Now Miss Shirley St. George was little sister to George Tarlyon, whom I
think I’ve told you about.
One morning Hugo arose from his bed in the chambers, which he could not
afford, and directed the valet, whom he could not afford, to send this
telephone message: “Major Cypress desires to see Lord Tarlyon at his
club at once.”
“Lord Tarlyon,” came the answer, “will see Major Cypress at Lord
Tarlyon’s club at Lord Tarlyon’s convenience, and desires Major Cypress
to stand at attention when speaking to him.”
There are many clubs in Saint James’s Street, but there is one in
particular, towards the northern part, much referred to by biographers
of persons of _ton_ of more elegant times. Thither, that morning at a
reasonable hour, went Major Cypress, very thoughtfully. Tarlyon was
there. Tarlyon was always there, at a reasonable hour.
“Bronx or Martini, Hugo?”
“Sherry, thanks.”
“Nice morning, Hugo. Up late last night?”
“No,” said Major Cypress. “No. I was not up late last night, George. And
if you really want to know, I think it is a very classy morning.”
“Well,” said Tarlyon, “you can’t say fairer than that, old man.”
Silence....
“Sir,” said Major Cypress, “have I your permission to pay my addresses
to your little sister with a view to a matrimonial entanglement?”
“Ho!” said Tarlyon.
“What the devil do you mean by saying ‘Ho!’ when I ask you if I can pay
my----”
“You can pay her what you like,” said Tarlyon sulkily.
“I thank you,” said Hugo.
“But,” said Tarlyon, “can you pay her anything at all? Major Cypress,
are you in a position to support a wife?”
“Well, I never!” gasped Hugo. “I’m on half-pay, man!”
“Ho!” said Tarlyon. “I withdraw my consent. I hate to be unkind to
majors, but I’m afraid I must. How are you going to live, man?”
“Can’t worry about cheques in Paradise, George.”
“Good for you, old Hugo! Very pretty. Bronx or Martini?”
“Sherry, thanks. George, you don’t know what love is....”
“Keep nothing from me, Hugo. What is love? Ah, what is love? I insist on
being told....”
“Love,” said Hugo, “is proposing to Shirley five times in five months
and being rejected five times in five months.... O God!”
“What did the girl say?”
“Say! She laughed at me, George. Five times running! ‘Dear Hugo....’
That’s what she said!”
“Poor old Hugo!”
“She said, George, that she could never, never marry me....”
“Well, damn it, man, you didn’t take that lying down, did you! And you a
Major!”
“I took it lightly, George. I smiled. I distinctly remember smiling. O
God!”
“I _am_ so sorry, Hugo! I really am, you know. Honestly, old man, I’d
sooner have you for a brother-in-law than any man alive--except,
perhaps, a Rockefeller.”
“Money, George, isn’t everything.”
“You’re right there, old man. Your money is completely nothing, anyhow.
What’s your next step? Orchids?”
“I am no good at those Dago tricks, George.”
“Shirley’s very partial to carnations, old man.”
“No, George. Not even carnations. She’d laugh at me. She’d say ‘dear
Hugo’....”
“Well, old man, you might go further and hear worse. It’s purple
carnations she’s especially fond of it, by the way.”
“George, I’m going to try just once again--without carnations. Just once
more, old man. And I thought I’d get your backing.”
“Full and square, Hugo, it’s with you. The cheek of that girl! Shall I
ring her up and....”
“For God’s sake, don’t! But you’re a good fellow, George.... I say, if
she refuses me again I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“Have a drink, old man. Bronx, sherry, or Martini?”
“No more, thanks.”
“Well, best of luck, old man!”
“Thank you, George. Good-bye.”
“See you this evening?”
“Look here, old man, I don’t want to be dramatic and all that, but you
may never see me again.” And Hugo was stone-cold serious. He was
probably the most serious man in England at that moment. “Good-bye, old
man. Thanks so much.”
“Just a moment.” And George Tarlyon went to the writing-table, rapidly
wrote a short note, and put the envelope into Hugo’s hand.
“Give that to Shirley,” said he. But Hugo looked suspicious.
“It’s about the theatre to-night,” explained Tarlyon. “I’m taking her to
_Loyalties_, to improve her mind.”
“Ah,” said Hugo. “_Loyalties!_ Ah! Jew play. Very improving.” Hugo
thought weightily.
“Look here,” said Hugo, “you know about these things--you were born to
be a co-respondent, George. Got any tips to give a chap?”
“There’s only one, old Hugo--take ’em young and treat ’em rough. Hairy,
primitive man business, you know. ‘Come here, woman, and I’ll learn you’
stuff. But it works better with some than with others, and it’s rather
risky. You might try giving her a thick ear, though--only in fun, of
course. Cat playing with mouse _motif_. Tender brutality’s your line,
Hugo. Many a good woman’s been won by a little tender brutality
tastefully applied. Just put it to her gently that you’ll give her a
thick ear unless she accepts you. You can always lead the conversation
to ears, somehow.... Well, good-bye. Luck, Hugo. Hey, don’t forget your
hat!”