He was proceeding to look round the field when a gentle voice from behind him said: "If you wouldn't mind moving a bit, sir, I could bowl."
"Oh, is it over?" said the editor airily, trying to hide his confusion. "I beg your pardon, I beg your pardon."
Still he had certainly impressed the sister of their captain, and it was dreadful to think of the disillusionment that might follow at any moment. However, as it happened, he had yet another trick up his sleeve. Bolton hit a ball to cover, and the editor, in the words of the local paper, "most sportingly sacrificed his wicket when he saw that his partner had not time to get back. It was a question, however, whether there was ever a run possible."
Which shows that the reporter did not know of the existence of their captain's sister.
When I came in, the score was fifty-one for nine, and Henry was still in. I had only one ball to play, so I feel that I should describe it in full. I have four good scoring strokes—the cut, the drive, the hook and the glance. As the bowler ran up to the crease I decided to cut the ball to the ropes. Directly, however, it left his hand, I saw that it was a ball to hook, and accordingly I changed my attitude to the one usually adopted for that stroke. But the ball came up farther than I expected, so at the last moment I drove it hard past the bowler. That at least was the idea. Actually, it turned out to be a beautiful glance shot to the leg boundary. Seldom, if ever, has Beldam had such an opportunity for four action photographs on one plate.
Henry took a sixer next ball, and so we won. And the rest of the story of my team, is it not written in the journals ofThe SportsmanandThe Chartleigh Watchman, and in the hearts of all who were privileged to compose it? But how the editor took two jokes I told him in the train, and put them in his paper (as his own), and how Carey challenged the engine-driver to an eighteen-hole solitaire match, and how ... these things indeed shall never be divulged.
I should like to explain just what happened to the ball. In the first place it was of an irreproachable length, and broke very sharply and cleverly from the leg. (The bowler, I am sure, will bear me out in this.) Also it rose with great suddenness ... and, before I had time to perfect any adequate system of defence, took me on the knee, and from there rolled on to the off-stump. There was a considerable amount of applause on the part of the field, due, no doubt, to the feeling that a dangerous batsman had been dismissed without scoring. I need hardly add that I did not resent this appreciation.
What I really wished to say to the wicket-keeper was (1) that it was the first fast wicket I had played on this summer; (2) that it was my first nought this season, and, hang it, even Fry made noughts sometimes; and (3) that personally I always felt that it didn't matter what one made oneself so long as one's side was victorious. What I actually said was shorter; but I expect the wicket-keeper understood just as well. He seemed an intelligent fellow.
After that, I walked nine miles back to the pavilion.
The next man was brushing his hair in the dressing-room.
"What's happened?" he asked.
"Nothing," I said truthfully.
"But you're out, aren't you?"
"I mean that nothing has eventuated—accrued, as it were."
"Blob? Bad luck. Is my parting straight?"
"It curls a bit from leg up at the top, but it will do. Mind you make some. I always feel that so long as one's side is victorious——"
But he was gone. I brushed my own hair very carefully, lit a cigarette, and went outside to the others. I always think that a nought itself is nothing—the way one carries it off is everything. A disaster, not only to himself but also to his side, should not make a man indifferent to his personal appearance.
"Bad luck," said somebody. "Did it come back?"
"Very quickly. We both did."
"He wasn't breaking much when I was in," said some tactless idiot.
"Then why did you get out?" I retorted.
"L.b.w."
I moved quickly away from him, and sat next to a man who had yet to go in.
"Bad luck," he said. "Second ball, wasn't it? I expect I shall do the same."
I thought for a moment.
"What makes you think you will have a second?" I asked.
"To judge from the easy way in which those two are knocking the bowling about, I sha'n't even have a first," he smiled.
I moved on again.
"Hallo," said a voice. "I saw you get out. How many did you make?"
"None," I said wearily.
"How many?"
I went and sat down next to him.
"Guess," I said.
"Oh, I can't."
"Well, think of a number."
"Yes."
"Double it. Divide by two. Take away the number you first thought of. What does that make?"
"A hundred."
"You must have done it wrong," I said suspiciously.
"No, I am sure I didn't.... No, it still comes to a hundred."
"Well, then, I must have made a hundred," I said excitedly. "Are yousureyou haven't made a mistake?"
"Quite."
"Then I'd better go and tell the scorer. He put me down a blob—silly ass."
"He's a bad scorer, I know."
"By the way," I said, as I got up, "what number did you think of?"
"Well, it's like this. When you asked me to guess what you had made I instinctively thought of blob, only I didn't like to say so. Then when you began that number game I started with a hundred—it's such an easy number. Double—two hundred. Divided by two—one hundred. Take away the number you first thought of—that's blob, and you have a hundred left. Wasn't that right?"
"You idiot," I said angrily. "Of course it wasn't."
"Well, don't get sick about it. We all make mistakes."
"Sick, I'm not sick. Only just for the moment.... I really thought.... Well, I shall never be so near a century again."
At lunch I sat next to one of their side.
"How many did you make?" he asked.
"Not very many," I said.
"How many?"
"Oh, hardly any. None at all, practically."
"How many actually?"
"Andactually," I said. ("Fool.")
After lunch a strange man happened to be talking to me.
"And why didyouget out?" he asked.
It was a silly question and deserved a silly answer. Besides, I was sick of it all by this time.
"Point's moustache put me off," I said.
"What was wrong with Point's moustache?"
"It swerved the wrong way."
"I was fielding point," he said.
"I'm very sorry. But if you had recognised me, you wouldn't have asked why I got out, and if I had recognised you I shouldn't have told you. So let's forgive and forget."
I hoped that the subject was really closed this time. Of course, I knew that kind friends and relations would ask me on the morrow how many I had made, but for that day I wanted no more of it. Yet, as it happened, I reopened the subject myself.
For with five minutes to play their ninth wicket fell. Mid-off sauntered over towards me.
"Just as well we didn't stay in any longer."
"That'sjustwhat I thought," I said triumphantly, "all along."
Of Tomkins as a natural cricketerIt frequently has been remarked—that IFHe'd had more opportunities of bowling,And rather more encouragement in batting,And IF his averages, so disclosed,Batting and bowling, had been interchanged;And IF the field as usually setContained some post (at the pavilion end)Whose presence rather than a pair of handsWas called for; then, before the season finished,Tomkins would certainly have played for Kent.
All this, however, is beside the mark.Just now I wish to hymn the glorious day(Ignored by those who write the almanacs,Unnoticed by the calendar compilers),That Wednesday afternoon, twelve months agoWhen Tomkins raised his average to two.
Thanks to an interval of accidents(As "Tomkins did not bat"—and "not out 0,"But this more rarely) Tomkins' averageHad long remained at 1.3.(Though Tomkins, sacrificing truth to pride,Or both to euphony, left out the dot—
Left out the little dot upon the three,Only employing it to justifyA second three to follow on the first.Thus, if a stranger asked his averageTomkins would answer "One point thirty-three"—Nor lay the stress unduly on the "one" ...).
A curious thing is custom! There are men—Plum Warner is, of course, a case in point—Who cannot bat unless they go in first.Others, as Hayes and Denton, have their placeFirst wicket down; while Number Six or soIs suited best to Jessop. As for TomkinsHis place was always one above the Byes,And three above the Wides. So Custom willed.
Upon this famous Wednesday afternoonWickets had fallen fast before the onslaughtOf one who had, as Euclid might have put it,No length, or break, but only pace; and paceHad been too much for nine of them already.Then entered Tomkins the invincible.Took guard as usual, "just outside the leg,"Looked round the field, and mentally decidedTo die—or raise his average to two.Whereon—for now the bowler was approaching,He struck a scientific attitude,Advanced the left leg firmly down the pitch,And swung his bat along the line AB(See Ranjitsinhji's famous book of cricket).
And when the bat and leg were both at B(Having arrived there more or less together),Then Tomkins, with his usual self-effacement,Modestly closed his eyes, and left the restTo Providence and Ranjy and the bowler(Forming a quorum); two at least of whomResolved that he should neatly glide the ballSomewhere between the first and second slips.So Tomkins did compile a chanceless two.
Once more the bowler rushed upon the crease,While Tomkins made a hasty calculation(Necessitating use of decimals)And found his average was 1.5.So lustily he smote and drove the ballLoftily over long stop's head for one;Which brought the decimal to seventy-five,And Tomkins, puffing, to the other end.Then, feeling that the time for risks was come,He rolled his sleeves up, blew upon his hands,And played back to a yorker, and was bowled.
Every position has its special charm.You go in first and find as a rewardThe wicket at its best; you go in laterAnd find the fielders slack, the bowling loose.Tomkins, who went in just above the Byes,Found one of them had slipped into his score.'Tis wise to take the good the gods provide you—And Tomkins has an average of two.
SMALL GAMES
"Why don't you sit up?" said Adela at dinner, suddenly prodding me in the back. Adela is old enough to take a motherly interest in my figure, and young enough to look extremely pretty while doing so.
"I always stoop at meals," I explained; "it helps the circulation. My own idea."
"But it looks so bad. You ought——"
"Don't improve me," I begged,
"No wonder you have——"
"Hush! I haven't. I got a bullet on the liver in the campaign of '03, due to over-smoking, and sometimes it hurts me a little in the cold weather. That's all."
"Why don't you try the Hyperion?"
"I will. Where is it?"
"It isn't anywhere; you buy it."
"Oh, I thought you dined at it. What do you buy it for?"
"It's one of those developers with elastics and pulleys and so on. Every morning early, for half-an-hour before breakfast——"
"Youaretrying to improve me," I said suspiciously.
"But they are such good things," went on Adela earnestly. "They really do help to make you beautiful——"
"Iambeautiful."
"Well, much more beautiful. And strong——"
"Are you being simply as tactful as you can be?"
"—and graceful."
"It isn't as though you were actually a relation," I protested.
Adela continued, full of her ideas:
"It would do you so much good, you know. Would you promise me to use it every day if I sent you mine?"
"Why don't you want yours any more now? Are you perfect now?"
"You can easily hook it to the wall——"
"I suppose," I reflected, "there is a limit of beauty beyond which it is dangerous to go. After that, either the thing would come off the hook, or——"
"Well," said Adela suddenly, "aren't I looking well?"
"You're looking radiant," I said appreciatively; "but it may only be because you're going to marry Billy next month."
She smiled and blushed. "Well, I'll send it to you," she said. "And you try it for a week, and then tell me if you don't feel better. Oh, and don't do all the exercises to begin with; start with three or four of the easy ones."
"Of course," I said.
* * * * * * *
I undid the wrappings eagerly, took off the lid of the box, and was confronted with (apparently) six pairs of braces. I shook them out of the box and saw I had made a mistake. It was one pair of braces for Magog. I picked it up, and I knew that I was in the presence of the Hyperion. In five minutes I had screwed a hook into the bedroom wall and attached the beautifier. Then I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at it.
There was a tin plate, fastened to the top, with the word "LADIES" on it. I got up, removed it with a knife, and sat down again. Everything was very dusty, and I wondered when Adela had last developed herself.
By-and-by I went into the other room to see if I had overlooked anything. I found on the floor a chart of exercises, and returned triumphantly with it.
There were thirty exercises altogether, and the chart gave
(1) A detailed explanation of how to do each particular exercise;
(2) A photograph of a lady doing it.
"After all," I reassured myself, after the first bashful glance, "it is Adela who has thrust this upon me; and she must have known." So I studied it.
Nos. 10, 15 and 28 seemed the easiest; I decided to confine myself to them. For the first of these you strap yourself in at the waist, grasp the handles, and fall slowly backwards until your head touches the floor—all the elastic cords being then at full stretch. When I had got very slowly halfway down, an extra piece of elastic which had got hitched somewhere came suddenly into play, and I did the rest of the journey without a stop, finishing up sharply against the towel horse. The chart had said, "Inhale going down," and I was inhaling hard at the moment that the towel horse and two damp towels spread themselves over my face.
"So much for Exercise 10," I thought, as I got up. "I'll just get the idea to-night, and then start properly to-morrow. Now for No. 15."
Somehow I felt instinctively that No. 15 would cause trouble. For No. 15 you stand on the right foot, fasten the left foot to one of the cords, and stretch it out as far as you can....
What—officially—you do then, I cannot say....
Some people can stand easily upon the right foot, when the left is fastened to the wall ... others cannot ... it is a gift....
Having recovered from my spontaneous rendering of No. 15 I turned to No. 28. This one, I realised, was extremely important; I would do it twelve times.
You begin by lying flat on the floor, roped in at the waist, and with your hands (grasping the elastic cords) held straight up in the air. The tension on your waist is then extreme, but on your hands only moderate. Then, taking a deep breath, you pull your arms slowly out until they lie along the floor. The tension becomes terrific, the strain on every part of you is immense. While I lay there, taking a deep breath before relaxing, I said to myself, "The strain will be too much for me."
I was wrong. It was too much for the hook. The hook whizzed out, everything flew at me at once, and I remembered no more....
As I limped into bed, I trod heavily upon something sharp. I shrieked and bent down to see what had bitten me. It was a tin plate bearing the words "LADIES."
* * * * * * *
"Well?" said Adela, a week later.
I looked at her for a long time.
"When did you last use the Hyperion?" I asked.
"About a year ago."
"Ah! ... You don't remember the chart that went with it?"
"Not well. Except, of course, that each exercise was arranged for a particular object according to what you wanted."
"Exactly. So I discovered yesterday. It was in very small type, and I missed it at first."
"Well, how many did you do?"
"I limited myself to Exercises 10, 15, and 28. Do you happen to remember what those were for?"
"Not particularly."
"No. Well, I started with No. 10. No. 10, you may recall, is one of the most perilous. I nearly died over No. 10. And when I had been doing it for a week, I discovered what its particular object was."
"What?"
"'To round the forearm!' Yes, madam," I said bitterly, "I have spent a week of agony ... and I have rounded one forearm."
"Why didn't you try another?"
"I did. I tried No. 15. Six times in the pursuit of No. 15 have I been shot up to the ceiling by the left foot ... and what for, Adela? 'To arch the instep!' Look at my instep! Why should I want to arch it?"
"I wish I could remember which chart I sent you," said Adela, wrinkling her brow.
"It was the wrong one," I said....
There was a long silence.
"Oh," said Adela suddenly, "you never told me about No. 28."
"Pardon me," I said, "I cannot bear to speak of 28."
"Why, was it even more unsuitable than the other two?"
"I found, when I had done it six times, that its object was stated to be, 'To remove double chin.' That, however, was not the real effect. And so I crossed out the false comment and wrote the true one in its place."
"And what is that?" asked Adela.
"'To remove the hook,'" I said gloomily.
PROLOGUE
"I hear you're very good at croquet," said my hostess.
"Oh, well," I said modestly. (The fact is I can beat them all at home.)
"We have the North Rutland champion staying with us. He's very keen on a game. Now then, how can we manage?"
This was terrible. I must put it off somehow.
"Isthere a north to Rutland," I began argumentatively. "I always thought——"
"Yes, I see. He shall play with Jane against you and Miss Middleton. By the way, let me introduce you all."
We bowed to each other for a bit, and then I had another shock. The N.R. champion's mallet was bound with brass at each end (in case he wanted to hit backwards suddenly) and had a silver plate on it. Jane's had the brass only. It was absurd that they should play together.
I drew Miss Middleton on one side.
"I say," I began nervously, "I'm frightfully sorry, but I quite forgot to bring my mallet. Will it matter very much?"
"I haven't one either."
"You know, when my man was packing my bag, I particularly said to him, 'Now, don't forget to put in a mallet.' He said, 'Shall I put the spare one in too, sir, because the best one's sprung a bit?'"
"Oh, I've never had one of my own. I suppose when one is really good——"
"Well, to tell you the truth, I've never had one either. We're fairly in for it now."
"Never mind, we'll amuse ourselves somehow, I expect."
"Oh, I'm quite looking forward to it."
CHAPTER I
They kicked off from the summer-house end, and, after jockeying for the start a bit, the N.R. champion got going. He went very slowly but very surely. I watched anxiously for ten minutes, expecting my turn every moment. After a quarter of an hour I raised my hat and moved away.
"Shall we sit down?" I said to Miss Middleton.
"We shall be in the way if we sit down here, sha'n't we?"
"Outside that chalk line we're safe?"
"I—I suppose so."
We moved outside and sat down on the grass.
"I never even had a chalk line," I said mournfully.
"It's much more fun without."
"You know," I went on, "I can beat them all at home. Why even Wilfrid——"
"It's just the same with me," said Miss Middleton. "Hilda did win once by a frightful fluke, but——"
"But this is quite different. At home it would be considered jolly bad form to go on all this time."
"One would simply go in and leave them," said Miss Middleton.
"You know, it's awful fun at home. The lawn goes down in terraces, and if you hit the other person's ball hard enough you can get it right down to the bottom; and it takes at least six to get back on the green again."
Miss Middleton gurgled to herself.
"We've got a stream ... round our lawn," she said, in gasps. "It's such a joke ... and once ... when Hilda..."
CHAPTER II
"May I call you 'Mary?'" I said; "we're still here."
"Well, we have known each other a long time, certainly," said Miss Middleton. "I think you might."
"Thanks very much."
"What hoop is he at?"
"He's just half-way."
"I suppose, when he's finished, then, Jane does it all?"
"It practically comes to that. I believe, as a matter of form, I am allowed a shot in between."
"That won't make any difference, will it?"
"No...."
"It's awfully hot, isn't it?"
"Yes.... Do you bicycle much?"
"No.... Do you?"
"No. I generally sleep in the afternoons."
"Much the best thing to do. Good-night."
"Good-night."
CHAPTER III
"Wake up," I said. "You've been asleep for hours. Jane is playing now."
"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Mary, still with her eyes closed. "Then I missed your turn. Was it a good one?"
"Absolutely splendid. I had a very long shot, and hit the champion. Then I took my mallet in both hands, brought it well over the shoulder—are you allowed to do that, by the way?"
"Yes, it's hockey where you mustn't."
"And croqueted him right down to the house—over beds, through bushes, across paths—the longest ball I've ever driven."
"I hope you didn't make him very cross. You see, he may not be used to our game."
"Cross? My dear girl, he was fairly chuckling with delight. Told me I'd missed the rest of my turn. It seems that if you go over two beds, and across more than one path, you miss the rest of your turn. Did you know that?"
"I suppose I did really, but I'd forgotten."
"And here I am again. Jane will be even longer. He's lying on the grass, and taking sights for her just now.... Why didn't you answer my last letter?"
CHAPTER IV
"It's this passion for games," I said, waking up suddenly, "which has made us Englishmen what we are. Here we have a hot July afternoon, when all Nature is at peace, and the foreigner is taking his siesta. And what do we do? How do we English men and women spend this hot afternoon? Why, immediately after lunch, in one case even before the meal has been digested, we rush off to take part in some violent game like croquet. Hour after hour the play goes on relentlessly; there is no backing out on our part, no pleading for just five minutes in which to get our wind. No, we bear our part manfully, and—— Are you awake by any chance, or am I wasting all this?"
"Of course I'm awake," said Mary, opening her eyes.
"What years I have known you! Do you remember those days when we used to paddle together—the mixed paddling at Brighton?"
"Ah, yes. And your first paint-box."
"And your doll——"
"And the pony——"
"And the—good-night."
"G'night."
CHAPTER XVIII
"But how absurd," said Mary, "when we've only just met."
"Oh, but come; it was about two years ago that you let me call you 'Mary.'"
"True," said Mary thoughtfully.
"And you can't say we aren't suited to one another. We both play without the chalk line."
"So we do. Yet ... Oh, I can't say all at once. Give me a little time."
"I'll give you three of Jane's hoops. That's about six months."
CHAPTER XX
"Twenty-eight," said the North Rutland champion. "That's what I won the championship by, I remember."
"It's a good winning score," I said. "Do they play much in North Rutland?"
"I'm afraid it's been very slow for you and Miss Middleton," said Jane.
"Not exactly slow," I said.
"We've been talking a lot of nonsense," explained Miss Middleton.
"Not exactly nonsense," said I.
"Oh, it was," said Miss Middleton, "you know it was."
"I suppose it was," I sighed. "Well, we'll try again to-morrow."
"Right," said the champion. "But I shall use my other mallet."
There may be gardeners who can appear to be busy all the year round—doing even in the winter their little bit under glass. But for myself I wait reverently until the twenty-second of March is here. Then, spring having officially arrived, I step out on to the lawn, and summon my head-gardener.
"James," I say, "the winter is over at last. What have we got in that big brown-looking bed in the middle there?"
"Well, sir," he says, "we don't seem to have anything, do we, like?"
"Perhaps there's something down below that hasn't pushed through yet?"
"Maybe there is."
"I wish you knew more about it," I say angrily; "I want to bed out the macaroni there. Have we got a spare bed, with nothing going on underneath?"
"I don't know, sir. Shall I dig 'em up and have a look?"
"Yes, perhaps you'd better," I say.
Between ourselves, James is a man of no initiative. He has to be told everything.
However, mention of him brings me to my first rule for young gardeners—
Never sow Spring Onions and New Potatoes in thesame bed
I did this by accident last year. The fact is, when the onions were given to me I quite thought they were young daffodils; a mistake anyone might make. Of course, I don't generally keep daffodils and potatoes together; but James swore that the hard round things were tulip bulbs. It is perfectly useless to pay your head-gardener half-a-crown a week if he doesn't know the difference between potatoes and tulip bulbs. Well, anyhow, there they were in the herbaceous border together, and they grew up side by side; the onions getting stronger every day and the potatoes more sensitive. At last, just when they were ripe for picking, I found that the young onions had actually brought tears to the eyes of the potatoes—to such an extent that the latter were too damp for baking or roasting, and had to be mashed. Now, as everybody knows, mashed potatoes are beastly.
THE RHUBARB BORDER
gives me more trouble than all the rest of the garden. I started it a year ago with the idea of keeping the sun off the young carnations. It acted excellently, and the complexion of the flowers was improved tenfold. Then one day I discovered James busily engaged in pulling up the rhubarb.
"What are you doing?" I cried. "Do you want the young carnations to go all brown?"
"I was going to send some in to the cook," he grumbled.
"To the cook! What do you mean? Rhubarb isn't a vegetable."
"No, it's a fruit."
I looked at James anxiously. He had a large hat on, and the sun couldn't have got to the back of his neck.
"My dear James," I said, "I don't pay you half-a-crown a week for being funny. Perhaps we had better make it two shillings in future."
However, he persisted in his theory that in the spring people stewed rhubarb in tarts and ate it!
Well, I have discovered since that this is actually so. People really do grow it in their gardens, not with the idea of keeping the sun off the young carnations but under the impression that it is a fruit. Consequently, I have found it necessary to adopt a firm line with my friends' rhubarb. On arriving at any house for a visit, the first thing I say to my host is, "May I see your rhubarb bed? I have heard such a lot about it."
"By all means," he says, feeling rather flattered, and leads the way into the garden.
"What a glorious sunset," I say, pointing to the west.
"Isn't it," he says, turning round; and then I surreptitiously drop a pint of weed-killer on the bed.
Next morning I get up early and paint the roots of the survivors with iodine.
Once my host, who for some reason had got up early too, discovered me.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Just painting the roots with iodine," I said, "to prevent the rhubarb falling out."
"To prevent what?"
"To keep the green fly away," I corrected myself. "It's the new French intensive system."
But he was suspicious, and I had to leave two or three stalks untreated. We had those for lunch that day. There was only one thing for a self-respecting man to do. I obtained a large plateful of the weed and emptied the sugar basin and the cream jug over it. Then I took a mouthful of the pastry, gave a little start, and said, "Oh, is this rhubarb? I'm sorry, I didn't know." Whereupon I pushed my plate away and started on the cheese.
ASPARAGUS
Asparagus wants watching very carefully. It requires to be tended like a child. Frequently, I wake up in the middle of the night and wonder if James has remembered to put the hot-water bottle in the asparagus bed. Whenever I get up to look I find that he has forgotten.
He tells me to-day that he is beginning to think that the things which are coming up now are not asparagus after all, but young hyacinths. This is very annoying. I am inclined to fancy that James is not the man he was. For the sake of his reputation in the past I hope he is not.
POTTING OUT
I have spent a busy morning potting out the nasturtiums. We have them in three qualities—mild, medium and full. Nasturtiums are extremely peppery flowers, and take offence so quickly that the utmost tact is required to pot them successfully. In a general way all the red or reddish flowers should be potted as soon as they are old enough to stand it, but it is considered bad form among horticulturists to pot the white.
James has been sowing the roses. I wanted all the pink ones in one bed, and all the yellow ones in another, and so on; but James says you never can tell for certain what colour a flower is going to be until it comes up. Of course, any fool could tell then.
"You should go by the picture on the outside of the packet," I said.
"They're very misleading," said James.
"Anyhow, they must be all brothers in the same packet."
"You might have a brother with red hair," says James.
I hadn't thought of that.
GRAFTING
Grafting is when you try short approaches over the pergola in somebody's else's garden, and break the best tulip. You mend it with a ha'penny stamp and hope that nobody will notice; at any rate not until you have gone away on the Monday. Of course in your own garden you never want to graft.
I hope at some future time to be allowed—even encouraged—to refer to such things as the most artistic way to frame cucumbers, how to stop tomatoes blushing (the hom[oe]opathic method of putting them next to the French beans is now discredited), and spring fashions in fox gloves. But for the moment I have said enough. The great thing to remember in gardening is that flowers, fruits and vegetables alike can only be cultivated with sympathy. Special attention should be given to backward and delicate plants. They should be encouraged to make the most of themselves. Never forget that flowers, like ourselves, are particular about the company they keep. If a hyacinth droops in the celery bed, put it among the pansies.
But above all, mind, a firm hand with the rhubarb.
CHAPTER I
The documents in the case are these:
Him to Me
"Come and play golf on Thursday. What is your handicap? I expect you will be too good for me."
Me to Him
"MY GOOD THOMAS,—Don't be silly. I will play you at cricket, tennis, lawn tennis, football (both codes), croquet, poker-patience, high diving and here-we-go-round-the-mulberry-bush. If you insist, I will take you on at prisoners' base and billiards. Moreover I can dance thepavane. Yours ever,
"ADOLPHUS
"P.S.—Anyhow, I haven't any clubs."
Him to Me
"MY DEAR ASS,—I gather that you aren't a golfer; well, why not begin on Thursday? There will be nobody else playing probably. Meet me at Victoria eleven-five. My brother is away, and I will lend you his clubs."
Me to Him
(Telegram)
"Is your brother out of England? Wire reply."
Him to Me
"Yes. Sicily."
Me to Him
"Right you are then."
CHAPTER II
"You know," I said to Thomas in the train, "I have played a little on a very small island off the coast of Scotland, but it was such a very small island that we never used a driver at all, or—what's that other thing called?—a brassy. We should have been into the sea in no time. But I rather fancy myself with a putter."
"You might go round with a putter to-day."
"I might, but I sha'n't. I expect to use the wooden clubs with great ease and dexterity. And I think you will find that I can do some business with the mashie. What's a niblick?"
"The thing you get out of bunkers with."
"Then I sha'n't want that."
CHAPTER III
The fateful moment arrived. Thomas presented me with a ball called the Colonel, and a caddie offered me Thomas's brother's driver. He also asked me what sort of tee I should like.
I leant upon my club and looked at him. Then I turned to Thomas.
"Our young friend Hector," I said, "is becoming technical. Will you explain?"
"Well, do you want a high or a low one?"
"I want to hit this Colonel ball very hard in the direction of that flag. What do you recommend?"
"Well, that's just as you——"
"I think a medium one. Slow to medium."
The preliminaries being arranged, I proceeded to address the ball. My own instinct was to take the address as read and get to business as soon as possible, but in the presence of an expert like Hector I did not dare to omit the trimmings. As it was, after every waggle I felt less and less like hitting the Colonel. When at last I did let fly it was with feelings of relief that I discovered, on returning an eye to the spot, that the tee was indeed empty. I shaded my eyes and gazed into the middle distance.
"No," said Thomas, "it's more to the right." He indicated a spot in the foreground, about ten yards E.N.E. "There you are."
"That isn'tmyball."
"Yes, sir," said Hector, grinning.
"May I have it back?"
Thomas laughed and smote his own into the blue. "You go on from there," he said.
"I'm still aiming at the same flag?"
"Go on, you ass."
I went on. The ball again rolled ten yards to the east.
"I don't know why we're going in this direction," I said. "If I get much further east I shall have to send back Bartlett. You know, I don't believe the Colonel is taking this seriously. He doesn't seem to me to be trying at all. Has he ever been round the course before?"
"Never. He's quite new to it."
"There you are. He'll come down at the ditch for a certainty."
I played my third. A third time we went ten yards to the east—well, perhaps with a touch of north in it again. And this time Hector gave a sudden snort of laughter.
I leant upon my club, and stared him into gravity. Then I took Thomas by the coat and led him on one side.
"There are, Thomas," I said, "other things than golf."
"There are," he agreed.
"A man may fail temporarily at the game and yet not be wholly despicable."
"True."
"He may, for instance, be able to dance thepavanewith grace and distinction."
"Quite so."
"Well then,willyou take this giggling child away and explain to him that I am not such an ass as I appear? Tell him that the intellectuals of Brook Green think highly of my mental powers. Assure him that in many of the best houses at Wandsworth Common I am held to be an amusing raconteur. Remind him of myvillanelle'To Autumn.' For heaven's sake make him understand that my reputation does not stand or fall with my ability to use this brassy thing. I'm not a golf professional."
Thomas allowed himself to smile. "I will tell him," he said, "that you are not a golf professional."
We veered right round to the east with my fourth and then I became desperate.
"Why," I shouted, "do I hit the ball with a ridiculous club like this? I could send it farther with a cricket bat. I could push it straighter with a billiard cue. Where's that bag? I am going to have a lucky dip."
I dipped, and came up with what Thomas called a cleek. "Now then," I said. I didn't stop to address the Colonel, I simply lashed at him. He flew along the ground at a terrific pace.
"Well kept down," said Thomas admiringly.
"By Jove!" I cried, "that's never going to stop. See how he flies along ... now he breasts the slope ... look, he is taking the water jump.... Ah, he has crossed his legs, he's down."
"This," I said to Thomas as we walked after the Colonel, "is golf. A glorious game."
"What nonsense," I said to Thomas, "they put in comic papers about golf. All that about digging up the turf! ... and missing the ball! ... and breaking the clubs! I mean, I simply don't see how onecould! Let's see, I've played four, haven't I?"
"Five," said Thomas. "What I am wondering," he added, "is why you should have been afraid of using any club in your small island off the coast of Scotland."
CHAPTER IV
Twenty Strokes After
"The green, the green," I shouted joyfully, in the manner of the ancient Greeks, though I was only on the edge of it.
"Go on," said Thomas.
I took a careful aim and put the white down.
"You see," I said carelessly, leaning on my putter.
April will soon be here," said Miss Middleton, with a sigh of happiness.
"Bless it," I agreed. "My favourite month. Twelve," I added conversationally, "is my lucky number, and Thursday the day of the week on which I do least work. When next the twelfth of April falls on a Thursday, which may not be for centuries, look out. Something terrific will happen."
"It's about now that one begins to wonder if one is in form, or likely to be."
"Just about now," I agreed. "I always say that when the draw is announced for the semi-finals of the English Cup, in which, of course, I take not the slightest interest whatever, and in fact hardly know what teams are left in for it, though I must say I hope Southampton wins this year, because, after all, Fry did play for them once, but they'll have a bit of a job to beat the Wolves you know—and then there's Newcastle and Fulham after that, and of course, you can't be ..."
"I'm tired of that sentence," said Miss Middleton.
"So was I. I only wanted to make it clear that I have no use for these spectacular gladiatorial combats. Give me cricket, the game of——"
Miss Middleton did not appear to be listening.
"Do you bowl as fast and as good a length as you talk?" she asked thoughtfully.
"No. More swerve perhaps. And I bowl with my head a good deal."
"I see. Quite different. Well, then, will you coach me this spring? Do, there's a dear."
"I should love to. I know all the things to say."
She got up excitedly.
"Come along then. I've got the rippingest bat. But you must promise not to bowl too fast."
I had said that I knew all the things to say, but as a matter of fact there is only one thing to say: "You should have come out to 'er, sir." (Or, I suppose, in Miss Middleton's case, "You should have come out to him, madam.") It's a silly remark to make, because it is just what one is always doing. At school I could come out to anything that was straight and not too high; the difficulty lay in staying in. Nobody ever told me how to do that.
Miss Middleton led the way to a walled-in tennis lawn, which lay next to the broccoli tops and things, and was kept away from it by only six feet of brick. If it had simply been a question of cabbage I should have said nothing, but there would be grapes there too.
"I know," said Miss Middleton. "But we must play against a wall. Don't bowl too much to leg."
I hadn't bowled since October the Fourth. The first post-October ball was a trifle over-pitched, and a little too much to the right. All the same I was just saying, "You should have come out to that one," when there was a crash from the direction of long-on.
"By Jove, I didn't know you were so good. Was that the grapes?"
"How awful! Yes. It simply seemed to fly off the bat. I did ask you not to bowl there, didn't I?"
She looked so penitent that I had to comfort her.
"It's all right," I said consolingly. "I had a man there. You would have been out all the way. Besides," I went on, "a little air will do the grapes good. They stay all the time in one hot room, and then when they go out into the cold, they don't muffle up, and the natural consequence is—— Or am I thinking of influenza?"
"Never mind. We must remember not to do it again, that's all. Give me some to cut."
There are several ways of cutting. For myself, I was taught to cut "square" with the left leg across and "late" with the right, the consequence being that I can do neither. W.G. (to work downwards) generally uses the fore-arm for the stroke, Ranji the wrist. Miss Middleton keeps both feet together and puts her whole body into it; and the direction in which the ball travels is towards long-on. There was another crash.
"Golf is your game," I said admiringly. "You lay it dead on the greenhouse every time."
"I say, whatshallwe do? Father will be furious."
I looked at my watch.
"I can just catch the three-twenty-five," I said.
"Oh, don't be a coward, when it's all your fault for bowling so badly."
"Perhaps the glass is insured," I suggested. "It is generally."
"It's insured against hail," she said doubtfully.
I looked at the sky. It was one of the most beautiful blues I have seen.
"No," said Miss Middleton sadly.
"It will be a point for lawyers to argue, I fancy, what is actually meant by hail. You would probably define it at once as aqueous vapour cooled down in the atmosphere to the freezing point of water."
"I don't know. Perhaps I should."
"But 'hail' here obviously has a wider significance. I take it to mean 'anything that descends suddenly from the clouds.' I haven't 'Williams on Real Property' with me, but——"
"Come on," said Miss Middleton, "let's say it does mean that. And could you,please, keep them a bit more on the off?"
"It's no good my keeping them there if you don't."
The worst of coaching—I speak now as an expert—is that it is so difficult to know what to say when a lady whirls her bat twice round her head, gives a little shriek, gets the ball on the knee, and says, "What ought I to have done then?" The only answer I could think of was "Not that."
"I thought you knew all about coaching," she said scornfully.
"But, you see, it depends on what you were wanting to do," I said meekly. "If it was a drive you should have come out to it more, and if it was a cut you should have come down on it; while if it was a Highland fling you lackedabandon, and if you were killing a wasp——"
"A good coach would know what was the best thing to do with that particular ball, wouldn't he? And that's just what he would tell you."
"He wouldn't know," I said modestly. "You don't often meet that sort of ball in good cricket."
"No, I suppose not. That's why I didn't know what to do, I expect. You know I generally know exactly what to do, only I can't do it."
"Is that really so?" I cried excitedly. "Why, then, of course, you ought to coachme!"
* * * * * * *
We had a very jolly afternoon. I fancy I shall be in some form this year. Miss Middleton is one of the best bowlers I have seen, but I brought off some beautiful shots. I wanted some tea badly afterwards.
"What glorious days we have now," said Miss Middleton's mother, as she handed me a cup.
"Glorious," said Miss Middleton's father.
"H'm, yes," I said doubtfully. "But you know I'm afraid it won't last. It's beginning to look rather like—like hail."
"Yes," said Miss Middleton. "We both thought so."
Come, gather around, my 'earties, and listena while to me,For I 'ave a yarn to spin you, a yarn of thePolar Sea;It's as true as I'm standing here, lads, as true as itblows a gale,That I was the first as nearly burst a-finding theGreat Big Nail—As sworn to by Etukishook, Gaukrodger, J. C. Clegg,Sir Fortescue Flannery, and the CardinalMerry del Val.
It was all of a parky morning that wunnerful fourthof March,When I put on a hextry weskit and made for theMarble Arch;So I sez good-bye to my country, "Lunnon," I sez,"adoo!"And I up and strode down the Edgware Roadathirsting to see it through,Followed by Etukishook, Gaukrodger, J. C. Clegg,Sir Fortescue Flannery, and the CardinalMerry del Val.
I 'adn't no blooming gum-drops, I 'adn't no polarbears,I 'adn't no sextant neither, but I thinks to myself,"'Oo cares?"And I waggled my watch-chain jaunty, which wasjewelled in every hole."I can always steer by my cumpas 'ere, it's pointingstraight to the Pole."Soit is!" said Etukishook, Gaukrodger, J. C. Clegg,Sir Fortescue Flannery, and the CardinalMerry del Val.
I walked for the 'ole of that morning, then I sezto myself, "Old son,This here is a dash-for-the-Pole like, and it'sdarn little dash you've done."So I enters an 'andy station, and I sez to theman in the 'utch,"'Ere, gimme a ticket as goes to Wick—no, afirst-return—'ow much?—Ah, and five third singles for Etukishook, Gaukrodger,J. C. Clegg, Sir Fortescue Flannery, and theCardinal Merry del Val."
We sailed from Wick to the norrard for 'undredsof days and nights.Till we came at last to the ice-floes and followed theNorthern Lights,The Horroreo-boreo-balis, which it turned us all'orrible pale,And I sez to my men, "To-morrow and then weshall land at the Great Big Nail.""'Ooray!" said Etukishook, Gaukrodger, J. C. Clegg,Sir Fortescue Flannery and the Cardinal Merrydel Val.
'Twas the cumpas as went and found it—it seemedto have turned its head,It would spin like mad for a minute and then itwould lay like dead;It took on just like a wild thing, you'd almost 'a'sworn it cried,Till at last it shot through the glass and got right upon its end and died."Thatprovesit," cried Etukishook, Gaukrodger,J. C. Clegg, Sir Fortescue Flannery, and theCardinal Merry del Val.
We gave three cheers for ole England and we upwith the Union Jack,And we plugged our pipes and we smoked'em and we thought about getting back;But a wunnerful pride so filled us as we sat on topof the Ball,That innocent tears (the first for years) rolled outof the eyes of all.Partikerlarly out of those of Etukishook, Gaukrodger,J. C. Clegg, Sir Fortescue Flannery, and theCardinal Merry del Val.
Then I called for a pen and paper, and I wrote tothe King, "Dear King,"I've found the Pole, and I'm tying a piece of it upwith string;I'll send it round in the morning for your Majesty'sgrace to seeJust drop me a wire, if you like it, sire, and I'llcollar the lot!Signed: Me.Witnesses: Etukishook, Gaukrodger, J. C. Clegg, SirFortescue Flannery and the Cardinal Merrydel Val."
So that's how it 'appened, my 'earties, no matterwhat others may say.(Did theyseethe Pole? They didn't! ThatprovesI 'ad took it away).It's as true as I'm standing here, lads, as true asThe Daily Mail,That I was the first as nearly burst a-finding theGreat Big Nail.
"If youshouldhappen to be in Regent Street tomorrow at four" (ran the assignation), "just where what's the name of the street comes into it, and a lady in a very pretty new mauve coat and skirt bows to you, raise your hat and say 'Crisis' and she will let you help her with her shopping."
My guess at the name of the street was successful. I raised my hat and said "Good-afternoon."
"But you had to say 'Crisis,'" said Miss Middleton. "That's the password."
"I can't. I've sworn I'll never say it again. I took a most fearful oath. Several people heard me taking it, and swooned."
"But how do I know you're the right one if you don't say it? Well, I suppose I shall have to let you come. I've just lost mother; she went in at the silver department and out at the art fabrics—like people when they can't pay for their hansoms."
"Yes, that's bad. 'The accused, who appeared to feel her position acutely, gave a false address.' What are you going to buy?"
"Well, I thought I'd just help you getyourpresents first."
"I'm not giving any this Christmas. I gave a lot only a year ago."
"Oh, but haven't they paid you any wages since then?"
"Yes, a few trifling sums, only—— Quick, there's your mother!" I pulled Miss Middleton hastily into the nearest shop and shut the door.
"What fun!" she said breathlessly. "Motherloveshide-and-seek."
Mrs Middleton hurried past, covered with parcels, and dived into another door.
"It's quite safe now," I said. "Let's go and——"
"What can I have the pleasure of showing you?" said a soothing voice at our backs.
We turned round in alarm.
"Er—we only just—let me see,whatwas it you wanted?" said Miss Middleton to me.
"I don't really want anything. I was going to help you buy one of those—you know."
"Yes, but I've got that. I know there wassomethingyou said you wanted very much."
"Probably tea."
"Tiaras," explained Miss Middleton hastily. "Of course."
"Certainly, madam," said the shopwalker. "If you will just sit down," he continued, leading us to a little room out of the main stream of shoppers, "I will send somebody to attend you."
We sat down mechanically. I leant my stick against a showcase and balanced my hat on the top of it.
"Now you've done it," I said. "How many tiaras shall we have? I've got nearly four pounds."
"We needn't have any. We can say we don't much care about their selection."
"Or that we wanted one specially built for us."
"One goes into dozens of shops without buyinganything," said Miss Middleton cheerily.
"I never do," I replied gloomily. "Look out, here he is."
An attendant advanced briskly towards us. I put my hands in my pockets and tried to count my money.
"Tiaras, madam? Certainly. About what price?"
"Tell him about three pounds eight and six," I whispered to Miss Middleton. "Three pounds nine," I corrected, as I ran another sixpence to ground.
"Here is a beautiful one at two hundred and fifty pounds."
"Too much," I prompted softly.
"Oh," broke in Miss Middleton brightly, "I'm so sorry—such a silly mistake! We wanted neck-chains, not tiaras! Barbara has a tiara already, hasn't she?" she appealed to me.
"Two," I said quickly. "If not three."
"I'm so sorry," said Miss Middleton, with a dazzling smile. "The first gentleman must have misunderstood. Of course we gave her a tiara last year."
The man was disappointed; I saw that. But the smile melted him, and he went off in all friendliness.
"Tiara doesn't sound very much like neck-chain," I remarked after a pause.
"Oh, don't you think so? It depends how you say it. Like Beauchamp and Cholmondeley."
"And what is it when pronounced properly?"
"It's a chain that hangs round your neck, and when you don't quite know what to say to anybody you play with it carelessly. Same as men smoking cigarettes, only better for you."
"I see. Well, here we have a hundred of the best."
The attendant got to business at once.
"This one," he said, holding up rather a jolly one, "comes out at ten guineas."
"Tell him," I whispered to Miss Middleton, "that we've only come out with three."
"That'sverypretty," she said. "Are those moon-stones?"
"Yes, madam. The fashionable stone this year."
"It's more for next year that we want it."
"I should say this season. I don't think you will find a prettier one than this, madam."
"It's very sweet. But aren't they unlucky, unless you happen to have been born in the right month?" She turned to me. "When is Barbara's birthday?"
"May," I said unhesitatingly. "I mean March."
"Anyhow," said Miss Middleton. "I know it's wrong for moonstones, because I was thinking of giving her some two years ago, and it had to "be opals instead."
"We both thought of it," I said.
Miss Middleton looked at me so admiringly that I began to get reckless.
"Besides, we don't know the size of her neck," I went on. "And she never smokes—I mean she never doesn't know what to say to anybody. So I think we should be making a mistake if we gave her this. I do indeed. Now if it had been anybody else but Barbara——"
The man looked from one to the other of us in bewilderment.
"If you could show us some hatpins instead?" said Miss Middleton hurriedly, before he could open his mouth.
"This is excellent," I said, as he retired in confusion; "we're working down well. All we've got to do now is to wait till he comes back and then say that we're sorry but we meant hairpins. With hair-pins you're practically there."
"Supposing they only had gold ones?"
"Then we should point out that they wouldn't go with Barbara's curiously-coloured hair. You leave this to me. I can finish it off now on my head. At the same time I'm sorry I'm not going to spendanything."
"Oh, but you are," said Miss Middleton. "You're going to give me and mother tea."
"Of course I am," I agreed.
* * * * * * *
After tea I went back to the shop by myself.
"I want," I said "a trifle for about three pounds. A moonstone pendant or something. Yes, that's very sweet. No, I'll take it with me."
They packed it in a pretty little box for me, and I'm going to send it to Miss Middleton on the twenty-fourth. I am putting in a card with the words "From Barbara" on it. As I said, I am not giving any presents myself this year, but I do think that Barbara should repay at least some of the kindnesses which have been showered upon her so wantonly.