THE ENTENTE CORDIALE
VII
It has been well observed that there are moments and moments. Thepresent, as far as I was concerned, belonged to the more painfulvariety.
Even to my exhausted mind it was plain that there was need here forexplanations. An Irishman's croquet lawn is his castle, and strangerscannot plunge on to it unannounced through hedges without beingprepared to give reasons.
Unfortunately, speech was beyond me. I could have done many things atthat moment. I could have emptied a water butt, lain down and gone tosleep, or melted ice with a touch of the finger. But I could notspeak. The conversation was opened by the other man, in whosesoothing hand the hen now lay, apparently resigned to its fate.
"Come right in," he said pleasantly. "Don't knock. Your bird, Ithink?"
I stood there panting. I must have presented a quaint appearance. Myhair was full of twigs and other foreign substances. My face was moistand grimy. My mouth hung open. I wanted to sit down. My legs felt asif they had ceased to belong to me.
"I must apologize--" I began, and ended the sentence with gasps.
Conversation languished. The elderly gentleman looked at me with whatseemed to me indignant surprise. His daughter looked through me. Theman regarded me with a friendly smile, as if I were some old cronydropped in unexpectedly.
"I'm afraid--" I said, and stopped again.
"Hard work, big-game hunting in this weather," said the man. "Take along breath."
I took several and felt better.
"I must apologize for this intrusion," I said successfully."Unwarrantable" would have rounded off the sentence nicely, butinstinct told me not to risk it. It would have been mere bravado tohave attempted unnecessary words of five syllables at that juncture.
I paused.
"Say on," said the man with the hen encouragingly, "I'm a human beingjust like yourself."
"The fact is," I said, "I didn't--didn't know there was a privategarden beyond the hedge. If you will give me my hen--"
"It's hard to say good-by," said the man, stroking the bird's headwith the first finger of his disengaged hand. "She and I are justbeginning to know and appreciate each other. However, if it must be--"
He extended the hand which held the bird, and at this point a hitchoccurred. He did his part of the business--the letting go. It was inmy department--the taking hold--that the thing was bungled. The henslipped from my grasp like an eel, stood for a moment overcome by thesurprise of being at liberty once more, then fled and intrencheditself in some bushes at the farther end of the lawn.
There are times when the most resolute man feels that he can battle nolonger with fate; when everything seems against him and the onlycourse left is a dignified retreat. But there is one thing essentialto a dignified retreat. One must know the way out. It was that factwhich kept me standing there, looking more foolish than anyone hasever looked since the world began. I could hardly ask to be conductedoff the premises like the honored guest. Nor would it do to retire bythe way I had come. If I could have leaped the hedge with a singlebound, that would have made a sufficiently dashing and debonair exit.But the hedge was high, and I was incapable at the moment of achievinga debonair leap over a footstool.
The man saved the situation. He seemed to possess that magnetic powerover his fellows which marks the born leader. Under his command webecame an organized army. The common object, the pursuit of the hen,made us friends. In the first minute of the proceedings the Irishmanwas addressing me as "me dear boy," and the other man, who hadintroduced himself rapidly as Tom Chase, lieutenant in his Majesty'snavy, was shouting directions to me by name. I have never assisted atany ceremony at which formality was so completely dispensed with. Theice was not merely broken, it was shivered into a million fragments.
"Go in and drive her out, Garnet," shouted Mr. Chase. "In mydirection, if you can. Look out on the left, Phyllis."
Even in that disturbing moment I could not help noticing his use ofthe Christian name. It seemed to me sinister. I did not like the ideaof dashing young lieutenants in the royal navy calling a girl Phylliswhose eyes had haunted me for just over a week--since, in fact, I hadfirst seen them. Nevertheless, I crawled into the bushes and dislodgedthe hen. She emerged at the spot where Mr. Chase was waiting with hiscoat off, and was promptly enveloped in that garment and captured.
"The essence of strategy," observed Mr. Chase approvingly, "issurprise. A devilish neat piece of work."
I thanked him. He deprecated the thanks. He had, he said, only donehis duty, as a man is bound to do. He then introduced me to theelderly Irishman, who was, it seemed, a professor--of what I do notknow--at Dublin University. By name, Derrick. He informed me that healways spent the summer at Lyme Regis.
"I was surprised to see you at Lyme Regis," I said. "When you got outat Yeovil, I thought I had seen the last of you."
I think I am gifted beyond other men as regards the unfortunateturning of sentences.
"I meant," I added speedily, "I was afraid I had."
"Ah, of course," he said, "you were in our carriage coming down. I wasconfident I had seen you before. I never forget a face."
"It would be a kindness," said Mr. Chase, "if you would forgetGarnet's as now exhibited. You'll excuse the personality, but youseem to have collected a good deal of the professor's property comingthrough that hedge."
"I was wondering," I said with gratitude. "A wash--if I might?"
"Of course, me boy, of course," said the professor. "Tom, take Mr.Garnet off to your room, and then we'll have some lunch. You'll stayto lunch, Mr. Garnet?"
I thanked him for his kindness and went off with my friend, thelieutenant, to the house. We imprisoned the hen in the stables, to itsprofound indignation, gave directions for lunch to be served to it,and made our way to Mr. Chase's room.
"So you've met the professor before?" he said, hospitably laying out achange of raiment for me--we were fortunately much of a height andbuild.
"I have never spoken to him," I said. "We traveled down together in avery full carriage, and I saw him next day on the beach."
"He's a dear old boy, if you rub him the right way."
"Yes?" I said.
"But--I'm telling you this for your good and guidance--he can cut uprough. And when he does, he goes off like a four point seven. I think,if I were you--you don't mind my saying this?--I think, if I were you,I should _not_ mention Mr. Tim Healy at lunch."
I promised that I would try to resist the temptation.
"And if you _could_ manage not to discuss home rule--"
"I will make an effort."
"On any other topic he will be delighted to hear your views. Chattyremarks on bimetallism would meet with his earnest attention. Alecture on what to do with the cold mutton would be welcomed. But notIreland, if you don't mind. Shall we go down?"
We got to know one another very well at lunch.
"Do you hunt hens," asked Mr. Chase, who was mixing the salad--he wasone of those men who seem to do everything a shade better than anyoneelse, "for amusement or by your doctor's orders?"
"Neither," I said, "and particularly not for amusement. The fact is Ihave been lured down here by a friend of mine who has started achicken farm--"
I was interrupted. All three of them burst into laughter. Mr. Chase inhis emotion allowed the vinegar to trickle on to the cloth, missingthe salad bowl by a clear two inches.
"You don't mean to tell us," he said, "that you really come from theone and only chicken farm?"
I could not deny it.
"Why, you're the man we've all been praying to meet for days past.Haven't we, professor?"
"You're right, Tom," chuckled Mr. Derrick.
"We want to know all about it, Mr. Garnet," said Phyllis Derrick.
"Do you know," continued Mr. Chase, "that you are the talk of thetown? Everybody is discussing you. Your methods are quite new andoriginal, aren't they?"
"Probably," I replied. "Ukridge knows nothing about fowls. I knowless. He consider
s it an advantage. He said our minds ought to beunbiased by any previous experience."
"Ukridge!" said the professor. "That was the name old Dawlish, thegrocer, said. I never forget a name. He is the gentleman who lectureson the breeding of poultry, is he not? You do not?"
I hastened to disclaim any such feat.
"His lectures are very popular," said Phyllis with a little splutterof mirth.
"He enjoys them," I said.
"Look here, Garnet," said Mr. Chase, "I hope you won't consider allthese questions impertinent, but you've no notion of the thrillinginterest we all take--at a distance--in your farm. We have beentalking of nothing else for a week. I have dreamed of it three nightsrunning. Is Mr. Ukridge doing this as a commercial speculation, or ishe an eccentric millionaire?"
"He's not a millionaire. I believe he intends to be, though, beforelong, with the assistance of the fowls. But I hope you won't look onme as in any way responsible for the arrangements at the farm. I ammerely a laborer. The brain work of the business lies in Ukridge'sdepartment."
"Tell me, Mr. Garnet," said Phyllis, "do you use an incubator?"
"Oh, yes, we have an incubator."
"I suppose you find it very useful?"
"I'm afraid we use it chiefly for drying our boots when they get wet,"I said.
Only that morning Ukridge's spare pair of tennis shoes had permanentlyspoiled the future of half-a-dozen eggs which were being hatched onthe spot where the shoes happened to be placed. Ukridge had been quiteannoyed.
"I came down here principally," I said, "in search of golf. I was toldthere were links, but up to the present my professional duties havemonopolized me."
"Golf," said Professor Derrick. "Why, yes. We must have a round or twotogether. I am very fond of golf. I generally spend the summer downhere improving my game."
I said I should be delighted.
* * * * *
There was croquet after lunch--a game at which I am a poor performer.Miss Derrick and I played the professor and Chase. Chase was a littlebetter than myself; the professor, by dint of extreme earnestness andcare, managed to play a fair game; and Phyllis was an expert.
"I was reading a book," said she, as we stood together watching theprofessor shaping at his ball at the other end of the lawn, "by anauthor of the same surname as you, Mr. Garnet. Is he a relation ofyours?"
"I am afraid I am the person, Miss Derrick," I said.
"You wrote the book?"
"A man must live," I said apologetically.
"Then you must have--oh, nothing."
"I could not help it, I'm afraid. But your criticism was very kind."
"Did you know what I was going to say?"
"I guessed."
"It was lucky I liked it," she said with a smile.
"Lucky for me," I said.
"Why?"
"It will encourage me to write another book. So you see what you haveto answer for. I hope it will not trouble your conscience."
At the other end of the lawn the professor was still patting the ballsabout, Chase the while advising him to allow for windage and elevationand other mysterious things.
"I should not have thought," she said, "that an author cared a bit forthe opinion of an amateur."
"It all depends."
"On the author?"
"On the amateur."
It was my turn to play at this point. I missed--as usual.
"I didn't like your heroine, Mr. Garnet."
"That was the one crumpled rose leaf. I have been wondering why eversince. I tried to make her nice. Three of the critics liked her."
"Really?"
"And the modern reviewer is an intelligent young man. What is a'creature,' Miss Derrick?"
"Pamela in your book is a creature," she replied unsatisfactorily,with the slightest tilt of the chin.
"My next heroine shall be a triumph," I said.
She should be a portrait, I resolved, from life.
Shortly after, the game came somehow to an end. I do not understandthe intricacies of croquet. But Phyllis did something brilliant andremarkable with the balls, and we adjourned for tea, which had beenmade ready at the edge of the lawn while we played.
The sun was setting as I left to return to the farm, with the henstored neatly in a basket in my hand. The air was deliciously cool andfull of that strange quiet which follows soothingly on the skirts of abroiling midsummer afternoon. Far away--the sound seemed almost tocome from another world--the tinkle of a sheep bell made itself heard,deepening the silence. Alone in a sky of the palest blue theretwinkled a small bright star.
I addressed this star.
"She was certainly very nice to me," I said. "Very nice, indeed."
The star said nothing.
"On the other hand," I went on, "I don't like that naval man. He is agood chap, but he overdoes it."
The star winked sympathetically.
"He calls her Phyllis," I said.
"Charawk," said the hen satirically from her basket.
Love Among the Chickens Page 7