Happy-go-lucky

by Ian Hay

  CHAPTER X

  STILL AT LARGE

  I saw very little of The Freak the following winter. For one thing, Iwent abroad again. The Government of the Auricula Protectorate haddecided to connect their capital with the sea by means of a canal. Ihappened to know the district, for I had been engaged eight yearspreviously upon the great dam, thirty miles from Auricula, which nowholds in beneficent restraint the turbid waters of the Rumbolo River. Iaccordingly applied for work in connection with the scheme. By thegreatest luck in the world one Vandeleur, C.B., a magnate of no smallstanding in the Auricula district, happened to be home on leave. He hadvisited my dam in his official capacity, and had noted that it was stillstanding. He spoke the word, and I got my canal.

  The next four months I spent upon the continent of Africa, sketching,surveying, and drawing up specifications. Then I came home to bemarried.

  At the very first dinner-party to which we were bidden on our returnfrom our honeymoon I encountered The Freak.

  I saw him first, so to speak. Covers had been laid, as they say incountry newspapers, for twenty-two persons. My wife, through theoperation of an inscrutable but inexorable law, had been reft from myside, and was now periodically visible through a maze of tabledecorations, entertaining her host with what I could not help regardingas the most unfeeling vivacity and cheerfulness. I began to take aninventory of the company. We had been a little late in arriving--to beprecise, the last--and I had had no opportunity of observing myfellow-guests. My own partner was a Mrs. Botley-Markham, an oldacquaintance of mine. She combined short sight and an astonishinglytreacherous memory for names and faces with a rooted conviction that theone infallible sign of good breeding is never to forget a name or aface. ("A truly _Royal_ attribute," she had once announced in mypresence.) I was therefore agreeably surprised to find that sheremembered not merely my face, but my name and _metier_. After puttingme at my ease with a few kindly and encouraging remarks upon the subjectof canals, she turned to her other neighbour.

  "Dear Sir Arthur," I heard her say, "this is indeed a pleasantsurprise!"

  "Dear lady," replied a hearty voice, "the pleasure is entirely mine."

  I leaned carelessly forward to inspect the menu, and shot a sidelongglance in the direction of Sir Arthur. I was right. It was The Freak,in his most acquiescent mood. I wondered what his surname was, andwhether he knew it.

  "We had such a teeny talk last time we met," continued Mrs.Botley-Markham. "Now we can chat as long as we please."

  Heaving a gentle sigh of relief, Mrs. Botley-Markham's rightfuldinner-partner helped himself to a double portion of the _entree_ andset to work.

  The chat commenced forthwith.

  "And how is Gipsy?" enquired Mrs. Botley-Markham.

  "Gipsy," replied Sir Arthur without hesitation, "is top-hole."

  "How quaint and original you always are in your expressions!" cooed myneighbour. "But I am so glad to hear about Gipsy. Then the dear thinghas quite recovered?"

  "Absolutely," replied Dicky courageously.

  Mrs. Botley-Markham cooed again. Then she enquired, confidentially:--

  "Now tell me, what _was_ it?"

  "What _was_ it?" echoed The Freak cautiously. "Ah!"

  "Yes; what _was_ it?" pursued his interlocutor, much intrigued. "Don'ttell me they never found out!"

  "Never. At least," admitted The Freak guardedly, "not for some time."

  "Then they actually operated without being sure?" exclaimed Mrs.Botley-Markham, shuddering.

  Dicky, making up his arrears with a portion of quail, inclined his headgravely, and the quail reached its destination.

  "And when they did find out," pursued Mrs. Botley-Markham, clasping herhands--she had finished her quail--"what _was_ it? Tell me, dear SirArthur!"

  Sir Arthur cogitated for a moment, and then took the plunge.

  "It was clavicle," he said solemnly.

  Assuming that my friend was labouring under the same disadvantage asmyself--namely, inability to decide whether Gipsy was a woman, child,horse, dog, cat, or monkey--to invent a mysterious and non-committaldisease upon the spur of the moment struck me as quite a stroke ofgenius on Dicky's part. Connie would enjoy hearing about this.

  "How truly terrible!" said Mrs. Botley-Markham, in an awe-struck voice."Clam--clavicle is a very rare disease, is it not?"

  "Rare and mysterious," replied my friend in the same tone. "In fact,the doctor--"

  "You mean Sir Herbert?"

  "No, the other blo--the other gentleman--the anaesthetist, you know! Hetold me that he had never encountered a case of it before."

  "How truly terrible!" said Mrs. Botley-Markham again. "And all the timeyou suspected appendicitis."

  The Freak acquiesced readily. Here was light. Gipsy apparently washuman--not equine, canine, feline, or simian.

  "And the little one?" enquired Mrs. Botley-Markham tenderly.

  I held my breath. Sir Arthur had reached his second fence.

  "The little one," he replied after consideration, "is doing nicely. Notso very little, though, when you come to think of it," he continued,boldly taking the initiative.

  "Has she grown so big, then?" enquired Mrs. Botley-Markham,unconsciously giving away another point. The little one's sex wasdetermined. Certainly it was an exhilarating game.

  "Quite extraordinary," said Dicky. "How big," he continued cunningly,"would you imagine she was now?"

  "Not as big as my Babs?" cried Mrs. Botley-Markham incredulously.

  "That," replied The Freak, "is just exactly how big she is." There wasthe least tinge of disappointment in his voice. Evidently he had hopedfor something more tangible. For purposes of mensuration Babs wasuseless to him.

  "Why 'just exactly'?" enquired Mrs. Botley-Markham doubtfully. "You arevery precise about it."

  "We met Babs in the Park the other day," replied the audacious Dicky,"and compared them."

  Mrs. Botley-Markham frankly gaped.

  "But, dear Sir Arthur," she exclaimed--"How?"

  "How does one compare--er--little ones?" was the evasive reply of SirArthur.

  The outraged parent turned upon him.

  "You mean to say you laid those two innocents side by side upon the wetgrass," she gasped, "and--"

  "It was nearly dry," said Dicky soothingly.

  I choked noisily, for I was rapidly losing self-control; but neither ofthe performers in the duologue took the slightest notice of me.

  "I shall speak to my nurse to-morrow morning," announced Mrs.Botley-Markham firmly. "I cannot imagine what she was thinking about."

  "Don't be hard on her," begged Dicky. "It was my fault entirely."

  "It certainly was _very_ naughty of you," said Mrs. Botley-Markham,already relenting, "but I forgive you--there!" She tapped the eccentricSir Arthur playfully upon the arm. "Tell me, though, what does Gwladysweigh? Mere bigness in children is so often deceptive."

  Even assuming that Gwladys was also the Little One, it was obvious thatDicky had not yet cleared his second fence. I began vaguely tocalculate what a healthy child should weigh. A thirty-pound salmon, forinstance--how would that compare with a fat baby? But Dicky made afinal and really brilliant effort.

  "Fourteen point eight," he said promptly.

  "I beg your pardon?" replied Mrs. Botley-Markham.

  "Fourteen point eight cubic centimetres," repeated The Freak in a firmvoice. "That is the metric system of weights and measures. It is theonly accurate and scientific method. All the big doctors have taken toit, you will find. I never allow any other to be employed where Gwladysis concerned. I strongly advise you," he added earnestly, "to have Babsweighed in the same manner. Everybody's doing it now," he concludedlyrically.

  Mrs. Botley-Markham quivered with pleasure. An opportunity of gettingahead of the fashion does not occur to us every day.

  "I will certainly take your advice, dear Sir Arthur," she replied."Tell me, w
here does one get it done?"

  "At the British Museum, between seven and eight in the morning," repliedThe Freak, whose pheasant was growing cold. "And now, dear lady, tellme everything that you have been doing lately."

  Mrs. Botley-Markham, being nothing loath, launched forth. She evenfound time to re-include me in the conversation, disturbing mymeditations upon the strenuous awakening which awaited poor Babs uponthe morrow with an enquiry as to whether my canal was to contain saltwater or fresh. But she had not finished with Dicky yet. Suddenly sheturned upon him, and remarked point-blank:--

  "How pleased the Stantons will be!"

  "Indeed, yes!" replied The Freak enthusiastically.

  At the sound of his voice I trembled. We had reached the dessert, andwith port in sight, so to speak, it was impossible to tell whatfoolishness he might not commit.

  "In fact," he continued shamelessly, "I happen to know that they are notmerely pleased but ecstatic. I saw them yesterday."

  "Where?" asked Mrs. Botley-Markham.

  "Dear lady," replied Dicky, smiling, "where does one invariably meet theStantons?"

  "You mean at the Archdeacon's?" said Mrs. Botley-Markham.

  "I do," said my reprobate friend. "They had all been down the Str--Imean to the Pan-Mesopotamian Conference," he added quite gratuitously.

  "Ah, of course; they would," assented Mrs. Botley-Markham hazily,evidently wondering whether she ought to have heard of thePan-Mesopotamian Conference. "Were they all there?"

  "All but the delicate one," replied The Freak, abandoning all restraint.

  "Do you mean Isobel?"

  "Yes," replied the graceless Richard--"I do. Poor Isobel!" he addedgently.

  "I am afraid they are not a strong family," said Mrs. Botley-Markham,with a sympathetic glance which rather alarmed me. I foresawcomplications.

  The Freak wagged his head gloomily.

  "No; a weak strain, I fear."

  "I hope--I _hope_," said Mrs. Botley-Markham, evidently choosing herwords with care and tact, "that the weakness does not extend to Gipsy."

  Then Gipsy was connected with the Stantons! Freak would have to walkwarily. But at this moment his attention was wandering in the directionof our hostess, who was beginning to exhibit symptoms of upheaval with aview to withdrawal. He replied carelessly:--

  "No. Why should it?"

  Mrs. Botley-Markham, a little offended and flustered at being taken upso sharply, replied with exaggerated humility:--

  "I only _meant_, dear Sir Arthur, that if one sister is delicate,possibly another may be slightly inclined--"

  Then Isobel and Gipsy were sisters. I knew it!

  At this moment the hostess gave the mystic sign, and the company rose.Freak turned a sad and slightly reproachful gaze upon Mrs.Botley-Markham.

  "You are forgetting, dear lady," he said gently. "Isobel and Gipsy arenot related. Isobel was the sister of my poor first wife."

  He drew back Mrs. Botley-Markham's chair with grave courtesy, and thatafflicted lady tottered down the room and out of the door, looking likethe Leaning Tower of Pisa.

  The Freak and I resumed our seats.

  "Dear Sir Arthur," I said, "are you a knight or a baronet?"

  Before this point of precedence could be settled, our host called to usto move up higher.

  "I want to introduce you to Sir Arthur Twigg, Mainwaring," he said,indicating a pleasant-looking youth strongly resembling Dicky inappearance and bearing.

  "Come to lunch with me to-morrow, Tiny," said Dicky hurriedly to me.

  A few minutes later I heard him regretfully explaining to his host thatan important legal consultation in his chambers at ten o'clock thatevening would prevent him from joining the ladies afterwards in thedrawing-room.