The Card, a Story of Adventure in the Five Towns

by Arnold Bennett

  CHAPTER XI

  IN THE ALPS

  I

  Although Denry was extremely happy as a bridegroom, and capable of themost foolish symptoms of affection in private, he said to himself, andhe said to Nellie (and she sturdily agreed with him): "We aren't goingto be the ordinary silly honeymooners." By which, of course, he meantthat they would behave so as to be taken for staid married persons. Theyfailed thoroughly in this enterprise as far as London, where they spenta couple of nights, but on leaving Charing Cross they made a new and abetter start, in the light of experience.

  Their destination, it need hardly be said, was Switzerland. After MrsCapron-Smith's remarks on the necessity of going to Switzerland inwinter if one wished to respect one's self, there was really noalternative to Switzerland. Thus it was announced in the _Signal_(which had reported the wedding in ten lines, owing to the excessivequietude of the wedding) that Mr and Mrs Councillor Machin were spendinga month at Mont Pridoux, sur Montreux, on the Lake of Geneva. And theannouncement looked very well.

  At Dieppe they got a through carriage. There were several throughcarriages for Switzerland on the train. In walking through the corridorsfrom one to another Denry and Nellie had their first glimpse of theworld which travels and which runs off for a holiday whenever it feelsin the mood. The idea of going for a holiday in any month but Augustseemed odd to both of them. Denry was very bold and would insist ontalking in a naturally loud voice. Nellie was timid and clinging. "Whatdo you say?" Denry would roar at her when she half-whispered something,and she had to repeat it so that all could hear. It was part of theirplan to address each other curtly, brusquely, and to frown, and topretend to be slightly bored by each other.

  They were outclassed by the world which travels. Try as they might, evenDenry was morally intimidated. He had managed his clothes fairlycorrectly; he was not ashamed of them; and Nellie's were by no means theworst in the compartments; indeed, according to the standard of some ofthe most intimidating women, Nellie's costume erred in not being quitesufficiently negligent, sufficiently "anyhow." And they had plenty, andten times plenty of money, and the consciousness of it. Expense was notbeing spared on that honeymoon. And yet.... Well, all that can be saidis that the company was imposing. The company, which was entirelyEnglish, seemed to be unaware that any one ever did anything else buttravel luxuriously to places mentioned in second-year geographies. Itastounded Nellie that there should be so many people in the world withnothing to do but spend. And they were constantly saying the strangestthings with an air of perfect calm.

  "How much did you pay for the excess luggage?" an untidy young womanasked of an old man.

  "Oh! Thirteen pounds," answered the old man, carelessly.

  And not long before Nellie had scarcely escaped ten days in the steerageof an Atlantic liner.

  After dinner in the restaurant car--no champagne, because it was vulgar,but a good sound, expensive wine--they felt more equal to the situation,more like part-owners of the train. Nellie prudently went to bed ere thetriumphant feeling wore off. But Denry stayed up smoking in thecorridor. He stayed up very late, being too proud and happy and too avidof new sensations to be able to think of sleep. It was a match which ledto a conversation between himself and a thin, drawling, overbearingfellow with an eyeglass. Denry had hated this lordly creature all theway from Dieppe. In presenting him with a match he felt that he wassomehow getting the better of him, for the match was precious in thenocturnal solitude of the vibrating corridor. The mere fact that twopeople are alone together and awake, divided from a sleeping or sleepypopulation only by a row of closed, mysterious doors, will do much tobreak down social barriers. The excellence of Denry's cigar also helped.It atoned for the breadth of his accent.

  He said to himself:

  "I'll have a bit of a chat with this johnny."

  And then he said aloud:

  "Not a bad train this!"

  "No!" the eyeglass agreed languidly. "Pity they give you such a beastlydinner!"

  And Denry agreed hastily that it was.

  Soon they were chatting of places, and somehow it came out of Denry thathe was going to Montreux. The eyeglass professed its indifference toMontreux in winter, but said the resorts above Montreux were all right,such as Caux or Pridoux.

  And Denry said:

  "Well, of course, shouldn't think of stopping _in_ Montreux. Goingto try Pridoux."

  The eyeglass said it wasn't going so far as Switzerland yet; it meant tostop in the Jura.

  "Geneva's a pretty deadly place, ain't it?" said the eyeglass after apause.

  "Ye-es," said Denry.

  "Been there since that new esplanade was finished?"

  "No," said Denry. "I saw nothing of it."

  "When were you there?"

  "Oh! A couple of years ago."

  "Ah! It wasn't started then. Comic thing! Of course they're awfullyproud in Geneva of the view of Mont Blanc."

  "Yes," said Denry.

  "Ever noticed how queer women are about that view? They're no end keenon it at first, but after a day or two it gets on their nerves."

  "Yes," said Denry. "I've noticed that myself. My wife...."

  He stopped, because he didn't know what he was going to say. Theeyeglass nodded understandingly.

  "All alike," it said. "Odd thing!"

  When Denry introduced himself into the two-berth compartment which hehad managed to secure at the end of the carriage for himself and Nellie,the poor tired child was as wakeful as an owl.

  "Who have you been talking to?" she yawned.

  "The eyeglass johnny."

  "Oh! Really," Nellie murmured, interested and impressed. "With him, haveyou? I could hear voices. What sort of a man is he?"

  "He seems to be an ass," said Denry. "Fearfully haw-haw. Couldn't standhim for long. I've made him believe we've been married for two years."

  II

  They stood on the balcony of the Hotel Beau-Site of Mont Pridoux. Alittle below, to the right, was the other hotel, the Metropole, with thered-and-white Swiss flag waving over its central tower. A little belowthat was the terminal station of the funicular railway from Montreux.The railway ran down the sheer of the mountain into the roofs ofMontreux, like a wire. On it, two toy trains crawled towards each other,like flies climbing and descending a wall. Beyond the fringe of hotelsthat constituted Montreux was a strip of water, and beyond the water arange of hills white at the top.

  "So these are the Alps!" Nellie exclaimed.

  She was disappointed; he also. But when Denry learnt from the guide-bookand by inquiry that the strip of lake was seven miles across, and thehighest notched peaks ten thousand feet above the sea and twenty-fivemiles off, Nellie gasped and was content.

  They liked the Hotel Beau-Site. It had been recommended to Denry, by aman who knew what was what, as the best hotel in Switzerland. "Don't yoube misled by prices," the man had said. And Denry was not. He paidsixteen francs a day for the two of them at the Beau-Site, and wasrather relieved than otherwise by the absence of finger-bowls.Everything was very good, except sometimes the hot water. The hot-watercans bore the legend "hot water," but these two words were occasionallythe only evidence of heat in the water. On the other hand, the bedroomscould be made sultry by merely turning a handle; and the windows weredouble. Nellie was wondrously inventive. They breakfasted in bed, andshe would save butter and honey from the breakfast to furnish forthafternoon tea, which was not included in the terms. She served thebutter freshly with ice by the simple expedient of leaving it outsidethe window of a night. And Denry was struck by this house-wifery.

  The other guests appeared to be of a comfortable, companionable class,with, as Denry said, "no frills." They were amazed to learn that achattering little woman of thirty-five, who gossiped with everybody, andsoon invited Denry and Nellie to have tea in her room, was an authenticRussian Countess, inscribed in the visitors' lists as "Comtesse Ruhl(with maid), Moscow." Her room was the untidiest that Nellie had everseen, and the tea a picnic. Still, it was th
rilling to have had tea witha Russian Countess.... (Plots! Nihilism! Secret police! Marblepalaces!).... Those visitors' lists were breath-taking. Pages and pagesof them; scores of hotels, thousands of names, nearly all English--andall people who came to Switzerland in winter, having naught else to do.Denry and Nellie bathed in correctness as in a bath.

  The only persons in the hotel with whom they did not "get on" nor "hitit off" were a military party, chiefly named Clutterbuck, and presidedover by a Major Clutterbuck and his wife. They sat at a large table in acorner--father, mother, several children, a sister-in-law, a sister, agoverness--eight heads in all; and while utterly polite they seemed todraw a ring round themselves. They grumbled at the hotel; they playedbridge (then a newish game); and once, when Denry and the Countessplayed with them (Denry being an adept card-player) for shilling points,Denry overheard the sister-in-law say that she was sure Captain Deveraxwouldn't play for shilling points. This was the first rumour of theexistence of Captain Deverax; but afterwards Captain Deverax began to bementioned several times a day. Captain Deverax was coming to join them,and it seemed that he was a very particular man. Soon all the rest ofthe hotel had got its back up against this arriving Captain Deverax.Then a Clutterbuck cousin came, a smiling, hard, fluffy woman, andpronounced definitely that the Hotel Beau-Site would never do forCaptain Deverax. This cousin aroused Denry's hostility in a strange way.She imparted to the Countess (who united all sects) her opinion thatDenry and Nellie were on their honeymoon. At night in a corner of thedrawing-room the Countess delicately but bluntly asked Nellie if she hadbeen married long. "No," said Nellie. "A month?" asked the Countess,smiling. "N-no," said Nellie.

  The next day all the hotel knew. The vast edifice of make-believe thatDenry and Nellie had laboriously erected crumbled at a word, and theystood forth, those two, blushing for the criminals they were.

  The hotel was delighted. There is more rejoicing in a hotel over onehoneymoon couple than over fifty families with children.

  But the hotel had a shock the same day. The Clutterbuck cousin hadproclaimed that owing to the inadequacy of the bedroom furniture she hadbeen obliged to employ a sofa as a wardrobe. Then there were morereferences to Captain Deverax. And then at dinner it became known--Heaven knows how!--that the entire Clutterbuck party had given noticeand was seceding to the Hotel Metropole. Also they had tried to carrythe Countess with them, but had failed.

  Now, among the guests of the Hotel Beau-Site there had always been aprofessed scorn of the rival Hotel Metropole, which was a franc a daydearer, and famous for its new and rich furniture. The Metropole had anorchestra twice a week, and the English Church services were held in itsdrawing-room; and it was larger than the Beau-Site. In spite of thesefacts the clients of the Beau-Site affected to despise it, saying thatthe food was inferior and that the guests were snobbish. It was anarticle of faith in the Beau-Site that the Beau-Site was the best hotelon the mountain-side, if not in Switzerland.

  The insolence of this defection on the part of the Clutterbucks! How onearth _could_ people have the face to go to a landlord and say tohim that they meant to desert him in favour of his rival?

  Another detail: the secession of nine or ten people from one hotel tothe other meant that the Metropole would decidedly be more populous thanthe Beau-Site, and on the point of numbers the emulation was very keen."Well," said the Beau-Site, "let 'em go! With their Captain Deverax! Weshall be better without 'em!" And that deadliest of all feuds sprang up--a rivalry between the guests of rival hotels. The Metropole had issueda general invitation to a dance, and after the monstrous conduct of theClutterbucks the question arose whether the Beau-Site should not boycottthe dance. However, it was settled that the truly effective course wouldbe to go with critical noses in the air, and emit unfavourablecomparisons with the Beau-Site. The Beau-Site suddenly became perfect inthe esteem of its patrons. Not another word was heard on the subject ofhot water being coated with ice. And the Clutterbucks, with incredibleassurance, slid their luggage off in a sleigh to the Metropole, in thefull light of day, amid the contempt of the faithful.

  III

  Under the stars the dancing section of the Beau-Site went off injingling sleighs over the snow to the ball at the Metropole. Thedistance was not great, but it was great enough to show the inadequacyof furs against twenty degrees of mountain frost, and it was also greatenough to allow the party to come to a general final understanding thatits demeanour must be cold and critical in the gilded halls of theMetropole. The rumour ran that Captain Deverax had arrived, and everyone agreed that he must be an insufferable booby, except the CountessRuhl, who never used her fluent exotic English to say ill of anybody.

  The gilded halls of the Metropole certainly were imposing. The hotel wasincontestably larger than the Beau-Site, newer, more richly furnished.Its occupants, too, had a lordly way with them, trying to others, butinimitable. Hence the visitors from the Beau-Site, as they moved to andfro beneath those crystal chandeliers from Tottenham Court Road, hadtheir work cut out to maintain the mien of haughty indifference. Nellie,for instance, frankly could not do it. And Denry did not do it verywell. Denry, nevertheless, did score one point over Mrs Clutterbuck'sfussy cousin.

  "Captain Deverax has come," said this latter. "He was very late. He'llbe downstairs in a few minutes. We shall get him to lead the cotillon."

  "Captain Deverax?" Denry questioned.

  "Yes. You've heard us mention him," said the cousin, affronted.

  "Possibly," said Denry. "I don't remember."

  On hearing this brief colloquy the cohorts of the Beau-Site felt that inDenry they possessed the making of a champion.

  There was a disturbing surprise, however, waiting for Denry.

  The lift descended; and with a peculiar double action of his arms on thedoors, like a pantomime fairy emerging from an enchanted castle, a tallthin man stepped elegantly out of the lift and approached the companywith a certain mincingness. But before he could reach the companyseveral young women had rushed towards him, as though with the intentionof committing suicide by hanging themselves from his neck. He was in anevening suit so perfect in detail that it might have sustainedcomparison with the costume of the head waiter. And he wore an eyeglassin his left eye. It was the eyeglass that made Denry jump. For twoseconds he dismissed the notion.... But another two seconds ofexamination showed beyond doubt that this eyeglass was the eyeglass ofthe train. And Denry had apprehensions....

  "Captain Deverax!" exclaimed several voices.

  The manner in which the youthful and the mature fair clustered aroundthis Captain, aged forty (and not handsome) was really extraordinary, tothe males of the Hotel Beau-Site. Even the little Russian Countessattached herself to him at once. And by reason of her title, her socialenergy, and her personal distinction, she took natural precedence of theothers.

  "Recognise him?" Denry whispered to his wife.

  Nellie nodded. "He seems rather nice," she said diffidently.

  "Nice!" Denry repeated the adjective. "The man's an ass!"

  And the majority of the Beau-Site party agreed with Denry's verdicteither by word or gesture.

  Captain Deverax stared fixedly at Denry; then smiled vaguely anddrawled, "Hullo! How d' do?"

  And they shook hands.

  "So you know him?" some one murmured to Denry.

  "Know him?... Since infancy."

  The inquirer scented facetiousness, but he was somehow impressed. Theremarkable thing was that though he regarded Captain Deverax as apopinjay, he could not help feeling a certain slight satisfaction in thefact that they were in some sort acquaintances.... Mystery of the humanheart!... He wished sincerely that he had not, in his conversation withthe Captain in the train, talked about previous visits to Switzerland.It was dangerous.

  The dance achieved that brightness and joviality which entitle a danceto call itself a success. The cotillon reached brilliance, owing to thecaptaincy of Captain Deverax. Several score opprobrious epithets wereapplied to the Captain in the course of the nig
ht, but it was agreed_nemine contradicente_ that, whatever he would have done in frontof a Light Brigade at Balaclava, as a leader of cotillons he wasterrific. Many men, however, seemed to argue that if a man who_was_ a man led a cotillon, he ought not to lead it too well, onpain of being considered a cox-comb.

  At the close, during the hot soup, the worst happened. Denry had knownthat it would.

  Captain Deverax was talking to Nellie, who was respectfully listening,about the scenery, when the Countess came up, plate in hand.

  "No, no," the Countess protested. "As for me, I hate your mountains. Iwas born in the steppe where it is all level--level! Your mountainsclose me in. I am only here by order of my doctor. Your mountains get onmy nerves." She shrugged her shoulders.

  Captain Deverax smiled.

  "It is the same with you, isn't it?" he said turning to Nellie.

  "Oh, no," said Nellie, simply.

  "But your husband told me the other day that when you and he were inGeneva a couple of years ago, the view of Mont Blanc used to--er--upsetyou."

  "View of Mont Blanc?" Nellie stammered.

  Everybody was aware that she and Denry had never been in Switzerlandbefore, and that their marriage was indeed less than a month old.

  "You misunderstood me," said Denry, gruffly. "My wife hasn't been toGeneva."

  "Oh!" drawled Captain Deverax.

  His "Oh!" contained so much of insinuation, disdain, and lofty amusementthat Denry blushed, and when Nellie saw her husband's cheek she blushedin competition and defeated him easily. It was felt that either Denryhad been romancing to the Captain, or that he had been married before,unknown to his Nellie, and had been "carrying on" at Geneva. Thesituation, though it dissolved of itself in a brief space, was awkward.It discredited the Hotel Beau-Site. It was in the nature of a repulsefor the Hotel Beau-Site (franc a day cheaper than the Metropole) and ofa triumph for the popinjay. The fault was utterly Denry's. Yet he saidto himself:

  "I'll be even with that chap."

  On the drive home he was silent. The theme of conversation in thesleighs which did not contain the Countess was that the Captain hadflirted tremendously with the Countess, and that it amounted to anaffair.

  IV

  Captain Deverax was equally salient in the department of sports. Therewas a fair sheet of ice, obtained by cutting into the side of themountain, and a very good tobogganing track, about half a mile in lengthand full of fine curves, common to the two hotels. Denry's predilectionwas for the track. He would lie on his stomach on the little contrivancewhich the Swiss call a luge, and which consists of naught but three bitsof wood and two steel-clad runners, and would course down the perilouscurves at twenty miles an hour. Until the Captain came, this wasregarded as dashing, because most people were content to sit on the lugeand travel legs-foremost instead of head-foremost. But the Captain,after a few eights on the ice, intimated that for the rest no sport wastrue sport save the sport of ski-running. He allowed it to be understoodthat luges were for infants. He had brought his skis, and theseinstruments of locomotion, some six feet in length, made a sensationamong the inexperienced. For when he had strapped them to his feet theCaptain, while stating candidly that his skill was as nothing to that ofthe Swedish professionals at St Moritz, could assuredly slide over snowin manner prodigious and beautiful. And he was exquisitely clothed forthe part. His knickerbockers, in the elegance of their lines, were thedelight of beholders. Ski-ing became the rage. Even Nellie insisted onhiring a pair. And the pronunciation of the word "ski" aroused longdiscussions and was never definitely settled by anybody. The Captainsaid "skee," but he did not object to "shee," which was said to be themore strictly correct by a lady who knew some one who had been toNorway. People with no shame and no feeling for correctness saidbrazenly, "sky." Denry, whom nothing could induce to desert his luge,said that obviously "s-k-i" could only spell "planks." And thanks to hisinspiration this version was adopted by the majority.

  On the second day of Nellie's struggle with her skis she had moresuccess than she either anticipated or desired. She had been makingexperiments at the summit of the track, slithering about, falling, andbeing restored to uprightness by as many persons as happened to be near.Skis seemed to her to be the most ungovernable and least practical meansof travel that the madness of man had ever concocted. Skates werewell-behaved old horses compared to these long, untamed fiends, and aluge was like a tricycle. Then suddenly a friendly starting push droveher a yard or two, and she glided past the level on to the firstimperceptible slope of the track. By some hazard her two planks wereexactly parallel, as they ought to be, and she glided forwardmiraculously. And people heard her say:

  "How lovely!"

  And then people heard her say:

  "Oh!... Oh!"

  For her pace was increasing. And she dared not strike her pole into theground. She had, in fact, no control whatever over those two planks towhich her feet were strapped. She might have been Mazeppa and theymustangs. She could not even fall. So she fled down the preliminarystraight of the track, and ecstatic spectators cried: "Look how_well_ Mrs Machin is doing!"

  Mrs Machin would have given all her furs to be anywhere off thoseplanks. On the adjacent fields of glittering snow the Captain had beengiving his adored Countess a lesson in the use of skis; and they stoodtogether, the Countess somewhat insecure, by the side of the track atits first curve.

  Nellie, dumb with excitement and amazement, swept towards them.

  "Look out!" cried the Captain.

  In vain! He himself might perhaps have escaped, but he could not abandonhis Countess in the moment of peril, and the Countess could only moveafter much thought and many efforts, being scarce more advanced thanNellie. Nellie's wilful planks quite ignored the curve, and, as it wereafloat on them, she charged off the track, and into the Captain and theCountess. The impact was tremendous. Six skis waved like semaphores inthe air. Then all was still. Then, as the beholders hastened to thescene of the disaster, the Countess laughed and Nellie laughed. Thelaugh of the Captain was not heard. The sole casualty was a wound abouta foot long in the hinterland of the Captain's unique knicker-bockers.And as threads of that beautiful check pattern were afterwards foundattached to the wheel of Nellie's pole, the cause of the wound wasindisputable. The Captain departed home, chiefly backwards, but withgreat rapidity.

  In the afternoon Denry went down to Montreux and returned with an opalbracelet, which Nellie wore at dinner.

  "Oh! What a ripping bracelet!" said a girl.

  "Yes," said Nellie. "My husband gave it me only to-day."

  "I suppose it's your birthday or something," the inquisitive girlventured.

  "No," said Nellie.

  "How nice of him!" said the girl.

  The next day Captain Deverax appeared in riding breeches. They were notcorrect for ski-running, but they were the best he could do. He visiteda tailor's in Montreux.

  V

  The Countess Ruhl had a large sleigh of her own, also a horse; both werehired from Montreux. In this vehicle, sometimes alone, sometimes with amale servant, she would drive at Russian speed over the undulatingmountain roads; and for such expeditions she always wore a large redcloak with a hood. Often she was thus seen, in the afternoon; thescarlet made a bright moving patch on the vast expanses of snow. Once,at some distance from the village, two tale-tellers observed a man onskis careering in the neighbourhood of the sleigh. It was CaptainDeverax. The flirtation, therefore, was growing warmer and warmer. Thehotels hummed with the tidings of it. But the Countess never saidanything; nor could anything be extracted from her by even the mostexperienced gossips. She was an agreeable but a mysterious woman, asbefitted a Russian Countess. Again and again were she and the Captainseen together afar off in the landscape. Certainly it was a novelty inflirtations. People wondered what might happen between the two at thefancy-dress ball which the Hotel Beau-Site was to give in return for thehospitality of the Hotel Metropole. The ball was offered not in love,but in emulation, almost in hate; for the jealousy d
isplayed by theBeau-Site against the increasing insolence of the Metropole had becomeacute. The airs of the Captain and his lieges, the Clutterbuck party,had reached the limit of the Beau-Site's endurance. The Metropole seemedto take it for granted that the Captain would lead the cotillon at theBeau-Site's ball as he had led it at the Metropole's.

  And then, on the very afternoon of the ball, the Countess received atelegram--it was said from St Petersburg--which necessitated her instantdeparture. And she went, in an hour, down to Montreux by the funicularrailway, and was lost to the Beau-Site. This was a blow to the prestigeof the Beau-Site. For the Countess was its chief star, and, moreover,much loved by her fellow-guests, despite her curious weakness for thepopinjay, and the mystery of her outings with him.

  In the stables Denry saw the Countess's hired sleigh and horse, and inthe sleigh her glowing red cloak. And he had one of his ideas, which heexecuted, although snow was beginning to fall. In ten minutes he andNellie were driving forth, and Nellie in the red cloak held the reins.Denry, in a coachman's furs, sat behind. They whirled past the HotelMetropole. And shortly afterwards, on the wild road towards Attalens,Denry saw a pair of skis scudding as quickly as skis can scud in theirrear. It was astonishing how the sleigh, with all the merry jingle ofits bells, kept that pair of skis at a distance of about a hundredyards. It seemed to invite the skis to overtake it, and then to regretthe invitation and flee further. Up the hills it would crawl, for theskis climbed slowly. Down them it galloped, for the skis slid on theslopes at a dizzy pace. Occasionally a shout came from the skis. And thesnow fell thicker and thicker. So for four or five miles. Starlightcommenced. Then the road made a huge descending curve round a hollowedmeadow, and the horse galloped its best. But the skis, making a straightline down the snow, acquired the speed of an express, and gained on thesleigh one yard in every three. At the bottom, where the curve met thestraight line, was a farmhouse and outbuildings and a hedge and a stonewall and other matters. The sleigh arrived at the point first, but onlyby a trifle. "Mind your toes," Denry muttered to himself, meaning aninjunction to the skis, whose toes were three feet long. The skis,through the eddying snow, yelled frantically to the sleigh to give room.The skis shot up into the road, and in swerving aside swerved into asnow-laden hedge, and clean over it into the farmyard, where they stuckthemselves up in the air, as skis will when the person to whose feetthey are attached is lying prone. The door of the farm opened and awoman appeared.

  She saw the skis at her doorstep. She heard the sleigh-bells, but thesleigh had already vanished into the dusk.

  "Well, that was a bit of a lark, that was, Countess!" said Denry toNellie. "That will be something to talk about. We'd better drive homethrough Corsier, and quick too! It'll be quite dark soon."

  "Supposing he's dead!" Nellie breathed, aghast, reining in the horse.

  "Not he!" said Denry. "I saw him beginning to sit up."

  "But how will he get home?"

  "It looks a very nice farmhouse," said Denry. "I should think he'd besorry to leave it."

  VI

  When Denry entered the dining-room of the Beau-Site, which had beencleared for the ball, his costume drew attention not so much by itssplendour or ingenuity as by its peculiarity. He wore a shortChinese-shaped jacket, which his wife had made out of blue linen, and aflat Chinese hat to match, which they had constructed together on abasis of cardboard. But his thighs were enclosed in a pair of absurdlyample riding-breeches of an impressive check and cut to a comicexaggeration of the English pattern. He had bought the cloth for theseat the tailor's in Montreux. Below them were very tight leggings, alsoEnglish. In reply to a question as to what or whom he supposed himselfto represent, he replied:

  "A Captain of Chinese cavalry, of course."

  And he put an eyeglass into his left eye and stared.

  Now it had been understood that Nellie was to appear as Lady Jane Grey.But she appeared as Little Red Riding-Hood, wearing over her frock theforgotten cloak of the Countess Ruhl.

  Instantly he saw her, Denry hurried towards her, with a movement of thelegs and a flourish of the eyeglass in his left hand which powerfullysuggested a figure familiar to every member of the company. There waslaughter. People saw that the idea was immensely funny and clever, andthe laughter ran about like fire. At the same time some persons were notquite sure whether Denry had not lapsed a little from the finest tastein this caricature. And all of them were secretly afraid that theuncomfortable might happen when Captain Deverax arrived.

  However, Captain Deverax did not arrive. The party from the Metropolecame with the news that he had not been seen at the hotel for dinner; itwas assumed that he had been to Montreux and missed the funicular back.

  "Our two stars simultaneously eclipsed!" said Denry, as the Clutterbucks(representing all the history of England) stared at him curiously.

  "Why?" exclaimed the Clutterbuck cousin, "who's the other?"

  "The Countess," said Denry. "She went this afternoon--three o'clock."

  And all the Metropole party fell into grief.

  "It's a world of coincidences," said Denry, with emphasis.

  "You don't mean to insinuate," said Mrs Clutterbuck, with a nervouslaugh, "that Captain Deverax has--er--gone after the Countess?"

  "Oh no!" said Denry, with unction. "Such a thought never entered myhead."

  "I think you're a very strange man, Mr Machin," retorted MrsClutterbuck, hostile and not a bit reassured. "May one ask what thatcostume is supposed to be?"

  "A Captain of Chinese cavalry," said Denry, lifting his eyeglass.

  Nevertheless, the dance was a remarkable success, and little by littleeven the sternest adherents of the absent Captain Deverax deigned to beamused by Denry's Chinese gestures. Also, Denry led the cotillon, andwas thereafter greatly applauded by the Beau-Site. The visitors agreedamong themselves that, considering that his name was not Deverax, Denryacquitted himself honourably. Later he went to the bureau, and,returning, whispered to his wife:

  "It's all right. He's come back safe."

  "How do you know?"

  "I've just telephoned to ask."

  Denry's subsequent humour was wildly gay. And for some reason whichnobody could comprehend, he put a sling round his left arm. His effortsto insert the eyeglass into his left eye with his right hand wereinsistently ludicrous and became a sure source of laughter for allbeholders. When the Metropole party were getting into their sleighs togo home--it had ceased snowing--Denry was still trying to insert hiseyeglass into his left eye with his right hand, to the universal joy.

  VII

  But the joy of the night was feeble in comparison with the violent joyof the next morning. Denry was wandering, apparently aimless, betweenthe finish of the tobogganing track and the portals of the Metropole.The snowfall had repaired the defects of the worn track, but it neededto be flattened down by use, and a number of conscientious "lugeurs"were flattening it by frequent descents, which grew faster at eachrepetition. Other holiday-makers were idling about in the sunshine. Apage-boy of the Metropole departed in the direction of the Beau-Sitewith a note.

  At length--the hour was nearing eleven--Captain Deverax, languid, puthis head out of the Metropole and sniffed the air. Finding the airsufferable, he came forth on to the steps. His left arm was in a sling.He was wearing the new knickerbockers which he had ordered at Montreux,and which were of precisely the same vast check as had ornamentedDenry's legs on the previous night.

  "Hullo!" said Denry, sympathetically. "What's this?"

  The Captain needed sympathy.

  "Ski-ing yesterday afternoon," said he, with a little laugh. "Hasn't theCountess told any of you?"

  "No," said Denry, "not a word."

  The Captain seemed to pause a moment.

  "Yes," said he. "A trifling accident. I was ski-ing with the Countess.That is, I was ski-ing and she was in her sleigh."

  "Then this is why you didn't turn up at the dance?"

  "Yes," said the Captain.

  "Well," said Denry, "
I hope it's not serious. I can tell you one thing,the cotillon was a most fearful frost without you." The Captain seemedgrateful.

  They strolled together toward the track.

  The first group of people that caught sight of the Captain with hischecked legs and his arm in a sling began to smile. Observing thissmile, and fancying himself deceived, the Captain attempted to put hiseyeglass into his left eye with his right hand, and regularly failed.His efforts towards this feat changed the smiles to enormous laughter.

  "I daresay it's awfully funny," said he. "But what can a fellow do withone arm in a sling?"

  The laughter was merely intensified. And the group, growing as lugeafter luge arrived at the end of the track, seemed to give itself up tomirth, to the exclusion of even a proper curiosity about the nature ofthe Captain's damage. Each fresh attempt to put the eyeglass to his eyewas coal on the crackling fire. The Clutterbucks alone seemed glum.

  "What on earth is the joke?" Denry asked primly. "Captain Deverax cameto grief late yesterday afternoon, ski-ing with the Countess Ruhl.That's why he didn't turn up last night. By the way, where was it,Captain?"

  "On the mountain, near Attalens," Deverax answered gloomily. "Happilythere was a farmhouse near--it was almost dark."

  "With the Countess?" demanded a young impulsive schoolgirl.

  "You did say the Countess, didn't you?" Denry asked.

  "Why, certainly," said the Captain, testily.

  "Well," said the schoolgirl with the nonchalant thoughtless cruelty ofyouth, "considering that we all saw the Countess off in the funicular atthree o'clock, I don't see how you could have been ski-ing with her whenit was nearly dark." And the child turned up the hill with her luge,leaving her elders to unknot the situation.

  "Oh, yes!" said Denry. "I forgot to tell you that the Countess leftyesterday after lunch."

  At the same moment the page-boy, reappearing, touched his cap and placeda note in the Captain's only free hand.

  "Couldn't deliver it, sir. The Comtesse left early yesterday afternoon."

  Convicted of imaginary adventure with noble ladies, the Captain made hisretreat, muttering, back to the hotel. At lunch Denry related the exactcircumstances to a delighted table, and the exact circumstances soonreached the Clutterbuck faction at the Metropole. On the following daythe Clutterbuck faction and Captain Deverax (now fully enlightened) leftMont Pridoux for some paradise unknown. If murderous thoughts couldkill, Denry would have lain dead. But he survived to go with about halfthe Beau-Site guests to the funicular station to wish the Clutterbucks apleasant journey. The Captain might have challenged him to a duel but ahaughty and icy ceremoniousness was deemed the best treatment for Denry."Never show a wound" must have been the Captain's motto.

  The Beau-Site had scored effectively. And, now that its rival had losteleven clients by one single train, it beat the Metropole even in vulgarnumbers.

  Denry had an embryo of a conscience somewhere, and Nellie's was fullydeveloped.

  "Well," said Denry, in reply to Nellie's conscience, "it serves himright for making me look a fool over that Geneva business. And besides,I can't stand uppishness, and I won't. I'm from the Five Towns, I am."

  Upon which singular utterance the incident closed.

  CHAPTER XII

  THE SUPREME HONOUR

  I

  Denry was not as regular in his goings and comings as the generality ofbusiness men in the Five Towns; no doubt because he was not by nature abusiness man at all, but an adventurous spirit who happened to be in abusiness which was much too good to leave. He was continually, as theysay there, "up to something" that caused changes in daily habits.Moreover, the Universal Thrift Club (Limited) was so automatic andself-winding that Denry ran no risks in leaving it often to the care ofhis highly drilled staff. Still, he did usually come home to his teaabout six o'clock of an evening, like the rest, and like the rest, hebrought with him a copy of the _Signal_ to glance at during tea.

  One afternoon in July he arrived thus upon his waiting wife at MachinHouse, Bleakridge. And she could see that an idea was fermenting in hishead. Nellie understood him. One of the most delightful and reassuringthings about his married life was Nellie's instinctive comprehension ofhim. His mother understood him profoundly. But she understood him in amanner sardonic, slightly malicious and even hostile, whereas Nellieunderstood him with her absurd love. According to his mother's attitude,Denry was guilty till he had proved himself innocent. According toNellie's, he was always right and always clever in what he did, until hehimself said that he had been wrong and stupid--and not always then.Nevertheless, his mother was just as ridiculously proud of him as Nelliewas; but she would have perished on the scaffold rather than admit thatDenry differed in any detail from the common run of sons. Mrs Machin haddeparted from Machin House without waiting to be asked. It wascharacteristic of her that she had returned to Brougham Street andrented there an out-of-date cottage without a single one of thelabour-saving contrivances that distinguished the residence which herson had originally built for her.

  It was still delicious for Denry to sit down to tea in the dining-room,that miracle of conveniences, opposite the smile of his wife, which toldhim (_a_) that he was wonderful, (_b_) that she was enchanted to bealive, and (_c_) that he had deserved her particular caressingattentions and would receive them. On the afternoon in July the smiletold him (_d_) that he was possessed by one of his ideas.

  "Extraordinary how she tumbles to things!" he reflected.

  Nellie's new fox-terrier had come in from the garden through the Frenchwindow, and eaten part of a muffin, and Denry had eaten a muffin and ahalf, before Nellie, straightening herself proudly and putting hershoulders back (a gesture of hers) thought fit to murmur:

  "Well, anything thrilling happened to-day?"

  Denry opened the green sheet and read:

  "'Sudden death of Alderman Bloor in London.' What price that?"

  "Oh!" exclaimed Nellie. "How shocked father will be! They were alwaysrather friendly. By the way, I had a letter from mother this morning. Itappears as if Toronto was a sort of paradise. But you can see the oldthing prefers Bursley. Father's had a boil on his neck, just at the edgeof his collar. He says it's because he's too well. What did Mr Bloor dieoff?"

  "He was in the fashion," said Denry.

  "How?"

  "Appendicitis, of course. Operation--domino! All over in three days."

  "Poor man!" Nellie murmured, trying to feel sad for a change and notsucceeding. "And he was to have been mayor in November, wasn't he? Howdisappointing for him."

  "I expect he's got something else to think about," said Denry.

  After a pause Nellie asked suddenly:

  "Who'll be mayor--now?"

  "Well," said Denry, "his Worship Councillor Barlow, J.P., will beextremely cross if _he_ isn't."

  "How horrid!" said Nellie, frankly. "And he's got nobody at all to bemayoress."

  "Mrs Prettyman would be mayoress," said Denry. "When there's no wife ordaughter, it's always a sister if there is one."

  "But can you _imagine_ Mrs Prettyman as mayoress? Why, they say shescrubs her own doorstep--after dark. They ought to make you mayor."

  "Do you fancy yourself as mayoress?" he inquired.

  "I should be better than Mrs Prettyman, anyhow."

  "I believe you'd make an A1 mayoress," said Denry.

  "I should be frightfully nervous," she confidentially admitted.

  "I doubt it," said he.

  The fact was, that since her return to Bursley from the honeymoon,Nellie was an altered woman. She had acquired, as it were in a day, toan astonishing extent, what in the Five Towns is called "a nerve."

  "I should like to try it," said she.

  "One day you'll have to try it, whether you want to or not."

  "When will that be?"

  "Don't know. Might be next year but one. Old Barlow's pretty certain tobe chosen for next November. It's looked on as his turn next. I knowthere's been a good bit of talk about me for the yea
r after Barlow. Ofcourse, Bloor's death will advance everything by a year. But even if Icome next after Barlow it'll be too late."

  "Too late? Too late for what?"

  "I'll tell you," said Denry. "I wanted to be the youngest mayor thatBursley's ever had. It was only a kind of notion I had a long time ago.I'd given it up, because I knew there was no chance unless I came beforeBloor, which of course I couldn't do. Now he's dead. If I could upsetold Barlow's apple-cart I should just be the youngest mayor by the skinof my teeth. Huskinson, the mayor in 1884, was aged thirty-four and sixmonths. I've looked it all up this afternoon."

  "How lovely if you _could_ be the youngest mayor!"

  "Yes. I'll tell you how I feel. I feel as though I didn't want to bemayor at all if I can't be the youngest mayor... you know."

  She knew.

  "Oh!" she cried, "do upset Mr Barlow's apple-cart. He's a horrid oldthing. Should I be the youngest mayoress?"

  "Not by chalks," said he. "Huskinson's sister was only sixteen."

  "But that's only playing at being mayoress!" Nellie protested. "Anyhow,I do think you might be youngest mayor. Who settles it?"

  "The Council, of course."

  "Nobody likes Councillor Barlow."

  "He'll be still less liked when he's wound up the Bursley FootballClub."

  "Well, urge him on to wind it up, then. But I don't see what footballhas got to do with being mayor."

  She endeavoured to look like a serious politician.

  "You are nothing but a cuckoo," Denry pleasantly informed her. "Footballhas got to do with everything. And it's been a disastrous mistake in mycareer that I've never taken any interest in football. Old Barlow wantsno urging on to wind up the Football Club. He's absolutely set on it.He's lost too much over it. If I could stop him from winding it up, Imight...."

  "What?"

  "I dunno."

  She perceived that his idea was yet vague.

  II

  Not very many days afterwards the walls of Bursley called attention, bysmall blue and red posters (blue and red being the historic colours ofthe Bursley Football Club), to a public meeting, which was to be held inthe Town Hall, under the presidency of the Mayor, to consider what stepscould be taken to secure the future of the Bursley Football Club.

  There were two "great" football clubs in the Five Towns--Knype, one ofthe oldest clubs in England, and Bursley. Both were in the League,though Knype was in the first division while Bursley was only in thesecond. Both were, in fact, limited companies, engaged as much in thepursuit of dividends as in the practice of the one ancient and glorioussport which appeals to the reason and the heart of England. (Neitherever paid a dividend.) Both employed professionals, who, by a strangechance, were nearly all born in Scotland; and both also employedtrainers who, before an important match, took the teams off to ahydropathic establishment far, far distant from any public-house. (Thiswas called "training.") Now, whereas the Knype Club was struggling alongfairly well, the Bursley Club had come to the end of its resources. Thegreat football public had practically deserted it. The explanation, ofcourse, was that Bursley had been losing too many matches. The greatfootball public had no use for anything but victories. It would treatits players like gods--so long as they won. But when they happened tolose, the great football public simply sulked. It did not kick a manthat was down; it merely ignored him, well knowing that the man couldnot get up without help. It cared nothing whatever for fidelity,municipal patriotism, fair play, the chances of war, or dividends oncapital. If it could see victories it would pay sixpence, but it wouldnot pay sixpence to assist at defeats.

  Still, when at a special general meeting of the Bursley Football Club,Limited, held at the registered office, the Coffee House, Bursley,Councillor Barlow, J.P., Chairman of the Company since the creation ofthe League, announced that the Directors had reluctantly come to theconclusion that they could not conscientiously embark on the dangerousrisks of the approaching season, and that it was the intention of theDirectors to wind up the club, in default of adequate public interest--when Bursley read this in the _Signal_, the town was certainlyshocked. Was the famous club, then, to disappear for ever, and thefootball ground to be sold in plots, and the grand stand for firewood?The shock was so severe that the death of Alderman Bloor (none the lessa mighty figure in Bursley) had passed as a minor event.

  Hence the advertisement of the meeting in the Town Hall caused joy andhope, and people said to themselves: "Something's bound to be done; theold club can't go out like that." And everybody grew quite sentimental.And although nothing is supposed to be capable of filling Bursley TownHall except a political meeting and an old folk's treat, Bursley TownHall was as near full as made no matter for the football question. Manymen had cheerfully sacrificed a game of billiards and a glass of beer inorder to attend it.

  The Mayor, in the chair, was a mild old gentleman who knew nothingwhatever about football and had probably never seen a football match;but it was essential that the meeting should have august patronage andso the Mayor had been trapped and tamed. On the mere fact that he paidan annual subscription to the golf club, certain parties built up thelegend that he was a true sportsman, with the true interests of sport inhis soul.

  He uttered a few phrases, such as "the manly game," "old associations,""bound up with the history of England," "splendid fellows,""indomitable pluck," "dogged by misfortune" (indeed, he produced quitean impression on the rude and grim audience), and then he called uponCouncillor Barlow to make a statement.

  Councillor Barlow, on the Mayor's right, was a different kind of manfrom the Mayor. He was fifty and iron-grey, with whiskers, but nomoustache; short, stoutish, raspish.

  He said nothing about manliness, pluck, history, or Auld Lang Syne.

  He said he had given his services as Chairman to the football club forthirteen years; that he had taken up L2000 worth of shares in theCompany; and that as at that moment the Company's liabilities wouldexactly absorb its assets, his L2000 was worth exactly nothing. "You maysay," he said, "I've lost that L2000 in thirteen years. That is, it'sthe same as if I'd been steadily paying three pun' a week out of my ownpocket to provide football matches that you chaps wouldn't take thetrouble to go and see. That's the straight of it! What have I got for mypains? Nothing but worries and these!" (He pointed to his grey hairs.)"And I'm not alone; there's others; and now I have to come and defendmyself at a public meeting. I'm supposed not to have the best interestsof football at heart. Me and my co-Directors," he proceeded, with even arougher raspishness, "have warned the town again and again what wouldhappen if the matches weren't better patronised. And now it's happened,and now it's too late, you want to _do_ something! You can't! It'stoo late. There's only one thing the matter with first-class football inBursley," he concluded, "and it isn't the players. It's the public--it'syourselves. You're the most craven lot of tom-fools that ever a bigfootball club had to do with. When we lose a match, what do you do? Doyou come and encourage us next time? No, you stop away, and leave usfifty or sixty pound out of pocket on a match, just to teach us better!Do you expect us to win every match? Why, Preston North End itself"--here he spoke solemnly, of heroes--"Preston North End itself in itsgreat days didn't win every match--it lost to Accrington. But did thePreston public desert it? No! _You_--you haven't got the pluck of alouse, nor the faithfulness of a cat. You've starved your football clubto death, and now you call a meeting to weep and grumble. And you havethe insolence to write letters to the _Signal_ about badmanagement, forsooth! If anybody in the hall thinks he can manage thisclub better than me and my co-Directors have done, I may say that wehold a majority of the shares, and we'll part with the whole show to anyclever person or persons who care to take it off our hands at a bargainprice. That's talking."

  He sat down.

  Silence fell. Even in the Five Towns a public meeting is seldom bulliedas Councillor Barlow had bullied that meeting. It was aghast. CouncillorBarlow had never been popular: he had merely been respected; butthenceforward he became even les
s popular than before.

  "I'm sure we shall all find Councillor Barlow's heat quite excusable--"the Mayor diplomatically began.

  "No heat at all," the Councillor interrupted. "Simply cold truth!"

  A number of speakers followed, and nearly all of them were against theDirectors. Some, with prodigious memories for every combination ofplayers in every match that had ever been played, sought to prove bydetailed instances that Councillor Barlow and his co-Directors hadpersistently and regularly muddled their work during thirteenindustrious years. And they defended the insulted public by assertingthat no public that respected itself would pay sixpence to watch thewretched football provided by Councillor Barlow. They shouted that theteam wanted reconstituting, wanted new blood.

  "Yes," shouted Councillor Barlow in reply; "And how are you going to getnew blood, with transfer fees as high as they are now? You can't geteven an average good player for less than L200. Where's the money tocome from? Anybody want to lend a thousand or so on second debentures?"

  He laughed sneeringly.

  No one showed a desire to invest in second debentures of the BursleyF.C. Ltd.

  Still, speakers kept harping on the necessity of new blood in the team,and then others, bolder, harped on the necessity of new blood on theboard.

  "Shares on sale!" cried the Councillor. "Any buyers? Or," he added, "doyou want something for nothing--as usual?"

  At length a gentleman rose at the back of the hall.

  "I don't pretend to be an expert on football," said he, "though I thinkit's a great game, but I should like to say a few words as to thisquestion of new blood."

  The audience craned its neck.

  "Will Mr Councillor Machin kindly step up to the platform?" the Mayorsuggested.

  And up Denry stepped.

  The thought in every mind was: "What's he going to do? What's he got uphis sleeve--this time?"

  "Three cheers for Machin!" people chanted gaily.

  "Order!" said the Mayor.

  Denry faced the audience. He was now accustomed to audiences. He said:

  "If I'm not mistaken, one of the greatest modern footballers is a nativeof this town."

  And scores of voices yelled: "Ay! Callear! Callear! Greatest centreforward in England!"

  "Yes," said Denry. "Callear is the man I mean. Callear left thedistrict, unfortunately for the district, at the age of nineteen forLiverpool. And it was not till after he left that his astoundingabilities were perceived. It isn't too much to say that he made thefortune of Liverpool City. And I believe it is the fact that he scoredmore goals in three seasons than any other player has ever done in theLeague. Then, York County, which was in a tight place last year, boughthim from Liverpool for a high price, and, as all the world knows,Callear had his leg broken in the first match he played for his newclub. That just happened to be the ruin of the York Club, which is nowquite suddenly in bankruptcy (which happily we are not), and which isdisposing of its players. Gentlemen, I say that Callear ought to comeback to his native town. He is fitter than ever he was, and his properplace is in his native town."

  Loud cheers.

  "As captain and centre forward of the club of the Mother of the FiveTowns, he would be an immense acquisition and attraction, and he wouldlead us to victory."

  Renewed cheers.

  "And how," demanded Councillor Barlow, jumping up angrily, "are we toget him back to his precious native town? Councillor Machin admits thathe is not an expert on football. It will probably be news to him thatAston Villa have offered L700 to York for the transfer of Callear, andBlackburn Rovers have offered L750, and they're fighting it out between'em. Any gentleman willing to put down L800 to buy Callear for Bursley?"he sneered. "I don't mind telling you that steam-engines and the Kinghimself couldn't get Callear into our club."

  "Quite finished?" Denry inquired, still standing.

  Laughter, overtopped by Councillor Barlow's snort as he sat down.

  Denry lifted his voice.

  "Mr Callear, will you be good enough to step forward and let us all havea look at you?"

  The effect of these apparently simple words surpassed any effectpreviously obtained by the most complex flights of oratory in that hall.A young, blushing, clumsy, long-limbed, small-bodied giant stumbledalong the central aisle and climbed the steps to the platform, whereDenry pointed him to a seat. He was recognised by all the true votariesof the game. And everybody said to everybody: "By Gosh! It's him, rightenough. It's Callear!" And a vast astonishment and expectation of goodfortune filled the hall. Applause burst forth, and though no one knewwhat the appearance of Callear signified, the applause continued andwaxed.

  "Good old Callear!" The hoarse shouts succeeded each other. "Good oldMachin!"

  "Anyhow," said Denry, when the storm was stilled, "we've got him here,without either steam-engines or His Majesty. Will the Directors of theclub accept him?"

  "And what about the transfer?" Councillor Barlow demanded.

  "Would you accept him and try another season if you could get him free?"Denry retorted.

  Councillor Barlow always knew his mind, and was never afraid to letother people share that knowledge.

  "Yes," he said.

  "Then I will see that you have the transfer free."

  "But what about York?"

  "I have settled with York provisionally," said Denry. "That is myaffair. I have returned from York to-day. Leave all that to me. Thistown has had many benefactors far more important than myself. But Ishall be able to claim this originality: I'm the first to make a presentof a live man to the town. Gentlemen--Mr Mayor--I venture to call forthree cheers for the greatest centre forward in England, ourfellow-townsman."

  The scene, as the _Signal_ said, was unique.

  And at the Sports Club and the other clubs afterwards, men said to eachother: "No one but him would have thought of bringing Callear overspecially and showing him on the platform.... That's cost him abovetwopence, that has!"

  Two days later a letter appeared in the _Signal_ (signed "FiatJustitia"), suggesting that Denry, as some reward for his public spirit,ought to be the next mayor of Bursley, in place of Alderman Bloordeceased. The letter urged that he would make an admirable mayor, thesort of mayor the old town wanted in order to wake it up. And also itpointed out that Denry would be the youngest mayor that Bursley had everhad, and probably the youngest mayor in England that year. The sentimentin the last idea appealed to the town. The town decided that it wouldpositively _like_ to have the youngest mayor it had ever had, andprobably the youngest mayor in England that year. The _Signal_printed dozens of letters on the subject. When the Council met, moreinformally than formally, to choose a chief magistrate in place of thedead alderman, several councillors urged that what Bursley wanted was ayoung and _popular_ mayor. And, in fine, Councillor Barlow wasshelved for a year. On the choice being published the entire town said:"Now we _shall_ have a mayoralty--and don't you forget it!"

  And Denry said to Nellie: "You'll be mayoress to the youngest mayor,etc., my child. And it's cost me, including hotel and travellingexpenses, eight hundred and eleven pounds six and seven-pence."

  III

  The rightness of the Council in selecting Denry as mayor was confirmedin a singular manner by the behaviour of the football and of Callear atthe opening match of the season.

  It was a philanthropic match, between Bursley and Axe, for the benefitof a county orphanage, and, according to the custom of such matches, theball was formally kicked off by a celebrity, a pillar of society. Theceremony of kicking off has no sporting significance; the celebritymerely with gentleness propels the ball out of the white circle and thenflies for his life from the _melee_; but it is supposed to add tothe moral splendour of the game. In the present instance the posterssaid: "Kick-off at 3.45 by Councillor E.H. Machin, Mayor-designate."And, indeed, no other celebrity could have been decently selected. Onthe fine afternoon of the match Denry therefore discovered himself witha new football at his toes, a silk hat on his head, and twenty-twoH
erculean players menacing him in attitudes expressive of an intentionto murder him. Bursley had lost the toss, and hence Denry had to kicktowards the Bursley goal. As the _Signal_ said, he "despatched thesphere" straight into the keeping of Callear, who as centre forward wasfacing him, and Callear was dodging down the field with it before theAxe players had finished admiring Denry's effrontery. Every reader willremember with a thrill the historic match in which the immortal JimmyBrown, on the last occasion when he captained Blackburn Rovers, dribbledthe ball himself down the length of the field, scored a goal, and wenthome with the English Cup under his arm. Callear evidently intended toimitate the feat. He was entirely wrong. Dribbling tactics had beenkilled for ever, years before, by Preston North End, who invented the"passing" game. Yet Callear went on, and good luck seemed to float overhim like a cherub. Finally he shot; a wild, high shot; but there was anadverse wind which dragged the ball down, swept it round, and blew itinto the net. The first goal had been scored in twenty seconds! (It wasalso the last in the match.) Callear's reputation was established.Useless for solemn experts to point out that he had simply been larkingfor the gallery, and that the result was a shocking fluke--Callear'sreputation was established. He became at once the idol of the populace.As Denry walked gingerly off the field to the grand stand he, too, wasloudly cheered, and he could not help feeling that, somehow, it was hewho had scored that goal. And although nobody uttered the precisethought, most people did secretly think, as they gazed at the triumphantDenry, that a man who triumphed like that, because he triumphed likethat, was the right sort of man to be mayor, the kind of man theyneeded.

  Denry became identified with the highest class of local football. Thisfact led to a curious crisis in the history of municipal manners. OnCorporation Sunday the mayor walks to church, preceded by the mace, andfollowed by the aldermen and councillors, the borough officials, theVolunteers and the Fire Brigade; after all these, in the procession,come individuals known as prominent citizens. Now the first and secondelevens of the Bursley Football Club, headed by Callear, expressed theirdesire to occupy a place in Denry's mayoral procession; they felt thatsome public acknowledgment was due to the Mayor for his services to thenational sport. Denry instantly agreed, with thanks: the notion seemedto him entirely admirable. Then some unfortunately-inspired parson wroteto the _Signal_ to protest against professional footballersfollowing the chief magistrate of the borough to church. His argumentswere that such a thing was unheard-of, and that football was the causeof a great deal of evil gambling. Some people were inclined to agreewith the protest, until Denry wrote to the _Signal_ and put a fewquestions: Was Bursley proud of its football team? Or was Bursleyashamed of its football team? Was the practice of football incompatiblewith good citizenship? Was there anything dishonourable in playingfootball? Ought professional footballers to be considered as socialpariahs? Was there any class of beings to whom the churches ought to beclosed?

  The parson foundered in a storm of opprobrium, scorn, and ironiclaughter. Though the town laughed, it only laughed to hide its disgustof the parson.

  People began to wonder whether the teams would attend in costume,carrying the football between them on a charger as a symbol. No suchmultitudes ever greeted a mayoral procession in Bursley before. Thefootballers, however, appeared in ordinary costume (many of them infrock-coats); but they wore neckties of the club colours, a device whichwas agreed to be in the nicest taste. St Luke's Church was crowded; and,what is stranger, the churchyard was also crowded. The church barelyheld the procession itself and the ladies who, by influence, had beenaccommodated with seats in advance. Thousands of persons filled thechurchyard, and to prevent them from crushing into the packed fane andbursting it at its weakest point, the apse, the doors had to be lockedand guarded. Four women swooned during the service: neither Mrs Machin,senior, nor Nellie, was among the four. It was the first time that anyone had been known to swoon at a religious service held in November.This fact alone gave a tremendous prestige to Denry's mayoralty. When,with Nellie on his arm, he emerged from the church to the thunders ofthe organ, the greeting which he received in the churchyard, though thesolemnity of the occasion forbade clapping, lacked naught in brillianceand efficacy.

  The real point and delight of that Corporation Sunday was not fullyappreciated till later. It had been expected that the collection afterthe sermon would be much larger than usual, because the congregation wasmuch larger than usual. But the church-wardens were startled to find itfour times as large as usual. They were further startled to find onlythree threepenny-bits among all the coins. This singularity led tocomment and to note-comparing. Everybody had noticed for weeks past agrowing dearth of threepenny-bits. Indeed, threepenny-bits hadpractically vanished from circulation in the Five Towns. On the Mondayit became known that the clerks of the various branches of the UniversalThrift Club, Limited, had paid into the banks enormous and unparalleledquantities of threepenny-bits, and for at least a week afterwardseverybody paid for everything in threepenny-bits. And the piquant newspassed from mouth to mouth that Denry, to the simple end of ensuring athumping collection for charities on Corporation Sunday, had used thevast organisation of the Thrift Club to bring about a famine ofthreepenny-bits. In the annals of the town that Sunday is referred to as"Threepenny-bit Sunday," because it was so happily devoid ofthreepenny-bits.

  A little group of councillors were discussing Denry.

  "What a card!" said one, laughing joyously. "He's a rare 'un, nomistake."

  "Of course, this'll make him more popular than ever," said another."We've never had a man to touch him for that."

  "And yet," demanded Councillor Barlow, "what's he done? Has he ever donea day's work in his life? What great cause is he identified with?"

  "He's identified," said the speaker, "with the great cause of cheeringus all up."

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  _Printed by Jarrold & Sons Ltd. Norwich_