WILLIAM SPOILS THE PARTY
The Botts were going to give a fancy dress dance at the Hall on New
Year’s Eve, and William and all his family had been invited. The
inviting of William, of course, was the initial mistake, and if only
the Botts had had the ordinary horse sense (it was Robert, who said
this) not to invite William the thing might have been a success. It
wasn’t as if they didn’t know William. If they hadn’t known William,
Robert said, one might have been sorry for them, but knowing William
and deliberately inviting him to a fancy dress dance--well, they jolly
well deserved all they got.
On the other hand William’s own family didn’t ... and it was jolly hard
lines on them (again I quote Robert).... Knowing that they had William
all day and every day at home, anyone would think they’d have had the
decency to invite them out without him.... I mean whatever you said
or whatever you did, you couldn’t prevent it ... he spoilt your life
wherever he went.
But the Botts (of Botts’ Famous Digestive Sauce) had a ballroom that
held 200 guests and they wanted to fill it. Moreover the Botts had a
cherished daughter of tender years named Violet Elizabeth, and Violet
Elizabeth with her most engaging lisp and that hint of tears that was
her most potent weapon, had said that she wanted her friendth to be
invited too an’ she’d thcream an’ thcream an’ _thcream_ till she was
_thick_ if they din’t invite her friendth to the party too....
“All right, pet,” had said Mr. Bott soothingly, “After all we may as
well give a real slap-up show while we’re about it and swell out the
whole place--kids an’ all.”
Mr. Bott was “self-made” and considering all things had made quite a
decent job of himself, but his manners had not “the repose that stamps
the caste of Vere de Vere.” Violet Elizabeth on the other hand had been
brought up from infancy in the lap of luxury and refinement provided by
the successful advertising of Botts’ Famous Digestive Sauce.
* * * * *
The delight with which Robert and Ethel (William’s elder brother and
sister) received the invitation to the fancy dress dance was, as I have
said, considerably tempered by the fact of William’s inclusion in the
invitation. And William, with his natural perversity, was eager to go.
“Any show we _want_ him to go to,” said Robert bitterly, “he raises
Cain about, but when a thing like this comes along--a thing that he’ll
completely spoil for us if he comes like he always does----” he spread
out his arm with the eloquent gesture of one tried almost beyond
endurance, and left the sentence unfinished.
“Well, let’s accept for ourselves, and say that William can’t go
because he’s got a previous engagement,” suggested Ethel.
“But I haven’t,” said William indignantly, “I haven’t got anything
at all wrong with me. I’m quite well. An’ I _want_ to go. I don’ see
why everyone else should go but me. Besides,” using an argument that
he knew would appeal to them, “you’ll all be there an’ you’ll be able
to see I’m not doing anything wrong, but if I was alone at home you
wouldn’t know what I was doing. Not,” he added hastily, “that I _want_
to do anything wrong. All I want to do is to make others happy. An’
I’ll have a better chance of doin’ that at a party than if I was all
alone at home.”
These virtuous sentiments did but increase the suspicious distrust of
his family. The general feeling was that far worse things happened when
William was out to be good than when he was frankly out to be bad.
“Oh, I think William must go,” said Mrs. Brown in her placid voice. “It
will be so interesting for him and I’m sure he’ll be good.”
Mrs. Brown’s rather pathetic faith in William’s latent powers of
goodness was unshared by any other of his family.
“Anyway,” she went on hastily, seeing only incredulity on the faces
around her, “the thing to do now is to decide what we’re all going as.”
“I think I’ll go as a lion,” said William. “I should think you could
buy a lion skin quite cheap.”
“Oh, _quite!_” said Robert sarcastically. “Why not shoot one while
you’re about it?”
“Yes, an’ I will,” said William, “’f you’ll show me one. I bet my bow
and arrow could kill a few lions.”
“No William, darling,” interposed Mrs. Brown again quickly, “I think
you’d find a lion skin too hot for a crowded room.”
“But I wun’t go into the room,” said William, “I want to crawl about
the garden in it roarin’ an’ springin’ out at folks--scarin’ ’em.”
“And you just said you wanted to go to make people _happy_,” said
Robert sternly.
“Well that’d make ’em happy,” said William unabashed, “it’d be _fun_
for ’em.”
“_Not_ a lion, darling,” said his mother firmly.
“Well a brigand then,” suggested William, “a brigand with knives all
over me.”
Mrs. Brown shuddered.
“_No_, William.... I believe Aunt Emma has a fancy dress suit of
Little Lord Fauntleroy that Cousin Jimmie once wore. I expect she’d
lend it, but I’m not sure whether it wouldn’t be too small.”
Wild shouts greeted this suggestion.
“Well,” William said offended, “I don’ know who he was but I don’ know
why you should think me bein’ him so funny.”
The Little Lord Fauntleroy suit proved too small much to the relief of
William’s family, but another cousin was found to have a Page’s costume
which just fitted William. But it certainly did not suit him. As Mrs.
Brown put it, “I don’t know quite what’s wrong with the costume but
somehow it looks so much more attractive off than on.”
Robert was to go as Henry V and Ethel as Night.
William to his delight found that all the members of his immediate
circle of friends (known to themselves as the Outlaws) had been invited
to the fancy dress dance. All had wished to go as animals or brigands
or pirates, but family opposition and the offer of the loan of costumes
from other branches of their families had been too strong in every
case. Ginger was to be an Ace of Clubs, Henry a Gondolier (“dunno what
it is,” remarked Henry despondently, “but you bet it’s nothing exciting
or they wouldn’t have let me be it”). Douglas was to be a Goat Herd
(“It’s an ole Little Boy Blue set-out,” he explained mournfully, “but I
said I wouldn’t go if they didn’t call it something else. Not but what
everyone’ll _know_,” he ended gloomily).
“An’ we could’ve been brigands s’easy, s’easy,” said Ginger
indignantly. “Why, you only want a shirt an’ a pair of trousers an’
a coloured handkerchief round your head an’ a scarf thing round your
waist with a few knives an’ choppers an’ things on it.... No trouble at
all for them, an’ they jus’ won’t let us--jus’ cause we want to.”
There was a short silence. Then William spoke. “Well, _let’s_,” he
said, “let’s get Brigands things an’ change into ’em when we’ve got
there. They’ll never know. They’ll never notice. We’ll hide ’em in
the old summer house by the lake an’ go an’ change there, an’--an’ we
won’t wear their rotten ole Boy Blues an’ Gondowhatevritis. We’ll be
Brigands.”
“We’ll be Brigands,” agreed the Outlaws joyfully.
* * * * *
The Botts were having a large house party for the occasion.
“Lord Merton is going to be there,” said Mrs. Brown to her husband,
looking up from her usual occupation of darning socks, as he entered
the room. “Just fancy! He’s in the Cabinet! Mr. Bott’s got to know
his son in business and he’s coming down for it and going to stay the
night.”
“_That_ fellow!” snorted Mr. Brown, “he ought to be shot.” Mr. Brown’s
political views were always very decided and very violent. “He’s
ruining the country.”
“Is he, dear?” said Mrs. Brown in her usual placid voice. “But I’m
sure he’ll look awfully nice as a Toreador. She says he’s going as a
Toreador.”
“Toreador!” snorted Mr. Brown, “very appropriate too. He _is_ a
Toreador!--and we’re the--bull. I tell you that man’s policy is
bringing the country to rack and ruin. When you’re dying of starvation
you can think of the fellow Toreadoring--Toreador indeed! I wonder
decent people have him in their houses. Toreador indeed. I tell you
he’s bleeding the country to death. He ought to be hung for murder.
That man’s policy, I tell you, is wicked--_criminal_. Leave him alone
and in ten years time he’ll have wiped out half the population of
England by slow starvation. He’s killing trade. He’s _ruining_ the
country.”
“Yes, dear,” murmured Mrs. Brown, “I’m sure you’re right.... I think
these blue socks of yours are almost done, don’t you?”
“_Ruining_ it!” snorted Mr. Brown, going out of the room and slamming
the door.
William looked up from the table where he was engaged theoretically in
doing his homework. Practically he was engaged in sticking pins into
the lid of his pencil case.
“Why’s he not in prison if he’s like that?” said William.
“Who, darling?” said Mrs. Brown, “your father?”
“No, the man he was talking about. And what’s a Toreador?”
“Oh ... a man who fights bulls.”
William’s spirits rose.
“Will there be bulls there?”
“I hope not, dear.”
“Shall I go as a bull? It seems silly to have a Tor--what you said,
without a bull. I could easy get a bull skin. I ’spect the butcher’d
give me one.”
Mrs. Brown shuddered.
“No dear, most certainly not. Now do get on with your homework.”
William, having fixed all his pins except one into the lid, now took
the last pin and began to twang them with it. They made different
noises according as they were twanged near the head or near the point.
Mrs. Brown looked up, then bent her head again over her darning ...
what funny things they taught children nowadays, she thought.
* * * * *
The day of the dance drew nearer. Robert was still feeling sore at the
prospect of William’s presence. He relieved his feelings by jeering
at William’s costume. William himself, as it happened, was not quite
happy about the costume. It was a long stretch from the animal skin and
Brigand’s apparel of his fancy to this pale blue sateen of reality.
When he heard a visitor, to whom Mrs. Brown showed it, say that it was
“picturesque” his distrust of it grew deeper.
Robert was never tired of alluding to it. “Won’t William look sweet?”
he would say, and “Don’t frown like that, William. That won’t go with
the little Prince Charming costume at all.”
William accepted these taunts with outward indifference, but no one
insulted William with impunity. Robert might have taken warning from
past experiences....
When not engaged in tempting the Fates by teasing William, Robert was
engaged in trying to win the affection of a female epitome of all
the virtues and graces who had come to stay with the Crewes for the
dance. This celestial creature was called Glory Tompkins. Robert called
her Gloire as being more romantic. At least he spelt it Gloire but
pronounced it Glor. Through Robert’s life there passed a never-ending
procession of young females endowed with every beauty of form and soul.
To each one in turn he sincerely vowed eternal fidelity. Each one was
told in hoarse accents how from now onwards his whole life would be
dedicated to making himself more worthy of her. Then after a week or
two her startling perfection would seem less startling, and someone
yet more perfect would dawn upon the horizon, shattering poor Robert’s
susceptible soul yet again. Fortunately the fidelity of these youthful
radiant beings was about on a par with Robert’s own.... Anyway Glory
was the latest, and Robert called on the Crewes every evening to tell
Glory with his eyes (the expression that he fondly imagined to express
lifelong passion as a matter of fact was suggestive chiefly of acute
indigestion) or with his lips how empty and worthless his life had been
till he met her....
William had his eye on the affair. He generally followed Robert’s
love affairs with interest, though it was difficult to keep pace with
them. A handle against Robert was useful and more than once Robert’s
love affairs had afforded useful handles. Robert’s physical size
and strength made William wary in his choice of weapons, but it was
generally William who scored....
* * * * *
On the day before the dance Robert had written a note to Miss Tompkins.
“BELOVED GLOIRE (Robert preferred writing Gloire to saying it because
he had a vague suspicion that he didn’t pronounce it quite right).
“You will know with what deep feelings I am looking forward to
to-morrow. Will you have the 1st and 3rd and 4th and 7th and 8th with
me. The 4th is the Blues you know that we have been practising. If
it is fine and the moon is out shall we sit out the 1st in the rose
garden on the seat by the sundial? It will be my first meeting with
you for two days and I do not want it profaned by other people, who
know and care nothing of our deep feeling for each other, all about
us. When the music starts will you be there, and just for the few
sacred moments we will tell each other all that is in our souls. Then
we will be gay for the rest of the evening, but the memory of those
few sacred minutes of the first dance in the rose garden, just you and
me and the moon and the roses, will be with us in our souls all the
evening.
“Your knight,
“ROBERT.”
He was going to take it himself though he knew that his idol had gone
away for the day. However a friend hailed him just as he was setting
out, so he put the note on the hatstand and went out to join his
friend, meaning to take the note later.
He met William just coming in.
“Hello, little page----” he said in mock affection.
William looked at him, his brows drawn into a frown, his most
sphinx-like expression upon his freckled face. William’s stubbly hair
as usual stood up around his face like a halo.... William was not
beautiful.
Robert, whistling gaily, went down the steps to join his friend at the
gate.
William took up the note, read the address, and went into the
drawing-room where Mrs. Brown was, as usual, darning socks.
“Sh’ I take this note for Robert?” he said, assuming his earnestly
virtuous expression. Mrs. Brown was touched.
“Yes, dear,” she said, “how thoughtful of you.”
An hour later Robert returned. “I say,” he said, “where’s that note? I
left a note here. Has it been taken round?”
“Yes, dear,” said Mrs. Brown absently.
At that moment William was sitting on a gate far from the main road
reading the note. On his face was a smile of pure bliss. There was a
look of purpose in his eye.
* * * * *
The evening arrived. William as a Page, Ginger as Ace of Clubs, Douglas
as a Goat Herd, Henry as a Gondolier, stood in a sheepish group and
were gazed at proudly by their fond mothers. They looked far from
happy, but the thought of the Brigands’ clothes concealed in the summer
house comforted them. Robert as Henry V was having a good deal of
trouble with his costume. He had closed the vizor of his helmet and
it refused to open. Several of his friends were trying to force it.
Muffled groans came from within.
[Illustration: “JUST TO THINK, DARLING,” MURMURED ROBERT, “THAT LAST
WEEK I DIDN’T KNOW YOU. YOU’VE GIVEN A NEW MEANING TO MY LIFE.”]
Violet Elizabeth was dressed as a Star. She was leaping up and down and
squeaking, “Look at me. I’m a thtar!” She shed stars at every leap, and
an attendant nurse armed with needle and cotton sewed them on again.
Pierrots, peasant girls, harlequins, kings, queens, gypsies and
representatives of every nationality filled the room. It was noticed,
with no particular interest on anyone’s part, that William the Page was
no longer the centre of the sheepish group of fancy-dressed Outlaws.
William the Page had crept into the ladies’ dressing-room, and in the
temporary absence of the attendant (who was engaged in carrying on
an impromptu flirtation with a good-looking chauffeur in the drive)
he purloined a lady’s black velvet evening cloak and a filmy scarf.
Fortunately the cloak had a hood....
* * * * *
Robert, helmetless and rather purple in the face as the result of his
prolonged sojourn behind his vizor (from which he had finally been
freed by a tin opener borrowed from the kitchen), came to the rose
garden. Upon the seat that was the appointed trysting place a petite
figure was awaiting him shrouded in a cloak.
“Glory!” breathed Robert softly.
The figure seemed to sway towards him, though its face was still
completely hidden by its scarf and hood.
Robert slipped his strong arm round it, and it nestled on his shoulder.
“Just to think,” murmured Robert, “that this time last week I didn’t
know you. You’ve given an entirely new meaning to my life--I feel that
everything will be different now. I shall give up all my life to trying
to be more worthy of you----”
The figure gave a sudden snort and Robert started.
“Glor! Are you ill?”
The figure hastily emitted a deep groan.
Robert sprang up.
“Glor,” he cried in distress. “I’ll get you some water. I’ll call a
doctor. I’ll----”
He fled into the house, where he got a glass of water and actually
found a doctor--a very unhappy doctor in a hired Italian costume that
was too small for him. When he found the seat empty he turned upon
Robert indignantly.
“But she _was_ here,” said the bewildered Robert. “I left her here in
the most awful agony. My God, if she’s dead.”
“If she’s dead,” said the doctor coldly, “I’m afraid I can’t do
anything. I’m sorry to seem unsympathetic, but if you knew the pain it
causes me to walk in these clothes you’d understand my saying that I’ll
let the whole world die in awful agony before I come out here again on
your wild goose chase after dying females.”
Robert was hunting distractedly under all the bushes around the seat....
* * * * *
The Outlaws had changed their clothes. They stood arrayed as
Brigands in all the glory of coloured scarves and handkerchiefs and
murderous-looking weapons. Upon the floor lay the limp outer coating of
the Page, the Ace of Clubs, the Gondolier and the Goat Herd. They leapt
with joy and brandished kitchen choppers and bread knives and trowels.
“Now what’re we going to _do?_” said Ginger.
“Everyone else is dancing,” suggested Douglas mildly.
“_Dancing!_” repeated William scornfully. “D’you think we’ve put these
things on to _dance?_”
“Well, what’re we goin’ to do?” said Ginger.
“There’s one thing we mus’ do first of all,” said William. He spoke in
his leader’s manner and his freckled face was stern. “There’s a man
here dressed as a tor--as a bull killer.”
“A Toreador,” said Douglas with an air of superior knowledge.
William looked at him crushingly.
“Well--din’ I say that?” he said, then turning to the others. “Well,
this man, this torrydoor man’s been starvin’ folks an’ killin’ ’em. I
heard my father say so. Well, we’ve gotter _do_ something--we may never
get a chance of gettin’ him again. He’s a starver an’ a murderer, I
heard my father say so, an’ we’ve gotter _do_ something to him.”
“_How?_” said the Brigands.
“Well, you listen to me,” said William.
The Brigands gathered round.
* * * * *
William crept round the outside of the ballroom. Through the open
window came the sound of the band, and looking in, William could see
couples of gaily dancing youths and maidens in fantastic dresses. Near
one open window Henry V stood with a small and dainty Columbine.
“But it _is_ my dance with you, Glor,” Henry V was saying hoarsely. “I
wrote to you and asked you, and oh, I’m so glad that you’re better.
I’ve been through hours of agony thinking you were dead.”
“You’re absolutely mad,” Glory replied impatiently. “I’ve no idea what
you’re talking about. You never wrote and you’ve never asked me for a
dance. I’ve never seen you all evening till this minute, except in the
distance with everyone trying to pull your head off. You shouldn’t come
in a costume like that if you don’t know how to open and shut it, and
now you suddenly come and begin to talk nonsense about me being dead.”
“Glor----”
“I wish you’d _stop_ calling me by that silly name.”
“But--Glor--Glory--you _must_ have got my note. You were in the rose
garden. You let me put my arm round you. I’ve been treasuring the
memory all evening when I wasn’t racked with agony at the thought of
you being ill--or dead.”
“I _never_ met you in the rose garden. You’re _mad!_”
“I’m not. You did. Oh, Glor----”
“_Stop_ calling me that. It sounds like a patent medicine or a new
kind of metal polish ... and as you don’t care for me enough to get
a dance in decent time, and as you go mooning about the garden with
other girls--girls who seem to go dying all over the place from your
account--and pretend you think they’re me----”
“I didn’t pretend. I thought it was. It must have been. Oh, Glor----”
“_Stop_ saying that! I’ve simply finished with you. Well, if you don’t
care about me enough to know who _is_ me and--thank you, when I want
to die I’ll do it at home and not in a beastly old rose garden--so
_there_--And I’ve _finished_ with you, Robert Brown,--so _there_.”
Columbine flounced off and Henry V, pale and distraught, pursued her
with a ghostly, “Oh, Glor----”
The Brigand passed on, a faint smile on his face.
* * * * *
The Toreador had found a quiet corner in the empty smoking-room and
was relaxing his weary limbs in an arm chair. He had indulged in a
quiet smoke and was now indulging in a quiet doze.... He did not
like dancing. He did not like wearing fancy dress. He did not like
the Botts. He did not like the noise of the band. He did not like
anything....
He opened his eyes with a start, conscious of an alien presence. By his
side he saw a small and very villainous-looking Brigand with a stern
freckled face, a row of gardening tools and a carving knife round his
waist and a red handkerchief tied round his head.
“There’s a Russian wants to see you,” said the Brigand in a dramatic
whisper, “he’s waiting for you in the coach-house. He’s gotter message
for you from the Russians--private.”
The Toreador sat up and rubbed his eyes. The Brigand was still there.
“Please say it again,” said the Toreador.
“There’s a Russian wants to see you. He’s waiting for you in the
coach-house. He’s gotter message for you from the Russians,” repeated
the Brigand.
“Where did you say he was?” said the Toreador.
“In the coach-house.”
“And what do you say he’s got?”
“A message from the Russians.”
“What Russians?”
“All the Russians.”
“Good Lord!” said the Toreador. “Just pinch me, will you?”
William obeyed without a flicker of expression upon his face.
“Still here,” said the Toreador in a resigned tone of voice. “I thought
it might be a nightmare. Well, there’s no harm in going to see. What’s
he like?”
“Oh--just like a Russian,” said William vaguely. “Russian clothes an’
Russian face an’--an’--Russian boots.”
“How did he get here?”
“Walked,” said William calmly. “Walked all the way from Russia.”
“Does he speak English?”
“No. Russian.”
“How do you know what he says then?”
“I learn Russian at school,” said William with admirable presence of
mind.
“You’re a linguist,” commented the Toreador.
“No, I’m not,” corrected William, “I’m English like you.”
They were on the way to the coach-house.
“I may as well see it through,” said the Toreador. “It’s so intriguing.
It’s like Alice in Wonderland. A Russian brought a message from all the
Russians and walked all the way from Russia. He must have started when
he was quite a child. It’s better than being bored to death watching
idiots making still greater idiots of themselves.”
“This is the coach-house,” said the Brigand.
“It’s dark.”
“Yes,” said the Brigand. “He’s right in the corner over there. He’s
just having a little sleep.”
The Toreador stepped into the coach-house. The door was immediately
slammed and bolted from outside. The Toreador took out his pocket torch
and looked round the room. It was empty. No Russian in Russian boots,
etc., with a message from all the Russians slept in a corner. The only
means of exit were the door and a barred window. He went to the barred
window. Four small stern Brigands stood outside.
“I say,” said the Toreador. “Look here----”
The freckled frowning Brigand who had led him there spoke.
“We’re not going to let you out,” he said, “till you’ve promised to go
away from England and never come back.”
“But _why?_” said the Toreador. “Why should I? I know it’s all a dream.
But just tell me why I should, anyway.”
“Because you’re starvin’ an’ killin’ folks,” said the Brigand sternly.
“You’re ruinin’ the country.”
“I do hope I remember all this when I wake up,” said the Toreador,
“it’s too priceless. But look here --if you don’t let me out I’ll
kick the door down. I’ve never starved anyone and I’ve never killed
anyone, and I----”
[Illustration: “I SAY,” SAID THE TOREADOR, “IF YOU DON’T LET ME OUT
I’LL KICK THE DOOR DOWN.”]
“We don’ want to argue,” said William remembering a frequent remark of
his father’s and trying to imitate his tone of voice, “but we’re not
goin’ to let you out till you promise to go out of England and never
come back.”
[Illustration: “WE’RE NOT GOING TO LET YOU OUT,” SAID WILLIAM, “TILL
YOU PROMISE TO GO OUT OF ENGLAND, AND NEVER COME BACK.”]
With that the Brigands turned and went slowly back to the house. The
sound of a mighty kick against the coach-house door followed them into
the night.
“What we goin’ to do _now_,” said Ginger.
“Oh, jus’ look round a bit,” said William.
Again they went round the outside of the house passing by each open
window. Just inside one sat Henry V with a very demure Spring.
“I can’t tell you what a difference it’s made to me getting to know
you----” Henry V was saying.
By another a group of people stood around a--Yes--the Brigands rubbed
their eyes, but there he was--a Toreador.
A tall angular Helen of Troy well past her first youth and quite
obviously never having possessed a face that could launch a thousand
ships, was sitting in the window recess with an emaciated Henry VIII.
“Look,” she was saying, “that Toreador’s Lord Merton--on the Cabinet
you know, quite important.”
The Brigands gaped at each other.
A few minutes later Helen of Troy looking down saw a small meek boy
dressed in a sort of pirate’s costume sitting by her.
“Please,” he said politely, “Would you kin’ly tell me who that man in a
bull fighter’s dress is.”
“That’s Lord Merton, dear,” said Helen of Troy kindly. “He’s in the
Cabinet. Do you know what that means?”
“Then is there--are there two Toreadors?”
“Yes. The other’s Mr. Jocelyn. He’s a writer, I believe. Nobody
important.”
“We’ve took the wrong one,” said William in a hoarse whisper, as he
rejoined the Brigands, “There was two.”
“Crumbs!” said the Brigands aghast.
“What we goin’ to do _now_?” said Ginger.
William was not one to relinquish a task half done. “We’ll have to put
this one in an’ let the other out,” he said.
A few minutes later the Toreador came out on to the lawn smoking a
cigar.
“If you please,” said a miniature Brigand, who seemed to rise up from
the ground at his feet, “Some one wants to see you special. He says
he’s a German with a message quite private. He doesn’t want anyone else
to know.”
“Ha!” snorted the Toreador throwing away his cigar. “Show me, boy.”
He followed William to the coach-house. The other Brigands came behind
athrill for whatever would happen. William flung open the door of the
coach-house. The second Toreador entered. The first Toreador, who had
by this time completely lost sight of any humorous aspect the affair
might previously have had in his eyes, and had worked himself up into
a blind fury, sprang upon the second Toreador as he entered and threw
him to the ground. The second Toreador pulled the first down with him,
and they fought fiercely in the dark upon the floor of the coach-house,
with inarticulate bellows of rage and rendings of clothes and hurling
of curses....
* * * * *
Aghast, and apprehensive of consequences, the Brigands turned and went
quickly towards the house so as to be as far as possible from the scene
of the crime.
But all was changed at the house. There was no dancing. The band was
mute. In the middle of the ballroom was a little heap of clothes, a
Page’s costume, an Ace of Clubs costume, a Gondolier’s costume, and a
Goat Herd’s costume, and over it stood four distraught mothers. Mrs.
Brown was almost hysterical. The guests stood in wondering groups
around.
“The clothes have been found near the lake,” sobbed Mrs. Brown.
“There’s no trace of them anywhere,” sobbed Ginger’s mother.
“The grounds have been searched.”
“They’re nowhere in the house.”
“They must have taken off their clothes to swim.”
“And they’re _drowned_.”
“_Drowned._”
“Now don’t take on,” said Mrs. Bott soothingly to the distraught
mothers, “don’t take on so, dearies. Botty’ll have the lake dragged at
once. There’s nothing to worry about.”
The mothers went down to the lake followed by the whole assembly. The
Brigands, feeling that the situation had got far beyond their control,
followed cautiously in the rear keeping well in the shadow of the
bushes.
It was bright moonlight. All the guests stood round the lake gazing
with mournful anticipation at its calm surface. The mothers clung to
each other sobbing.
“He was always such a _good_ boy,” sobbed Mrs. Brown. “And he looked so
_sweet_ in his little blue suit.”
Henry V, with one arm round Spring, was leaning over the lake and
vaguely fishing in it with a garden rake that he had picked up near by.
“You didn’t know him, of course,” he said to Spring, “but he was such a
dear little chap and so fond of me.”
Then the Toreadors arrived, torn and battered and cobwebby and grimy.
“Where are they?” they panted as they ran. “We’ve been insulted. We’ve
been outraged. We’ve been _shamefully_ treated. We demand those boys.
We--_ah!_”
They caught sight of four Brigands cowering behind the bushes, and
sprang at them.
The Brigands fled from them towards the lake. Henry V and Spring
blocked William’s way. He pushed them on to one side, and both fell
with a splash into the lake.
Then the guests and fate closed round the Brigands.
In the scene of retribution that followed Robert showed himself
unsympathetic, even glorying in William’s afflictions.... For a whole
week after the fancy dress dance Robert repeatedly proclaimed that
William had spoilt his life again.
“She’ll never look at me now, of course,” he said bitterly to his
mother. “How could she look at the brother of the boy who nearly
drowned her. And the only girl I’ve ever met who really understood me.
And her mother says she’s had a cold in her head ever since.”
“What was her name? Glory something, wasn’t it, dear?”
“No, Mother,” impatiently, “That’s a girl I knew ever so long ago,
and who never really understood me. This one----” William entered and
Robert stopped abruptly.
“How do you like those new socks I made for you, dear?” said his mother
to William. “Are they all right?”
William felt that his hour had come. He’d had a rotten time but he was
going to do just a little scoring on his own.
“Yes,” said William slowly, “and just to think that this time last week
I didn’t know them. They’ve given an entirely new meaning to my life.
I shall give up all my life trying to be more worthy of them. I’ve
not got them on now because I don’t want them profaned by people who
don’ know or care about them----” Then William gave a little groan and
flopped into a chair in a fainting position.
“_William_,” said Mrs. Brown, “What _ever’s_ the matter with you?”
But Robert had gone a deep purple and was creeping quickly from the
room.
William watched him, smoothing back his unsmoothable hair.
“Oh, Glor!” he ejaculated softly.