UNWARRANTABLE BEHAVIOR OF TOBIAS
The old lady sat very upright to receive her niece.
It is regrettable to have to state that a subtle air of triumph was
hovering around Mr. Marchbanks as he announced Miss Perry. For that
irresponsible person still retained her hooded cloak, the preposterous
hat was there in all its _naïveté_, her frock looked more shrunken and
her cobbled boots more conspicuous than ever; and in her left hand the
wicker basket tied with string was very firmly borne.
The old lady mounted her eyeglass as a preliminary measure. She gazed
at her _protégée_ with a resolution that was almost awful. But it took
more than this to defeat Miss Perry.
“Oh, how do you do?” said that irresponsible person, coming forward
and completely enveloping the old lady and her gentlewoman in a most
gracious beam. “I hope you are quite well.”
The presiding genius of the blue drawing-room looked Miss Perry up
and looked Miss Perry down, from the crown of the luckless hat to the
soles of the cobbled boots. At a disdainful leisure the Amazonian
proportions, which the general inadequacy of the outgrown garments
seemed to accentuate, sank into the ruthless critic. The grim old mouth
relaxed in frank astonishment.
“Dear me!” it said, “how uncomfortable.”
Miss Perry was not really abashed, although the turban, the eyeglass,
the ebony cane, the hawklike features, and the general day-of-judgment
demeanor certainly gave pause to that Featherbrain. At least, she
opened her blue eyes very wide and gripped her wicker basket very
firmly.
The old lady’s truculent gaze fell upon that unfortunate accompaniment.
“What, pray, is that contrivance?” she demanded.
Miss Perry tucked the wicker basket under her arm.
“Oh, if you please, Aunt Caroline,” said she, with a drawl that was
really irresistibly foolish, “this is Tobias.”
“Tobias,” said the old lady, suspiciously. “Who pray, and what, pray,
is Tobias?”
Perhaps it is right to mention that the old lady was not alone in her
suspiciousness. It was shared by Ponto. That overfed quadruped, having
made a very good luncheon indeed, was curled up at the feet of his
mistress. Yet at the mere mention of Tobias, whether by an association
of ideas, or by a process of mental telepathy peculiar to the dumb
creation, I am not prepared to say, but Ponto began to grow decidedly
restless.
“I trust,” said the old lady, viewing the wicker basket with an
increasing disfavor, “that Tobias is not any kind of an animal.”
As if to corroborate his mistress, Ponto opened his eyes and began to
grow uncommonly wide-awake.
“Tobias is just a sweet,” said Miss Perry, with a charming air of
reassurance. “He is just an old precious.”
The old lady looked so positively arctic as she addressed the custodian
of Tobias that both Miss Burden and Mr. Marchbanks were chilled to the
marrow.
“If Tobias is a living thing,” said the old lady, “and I have every
reason to believe that it is, I forbid it the blue drawing-room. And I
consider it an act of gross impertinence----”
However, before the old lady could conclude a speech which was
intended to exterminate both Tobias and his custodian, there befell a
most melancholy occurrence. Whether Tobias, growing incensed at his
excommunication, became violent in his basket, or whether his custodian
was so much distressed thereby as to relax her hold upon it, will never
be known with any degree of certainty. But what happened was this.
Right in the middle of the old lady’s ruthless deliverance upon the
subject the wicker basket fell with a thud onto the Persian carpet.
At the same instant the lid fell off in the most dramatic manner.
Two yellow shin pads, which had seen service in the hockey field,
and a long, lean brown body flew out together. Miss Burden screamed;
and incredible as it may appear, Ponto shot straight up the window
curtains, and feeling dear life to be at stake balanced himself very
precariously upon the pole at the top.
Miss Burden approached the verge of hysteria. Mr. Marchbanks seemed
overwhelmed. As for the custodian of Tobias, she picked up the yellow
shin pads with spacious and charming unconcern, quite as if nothing
had happened. The old lady’s nerves were undoubtedly shaken; all
the same she retained the perfect command of a lively and vigorous
self-possession.
She gathered her black silk dress about her, and poised her ebony
walking-stick determinedly, and then she stormed.
“What is it?” she demanded. “Is it a snake?”
Miss Burden screamed.
Miss Perry replaced the yellow shin pads in the wicker basket with a
leisureliness which was highly reassuring.
“Speak, girl,” stormed the old lady. “I repeat, what is it? If you have
dared to introduce a reptile into my drawing-room you shall both leave
this house immediately.”
Even this decree did not perturb Miss Perry. She still preserved her
constitutional obliviousness to anything in the nature of commotion.
“Oh no, dear Aunt Caroline,” she drawled. “Tobias is not a snake. He is
only a ferret.”
The old lady snorted blood and fire.
“A ferret!” she stormed. “I positively forbid ferrets in my
drawing-room. Marchbanks, remove it immediately, and then have the
goodness to fetch down Ponto from the curtain-pole.”
Now, although Mr. Marchbanks was a strong, silent man he did not quite
know how to grapple with the situation. To begin with, although his
experience of men and things was very wide, it has to be confessed that
he had never handled a ferret in his life. And, again, it was not easy
to know where Tobias had got to.
“Remove it immediately,” stormed the old lady.
Mr. Marchbanks stooped very cautiously to peer under the table. To his
infinite relief Tobias was not there.
However, the hawklike eyes of his mistress very quickly detected the
whereabouts of the alien presence.
“It is behind the window curtains.”
Mr. Marchbanks approached the window curtains very warily. But even
then he was unable to see Tobias.
“There it is,” said his mistress. “In the corner there. Approach
quietly. And if you value your fingers be careful where you put them.”
Mr. Marchbanks appeared to value his fingers so much that nothing
seemed farther from his intention than to bring them into the vicinity
of Tobias.
“Why don’t you do as you are told, man? There it is in the corner,
straight in front of your nose.”
Mr. Marchbanks, however, still seemed wholly unable to locate Tobias.
It was left to Miss Perry to play the part of the goddess out of
the machine. That Scatterbrain, having at last clearly realized the
situation, came forward to the window curtains, open basket in hand, in
the friendliest and most reassuring manner.
“He is just a sweet,” she said to Mr. Marchbanks. “He never bites a
soul if you take him round the throat gently. There he is, the duckums!”
Mr. Marchbanks appeared still unable to see Tobias.
“Do you think,” said Miss Perry, “I had better take him myself?”
“Yes, girl,” stormed the old lady, “I think you had better.”
Mr. Marchbanks, who seemed to share the opinion of his mistress,
stepped back haughtily several paces.
“Come along, then,” said Miss Perry, cooing to the window curtains.
“Come along, Toby, then.” She knelt down and began to grope. “Come
along, Toby, boy. There he is, the sweet!”
Very deftly she made a grab at the lurking, lean, brown form of Tobias,
took him by the throat, popped him into the open basket, and fastened
down the lid.
“He wouldn’t bite a soul,” she said, rising to her full height, with a
smile of invincible friendliness. “He is just a precious.”
“Carry it into the hall!” cried the old lady. “Marchbanks, fetch down
Ponto.”
Poised very insecurely upon a chair, Mr. Marchbanks found it not
altogether easy to induce Ponto to quit his place of refuge. At length,
however, he was able to restore the quivering quadruped to his
mistress.
In the meantime Miss Perry, with affectionate pride, had carried the
wicker basket into the hall.
“Burden,” said the old lady, truculently, “that girl ought to be
flogged.”
Upon the return of Miss Perry, with uplifted finger, the old lady
ordered her to approach.
“Come here, girl,” said she. “I think your behavior is disgraceful.
Were you brought up in a barn?”
Such a direct and ruthless mode of address caused a blush to overspread
the extremely picturesque countenance of Miss Perry. Quite suddenly her
great blue eyes swam with tears.
“Tobias did not mean any harm,” said she. “He _is_ such a sweet. It was
not his fault that I dropped the basket.”
“Let us have no more of Tobias,” said the old lady. “Now
understand”--the finger went up again--“upon no pretext whatever will I
allow in future a ferret to enter my drawing-room. I really--I--upon my
word----!”
The old lady subsided in an incoherent gurgle of indignation.
Meanwhile, the sight of tears, as was always the case, had moved the
tender heart of Miss Burden.
“Dear Lady Crewkerne,” said she, “Miss Perry has had a long journey. I
feel sure she must be tired. Would she not like a little refreshment?”
The mention of the word refreshment seemed unmistakably to touch a
responsive chord in the susceptible mechanism of Miss Perry.
“Bring some tea,” said the old lady to Mr. Marchbanks very gruffly. And
then to the culprit she said with tremendous austerity, “Would you like
something to eat?”
“Oh yes, please,” said Miss Perry. At the same moment she mopped up her
tears with an absurdly small handkerchief with a blue-spotted border.
“What do you eat, as a rule?” said the old lady, with a sarcasm that
was not in the least obvious to Miss Perry.
“I eat bread and jam, as a rule,” said Miss Perry, with a promptitude
that was delightfully persuasive.
“Humph,” said the old lady. She measured Miss Perry with her grim old
eyes as though she were a rare specimen in the Zoölogical Garden.
“Bread and jam,” said she. And then, with an air of really tremendous
sarcasm, she said for the guidance of a discreet spectator, “Have the
goodness, Marchbanks, to bring some bread and jam.”
The old lady made a second survey of Miss Perry, from the crown of the
luckless straw hat to the soles of the cobbled boots, while the object
of it folded up neatly the handkerchief with the spotted border and
returned it to a mysterious pocket. She then stood wondering what was
going to happen in a singularly solemn manner.
“Sit down,” said the old lady.
Miss Perry sat down spaciously upon a chair that was particularly
fragile.
“The most uncomfortable creature I have ever seen,” said the old lady
in an aside to her gentlewoman. “Quite out of place in a drawing-room.”
And then to Miss Perry: “Have you ever been in a drawing-room before?”
“Oh yes,” said Miss Perry.
“Where?” said the old lady.
“We have one at home,” drawled Miss Perry, “but it is only a little
one.”
“Ah,” said the old lady. “And where is your home, pray?”
“I live at the Parsonage at Slocum Magna,” said Miss Perry.
“Humph!” said the old lady. “Some kind of clerical bear-garden, I
presume.”
The providential reappearance of Mr. Marchbanks came to the aid of Miss
Perry. He bore a massive silver tray with an equally massive silver
teapot upon it. There was also an exquisite plate of old blue china.
Upon this were five tiny pieces of bread and butter, each a little
larger than Miss Perry’s thumbnail, each arranged at an artistic angle,
and each spread with a very thin layer of jam.
A beautiful table of rare Indian inlay work was set before Miss Perry.
Mr. Marchbanks placed the silver tray upon it.
Miss Perry immediately sat very upright indeed.
“Thank you so much,” said she. Her air was so charmingly sincere that
it went some way towards reconciling Mr. Marchbanks to many things.
The old lady mounted her eyeglass again. It was clear from the general
irony of her demeanor that she was expecting some kind of development.
In this expectation she was not disappointed.
For a moment Miss Perry appeared to be rather troubled by the
wafer-like texture of the bread and jam. It was only for a moment,
however. Without waiting to pour out the tea into the tiny blue
china cup that had been provided for its reception, she proceeded
very carefully to pile each of the wafer-like pieces of bread and
jam one upon another. These by their united efforts having become
a tolerable-sized morsel, Miss Perry opened her mouth with pensive
deliberation, and placed therein gently but firmly the five pieces as
one.
If there is a combination of words in the English language which
can express the manner in which the old lady turned to meet the
half-frightened gaze of her gentlewoman, it is certainly not in the
possession of her biographer. Miss Perry, however, masticated her
morsel with superb unconcern.
“Burden, have the goodness to ring the bell,” said the old lady, with
formidable politeness.
Mr. Marchbanks entered. As a preliminary measure his mistress fixed
that diplomatist with her eye. She literally dared him to move a muscle.
“Marchbanks,” said she, “have the goodness to bring another plate of
bread and jam.”
Mr. Marchbanks made a bow worthy of a reception at the Foreign Office.
“Thank you so much,” said Miss Perry.
The old lady turned to Miss Perry, who appeared to be stimulated by
the morsel she had eaten, and even more so by the prospect of another.
“By the way,” said the old lady, “where _is_ Slocum Magna?”
Miss Perry’s blue eyes, which by now were perfectly dry, opened to a
width that was astonishing. The ignorance of London people was really
very remarkable.
“Slocum Magna is the next village to Widdiford,” said Miss Perry.
“Ah, yes, the next village to Widdiford. One ought to have known.”
The manner in which Miss Perry strove to extenuate the painfully
obvious ignorance of her august and formidable relation was really a
triumph of good breeding.
“They haven’t quite got the railway at Widdiford yet, don’t you know,”
said Miss Perry, “but it is only three miles away, of course.”
“The railway is only three miles away, of course,” said the old lady,
assenting with a grim chuckle.
The arrival of the second relay of bread and jam imposed silence upon
Miss Perry. The faithfulness with which it was dealt with was quite
equal to that previously displayed. It is no exaggeration to say that
Miss Burden still looked a little frightened, while Ponto raised
himself on his forepaws with a look of open admiration.
“By the way, what is your name?” said the old lady.
A somewhat lengthy pause was necessary to enable Miss Perry to do
justice to such a leading question.
“My name is Araminta,” said she, and her drawl was carried to such a
ludicrous length that even Ponto smiled at it, although he had very
little sense of humor, “but they call me Goose because I am _rather_ a
Sil-lay.”
The beak of the old lady seemed to take an additional curve. The
hanging-judge look had never seemed so awe-inspiring.
“Your name is Araminta,” she repeated with a deliberation that was
positively sinister, “but they call you Goose because you are rather a
silly. Do they indeed!”
Miss Perry beamed upon the old lady with a comprehensiveness that was
perfectly distracting.
“I don’t think I am really a silly,” said she, as if she were quite
convinced she were not, “but Muffin says I am. It’s because I can never
remember whether Tuesday comes after Monday or whether Monday comes
after Tuesday.”
“Who, pray, is Muffin?”
“Muffin is my sister, don’t you know,” said Miss Perry. “Her name is
Elizabeth really, but we call her Muffin because she is _rather_ a
ragamuffin.”
“Humph!” said the old lady.
By nature she was grave and grim, but it was Miss Burden’s opinion that
she had never looked quite so grave and quite so grim as in the course
of this first interview with the late Lady Augusta’s second daughter.
“Burden,” said she in a truculent aside, “this comes of mixing the
breed. Polly was a born fool, but she was never equal to this. What
is to be done with the creature? It was my intention to marry her
respectably so that she might be a help to her family, who are as poor
as mice and who appear to live like pigs. But who, pray, will marry a
natural?”
Miss Burden, however, was at heart incurably lenient in her judgments.
She demurred with a vigor she seldom displayed.
“She is a singularly beautiful girl,” said Miss Burden, with
enthusiasm. “Her manner is delightfully her own, and she is formed like
a goddess and she is perfectly charming.”
“Faugh!” said the old lady, ruthlessly. “Burden, you are a born fool.
The creature is an idiot. Look at her now.”
Miss Perry had renounced her chair for political reasons. She was
sitting now in the middle of the sofa. Her lips were slightly parted
and one finger was unmistakably in her mouth. Her great blue eyes were
gazing far away into vacancy. Also they appeared to be slightly moist.
The fact was that at that moment Miss Perry was back at the Parsonage
at Slocum Magna. Her sister Polly was pouring out tea for seven in
really sensible cups, and Miss Perry herself was occupied in carving a
piece of bread according to her personal fancy. At the Parsonage it was
the very rational rule always to cut your own bread and spread your own
jam; both of which, being made at home, were among the very few things
of which you could have as much as you wanted.
It was doubtless an unfortunate moment for the higher criticism to
observe Miss Perry.
“An extraordinary creature,” said the old lady.
“I am reminded of some one,” said Miss Burden, “yet I cannot think who
it can be. It is somebody who is celebrated.”
“That abandoned straw hat!” said the old lady. “It appears to have been
originally used for carrying vegetables.”
“She reminds me of some one,” said Miss Burden, plaintively. “Who can
it be, I wonder?”
And then the unexpected happened. Mr. Marchbanks announced: “The Earl
of Cheriton.”