“It certainly would be nicer than giving performances about the village,” she said musingly. “If only I knew you—”
“You don’t know the fellow who isn’t getting the milk,” I objected.
“That’s different. He’d be only a servant.”
“I would be the same.”
There was a pause. A rabbit loped into the road and blinked curiously at the booth. Then he saw me and beat a hasty retreat.
“It is in a good cause,” I urged. “You don’t know the Bananas; they’re absurdly – er –straight.”
“It’s all very well for you,” she said; “you know everybody here. But it would be an impossible position for me; I don’t know a soul. Now, if we were both strangers—”
“Well?”
“Well, then they wouldn’t worry as to who we were and what we had to do with one another.”
“Then let’s both be strangers.”
“How can you be strange to order?”
“Hush!” I said. “I will disguise me. At home I have put away a Pierrot dress not one of them knows anything about, and I think I can raise a mask. If I—”
A stifled exclamation from the booth made me look up. Framed in its mouth, her arms folded and resting on the ledge, was the girl. What I could see of her was dressed as a Pierrot. Her hair was concealed under a black silk cap, and the familiar white felt conical hat sat jauntily over one ear. A straight, white nose, and a delicate chin, red lips parted and smiling a little, such a smile as goes always with eyebrows just raised, very alluring – so much only I saw. For the rest, a strip of black velvet made an irritating mask.
I made her a low bow.
“I can see this is going to be a big thing,” I said, “Won’t you come down?”
“I haven’t even said I’ll take you.”
“Please.”
“You’re sure to be recognized, and then, what about me?”
“Oh, no, I shan’t. If necessary, I’ll wear a false nose. I’ve got one somewhere.”
“Here’s my milk.”
I looked round and beheld a small boy approaching with a jug.
“Was that the best you could do in the native line?”
“You needn’t sneer. I’m not over-confident about my second venture.”
“Well, a knave’s better than a fool, any day.”
“I’m sure I hope so.”
She slipped down out of sight into the booth again, to reappear a moment later in the road: and by her side a beautiful white bull-terrier, a Toby ruff about his sturdy neck.
“Good man,” said my lady, pointing a finger at me. “Good man.”
The dog came forward, wagging his tail. I stooped and spoke with him. Then I turned to his mistress. She had discarded her white hat and drawn on a long dust-coat, which reached almost to her ankles. She held it close about her, as she walked. It showed off her slim figure to great advantage. Below, the wide edges of white duck trousers just appeared above shining insteps and high-heeled shoes.
When the urchin had come up, she took the jug from him with both hands.
“I shall have to drink out of it,” she said, raising it to her lips with a smile.
“Of course. Why not? Only…”
I hesitated.
“What?”
“Hadn’t you better – I mean, won’t the mask get in your way?”
She lowered the jug and looked at me. “No; it won’t get in the way. Thanks all the same,” she said steadily. “Not all today.”
“It’s in the way now.”
“Not my way.”
I saw her eyes watching my face as she drank, and when she took the jug from her lips she was smiling.
We had some difficulty in persuading the boy to leave us; but at length, a heavy bribe, coupled with the assurance that we should be at the fête in the afternoon, had the desired effect, and he went slowly away.
Thereafter we took counsel together.
As a result, it was decided that we should fold the booth – it shut up like a screen – and convey it, puppets and all, a little way into the wood. It was early yet, but some people would be passing along the road, and we were not yet ready to combat the curiosity that the appearance of a Punch and Judy show would be sure to arouse. That done, she would lie close in the wood with Toby, while I made off home and changed.
As I started off, after settling her in the bracken, I heard the village clock strike the half hour. Half past seven. I gained the house unobserved. No one was abroad except the servants, but I heard Daphne singing in the bathroom.
I had worn the Pierrot dress two years ago at a fancy-dress ball. There it lay with its mask at the bottom of the wardrobe. The change was soon completed, and I stood up a proper Folly, from the skull cap upon my crown to the pumps upon my feet. It took some time to find the nose, but luck was with me, and at last I ran it to earth in an old collar-box. Truly an appalling article, it stuck straight out from my face like a fat, fiery peg, but between that and the mask, my disguise would defy detection.
Suddenly I had a brilliant idea. Sitting down, I scribbled a note to Daphne to the effect that, owing to a sleepless night, my nerve had forsaken me, and that, unable to face the terror of the bazaar, I had fled to Town, and should not be back till late. I added that I should be with her in the spirit, which, after all, was the main thing.
I put on a long overcoat and a soft hat. The nose went into one pocket, the mask into another. Then I went cautiously downstairs and into the dining-room. It was empty, and breakfast was partially laid.
In feverish haste I hacked about a pound of meat off a York ham and nearly as much off a new tongue. Wrapping the slices in a napkin, I thrust them into the pocket with the nose. To add half a brown loaf to the mask and drain the milk jug was the work of another moment, and, after laying the note on Daphne’s plate, I slipped out of the French windows and into the bushes as I heard William come down the passage. A quarter of an hour later I was back again in the wood.
She was sitting on a log, swinging her legs to and fro. When I took off my coat and hat, she clapped her hands in delight.
“Wait till you see the nose,” said I.
When presently I slipped that French monstrosity into place, she laughed so immoderately that her brown hair broke loose from under the black silk cap and tumbled gloriously about her shoulders.
“There now,” she said. “See what you’ve done.”
“Good for the nose,” said I.
“It’s all very well to say that, but it took me ages to get it all under the wretched cap this morning.”
“I shouldn’t put it back again if I were you. You see,” I went on earnestly, “everybody will know you’re a girl, Judy dear.”
“Why, Punch?” She drew aside the dust coat and revealed the wide Pierrot trousers she was wearing.
“Priceless,” I admitted. “But what I really love are your feet.”
She looked concernedly at her little, high–heeled shoes. I stooped to flick the dust from their patent leather.
“Thank you, Punch. What shall I do about my hair, then?”
“Wear it in a pig–tail. I’ll plait it for you. It’ll be worth another sovereign to the Bananas.”
“If you put it like that–” she said slowly.
“I do, Judy.”
If the suggestion was not prompted by motives which were entirely disinterested, I think I may be forgiven.
“I say, Judy,” I said a little later, pausing unnecessarily in my work, and making pretence to comb with my fingers the tresses as yet ungathered into the plait.
“Yes? What a long time you are!”
Well, there was a knot.
She tried to look round into my face at that, but I vigorously unplaited about two inches, which seemed to satisfy her. For me, I thought of Penelope and her web and the wooers, and smiled.
“Well, what is it, Punch?”
“About the mask.”
“No good!”
“But, Jud
y—”
For the next two minutes I did a little listening. When she paused for breath: “Have some ham,” I suggested.
“Bother the ham! Do you hear what I say?”
“I heard you bother the ham.”
“Before that?”
“Something about a mask, was it?”
“Give me back my hair,” she demanded.
“No, no,” I said hastily, “not that! I won’t ask again.”
“Promise.”
“I promise.”
When I had finished the plaiting, I tied the ends with a piece of ribbon which she produced, kissed them, and sat down in the grass at her feet.
We had oceans of time, for the fête did not begin till two. But we agreed there must be a rehearsal of some kind.
“What do you know about yourself, Punch?”
“I have a foggy recollection of domestic differences.”
“You used to beat me cruelly.”
“Ah, but you had a nagging tongue, Judy. I can hear your defiant ‘wootle’ now.”
Her lips parted in a smile at the reminiscence, and before they closed again she had slipped something between them. The next instant the wood rang with a regular hurricane of toots and wootles.
“Oh, Judy!”
“Wootle?” she said inquiringly.
“Rather! But hush – you’ll wake the echoes.”
“And why not? They ought to be up and about by now.”
I shook my head.
“They’re a sleepy folk,” I said; “they get so little rest. The day is noisy enough, but at night, what with dogs baying the moon, and the nightjars calling, when owls do cry—”
“When owls do cry—”
“–and the earnest but mistaken chanticleer, they have a rotten time. Poor echoes! And they wake very easily here.”
“Don’t they everywhere?”
“Oh, no! I know some that are very heavy sleepers. In fact, it’s hopeless to try and wake them without the welkin.”
“The welkin?”
“Yes, you make him ring, you know. They nearly always hear him. And if they don’t the first time, you make him ring again.”
For a little space she laughed helplessly. At last: “I am an idiot to encourage you. Seriously,” she added, “about the little play.”
“Presently by us to be enacted?”
“Yes.”
“The plot,” I said, “is as follows. Punch has a row with Judy and knocks her out. (Laughter.) Various well-intentioned and benignant fools look in on Punch to pass the time of day, and get – very properly – knocked out for their pains. (Loud and prolonged laughter.) This is followed by the side-splitting incident in which a handy clown not only eludes the thirsty bludgeon, but surreptitiously steals the inevitable sausages. Exit clown. Punch, already irritated at having missed clown, misses sausages, and exit in high dudgeon. Re-enter Judy, followed by sausaged clown, who comforts her. (Oh, Judy!) Re-enter Punch. Justifiable tussle. Punch sees sausages and begins to find his length. Clown sees stars and exit. Punch knocks out Judy with a left hook. To him, gloating, enter constable. It seems Judy’s knock-out more serious than usual. Constable suggests that Punch shall go quietly. Punch does not see it, and retires to fetch persuader. Constable protests and is persuaded. (Laughter.) Enter ghost – not clear whose ghost, but any ghost in a storm. Punch unnerved. Ghost gibbers. Punch more unnerved. Ghost gibbers again. Punch terrified. Exit ghost and enter hangman, to whom Punch, unstrung by recent encounter with apparition, falls an easy prey. Curtain. You bow from the mouth of the booth. I adjust nose and collect money in diminutive tin pail. How’s that?”
“Lovely, Punch! But where does Toby dear come in?”
At the mention of his name the terrier rose and went to her. His mistress stroked his soft head.
“In the background,” said I. “Or the offing (nautical). I don’t think he’d better act. Let him be stage-door-keeper.”
“All right. Now open the puppet-box.”
It was a nice set of puppets, and they were very simple to manipulate. They fitted easily on to the hand, the forefinger controlling the head, and the thumb and second finger the arms. The old fellow’s cudgel was a dream.
We decided that I had better stick to Punch and Punch alone. For the others she would be answerable.
After rehearsing for half an hour, we stopped for breakfast. In the absence of cutlery, it was a ragged meal, but what mattered that? We were for letting the world slip – we should ne’er be younger.
People were stirring now. Carts rumbled in the distance, and cars sang past on the long, white road. Presently came one that slowed and slowed and stopped.
It was unfortunate that, but a moment before, I should have grown impatient of a large piece of crust and thrust it bodily into my mouth. But although articulation at this interesting juncture was out of the question, I laid an eloquent hand upon her arm and crowded as much expression as I could into a swollen and distorted visage. She glanced at me and collapsed in silent infectious laughter. And so it happened that, while we two conspirators lay shaking in the bracken, her friends turned their car wonderingly round and drove slowly back into the village away from her they sought.
Another hour and a half of somewhat desultory rehearsal found us ‘wootle’ perfect and ready for anything. So we laid the puppets by, fed Toby with brown bread and tongue, and rested against the labours of the afternoon.
The time passed quickly enough – too quickly.
It was a few minutes past one when, having adjusted my mask and slid my nose into position, I got the booth upon my shoulders and stepped out into the road.
“Come along,” I said encouragingly.
“I’m afraid. Oh, there’s something coming.”
“Nonsense! I wish I hadn’t packed that bludgeon.”
“I’m nervous, Punch.”
“Will you make me drag you along by the hair of your head? Of course, it’d be in the picture right enough, but I rather want two hands for this infernal booth. However, let me once get a good grip on that soft pig-tail—”
“What – again?”
“Ah, that was in love, Judy.”
The next second she had joined me on the white highway, the faithful Toby a short pace behind her. His not to reason why. A good fellow, Toby.
It was rather a nervous moment. But, in spite of an approaching wagonette, she walked bravely beside me with the puppet-box under her arm. The occupants of the vehicle began to evince great curiosity as we drew nearer, but their mare caught sight of my nose at the critical moment and provided an opportune diversion.
“So perish all our enemies!” she said with a sigh of relief.
“Stage-fright, Judy, dear. You’ll be all right in a minute. We’re bound to excite interest. It’s what we’re for and what we want. I’ll keep it going. Give me your wootler.”
She handed me the reed, and I held it ready between my lips.
“Buck up, lass!”
Ten minutes more and we entered the village. The grounds where the fête was to be holden lay three-quarters of a mile further on. The ball was opened by two small errand boys, on whose hands, as is usual with the breed, time was lying heavily. They were engaged in deep converse as we came up, and it was only when we were close upon them that they became aware of our presence. For a few seconds they stared at us, apparently rooted to the spot, and as if they could not believe their good fortune. Then one broke into an explosive bellow of delight, while the other ran off squeaking with excitement to find other devils who should share the treasure-trove. But, unlike his infamous predecessor, he was not content with seven. When he returned, it was but as the van of a fast-swelling rabble. His erstwhile companion, who had been backing steadily in front of me ever since he left, and had, after a hurried consideration of the respective merits of the booth and the box under Judy’s arm, rejected them both in favour of my nose, kept his eyes fastened greedily upon that organ with so desperate an air of concentration that I wa
s quite relieved when he tripped over a brick and fell on his back in the road.
And all this time our following grew. The news of our advent had spread like wildfire. Old men and maidens, young men and boys, the matron and the maid, alike came running. Altogether, Lynn Hammer was set throbbing with an excitement such as it had not experienced since the baker’s assistant was wrongly arrested for petty larceny in 1904.
Amongst those who walked close about us, candid speculation as to the probable venue of the performance was rife, while its style, length, value, etc., were all frankly discussed. Many were the questions raised, and many the inaccurate explanations accepted as to the reason of our being; but though my companion came in for some inevitable discussion, I was relieved to find that my panache and a comic peculiarity of gait, which I thought it as well from time to time to affect, proved usefully diverting.
When the crowd had begun to assume considerable proportions, Judy had slipped her arm in mine, and an answering pressure to my encouraging squeeze told me that she was trying to buck up as well as she could. Good little Judy! It was an ordeal for you, but you came through it with flying colours, though with a flaming cheek.
When we reached the triangular piece of grass that lay in front of the village inn, I called a halt with such suddenness as to create great confusion in the swarming ranks that followed in our wake. But while they sorted themselves, I slipped the booth off my shoulders, gave one long, echoing call upon the reed, and, striking an attitude, made ready to address the expectant villagers.
After carefully polishing my nose with a silk handkerchief – an action which met with instant approval – I selected a fat, red-faced drayman, thanked him, and said that mine was a Bass, an assertion which found high favour with the more immediate cronies of the gentleman in question. Then I got to work.
After dwelling lightly on the renown in which the village of Lynn Hammer was held throughout the countryside, not to mention a gallant reference to the wit, beauty, and mirth which was assembled about me, I plunged into a facetious résumé of recent local events. This, of course, came to me easily enough, but the crowd only saw therein the lucky ventures of a talkative stranger, and roared with merriment at each happy allusion. And so I came to the Bananas. Yes, we were for the fête. There should we be the livelong afternoon, giving free shows, and only afterwards soliciting contribution from such as could afford to give in a good cause. God save the King!
Brother of Daphne Page 2
