SURPRISES--AGREEABLE AND OTHERWISE
_In the Amber Boudoir._ Sir RUPERT _has just entered_.
_Sir Rupert._ Ha, Maisie, my dear, glad to see you! Well, Rohesia, how
are you, eh? You're _looking_ uncommonly well! No idea you were here!
_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). Sir Rupert! He'll hoof me out of this
pretty soon, I expect!
_Lady Cantire_ (_aggrieved_). We have been in the house for the best
part of an hour, Rupert--as you might have discovered by
inquiring--but no doubt you preferred your comfort to welcoming so
unimportant a guest as your sister!
_Sir Rupert_ (_to himself_). Beginning already! (_Aloud._) Very
sorry--got rather wet riding--had to change everything. And I knew
Albinia was here.
_Lady Cantire_ (_magnanimously_). Well, we won't begin to quarrel the
moment we meet; and you are forgetting your other guest. (_In an
undertone._) Mr. Spurrell--the poet--wrote _Andromeda_. (_Aloud._) Mr.
Spurrell, come and let me present you to my brother.
_Sir Rupert._ Ah, how d'ye do? (_To himself, as he shakes hands._)
What the deuce am I to say to this fellow? (_Aloud._) Glad to see you
here, Mr. Spurrell--heard all about you--_Andromeda_, eh? Hope you'll
manage to amuse yourself while you're with us; afraid there's not much
you can do _now_ though.
_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). Horse in a bad way; time they let me see
it. (_Aloud._) Well, we must see, sir; I'll do all _I_ can.
_Sir Rupert._ You see, the shooting's _done_ now.
_Spurrell_ (_to himself, professionally piqued_). They might have
waited till I'd seen the horse before they shot him! After calling me
in like this! (_Aloud._) Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, Sir Rupert. I
wish I could have got here earlier, I'm sure.
_Sir Rupert._ Wish we'd asked you a month ago, if you're fond of
shooting. Thought you might look down on sport, perhaps.
_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). Sport? Why, he's talking of _birds_--not
the horse! (_Aloud._) Me, Sir Rupert? Not _much_! I'm as keen on a
day's gunning as any man, though I don't often get the chance now.
_Sir Rupert_ (_to himself, pleased_). Come, he don't seem strong
against the Game Laws! (_Aloud._) Thought you didn't look as if you
sat over your desk all day! There's hunting still, of course. Don't
know whether you ride?
_Spurrell._ Rather so, sir! Why, I was born and bred in a sporting
county, and as long as my old uncle was alive, I could go down to his
farm and get a run with the hounds now and again.
_Sir Rupert_ (_delighted_). Capital! Well, our next meet is on
Tuesday--best part of the country; nearly all grass, and nice clean
post and rails. You must stay over for it. Got a mare that will carry
your weight perfectly, and I think I can promise you a run--eh, what
do you say?
_Spurrell_ (_to himself, in surprise_). He _is_ a chummy old cock!
I'll wire old Spavin that I'm detained on biz; and I'll tell 'em to
send my riding-breeches and dress-clothes down! (_Aloud._) It's
uncommonly kind of you, sir, and I think I can manage to stop on a
bit.
_Lady Culverin_ (_to herself_). Rupert must be out of his senses! It's
bad enough to have him here till Monday! (_Aloud._) We mustn't forget,
Rupert, how valuable Mr. Spurrell's time is; it would be too selfish
of us to detain him here a day longer than----
_Lady Cantire._ My dear, Mr. Spurrell has already said he can _manage_
it; so we may all enjoy his society with a clear conscience. (Lady
CULVERIN _conceals her sentiments with difficulty_.) And now, Albinia,
if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go to my room and rest a little, as
I'm rather overdone, and you have all these tiresome people coming to
dinner to-night.
[_She rises and leaves the room; the other ladies follow
her example._
_Lady Culverin._ Rupert, I'm going up now with Rohesia. You know where
we've put Mr. Spurrell, don't you? The Verney Chamber.
[_She goes out._
_Sir Rupert._ Take you up now, if you like, Mr. Spurrell--it's only
just seven, though. Suppose you don't take an hour to dress, eh?
_Spurrell._ Oh dear no, sir, nothing like it! (_To himself._) Won't
take me two minutes as I am now! I'd better tell him--I can say my bag
hasn't come. I don't believe it _has_, and, anyway, it's a good
excuse. (_Aloud._) The--the fact is, Sir Rupert, I'm afraid that my
luggage has been unfortunately left behind.
_Sir Rupert._ No luggage, eh? Well, well, it's of no consequence. But
I'll ask about it--I dare say it's all right.
[_He goes out._
_Captain Thicknesse_ (_to_ SPURRELL). Sure to have turned up, you
know--man will have seen that. Shouldn't altogether object to a glass
of sherry and bitters before dinner. Don't know how _you_
feel--suppose you've a soul _above_ sherry and bitters, though?
_Spurrell._ Not at this moment. But I'd soon _put_ my soul above a
sherry and bitters if I got a chance!
_Captain Thicknesse_ (_after reflection_). I say, you know, that's
rather smart, eh? (_To himself._) Aw'fly clever sort of chap, this,
but not stuck up--not half a bad sort, if he _is_ a bit of a bounder.
(_Aloud._) Anythin' in the evenin' paper? Don't get 'em down here.
[Illustration: "I SAY, YOU KNOW, THAT'S RATHER SMART, EH?"]
_Spurrell._ Nothing much. I see there's an objection to Monkey-tricks.
_Captain Thicknesse_ (_startled_). No, by Jove! Hope they'll overrule
it--make a lot of difference to me if they don't.
_Spurrell._ Don't fancy there's much in it. Your money's safe enough,
I expect. Have you any particular fancy for the Grand National? I know
something that's safe to win, bar accidents--a dead cert, sir! Got the
tip straight from the stable. You just take my advice, and pile all
you can on Jumping Joan.
_Captain Thicknesse_ (_later, to himself, after a long and highly
interesting conversation_). Thunderin' clever chap--never knew poets
_were_ such clever chaps. Might be a "bookie," by Gad! No wonder
Maisie thinks such a lot of him!
[_He sighs._
_Sir Rupert_ (_returning_). Now, Mr. Spurrell, if you'll come upstairs
with me, I'll show you your quarters. By the way, I've made inquiries
about your luggage, and I think you'll find it's all right. (_As he
leads the way up the staircase._) Rather awkward for you if you'd had
to come down to dinner just as you are, eh?
_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). Oh, lor, my beastly bag _has_ come after
all! Now they'll _know_ I didn't bring a dress suit. What an owl I was
to tell him! (_Aloud, feebly._) Oh--er--very awkward indeed, Sir
Rupert!
_Sir Rupert_ (_stopping at a bedroom door_). Verney Chamber--here you
are. Ah, my wife forgot to have your name put on the door--better do
it now, eh? (_He writes it on the card in the door-plate._)
There--well, hope you'll find it all comfortable--we dine at eight,
you know. You've plenty of time for all you've got to do!
_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). If I only knew _what_ to do! I shall never
have the cheek to come down as I am!
[_He enters the Verney Chamber dejectedly._
_In an Upper Corridor in the East Wing._
_Steward's Room Boy_ (to UNDERSHELL). This is your room, sir--you'll
find a fire lit and all.
_Undershell_ (_scathingly_). A fire? For me! I scarcely expected such
an indulgence. You are _sure_ there's no mistake?
_Boy._ This is the room I was told, sir. You'll find candles on the
mantelpiece, and matches.
_Undershell._ Every luxury indeed! I am pampered--_pampered_!
_Boy._ Yes, sir. And I was to say as supper's at ar-past nine, but
Mrs. Pomfret would be 'appy to see you in the Pugs' Parlour whenever
you pleased to come down and set there.
_Undershell._ The Pugs' Parlour?
_Boy._ What we call the 'ousekeeper's room, among ourselves, sir.
_Undershell._ Mrs. Pomfret does me too much honour. And shall I have
the satisfaction of seeing your intelligent countenance at the festive
board, my lad?
_Boy_ (_giggling_). On'y to _wait_, sir. I don't set down to meals
along with the _upper_ servants, sir!
_Undershell._ And I--a mere man of genius--_do_! These distinctions
must strike you as most arbitrary; but restrain any natural envy, my
young friend. I assure you I am not puffed up by this promotion!
_Boy._ No, sir. (_To himself, as he goes out._) I believe he's a bit
dotty, I do. I don't understand a word he's been a-talking of!
_Undershell_ (_alone, surveying the surroundings_). A cockloft, with a
painted iron bedstead, a smoky chimney, no bell, and a text over the
mantelpiece! Thank Heaven, that fellow Drysdale can't see me here! But
I will not sleep in this place, my pride will only just bear the
strain of staying to supper--no more. And I'm hanged if I go down to
the housekeeper's room till hunger drives me. It's not eight yet--how
shall I pass the time? Ha, I see they've favoured me with pen and ink.
I will invoke the Muse. Indignation should make verses, as it did for
Juvenal; and _he_ was never set down to sup with slaves!
[_He writes._
_In the Verney Chamber._
_Spurrell_ (_to himself_). My word, what a room! Carpet hung all over
the walls, big fourposter, carved ceiling, great fireplace with
blazing logs,--if this is how they do a _vet_ here, what price the
_other_ fellows' rooms? And to think I shall have to do without
dinner, just when I was getting on with 'em all so swimmingly! I
_must_. I can't, for the credit of the profession--to say nothing of
the firm--turn up in a monkey jacket and tweed bags, and that's all
_I've_ got except a nightgown!... It's all very well for Lady Maisie
to say, "Take everything as it comes," but if she was in _my_ fix!...
And it isn't as if I hadn't _got_ dress things either. If only I'd
brought 'em down, I'd have marched in to dinner as cool as a---- (_he
lights a pair of candles._) Hullo! What's that on the bed? (_He
approaches it._) Shirt! white tie! socks! coat, waistcoat,
trousers--they _are_ dress clothes!... And here's a pair of brushes on
the table! I'll swear they're not _mine_--there's a monogram on
them--"U.G." What does it all mean? Why, of course! regular old trump,
Sir Rupert, and naturally he wants me to do him credit. He saw how it
was, and he's gone and rigged me out! In a house like this, they're
ready for emergencies--keep all sizes in stock, I dare say.... It
isn't "U.G." on the brushes--it's "G.U."--"Guest's Use." Well, this is
what I call doing the thing in style! _Cinderella's_ nothing to it!
Only hope they're a decent fit. (_Later, as he dresses._) Come, the
shirt's all right; trousers a trifle short--but they'll let down;
waistcoat--whew, must undo the buckle--hang it, it _is_ undone! I feel
like a hooped barrel in it! Now the coat--easy does it. Well, it's
_on_; but I shall have to be peeled like a walnut to get it off
again.... Shoes? ah, here they are--pair of pumps. Phew--must have
come from the Torture Exhibition in Leicester Square; glass slippers
nothing to 'em! But they'll have to do at a pinch; and they _do_ pinch
like blazes! Ha, ha, that's good! I must tell that to the Captain.
(_He looks at himself in a mirror._) Well, I can't say they're up to
mine for cut and general style; but they're passable. And now I'll go
down to the drawing-room and get on terms with all the smarties!
[_He saunters out with restored complacency._