grouse. [I would rather--I don't know what--than she had sent them.]
You evidently know my weakness, dear, and yours is the first we have
received this season. [That'll let her know we are in the habit of
getting game.] I am already looking forward to the treat. [I won't
touch them.] Thanking you again, and with love.--Yours
affectionately, MARY CLARK.
"I know what--yes. Mrs. M'Cranky called the other day for nothing
else, I'm sure, than to let me know her husband was away shooting.
I'll let her know we have friends who have shootings as well as she
has; she'll not know where we got them."
When Mr. Clark came home at night he had reluctantly to consent to
take them with him the following morning and send them to M'Cranky's
office.
"Generosity has been rewarded," said M'Cranky, when he took the birds
home at night. "Clark sent these to the office; very good of him.
Met him at the club at lunch, and asked him to bring his wife on
Thursday to help us with them. Young birds won't keep."
"We may as well ask Mr. and Mrs. Wallace, too," said Mrs. M'Cranky;
"they haven't been here since they were married."
"All right; but you'll have to buy another brace."
"That will be too many, unless we were to ask Mr. and Mrs. Wilson."
"All right; please yourself."
Mrs. M'Cranky is one of a numerous class who delight in worrying over
preparations for a dinner, and who feel well rewarded when any of the
ladies remark that "the table is beautifully laid out," and her
excitement was kept up till the guests arrived, when the conversation
became general, and every one seemed prepared to laugh at the mildest
of jokes; but when the grouse were brought in, three of the ladies
felt as if the sword of Damocles was hanging over their heads by a
very slender thread. Just before going to the dining-room, Mrs.
M'Cranky had a final look into the kitchen to see that all was right,
when the cook upset her equilibrium by saying:
"Do you know, mum, that the two grouse the master brought in are the
same you sent to Mrs. Wallace?"
"Nonsense!" said Mrs. M'Cranky; "surely you are mistaken."
"The self an' same birds, mum. I knew the string; an' one of them
had a little grass sticking under the wing, where it had been
bleeding."
Mrs. M'Cranky tried to banish the unpleasant thought from her mind,
but it would return, as if asking for a solution.
"The grouse is very nice," said Mrs. Wilson. "One enjoys it so much
at the beginning of the season."
"You have Mr. Clark to thank," said the innocent M'Cranky, and three
swords fell.
Mrs. M'Cranky tried to catch her husband's eye, but he would not look
her way, and it was too late, at any rate. Mr. Clark got a warning
look from his wife, and though he did not comprehend it fully, he
knew he was to say nothing. Mrs. Wallace's cheeks turned red, and
she tried to hide her blushes by bending over her plate, feeling she
had made Mrs. Clark her enemy.
The stereotyped compliment was repeated by everyone on
leaving--"Thank you so much for a very pleasant evening"; but a
different sentiment was expressed in two of the cabs on the way home.
"Well, that was a good spread," said Mr. Wallace, with the satisfied
tone of one who is at peace with all mankind.
"Don't light that cigar, for any sake; I feel just like to cry; I
never was so miserable in my life."
"What's wrong?"
"What's wrong! Can't you see? Mrs. M'Cranky got back her grouse,
and we're all found out."
"Ha, ha! well, that's a good one."
"Do you think so? I call it just beastly."
"M'Cranky does the thing well," said Mr. Clark.
"Don't speak about it. I never felt so glad to get out of a house."
"How?"
"That Mrs. Wallace knows I gave away her grouse, but thank goodness
she's found out too."
"I don't understand."
"No; men are donkeys."
"Women are mysteries."
M'CRANKY'S DECEPTIONS ABOUT GOLF
It is a pity that evil should be mixed with our most healthy and, in
themselves, innocent amusements. Some bad men, who are otherwise
modest, boast of and exaggerate their achievements, tell of the good
things done, and omit the stupid, as in the case of the sportsman of
whom it was said, "What he hit was history, what he missed was
mystery."
Golf is generally admitted to be one of the best recreations for
combining the necessary amount of excitement, removing all thoughts
of business cares, and at the same time giving exercise in the open
air, making it all the more regrettable that it should be capable of
leading to the debasing and humiliating position experienced by Mr.
M'Cranky.
Golfers could be found who are considered--and consider
themselves--strictly honest, who would omit to count a miss if they
were not observed, or surreptitiously move their ball to a better
position.
"There is one thing I like about golf," said an Englishman who has
only been a few months at the game, "It is impossible to cheat at it."
"You don't know," said his friend, smiling. "Two caddies were
playing for a sovereign, at Musselburgh, and, in going to Mrs.
Forman's, one lost his ball, and as the five minutes allowed to look
for a lost ball were about up, and he saw the hole would be lost to
him, he quietly dropped another ball and said, 'Oh, here it is!' when
his opponent, who had apparently been assisting him to find the ball,
turned on him reproachfully and said, 'That's a lie! I've had your
ball in my pocket all the time.'"
Though M'Cranky is almost invariably in the wrong in the many
arguments he has with his better half, he has the greatest dislike to
being found out, and never admits being mistaken; and--argue as he
may with himself--he feels that his duplicity has been discovered by
his wife.
Their friend Mrs. Watson had spent June and July at a farmhouse near
Crieff, and one day at tea she told Mrs. M'Cranky how much she and
the children had enjoyed the place, and benefited by it.
"You should certainly take it for August and September," she said;
and Mrs. M'Cranky, knowing that the selection of summer quarters was
generally left to herself, at once determined to write and secure the
house, little thinking that M'Cranky had another scheme on hand. She
was impatient for the dinner hour, being anxious to impart the
glowing account of the place as described by Mrs. Watson.
"Mrs. Watson's home from Crieff," she began, "and she was awfully
sorry to leave, and she says it's just the place for us, and I'm
going to write after dinner to secure it, in case any one should be
after it."
"You'll have to go yourself, then; I can't."
"But you must, dear; you know quite well that you require a rest, and
it's a fine bracing place, and plenty of nice milk and eggs, and--"
"I don't care for milk, and in any case I tell you I can't go."
"And the people are so kind, Mrs. Watson says."
"Why did she come home, then?"
"Oh! she had to, you know; and there's a horse and a trap we can have
the use of. The farmer used to drive Mrs. Watson and the girls every
day, but he says he couldn't drive now, as he'll be so busy; but
that'll be all the better, because we'll have it all to ourselves,
and you can drive fine. You remember when----"
"Drive! you would drive anybody out of his mind with your talk.
Didn't I tell you I can't go."
"But you must, dear. I can't let you kill yourself with work, and
Mrs. Watson says it is very cheap. She got the rooms for eight
pounds and ten pounds, but she thinks it might be twelve pounds for
August, only if we stayed on we might get it in September for six
pounds, and then there's a great saving. You know when she was at
Luss last year she paid about thirty shillings to get her luggage
taken to the house, and then she had to pay for the cartage of the
coals--I forget how much, but we would save all that because the
farmer would send a cart, and that all helps to reduce the rent, you
know."
"Well, we can't go there this month, and that's all about it. I
don't care much where we go, but I must get into business every
morning, and as you're on the economical tack, we can get the place
cheaper in September. Now there's North Berwick; I know several
fellows who come into town every morning, and we can all come
together; in fact, I was told of a house close to the links--to the
station; and then you know"--he added with more than his usual
consideration--"it'll not be so lonely for you, as you'll meet a lot
of your lady friends, and I can easily spare the Saturdays."
Mrs. M'Cranky was very reluctant to give up the dream of driving
about the country without having to think of the cost per hour for a
trap. Still she felt business must not be neglected, and September
is often a nice month. M'Cranky was in a bad humour with himself.
The idea of going to North Berwick had been a week in his head, and
he was annoyed that he had not spoken of it before Mrs. Watson
called, as he would have simply said, as he intended, that he would
take a house there, for the sake of the golf. Now, he had, without
thinking of the result, pretended that his object in going there was
in order to be able to attend to business. He must now, however,
keep up the deception.
"Is there any use putting in your knickerbockers," said Mrs.
M'Cranky, the night before they were leaving.
"I dare say you may," said M'Cranky; "I may get a round in the
evenings, you know"; and immediately he had spoken he was annoyed
that he had not had courage to say he intended having more than a
round in the evenings; it made him feel that he was afraid of his
wife, though he would not admit to himself that such a thing was
possible. It was just the way the thing had come about, but he would
let her know soon, though, like most people, he put off the evil day
of confession till too late.
"There's no use going in to town to-day," he said on the first
morning. "I'll stay and see the things unpacked, and they know to
write or wire if there's anything important. Where's my
knickerbockers?"
Mrs. M'Cranky was pleased with her husband's thoughtfulness, knowing
that he hated to be asked even to untie a rope; but he had little
intention of ruffling his temper with the hated work. He was looking
at his watch every few minutes, and asking if breakfast wasn't ready.
"Hurry up," he said to the girl; "just bring in whatever you have
ready. I smell ham; if it's not ready, I couldn't take any--I mean I
don't wish ham this morning, unless it's--; look sharp with whatever
you have."
Mrs. M'Cranky was still in the bedroom, and he was hurrying with his
breakfast as if he had only a few minutes to catch the morning train,
so that he had just about finished when she entered.
"You haven't finished already?" she said, as he rose from the table.
"Yes; you've been a long time of dressing. Just help yourself to the
ham, and I'll go out and have a saunter."
He had great difficulty in keeping his hands from his watch, and in
restraining himself to walk slowly out of the room with the necessary
aimlessness of one who has nothing to do. In the lobby he was
careful not to make a noise in lifting the clubs, and though a door
in the back garden opened to the Links, he walked out by the front,
as the dining-room window commanded a view of the back garden; and no
sooner had he got away from the house than he doubled his pace,
making up his mind that he wouldn't sneak away in that manner again,
but just say he was going to golf--not thinking how much easier it is
to get into deceit than to get out of it.
"What's kept you?" said his friend Macfarlane at the teeing ground;
"our number has been called."
"Well, there's a lot of things to unpack, you know."
This was literally true, but M'Cranky felt that his expression of it
was fallacious, and, as he remembered reading at school, very nearly
related to falsehood. It was humiliating, but he would put it all
right to-morrow morning, and he might have acted up to his intentions
if he had been able to adopt the proverb of thinking twice before
speaking once; but when, next morning, Mrs. M'Cranky said, "You're
not going to town in your knickerbockers, are you?" he hastily said:
"Oh, I don't know; there's nobody in town you know; but, in fact, I
wasn't thinking----"
"Oh yes, keep them on. I like you in knickerbockers. I wish
everybody wore them--gentlemen, I mean."
The interruption was unfortunate for poor M'Cranky's resolution; he
was screwing himself up to say that he wasn't thinking of going to
town, and giving up the pretence of not being able to get away from
business. He did not like the idea of going round the Links,
continually looking about him in fear of meeting his wife; but she
had no suspicion, as he walked out without clubs, having told his
caddie to keep them for him; and when she said, "You're not going to
town with these clumsy boots on? Put on your brown shoes; they are
much neater," he mumbled something about hurting his feet when he had
thick stockings on.
The deception had been going on for about a fortnight, and M'Cranky
was getting hardened in it, when his friend said, "Mrs. Macfarlane
was telling me she had asked Mrs. M'Cranky along to supper to-night,
and I was to bring you along with me."
"Thank you," said M'Cranky, with an idea that exposure was imminent.
Would he ask his friend not to allude to golf? No; that would be a
confession that he was afraid of his wife, and he would have no one
think that. He must trust to luck. It would be bad enough for his
wife to find it out, but worse if before other people. That was his
least enjoyable day; and as golf requires all one's attention, and
M'Cranky's thoughts were wandering, he played a bad game. He was
wishing the night safely over, and he would certainly put an end to
the deceit next day.
"Aren't our husbands looking well?" said Mrs. Macfarlane to Mrs.
M'Cranky. "But no wonder they are brown; the two of them are never
off the----"
"You have a fine view here," M'Cranky interrupted, trying to change
the subject.
"Yes; I suppose you haven't been as far east before? You men never
think of anything but the Links; you never think of taking out your
wives."
"Well, you know, Mr. M'Cranky hasn't much time just now, and I know
he is the better of any exercise he can get. However, next month we
are going to Crieff, and he'll have no business to worry him; but
when one has to go in to business every day, it just spoils the----"
"May we have a smoke?" said M'Cranky perspiring with excitement. "We
might go outside"; and the two women were left to have a talk by
themselves.
"Does your wife think you go in to town every morning?" Macfarlane
asked, laughing, when they got outside.
"Oh, I don't think so," said M'Cranky, with assumed carelessness.
"You see, she wanted to go to Crieff this month, and I--eh--didn't
see my way at the time, and--eh--perhaps I didn't say anything about
it after. She's always late for breakfast, and, in fact, I never
thought anything about it."
The two ladies laughed when their husbands returned; and when Mrs.
Macfarlane said, "There's not one better than another; men were
deceivers ever," M'Cranky felt that the secret was out. "He has been
telling his wife," he thought; "some men can't keep anything from
their wives." Still he felt that he was only trying to excuse
himself, and that he was in the wrong--a bitter admission for him to
have to admit even to himself. And what was the cause of all his
deceit? Simply that Davidson had asked him to have a day at
Kinghorn, and had beaten him; and he had determined to have a month's
practice, and challenge him again. "I could easily beat Davidson,"
he said, when asked how they got on; "he has a bad style of
addressing the ball, and only takes a half swing."
Davidson, however, had been practising too, and has beaten him again
in the return match, and now M'Cranky has not even the satisfaction
of feeling that his subterfuge and humiliation have been compensated.
MRS. M'CRANKY AT THE
INTERNATIONAL FOOTBALL MATCH...
"You don't require uour ulster to-day, dear," said Mrs. M'Cranky on
Saturday afternoon, seeing her husband preparing to go out; "it's
quite mild, and your ulster's so shabby at any rate, and you've got
your heavy shoes on too--are you going to golf?"
"No, I was thinking of going to the football match."
This was said as if his mind had not been made up on the subject,
though he had bought two tickets for the stand the week before, one
of which he had forgotten to give to the friend for whom he intended
it.
"Is that where all the people are going? They were going down
Queensferry Street in crowds just now when I came along. I wonder
you can be bothered going to such a thing. May I come with you?"
"You'll be tired; you've just been out; and you don't think it will
be worth seeing."
"I'll not be tired if I'm with you, and I don't care what it is as
long as I'm beside you. I was at the Exhibition."
"Come along, then; we must hurry up to get a good seat."
"What a crowd of people!" said Mrs. M'Cranky, as they were entering
the gate. "What do they charge for admission?"
"A shilling," said Mr. M'Cranky, truthfully, but fallaciously,
handing over two tickets for which he had paid 3_s._ 6_d._ each.
"There's nothing to be seen but people. What are these men doing at
that table?"
"These are the reporters."
"Is it so interesting as that? Will people read about it?"
"I should think so; it's the first thing a lot of fellows look at."
"But what is the game? What do they try to do?"
"Well, you see, the match to-day is between Scotland and Wales. The
Scotch will try to drive the ball one way, and the Welsh the other;
and if they kick it over that bar, that's a goal, and counts five."
"And do you mean to say that men will come all the way from Wales to
kick a ball over a post?"
"Yes, and crowds will come with them to see it."
"Well, I didn't think men could be so stupid."
"Wait till you see them at it, and you'll understand. Here they
come! I hear the people shouting. There they are! That's Wales!"
"They look very nice in their red jerseys. I hope they'll win."
"I hope not, by jingo! or I'll lose half a--eh; why do you hope
they'll win? Wouldn't you be better pleased if Scotland won?"
"No; I think if they are at the trouble to come all this length, it
would be only kindness of our side to let them win, and then they
would go home pleased."
"There's Scotland coming in at the other end; hooray!"
"I hope they'll win too. They look very nice, but their jerseys are
not so clean; they might have had them washed when they are receiving
company. That's not a rough game. I've heard they were sometimes
rough with each other."
"They haven't begun yet; that's only a bit fun to stretch themselves.
There's a pigeon away."
"Where did it come from, dear?"
"The reporters; there, it's away to the office with a message."
"The dear, sweet, innocent thing; I hope it will find its way; it's
flying round about, poor thing."
"Oh, it's all right. Scotland's lost the toss; they're kicking off."
"I wonder you can laugh, dear," said Mrs. M'Cranky a few minutes
later; "didn't you see one of the Wales men knocked over, and his
trousers are all mud, and the clumsy fellow who did it never stopped
to apologise. No wonder the English think we're a set of savages.
Hold your tongue, dear; don't shout like that. I wouldn't encourage
them, and the people will hear you. There's another man down; it's
perfectly disgraceful; and there's that stupid policeman looking on
and pretending he doesn't see it. Now, if that were to happen in the
street, he would take the man up quick enough. If I were these men
from Wales, I would never come back."
"Well stopped, Cameron!" shouted M'Cranky.
"Oh, do you know them, dear? He's knocked down, I declare. The
Welshmen are no better than ours. Is the little one Cameron?"
"Yes, yes; don't haver, it was well stopped."
"But that Welshman ought to be ashamed of himself; he's so much
bigger than Cameron. Is he nice?--Cameron, I mean."
"Yes, a very nice fellow."
"Well, I think it's cruel to behave like that; he might have been
hurt. What's the use of behaving like that? I don't understand what
they're trying to do. What's the use of--look at that! I'm not
going to stay here any longer; somebody is sure to get hurt. There
was a man took another by the neck and deliberately threw him on the
ground, just because he had the ball, I suppose. What's the use of
fighting like that over a ball? Can they not take the other one--I
saw them bring in two--and let each side use their own ball? Do you
see any fun in that? Come away home, dear; you're shaking with cold."
M'Cranky was shaking, but it was with excitement.
"Not precious likely," he said. "I wouldn't miss this for anything.
Pass! The idiot! why didn't he pass?"
"He couldn't get past, dear. You shouldn't speak like that. Didn't
you see that man took a hold of him as if he had been a pickpocket?
What are they doing now?"
"Scrimmage."
"I declare the people are all mad, shouting 'Scotland.' Can't they
see the poor fellows are doing their best; and, besides, it's bad
taste before the visitors. I can't understand you men; you wouldn't
hurt a fly, and yet you laugh and shout 'well played' or something
when a man throws another down and falls on the top of him. I didn't
think you could be so cruel."
"Rubbish! Well saved again, Cameron! Played, MacGregor!"
"If you know the gentlemen, you should speak to them, dear; tell them
not to be so rough, and I'm sure they would enjoy the game better.
What will their mothers say when they go home with their clothes in
such a mess! I wouldn't let them play if they were mine."
"Half-time. Well, the Scotch should do something next half, with
what wind there is in their favour."
"Is it not finished, dear? I don't think we should stay. I'm sure
you'll catch cold; you've just been shivering all the time. Is that
slices of lemon they're getting? I think they should get some nice
warm water to wash themselves, they are all so dirty; and I'm sure
they would be the better of a cup of tea. It seems very difficult to
do what they are trying, and no wonder; when any one got the ball and
was running away, that gentleman with the flag blew a whistle and
brought him back. What business has he to interfere?"
"He's referee, and it must have been thrown forward."
"Well, but one couldn't help that, if it's wrong. If I had the ball
I would just run on, and pretend not to hear the whistle. He spoilt
the game several times, and I'm sure they're all gentlemen, who
wouldn't do anything unfair, though they are rough with each other."
"They're off again; Sco--otland!"
"Hold your tongue, dear; they're just working like slaves. I don't
see how they can call that a game."
"D-- it, they're in! Isn't--that--most----"
"For shame, dear! You shouldn't speak like that. I don't see why
you should pay to get in here, for you don't seem to have enjoyed it
a bit. Has Wales won?"
"They've got a try--humbug!"
"Well, I'm very glad, after all their trouble coming here."
"Well played, Leggat! He's always on the spot when wanted."
"Now, isn't that simply disgraceful! They've torn a man's jersey. I
believe the Welsh are just as bad as our fellows. Now, it's enough
to give that poor fellow his death of cold, when he's heated; and the
people are laughing, too, as if it was fun; but they seem to expect
that sort of thing, for there's a man coming with another. I think
they would require to keep a stock of wooden legs, if they go on that
way. That's not the way gentlemen should behave."
"Our backs are weak," said M'Cranky to himself.
"Well, that one who had his jersey torn off has a very strong back;
don't you think so? Now, there's one of the Welshmen hurt! I knew
something would happen. It's perfectly disgraceful in a civilised
country. Somebody should really write to the papers about it; and
what are the policemen doing here if they allow that sort of conduct?
They're taking off his stocking, poor fellow; I hope he'll have more
sense than try football again, but there's not one better than
another."
"Oh, he's all right; he's getting up again."
"Well, if I were him I would just say I wouldn't play; he's quite
lame, poor fellow. I can't understand it; he's going to play again.
Well, I hope it'll be a lesson to them all to be more careful; but I
would like to go home, dear. I'm afraid some one will get hurt. You
might come away; you know you're just exciting yourself for nothing.
What do you say to having a cup of tea with----"
"Tea, be blowed! I'm not going to move. Scotland hasn't scored yet,
and it's time they were hurrying up."
"I wonder you can be so cruel, dear. I think they have all more need
of a rest."
"By jingo! there's Menzies in! No, he's brought back. Isn't that
most----"
"Be careful, dear; people will hear you."
"Another try for Wales--well, I'm----"
"Hush, dear, we should really go away; you're getting quite cross."
"No wonder; it would make a saint swear--two tries to nothing!"