CHAPTER VIII
AN UPSETTING ARTICLE IN THE MORNING PAPER
Some few mornings after the events just recorded the Lady Mayoress satdown to breakfast in one of the most cosy of the morning-rooms in theirprivate suite in the Mansion House. A very smart manservant of quitearistocratic appearance solemnly poured out some most fragrant coffee,and removed many covers from a most delicately appetisingbreakfast-table, as a preliminary to removing his aristocratic presencefrom the room altogether. There could be no doubt that the LadyMayoress was a singularly pretty and attractive lady, and despite herwell-dressed head of iron-grey hair, looked fully fifteen years youngerthan her age, which is invariably a pleasing reflection for a woman whohas passed the age of forty-five.
The Lady Mayoress sipped her morning coffee, and in the absence of herhusband the Lord Mayor, who was late for breakfast on this occasion,unfolded the morning newspapers and started leisurely to peruse theircontents.
The Lady Mayoress, being exceedingly popular, and having taken aprominent part in a number of social functions, like most women, wasnever averse to reading any paragraphs which might chance to mentionher sayings, doings, and, more particularly, her dress. The LadyMayoress read on; there appeared to be very little in the particularpaper she was perusing that interested her, so refolding it carefullythe Lady Mayoress selected another morning paper, and opening it,smiled as she read in big print, "Audacious attack by Mr. Learned Bore."
"Ah!" commented the Lady Mayoress, "he certainly is a particularlyaudacious, as well as being a very naughty man, who makes fun ofeverything and everybody, but at least his articles and letters arealways amusing." Thereupon the smiling lady gently stirred her coffee,folded the newspaper to the required place, and proceeded to enjoy Mr.Learned Bore's contribution to the morning journalism.
Suddenly the little silver coffee spoon dropped from the LadyMayoress's hand, and she sat bolt upright in her chair as if she hadreceived a galvanic shock. At this inauspicious moment the Lord Mayormade his appearance, very jovial and full of happy morning greetings,mingled with pleasant apologies for being late.
Something in the expression of his wife's face, however, gave theworthy Lord Mayor an uncomfortable, apprehensive sort of feeling, thecheerful flow of his morning remarks died away in little sentences, asif the promise of their young life had been cut short.
The Lord Mayor chipped an egg nervously, and made a brave show ofgulping his coffee.
"Well, Mum, you seem very interested in the morning paper," observedSir Simon, with an assumption of hearty cheerfulness he was far fromfeeling.
Something in the expression of Mum's face seemed to baffle allanalysis, as she continued to read without vouchsafing any answer.After a terrible pause the Lady Mayoress refolded the paper, and layingit upon the table, regarded her husband steadfastly with flushed faceand sparkling eyes.
Sir Simon's heart seemed to sink into his boots.
"I thought you distinctly told me, Simon, when you returned, at what Ican only describe as a most eccentric hour in the early morning, thatyou had been visiting an old friend."
"Quite right, my dear, I assure you I had. I'm right upon that pointat any rate."
"You told me you had not been to a Pantomime," continued his wife,heedless of the interruption.
"No, my dear,--no Pantomime, I assure you; I never entered a theatre ora building of any such description."
"Apparently not," came the icy reply; "the Pantomime in this caseappears to have taken place in the open air. Read that paper,"commanded the Lady Mayoress, "and offer any suggestion you can find asto how I can keep up my position, or your position, whilst such astatement as this" (tapping the opened paper) "remains uncontradicted."Then the Lady Mayoress swept from the room.
Sir Simon groaned and closed his eyes before venturing to look at theoffending article. He instinctively felt he was about to receive ashock without the necessary strength to bear it. Sir Simon gingerlyunclosed one eye and read, "Audacious attack by Mr. Learned Bore." SirSimon shivered and hastily closed the one eye he had opened. Then hevaliantly tried both eyes and read by way of a second and happyheadline, "The Lord Mayor revives Paganism in London." Sir Simon neverknew how he finished that article. It was a most scurrilous attack.
All the biting satire and vitriolic irony that Mr. Learned Bore had sowell at his command was here employed to compliment the Lord Mayor uponbeing acclaimed a great Christian in the afternoon after opening hisNew House for Children; whilst he was found at night like any Pagan ofold worshipping one of the lions in Trafalgar Square, around whose manehe had hung a votive wreath of water-lilies, across whose unresponsiveneck the Lord Mayor had wound his arms in supplication, imploring itthat it might speak, and give a sign like the Oracle in Delphi.
Was the Lord Mayor of London the last of the great Pagans? asked thewriter, or had he merely gone back a few thousand years in imagination,owing to the insidious suggestions of another Heathen Deity who haddoubtless presided over the Wine-press with an unstinted hand earlierin the day during the banquet at the Guildhall? The writer dared toexpress a hope that it was merely a form of Civic debauchery emanatingfrom the oft-replenished toasts of the Devil's cup, rather than aclassical intoxication which if persisted in might plunge the whole ofLondon once more into the perverted darkness of Pagan ages.
The Lord Mayor seized his hat and called for his carriage, and arrivedat the Writer's chambers overlooking Trafalgar Square, purple in theface.
"Yes, I've read it, Dad," remarked the Writer as he observed SirSimon's signs of almost apoplectic agitation. "It's very bad form, andwhat is worse it's very badly written."
"The pen is mightier than the sword," shouted Sir Simon, "andunfortunately the sword is out of date nowadays, or I would challengehim upon the spot; but, my boy, you have the pen, and you can use it,and a jolly sight better than the silly ass who wrote that article.Will you answer him for me?"
The Writer smiled and shook his head.
"No, Dad, that is exactly what he wants; he would get all theadvertisement out of such a controversy that his soul craves for, andwhich is absolutely necessary for him now to keep up his reputation. Ihave something to suggest much better than that."
"What is it?" asked the Lord Mayor helplessly.
"Did you ever consider some of the characteristics of Ulysses, Dad?"
"Oh, they talked about him in my school-days, but I didn't have muchschooling, you know; and what on earth has Ulysses to do with this?"
The Writer grinned. "Because, Dad, he possessed a remarkably wily giftof always finding his enemies' one vulnerable spot."
"Well?"
"I know at least two of Learned Bore's most vulnerable spots."
"Eh? Unbounded conceit and unlimited calumny?" questioned Sir Simon.
"No," rejoined the Writer, "I should say he was _invulnerable_ uponthose two points. However, two things he dreads more than anythingelse. He has a horror of ridicule when it is turned upon himself, andan unutterable and most unnatural hatred of all children."
"Well, I don't see how that helps me," rejoined the Lord Mayor.
The Writer looked at Sir Simon significantly, and spoke slowly anddeliberately so that his words might have their full effect.
"Lose no time in bringing an action against him for libel; as adefendant he will be off his pedestal,--and at a disadvantage."
The Lord Mayor opened his eyes and whistled softly. "I never thoughtof that," he confessed; "and where does his horror of children come in?"
"The chief witness for your side will be little Ridgwell," suggestedthe Writer quietly; "it will be something that Learned Bore doesn'tunderstand, has never encountered, and will not know how to deal with,and of the two I know whose story will be believed, however fantasticit sounds. The child will be the one who will score, they always do inCourt, and I think that Learned Bore will live to gnash such teeth ashe hasn't had pulled, and employ the venom of his remaining fangs uponsome one else."
S
ir Simon lay back in his chair and laughed heartily, and all his oldgood-humour seemed to be restored to him.
"'Pon my word," he declared, "it is a capital idea of yours. How shallI commence the action?"
"I'll find the man for you and get Vellum and Crackles, the solicitors,to instruct him at once on the case. His name is Mr. Gentle Gammon,K.C., a famous barrister. He was at school with me, and afterwards atOxford. Why, Dad, you must remember him, he returned home once with meand spent the Christmas holidays with us at Lancaster Gate. Mumthought an awful lot of him."
"I remember!" exclaimed Sir Simon excitedly; "meek manner, gentlevoice, but the young devil always got his own way, I noticed, beforeany one even knew what he was after."
"He gets his own way rather more now than he did then, if possible, andby the same means. He always wins his cases too."
"Engage him," commanded Sir Simon, "engage him at once, my boy; and areyou going to undertake to coach little Ridgwell?"
"Little Ridgwell won't want any coaching," chuckled the Writer. "Ionly want little Ridgwell to appear in Court and talk to them about thePleasant-Faced Lion as he talks to me, and I think it will be arefreshing and unusual experience for them all; and I firmly believefor the first time in his life Mr. Learned Bore will not be able tofind anything to say."
"It's very odd," remarked Sir Simon as he rose to take his departure,"really very odd that you should have mentioned that chap justnow--what's his name--Ulysses; as far as I remember he was a verycunning person, uncannily cunning, and I'm afraid really quiteunderhand, so to speak, and sometimes deceitful in his methods; and doyou know, my boy, you rather remind me of him, now I come to think ofthe matter."
The Writer grinned affably.
"And whilst we are upon this subject," pursued Sir Simon, "I shouldreally like to know what explanation you gave to the policeman thatnight, that he considered so convincing and satisfactory."
"Even Ulysses didn't reveal all his wisdom, Dad. Good-bye."
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