Chapter 3

Personally I think too much respect is paid to age. There is nothing clever in being old--nothing at all. On the other hand, youth has a charm of its own. Besides, twenty-two is not young; you wouldn't think me so if you really knew me. The doubt arises, I suppose, from a certain innate light-heartedness. It is really rather pathetic.

Daphne chooses to see humour in the situation, which is very absurd of her, and, as I point out, merely reflects on herself. Surely she doesn't wish to admit that it is foolish to love her.

And that, to make a clean breast of it, is exactly what I do, and do madly.

I follow her about, reverently watching her every movement, hanging on her every word--no light task. And my reward? A scant unceremonious "Hallo!" when we meet; a scanter "Night" or "Morning," according to the circumstances, when we part. A brave smile from me and she is gone, an unwitting spectator of a real tragedy.

Up to a few days ago I was content to bear with my lot, but last week I rebelled. It was at a dance, after supper. Daphne had certainly shown a sort of affection for me, motherly rather than otherwise, I think; nevertheless an affection. But then, and not for the first time, I had seen her flirting with another.

I decided to lose my temper. I went into the smoke-room and deliberated very close to the fire. In five minutes I left the room heated.

I found Daphne at once.

"Our dance," I said. "We will sit out."

My manner must have been rather terrifying. At any rate we sat out.

"Daphne," I began, "I am in a mood that brooks no trifling. For weeks I have loved you. You spurn me."

"Oh, Billy, do be sensible," Daphne murmured.

I moderated my tone. "Well, look here," I said, "why are you so cold to me and yet flirt with my cousin? I saw you putting his tie straight and patting his arm just now; and you won't let me even hold your hand. It's pretty hard, Daphne."

She laughed. "My dear Billy--"

"Many thanks for yours of yesterday. I am having a very good time and it is really kind of me to write."

"If you won't be sensible--"

"I am. It's just because I'm so serious that I jest. All the wittiest men are broken-hearted. Go on."

"Well, my dear Billy, you mustn't be foolish. I'm very fond of you, but you're so ridiculously young."

"You haven't a revolver about you?" I enquired.

Daphne sighed. "Billy, you're quite hopeless. Do let me try to explain. You see, I can't--well--flirt with you, because I don't really flirt, of course, and besides your cousin's different--he's married."

I got up quickly. "Good-bye," I said. "You must excuse my leaving you."

Daphne looked surprised. "Where are you going?" she enquired.

"To get married." I walked away with my head in the air.

* * * * *

A week later I wrote Daphne a letter. It ran as follows:--

"MY DEAR DAPHNE,--I am going to get married. Tina is nineteen, the same as you, and is in the chorus of a musical comedy. She has real jet black hair, so I am quite lucky. I hope you are fonder of me already.

Yours devotedly, BILLY."

In reply, and by return of post, I received an invitation to tea at Daphne's. Daphne, looking beautiful, was awaiting me.

"How d'you do?" I said gravely.

"Billy," Daphne began, "will you be really serious with me?"

I immediately assumed a business manner and coughed.

"Well?" I said.

The word was sharp and incisive, a regular lawyer's question.

"Of course, you're joking about this chorus girl?"

"Joking! Daphne, you know I'd do anything for you."

Daphne smiled. "But, Billy, I shan't like you any better if you marry her."

I bit a piece of cake coldly. "I don't understand you, Daphne," I said. "When I ask you to show me a little affection, only just what you show others, you tell me I'm young and married men are different. I arrange to be different at considerable personal sacrifice, and you tell me you won't like me any better." I swallowed convulsively.

"But, Billy--dear--you're not actually engaged?"

"I'm not so sure," I replied. "These girls are wonderfully sharp; and then, of course, I'm so young." (A good touch.)

There was a silence.

"I shall hate you if you marry a chorus girl," said Daphne.

"Then why did you tell me married men were different?"

"Because most of them are." Daphne smiled slowly. "I think I might like you better if you were married to some really nice girl."

I laughed bitterly. "To you, for instance?"

"Yes, to me," said Daphne very sweetly.

* * * * *

* * * * *

* * * * *

TO OBEY OR NOT TO OBEY.

_8th December, 1913._

Mr. and Mrs. Melbrook request the pleasure of Mr. Hugh Melbrook's company at the marriage of their daughter Muriel Irene with Mr. Adolphus Smith, at St. Peter's, Hashton, on Wednesday, December 31st, 1913, at 1.30 o'clock, and afterwards at _Westlands, Hashton_.

R.S.V.P.

_9th December, 1913._

Mr. Hugh Melbrook thanks Mr. and Mrs. Melbrook for the opportunity of being present at the wedding of their daughter Muriel Irene, but much regrets that, owing to great pressure of work, he cannot be there. He desires that Mr. and Mrs. Melbrook should not feel constrained to alter their present arrangements on that account.

_26th December, 1913._

MESSRS. HALL, MARK & Co., Silversmiths.

SIRS,--Kindly despatch at once to the address given below a seasonable wedding gift, costing no more than the amount of the enclosed postal order. I send my card for inclusion. Whatever change there may be please return it to me, and oblige

Yours faithfully,

H. MELBROOK.

_27th December, 1913._

H. MELBROOK, ESQ.

DEAR SIR,--We are in receipt of your esteemed favour of yesterday's date and beg to advise you that we have this day forwarded to the address you gave a handsome cut-glass anchovy dish with a finely-chased silver lid and tray. We enclose the receipted bill for the dish, which stands in our list at exactly the amount remitted by you.

We are, dear Sir,

Yours faithfully,

HALL, MARK & Co.

_29th December, 1913._

MY DEAR HUGH.--Thank you _very, very_ much for the sweet little butterdish. It's ripping. Do try to get down, Hugh, there's a good boy! If you can find time to choose me such a nice present--I know what you are, it must have taken you hours--surely you could take the day off for once. Say yes.

In tremendous haste, and thanking you again and again,

Your affectionate cousin,

MURIEL.

P.S.--I've just heard that Mr. Parsley, who is to marry us, is very strict about _obedient_ weddings, and I promised Geraldine I wouldn't "obey" if she didn't. Now it's my turn. Tell me something to do.

_30th December, 1913._

MY GOOD MURIEL,--That's a caviare dish! Caviare dishes, I understood, were all the rage just now, and here am I slaving away to be in the fashion, and you calmly write back and say, "Thank you very much for the butt--" My good Muriel!

I really wanted to send you something quite different, something equally novel but more seasonable; no less, in fact, than a nose-muff or nose-warmer. It is a little idea of my own, the Melbrook "Rhinotherm." Briefly, the mechanism consists of pieces of heated charcoal, potato or what-not, encased in some non-conducting material, the whole being then unostentatiously affixed to the frigid end of the nose. Stupidly, I forgot to take a plaster cast of your nose. You'll forgive me, won't you?

And now about coming down on the happy day. I feel very hurt about it. You know perfectly well that I wanted you to be married on a Saturday, but you wouldn't. It isn't as though you get married every day, and I do think you might have considered me a little more. But, even if I did come, even if by working all night Monday and Tuesday I could scrape together a few hours of freedom, I know what it would be. I should never be allowed in the vestry afterwards, while all the fun was going on. And yet you have the effrontery to sit there and ask my help in evading your, responsibilities as a married woman. Still, if you promise to breathe not a word of this to any woman I may marry hereafter, here's a dead snip for you. Listen! When you come to the words "to love, cherish and to obey," you simply drop the second "to" (nobody will miss it) and run the "d" of the "and" into the "obey," and lo! we have a French word, to wit, _dauber_, meaning to cuff, drub or belabour. What say you to that, my bonny bride? I think that deserves an extra large slice of cake, to put under my pillow. And I say, Muriel, I do hope there won't be any of those rotten cassowary seeds in it. If there are, for pity's sake rake them out and give them to someone who likes them. And I'll have his share of the marzipan.

Your affectionate cousin,

HUGH.

NEWSPAPER EXCERPT.

... During the service an amusing incident occurred. It was noticed that the, bride, who is rumoured to have feminist leanings, betrayed some difficulty in pronouncing the vow of obedience. The Rev. Thos. Parsley considerately paused and helped her to repeat the words after him in a clear and audible manner. In an interview with our representative, Mr. Parsley smilingly explained that he was determined, in his parish at any rate, to discourage any possible evasion of the matrimonial vows. He considered that a great deal of post-nuptial unhappiness was attributable to the lamentable laxity of the clergy in joining young people in matrimony without requiring their future relations to be clearly defined at the outset. The young bride refused to make any comment, but seemed highly amused at the incident....

"_Hashton Weekly Hash._"

* * * * *

"A gem ring lost last summer by Franz Schroder while travelling in a steamer on the Danube, near Prague, was found inside a carp caught at Mayence by his nephew."--_Manchester Evening News_.

The fact that Mayence is not on the Danube need not bother you. Only last week our uncle lost a white elephant while travelling in a barge on the Regent's Park Canal, near Maida Vale, and it was found inside the hat-box of the Editor of _The Manchester Evening News_ by FRANZ SCHRODER. Bless you, these things are always happening.

* * * * *

* * * * *

THE COWARD.

It is impossible to describe to you exactly how Herbert looked. But shame, defiance and unconcern were the principal ingredients in his expression as he stood on the kerb and stared across the road.

He started guiltily as I approached.

"Hallo, Herbert!" I began with my customary _bonhomie_.

"Hallo!" he said dismally.

"What are you doing here?" I asked sternly.

"Nothing," said Herbert. "Have you ever noticed what a fine building that post-office is?"

"No," I said; "neither have you. Herbert, you are concealing something from me. What have I done to deserve it? Have I not enjoyed your confidence these many years, and have you ever known me betray it? Is it marriage that has changed you thus? Is it--"

"Shut up," said Herbert. "I'll tell you, if you stop talking."

I stopped talking.

"It's this way. My wife and I have had a little discussion. And I stated my belief that there was nothing in an ordinary way that a woman could do that a man couldn't. Whereupon she defied me to go out and--er--buy a bloater. As you see, I have gone out, and--er--"

"Yes," I said, "you have gone out. Splendid of you! And all that remains to be done is to buy a bloater. Why not? Yonder, if I mistake not, is the shop of a bloaterer."

"But a bloater!" said Herbert. "It isn't fair. If she'd said some salmon, or a lobster, or even a pound of sausages; or if she'd allowed me to 'phone for it. It's not as if I'd ever had any practice. It's not decent to start a beginner on a hand-bought bloater."

"Tush!" I said. "This is not manly. Remember, our sex is at stake. Come!"

I took him by the arm. He advanced under protest.

Four paces from the shop he stopped abruptly and laughed--a horrible laugh.

"Do you know," he said, "I do believe I've come out without a cent on me."

"_I_ don't believe it for a moment," I said, "but as it happens I can lend you pounds and pounds--almost enough for two bloaters."

Herbert reluctantly found some money in one of the seven pockets he had not felt in. Then we advanced once more.

This time there was no going back. Right into the body of the fishmonger's we strode and stood firmly opposite the salesman.

"_Now_," I whispered tensely.

But Herbert hesitated, and even as he wobbled the salesman began his suggestions.

"Yes, Sir? Lobsters or prawns, Sir? Some very good salmon this morning--very fine fish indeed, Sir."

"Er, as a matter of fact," said Herbert, "we just wanted to know if you would be so kind as to direct us to the nearest post-office?--the one just across the road, you know," he added nervously.

"Herbert," I said in his private ear, "be a man."

Herbert pulled himself together. "Would you," he said to the salesman, "would you please let me look at some b-b-blobsters?"

* * * * *

A BAD DREAM.

_Sunday_.--Great news! The plan suggested by the Anglo-German Alliance Committee is at last to be carried out. There is to be an exchange of garrisons, that is to say, certain English towns are to be garrisoned by German regiments, while certain German towns are to have English garrisons. Our own town, though a small one, is to have the distinguished honour of being the first to give this mark of friendship to the world. All the arrangements have been made, and to-morrow the 901st Prussian regiment of infantry is to march in. It will be a great day for Dartlebury, and we shall all do our best, though the public notice has been short, to give our gallant visitors a warm and truly British reception.

_Monday_.--Our German friends have arrived. At 11 o'clock this morning it was announced that they were approaching, headed by their band. The Mayor, Alderman Farthingale, and the whole Corporation, including the three Labour members recently elected, immediately proceeded to the old city wall to meet them. They were accompanied by the municipal band in full uniform, playing "_Die Wacht am Rhein_," which they had been assiduously practising. Unfortunately this led to what might have been a somewhat painful contretemps. On meeting the municipal band the Prussian commander, Colonel von Brausebrum, halted his soldiers and in a loud voice declared that our men were playing out of tune. Perhaps this was true, but the offence was involuntary and in any case it was hardly serious enough to call for the arrest of the whole band. Arrested, however, they were, and it was a melancholy sight to see them marched off by a corporal's guard. Mr. Zundnadel, the chief of the band, is himself of German origin, and his feelings can be better imagined than described. The Mayor saved the situation by making an extremely cordial speech, in which he spoke of the English and the Germans as ancient brothers-in-arms. The Colonel in his reply said his mission was a glorious one, and everything would depend on the way we conducted ourselves. What can he have meant? The march was then resumed, but another halt was made in the High Street to remove the French flag which Mucklow, the linen-draper, had very tactlessly stuck up over his shop. He too was arrested, with wife and family, and was lodged in jail. Luckily no further incident disturbed the harmony of the proceedings.

_Tuesday_.--This morning Lieutenant von Schornstein, while walking in Brewer's Alley, trod on a piece of banana-skin and fell heavily on the pavement. As he rose he observed that two small boys were, so he alleged, laughing at him. He immediately ran after the two urchins, and was proceeding to put them to the sword when the Brewery men interfered and disarmed him. He pleaded that his uniform had been insulted and that it was necessary for him to punish them. "_Ich muss sie durch den Leib rennen_" were his words. The men, however, were not inclined to admit the force of this plea, especially as they understood no German, and they sent him back to barracks in a taxi-cab. The Mayor at once wired his apologies to the Colonel, and it is hoped that nothing further will be heard of the incident. I ought to add that the boys deny that they laughed, but the lieutenant is certain that they wore a smiling expression.

The "Friendship Banquet" was held this evening in the Town Hall, with the Mayor in the chair. No very great enthusiasm was shown, and when the Mayor, in proposing the health of our visitors, alluded to the friendly rivalry of the two nations in commerce and the arts of peace, the Colonel pulled him back into his seat and begged him not to proceed. "_Maul halten_," he said. The three Labour members of the Council were afterwards arrested for not having joined with sufficient heartiness in the singing of "_Deutschland über Alles_."

_Wednesday_.--A state of siege has been declared in Dartlebury, and we are all living under martial law. Lord Gruffen was arrested for having knocked up against a soldier. The magistrates, on leaving the police-court, were handcuffed and removed to barracks. A crisis is evidently approaching.

_Thursday_.--An insurrection started this morning. A huge crowd attacked the barracks and overpowered all resistance. Blood flowed like water, but in an hour all was over. There is a strong feeling that the experiment of the Alliance Committee was a rash one, though no doubt it was well meant. We live and learn.

* * * * *

LOOP! LOOP!!

(_A STORY OF AERIAL PROWESS IN THE PROVINCES._)

They said, "He goes a-tumbling through the hollow And trackless empyrean like a clown, Head pointed to the earth where weaklings wallow, Feet up toward the stars; not such renown Even our lord himself, the bright Apollo, Gets in his gilded car. For one bob down You shall behold the thing." "Right-o," I said, Clapping the old brown bay leaves on my head.

So to the hangars. Time, about eleven, The air full chill, the ground a mess of muck, And long time gazed I on the wintry heaven And thought of many a deed of Saxon pluck; How DRAKE, for instance, good old DRAKE of Devon, Played bowls at Plymouth Hoe. Twelve-thirty struck. No one had vaulted through the air's abyss; DRAKE would have plunged tail up an hour ere this.

Brief interval for lunch, and then a drizzle Fell on the dreary field. Like some dead moth The thing remained. Chagrin commenced to sizzle, And certain people cried, "A thillingth loth." Others, "Hey, Mister Airman, it's a swizzle!" Then a stern man came out, and with a cloth Lightly, as one well used to such a feat, Swaddled the brute's propeller and its seat.

The skies grew darkling, and there went a rumour, "The thing is off; he will not fly to-day;" And forth we wandered, some in rare ill-humour, But not, oh, not the bard. Yet this I say-- There are two kinds of courage: one's a boomer Avid of gold and glory; this is A, Crowned with a palm, and in her hands I see Sheaves of press cuttings. There is also B.

Not venturesome, this last, to brave the billows, To beard the panther in his hidden lair, To probe the epiderms of armadillos, Nor execute wild cart-wheels in the air; But who shall say how much Britannia still owes To B, the kind of courage that can bear Dauntless to wait, whate'er the skies portend, (Having paid entrance) to the bitter end?

The heavenly hero in his suit of leather Soars through Olympus with the world beneath Sometimes, and sometimes, owing to the weather, Scratches his fixtures in the tempest's teeth. Shall the high gods, who gaze on both together, Count him the nobler, or confer their wreath On the brave bull-dog bard, who risks his thews Standing about all day in thin-soled shoes?

EVOE.

* * * * *

* * * * *

OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.

(_BY MR. PUNCH'S STAFF OF LEARNED CLERKS._)

Just as one may say of certain novelists that they write at the top of their voices, so, I think, one might describe Miss VIOLA MEYNELL as writing in a whisper. This certainly is the effect that _Modern Lovers_ (SECKER) produced upon me. The gentle method of it invested the story--which of itself is a very slight thing--with an odd significance almost impossible to communicate in criticism; but the reading of a few pages will show you what I mean. The title is apt enough, for the tale is about nothing but love, as it affects a group of five young people, three men and two girls. Of the girls, who are sisters, _Effie Rutherglen_ is the more important and detailed figure. _Effie_, in the time before the story opens, had an affair with _Oliver Bligh_; then, summoned North to live with her futile and uncomprehending parents, she fell (as did her sister _Milly_ and most of the local spinsters) under the fascination of one _Clive Maxwell_, who was an author and had appealing eyes and obviously a way with him. Then _Oliver_ turned up again, and poor _Effie_ didn't know which of them she wanted. I speak lightly, but, if you think all this made for comedy, your conception of Miss MEYNELL's methods is very much at fault. Love to her is very much what it was to _Patience_ in the opera--by no means a wholly enviable boon. I can hardly praise too much the exquisite refinement and restraint of her treatment of commonplace things. But one small point baffled me: _Oliver_ appears to have been a professional diver and bath-keeper--we are told, indeed, that he had occupied that position at Rugby (a statement that I have private and personal reasons for discrediting)--yet we find him staying as a welcome and honoured guest in the house of the _Rutherglens_, whom I take to be more or less "county." Surely this, though of no real importance, is at least remarkable?

* * * * *