A Few Quick Ones (7 page)

"You must be glad to have seen the last of him."

"I haven't seen the last of him. I brought him here to show him the spot where I played as a child. I didn't really play here as a child, because we lived at Cheltenham, but he won't know the difference. He's out there somewhere, exercising the dog."

"The dog?"

"He bought a dog earlier in the evening. He generally makes some such purchase on these occasions. I have known him to buy an ostrich. I suppose I had better be going and looking for him," said Oswald Stoker, and vanished into the darkness.

It was perhaps two minutes later that the dog to which he had alluded suddenly entered Augustus's life.

It was a large, uncouth dog, in its physique and deportment not unlike the hound of the Baskervilles, though of course not covered with phosphorus, and it seemed to be cross about something. Its air was that of a dog which has discovered plots against its person, and it appeared to be under the impression that in Augustus it had found one of the ringleaders, for the menace in its manner, as it now advanced on him, was unmistakable. A few words of explanation might have convinced the animal of my nephew's innocence, but Augustus deemed it wisest not to linger and deliver them. To climb the nearest tree was the work of an instant. It happened, oddly enough, to be the very cedar in the shade of which in happier days Hermione Brimble had sold him a tea-cosy, two Teddy bears, a penwiper, a bowl of wax fruit and a fretwork pipe-rack.

He crouched there in the upper branches while the dog, seeming puzzled, as if unused to having members of the underworld take to themselves the wings of a dove, paced to and fro like a man looking for a dropped collar-stud. Presently it abandoned the search and trotted off with a muffled oath, and some little time after that Augustus, peering down from his eyrie, saw Oswald Stoker returning, accompanied by a very stout man holding a bottle of champagne by the neck and singing the Star-Spangled Banner. They halted beneath the tree.

It would have been possible for Augustus at this juncture to have made his presence known, but something told him that the less he had to do with Oswald Stoker in his present unbalanced condition, the better. He continued crouching, therefore, in silence, and Oswald Stoker spoke.

"Well, well," he said, "my young friend Mulliner, of whom I was speaking to you just now, appears to have left us. I was telling you, if you remember, of his great love for my step-cousin Hermione and of my wish to do all that lies in my power to promote his interests. Your singing reminds me that the first step, the serenade, has yet to be taken. No doubt you are about to draw to my attention the fact that he can't serenade her, if he isn't here. Very true. But what happens in the theatre when the star is absent? You put on an understudy. I propose to step into the breach and take his place. It would be more effective, of course, had I some musical instrument such as a clavicord or sackbut on which to accompany myself, but if you would hum the bass, I think the performance should be adequate. I beg your pardon?"

Mr. Clutterbuck had muttered something about launching the ship. He shook his head, as if demurring.

"Gotta launch ship first," he said. "Customary ceremony," and raising the bottle he held he flung it adroitly through the pane of one of the upper windows.

"Good luck to all who sail in you," he said.

It was Oswald Stoker's turn to shake his head.

"Now there, my dear fellow, if you don't mind me saying so, I think you deviated from the usual programme. It is surely the bottle, not the ship that should be broken. However," he went on, as the upper slopes of Staniforth the butler thrust themselves out of the window, "it has produced results. We have assembled an audience. You were saying?" he said, addressing Staniforth.

The butler, like the dog, seemed to be cross about something.

"Who," he demanded, "is there?"

"Augustus Mulliner speaking. Or, rather," said Oswald Stoker, starting to do so, "singing."

The sight of the protruding head had had the effect of stirring Mr. Clutterbuck to give of his best. Once more Oswald Stoker was privileged to witness his impersonation of a baseball pitcher winding up, which in its essentials rather closely resembles the first stages of an epileptic fit. The next moment an egg, unerringly aimed, had found its target.

"Right in the groove," said Mr. Clutterbuck contentedly. He wandered off, conscious of a good night's work done, and Oswald Stoker had scarcely had time to fight a cigarette and enjoy a few refreshing puffs when he was joined by Mrs. Gudgeon's major-domo, carrying a shot gun.

"Ah, Staniforth," he said genially. "Out for a day with the birds?"

"Good evening, Mr. Stoker. I am looking for Mr. Mulliner," said the butler with cold menace.

"Mulliner, eh? He was here a moment ago. I remember noticing. You want him for some special reason?"

"I think he should be overpowered and placed under restraint before the ladies return."

"Why, what has he been doing?"

"He sang beneath my window."

"Rather a compliment. What was the burden of his song?"

"As far as I could understand him, he was requesting me to throw him a rose from my hair."

"You didn't?"

"No, sir."

"Quite right. Roses cost money."

"He also threw an egg at me."

"So that is why you have so much yolk on your face. I thought it might be one of those beauty treatments, like the mud-pack. Ah well, young blood, Staniforth."

"Sir?"

"At Mulliner's age one has these ebullitions of high spirits. Much must be excused in the young."

"Not singing under windows and throwing eggs at three in the morning."

"No, there perhaps he went too far. He has been a little over-excited all the evening. We dined together, and he got us bounced in rapid succession from three grillrooms and a milk bar. Would keep throwing eggs at the electric fan. Hullo!" said Oswald Stoker, as a distant splash sounded in the night. "I think a friend of mine has fallen in the pond. I will go and investigate. He may need a helping hand."

He hurried off, and Augustus was glad to see him go. But his pleasure was rendered imperfect by the fact that the butler did not follow his example. Staniforth had plainly decided to make a night of it. He remained
in statu quo,
and presently there was the sound of a vehicle stopping at the gate, and Mrs. Gudgeon and Hermione came walking down the drive.

"Staniforth!" the former cried. It was a novel experience for her to find the domestic staff prowling the grounds in the small hours, and Augustus received the impression that if she had been less carefully brought up and had known fewer bishops, she would have said "Gorblimey!".

"Good evening, madam."

"What are you doing out here at this time?"

"I am pursuing Mr. Mulliner, madam."

"Pursuing
what?"

The butler, having paused for a moment, as if asking himself if "whom" would not have been more correct, repeated his statement.

"But Mr. Mulliner is not here?"

"Yes, Madam."

"At three o'clock in the morning?"

"Yes, madam. He called shortly before two, and rang the front-door bell. I informed him that you were not at home, and supposed that he had left the premises. Such, however, was not the case. Ten minutes ago he flung a bottle of champagne through my window, and when I looked out expressed a wish that I would throw him a rose from my hair. He then hit me in the left eye with an egg."

It seemed to Augustus that he heard Hermione utter a startled cry, but it was lost in Mrs. Gudgeon's snort of amazement.

"Mr.
Mulliner
did this?"

"Yes, madam. I gather from Mr. Stoker, with whom I was conversing a short while ago, that his behaviour throughout the evening has been on similar lines. He was a member of the dinner party which Mr. Stoker attended, and Mr. Stoker tells me that he was instrumental in getting himself and friends ejected from three grillrooms and a milk bar. Mr. Stoker attributed his exuberance to youthful high spirits, and advanced the suggestion that such conduct should be excused in the young. I must confess that I am unable to take so liberal a view."

Mrs. Gudgeon was silent for some moments. She appeared to be trying to adjust her mind to these revelations. It is never easy for a woman to realize that she has been nursing in her bosom, which is practically what she had been doing to my nephew Augustus, a viper. But presently the adjusting process seemed to be complete. She spoke grimly.

"Next time Mr. Mulliner calls, Staniforth, I am not at home…What was that?"

"Madam?"

"I thought I heard a moan."

"The breeze sighing in the trees, no doubt, madam."

"Perhaps you are right. The breeze does sigh in trees, frequently. Did you hear it, Hermione?"

"I thought I heard something."

"A moan?"

"A groan, I should have said."

"A moan or groan," said Mrs. Gudgeon, conceding the point. "As if wrenched from the lips of some soul in agony." She broke off as a figure came out of the shadows. "Oswald!"

Oswald Stoker waved a genial hand.

"Hullo there. Hullo, hullo, hullo, hullo."

"What are you doing here?"

"Just winding up the evening. Oh, before I forget, my publisher fell into the pond and is now in the hothouse, drying out. So if you go there and see a nude publisher, pretend not to notice."

"Oswald, you are intoxicated!"

"It is virtually impossible not to be," said Oswald Stoker gravely, "when you have been entertained at dinner by Russell Clutterbuck of Clutterbuck and Winch, publishers of the book beautiful, and your fellow guest is Augustus Mulliner. I'm looking for him, by the way. I want to warn him that there is a herd of purple rhinoceroses down by the pond. Very dangerous things, purple rhinoceroses, especially in the mating season. Bite you in the leg as soon as look at you."

Hermione spoke. Her voice shook.

"Oswald!"

"Hullo?"

"Is this true what Staniforth has been saying about Mr. Mulliner?"

"What did he say?"

"That Mr. Mulliner sang under his window and threw eggs at him?"

"Perfectly correct. I was an eyewitness."

Mrs. Gudgeon swelled formidably.

"I shall write Mr. Mulliner a very strong letter tomorrow. In the third person. He shall never enter this house again…There! I'm sure that was a moan. I wonder if the garden is haunted."

She turned away, and Oswald Stoker regarded her anxiously.

"You aren't going to the hothouse?"

"I am going to my room. Bring me a glass of warm milk there, Staniforth."

"Very good, madam."

She moved off toward the house, followed by the butler and Oswald Stoker, turning to Hermione, was concerned to find her shaking with uncontrollable sobs.

"Hullo!" he said. "Something wrong?"

The girl gulped like a leaky radiator. "You bet your Old Etonian sock suspenders there's something wrong. I have lost the man I love."

"Where did you see him last ?"

"How was I to know," Hermione went on, her voice vibrating with pain, "that - that was the sort of ball of fire Augustus Mulliner really was? I thought him a wet smack and a total loss, and all the time he was a sportsman who throws eggs at butlers and breaks windows with champagne bottles. I never dreamed that there was this deeper side to him. When first we met, I was strangely attracted to him, but as I came to know him, he appeared to have all the earmarks of a Grade A hammerhead. I wrote him off as a bohunkus. Romantically considered, he seemed to me strictly a cigar-store Indian, all wood from the neck up. And now I see that for some reason he was hiding his light beneath a bushel, as father used to say. Oh, what shall I do? I love him, I love him, I love him!"

"Well, he loves you, which makes it all square."

"Yes, but this afternoon he asked me to be his wife, and I turned him down like a bedspread."

"Send him a civil note, saying you have changed your mind."

"Too late. A man as fascinating as that is sure to have been snapped up by some other girl by this time. Oh, what…?"

She would have spoken further, probably adding the words "shall I do?", but at this moment speech was wiped from her lips as if with a wet sponge. From the tree in whose shade she stood a passionate voice had shouted "Hoy!" and looking up she saw the face of my nephew.

"Au-us-us!" she cried. His sudden advent had caused her to bite her tongue rather severely.

"Ah, Mulliner," said Oswald Stoker. "Birds-nesting?"

"I say," bellowed Augustus, "I heard what you were saying. Did you mean it?"

"Yek, yek, a 'ousand 'imes yek!"

"You really love me?"

"Of course I love you."

"You will be my wife ?"

"You couldn't stop me with an injunction."

"Then…just getting it straightened out, if you don't mind...it will be in order if I nip down and cover your upturned face with burning kisses?"

"Perfectly in order."

"Right ho. Be with you in a moment."

As they fell into an embrace which, had it occurred in a motion picture, would have made the Johnston office purse its lips and suggest the cutting of several hundred feet of film, Oswald Stoker heaved a sentimental little sigh. A fiancé himself, he liked to see sundered hearts coming together.

"Well, well!" he said. "So you're getting married, eh? Starting out on the new life, are you, you two young things? Then take this simple toad," said Oswald Stoker, pressing the reptile into Augustus's hand. "A wedding present," he explained. "A poor gift, but one that comes straight from the heart. And, after all, it's the thought behind the gift that counts, don't you think? Good-night. God bless you. I must be getting along and finding how Russell Clutterbuck is making out. Have you ever seen an American publisher sitting in a hothouse with nothing on except horn-rimmed spectacles? It is a sight well worth seeing, but not one that I would recommend to nervous people and invalids."

He passed into the darkness, leaving Augustus looking at the toad a little dubiously. He did not really want it, but it might be ungracious to throw it away.