BOBO began her bloater.
"Why the beast has a hard roe!" she cried. "COKALEEK, you shall have the
roe;" and she dropped it into his tea before he could object. "You're
not eating any breakfast. Put the mustard-spoon in his mouth, BILL, if
he insists upon keeping it wide open while he stares at me. Ain't I
fascinating this morning? Why the devil don't you notice the new feather
in my hat? I always wear feathers when I'm going out clubbing, because I
plume myself upon being smart. Here, somebody see if my spur's screwed
on all right."
"I wish your head was screwed on half as well," said BILL, as BOBO
planted her handsome Pinet boot, No. 31z, on the breakfast-table.
COKALEEK looked on and smiled, with his mouth still open. It was all he
had to do in life. He had married her because she was BOBO; and the more
she out-Bobo'd BOBO, the better she pleased him. He was a marquis, and a
millionaire, but he had only one drawing-room at his country-seat; and
the smoking-room was upstairs--obviously because there was no room for
it on the ground-floor. And there was only one piano in the house, at
which BOBO'S gifted young friend, SALLIE RENGAW, was engaged in the
early morning, picking out an original funeral march with one finger,
and throwing breakfast-eggs about in the fury of inspiration.
An _oeuf à la coque_ came flying across the passage at this moment,
through the open door of the dining-room, and hit BILL SPLINTER on the
nose. BILL was COKALEEK'S first-cousin, and heir-presumptive; in love,
_pour le bon motif_, with BOBO.
"You should always give SALLIE poached eggs," he remonstrated, holding
his nose; "they make a worse mess when she pitches them about, but they
only hurt the furniture."
"Does she always chuck eggs?" asked COKALEEK, mildly.
It was BOBO'S first autumn at Cokaleek House, and the Marquis wasn't
used to the ways of her gifted friends. She had another friend, besides
the musical lady, a Miss MIRANDA SKEGGS, whose conversation was like a
bad dream; and these two, with BILL SPLINTER, were the house-party.
COKALEEK, waking suddenly from an after-dinner nap, used to think he was
in Hanwell.
"She chucks anything," answered BOBO; "kidneys, chops, devilled bones.
How can she help it? That's the divine afflatus."
"It _sounds_ like ta-ra-ra-boomdeay," said COKALEEK, who thought his
wife meant the melody that SALLIE'S muscular forefinger was thumping out
on the concert-grand.
"Come, come along, every manjack of you!" shrieked SALLIE, from the
other side of the passage. "Ain't this glorious? Ain't it majestic?
Don't it bang BEETHOVEN, and knock SULLIVAN into a cocked-hat? Hark at
this! Ta-ra-ra! _largo_, for the hautboys and first fiddles. Boom!
cornets and ophicleides. De----ay! bassoons, double-basses, and
minute-guns on the big drum. There's a funeral march for you! With my
learned orchestration it will be as good as SEBASTIAN BACH."
"Back? Why he's never been here in my time," faltered COKALEEK. "I don't
know any feller called SEBASTIAN."
"Rippin'!" cried BOBO; "and now we'll have the funeral. Get all the
cloaks and umbrellas off the stand, MIRANDA. BILL, bring me the
coal-scuttle--that's for the coffin, doncherknow. COKALEEK, you and BILL
are to be a pair of black horses; and me and MIRANDA 'll be the
mourners. Play away, SALLIE, with all your might. We're doing the
funeral."
Out flew BOBO into the garden, driving BILL and COKALEEK before her,
scattering coals all over the gravel walk, and slashing at the two men
with her pocket-handkerchief. She rushed all round the house, past the
windows of the back parlour, kitchen, and scullery; and then she
suddenly remembered the cub-hunting, and tore off to the stables,
tally-ho-ing to COKALEEK and BILL to follow her. The next thing they all
saw was a shower of baking-pears tumbling off the garden-wall, as BOBO
took it on her favourite hunter. She had been essentially BOBO all that
morning.