Poor Relations

by Compton MacKenzie

  CHAPTER XI

  Whether it was due to the Christmas card look of his new house or merelyto a desire to flaunt a romantic hospitality in the face of his eldestbrother, it is certain that John had never before in his life gone sobenevolently mad as during the week that preceded Christmas in the year1910. Mindful of that afternoon in the town of Galton when he had triedto procure for Harold and Frida gifts of such American appearance aswould excuse his negligence, he was determined not to expose himself fora second time to juvenile criticism, and in the selection of toys hepandered to every idiosyncrasy he had so far observed in his nephews andnieces. Thus, for Bertram he bought a large stamp album, several sheetsof tropical stamps, a toy theater, representatives of every species inthe great genus marbles, a set of expensive and realistic masks, and amodel fireman's outfit. For Viola he filled a trunk with remnants ofembroideries and all kinds of stuffs, placing on top two pairs of ebonycastanets and the most professional tambourine he could find; and, inorder that nature might not be utterly subordinated to art, he boughther a very large doll, rather older in appearance than Viola herself; infact, almost marriageable. In the hope of obliterating thedisappointment of those china animals, he chose for Frida a completelyfurnished dolls' house with garage and stables attached, so grand ahouse, indeed, that by knocking all the rooms into one, she could withslight inconvenience have lived in it herself; this residence hepopulated with gentleman-dolls, lady-dolls, servant-dolls, nurse-dolls,baby-dolls, horses, carriages, and motors; nor did he omit to provide afishmonger's shop for the vicinity. For Harold he bought a butterflycollector's equipment, a vacuum pistol, a set of climbing-irons, amicroscope, and at the last moment a juvenile diver's equipment withair pumps and all accessories, which was warranted perfectly safe,though the wicked uncle wondered if it really was.

  "I don't want a mere toy for the bathroom," he explained.

  "Quite so, sir," the shopman assented, with a bow. "This is guaranteedfor any ordinary village pond or small stream."

  For his grown-up relations John bought the kind of presents that onealways does buy for grown-up relations, the kind of presents that lookvery ornamental on the counter, seem very useful when the shopmanexplains what they are for, puzzle the recipient and the donor when theshopman is no longer there, and lie about the house on small tables forthe rest of the year. In the general odor of Russia leather that clungto his benefactions John hoped that Miss Hamilton would not consider tooremarkable the attache case that he intended to give her, nor amid theuniversal dazzle of silver object to the few little luxuries of thewriting-desk with which he had enhanced it. Then there were the presentsfor the servants to choose, and he counted much on Miss Hamilton'senabling him to introduce into these an utilitarian note that for two orthree seasons had been missing from his donations, which to an outsidermight have seemed more like lures of the flesh than sober testimonialsto service. He also counted upon her to persuade Mrs. Worfolk toaccompany Maud down to Ambles: Elsa was to be left in Church Row withpermission to invite to dinner the policeman to whom she was betrothedand various friends and relations of the two families.

  When the presents were settled John proceeded to lay in a store ofeatables and drinkables, in the course of which enterprise he wascontinually saying:

  "I've forgotten for the moment what I want next, but meanwhile you'dbetter give me another box of Elvas plums."

  "Another drum? Yes, sir," the shopman would reply, licking his pencil ina way that was at once obsequious and pedantic, though it was notintended to suggest more than perfect efficiency.

  When the hall and the adjacent rooms at 36 Church Row had been turnedinto rolling dunes of brown paper, John rushed about London in a lastfrenzy of unbridled acquisitiveness to secure plenty of amusement forthe children. To this end he obtained a few well-known and well-triedfavorites like the kinetoscope and the magic lantern, and a number ofexperimental diversions which would have required a trained engineer orrenowned scientist to demonstrate successfully. Finally he bargained forthe wardrobe of a Santa Claus whose dignified perambulations round theChristmas Bazaar of a noted emporium had attracted his fancy on accountof the number of children who followed him everywhere, laughing andscreaming with delight. It was not until he had completed the purchasethat he discovered it was not the exterior of the Santa Claus which hadcharmed his little satellites, but the free distribution of bags ofcoagulated jujubes.

  "I expect I'd better get the Christmas tree in the country," said John,waist-deep in the still rising drift of parcels. "I dare say the Galtonshops keep those silver and magenta globes you hang on Christmas trees,and I ought to patronize the local tradesmen."

  "If you have any local shopping to do, I'm sure you would be wise to godown to-day," Miss Hamilton suggested, firmly. "Besides, Mrs. Worfolkwon't want to arrive at the last minute."

  "No, indeed, I shan't, Miss," said the housekeeper. "Well, I mean tosay, I don't think we ever shall arrive, not if we wait much longer. Weshall require a performing elephant to carry all these parcels, as itis."

  "My idea was to go down in the last train on Christmas Eve," Johnargued. "I like the old-fashioned style, don't you know?"

  "Yes, old-fashioned's the word," Mrs. Worfolk exclaimed. "Why, who's toget the house ready if we all go trooping down on Christmas Eve? And ifI go, sir, you must come with me. You know how quick Mrs. Curtis alwaysis to snap any one up. If I had my own way, I wouldn't go within athousand miles of the country; that's a sure thing."

  John began to be afraid that his housekeeper was going back on her word,and he surrendered to the notion of leaving town that afternoon.

  "I say, what is this parcel like a long drain-pipe?" he asked in a finaleffort to detain Miss Hamilton, who was preparing to make her farewellsand leave him to his packing.

  "Ah, it would take some finding out," Mrs. Worfolk interposed. "I'venever seen so many shapes and sizes of parcels in all my life."

  "They must have made a mistake," said John. "I don't remember buyinganything so tubular as this."

  He pulled away some of the paper wrapping to see what was inside.

  "Ah, of course! They're two or three boxes of Elvas plums I ordered. Butplease don't go, Miss Hamilton," he protested. "I am relying upon you toget the tickets to Waterloo."

  In spite of a strenuous scene at the station, in the course of whichJohn's attempts to propitiate Mrs. Worfolk led to one of the portersreferring to her as his mother, they managed to catch the five o'clocktrain to Wrottesford. After earnestly assuring his secretary that heshould be perfectly ready to begin work again on Joan of Arc the dayafter her arrival and begging her on no account to let herself bedeterred from traveling on the morning of Boxing Day, John sank backinto the pleasant dreams that haunt a warm first-class smokingcompartment when it's raining hard outside in the darkness of a Decembernight.

  "We shall have a green Christmas this year," observed one of his fellowtravelers.

  "Very green," John assented with enthusiasm, only realizing as he spokethat the superlative must sound absurd to any one who was unaware of histhoughts and hiding his embarrassment in the _Westminster Gazette_,which in the circumstances was the best newspaper he could have chosen.

  John was surprised and depressed when the train arrived at Wrottesfordto find that the member of the Ambles party who had elected to meet himwas Hilda; and there was a long argument on the platform who shoulddrive in the dogcart and who should drive in the fly. John did not wantto ride on the back seat of the dogcart, which he would have to dounless he drove himself, a prospect that did not attract him when he sawhow impatiently the mare was dancing about through the extreme latenessof the train. Hilda objected to driving with his housekeeper in the fly,and in the end John was compelled to let Maud and Mrs. Worfolk occupythe dogcart, while he and Hilda toiled along the wet lanes in the fly.It was decided to leave the greater portion of the luggage to be fetchedin the morning, but even so it was after eight o'clock before they gotaway from the station, and John, when he found himself
immured withHilda in the musty interior of the hired vehicle was inclined toprophesy a blue Christmas this year. To begin with, Hilda would try toexplain the system she had pursued in allotting the various bedrooms toaccommodate the large party that was expected at Ambles. It was badenough so long as she confined herself to a verbal exposition, but whenshe produced a map of the house, evidently made by Hugh on an idleevening, and to illuminate her dispositions struck away most of John'smatches, it became exasperating. His brain was already fatigued by thepuzzle of fitting into two vehicles four pieces, one of which might notmove to the square next two of the remaining pieces, and another ofwhich could not move backward.

  "I leave it entirely to you," he declared, introducing at last into theintellectual torment of chess some of the happy irresponsibleness ofbridge. "You mustn't set me these chess problems in a jolting fly beforedinner."

  "Chess!" Hilda sniffed with a shiver. "Draughts would be a better name."

  She did not often make jokes, and before John had recovered sufficientlyfrom his surprise to congratulate her with a hearty laugh, she was offagain upon her querulous and rambling narration of the family news.

  "If everything _had_ been left to me, I might have managed, but Hugh'sinterference, apparently authorized by you, upset all my poor littlearrangements. I need hardly say that Mama was so delighted to have herfavorite at home with her that she has done everything since his arrivalto encourage his self-importance. It's Hughie this and Hughie that,until I get quite sick of the sound of his name. And he's very unkind topoor little Harold. Apart from being very coarse and sarcastic in frontof him, he is sometimes quite brutal. Only this morning he shot him inthe upper part of the leg with a pellet from the poor little man's ownair-gun."

  John did laugh this time, and shouted "Merry Christmas!" to a passingwagon.

  "I dare say it sounds very funny to you. But it made Harold cry."

  "Come, come, Hilda, it's just as well he should learn the potentialitiesof his own instrument. He'll sympathize with the birds now."

  "Birds," she scoffed. "Fancy comparing Harold with a bird!"

  "It is rather unfair," John agreed.

  "However, you won't be so ready to take Hugh's part when you see whathe's been doing at Ambles."

  "Why, what has he been doing?"

  "Oh, never mind. I'd rather you judged for yourself," said Hilda,darkly. "Of course, I don't know what Hugh has been up to in London thatyou've had to send him down to Hampshire. I always used to hear you vowthat you would have nothing more to do with him. But I know thatsuccessful people are allowed to change their minds more often than therest of us. I know success justifies everything. And it isn't as if Hughwas grateful for your kindness. I can assure you that he criticizeseverything you do. Any stranger who heard him talking about your playswould think that they were a kind of disgrace to the family. As forLaurence, he encourages him, not because he likes him, but because Hughfills him up with stories about the stage. Though I think that aclergyman who has got into such a muddle with his bishops would dobetter not to make himself so conspicuous. The whole neighborhood istalking about him."

  "What is Laurence's latest?"

  "Why, stalking about in a black cloak, with his hair hanging down overhis collar, stopping people in quiet lanes and reciting Shakespeare tothem. It's not surprising that half the county is talking about hisbehavior and saying that he was turned out of Newton Candover for beingdrunk when the bishop took a confirmation, and _some_ even say that hekept a ballet girl at the vicarage. But do you think that Edith objects?Oh, no! All that Laurence does must be right, because it's Laurence. Sheprays for him to get back his belief in the Church of England, thoughwho's going to offer him another living I'm sure I don't know, so shemight just as well spare her knees. And when she's not praying for him,she's spoiling him. She actually came out of her room the other morningwith her finger up to her lips, because Laurence wasn't to be disturbedat that moment. I need hardly tell you I paid no attention and went onsaying what I had to say to Huggins about the disgraceful way he's letthe pears get so sleepy."

  "It's a pity you didn't succeed in waking them up instead of Laurence,"John chuckled.

  "It's all very well for you to laugh, John, but if you could see the waythat Edith is bringing up Frida! She's turning her into a regular littlemolly-coddle. I'm sure poor Harold does his best to put some life intothe child, but she shrinks and twitches whenever he comes near her. Itold Edith that it wasn't to be wondered at if Harold did tease hersometimes. She encourages him to tease her by her affectations. I usedto think that Frida was quite a nice little girl when I only saw heroccasionally, but she doesn't improve on acquaintance. However, I blameher mother more than I do her. Why, Edith doesn't even make the childtake her cod-liver oil regularly, whereas Harold drinks his up like alittle Trojan."

  "Never mind," said John, soothingly. "I'm sure we shall all feel morecheerful after Christmas. And now, if you don't mind, I'm afraid I mustkeep quiet for the rest of the drive. I've got a scene to think about."

  The author turned up the collar of his coat and retired into the furthercorner while Hilda chewed her veil in ruminative indignation until themellow voice of Laurence, who had taken up a statuesque pose of welcomeby the gate, broke the dank silence of the fly.

  "Ah, John, my dear fellow, we are delighted to see you. The rain hasstopped."

  If Laurence had still been on good terms with his Creator, John mighthave thought from his manner that he had personally arranged this breakin the weather.

  "Is Harold there?" asked Hilda, sharply.

  "Here I am, mother; I've just caught a Buff-tip, and it won't go into mypoison-bottle."

  "And what is a Buff-tip?" inquired Laurence in a tone of patronizingignorance.

  "Oh, it's a pretty common moth."

  "Harold, darling, don't bother about moths or butterflies to-night. Comeand say how d'ye do to dear Uncle John."

  "I've dropped the cork of my poison-bottle. Look out, Frida, bother you,I say, you'll tread on it."

  The combined scents of cyanide of potassium and hot metal from Harold'sbull's-eye lantern were heavy upon the moist air; when the cork wasfound, Harold lost control over the lantern which he flashed intoeverybody's face in turn, so that John, rendered as helpless as aBuff-tip, walked head foremost into a sopping bush by the side of thepath. However, the various accidents of arrival all escaped beingserious, and the thought of dinner shortened the affectionate greetings.Remembering how Hugh had paid out Harold with his own air-gun, Johngreeted his youngest brother more cordially than he could ever havesupposed it was possible to greet him again.

  By general consent, the owner of the house was allowed to be tired thatevening, and all discussion of the Christmas preparations was postponeduntil the next day. Harold made a surreptitious attempt to break intothe most promising parcel he could find, but he was ill rewarded by theinside, which happened to be a patent carpet sweeper.

  Before old Mrs. Touchwood went to bed, she took John aside andwhispered:

  "They're all against Hughie. But I've tried to make the poor boy feelthat he's at home, and dear Georgie will be coming very soon, which willmake it pleasanter for Hugh, and I've thought of a nice way to manageJimmie."

  "I think you worry yourself needlessly over Hugh, Mama; I can assure youhe's perfectly capable of looking after himself."

  "I hope so," the old lady sighed. "All my patience came out beautifullythis evening. So I hope Hughie will be all right. He seemed to think youwere a little annoyed with him."

  "Did he tell you why?"

  "Not exactly, but I understand it was something to do with money. Youmustn't be too strict with Hugh about money, John. You must alwaysremember that he hasn't got all the money he wants, and you must makeallowances accordingly. Ah, dear, peace on earth, good-will towards men!But I don't complain. I'm very happy here with my patience, and I daresay something can be done to get rid of the bees that have made a nestin the wall just under my bedroom window. They're asleep n
ow, but whenthey begin to buzz with the warm weather Huggins must try and inducethem to move somewhere else. Good-night, my dear boy."

  Next morning when John leaned out of his window to inhale the Hampshireair and contemplate his domain he was shocked to perceive upon the lawnbelow a large quadrangular excavation in which two workmen were actuallydigging.

  "Hi! What are you doing?" he shouted.

  The workmen stared at John, stared at one another, stared at theirspades, and went on with their digging.

  "Hi! What the devil are you doing?"

  The workmen paid no attention; but the voice of Harold came tricklinground the corner of the house with a gurgle of self-satisfaction.

  "_I_ didn't do it, Uncle John. I began geology last week, but I haven'tdug up _anything_. Mother wouldn't let me. It was Uncle Hugh and UncleLaurence. Mother knew you'd be angry when you saw what a mess the gardenwas in. It does look untidy, doesn't it? Huggins said he should complainto you, first thing. He says he'd just as soon put brown sugar on thepaths as _that_ gravel. Did you know that Ambles is built on a gravelsubsoil, Uncle John? Aren't you glad, because my geology book says thata gravel subsoil is the healthiest...."

  John removed himself abruptly out of earshot.

  "What is that pernicious mess on the front lawn?" he demanded of Hughhalf-an-hour later at breakfast.

  "Ah, you noticed it, did you?"

  "Noticed it? I should think I did notice it. I understand that you'reresponsible."

  "Not entirely," Laurence interposed, gently. "Hugh and I must accept ajoint responsibility. The truth is that for some time now I've felt thatmy work has been terribly at the mercy of little household noises, andHugh recommended me to build myself an outside study. He has made a veryclever design, and has kindly undertaken to supervise its erection. Asyou have seen, they are already well on with the foundations. The designwhich I shall show you after breakfast is in keeping with the house, andof course you will have the advantage of what I call my little Gazebowhen I leave Ambles. Have I told you that I'm considering a briefexperience of the realities of the stage? After all, why not?Shakespeare was an actor."

  If John had been eating anything more solid than a lightly boiled egg atthe moment he must have choked.

  "You can call it your little Gazebo as much as you like, but it'snothing but a confounded summerhouse," he shouted.

  "Look here, Johnnie," said Hugh, soothingly. "You'll like it when it'sfinished. This isn't one of Stevie's Gothic contortions. I admit that toget the full architectural effect there should be a couple of them. Yousee, I've followed the design of the famous dovecotes at...."

  "Dovecoats be damned," John exploded. "I instructed you to prepare thehouse for Christmas; I didn't ask you to build me a new one."

  "Laurence felt that he was in the way indoors," Edith explained,timidly.

  "The impression was rather forced upon me," said Laurence with a glanceat Hilda, who throughout the dispute had been sitting virtuously silent;nor did she open her thin lips now.

  "He was going to pay for his hermitage out of the money he ought to havemade from writing _Lamp-posts_," Edith went on in a muddled expositionof her husband's motives. "He wasn't thinking of himself at all. But ofcourse if you object to his building this Gas--oh, I am so bad at propernames--he'll understand. Won't you, dear?"

  "Oh, I shall understand," Laurence admitted with an expression ofpainfully achieved comprehension. "Though I may fail to see thenecessity for such strong language."

  Frida wiggled in the coils of an endless whisper from which her motherextricated her at last by murmuring:

  "Hush, darling, Uncle John is a little vexed about something."

  Hilda and her son still sat in mute self-righteousness; and Grandmama,who always had her breakfast in bed, was not present to defend Hugh.

  "If it had been anywhere except on the lawn right in front of my room,"John began more mildly.

  "We tried to combine suitability of site with facility of access,"Laurence condescended to explain. "But pray do not say another word," headded, waving his fingers like magic wands to induce John's silence."The idea of my little Gazebo does not appeal to you. That is enough. Ido not grudge the money already spent upon the foundations. Furtherdiscussion will irritate us all, and I for one have no wish to disturbthe harmony of the season." Then exchanging his tone of polite martyrdomfor the suave jocularity of a vicar, he continued: "And when are we toexpect our Yuletide guests? I hear that the greater portion of yourluggage is still in the care of the station-master at Wrottesford. If Ican do anything to aid in the transport of what rumor says is ourChristmas commissariat, do not hesitate to call upon my services. I amgiving the Muse a holiday and am ready for anything. Harold, pass themarmalade, please."

  John felt incapable of further argument with Laurence and Hugh incombination, and having gained his point, he let the subject of theGazebo drop. He was glad that Miss Hamilton was not here; he felt thatshe might have been rather contemptuous of what he tried to believe was"good-nature," but recognized in his heart as "meekness," even"feebleness."

  "When are Cousin Bertram and Cousin Viola coming?" Harold asked.

  "Wow-wow-wow!" Hugh imitated, and he was probably expressing the generalopinion of Harold's re-entry into the breakfast-table conversation.

  "For goodness' sake, boy, don't talk about them as if they were elderlycolonial connections," John commanded with the resurgent valor thatHarold always inspired. "Bertram and Viola are coming to-morrow. By theway, Hilda, is there any accommodation for a monkey? I don't know forcertain, but Bertram talked vaguely of bringing a monkey down. Possiblya small annex could be attached to the chickenhouse."

  "A monkey?" Edith exclaimed in alarm. "Oh, I hope it won't attack dearFrida."

  "I shall shoot him, if he does," Harold boasted. "I shot a mole lastweek."

  "No, you didn't, you young liar," Hugh contradicted. "It was killed bythe trap."

  "Harold is always a very truthful little boy," said his mother, glaring.

  "Is he? I hadn't noticed it," Hugh retorted.

  "Far be it from me to indulge in odious comparisons," Laurenceinterposed, grandly. "But I cannot help being a trifle--ah--tickled byso much consideration's being exhibited on account of the temporarylodging of a monkey and so much animus--however, don't let us rake up adisagreeable topic."

  John thought it was a pity that his brother-in-law had not felt the sameabout raking up the lawn when after breakfast he was telling Huggins tofill in the hole and hearing that it was unlikely to lose the scar for along time.

  "You could have knocked me down with a feather, sir, when they startedin hacking away at a lovely piece of turf like that."

  "I'm sure I could," John agreed, warmly.

  "But what's done can't be undone, and the best way to mend a bad jobwould be to make a bed for ornamental annuals. Yes, sir, a nice bed inthe shape of a star--or a shell."

  "No thanks, Huggins, I should prefer grass again, even if for a year ortwo the lawn does look as if it had been recently vaccinated."

  John's Christmas enthusiasm had been thoroughly damped by the atmosphereof Ambles and he regretted that he had let himself be persuaded intocoming down two days earlier than he had intended. It had been Mrs.Worfolk's fault, and when his housekeeper approached him with acomplaint about the way things were being managed in the kitchen Johntold her rather sharply that she must make the best of the presentarrangements, exercise as much tact as possible, and remember thatChristmas was a season when discontent was out of fashion. Then heretreated to the twenty-acre field to lose a few golf-balls. Alas, hehad forgotten that Laurence had proclaimed himself to be in a holidayhumor and was bored to find that this was so expansive as to include anambition to see if golf was as difficult as people said.

  "You can try a stroke if you really want to," John offered, grudgingly.

  "I understand that the theory of striking involves the correctapplication of the hands to the club," said the novice. "I set muchstore by the old a
dage that well begun is half done."

  "The main thing is to hit the ball."

  "I've no doubt whatever about being able to hit the ball; but if Idecide to adopt golf as a recreation from my dramatic work I wish toacquire a good style at the outset," Laurence intoned, picking up theclub as solemnly as if he was going to baptize it. "What is your adviceabout the forefinger of my left hand? It feels to me somewhatubiquitous. I assume that there is some inhibition upon excessivefidgeting."

  "Keep your eye on the ball," John gruffly advised him. "And don't shiftyour position."

  "One, two, three," murmured Laurence, raising the club above hisshoulder.

  "Fore!" John shouted to a rash member of the household who was crossingthe line of fire.

  A lump of turf was propelled a few feet in the direction of theadmonished figure, and the ball was hammered down into the soft earth.

  "You distracted me by counting four," Laurence protested. "My intentionwas to strike at three. However, if at first you don't succeed...."

  But John could stand no more of it and escaped to Galton, where hebought a bushel of lustrous ornaments for the Christmas tree that waseven now being felled by Huggins in a coppice remote from Harold'smyopic explorations. Then for two days the household worked feverishlyand unitedly in a prevalent odor of allspice; the children were decoyedfrom the house while the presents were mysteriously conveyed to thedrawing-room, which had been consecrated to the forthcoming revelry;Harold, after nearly involving himself in a scandal by hiding himselfunder the kitchen-table during one of the servant's meals in order toverify the cubic contents of their several stockings, was finallysuccessful in contracting with Mrs. Worfolk for the loan of one of hers;Frida whispered as ceaselessly as a grove of poplars; everybody'sfingers were tattooed by holly-pricks; and the introduction of so muchdecorative vegetation into the house brought with it a train ofsomnambulant insects.

  On Saturday afternoon the remaining guests arrived, and when John heardBertram and Viola shouting merrily up and down the corridors herecognized the authentic note of Christmas gayety at last. James wasmuch less disagreeable than he had expected, and did not even freezeBeatrice when she gushed about the loveliness of the holly and remindedeverybody that she was countrified herself; Hilda and Eleanor werebrought together by their common dread of Hugh's apparent return tofavor; George exuded a gross reproduction of the host's good-will andwandered about the room reading jokes from the Christmas numbers tothose who would listen to him; Laurence kissed all the ladies under themistletoe, bending down to them from his majesty as patronizingly as inthe days of his faith he used to communicate the poor of the parish;Edith clapped her hands every time that Laurence brought off a kiss andtalked in a heart-felt tremolo about the Christmas-tides of hergirlhood; Frida conceived an adoration for Viola; Hugh egged on Bertramto tease, threaten, and contradict Harold on every occasion; Grandmamain a new butter-colored gown glowed in the lamplight, and purred overher fertility, as if on the day she had accepted Robert Touchwood'shand nearly half a century ago she had foreseen this gathering and hadnever grumbled when she found she was going to have another baby.

  "Snapdragon will be ready at ten," John proclaimed, "and then to bed, sothat we're all fit for Christmas Day."

  He was anxious to get the household out of the way, because he hadformed a project to dress himself up that night as Santa Claus and, ashe put it to himself, stimulate the children's fancy in case they shouldbe awake when their stockings were being filled.

  The clock struck ten; Mrs. Worfolk gave portentous utterance to theinformation that the snapdragon was burning beautiful; there was a rushfor the pantry where the ceremony was to take place. Laurence picked outhis raisins as triumphantly as if he were snatching souls from adiscredited Romish purgatory. Harold notwithstanding his bad sightseemed to be doing well until Bertram temporarily disabled him bysnatching a glowing raisin from the fiercest flame and ramming it downhis neck. But the one who ate most of all, more even than Harold, wasGeorge, whose fat fingers would scoop up half-a-dozen raisins at a go,were they never so hot, until gradually the blue flames flickered lessalertly and finally went out altogether in a pungency of burnt brandy.

  "Half-past ten," John, who was longing to dress himself up, criedimpatiently.

  His efforts to urge the family up to bed were rather interfered with byLaurence, who detained Eleanor with numerous questions about going onthe stage with a view to correcting a few technical deficiencies in hisdramatic craftsmanship.

  "I'm anxious to establish by personal experience the exact length of theinterval required to change one's costume, and also the distance fromone's green-room to the--ah--wings. I do not aim high. I should beperfectly satisfied with such minor parts as Rosencrantz or MetellusCimber. Perhaps, Eleanor, you will introduce me to some of yourtheatrical friends after the holidays? There is a reduced day return upto town every Thursday. We might lunch together at one of those littleBohemian restaurants where rumor says that an excellent lunch is to behad for one and sixpence."

  Eleanor promised she would do all she could, because John evidentlywanted her to go to bed, and he was the uncle of her children.

  "Thank you, Eleanor. I hope that as a catechumen I shall do honor toyou. By the way, you will be interested in the part of Pontius Pilate'swife in my play. In fact I'm hoping that you will--ah--interpret itultimately."

  "Did you ever think of writing a play about Polonius's wife?" Jamesgrowled on his way upstairs. "Good-night."

  When the grown-ups were safely in their rooms, John could not understandwhy the children were allowed to linger in the passage, gossiping andbragging; they would never go to sleep at this rate.

  "I've got two cocoons of a Crimson-underwing," Harold was saying.

  "Poof!" Viola scoffed. "What are they. Bertram touched the nose of akangaroo last time we went to the Zoo."

  "Yes, and I prodded a crocodile with V's umbrella," added Bertram,acknowledging her testimonial by awarding his sister a kind of share inthe exploit.

  "Well, I was bitten by a squirrel once," related Harold in an attempt tokeep his end up. "And that was in its nest, not in a cage."

  "A squirrel!" Viola sneered. "Why, the tallest giraffe licked Bertram'sfingers with his tongue, and they stayed wet for hours afterwards."

  "Well, so could I, if I went to the Zoo," Harold maintained with a sobat the back of his throat.

  "No, you couldn't," Bertram contradicted. "Because your fingers are toosmelly."

  "Much too smelly!" Viola corroborated.

  Various mothers emerged at this point and put a stop to the contest; thehallowed and gracious silence of Christmas night descended upon Ambles,and John went on tiptoe up to his bedroom.

  "The beard, I suppose, is the most important item," he said to himself,when he had unpacked his costume.

  It was a noble beard, and when John had fixed it to his cheeks with aprofusion of spirit-gum, he made up his mind that it became him so wellthat he would grow one of his own, which whitening with the flight oftime would in another thirty years make him look what he hoped tobe--the doyen of romantic playwrights. The scarlet robe of Santa Clauswith its trimming of bells, icicles, and holly and its ruching of snowhad been made in a single piece without buttons, so that when John putit over his head the beard caught in the folds and part of it wasthinned out by an icicle. In trying to disentangle himself John managedto get one sleeve stuck to his cheek much more firmly than the beard hadever been. Nor were his struggles to free himself made easier by thebells, which tinkled with every movement and made him afraid thatsomebody would knock at the door soon and ask if he had rung. Finally hegot the robe in place, plucked several bits of sleeve from his cheek,renovated the beard, gathered together the apples, oranges, sweets, andsmall toys he had collected for the stockings, looked at his watch,decided that it was at least an hour too early to begin, and lay downupon his bed, where notwithstanding the ticking of his beard he fellasleep. When he woke, it was after one o'clock; the house was absolutelysti
ll. He walked cautiously to the little room occupied by Frida, turnedthe handle, and felt his way breathlessly along the bed to where thestocking should be hung. Unfortunately, the bed had somehow got twistedround or else his beard had destroyed his sense of direction, for whilehe was groping for the stocking he dropped an orange on Frida's face,who woke with a loud scream.

  "Hush, my little dear," John growled in what he supposed to be thecorrect depth for the character. "It's only Santa Claus."

  "Go away, go away," shrieked the horrified child.

  John tried to strike a match to reassure her, and at the cost of ashower of apples on the floor, which sounded like bombs in the tensedarkness, he managed to illuminate his appearance for an instant. Theeffect on Frida was appalling; she screamed a thousand times louder thanbefore and fled from the room. John ran after her to stop her before shewoke up everybody else and spoilt his fantasy; but he was hampered bythe costume and Frida gained the sanctuary of her parents' bedroom.

  "I only hope the little idiot will frighten them more than I frightenedher," muttered John, hurrying as fast as he could back to his own room.

  Suddenly from the hall below he heard a sound of sleigh-bells that putto shame the miserable little tinkle that attended his own progress;above the bells rose peals of hearty laughter, and above the laughterHugh's voice could be heard shouting:

  "Wake up! Wake up! Good people all! Here's Santa Claus! Santa Claus!Wake up!"

  Just as John reached his own room, Hugh appeared at the head of thestairs brandishing a lighted torch, while close behind him draggingHarold's toboggan loaded with toys was a really superb Santa Claus.

  John locked his door and undressed himself savagely, tearing off hisbeard in handfuls and flinging all the properties into a corner.

  "Anyway, whoever it is," he said, "he'll get the credit of driving Fridamad. That's one thing. But who is it? I suppose it's Laurence showing ushow well he can act."

  But it was Aubrey Fenton whom Hugh had invited down to Ambles forChristmas and smuggled into the house like this to sweeten theunpleasant surprise. What annoyed John most was that he himself hadnever thought of using the toboggan; but the new Santa Claus was anundoubted success with the children, and Frida's sanity was soonrestored by chocolates. The mystery of the apples and oranges strewnabout her bedroom remained a mystery, though Hilda tried to hint thather niece had abstracted them from the sideboard.

  John was able to obtain as much sympathy as he wanted from the rest ofthe family over Hugh's importation of his friend. In fact they were soeager to express their disapproval of such calm self-assurance, not tomention the objectionable way in which he had woken everybody up in themiddle of the night, that John's own indignation gradually melted awayin the heat of their malice. As for Grandmama, she shut herself up inher bedroom on Christmas morning and threatened not to appear all day,so deep was her hatred of that young Fenton who was the author of allHugh's little weaknesses--not even when she could shift the blame couldshe bring herself to call her son's vices and crimes by any strongername. Aubrey, who lacked Hugh's serene insolence, wanted to go back toLondon and was so much abashed in his host's presence and soappreciative of what he had done in the affair of the check that John'scompassion was aroused and he made the intruder welcome. His hospitalitywas rewarded, because it turned out that Aubrey's lifelong passion formechanical toys saved the situation for many of John's purchases, nearlyall of which he managed to set in motion; nor could it be laid to hisaccount that one of the drawing-room fireworks behaved like anout-of-door firework, because while Aubrey was lighting it at the rightend Harold was lighting it simultaneously at the other.

  On the whole, the presentation of the Christmas gifts passed offsatisfactorily. The only definite display of jealousy occurred over thediver's equipment given to Harold, which was more than Bertramnotwithstanding his own fireman's outfit could suppress.

  "I'll swop with you, if you like," he began mildly enough.

  But Harold clutched the diver's mask to his breast and shrank from theproposal.

  "I think you'd rather be a fireman," Bertram persisted. "Anybody can bea diver, can't they, V?"

  Viola left her doll in a state of semi-nudity and advanced to herbrother's support.

  "You'd look much nicer as a fireman, Harold," she said, coaxingly. "Iwish I could be a fireman."

  "Well, you can if you like," he answered, sullenly, looking round with ahunted expression for his mother, who unluckily for her son was inanother part of the house arguing with Mrs. Worfolk about the sauce forthe plum-pudding.

  "But wouldn't you rather wear a pretty brass helmet?" Viola went on.

  "No, I wouldn't," said Harold, desperately wrapping himself in therubber tubes that was so temptingly conspicuous a portion of hisequipment.

  "Oh, you little idiot," Viola burst out, impatiently. "What's the goodof your dressing up as a diver? In those goggles you always look like adiver."

  "I don't, do I, Frida?" Harold implored.

  Now Frida was happy with her dolls'-house; she had no reason to be loyalto Harold, who had always treated her shamefully; but the spirit of thesquaw rose in her breast and she felt bound to defend the wigwam againstoutside criticism. Therefore she assured Harold that in ordinary life hedid not look in the least like a diver.

  "Well," Bertram announced, throwing aside the last pretense ofrespecting property, "V and I want that diver's dress, because we oftenact _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_."

  "Well, I can act _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_ too."

  "No you can't because you haven't read it."

  "Yes, I have."

  "What a bung!" exclaimed Bertram. "You've only read _A Journey to theCenter of the Earth_ and _Round the World in Eighty Days_."

  Then he remembered Frida's attitude. "Look here, if you take thefireman's uniform you can set fire to Frida's house."

  Frida yelled her refusal.

  "And put it out, you little idiot," Bertram added.

  "And put it out," Viola echoed.

  Frida rushed to her mother.

  "Mother, mother, don't let them burn my dolls'-house! Mother, you won't,will you? Bertram wants to burn it."

  "Naughty Bertram!" said Edith. "But he's only teasing you, darling."

  "Good lummy, what a sneak," Bertram commented, bitterly, to his sister.

  Viola eyed her cousin with the scorn of an Antigon.

  "Beastly," she murmured. "Come on, Bertram, you don't want the diver'sdress!"

  "Rather not. And anyway it won't work."

  "It will. It will," cried Harold, passionately. "I'm going to practicein a water-butt the first fine day we have."

  It happened that John was unable to feel himself happily above thesechildish jealousies, because at that moment he was himself smarting withresentment at his mother's handing over to James all that she stillretained of family heirlooms. His eldest brother already had theportraits, and now he was to have what was left of the silver, whichwould look utterly out of place in Hill Road. If John had been as youngas Bertram, he would have spoken his mind pretty freely on the subjectof giving James the silver and himself a checkered woolen kettle-holder.It was really too disproportionate, and he did mildly protest to the oldlady that she might have left a few things at Ambles.

  "But Jimmie is the eldest, and I expect him to take poor Hugh's part.The poor boy will want somebody when I'm gone, and Jimmie is theeldest."

  "He may be the eldest, but I'm the one who has to look after Hugh--andvery often James for that matter."

  "Ah well, you're the lucky one, but Jimmie is the eldest and Hugh is thebaby."

  "But James hasn't any children."

  "Nor have you, my dear boy."

  "But I might have," said John.

  If this sort of thing went on much longer, he would, too--dozens ofchildren.

  "Bertram," John called out. "Come here, my boy, and listen to me. When Igo back to London, you shall have a diving-suit too if I can findanother."

 
Eleanor tossed her head back like a victorious game-cock; she would havecrowed, if she could.

  "Dinner is ready," announced Hilda fresh from a triumph over Mrs.Worfolk about the sauce and happily ignorant of the dreadful relegationof her son. After an unusually large meal even for Christmas the companylay about the drawing-room like exhausted Roman debauchees, while thepink and green paper caps out of the crackers one by one fluttered fromtheir brows to the carpet. Snores and the occasional violent whizz of anoverwound toy were all that broke the stillness. At tea-time everybodywoke up, and Bertram was allowed to put on his fireman's uniform inorder to extinguish a bonfire that Huggins had hoped would burn slowlyover the holidays. After a comparatively light supper games were played;drawing-room fireworks were let off; Laurence blacked his nose in themagic lantern; and George walking ponderously across the room to fetchhimself a cigar was struck on the ear by a projectile from the vacuumpistol, the red mark of which was visible for some time even on hisflorid countenance. Then, when the children became too quarrelsome to beany longer tolerated out of bed, a bowl of punch was brought in and AuldLang Syne was sung. After which everybody agreed that it had been a verymerry Christmas, and Grandmama was led weeping up to bed.

  The next morning about midday John announced that he was driving toWrottesford for the purpose of meeting Miss Hamilton.

  "For though it is holiday time, I must do a certain amount of work," heexplained.

  "Miss Hamilton?" said Grandmama. "And who may Miss Hamilton be?"

  Hilda, Edith, Eleanor, and Beatrice all looked very solemn andmysterious; James chuckled; Hugh brightened visibly.

  "Well, I suppose we mustn't mind a stranger's coming to spoil our happyparty," Hilda sighed.

  "Ah, this will be your new secretary of whom rumor has already spoken,"said Laurence. "Possibly she will give me some advice on the subject ofthe typing of manuscripts."

  "Miss Hamilton will be very busy while she is staying here," said John,curtly.

  Everybody looked at everybody else, and there was an awkward pause,which was relieved by Harold's saying that he would show her where hethought a goldfinch would make a nest in spring.

  "Dear little man," murmured his mother with a sigh for his childishconfidence.

  "Shall _I_ drive in to meet her?" Hugh suggested.

  "No, thank you," said John, quickly.

  "That's right, Johnnie," James guffawed. "You stick to the reinsyourself."