Chapter 2

There is a pond at the end of the lawn covered with green sedge. She shivers. She has courage, but not that sort of courage. She rises and leans against the Adams' fireplace. The Adams' fireplace leans against her. It falls on to her with a tremendous crash.... _Lord Gumthorpe_ comes forward and gazes at the jumbled _débris_. He is conscious of a sense of despairing conflict--the conflict between contemplative amazement and some natural but well-controlled demand for concrete action. An appalling conviction comes to him that he ought to _do_ something. Under the fallen mess of brick, marble, and wood there are feeble undulations. A phrase keeps running through his mind--"Expressing her primitive virility." He tries to think where he has read it, and what it means, and how it could apply to the present case. The undulations cease. He decides that the phrase could not apply to it. He returns to the window-seat. A new horror obsesses him. The moon has moved round. The chessboard has been blotted out. _In extremis_, _Lord Gumthorpe_ falls back on his primitive instincts and rings for the butler. There is an imperceptible pause. _Stud_ glides in and stands in the middle of the room, tears of reverence and respectability streaming down his cheeks.

LORD GUMTHORPE. (after an interminable pause). _Your mistress has dropped her fan into the fireplace!_

[With a little croon of pleasure, Stud falls towards the fireplace. Suddenly he stops, beholding the-fallen wreckage. For a fraction of a second the fetters of a generation of servile habits are almost broken. A fugitive expression of surprise passes over his face. Then, remembering himself, he stumbles over the _débris_ and, groping among the cinders, picks up the fan.

STUD (with finesse). _Here is the fan, my Lord. Shall I present it to her Ladyship?_

LORD GUMTHORPE. (with extraordinary subtlety). _No, you may keep it. Her Ladyship does not require it._

[_Stud_ goes out with the fan. _Lord Gumthorpe_ stands irresolutely warming his hands at the fire. _Angela's_ father from Atlantis, Tennessee, is heard outside in the hall eating cantaloup. The pips rattle against the door. Unable to withstand this further symbol of inevitable doom, _Lord Gumthorpe_ throws himself on to the fire. He is burnt up. The fire is blotted out. Everything is blotted out.

CURTAIN.

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* * * * *

From an account of a football match by "Brigadier" in _The Daily Record_:--

"Cresswell sustained an injury, and took no risks, but R. M. Morton would have risked going at a battalion of dragoons with bayonets drawn."

There must be moments in these peaceful journalistic days of his retirement when that grand old soldier, "Brigadier," wishes he were once more charging at the head of his dragoons, with a drawn bayonet in his hand.

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ORANGES AND LEMONS.

IV.--BEFORE LUNCH.

I found Myra in the hammock at the end of the loggia.

"Hallo," I said.

"Hallo." She looked up from her book and waved her hand. "Mentone on the left, Monte Carlo on the right," she said, and returned to her book again. Simpson had mentioned the situation so many times that it had become a catch-phrase with us.

"Fancy reading on a lovely morning like this," I complained.

"But that's why. It's a very gloomy play by IBSEN, and whenever it's simply more than I can bear I look up and see Mentone on the left, Monte Carlo on the right--I mean, I see all the loveliness round me, and then I know the world isn't so bad after all." She put her book down. "Are you alone?"

I gripped her wrist suddenly and put the paper-knife to her throat.

"_We_ are alone," I hissed--or whatever you do to a sentence without any "s's" in it to make it dramatic. "Your friends cannot save you now. Prepare to--er--come a walk up the hill with me."

"Help! Help!" whispered Myra. She hesitated a moment; then swung herself out of the hammock and went in for her hat.

We climbed up a steep path which led to the rock-village above us. Simpson had told us that we must see the village; still more earnestly he had begged us to see Corsica. The view of Corsica was to be obtained from a point some miles up--too far to go before lunch.

"However, we can always say we saw it," I reassured Myra. "From this distance you can't be certain of recognising an island you don't know. Any small cloud on the horizon will do."

"I know it on the map."

"Yes, but it looks quite different in real life. The great thing is to be able to assure Simpson at lunch that the Corsican question is now closed. When we're a little higher up, I shall say, 'Surely that's Corsica?' and you'll say, 'Not _Corsica_,?" as though you'd rather expected the Isle of Wight; and then it'll be all over. Hallo!

We had just passed the narrow archway leading into the courtyard of the village and were following the path up the hill. But in that moment of passing we had been observed. Behind us a dozen village children now trailed eagerly.

"Oh, the dears!" cried Myra.

"But I think we made a mistake to bring them," I said severely. "No one is prouder of our--one, two, three ... I make it eleven--our eleven children than I am, but there are times when Father and Mother want to be alone."

"I'm sorry, dear. I thought you'd be so proud to have them all with you."

"I _am_ proud of them. To reflect that all the--one, two ... I make it thirteen--all these thirteen are ours is very inspiring. But I don't like people to think that we cannot afford our youngest, our little Philomène, shoes and stockings. And Giuseppe should have washed his face since last Friday. These are small matters, but they are very trying to a father."

"Have you any coppers?" asked Myra suddenly. "You forgot their pocket-money last week."

"One, two, three--I cannot possibly afford--one, two, three, four---- Myra, I do wish you'd count them definitely and tell mo how many we have. One likes to know. I cannot afford pocket-money for more than a dozen."

"Ten." She took a franc from me and gave it to the biggest girl. (Anne-Marie, our first, and getting on so nicely with her French.) Rapidly she explained what was to be done with it, Anne-Marie's look of intense rapture slowly straightening itself to one of ordinary gratitude as the financial standing of the other nine in the business became clear. Then we waved farewell to our family and went on.

High above the village, a thousand feet above the sea, we rested, and looked down upon the silvery olives stretching into the blue ... and more particularly upon one red roof which stood up amid the grey-green trees.

"That's the Cardews' villa," I said.

Myra was silent.

When Myra married me she promised to love, honour and write all my thank-you-very-much letters for me, for we agreed before the ceremony that the word "obey" should mean nothing more than that. There are two sorts of T. Y. V. M. letters--the "Thank you very much for asking us, we shall be delighted to come," and the "Thank you very much for having us, we enjoyed it immensely." With these off my mind I could really concentrate on my work, or my short mashie shots, or whatever was of importance. But there was now a new kind of letter to write, and one rather outside the terms of our original understanding. A friend of mine had told his friends the Cardews that we were going out to the Riviera and would let them know when we arrived ... and we had arrived a week ago.

"It isn't at all an easy letter to write," said Myra. "It's practically asking a stranger for hospitality."

"Let us say 'indicating our readiness to accept it.' It sounds better."

Myra smiled slowly to herself.

"'Dear Mrs. Cardew,'" she said, "'we are ready for lunch when you are. Yours sincerely.'"

"Well, that's the idea."

"And then what about the others? If the Cardews are going to be nice we don't want to leave Dahlia and all of them out of it."

I thought it over carefully for a little.

"What you want to do," I said at last, "is to write a really long letter to Mrs. Cardew, acquainting her with all the facts. Keep nothing back from her. I should begin by dwelling on the personnel of our little company. 'My husband and I,' you should say, 'are not alone. We have also with us Mr. and Mrs. Archibald Mannering, a delightful couple. Mr. A. Mannering is something in the Territorials when he is not looking after his estate. His wife is a great favourite in the county. Next I have to introduce to you Mr. Thomas Todd, an agreeable young bachelor. Mr. Thos. Todd is in the Sucking-a-ruler-and-looking-out-of-the-window Department of the Admiralty, by whose exertions, so long as we preserve the 2 Todds to 1 formula--or, excluding Canadian Todds, 16 to 10--Britannia rules the waves. Lastly, there is Mr. Samuel Simpson. Short of sight but warm of heart, and with (on a bad pitch) a nasty break from the off, Mr. S. Simpson is a _littérateur_ of some eminence but little circulation, combining on the cornet intense wind-power with no execution, and on the golf course an endless enthusiasm with only an occasional contact. This, dear Mrs. Cardew, is our little party. I say nothing of my husband.'"

"Go on," smiled Myra. "You have still to explain how we invite ourselves to lunch."

"We don't; we leave that to her. All we do is to give a list of the meals in which, in the ordinary course, we are wont to indulge, together with a few notes on our relative capacities at each. 'Perhaps,' you wind up, 'it is at luncheon time that as a party we show to the best advantage. Some day, my dear Mrs. Cardew, we must all meet at lunch. You will then see that I have exaggerated neither my husband's appetite, nor the light conversation of my brother, nor the power of apology, should any little _contretemps_ occur, of Mr. Samuel Simpson. Let us, I say, meet at lunch. Let us----'" I took out my watch suddenly.

"Come on," I said, getting up and giving a hand to Myra; "we shall only just be in time for it."

A. A. M.

* * * * *

ARTISTES' ALIASES.

An interesting meeting was held at the Memorial Hall last Saturday in order to discuss schemes of brightening the nomenclature of British musicians.

Sir FREDERIC COWEN, who presided, said that whereas in the last century it was the common practice of British singers to Italianize their surnames, we had now gone to the opposite extreme of an aggressive insularity. He thought that a compromise between the two entremes was feasible, by which a certain element of picturesqueness might be introduced into our programmes without exposing us to the charge of deliberately seeking to denationalise ourselves.

Sir HENRY WOOD suggested that the method of the anagram or palindrome yielded very happy results. Nobody could be charged with running away from his name if he merely turned it upside down or inside out. For instance, Miss MURIEL FOSTER would become Miss Leirum Retsof, which had a pleasantly Slavonic sound, while Mr. HAMILTON HARTY would reappear in the impressive form of Mr. Notlimah Ytrah.

Miss CARRIE TUBB protested vigorously against the proposal, on the ground that, if it were adopted, her name would sound just like Butt, which was already that of a contralto singer. (Sensation.)

Madame CLARA BUTT supported the protest, pointing out that, if the suggestion were acted on, her name would sound just like Tubb, which was that of a soprano vocalist. (Great sensation.)

Professor GRANVILLE BANTOCK pleaded eloquently for calling in the glamour of the East to illuminate the drab monotony of our Anglo-Saxon surnames. He was quite ready to be known in future as Bantockjee or Bangkok, if the sense of the meeting was in favour of the change--always subject, of course, to the consent of Sir OLIVER LODGE, the Principal of Birmingham University. (Loud cheers.)

Mr. DELIUS was strongly opposed to any change of nomenclature being made compulsory. He was quite sure that he would not compose nearly so well under, _e.g._, the alias of De Lara. In any case, artists should be safeguarded against the appropriation of their names by others.

Mr. ALGERNON ASHTON (who was greeted with soft music on muted violins) deprecated all unseemly pranks. Nothing would induce him to change his patronymic or turn it upside down or inside out.

Mr. LANDON RONALD expressed sympathy with musicians who were handicapped by cacophonous or undignified names. For example, a singer called Hewlett or Ball laboured under a serious disadvantage when competing with artistes blessed with melodious appellations such as Bellincioni or Sammarco.

Mr. BEN DAVIES observed that Welsh singers wore terribly hampered by the poverty of their nomenclature. Two out of every three bore the surname Davies, and at least one in three of our Welsh male soloists was christened Ivor. Ivor was a good name in itself, but it was becoming terribly hackneyed.

Mr. HENRY BIRD thought that all musicians should be at liberty to assume names provided they were appropriate. But for a composer to call himself Johann Sebastian Wagner was to court disaster. He ventured to submit the following list for the benefit of persons who contemplated making the change. For a soprano: Miss Hyam Seton. For a contralto: Miss Ritchie Plummer. For a tenor: Mr. Uther Chesterton. For a bass: Mr. Deeping Downer. For a pianist: Mr. or Miss Ivory Pounds. For a banjoist: Mr. Plunkett Stringer.

Miss PHYLLIS LETT, in a brief speech, explained that her name was all-British and had no connection whatever with Lithuania.

Ultimately, on the proposal of Lord HOWARD DE WALDEN, seconded by Mr. JOSEF HOLBROOKE, a small committee was appointed, consisting of Sir EDWARD ELGAR, Professor BANTOCK, Madame CLARA BUTT, Mr. BEN DAVIES and Sir HENRY WOOD, to enquire into the different proposals, and the meeting dispersed to the strains of "For he might have been a Rooshan."

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* * * * *

"The audience was divided into two sections; the Smith supporters cheered every blow Wye landed as a point for their man, while Wye's friends were equally enthusiastic on his behalf."--_Daily Mail._

With the SMITH supporters behind us, and a SMITH referee, we are prepared to take on CARPENTIER.

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"PUNCH" IN HIS ELEMENT.

(_Modelled on the Opening Chorus of "Atalanta in Calydon."_)

Once in so many calendar spaces _Punch_, appearing on All Fools' Day, Fills with giggles the hours and graces, Causes the hares of March to stay; And the soft sweet hatters along the Strand Remember the dreams of Wonderland, And the chessboard world and the White King's faces, The hamless commons and all the hay.

Come with loud bells and belabouring of bladder, Spirit of Laughter, descend on the town With tumbling of paint-pails from top of the ladder And blowing of tiles from the stockbroker's crown; Bind on thy hosen in motley halves Over the rondure and curve of thy calves; The night may be mad, but the morn shall be madder-- Madder than moonshine and madder than brown.

What shall I say to it, how shall I pipe of it, Weave it what strains of ineffable things? O that my Muse were a Muse with a gripe of it, Engined with petrol and wafted by wings! For the sorrows and sighings of winter are done, And _Punch_ is appearing on April 1, And a savour of daffodils clings to the type of it, And the buttered balm of a crumpet clings.

For the merle and the mavis have joined with the "shover" In drowning the day and the night with their din, And all too soon the unwary lover Is walking about in vestures thin; And the "nuts" are buying their shirts of cotton, And, cast into storage cold, forgotten, From delicate necks they were wont to cover, 'Possum by 'possum, the stoles come in.

And soon is an ending of football rushes, The hold that tackles a travelling heel; And the front of the town with new fire flushes, The paints that follow the paints that peel; And the season comes with its gauds and gold When the amorous plaints once more are told, And the polished hoof of her partner crushes The damsel's shoes in the ballroom reel.

And _The Times_ by day and _The News_ by night, Fleeter of foot than the Fleet Street kid, Shall hurry in motor-cars left and right Saying what Kent and Yorkshire did; And, stout as pillars of marble set, The copper shall capture the suffragette, And screen from peril and heave from sight The maid pursuing, the Minister hid.

The P.C. comes with his mænad haul, Her hatbrim tilted across her eyes; The cricketer dips to the flying ball, His white pants billowing round his thighs; But thou, _Charivari_, week by week Remaining (I take it) quite unique, Shalt shake with laughter and pink them all With points that puncture the vogue that flies.

EVOE.

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* * * * *

ESSENCE OF PARLIAMENT.

(EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF TOBY, M.P.)

_House of Commons, Monday, March 23._--In arrangement for business of week to-day set apart for discussion of Naval Estimates. That meant a problematically useful, indubitably dull debate. As has been remarked before, it is the unexpected that happens in House of Commons. Since it adjourned on Friday portentous news came from Ireland, indicating something like revolt among officers of the Army stationed there for avowed purpose of backing up civil force in preservation of peace and order. Wholesale resignations reported.

The very existence of the Army seemed at stake. Had mere business, such as the voting of over £50,000,000 for upkeep of Navy, been to the fore, benches would have been half empty. As it was, they were thronged. Over the crowded assembly hurtled that indescribable buzz of excitement that presages eventful action. The PREMIER and LEADER OF OPPOSITION appearing on the scene were severally greeted with strident cheers from their followers. PRINCE ARTHUR, the Dropped Pilot, at urgent entreaty returning to the old ship in time of emergency, enjoyed unique distinction of being cheered by both sides. Demonstration more eloquent than ordered speech.

Questions over, SEELY read studiously prosaic statement of events leading up to resignations on the Curragh. Someone had blundered, or, as the SECRETARY FOR WAR, anxious above all things to avoid irritation, preferred to put it, "there had been a misunderstanding." All over now. Explanations forthcoming had smoothed out difficulty. Resignations tendered had been withdrawn. Familiar military command "As you were" obeyed.

That all very well. Opposition, upon whom crowning mercy had fallen from beneficent heavens, naturally indisposed to treat unexpected boon in niggardly spirit. BONNER LAW insisted on business being set aside and opportunity provided for rubbing in the salt. Lively debate followed. Speeches delivered with difficulty through running stream of interruption. BYLES OF BRADFORD began it. Breaking in upon BONNER LAW'S speech with pointed question he was greeted with savage shout of "Sit down" that would have made the rafters ring, supposing there were any. Under existing circumstances the glass ceiling looked down compassionately, whilst BYLES, after remaining on his legs for what seemed a full minute, resumed his seat.

Amid uproar that raged during succeeding four hours, SPEAKER, preserving a superb equanimity, rode upon the whirlwind and directed the storm. Whilst PREMIER was trying to make himself heard, HELMSLEY constantly interrupted. SPEAKER made earnest appeal to Members to listen in patience.

"There will," he said, "be plenty of time afterwards for anyone to ask any question or to reply to any point."

WINTERTON, ever ready to volunteer in the interests of order, asked whether JOHN WARD, seated opposite, had not sinned in same manner as HELMSLEY.

"That is no reason why the noble lord should imitate him."

"What is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander," retorted WINTERTON. Left House in doubt which was which.

Later SPEAKER dropped down on PAGE CROFT.

"The hon. member," he said, "is not entitled to interrupt because some argument suddenly strikes him."

House laughed at this piquant way of putting it. SARK recalls curious fact. 321 years ago the same dictum was framed in almost identical phrase. Essential difference was that it was the Speaker of the day who was rebuked. He was EDWARD COKE, whose connection with one LYTTELTON is not unfamiliar in Courts of Law. Appearing at bar of House of Lords at opening of eighth Parliament of ELIZABETH, which met 19th February, 1593, SPEAKER submitted the petition, forthcoming to this day on opening of a new Parliament, asking for privilege of speech.

"Privilege of speech is granted," said the LORD KEEPER on behalf of the QUEEN. "But you must know what privilege you have. _Not to speak everyone what he listeth, or what cometh into his brain to titter._"

Eight o'clock struck before turmoil ceased and House got into Committee on Navy Estimates. In a twinkling over £15,000,000 sterling voted. That nothing to what straightway followed. Getting into Committee on Ways and Means, House voted some £68,000,000 on account of the services of the year.

After this, House was counted out. In imitation of proverbial character of current month, having come in as a lion it went out like a lamb.

_Business done._--Tumultuous debate on Ulster side-issue. Huge sums voted in Committee of Supply.

_Tuesday._--Renewal of yesterday's excitement round action of certain officers of the Army in Ireland. SEELY promised to circulate in the morning all papers relating thereto. To members of county councils, parish councils, and the like obscure consultative bodies, it would seem reasonable to wait opportunity for studying papers before debating their contents. We have a better way at Westminster. Business set down was the Army Vote. SEELY explained that for financial reasons it was absolutely necessary money should be voted. Necessity admitted, this was done. But not till four hours had been occupied in inflaming talk. As for the vote for many millions, no time was left to talk about it. Accordingly agreed to without comment or criticism.

AMERY struck note of Opposition criticism on Curragh affair by describing "how meanly the SECRETARY OF STATE FOR WAR sneaked out of the position into which he so proudly strutted a few days ago." More of same genial kind of talk from benches near. But as debate went forward Members evidently became possessed of growing sense of gravity of situation.