me to give her the two remaining bottles. She said that she
would take all the responsibility, sir.”
“Quite right, Jennings,” said Grace, with a courageous promptitude that
I am afraid commanded the admiration of us all. “I did say I would take
all the responsibility. You see it’s like this, Father. I couldn’t give
a lot of common grocery to a set of county men, two of ’em going out
with Stoddy, could I?”
“There was only one of ’em going out with Stoddy yesterday, though,”
said her enemy of Harrow.
“I’ll defy anybody to say that there’s not two now, though,” said
Grace. “And it was the Little Clumpton match, you know, Father; and it
was an awful hot day, an’ awful fagging, and I knew you wouldn’t mind.
Besides, I couldn’t have given anything common to two men going out
with Stoddy, could I?”
“Well,” said her magnanimous parent, “on due consideration, I’m
inclined to think you couldn’t.”
“That’s all right then,” said Grace cheerfully.
To describe in detail the festivities attendant on Charlie’s honours
is by no means necessary, and perhaps not altogether politic. All I
need say is, that it was such a shameful hour when the Optimist and I
remembered it was time to go home that everybody simply scouted the
idea.
“Oh no, you don’t,” said our hostess. “You’re going to stay the night.
Must have you in condition for to-morrow’s match, you know, Dimmy.
Don’t want you to say when I’ve given you a most frightful licking that
you weren’t fit.”
“What match?” cried several of the curious.
“Dimmy knows,” said Grace.
“Oh, Dimmy knows, does he,” said Archie. “By Jove! you men, I shouldn’t
be a bit surprised if Jimmy’s lost his pony.”
“What pony?” said Grace.
“Dimmy knows,” said Archie.
And to me, who had by far the most exact acquaintance with the case, it
was as good as a comedy to witness their curiosity regarding the whole
affair.
“Laura,” said the Rector, who had been so borne onwards by the general
exultation of men and things that he was breaking all his records in
the way of sitting up, “Laura, is it not time you went to bed? It is
after ten, I think, and that’s your usual hour.”
“Well, look here, Father,” said his daughter; “will you promise to see
’em all to bed? Please _don’t_ leave ’em up with that awful little
Toddles. Archie, Charlie, and Tom are playing against Kent on Monday,
and I can see his game. You will keep your eye on ’em, won’t you,
Father? Oh, and just watch James’s game as well. He’s all right in
himself, you know, but when he gets with Toddles, he’s likely to be led
away.”
“I never heard such aspersions in the whole course of my career,”
said Toddles, taking forth a white silk handkerchief, and religiously
applying it to his sorrow. “Grace, I’m overcome.”
“Don’t believe it,” said Miss Grace. “Toddles, you’re a wrong ’un, and
always were.”
“Dear me,” said the Rector, “Laura, where _do_ you find such
expressions?”
“Now remember, Father,” said Miss Grace, opening the door. “Oh, and you
two have got to stay. The best room in the house, too. It’s the one
King Charles II. slept in after the battle of Worcester.”
“My dear girl,” said the Rector, who was evidently deeply exercised on
this point, “have I not said over and over again that he did not sleep
there. He could not possibly have done so.”
“Well, all I can say is,” said Miss Grace, “that, if that’s a fact,
this is the only house in these parts in which King Charles II. didn’t
sleep after the battle of Worcester. And that being so, I don’t see why
we haven’t as much right to him as anybody else. But keep your eye on
Toddles, won’t you, Father. Breakfast at half-past ten, boys. That’s
when you like it, I know. Be good. Ta-ta.”
Amid a volley of “good-nights” and “ta-tas” this extremely popular
young person went to bed. Loth as I am to say it, even her father did
not see fit to follow her example straight away. Events had fired him.
He drank the health of Charlie, and he smoked the health of Charlie
as sedulously as any. In fact, no man contributed more to the general
undermining of Charlie’s health than he. He told his old-time stories
of the cricket field. He also told some stories that were not of the
cricket field, but were not the less relished on that account. He
related how on one occasion on which he was bowling he killed a swallow
as it flew across the pitch. And like the thorough cricketer he was he
said that fact reminded him that he took nine wickets for sixteen in
that particular match.
Not wishing to incriminate any one, especially as two of the company
were Clerks in Holy Orders, I do not intend to make any more definite
statement in regard to the hour at which we did retire, than to say
that it was after ten. But then no household in England could have
had quite such provocation. Two members of one family going out with
Stoddart to represent the Old Country in the autumn! It was enough to
make an anchorite forego his way of life.
The summer dawn was on the trees and peeping through the blinds when at
last the Optimist and I appeared in the chamber of King Charles. The
birds in their dew-steeped branches were twittering to the meadows and
the cows. A cool, early fragrance came through the open windows and
filled the room. Therefore, when the Optimist and I climbed into our
several beds of white, sweet-smelling linen, and the young sun threw
a stray beam or two upon our pillows, the luxury of lying awake was
so much greater than that of going to sleep, that after spending ten
ineffectual minutes in trying to do so, I gave it up as hopeless.
“Brightside,” said I, at the end of that period, “are you asleep yet?”
“Not much, and shan’t be,” said he.
“I wonder why we are like this?” said I. “Seems funny, don’t it. Don’t
feel a bit tired, do you?”
“No,” said he, “only in the throat. Pollies and Scotches always make it
feel a bit weary. But don’t those Trenthams touch ’em pretty. Awf’ly
nice chaps though, aren’t they? Extends to their feminine faction too.
I wonder why we can’t go to sleep? Does seem funny, as you say.”
“Don’t it,” said I. “Have you any ’bacca? mine’s all cleared.”
The Optimist reached for his coat and presently dropped his pouch on to
my eye. Thereon I sat up in bed and lit a pipe.
“By the way,” said I, “I want to ask you what colour you’d call Grace’s
complexion?”
“Haven’t noticed it particularly,” said he, suppressing a yawn.
“Brightside,” said I severely, “don’t lie. And don’t yawn, because when
you yawn you still lie.”
“Girls are a topic that bores one, you know,” said he. “But I s’pose
you did pop it. She seemed rather familiar. She called you Dimmy.”
“You noticed that?” said I.
“Everybody noticed it,” said he. “And _did_ you pop it?”
“Like a brick,” said I.
“Then you’d better tell me all about it,” said he, exposing his hand
at last. “Then perhaps we shall both feel sleepier.”
Thereupon, without the exercise of the least piece of pressure, I
entered on a flowing, exhaustive and frank relation.