The Mumps
When the Christmas holidays were over, a very important decision was
arrived at with regard to Clive. For many reasons his parents considered
his preparatory school too strenuous for him, and, as he had considerably
outgrown his strength, it was arranged to allow him to miss the spring
term and to stay at Durracombe until Easter. He was to go every morning
to the Vicarage for private lessons from Mr. Carey, and he was to be out
of doors as much as possible, drink plenty of milk, and try, as his
grandfather expressed it, to 'put on flesh.' Master Clive himself was
only too well content to have what he justly considered a continuation of
his holidays. He did not mean to be too clever over his lessons at the
Vicarage, and, indeed, he planned to make a little work go a long way.
Being out of doors as much as possible suited him exactly. He strutted
about Durracombe, with a rolling naval walk, making friends with
everybody, and telling them he had quite determined to go to sea and
become an Admiral. He went out motoring with his grandfather or Dr.
Ramsay, and he spent a considerable portion of time with Tom, the old
gardener, who was long-suffering in many ways, though roused to wrath by
any injury to his young bedding-out plants. Mrs. Ramsay 'mothered' Clive,
feeling it was some return for the kindness which Uncle David had shown
to her own girls. She grew fond of the young scapegrace and covered his
escapades as far as possible, so as not to alarm nervous Aunt Nellie, who
would have been much perturbed at some of her grandson's reckless
performances.
There was no harm about Clive; he was simply a young, restless, fast-
growing boy, who constantly wanted fresh outlets for his energies. He
loved to tease his cousins, but met his match in Merle, who generally
turned the tables and carried the war into the enemy's camp. When they
were not sparring or playing jokes upon one another, the two were firm
allies. Merle had always wished for a brother, and lively Clive was a
companion after her own heart. Mrs. Ramsay, indeed, complained that her
younger daughter was becoming an utter tomboy, but she was glad for the
two to be together, as she could trust Merle not to allow her cousin to
go too far, and to keep him from endangering either his own limbs or the
safety and comfort of other people.
The Spring term had advanced only a few weeks when a most untoward thing
happened. Merle got mumps! How she picked them up nobody knew, but, as
mother said, in a doctor's house you may always be prepared to catch
anything, and it was a marvel the children had had so few complaints.
Merle was not really very ill, but her face and neck were swollen and
painful, and, worst of all, she was considered in a highly infectious
condition and was carefully isolated in a top bedroom. Neither Mavis nor
Clive had had mumps, and it was hoped they might escape, though as they
had been with Merle the germs might still be incubating. Mavis was, of
course, not allowed to go to 'The Moorings,' and Clive was debarred from
his lessons at The Vicarage, and they had to preserve a species of
quarantine, equally trying to them both, for at Dr. Tremayne's suggestion
Mavis turned temporary governess to Clive and coached him in several
subjects in which he was deficient. The young rascal, highly aggrieved at
this unexpected tuition, took liberties with his gentle cousin which he
would not have dared to take with Mr. Carey, and extracted as much fun as
possible from his studies. Mavis was quite sure he made mistakes on
purpose, and pretended to be stupid in order to reduce the standard of
what was required, but the main object was to keep him quiet and out of
mischief, and her teaching served that end at any rate.
"I wouldn't be a mistress in a boys' preparatory school if they offered
me a thousand a year!" she told Mother. "I'd rather clean doorsteps, or
sew buttons on shirts at a farthing a dozen, or sell watercress, or wash
dishes in a restaurant!"
"Nonsense! It's not so bad as all that, surely!" laughed Mrs. Ramsay.
"If you knew how the little wretch rags me! I only wish it was Merle who
had to teach him and that I had the mumps instead. It must be nice and
quite comfortable by the fire upstairs!"
Merle, however, did not at all appreciate the privilege of being ill and
confined to one room. She was not so fond of indoor amusements as her
sister, and soon tired of reading and drawing and games of patience. Her
great grievance was that she was left so much alone. Mrs. Ramsay had to
attend to Aunt Nellie, to answer the telephone, and to interview patients
who came while the doctors were out and to take their messages, as well
as to do the housekeeping, so she was kept constantly busy and had not
much time to sit upstairs with Merle. Dr. Tremayne and her father paid
her flying visits, but these were too short to content her.
"What's five minutes out of a long day?" she asked. "It's too bad! When
Mavis used to have bronchitis we all almost lived in her bedroom. Nobody
makes the least fuss about _me_! You don't even look decently sorry
or very sympathetic! You come smiling in as if mumps were a sort of joke.
It isn't a smiling matter to me, I can tell you. I'm fed up with them!"
"Poor old lady! It's a shame to laugh at your big face! Shall I cry
instead?" said Father.
"It wouldn't seem quite so heartless!" retorted his indignant patient.
Next day Merle received a letter, which was pushed under the door. It was
all in rhyme, and as it was in Dr. Ramsay's handwriting she concluded
that her father must have sat up late the night before courting the muse
of poetry. His verses ran as follows:
MERLE WITH MUMPS
When Merle was suffering from the mumps
She felt most down and in the dumps;
Her friends, to cheer her up the while,
Laughed at her face to make her smile.
But eyeing with reproach her folk
She told them 'twas a sorry joke.
"Hard-hearted wretches," so she cried,
"To jeer while here upstairs I bide!"
Having no bad intent to tease her,
But wishing only just to please her,
Her family then ceased their jeers
And showed their sympathy in tears.
Her mother, who her pillow set,
Dropped tears and made the room quite wet,
And gurgled forth, "Alack-a-day,
That here upstairs with mumps you stay!"
Her uncle just outside the door
Sobbed till his chest was hoarse and sore,
And, swallowing in his throat some lumps,
He mourned, "My Niece has got the mumps"
The maids who came her plight to see
Splashed tears in cups of milk or tea;
The room it grew so very damp
Her limbs began to feel the cramp.
Her father to her chamber crept,
And lifted up his voice and wept;
With kerchief of capacious size
He stood and groaned and mopped his eyes.
So big the tears that from him fell
They were enough to make a well,
And, standing in a pool of water,
He sighed, "Alack! my mumpsy daughter!"
"Stop! Stop!" cried Merle, "O don't be sad!
These waterworks will drive me mad!
Good gracious, how I wish you'd smile
Instead of weeping all the while!
"Cheer up, for goodness' sake, I pray,
And treat me in your usual way.
No more I'll call you hearts of leather,
In spite of mumps we'll laugh together!"
Perhaps the family thought they had not done enough to relieve the tedium
of Merle's banishment; at any rate they set to work and made great
efforts to amuse her. Mavis sketched her portrait, adding wings and a
halo, and printed underneath "Saint Merle suffering her Martyrdom."
Mother clicked away on the typewriter, and deposited a document in her
daughter's room, which claimed to be:
_Extract from "The Durracombe and Devon Times"_
SOCIETY GOSSIP
It is with sincere regret that we record the indisposition of that leader
of our local social life, Miss Merle Ramsay. Well known for her dramatic
talent, she lately acted the part of principal boy at an important
performance held in Chagmouth, the Metropolis of the West. Her audience,
which included some of the most celebrated critics and press
representatives of the neighbourhood, was unanimous in acknowledging her
spirited conception of what was certainly a difficult and delicate role,
which, in less skilled hands than hers, might have degenerated into
buffoonery or sheer melodrama. She was greatly to be congratulated on her
achievement, and it is hoped this is not the last time she will appear on
the boards and give Devon audiences the opportunity of enjoying her rare
humour. It may be noted that, in addition to her powers of dramatic
representation, Miss Ramsay has no mean record in the world of sport.
Her athletic proclivities are marked, and she has the distinguished
honour of being president of the Games Club at that great west country
centre of education 'The Moorings.' Among her many activities Miss Ramsay
numbers a facility in music and an affection for horticulture; she has
travelled much in the immediate neighbourhood of Durracombe, and her
favourite hobby is motoring.
Miss Ramsay, who through the nature of her indisposition was unable to
afford our press representative a personal interview, sent messages of
thanks for the local sympathy expressed for her condition.
"It is a matter of much gratification to me to know that I am missed,"
were her words; "I trust soon to be back at work and to be able to fulfil
my many engagements." At the request of the local Entertainments
Committee we are asked to state that, owing to the absence of their most
prominent member, no further performances will be given for the present.
We wish Miss Ramsay a speedy return to health.
Merle laughed very much over these literary effusions, and they certainly
had the effect of cheering her up. What she pined for chiefly, however,
was company. She had a very sociable disposition and hated to be alone.
She particularly missed Clive, who had grown to be her best playfellow.
She begged for the dog or the cat to share her solitude, but that was
strictly forbidden on the ground that they might be germ-carriers and
convey the mumps to others. One day she was sitting at her table trying
to amuse herself with an everlasting game of patience, when she suddenly
heard peculiar noises on the roof above. There was a scraping and
bumping, as if an eagle or some other enormous bird had alighted there.
The sounds continued till at last there was a thump on the skylight and
Clive's mischievous face appeared grinning down at her. Immensely
thrilled she lifted the window, and he crawled farther along and thrust
his head through.
"Hello, old girl! How are you getting on? I say! You do look rather a
sight! I wanted to have a squint at you! Are you going to have your photo
taken?"
"Don't be a young beast! How did you get up here?"
"They're repainting the house next door, so I took French leave and
borrowed the tall ladder. I've had rather a business clambering about
till I found your window. I say, does your face hurt?"
"Not much now, but it did at first."
"You look like the picture of the fat woman at a fair!"
"Wait till you get it yourself, and then I'll jeer."
"I'm awfully sorry for you! Look here, I've brought you some toffee. Can
you catch it if I throw it down? I've finished that boat we were making.
Tom helped me. Mavis is hemming some sails; then I'm going to try it on
the reservoir. I wish you could come with me!"
"So do I," said the patient dolefully. "But that's out of the question.
Don't you think you ought to be going back? Suppose somebody takes away
the ladder!"
"I'd drop down into your room then."
"And catch the mumps?"
"Shouldn't much care if it meant missing my lessons!"
"I can hear somebody coming upstairs!"
"I'll be off then. Ta-ta! You're not exactly beautiful, but on the whole
you don't look so bad as I expected. You needn't tell anybody I came!
Bye-bye!"
On the 14th of February Merle was still a prisoner. She had almost
forgotten there was such a saint as St. Valentine, so it came as a great
surprise to find certain mysterious parcels brought up on her breakfast
tray. There were flowers and a packet of chocolates, and a new game of
solitaire, and an amusing little mascot dog with a movable head. It was
almost like having a birthday. On the top of the parcels was an envelope
addressed in a disguised handwriting. It contained a sheet of pink paper
bearing the picture of a heart pierced by an arrow, while Cupid drew his
bow in the distance. Underneath was written:
"Sweet Merle, of Durracombe the belle,
Accept this heart that loves you well:
A heart most tender, kind, and true,
That lives and beats for only you!
'Twere cruel in this faithful heart
To plant and fix so big a dart,
So heal its wound I beg and pray,
And be my VALENTINE to-day!"
The sender, as is usual in valentines, remained anonymous, and Merle
could only guess at the authorship, though she had strong suspicions of
Daddy and taxed him with it.
"St. Valentine never lets out secrets!" he twinkled. "He's a most
discreet old gentleman. People don't make as much use of him as formerly.
Very foolish of them, for he came in extremely handy. It's a pity to let
good old customs drop. A St. Valentine revival society might be rather a
good idea. By the by, that heart isn't anatomically correct! It looks
more like a specimen from a butcher's shop than the human variety!"
"Don't be horrid!" laughed Merle. "You can't expect Cupid to know the
difference! He's sent me some nice things. Aren't there any more saints
in the calendar who bring presents? What's the next red-letter day?"
"Nothing till Shrove Tuesday, my dear, and by that time, I hope, you'll
be downstairs again, and eating your pancakes with the rest of the
family."