by Barry Pain
"I didn't have to say anything," she said. "Mother told me of her ownaccord that she knew that you had money troubles, and that she wasgoing to take advantage of the Christmas season to relieve you fromthem in a way which at another time you might be too proud to accept."
"That," I said, warmly, "is very thoughtful of her, and very delicate,and it can only mean one thing. It settles me. This year, Eliza, wewill give your mother a present. Quite a trifle, of course--about twoshillings. It will be a token, and she will value it."
When I returned from the city I found that Eliza had purchased a smallwhite vase for one-and-ten. The man in the shop had told her that itwas alabaster. I had my doubts about that, but it was quite in my owntaste--rather severe and classical. I complimented Eliza on her choice.
Three days before Christmas I got a letter from Eliza's mother. Shesaid that she had been afraid that I was worrying about my debt to herof L4 13_s._ 9_d._ She took advantage of the Christmas season to returnmy I.O.U.'s, and begged me to consider the debt as paid.
It was not at all what I had expected.
* * * * *
"No," I said to Eliza at breakfast, "I am not in the least like a bearwith a sore head, and I will thank you not to use the expression. Asfor your mother's kindness, I am glad you think it kindness. I wouldn'thave it otherwise. If you weren't a born idiot you wouldn't think so.My debt to your mother would have been discharged by--discharged in duecourse. By reminding me that I owed her money, she has practicallydunned me for it, and forced me to pay her at a most inconvenient time.She comes badgering me for her dirty money at Christmas, and you callit 'kindness!' Kindness! Hah! Oh, hah, hah!"
"Don't make those silly noises, and get on with your breakfast!" saidEliza.
Afterward she asked me if I still meant to send her mother that littlevase.
"Oh, yes!" I said. "We can afford it; it's nothing to us."
Eliza, entirely misunderstanding the word that I next used, got up andsaid that she would not stop in the room to hear her poor mother swornat.
"The word I used," I said, calmly, "was alabaster, and not what yousuppose."
"You pronounced it just like the other thing."
"I pronounced it in an exclamatory manner," I replied, "from contempt!You seem to me very ready to think evil. This is not the first time!"
Eliza apologized. As a matter of fact, I really did say alabaster. ButI said it emphatically, and I own that it relieved my feelings.
We keep the silver salt-cellars in the drawer of Eliza's wardrobe as ageneral rule. I should prefer to use them every day, or at any rateevery Sunday. But Eliza says that they make work.
"Mother has written to me," she said on the following day, "to say thatshe will dine with us on Christmas Day. I had better get the silversalt-cellars down."
"You'd better _put them up_," I said, meaningly. I know that soundsrather bitter, but I confess that I have always had a weakness for thewit that stings.
Well, it did not actually come to that. They allowed me to draw acouple of pounds in advance at the office. I suppose they know thatwhen they have got a good man it is worth while to stretch a point tokeep him. Not that I was at all dictatorial--apparently I asked it as afavour. But I fancy our manager saw that I was not a man to be playedwith.
Eliza's mother dined with us, and brought a couple of ducks.Conscience, I should say.
At the moment of writing my financial position is absolutely sound, andeven if Eliza's mother forced me to use her present to me to pay mydebt to her (L7 19_s._ 5_d._), though I might think it dishonourable onher part, I should not be seriously inconvenienced. However, Eliza isgoing early in December to suggest sauce-boats (plated). That is tosay, she may possibly mention them if any occasion arises.
MISS SAKERS
On Saturdays I always get back from the office early. This particularSaturday afternoon I looked at our chimneys as I came down the street.I thought it very queer, but, to make certain, as soon as I got intothe house I opened the drawing-room door. It was just as I thought. Icalled up-stairs to Eliza, rather sharply.
She came down and said, "Well, what's the matter?"
I said, calmly, "The matter? Jane has apparently gone mad, that's all."(Jane is the name of our servant.)
Eliza said that she did not think so, and asked me what the girl haddone.
I must say it made me feel rather sarcastic--it would have made any manfeel sarcastic. I said, "Oh, nothing. Merely lit the fire in thedrawing-room; and not only lit it, but piled coals on it. It is notSunday, so far as I am aware." It is our rule to have the drawing-roomfire lit on Sundays only. We are rather exclusive, and some otherpeople seem to be rather stuck-up, and between the two we do not havemany callers. If any one comes, it is always perfectly easy for Elizato say, "The housemaid has foolishly forgotten to light the fire here.Shall we not step into the dining-room?" I hate to see anything likewaste.
"At this very moment," I added, "the drawing-room fire is flaminghalf-way up the chimney. It seems we can afford to burn half a ton ofcoals for nothing. I cannot say that I was aware of it."
"You _are_ satirical!" said Eliza. "I always know when you are beingsatirical, because you move your eyebrows, and say, 'I am aware,'instead of 'I know.' I told Jane to light the fire myself."
"May I ask why?"
"Miss Sakers is coming in. She sent me a note this morning to say so."
"That puts a different complexion on the affair. Very tactful of her tohave announced the intention. I do not grudge a handful of firing whenthere is a reason. I only ask that there shall be a reason." MissSakers is the vicar's daughter. Strictly speaking, I suppose her socialposition is superior to our own. I know for a fact that she has been tocounty balls. She seemed anxious to cultivate an intimacy with us, so Igathered. I was not absurdly pleased about it. One has one's dignity.Besides, at the office we frequently see people far above Miss Sakers.A nobleman who had called to see one of the partners once remarked tome, "Your office is a devilish long way from everywhere!" There was noparticular reason why he should have spoken to me, but he seemed towish it. After that, it was no very great thing that Miss Sakers seemedanxious to know us better. At the same time, I do not pretend that Iwas displeased. I went into the drawing-room and put some more coal on.
"Is it to be a party?" I asked.
"Not at all. She is coming quite as a friend."
I went up-stairs and changed all my clothes, and then purchased a fewflowers, which I placed in vases in the drawing-room. Eliza had got twokinds of cake; I added a plate of mixed biscuits on my ownresponsibility. Beyond this, I did nothing in the way of preparation,wishing to keep the thing as simple and informal as possible.
* * * * *
The tea was quite a success. Miss Sakers was to have a stall at thebazaar in aid of the new church. I promised her five shillings atfirst, but afterward made it seven-and-six. Though no longer young,Miss Sakers is very pleasant in her manner.
After tea Miss Sakers and Eliza both did needlework. Miss Sakers wasdoing a thing in crewels. I could not see what Eliza was doing. Shekept it hidden, almost under the table.
To prevent the conversation from flagging, I said, "Eliza, dear, whatare you making?"
She frowned hard at me, shook her head slightly, and asked Miss Sakersabout the special preacher for Epiphany Sunday.
I at once guessed that Eliza was doing something for Miss Sakers' stallat the bazaar, and had intended to keep it secret.
I smiled. "Miss Sakers," I said, "I do not know what Eliza is making,but I am quite sure it is for you."
There was a dead silence. Miss Sakers and Eliza both blushed. Then MissSakers said, without looking at me, "I think you are mistaken."
I felt so sure that I was mistaken that I blushed, too.
Eliza hurriedly hid her work in the work-basket, and said, "It is veryclose in here. Let me show you round our little garden."
They both wen
t out, without taking any notice of me. Not having hadmuch tea, I cut myself another slice of cake. While I was in the middleof it, Miss Sakers and Eliza came back, and Miss Sakers said good-byeto me very coldly. I offered to raise my bazaar donation to tenshillings, but she did not seem to have heard me.
* * * * *
"How could you say that?" said Eliza, when Miss Sakers had gone. "Itwas most tactless--and not very nice."
"I thought you were doing something for the bazaar. What were youmaking, then?"
She did not actually tell me, but she implied it in a delicate way.
"Well," I said, "of course I wouldn't have called attention to it if Ihad known, but I don't think you ought to have been doing that workwhen Miss Sakers was here."
"I've no time to waste, and I always make mine myself. I was mostcareful to keep them hidden. You are very tactless."
"I don't think much of that Miss Sakers," I said. "Why should we go tothis expense," pointing to the cakes, "for a woman of that kind?"
THE ORCHESTROME
The orchestrome was on Lady Sandlingbury's stall at the bazaar. Herladyship came up to Eliza in the friendliest way, and said, "My dearlady, I am convinced that you need an orchestrome. It's the sweetestinstrument in the world, worth at least five pounds, and for oneshilling you have a chance of getting it. It is to be raffled." Elizaobjects, on principle, to anything like gambling; but as this was forthe Deserving Inebriates, which is a good cause, she paid her shilling.She won the orchestrome, and I carried it home for her.
* * * * *
Six tunes were given with the orchestrome; each tune was on a slip ofperforated paper, and all you had to do was to put in a slip and touchthe spring.
We tried it first with "The Dandy Coloured Coon." It certainly playedsomething, but it was not right. There was no recognizable tune aboutit.
"This won't do at all," I said.
"Perhaps that tune's got bent or something," said Eliza. "Put inanother."
I put in "The Lost Chord" and "The Old Folks at Home," and both werecomplete failures--a mere jumble of notes, with no tune in them at all.I confess that this exasperated me.
"You see what you've done?" I said. "You've fooled away a shilling.Nothing is more idiotic than to buy a thing without trying it first."
"Why didn't you say that before, then?" said Eliza. "I don't believethere's anything really wrong with it--just some little thing that'sgot out of order, and can be put right again."
"Wrong! Why, it's wrong all through. Not one scrap of any of the tunescomes out right. I shall take it back to Lady Sandlingbury at once."
"Oh, don't do that!"
But my mind was made up, and I went back to the bazaar, and up to LadySandlingbury's stall. Eliza wouldn't come with me.
"I beg your ladyship's pardon," I said, "but your ladyship supplied mewith this orchestrome, and your ladyship will have to take it backagain."
"Dear me! what's all the trouble?"
I started the instrument, and let her hear for herself. She smiled, andturned to another lady who was helping her. The other lady was young,and very pretty, but with a scornful kind of amused expression, and adrawling way of speaking--both of which I disliked extremely.
"Edith," said Lady Sandlingbury, "here's this angry gentleman going toput us both in prison for selling him a bad orchestrome. He says itwon't work."
"Doesn't matter, does it?" said the other lady. "I mean to say, as longas it will play, you know." At this rather stupid remark they bothlaughed, without so much as looking at me.
"I don't want to make myself in any way unpleasant, your ladyship," Isaid; "but this instrument was offered for raffle as being worth fivepounds, and it's not worth five shillings."
"Come, now," said Lady Sandlingbury, "I will give you five shillingsfor it. There you are! Now you can be happy, and go and spend yourmoney." I thanked her. She took the orchestrome and started it, and itplayed magnificently. Nothing could have been more perfect. "Thesethings do better," she said, "when you don't put the tunes in wrong endfirst, so that the instrument plays them backwards."
"I think your ladyship might have told me that before," I said.
"Oh! you were so angry, and you didn't ask me. Edith, dear, do go andbe civil to some people, and make them take tickets for anotherraffle."
"I call this sharp practice," I said, "if not worse, and----"
Here the other lady interrupted me.
"Could you, please, go away, unless you want to buy something? Thanks,so much!"
"_Could you, please, go away?_"]
I went. I am rather sorry for it now. I think it would have been moredignified to have stopped and defied them.
Eliza appeared to think that I had made myself ridiculous. I do notagree with her. I do think, however, that when members of thearistocracy practise a common swindle in support of a charity, they goto show that rank is not everything. If Miss Sakers happens to ask uswhether we are going to the bazaar in support of the DeservingInebriates next year, I have instructed Eliza to reply: "Not if LadySandlingbury and her friend have a stall." I positively refuse to meetthem, and I do not care twopence if they know it.
THE TONIC PORT
We do a large export trade (that is, the firm does), and there areoften samples lying about in the office. There was a bottle of Tarret'sTonic Port, which had been there some time, and one of the partnerstold the head clerk that he could have it if he liked. Later in the daythe head clerk said if a bottle of Tarret's Tonic Port was any use tome I might take it home. He said he had just opened it and tasted it,because he did not like to give anything away until he knew if it wasall right.
I thanked him. "Tastes," I said, "just like any ordinary port, Isuppose?"
"Well," he said, "it's more a tonic port than an ordinary port. Butthat's only what you'd expect from the label."
"Quite so," I said--"quite so." I looked at the label, and saw that itsaid that the port was peculiarly rich in phosphates. I put the bottlein my bag that night and took it home.
* * * * *
"Eliza," I said, "I have brought you a little present. It is a bottleof port." Eliza very rarely takes anything at all, but if she does itis a glass of port. In this respect I admire her taste. Port, as I havesometimes said to her, is the king of wines. We decided that we wouldhave a glass after supper. That is really the best time to takeanything of the kind; the wine soothes the nerves and preventsinsomnia.
Eliza picked the bottle up and looked at the label. "Why," she said,"you told me it was port!"
"So it is."
"It says tonic port on the label."
"Well, tonic port practically _is_ port. That is to say, it is portwith the addition of--er--phosphates."
"What are phosphates?"
"Oh, there are so many of them, you know. There is quinine, of course,and magnesium, and--and so on. Let me fill your glass."
She took one very little sip. "It isn't what I should call a pleasantwine," she said. "It stings so."
"Ah!" I said, "that's the phosphates. It would be a little like that.But that's not the way to judge a port. What you should do is to take alarge mouthful and roll it round the tongue,--then you get the aroma.Look: this is the way."
I took a large mouthful.
When I had stopped coughing I said that I didn't know that there wasanything absolutely wrong with the wine, but you wanted to be ready forit. It had come on me rather unexpectedly.
Eliza said that very likely that was it, and she asked me if I wouldcare to finish my glass now that I knew what it was like.
I said that it was not quite a fair test to try a port just after ithad been shaken about. I would let the bottle stand for a day or two.Ultimately I took what was left in Eliza's glass and my own, andemptied it into the garden. I did this because I did not want ourgeneral servant to try it when she cleared away, and possibly acquire ataste for drink.
* * * * *
A few nights afterward, Eliza asked me if I thought that the tonic porthad stood long enough.
"Yes," I said; "I will decant it for you, and then if Miss Sakers callsyou might say carelessly that you were just going to have a glass ofport, and would be glad if she would join you."
"No, thank you," she said; "I don't want to deceive Miss Sakers."
"You could mention that it was rich in phosphates. There need be nodeception about it."
"Well, then, I don't want to lose the few friends we've got."
"As you please, Eliza. It seems a pity to waste more than half a bottleof good wine."
"Bottle of what?"
"You heard what I said."
"Well, drink it yourself, if you like it."
* * * * *
Some weeks afterward I found the bottle of Tarret's Tonic Port stillstanding in the sideboard. I gave it to our servant, explaining to herthat it would be best mixed with water. There was still the risk of heracquiring drinking habits, but I could think of no one else to give itto. That night Eliza found the girl crying in the kitchen. When Elizaasked what was the matter, she said that she would rather say nothing,but that she was wishful to leave at the end of her month.
Of course Eliza blamed me, but I had told the girl as distinctly as Icould speak that it was a wine which required dilution. However, Elizapersuaded her to stay on. The girl took the pledge on the followingday, and seemed changed in many ways. She put the bottle back in thesideboard; there was still more than half of it left.
