‘Yes, yes,’ said Katie’s aunt.
‘But “everywhere”, Katie!’ I murmured.
‘Please don’t quibble,’ said Katie.
‘The only difficulty,’ I continued with unabated decision, turning to Katie’s aunt, ‘is where to go first.’
‘Yes, yes,’ repeated the old lady, and we looked most intelligently at one another. ‘Well,’ I said, taking out my ‘proposals’, ‘I have just jotted down the most important, the essential points of interest … Points of interest.’
‘“Points of interest?”’ cried Katie, generously.
‘Yes, yes,’ said Katie’s aunt.
‘First, then, there’s St Paul’s, the Bank of England (the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street, you know – practically impregnable), and the Mint.’
Katie repeated most of the list without a mistake.
‘Yes, yes,’ said the old lady, ‘but tell me, Mr James, do they abut?’
“‘Abut?”’ I exclaimed.
‘She means, poor dear, are they within a cab-drive?’ explained Katie. ‘You must remember, Jimmie, Auntie has never stirred out of Meadowsham; how can she know anything about London? – I mean, that isn’t in histories, and that kind of thing.’
‘Well, yes,’ I said cheerfully, nodding my head at Katie’s aunt, ‘practically, they do.’
‘Ah,’ said Katie’s aunt steadily, ‘I fear I am but a very indifferent walker, and …’
‘You shan’t walk a step,’ I shouted.
‘And,’ continued the old lady imperturbably, ‘very alarmed at strange horses.’
‘A taxi,’ I cried, waving my list, as if with a cheer.
‘For goodness sake, Jimmie,’ said Katie, ‘have some sense! Auntie would faint dead off in a taxi. And don’t wave like that, it will only intimidate her.’
‘Pray, my dear,’ said Katie’s aunt with unexpected lucidity, ‘let Mr James have his way. I am quite willing to entrust myself, sir, to your wonderful knowledge of London. Is a taxi an open carriage?’
‘It’s a motor-cab!’ I said.
‘Ah,’ said Katie’s aunt, and seemed to fall into a reverie.
‘Well, that will be for to-morrow,’ I continued, rapidly, ‘and if time allows we could take in the Imperial Institute, the British Museum, and the National Gallery.’
‘The National … ?’
‘Gallery.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said the old lady, ‘I have frequently read of the National Gallery. I greatly enjoy pictures.’
‘Lunch somewhere up west,’ I turned to Katie, ‘and home to tea. How would that do?’
Katie looked at me very solemnly. ‘Have you really all that down on your list, Jimmie?’
‘Of course I have,’ said I.
‘For one day?’
‘Of course,’ I cried, bending double towards Katie’s aunt, ‘if pressed for time we could perhaps cut St Paul’s.’
She raised a mittened hand. ‘Do you know, I fancy, sir, you intend my visit to be very gay?’
‘London’s a big place,’ I explained magnanimously; and, why I know not, turned hot all over beneath Katie’s quiet eyes.
‘And so – home to tea,’ I added weakly, pretending to blow my nose.
‘Certainly, “home to tea” ,’ said Katie’s aunt, with extraordinary apprehension, ‘that would be very pleasant.’
‘In the evening,’ I proceeded carelessly, consulting my list again, ‘we have quite an embarras de richesses.’
Katie’s aunt smiled softly and questioningly at Katie.
‘He means,’ she said, gently stroking her aunt’s hand, ‘he means there are crowds of decent plays on.’
The old lady raised a mild and silvery eyebrow, and a distinct pause ensued. ‘He means,’ Katie added explanatorily, with a rather red face, ‘quite nice, jolly, old-fashioned plays, Auntie.’
‘Ah,’ remarked the old lady with splendid tact, ‘I so very rarely visit a place of amusement, Mr James.’
‘In that case,’ I replied with decision, ‘you will enjoy Archie’s Mermaid.’
‘Archie’s Mermaid?’ breathed Katie into space, ‘my dear Jimmie!’
‘I hope, I hope,’ suggested the old lady, glancing feebly from one to the other of us, ‘there are no fire-arms in the piece. I have,’ she continued, with delicious confidentiality, ‘such a horror of powder, sir.’
‘No,’ I insinuated reassuringly, ‘I don’t think there’s any powder in Archie’s Mermaid – at least, not gunpowder.’ I looked in vain for encouragement to Katie.
‘Perhaps, Auntie dear, you were thinking the double journey would be rather a strain; there’s the bazaar at St Ethelreda’s?’
‘I think, do you know, my dear, and with all respect to Mr James, I should perhaps prefer the bazaar. I have never been to a religious bazaar.’
‘So much for Tuesday, then,’ I concluded, again consulting my list. ‘On Wednesday’ – in spite of every effort I could not raise my voice without suggesting a shopwalker – ‘on Wednesday we have the Coliseum, Madame Tussaud’s, the Zoo, South Kensington (and, of course, the Albert Hall and Memorial), the National Portrait Gallery (unless, as your aunt is fond of pictures, we could squeeze that in to-morrow), Kew Gardens, Hampton court, the Crystal Palace (cat-show), the White City, and, say, a little bus jaunt through the West End – shopping, you know.’
Katie’s aunt gazed on in happy unconsciousness. Katie was eyeing me with either chastened amazement or immeasurable reproach; it was impossible to say which. And, at one of those cold inspirations that well into the minds of the best of men at crucial moments, I compelled myself to add, ‘Moreover, with half an hour to spare there’s the old site of the Royal Aquarium and the Thames Tunnel.’
‘I think,’ murmured Katie’s aunt with the faintest trembling, ‘I think, perhaps, sir, I had better avoid tunnels. Some of the other places of interest which you have kindly proposed for Wednesday I did not quite catch, but if it could be in any way arranged – without, of course, inconvenience to you and to my niece – I should so very much value a sermon from Mr Spurgeon, and – I daresay you will be amused at the notion – may I see the Woolsack? My dear father used to talk so much of the Woolsack when I was a girl; I suppose it is still in use?’
‘Poor Mr Spurgeon is dead, Auntie dear,’ said Katie gently. ‘It was in all the papers. He has been dead some time.’ And I – I refrained from committing myself regarding the Woolsack.
Katie’s aunt sat thinking over her loss; at least, so I suppose, though, indeed, her mild, reflective eyes were fixed rather disconcertingly on me.
‘Even now, Jimmie,’ said Katie, biting her lips, ‘you have forgotten Bedlam and Woking.’ She glanced fierily up, and added rapidly, ‘you’ve simply been poking fun at the poor old thing the whole time; it’s mean, mean!’
If Katie’s aunt would have removed her eyes from my face only for the merest instant I could have made a complete defence in a glance. As it was, I rose with concentrated indignation and bowed deferentially over the old lady’s hand. ‘Tomorrow, then, at 9.25,’ I shouted soothingly, ‘a comfortable four-wheeled cab to the railway station – then taxies, taxies all the way P
‘Thank you, my dear sir, thank you,’ said Katie’s aunt; ‘it will prove, I foresee, a veritable orgy of diversion.’
I bowed as distantly as I could to Katie’s muslin shoulder, and with a somewhat funereal dignity made for the door.
‘Jimmie dear,’ called a clear and cloudless voice as I turned the handle, ‘did you say 9.25, or 9.26?’
I choked back my sorrow, and went out …
My cabman (for I had practically made him mine by a process of drastic elimination) drew up to the minute at Katie’s, and with dignified promptitude I stepped out and knocked crisply at the door.
Katie herself opened it so immediately I was a little disconcerted by her morning beauty so suddenly breaking out on me.
‘Where is your aunt?’ I inquired, after a rather tepid greeting. ‘It is exactly n
ineteen minutes past nine.’
‘She’s gone,’ said Katie, glancing at her watch; ‘she must have just reached home by now.’
‘Home?’
‘Yes,’ said Katie, ‘she caught the 6.31.’
‘What for?’ said I.
‘My dear Jimmie, “why” indeed! Look at your list!’
I looked instead at her bright lovely face under the lawn of her hat, and I tried in vain to be tart. ‘I did my best,’ I said with a gesture.
‘You did so,’ said Katie warmly, pushing her hand through my arm. ‘She thinks you the polishedest, attentivest, man-about-towniest, real old-English-gentlemenliest creature that ever wore sulphur-coloured gloves. And she’s given me a ten-pound-note to take you to the Zoo with. Come along! I adore you both. You’re just a pair.’
1 Sphere, 13 November 1920.
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL APPENDIX
The entries under the eight main collections, R (1923), DDB (1924, 1936), Br (1925), C (1926), OE (1930), LF (1933), WBO (1936) and Beg (1955), which have been used as the framework for Short Stories, include all the known information about:
(a) the serialization of stories and their
publication in book form before they appeared in
those collections, and
(b) their later inclusion in other collections of
de la Mare works during his lifetime.
It has occasionally been difficult to establish definitely whether serializations and appearances in book form were before or after the publication of a main collection (e.g. Lispet, Lispett and Vaine (1923) and some of the stories in Br (1925)), and in such cases they have been listed under (a), even if some of them were a month or two later. They have also been assumed to be earlier in the footnotes to the stories for the sake of convenience. Except where there are indications to the contrary, all the books mentioned were published in London. Finally, where texts other than those in the eight main collections have been used in Short Stories, they have been asterisked (*). For abbreviations, see page x.
Story and Rhyme (1921)
A selection of his writings de la Mare made for schools and colleges. It included ‘The Almond Tree’ and ‘The Riddle’ that were collected in R (1923).
Lispet, Lispett and Vaine (1923)
Published by itself in a limited edition of 200 signed copies, with wood-engravings by W.P. Robins. The story was collected in R (1923) and later included in CT (1950).
The Riddle and Other Stories (R) (1923)
De la Mare’s first volume of short stories, published in May 1923. It contained fifteen stories:
‘The Almond Tree’ (originally written in or before 1899)
(a) English Review, August 1909
Story and Rhyme (1921)
(b) SEP (1938)
BS (1942)*
The Almond Tree (1943)
CT (1950)
‘The Count’s Courtship’ (originally written in or before 1899)
(a) Lady’s Realm, July 1907
‘The Looking-Glass’
‘Miss Duveen’ (originally written in or before 1907)
(b) SSS (1931)
SEP (1938)
The Picnic and Other Stories (1941)
BS (1942)*
CT (1950)
‘Selina’s Parable’
(a) New Statesman, 1 November 1919
Living Age, 6 December 1919
(b) The Nap and Other Stories (1936)*
‘Seaton’s Aunt’ (originally written in or before 1909)
(a) London Mercury, April 1922
(b) Seaton’s Aunt (1927)
BS (1942)*
CT (1950)
‘The Bird of Travel’
(a) Lady’s Realm, October 1908
(b) SSS (1931)
‘The Bowl’ (originally written in or before 1904)
(b) The Nap and Other Stories (1936)*
CT (1950)
‘The Three Friends’
(a) Saturday Westminster Gazette, 19 April 1913
(b) SEP (1938)
The Picnic and Other Stories (1941)*
CT (1950)
‘Lispet, Lispett and Vaine’
(a) Yale Review, January 1923
Bookman’s Journal, February 1923
Lispet, Lispett and Vaine (1923)
(b) CT (1950)
‘The Tree’
(a) Century, August 1922
London Mercury, October 1922
(b) SSS (1931)
CT (1950)
‘Out of the Deep’
(b) GS (1956)
‘The Creatures’
(a) London Mercury, January 1920
(b) CT (1950)
‘The Riddle’ (originally written in or before 1898)
(a) Monthly Review, February 1903
Story and Rhyme (1921)
(b) SEP (1938)
The Magic Jacket and Other Stories (1943)
CSC (1947)*
CT (1950)
‘The Vats’
(a) Saturday Westminster Gazette, 16 June 1917
(b) BS (1942)*
CT (1950)
Ding Dong Bell (DDB) (1924, 1936)
The original edition, published in April 1924, consisted of three short stories written round groups of epitaphs. It had a wood-engraving by Reynolds Stone. A fourth story was added in the 1936 edition. (See also ‘De Mortuis’ on page 444, which has epitaphs in common with ‘Lichen’ and ‘Winter’.)
‘Lichen’
(a) Lady’s Realm, September 1907
(b) SEP (1938)*
‘“Benighted”’
(a) Pall Mall Magazine, July-December 1906
‘Strangers and Pilgrims’ (1936)
(a) Yale Review, March 1936
(b) CT (1950)
‘Winter’
Miss Jemima (1925)
Published by itself at Oxford, with illustrations by Alec Buckels. The story was collected in Br (1925), and later included in The Magic Jacket and Other Stories (1943) and CSC (1947).
Broomsticks and Other Tales (Br) (1925)
The first volume of short stories for children, with designs by Bold, the second being LF (1933). It had twelve stories, of which three were omitted from CSC (1947): ‘Pigtails, Ltd.’, ‘The Thief’ and ‘A Nose’.
‘Pigtails, Ltd.’
(a) Atlantic Monthly, August 1925
‘The Dutch Cheese’
(a) Lady’s Realm, May 1908
(b) The Dutch Cheese (New York, 1931)
The Dutch Cheese and Other Stories (1946)
CSC (1947)*
SSV (1952)
‘Miss Jemima’
(a) Number One Joy Street (Oxford, 1923)
Miss Jemima (Oxford, 1925)
(b) The Magic Jacket and Other Stories (1943)
CSC (1947)*
‘The Thief’
(a) G.K.’s Weekly, 21 March and 4 April 1925
‘Broomsticks’
(a) London Mercury, October 1925
Yale Review, October 1925
(b) The Scarecrow and Other Stories (1945)
CSC (1947)*
‘Lucy’
(a) Number Two Joy Street (Oxford, 1924)
(b) Lucy (Oxford, 1927)
The Dutch Cheese and Other Stories (1946)
CSC (1947)*
‘A Nose’
‘The Three Sleeping Boys of Warwickshire’
(a) Virginia Quarterly Review, October 1925
(b) The Dutch Cheese and Other Stories (1946)
CSC (1947)*
SSV (1952)
‘The Lovely Myfanwy’
(b) The Dutch Cheese (New York, 1931)
The Scarecrow and Other Stories (1945)
CSC (1947)*
‘Alice’s Godmother’
(b) The Dutch Cheese and Other Stories (1946)
CSC (1947)*
‘Maria-Fly’
(a) G.K.’s Weekly, 19 and 26 September 1925
(b) SSS (1931)
The Nap and Other Stories (1936)
/>
The Old Lion and Other Stories (1942)
CSC (1947)*
‘Visitors’
(a) Forum, October 1925
(b) The Scarecrow and Other Stories (1945)
CSC (1947)*
Two Tales (1925)
This was published in July 1925 in a limited edition of 250 signed copies, and had the first printed versions of ‘The Connoisseur’ (C (1926)) (full version) and ‘The Green Room’ (OE (1930)). See C (1926) and OE (1930) below.
The Connoisseur and Other Stories (C) (1926)
Contained nine short stories, and was published in May 1926. Two sections of ‘The Connoisseur’, the title story, called ‘The Seven Valleys’ and ‘En Route’ that had appeared in Two Tales (1925) were omitted in C (1926). They were restored in CT (1950), probably with de la Mare’s approval, and they have been retained in this volume.
‘Mr Kempe’
(a) London Mercury, November 1925
Harper’s Magazine, November 1925
‘Missing’
(b) SSS (1931)
SEP (1938)
BS (1942)*
CT (1950)
‘The Connoisseur’ (without ‘The Seven Valleys’ and ‘En Route’)
(a) Two Tales (July 1925) (full version)
Yale Review, July 1925 (full version)
(b) CT (1950) (full version)
‘Disillusioned’
‘The Nap’
(b) SSS (1931)
The Nap and Other Stories (1936)
The Picnic and Other Stories (1941)
BS (1942)*
CT (1950)
‘Pretty Poll’
(a) London Mercury, April 1925
‘All Hallows’
(b) The Nap and Other Stories (1936)
BS (1942)*
CT (1950)
‘The Wharf’
(a) The Queen, November 1924
(b) SSS (1931)
The Picnic and Other Stories (1941)*
CT (1950)
‘The Lost Track’
Seaton’s Aunt (1927)
Reprinted by itself from R (1923) with wood-engravings by Blair Hughes-Stanton. It was also included in BS (1942) and CT (1950).
Lucy (1927)
Reprinted by itself from Br (1925) at Oxford, with illustrations by Hilda T. Miller. It was also included in The Dutch Cheese and Other Stories (1946) and CSC (1947).
Short Stories 1895-1926 Page 70