CHAPTER XXVIIITHE END OF THE TALE
Itwas 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—feltthat 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 iræamused 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 shetrundled 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 processionà 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 thehabituésof the thoroughfare. Elderly gentlemen with well-brushedside-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. Youknowthat 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 wascalled 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 noright 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 rulehonoris causâto 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.
“Andwhatare 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 withyou. 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