The Adventures of Sally

  Ginger Kemp exhibited some of the symptoms of a young bridegroom calledupon at a wedding-breakfast to respond to the toast. He moved his feetrestlessly and twisted his fingers.

  "I hate talking about myself, you know," he said.

  "So I supposed," said Sally. "That's why I gave you my autobiographyfirst, to give you no chance of backing out. Don't be such a shrinkingviolet. We're all shipwrecked mariners here. I am intensely interestedin your narrative. And, even if I wasn't, I'd much rather listen to itthan to Jules' snoring."

  "He is snoring a bit, what? Does it annoy you? Shall I stir him?"

  "You seem to have an extraordinary brutal streak in your nature," saidSally. "You appear to think of nothing else but schemes for harassingpoor Jules. Leave him alone for a second, and start telling me aboutyourself."

  "Where shall I start?"

  "Well, not with your childhood, I think. We'll skip that."

  "Well..." Ginger Kemp knitted his brow, searching for a dramaticopening. "Well, I'm more or less what you might call an orphan, likeyou. I mean to say, both my people are dead and all that sort of thing."

  "Thanks for explaining. That has made it quite clear."

  "I can't remember my mother. My father died when I was in my lastyear at Cambridge. I'd been having a most awfully good time at the'varsity,'" said Ginger, warming to his theme. "Not thick, you know, butgood. I'd got my rugger and boxing blues and I'd just been picked forscrum-half for England against the North in the first trial match, andbetween ourselves it really did look as if I was more or less of a snipfor my international."

  Sally gazed at him wide eyed.

  "Is that good or bad?" she asked.

  "Eh?"

  "Are you reciting a catalogue of your crimes, or do you expect me to getup and cheer? What is a rugger blue, to start with?"

  "Well, it's... it's a rugger blue, you know."

  "Oh, I see," said Sally. "You mean a rugger blue."

  "I mean to say, I played rugger--footer--that's to say, football--Rugbyfootball--for Cambridge, against Oxford. I was scrum-half."

  "And what is a scrum-half?" asked Sally, patiently. "Yes, I know you'regoing to say it's a scrum-half, but can't you make it easier?"

  "The scrum-half," said Ginger, "is the half who works the scrum. Heslings the pill out to the fly-half, who starts the three-quartersgoing. I don't know if you understand?"

  "I don't."

  "It's dashed hard to explain," said Ginger Kemp, unhappily. "I mean,I don't think I've ever met anyone before who didn't know what ascrum-half was."

  "Well, I can see that it has something to do with football, so we'llleave it at that. I suppose it's something like our quarter-back. Andwhat's an international?"

  "It's called getting your international when you play for England, youknow. England plays Wales, France, Ireland, and Scotland. If it hadn'tbeen for the smash, I think I should have played for England againstWales."

  "I see at last. What you're trying to tell me is that you were very goodat football."

  Ginger Kemp blushed warmly.

  "Oh, I don't say that. England was pretty short of scrum-halves thatyear."

  "What a horrible thing to happen to a country! Still, you were likelyto be picked on the All-England team when the smash came? What was thesmash?"

  "Well, it turned out that the poor old pater hadn't left a penny. Inever understood the process exactly, but I'd always supposed that wewere pretty well off; and then it turned out that I hadn't anything atall. I'm bound to say it was a bit of a jar. I had to come down fromCambridge and go to work in my uncle's office. Of course, I made anabsolute hash of it."

  "Why, of course?"

  "Well, I'm not a very clever sort of chap, you see. I somehow didn'tseem able to grasp the workings. After about a year, my uncle, gettinga bit fed-up, hoofed me out and got me a mastership at a school, and Imade a hash of that. He got me one or two other jobs, and I made a hashof those."

  "You certainly do seem to be one of our most prominent young hashers!"gasped Sally.

  "I am," said Ginger, modestly.

  There was a silence.

  "And what about Scrymgeour?" Sally asked.

  "That was the last of the jobs," said Ginger. "Scrymgeour is a pompousold ass who thinks he's going to be Prime Minister some day. He's a bigbug at the Bar and has just got into Parliament. My cousin used to devilfor him. That's how I got mixed up with the blighter."

  "Your cousin used...? I wish you would talk English."

  "That was my cousin who was with me on the beach this morning."

  "And what did you say he used to do for Mr. Scrymgeour?"

  "Oh, it's called devilling. My cousin's at the Bar, too--one of ourrising nibs, as a matter of fact..."

  "I thought he was a lawyer of some kind."

  "He's got a long way beyond it now, but when he started he used to devilfor Scrymgeour--assist him, don't you know. His name's Carmyle, youknow. Perhaps you've heard of him? He's rather a prominent johnny in hisway. Bruce Carmyle, you know."

  "I haven't."

  "Well, he got me this job of secretary to Scrymgeour."

  "And why did Mr. Scrymgeour fire you?"

  Ginger Kemp's face darkened. He frowned. Sally, watching him, felt thatshe had been right when she had guessed that he had a temper. She likedhim none the worse for it. Mild men did not appeal to her.

  "I don't know if you're fond of dogs?" said Ginger.

  "I used to be before this morning," said Sally. "And I suppose I shallbe again in time. For the moment I've had what you might call rather asurfeit of dogs. But aren't you straying from the point? I asked you whyMr. Scrymgeour dismissed you."

  "I'm telling you."

  "I'm glad of that. I didn't know."

  "The old brute," said Ginger, frowning again, "has a dog. A very jollylittle spaniel. Great pal of mine. And Scrymgeour is the sort of foolwho oughtn't to be allowed to own a dog. He's one of those asses whoisn't fit to own a dog. As a matter of fact, of all the blighted,pompous, bullying, shrivelled-souled old devils..."

  "One moment," said Sally. "I'm getting an impression that you don't likeMr. Scrymgeour. Am I right?"

  "Yes!"

  "I thought so. Womanly intuition! Go on."

  "He used to insist on the poor animal doing tricks. I hate seeing adog do tricks. Dogs loathe it, you know. They're frightfully sensitive.Well, Scrymgeour used to make this spaniel of his do tricks--fool-thingsthat no self-respecting dogs would do: and eventually poor old Billy gotfed up and jibbed. He was too polite to bite, but he sort of shook hishead and crawled under a chair. You'd have thought anyone would havelet it go at that, but would old Scrymgeour? Not a bit of it! Of all thepoisonous..."

  "Yes, I know. Go on."

  "Well, the thing ended in the blighter hauling him out from under thechair and getting more and more shirty, until finally he laid into himwith a stick. That is to say," said Ginger, coldly accurate, "he startedlaying into him with a stick." He brooded for a moment with knit brows."A spaniel, mind you! Can you imagine anyone beating a spaniel? It'slike hitting a little girl. Well, he's a fairly oldish man, you know,and that hampered me a bit: but I got hold of the stick and broke itinto about eleven pieces, and by great good luck it was a stick hehappened to value rather highly. It had a gold knob and had beenpresented to him by his constituents or something. I minced it upa goodish bit, and then I told him a fair amount about himself. Andthen--well, after that he shot me out, and I came here."

  Sally did not speak for a moment.

  "You were quite right," she said at last, in a sober voice that hadnothing in it of her customary flippancy. She paused again. "And whatare you going to do now?" she said.

  "I don't know."

  "You'll get something?"

  "Oh, yes, I shall get something, I suppose. The family will be prettysick, of course."

  "For goodness' sake! Why do you bother about the family?" Sally burstout. She could not reconcile this young man's flabby dependence on hisfamily
with the enterprise and vigour which he had shown in his dealingswith the unspeakable Scrymgeour. Of course, he had been brought up tolook on himself as a rich man's son and appeared to have drifted as suchyoung men are wont to do; but even so... "The whole trouble with you,"she said, embarking on a subject on which she held strong views, "isthat..."

  Her harangue was interrupted by what--at the Normandie, at one o'clockin the morning--practically amounted to a miracle. The front door ofthe hotel opened, and there entered a young man in evening dress.Such persons were sufficiently rare at the Normandie, which cateredprincipally for the staid and middle-aged, and this youth's presence wasdue, if one must pause to explain it, to the fact that, in the middleof his stay at Roville, a disastrous evening at the Casino had sodiminished his funds that he had been obliged to make a hurried shiftfrom the Hotel Splendide to the humbler Normandie. His late appearanceto-night was caused by the fact that he had been attending a danceat the Splendide, principally in the hope of finding there somekind-hearted friend of his prosperity from whom he might borrow.

  A rapid-fire dialogue having taken place between Jules and the newcomer,the keys were handed through the cage, the door opened and the lift wasset once more in motion. And a few minutes later, Sally, suddenly awareof an overpowering sleepiness, had switched off her light and jumpedinto bed. Her last waking thought was a regret that she had not beenable to speak at length to Mr. Ginger Kemp on the subject of enterprise,and resolve that the address should be delivered at the earliestopportunity.

  CHAPTER III. THE DIGNIFIED MR. CARMYLE

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