THE END OF THE TALE
IT was Mary’s custom to give the Twins an airing in the park every
morning when the weather was fine. Like a wise young mother, she
personally undertook this important duty; trundling the perambulator
herself, and gaining health and happiness thereby, in spite of the
emphatic protests of Philip, who seemed to think that nursemaids had
been invented for that purpose.
This was a subject, however, upon which Mary was a little inclined to
dogmatism. A mother who was young and strong, and as absurdly proud as
she was of her progeny, should show herself to be worthy of the good
gifts of heaven by taking a thoroughly practical interest in their
welfare. This was pretty sound doctrine, the Member for Blackhampton
was obliged to admit, although personally he rather thought that
nursemaids--
Mary had no belief in nursemaids.
Thereupon the proud father, in spite of an involuntary shudder of the
Twin Brethren--within his own breast, of course, not those within the
vehicle--felt that he himself should be allowed to undertake this
onerous duty.
Mary laughed at this. It was not the business of Man to push
perambulators, and no self-respecting woman would ever endure the
spectacle.
The pushing of the perambulator had all the elements of a pretty little
quarrel in it; but these young married people were much too modern
and sensible to conduct themselves in that old and foolish fashion.
_Amantium iræ_ amused them not. Real pals don’t snarl at one another,
whatever Q. Horatius may have to say upon the subject.
Therefore the proud father had to capitulate. Besides, said Mary, it
would never do for white spats by Grant and Cockburn to condescend to
such a menial occupation. The Button Club would certainly expel their
wearer if he was guilty of any such solecism. Even as it was, rumor had
it that he had been severely reprimanded by the Committee for daring to
stand as a Rag for Blackhampton, and worse, of getting himself elected
by a considerable majority. If he were to be seen pushing a “pram” in
the park on a fine June morning, he would be compelled to resign his
membership of the institution.
The member for Blackhampton had to yield; and Mary was left in
undisputed possession of her perambulator and its lusty occupants. And
certainly, as she trundled the vehicle along the railings of the Row,
she looked just about the nicest and proudest and happiest young mother
in the metropolis. It is true that on one occasion when the proud
father was accompanying the procession _à cheval_, one of England’s
future duchesses gave the young mother and her perambulator a decidedly
disdainful look as she passed them; and also that one of England’s
future dukes looked very hard at them, and, moreover, turned round to
stare after them, which was hardly what you would expect, and we hope
you will pardon his grossly unducal behavior. Still, the provocation
was great. Here was one of the mothers of the nation to which we are
all proud to belong, whether we are Rags or whether we are Waggers, a
simple, sensible, square-browed young matron, a picture of well-being,
who, having given two noble kids to the world, was determined to look
after ’em.
The young woman with the perambulator made a fascinating picture
on these fine June mornings, along by the railings of the Row; and
had it been painted by Rembrandt or Velasquez or some other old and
respectable painter, a good deal of money might have been offered for
it by cosmopolitan millionaires.
Indeed, the Young Woman with the Perambulator became rather a source
of remark for some of the _habitués_ of the thoroughfare. Elderly
gentlemen with well-brushed side-whiskers, grandfathers all, remarked
upon her to other elderly gentlemen. Sensible girl, they said, doing
good to herself and to the nation at large, and setting an example to
others. It was far better than leaving ’em to nursemaids and suchlike
careless hussies. You _know_ that they are all right when you have
charge of them yourself.
It chanced one morning as the procession followed its accustomed
course, with Philip near at hand, mounted on a quadruped that had
turned out better as a hack than as a ’chaser, a distinguished
personage came upon the scene in faultless morning attire. He was none
other than Arminius Wingrove.
A man of such wisdom could not do less than stay to admire the Twins.
For the life of him, though, he couldn’t say which side of the family
they favored most. Walter Augustus, named after the misguided Grandpapa
who had declined to attend the christening, had certainly the eyes of
his mother; Philip Archibald had certainly the eyes of his mother also.
The nose of Philip Archibald was, undoubtedly, that of his father;
the nose of Walter Augustus was undoubtedly that of his father also;
while as for the mouth, the mouth of both Walter Augustus and Philip
Archibald was undoubtedly that of both parents. Still, it must not be
thought that Walter Augustus and Philip Archibald had always to endure
those imposing names. One was called Bow and the other was called Wow
in domestic circles.
So unfeigned was the admiration of Arminius Wingrove that nothing would
content him but that he should turn and accompany the procession as
far as the Achilles statue. But before they were able to gain that
desirable bourn, which itself commemorates a great moment in the life
of the nation, yet one more historic incident was destined to occur.
Alas, that its only commemoration is like to be these unworthy pages!
However, if the Board of Supererogation, evidences of whose romantic
disposition are to be found all over our fair metropolis, really feels
disposed to mark the precise spot where this historic episode came to
pass, it may be said that it was exactly opposite the little kiosk for
the sale of newspapers and other undesirable forms of literature which
has been permitted to invade the chaste precincts of what was once
considered the most exclusive spot in all London.
An elderly gentleman in a glossy silk hat, with well-brushed eyebrows
and of a mien of generally composed importance, was debouching slowly
yet all unknown into this historic episode. He was not looking very
happy for all that he wore his habitual air of distinction. He was a
Proconsul, and full many of the passers-by saluted him respectfully.
But he did not seem in anywise the better for these manifestations of
public regard.
If the truth must be told of this elderly gentleman, sorrow and envy
were the occupants of his heart this lovely June morning, when even the
metropolitan prospect was all that was fair and gracious. He was the
most miserable grandfather in London, instead of being the proudest and
happiest, as he certainly ought to have been.
In his stately progress he passed other grandfathers. They were walking
with their sons and daughters, and with the sons and daughters of
their sons and daughters, and looking immeasurably the better for the
privilege. Surely, it was good to be a grandfather on this fine June
morning. It seemed a perfectly honorable and rational and proper state
of being.
Every yard he walked, the conviction grew firmer in him that this was
the case. It was surely the duty of elderly gentlemen with well-brushed
eyebrows to rejoice in that degree. There was a man he knew well, a
member of Parliament, looking so pink and prosperous, with a small girl
holding one hand and a small boy holding the other. Envy and sorrow
were not in that heart, it was certain.
Could it be that his recent policy had been vain and weak and
shortsighted? The great Proconsul had never asked himself such
questions before, but it was becoming increasingly clear to him that
he would have to be asking them presently. A grandfather had surely no
right to make himself as ridiculous as he had done.
Then it was that the great Proconsul came right opposite the Achilles
statue, and the episode to which we have already referred got itself
made into history. A certain Mr. Wingrove, a famous dramatist who had
been elected recently under the rule _honoris causâ_ to Grandfather’s
club, and with whom Grandfather was upon pleasantly familiar
terms, came into view. Walking by the side of Mr. Wingrove was a
charming-looking girl. She had charge of a most commodious double
perambulator, and so proudly was she trundling it that it was quite
clear to the acute perception of the great Proconsul that this was a
case of Twins.
Grandfather, in his present somewhat emotional state, must needs stop
and shake Mr. Wingrove heartily by the hand. And, further, he was
constrained to offer his sincere congratulations. He overflowed with
admiration.
“And _what_ are their names?” he asked.
“One is called Bow, and the other is called Wow,” said the demure young
mother.
It seemed passing strange to Mr. Wingrove that the great Proconsul
should not know the names of his own grandchildren, and, moreover, that
he should not recognize them and their mother. Then a light dawned
suddenly upon him. Further, it seemed to this sagacious mind that in
the absence of the lawful father, who had turned his horse and who was
going now down the Row at a canter, that a legitimate opportunity had
presented itself for the exercise of the comic spirit.
“I should really like my wife to see them,” said the great Proconsul.
“Such splendid fellows; the picture of health.”
“Oh, yes, by all means,” said Mr. Wingrove, with a rather sly smile at
the proud young mother.
No time like the present. If Mrs. W. didn’t mind bringing along these
infant phenomena as far as Grosvenor Square, which is hardly ten
minutes’ walk from the Achilles statue as the crow flies, he was sure
that Lady S. would be enchanted.
The gracious young matron would be delighted to take them round to
Grosvenor Square for the inspection of the wife of this most agreeable
elderly gentleman, whose name, by the way, she had not the pleasure of
knowing. All the same, the mention of Grosvenor Square and the demeanor
of Mr. Wingrove combined to give the young madam a pretty shrewd
suspicion.
As for Arminius Wingrove, he was amazed at the resource and the
boldness of Providence, which, of course, he was quite entitled to be.
And in that, to be sure, he was by no means singular. Many first-rate
minds have been similarly occupied for some little time past.
Grandfather, all unconscious of the wicked trick that Fate had put upon
him, prattled along by the side of the four-wheeled chariot; and he
was presently moved to indulge in the proud confidence that they had
recently had Twins in the Family.
“Oh, really,” said Mr. Wingrove.
“Oh, how interesting,” said the proud young mother, not to be outdone
in gravity.
“I must really go and see ’em,” said Grandfather.
“Oh, haven’t you seen them yet?” said the fair charioteer.
Not yet. It seemed that a Proconsul had so many calls upon his
attention.
“Well, if I was their mother, I don’t think I should be very pleased
with _you_. Haven’t you been rather remiss, Mr.--? I haven’t the
pleasure of knowing your name.”
“Lord Shelmerdine,” said Mr. Wingrove, hastening to atone for his sin
of omission.
By this, they were waiting to cross Park Lane.
“Shall I tell him yours?” whispered the famous playwright to Mrs.
Philip.
“No, of course you mustn’t,” said that designing young Madam. “Unless
you want to spoil everything.”
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
--Madge, on page 29, has been changed to Marge.
--Member of nature’s nobility, on page 43, has been changed
to members.
--Jaegar, on page 117, has been changed to Jaeger to match
other occurrences in the book.
--Pro-consular, on page 138, has been changed to proconsular.
--Hapily on page 140 has been changed to Happily.
--Base, on page 159, has been changed to bass.
--As, on page 174, has been changed to was.
--Precints, on page 196, has been changed to precincts.
--And, on page 206, has been changed to an.
--Lork, on page 228, has been changed to Lord.
--Ex-Ambasador, page 230, has been changed to Ex-Ambassador.
--Siddons on page 232 has been changed to Siddons’.
--Casper, on page 253 has been corrected to Caspar.
--All other spelling and hyphenation has been retained as typeset.