The failure of the members to discover the identity of Leonard—the
last problem that he had set them—meant that at the forty-ninth
meeting the prize was doubled, and a cheque for two hundred and twenty
pounds awaited the lucky winner. Leonard, formerly known as a capable
head-waiter and an astute setter of problems, had revealed himself as
the grandson and heir of the Lord Herngill who had founded the club,
and had been elected to membership. He had described himself further
as a poet. He had now travelled up from Yorkshire for the express
purpose of attending the first meeting after his election, and the
dinner with which the proceedings opened showed him, as had been
expected, a charming, accomplished, and quite amusing companion.
Young Hesseltine and the Rev. Septimus Cunliffe were, respectively,
chairman and secretary for the evening. The chairman, equipped with a
bound copy of Shakespeare, and certain other forms of refreshment,
read out the terms of the competition. They were longer than usual,
and ran as follows:—
‘Members are required, in the course of conversation, to make
undetected quotations from Shakespeare, and to detect and challenge
the quotations which are made by other members.
‘The score is two for making an undetected quotation, and one for
detecting and challenging a quotation made by another. The highest
score wins. If any member challenges as a quotation from Shakespeare
words which are not a quotation from that author, he will have one
deducted from his score. Any member with a score of minus three is out
of the game.
‘The method of challenging will be by raising one hand, when the
chairman will temporarily arrest proceedings and investigate. Where
several members raise their hands simultaneously, all will score the
detection, or be penalised for the failure, as the case may be.
Otherwise, only the first hand up can score or be penalised.
‘A quotation must consist of more than four words, or it will not rank
as a quotation. The words must be given in their correct order, but
otherwise any attempt may be made to disguise the quotation. Any
member who has made an undetected quotation should notify it to the
chairman at the earliest opportunity, while it is still fresh in the
memory.
‘Detection, to be valid, should be made immediately—say, within twenty
seconds of the utterance of the quotation.
‘The chairman will stop the competition when in his opinion all
members have had a fair and full chance of speaking, and on all
disputed points his ruling is absolute.’
‘Yes,’ said the chairman, when he had read out the above, ‘our new
problem-setter, the mysterious editor of _The Pig-Keepers’ Friend_,
seems to be rather a lengthy beggar. More like a round game than a
problem, to my mind. I can imagine literary circles playing it on
winter evenings. However, I think we’ve most of us got the hang of it.
There’s double the usual amount of boodle in the jack-pot, but all the
same I’m not sorry to be debarred from competing. I had a good deal of
Shakespeare boosted into me by schoolmasters when I was a boy, but I
fear that it ain’t stuck to me. Well, it’s all up to the high-brows
to-night. And I’ll call on our old friend Leonard, who’s our new
member, Lord Herngill, to start the ball rolling, and our padre to
keep the score as directed.’
‘Well,’ said Leonard, ‘I can’t say that I am a stranger here, but I am
certainly a new member, and very glad to be. Now, I told you that I
was a poet, but a writer of poetry is not necessarily a reader of
poetry. I can’t say whether he ought to be or not.’ He paused to
relight a cigarette. ‘To be candid——’
‘I challenge,’ said Mr Cunliffe, with uplifted hand. ‘The quotation
is, “To be or not to be,” rather cunningly broken up.’
‘Admitted,’ said Leonard.
‘Then,’ said the chairman, ‘the secretary will score one to himself.’
‘At the same time,’ said Leonard, ‘I should like him to score two to
me. The words, “I am a stranger here,” are a quotation from _King
Richard II._, Act 2, Scene iii. Northumberland speaks them. And the
quotation was not recognised.’
This was verified and found correct and the score allowed. The
chairman turned to the Hon. James Feldane, who was sitting—or, to be
accurate, reclining—in the chair next to Leonard. ‘Go ahead, Jimmy,’
he said.
‘Very well,’ said Jimmy wearily. ‘The—er—the quality of mercy——’
Five hands went into the air together.
‘Jimmy,’ said the chairman, ‘it looks as if you were pretty
considerably challenged—by five simultaneously. You, Major Byles,
being one of them, will tell us why.’
‘Why?’ exclaimed the Major. ‘Because it’s one of the best-known
quotations in Shakespeare. I won’t swear which play it comes from,
but everybody knows it. Let’s see, how does it go? “The quality
of mercy is not strained, but droppeth like the thingamy of the
something-or-other.”’
‘Any defence, Jimmy?’ asked the chairman.
‘Somewhat,’ said Jimmy. ‘I said, “The quality of mercy.” I admit it. I
glory in it. But that’s only four words, and it’s laid down that four
words do not make a quotation.’
‘That is so. I fear that the Major, Dr Alden, our only K.C., and our
two artist-members must all have a minus one recorded against them.’
‘What I was going to have said when they interrupted me was that the
quality of mercy differed in some material respects from coffee that
has been made with a percolator. Same thought as Shakey’s, but a
different mode of expression. Five of you have now lost a life through
being premature. You need to be careful. A score of minus three puts
you outside of any chance of two hundred and twenty of the very best.
And I’m dangerous to-night—I’m out for blood. The brindled cat winds
slowly o’er the lea—anybody like to challenge that?’
Wildersley said it would make a good title for an Academy picture, but
nobody asserted that it was Shakespeare—not even Jimmy.
‘You’re an unenterprising lot,’ said Jimmy disdainfully. ‘But I’ll
give you one more chance. “Satiate at length, and heightened as with
wine.” That’s more than four words. Any challengers?’
‘Yes,’ said Sir Charles, holding up his hand. ‘I don’t know for
certain, but it’s got the flavour of the period in it. Anyway, I’d
sooner lose one life than let you score a triumphant two for it.’
‘Then you’ll lose the life. It’s a quotation all right, but it happens
to be a little bit that I cut out of the best end of _Paradise Lost_,
by J. Milton, Esquire.’ And Jimmy leant back in his chair satisfied.
He had scored nothing for himself, but he had done something to spoil
the chances of six other men.
The chairman turned to Sir Charles. ‘Don’t you think that Jimmy’s an
irreverent young blackguard?’ he asked.
‘Well,’ said Sir Charles, with an air of quiet dignity. ‘Jimmy is
young and I am old. As we progress on life’s journey, we old men cease
to expect to find universal agreement with our views. We know that our
opinions are our own, but cannot be all the world’s.’ He paused and
sighed. ‘A stage or two farther on, and Jimmy may come to think, as I
do now, that——’ And here suddenly Sir Charles broke off and chuckled.
‘Well, I’m blest!’ he said. ‘I never expected to do it. I knew this
wasn’t a little nest of Shakespeareans, but I did think that you’d
spot the best-known line in Shakespeare.’
That air of pathetic dignity had merely been a bit of acting, but the
acting had been so good that it had distracted the attention from the
words. Otherwise members must have found in Sir Charles’s remarks the
well-worn tag that ‘All the world’s a stage.’ It scored two for Sir
Charles, thus putting him on the way to a win, at any rate.
A few minutes later another well-known quotation very nearly came
through unscathed. Somebody, speaking of Leonard, had said, ‘Leonard,
or Lord Herngill, whichever he prefers to be called.’
Leonard smilingly said that a rose by any other name would smell as
sweet. He admitted afterwards that he had not had the slightest
intention of quoting Shakespeare. He had merely uttered a platitude
because it happened to be apt, though as soon as he said it he
recognised his own quotation. Unfortunately for him, the Rev. Septimus
Cunliffe had also recognised it, and by challenging it added one to a
score that was growing slowly but surely. He attempted no quotation
himself, and never challenged unless he was sure. To put it plainly,
he played for safety.
‘Yes,’ said Jimmy Feldane plaintively, commenting on this incident,
‘one of the worst points about Mr W. Shakespeare is that he made such
a lot of proverbs. I don’t want to brag, but I suppose I’ve read as
little as most people, and I expect that even I don’t keep clear of
Shakespearean quotations altogether. I’m not aiming at him, but every
now and then he flies into it, so to speak.’
The supercilious Mr Quillian had provided himself with a stock of
quotations from Elizabethan dramatists other than Shakespeare, and did
deadly work with them. They were challenged, and brought the penalty
on the challengers. And having thus inspired a dread of traps, he
introduced three quotations which really were from Shakespeare, and
two of them got through undetected. Pusely-Smythe, who generally
welcomed a chance of a friendly duel with Quillian remained silent,
watching him with sardonic amusement.
The game became very strenuous. There was the closest attention in
order to spot any veritable quotation. Every strategic dodge that had
been thought of during the previous month was brought into action, to
induce a challenge that would be penalised, or to get a quotation
through undetected. Several members reached minus three, and were
ruled out.
‘This game is too much for me,’ said Mr Matthews, on losing his third
life. ‘It’s too subtle. The American game of draw-poker, with three
jokers in the pack and one of the players a crook, is simple,
transparent, and childlike compared to it. However, one of the joys of
being out of it is that I can get myself that little drink that I have
long needed.’ And he made his way to the side-table.
‘Mr Chairman,’ said Sir Charles, ‘I think a ten-minutes’ interval
would be welcome. It’s wearing work to keep on thinking what one is
saying.’
His suggestion was warmly supported and accepted by the chairman. Some
members followed the comfortable example of Mr Matthews. Some chuckled
over the clever caricatures, drawn on the back of bridge-markers, with
which Wildersley had been occupying his enforced leisure; an excess of
zeal over discretion had put him out of the game at an early stage.
All consulted the secretary’s score-sheet. Quillian was leading with a
score of nine. The secretary and Sir Charles were each at eight. Major
Byles was three, and Pusely-Smythe one. Jimmy Feldane was minus one,
and Lord Herngill—who had at one time reached the noble score of
four—had by reckless challenging brought himself to the perilous
position of minus two.
‘Can’t make it out,’ said Mr Matthews to him. ‘You used to set all our
problems. You ought to be a flyer at this kind of a game.’
‘It’s an easy job to set problems,’ said Leonard, ‘and to set them so
that you can solve them, but it’s a different thing altogether to
solve the problems that somebody else has set.’
‘Oh, well, it’s an open thing still. Quillian’s just leading, but I
don’t believe he’ll pull it off. Shan’t be surprised if old Bunford is
two hundred and twenty the richer before the evening’s out.’
Proceedings were now resumed. ‘Come, now, Pusely-Smythe,’ said the
chairman, ‘we’ve not heard much from you to-night.’
‘Afraid of being challenged?’ suggested Quillian.
‘As a rule,’ said Pusely-Smythe angrily, ‘I’m told that I am much too
venturous. However, my learned friend, if you want to talk, go on and
I will wait for you. The chairman called on me to speak, not you, and
as a matter of fact, I had a thing to say. But let it go—it may make
trouble later, and then you’ll remember I told you what would come of
this. Your blessed challenges, indeed! You may think you can do
everything, but I know you can do very little.’
Quillian stared at him aghast and perplexed.
‘Really,’ he said, ‘I don’t understand this outburst. I had not the
slightest intention——’
But here he was interrupted by Pusely-Smythe’s laughter. ‘All right,
old man,’ said Pusely-Smythe cheerily. ‘Don’t worry. It was all spoof
and part of the game. Thanks to you, I’ve just made five undetected
quotations from the work of the bard. You’re my benefactor. In fact,
as the Orientals say, you are my father and my mother, and I am the
son of a dog.’
‘Five?’ said the chairman. ‘It hardly seems possible.’
But Pusely-Smythe made out his list and it was found to be quite
correct. The five quotations were as follows:—
‘I am much too venturous,’ _King Henry VIII._, Act 1, Scene ii.
‘And I will wait for you,’ _Julius Cæsar_, Act 1, Scene ii.
‘I had a thing to say—but let it go,’ _King John_, Act 3, Scene iii.
‘I told you what would come of this,’ _The Winter’s Tale_, Act 4,
Scene iii.
‘I know you can do very little,’ _Coriolanus_, Act 2, Scene i.
‘It’s a great _coup_,’ said the chairman. ‘It puts you right at the
head of the list. Closing time is imminent, gentlemen. So if you have
anything else to say, get on with it.’
‘Well,’ said Quillian, ‘somebody ought to have spotted him. It’s
really more our carelessness than his cleverness. But I should imagine
that’s the last undetected quotation he will be able to get through
to-night. You’re a watched man now.’
‘By Jove, yes,’ said the Major.
‘Since you talk like that,’ said Pusely-Smythe, smiling. ‘I will make
another quotation. By the way, how long will you give me? I should
have asked you that before, of course.’
‘Five minutes,’ said the Major. ‘And then perhaps we might close the
competition, if the chairman sees fit.’
A general agreement was reached on this point, and Pusely-Smythe was
enjoined by the chairman to get on with it.
‘I’ve finished, thanks,’ said Pusely-Smythe. ‘The words, “I should
have asked you that before,” are a quotation from a play called _Romeo
and Juliet_. It’s the second scene of the first act—Romeo speaking.’
The quotation was verified, and advanced Pusely-Smythe’s score to
thirteen—a lucky number for once—thus leaving him an easy winner.
‘And,’ said young Hesseltine, the chairman, as he handed him the
cheque, ‘considering the way you must have sweated through tons and
tons of absolute Shakespeare during the month, in order to pick out
the little bits that didn’t look like quotations, I’m not sure that
you haven’t earned about five per cent. of it.’
The chairman now opened the sealed envelope containing the problem for
the next month. In this the talented editor of _The Pig-Keepers’
Friend_ had been quite brief. It was entitled ‘The Impersonation
Problem,’ and the terms of it were as follows:—
‘It is required to be mistaken for six different people in the course
of one hour.’
‘He don’t use any unnecessary words about it,’ said Mr Matthews.
But it may be remembered that the editor of _The Pig-Keepers’ Friend_
was also a poet—and real poets never use unnecessary words.
No. VIII.