ADVENTURES RARE AND STRANGE
IT was opposite the Magnificent that they came upon adventure the
second. Two gentlemen of somewhat informal aspect, one of whom was in
need of a shave, and both of whose hats were light green, greeted Mary
as if they were half afraid to do so, and yet didn’t like to pass her
by.
“Thought perhaps you mightn’t remember us, Mary.”
“Remember _you_, Horace! Could I ever forget you? And why, I declare
it’s Johnny?”
And Mary shook hands with Horace and Johnny so simply and so
cordially--for all that she had married a Toff--that they were obliged
to confess that they were quite sure she couldn’t.
The next moment Horace and Johnny were being introduced to the Toff;
with rather a display of wariness on their part, because provincial
stars who have had to carve out their own destiny have not much use for
the Breed, and they owed him a grudge as well for having robbed the
profession of an idol. So when the Toff held out his hand and appeared
pleased to meet them, it was not so certain that they were pleased to
meet him.
“Horace Allwright, Philip, the very first Pickles I ever played to--and
the best.”
“Oh, go hon, John Willie,” said the Star of the North, blushing to the
roots of his hair, which was red and, therefore, made his pleasure the
more conspicuous. But he wasn’t going to stand any swank from Eton and
Ch: Ch:; and the rather fierce eye of this fine natural comedian said
so pretty distinctly.
Mary was undefeated, though, and Johnny Dubosque not being so great a
man as Horace Allwright, and consequently having less in the way of
dignity to look after, was soon behaving as if nothing had happened.
“But I expect you’ll never come to the provinces again, Polly,” said
Johnny Dubosque sadly. “I said to Horace it was all up with _us_ as
soon as you got to the Lane. But you’ll be turning up the perfession
altogether now.”
Mary said it might be so, and Johnny Dubosque sighed deeply, and
informed the Toff in a burst of confidence that her place could never
be filled. And the Toff--for all that the Twin Brethren were not a
little discomposed by hearing one who was not a fellow alumnus speak of
the wife as Polly--apologized so nicely to the Perfession for having
done what it had done, that Johnny Dubosque, who had a generous
heart, felt not a little inclined to forgive him, and Horace Allwright
somewhat waived the question of his dignity.
“Come across to the Magnificent, old chap, and ’ave a drink,” said
Horace Allwright in a sudden and overwhelming burst of hospitality.
The Toff accepted the invitation, and for that act of grace, my lords
and gentlemen, honor is due to the Twin Brethren, who as _you_ do not
require to be told, would have disbursed current coin of the realm to
shirk this obvious duty. But it would never do to make an enemy of
a friend of Mary’s. Therefore the Twin Brethren allowed themselves
to be led across the road about as cheerfully as a lamb is led to
the slaughter; and the grandees of the place stared very hard at the
entrance of These Theatrical People; and the Twin Brethren devoutly
hoped that no stray member of the Button Club was lying concealed among
the ferns.
Modest libations were ordered by Mr. Horace Allwright in a rather loud
manner, with a lemon squash for Mary, although this was mere natural
politeness on her part.
“We shall not see her equal as Cinderella, not in our time, my lord,”
said Mr. Horace Allwright in a very audible aside to the Toff, in order
to keep in touch with the public.
“Of course you will, Horace, and many a better one,” said the Uncrowned
Queen of Blackhampton, having with her ready tact and her quick
observation detected the plight of the unhappy Twin Brethren who were
blenching a little under their tan.
Not so far off were a pair of Contemporaries, out of sight, perchance,
yet by no means out of hearing.
“Why, if it isn’t that damned fool Shel, with his mésalliance!”
“No--yes--my God!”
“Rather nice, though, in spite of the friends of the family.”
“Let us go and pull the leg of the silly old fool, and make him turn
out for us to-morrow.”
Whereupon the Contemporaries rose from their table, very finely grown
young men and superbly tailored, as all distinguished athletes should
be.
“Why, Shel, old man, how are you?”
Hearty hand-grips were exchanged, although the Twin Brethren were not
feeling so very robust at present.
“Fancy meeting you here!”
There was no particular reason why they shouldn’t meet there, but it is
always a useful opening card. And then the Olympians were introduced
to Mary, and pretty keenly did they scrutinize her, although they
pretended so well that they were doing nothing of the sort that it
would have taken a woman to have told what the sly dogs were at.
And then Miss Mary trod very hard on the foot of Eton and Ch: Ch:,
which begged pardon humbly and introduced Mr. Horace Allwright and Mr.
Johnny Dubosque, and piously hoped to its Maker that it hadn’t got
mixed in their names.
“Pleased to meet you, gentlemen,” said Mr. Horace Allwright spaciously.
“’Ave a drink.”
The Olympians had had a drink already, but they had no objection to
having another; and this accommodating disposition caused Mary to take
them into favor at once, and they were invited to sit down.
“’Ere’s a health to the bride,” said Mr. Johnny Dubosque.
“Thank you, Johnny.”
“I was just a-tellin’ his lordship,” said Mr. Horace Allwright, “that
she was absolutely the finest Cinderella I’ve ever played to, and I’ve
played to some of the first in my time, let me tell you. Good ’ealth,
gentlemen.”
And while Mr. Horace Allwright was happily engaged in pledging the
health of the company, Mary proceeded to transfix the first Olympian
with such a staunch, straight and demure gray eye that the heart of the
famous athlete was literally pinned against the antimacassar of yellow
plush upholstery which had been provided by the hotel for the use of
its patrons.
“His lordship’s drawn a winner in the lottery, gentlemen,” continued
Mr. Horace Allwright, and in this the first Olympian was strongly
inclined to concur.
“Cut it out, Horace,” said the Uncrowned Queen of Blackhampton with a
very arch glance at Johnny Dubosque. “It isn’t cricket, is it, Johnny?
in these fashionable watering-places. And I won’t have you pull the leg
of my Phil-ipp by calling him my lord, when he’s promised me solemn to
stand for Mr. Lloyd George.”
“You haven’t, Shel?” quoth the Olympians, feeling it was up to them to
say something, and that this was something they might say.
“Oh, but he has,” said the Uncrowned Queen, “and I should never have
married him if he hadn’t--should I, Phil-ipp?”
And she transfixed both the Olympians this time with that demure glance
of tremendous impact.
“Oh, but I say, Mrs. Shel,” quoth the first Olympian, beginning to feel
a glow within, “what about his Governor, you know?”
“I don’t know about his Governor, Mr. Wilbraham, because I’m not
received in the Family at present.”
And this time the glance came right home to the Twin Brethren, who at
once began to feel like bucking up a little.
“But you are bound to be, Mrs. Shel, aren’t you?” said Mr. Wilbraham
with great Tact.
“Why am I bound to be?” inquired the Uncrowned Queen, whose good gray
eye had begun to play the dickens with the second Olympian.
“Oh, you are, you know. Isn’t she, Toddles?”
Toddles was strongly of opinion that she was.
“Well, of course, if you both really think that--”
But in the secret recesses of his nature, Toddles was even more
strongly of opinion that if she persisted in looking at him in that way
he would be bound to kiss her.
“Are you and Mr. Wilbraham any good at snooker? Yes, I can see it in
your eyes. Well, Phil-ipp and Johnny and I will play the three of you
for a sovereign.”
“Done with you, Mrs. Shel,” said the Olympians with promptitude.
And then Mrs. Shelmerdine looked very demurely at Horace Allwright,
and imposed the condition that the stakes should be deposited with the
marker, as her success in life was entirely due to the fact that she
never trusted on principle a man who came from Leeds.
“But I come from Leeds myself,” said Toddles, who, of course, was none
other than the popular Yorkshire cricketer when he had time to spare
for the game.
“Why not?”
“Yes; why not? But how could you tell I came from Leeds, Mrs.
Shelmerdine?”
“By your trousers.”
Horace and Johnny roared long and loud at this brilliant sally. The
natural insight of those famous comedians had taught them already that
if Toddles had a weakness, it was an undue pride in his trousers, which
of course the young man was quite entitled to have, since they were the
work of Mr. F-ster of London and Oxford.
“Now, don’t let her pull your leg, old man,” said Philip, who, as usual
a little behind in the uptake, had only just begun his roar. “She’ll
rag the life out of you if you’ll let her.”
Without further preface or apology, an adjournment was made to the
billiard saloon, which was down a very long corridor. _En route_, Mr.
Wilbraham, whose name in athletic circles was Weary William, because
he was never in a hurry, confided to Toddles that she was every bit as
nice off the stage as she was on it.
To which Toddles, in whose cognomen a meaning has yet to be discovered,
rejoined that “He was always a far-seein’ old swine.”
Mary liked a light cue, and used it in a manner which did not suggest
the novice. By what means she had gained her skill, it would be best,
perhaps, not to inquire. At least, it is hardly likely that Grandma
had taught her.
The Olympians also had misspent their youth a little, and Horace
Allwright’s father had been a billiard-marker, so it was quite as well,
perhaps, that Mary was so skillful, and that Philip was able to say
he was a pupil of Mr. John Roberts, Junior. The master might not have
been very proud of him, though, to judge by the way he started; but he
improved as the game went on, and as Johnny Dubosque knew Stevenson
to talk to, the game was quite worth looking at in the opinion of a
somewhat saturnine-looking gentleman who sat in the corner drinking
Schweppe’s ginger ale, and picking winners out of the _Sportsman_.
The game was twenty-nine all, and there was only one ball left on
the table, and that was “a sitter” on the brink of the left-hand top
pocket, which Mary, who had played amazingly well all through, had left
there to her unfeigned sorrow. It was all over, bar the shouting, when
Toddles proceeded to deliver his cue, for it really was a shot that one
who had used his youth as he had done ought not to have missed with his
eyes shut.
In the most unaccountable manner the famous center forward missed the
shot with his eyes wide open, promptly apostrophized his Maker, and
insisted in paying the stakes.
“You did that a-purpose, Mr. Toddles,” said Mary sternly, “and I scorn
to take your money. I am not a suffragist yet, but that’s the kind of
thing to make me one. Why, a woman can’t even have fair play at a game
like snooker.”
Followed a heated controversy. Mr. Toddles would not confess to
his guilt, which was really so flagrant that Mary wondered how he
dared deny the charge. Horace Allwright and Weary William lied
circumstantially to support the misdemeanant, but Mary refused to
accept the stakes, and in this we venture to think she was right.
No, Toddles, young friend, it is not the way to produce a race of
sportswomen. Your intentions were of the highest, certainly, but your
charming opponent had taken such degrees in the school of experience,
although she was hardly twenty-four at present, that she didn’t even
think it polite.
There was only one method of composing the quarrel, and that was to
play the match over again. And this time, it is sad to relate of three
excellent sportsmen, good care was taken that there should be no doubt
whatever about the issue.
“And now you have taken us on at this game, Shel,” said the first
Olympian, “we shall expect you to turn out for us to-morrow against
Brighton and Hove Albion.”
“But I haven’t kicked a ball for years.”
“So much the worse for you. The match is for the benefit of the widow
and young children of a good chap, and you were always a great draw for
the public.”
“Was I?” said Mr. Philip apprehensively, for he read in the eyes of
Mary that his doom was sealed.
“Were you, Phil-ipp! Might never have kicked three goals against
Scotland, mightn’t you? Why, of course you’ll play; especially as it’s
a benefit match.”
“But I haven’t kicked a ball for years and years, and I’ve got no gear
either.”
“We’ll soon fix you up with some gear, won’t we, Mrs. Shel?” said the
exultant Olympians.
“Ra-_ther_.”
Poor Philip protested bitterly; but he knew, alas! that he would have
to bow to the inevitable. At a quarter-past three on the morrow, after
an absence of four years, he was doomed to reappear in the ranks of the
famous amateur team whom he had helped to make history.