THE SLEEKS IN ARCADIA.
There had been a succession of battles royal between the Misses Sleek
and their papa over the haymaking party. Mr. Sleek had drawn up a long
list of guests, among whom prominently figured the names of most of the
gilded youth of the Stock Exchange. Sleek was determined at all hazards
to make what he called a "splash." He felt that in getting old Warrender
and his daughter to The Park, he was in reality receiving his passport
into county society. It had been gall and wormwood to the head of the
firm of Sleek and Dabbler to find that in King's Warren village, except
among the tradesmen whom he patronized, for no fault of his own, he had
remained a social pariah. In vain had he subscribed liberally to the
local charities, the coal club, and the various other institutions of
the place. He was annoyed that, when walking with young farmer Wurzel,
village heads would be uncovered in every direction; and yet when he,
Sleek, the head of a well-known firm, was alone, a surly nod or a
fraternal smile was the only recognition accorded to him. He was
naturally anxious, then, that his haymaking and the subsequent dance
should be an important affair. But his daughters had manifested an
obstinacy totally unexpected.
The family council of three had met in solemn conclave. Miss Sleek had
read to her father a long list of King's Warren people, and he had
cheerfully nodded his approval at each name submitted for his
approbation.
"Can't be better, can't be better, my dear," smiled the father. "I don't
think you've left a soul out. But we mustn't forget my friends. I tell
you what it is, girls, when I do a thing I like to do it well, and I
mean to do this thing in style. None of your negus and stale sponge
cakes for me. I shall give 'em real turtle from Birch's, and as for
fizz, they shall swim in it if they like. Dry Monopole for the men, and
Duc de Montebello for the ladies; women hate dry champagne, they like it
sweet, for it fizzes longer, and they don't care a hang for the head in
the morning. Montebello will suit the vicar's wife and the married
ladies down to the boots. There's nothing like fizz, it makes 'em all so
friendly; and as for music, I've secured Toot and Kinney. Kinney himself
will come and conduct, and do the solos on the cornet. I'm going to
arrange for a special, girls, to bring the whole party down and take 'em
back to town at six a.m."
His eldest daughter suddenly put a stop to his enthusiasm by asking him
rather coldly, "who the train was to bring down."
"Why, my friends, of course; who else?"
"But, dear papa, we don't know your friends, at least, many of them; and
I'm afraid, and so is Connie," she added with a sickly smile, "that
perhaps they wouldn't amalgamate."
Much as King Lear looked when he first detected the real natures of
Regan and Goneril, so did Mr. Sleek gaze in horror on his two rebellious
daughters.
"Bosh!" he exclaimed with indignation. "Do you mean to tell me that
after romping together all the afternoon in the hay, and getting their
skins full of my champagne, they won't amalgamate, as you call it? Why,
they'll be calling each other by their Christian names before supper
time."
But the sisters showed no signs of yielding.
"I tell you what it is, girls," said their father in anger, "you're a
pair of ungrateful minxes. Don't 'pa' me," he added at the duet of
deprecation that followed. "My daughters are going to dance with a
lord," he continued with tragic fervour, "and their poor old father
isn't good enough for them."
Mr. Sleek did not go to business that morning. A terrible ceremony that
lasted a good hour and a half was gone through. Mr. Sleek's list, which
had originally contained over a hundred names, was shorn of its fair
proportions, till but a little handful of the least objectionable
remained. With the eloquence of a Cicero and the skill of an
attorney-general, Miss Sleek "showed cause" against everybody. Though he
fought hard he had to yield, for the girls were two to one. But he did
not give in without a struggle, and he fought loyally for the absent
Dabbler, but the girls were inexorable.
"Mr. Dabbler is too dreadful, papa. I'm sure he'd forget himself, and he
would insist on dancing."
Now both the Misses Sleek had a vivid recollection of poor Dabbler's
terpsichorean efforts at a certain Guildhall ball. Not contented with
walking through his square dances, as is the lazy custom now-a-days, Mr.
Dabbler had _danced_ them with a vigour and ingenuity which would have
assuredly brought down the house at a transpontine theatre. Even at the
Guildhall, Dabbler's style was peculiar to himself, and productive of
amazement and delight to all but his partners and those who figured in
the same set. Dabbler was a vigorous dancer. When he set to his partner,
he performed a sort of cellar-flap breakdown; when he stood in the
middle of the quadrille while his _vis-à-vis_ advanced and retired with
the two ladies, he still continued dancing. "To dance implies that a man
is glad," and Dabbler was a cheerful-minded fellow enough, but no lady
danced with him a second time. The eyes of the Misses Sleek flashed with
unaffected rage and horror at the terrible remembrance of that dreadful
night in the City.
There was nothing for it but to yield, and Mr. Sleek, when he had had
time to cool, came to the conclusion that perhaps after all his
daughters were right.
Romping among the haycocks may be very good fun, but the elaborate
toilettes in which he found his daughters arrayed on the eventful
afternoon effectually convinced him that the romping, if romping there
was to be, would be entirely confined to the few juveniles who graced
the entertainment with their presence.
The house was turned inside out. The drawing-room floor had been duly
chalked in elaborate devices; the staff at The Park, in new gowns, caps
and aprons, was reinforced by an army of myrmidons from the City. Huge
blocks of ice decorated the dining-room, and Messrs. Toot and Kinney's
band already discoursed sweet music from the Italian summer-house. The
plump charms of his two daughters were freely displayed in elaborate
Parisian costumes, _merveilleuse_ dresses of striped satin; one girl
affected pink, the other sky blue. So resplendent was their appearance
that the proud father hardly recognized his two buxom daughters in their
gay attire.
But carriages, dog-carts and antediluvian flys began to pour into The
Park. Every lady on her arrival received a bouquet of hot-house flowers,
every gentleman was presented with an elaborate button-hole of orchids.
Not a single invitation had been refused. King's Warren and the region
round about had come to the philosophical conclusion that if Mr. Sleek,
of The Park, was good enough for Squire Warrender, he was good enough
for them. More than this, even those who had once passed the Sleek girls
with a condescending nod, or with their noses high in air, had deigned
to intrigue for invitations; and in the hour of their triumph the girls
had not been ill-natured, nobody had been refused.
There was quite a crowd in the shady corner of the hay-field to watch
the so-called haymaking, a familiar sight enough to the King's
Warreners, and there _was_ romping among the haycocks. But the pastoral
amusement was only indulged in by the children of the village school.
Young Mr. Wurzel, in the shiniest of boots, yellow gloves, a pink tie
and a white hat, his bride-elect, Miss Grains, upon his arm, looked on
approvingly, and it is not to be wondered at if the young fellow's eye
dwelt, somewhat too long for Miss Grains' satisfaction, upon their young
hostesses. The Reverend John Dodd, as usual, was surrounded by a throng
of female worshippers, the party from The Warren was in full force, and
it somewhat astonished the Misses Sleek to note that Georgie and her
cousin were in ordinary afternoon muslin dresses. No doubt the Sleek
family would have been more gratified if, instead of his brown
billycock, Lord Spunyarn had worn his coronet; he probably didn't travel
with it, however.
All went merry as a marriage bell.
"My dear young ladies, surely we ought to join in this," said the
Reverend Jack with a smile, addressing his hostesses, as he pointed to
the children who were pelting each other with the perfumed hay.
But the _merveilleuse_ costumes of the Sleek girls were better suited
for looking on than for taking part in the actual performance.
"Oh, we should like it of all things, Mr. Dodd, but _we_ must reserve
ourselves. You see _we_ are almost bound to dance every dance, and there
is so much to do, and so much to see to. But if any one would like to
make hay we should be so pleased, and so would the children."
"You are not haymakers to-day, then, only shepherdesses looking after
an unruly and, I see, rapidly increasing flock. It's a very sweet
pastoral, you only want your crooks to complete the picture. I, too, am
a shepherd, you know; but a shepherd in black and without his crook is
somewhat in the way. With your permission, then, I shall join the
children," said the vicar with a smile.
"The crook will come in time, Dodd; you may depend upon it we shall see
you a bishop one of these days, after all," laughed Haggard
good-naturedly.
"Thank you so much, Mr. Haggard," said a deep voice at his elbow, which
made him start; "thank you so much for attempting to recall my poor
husband from this frivolous scene to higher things. My unhappy husband,
Mr. Haggard," she added in a confidential whisper, "has no ambition.
John Dodd, Mr. Haggard, is, I regret to say, a trifler. It has been the
labour of my life to try and withdraw his mind from frivolities, and to
keep him in the path which would ultimately lead him to what should be
the goal of every clergyman's ambition. Oh, if he would only try to be a
little more like my dear father. If he would only think less of carnal
things," and here the vicaress gave a snort and looked spitefully at the
Misses Sleek, between whom the Reverend Jack still lingered.
The Misses Sleek were plump, the Misses Sleek were pretty, even if they
were a little over-dressed; but to call them "carnal things" was at
least unkind.
"Console yourself, dear Mrs. Dodd," said Haggard with a smile; "the
vicar will be just as attentive to the school children in the hay as he
is to our young hostesses now," he added with intention.
"Too well I know it, Mr. Haggard. And can there be a sadder sight than
to see the vicar of this parish romping in the hay with village
hoydens?"
Haggard's prophecy turned out to be correct, for the vicar threw off his
coat and joined the children; and he, the greatest child of them all,
was soon thoroughly enjoying himself.
Nearly all the ladies were accommodated with seats, all save the Misses
Sleek; they, poor girls, alas, could not sit. One can walk, flirt and
dance in a _Merveilleuse_ costume, but it is next to impossible to sit
down in it. They bore their sufferings with fortitude, however, and,
like the Spartan boy with his fox, concealed their agony.
And now the loud summons of a gong called everybody to the more serious
business of the evening. A big marquee of striped canvas had been
erected; the guests trooped into it. Soon all the little tables were
filled, and everybody did full justice to the delicacies set before
them. After standing in the sun a considerable time, the crowd was not
sorry to eat and drink its fill. The eyes of bashful bucolic youth
began to sparkle with the effects of Mr. Sleek's champagne; rosy cheeks
grew rosier; even the vicar's wife unbent; that blighted maiden, Stacey
Dodd, almost felt her hopes revive under the influence of _pâté de foie
gras_, and the immediate proximity of the squire. But, even in the
country, people can't eat and drink for ever; and the marquee was at
last deserted for the superior attractions of the dance.
For that evening, at least, class distinctions were for once forgotten
in King's Warren. Young Mr. Wurzel screwed his courage up so far as to
ask Miss Warrender to dance with him, while the vicar took out the
village schoolmistress, and Mrs. Dodd herself condescended to waltz with
her host. But after her toes had been trodden on three times in a couple
of rounds, she felt that she had already done more than enough; she
danced no more, and relapsed into her old position of tutelary goddess,
or guardian angel, to society in general. Connie and her sister were in
great demand, and the cup of their happiness was filled to overflowing,
each having danced with the real live lord. Young Wurzel having done
enough for honour, did as engaged young men should, and stood up for
dance after dance, as a matter of course, with the object of his
affections.
"I can't dance as _she_ does," whispered the Village Rose in his ear;
"but hold me tight and turn me round quickly, William," she added with a
sigh of satisfaction.
The young farmer did as he was bid, and owing to their united exertions,
they were soon both the colour of a couple of peonies.
The big conservatory had been judiciously only dimly lighted by a few
Chinese lanterns, and by common consent had been given up to the lazy
philanderers, who sought its leafy shades between the dances. Connie
Sleek had volunteered to show the plants to Lord Spunyarn; they were
both tired, and Connie in considerable trepidation managed to sit down
in one of the dimly-lighted nooks, at his good-natured lordship's
suggestion. Spunyarn, however, didn't make love to Connie, but the young
lady felt that she had her chance, and she availed herself of it.
"I've been on my feet since four o'clock, Lord Spunyarn," she said, with
a not unmusical sigh, "and I feel as if I could sit here for ever. Don't
you?" she added.
What is an easy-natured young man to say under such circumstances? Given
an exceptionally substantial collation, warm weather, some dozen round
dances, and nothing particular to do, most men would have probably
replied just as Lord Spunyarn did.
"With you, Miss Sleek? Well, do you know, I believe I could."
Connie Sleek's eyes sparkled like coals of fire. Visions of herself as
Lady Spunyarn presented at Court on her marriage, and patronizing her
elder sister, flitted through her young and innocent but giddy brain.
But his lordship's next remark rather damped her hopes; the descent from
the sublime to the ridiculous is at times a little too sudden.
"By Jove!" said Spunyarn, "I should like to be one of these plants, and
never move out of my pot, with nothing to think of but to look forward
to the time when the gardener would come and syringe me. I wish he'd
come and syringe me now, don't you? _They_ seem to be enjoying
themselves, don't they? Uncommonly, by Jove!" he added, looking towards
the farther end of the conservatory.
The guileless Connie saw a pink mass in the dim shadows opposite her.
The pink mass was evidently her sister. A small incandescent speck,
which sparkled about a foot from where that sister's head would be,
indicated her partner in enjoyment, also that the gentleman was smoking
a cigarette.
"Why, it's Lottie. I wouldn't have her see me here for the world, Lord
Spunyarn. She's a dreadful tease, and I should never hear the last of
it," and here the young lady, exactly upon the principle of the ostrich,
who is said to bury its head in the sand when it wishes to escape
observation, unfolded an enormous blue fan which effectually screened
both herself and her fellow criminal. If Spunyarn had sought a
_tête-à-tête_, he had now got it with a vengeance.
Precisely the same feelings evidently animated the young lady in pink.
She, too, unfurled a big fan. The conversation of both couples for the
next five minutes must have been interesting, for both fans, which were
originally used merely as screens, were frequently violently agitated.
No doubt, the conversation of both pairs was instructive as well as
amusing. Both ladies evidently enjoyed the unhoped-for but
well-deserved rest. Had it not been for an unfortunate disturbing
influence, who can tell but that Connie Sleek might have risen from the
settee Lord Spunyarn's affianced bride. When even a worldly-wise young
peer occupies the half of a seat only intended for one person for fully
five minutes, behind a big fan, beside a becomingly-dressed young woman
of undoubted crispness, and who is not troubled with bashfulness, who
can say of what folly he may not be guilty?
But Providence willed it otherwise; for Mr. Sleek suddenly entered his
conservatory in a state of considerable excitement.
"Gals," he said--when excited, Sleek _père_ always addressed his
daughters as "gals"--"where on earth is Mr. Haggard? I've been looking
for him everywhere."
The two men rose to their feet; the one behind the pink fan, not much to
Lord Spunyarn's surprise, turned out to be Haggard. But neither young
lady moved; their dresses wouldn't let them, poor things.
"It's pa!" they both exclaimed in a sort of astonished chorus. "Oh, pa,
it's so hot," said the elder girl, regaining her _aplomb_ at once. But
Connie, more indignant, only sighed; she felt, poor girl, that she had
had her chance and lost it. There are moments in girls' lives when even
a father is _de trop_.
"What is it, old fellow?" cried Haggard with unusual condescension as he
advanced.
"I've been looking for you everywhere, Mr. Haggard. Here's a telegram
for you. I hope it's no bad news," he added.
The two girls, with considerable effort and many an ominous crack,
covered, too, with rosy blushes, perhaps from their exertions, had now
managed to regain their feet.
"Oh, I do hope it's nothing dreadful," said the elder girl with pretty
sympathy.
Haggard, as he tore the envelope open and read the telegram with
difficulty by the light of one of the Chinese lanterns, blurted out:
"By Jove! Shirtings, the poor old governor's dead."
There was considerable consternation. The Warren party hurried away, and
though dancing went on, the two young hostesses, perhaps in their
natural grief for their friend's loss, joined in it no more.
As poor Connie wept herself to sleep that night in her sister's arms,
she whispered her tale of sorrow into her ear. Her last words were,
"Lottie, darling, I shall never, never forgive pa."