CHAPTER 20.
Trouble sharpens the vision. In our moments of distress we can seeclearly that what is wrong with this world of ours is the fact thatMisery loves company and seldom gets it. Toothache is an unpleasantailment; but, if toothache were a natural condition of life, if allmankind were afflicted with toothache at birth, we should notnotice it. It is the freedom from aching teeth of all those withwhom we come in contact that emphasizes the agony. And, as withtoothache, so with trouble. Until our private affairs go wrong, wenever realize how bubbling over with happiness the bulk of mankindseems to be. Our aching heart is apparently nothing but a desertisland in an ocean of joy.
George, waking next morning with a heavy heart, made this discoverybefore the day was an hour old. The sun was shining, and birds sangmerrily, but this did not disturb him. Nature is ever callous tohuman woes, laughing while we weep; and we grow to take hercallousness for granted. What jarred upon George was the infernalcheerfulness of his fellow men. They seemed to be doing it onpurpose--triumphing over him--glorying in the fact that, howeverFate might have shattered him, they were all right.
People were happy who had never been happy before. Mrs. Platt, forinstance. A grey, depressed woman of middle age, she had seemedhitherto to have few pleasures beyond breaking dishes and relatingthe symptoms of sick neighbours who were not expected to livethrough the week. She now sang. George could hear her as sheprepared his breakfast in the kitchen. At first he had had a hopethat she was moaning with pain; but this was dispelled when he hadfinished his toilet and proceeded downstairs. The sounds sheemitted suggested anguish, but the words, when he was able todistinguish them, told another story. Incredible as it might seem,on this particular morning Mrs. Platt had elected to belight-hearted. What she was singing sounded like a dirge, butactually it was "Stop your tickling, Jock!" And, later, when shebrought George his coffee and eggs, she spent a full ten minutesprattling as he tried to read his paper, pointing out to him anumber of merry murders and sprightly suicides which otherwise hemight have missed. The woman went out of her way to show him thatfor her, if not for less fortunate people, God this morning was inHis heaven and all was right in the world.
Two tramps of supernatural exuberance called at the cottage shortlyafter breakfast to ask George, whom they had never even consultedabout their marriages, to help support their wives and children.Nothing could have been more care-free and _debonnaire_ than thedemeanour of these men.
And then Reggie Byng arrived in his grey racing car, more cheerfulthan any of them.
Fate could not have mocked George more subtly. A sorrow's crown ofsorrow is remembering happier things, and the sight of Reggie inthat room reminded him that on the last occasion when they hadtalked together across this same table it was he who had been in aFool's Paradise and Reggie who had borne a weight of care. Reggiethis morning was brighter than the shining sun and gayer than thecarolling birds.
"Hullo-ullo-ullo-ullo-ullo-ullo-ul-lo! Topping morning, isn't it!"observed Reggie. "The sunshine! The birds! The absolutewhat-do-you-call-it of everything and so forth, and all that sortof thing, if you know what I mean! I feel like a two-year-old!"
George, who felt older than this by some ninety-eight years,groaned in spirit. This was more than man was meant to bear.
"I say," continued Reggie, absently reaching out for a slice ofbread and smearing it with marmalade, "this business of marriage,now, and all that species of rot! What I mean to say is, what aboutit? Not a bad scheme, taking it by and large? Or don't you thinkso?"
George writhed. The knife twisted in the wound. Surely it was badenough to see a happy man eating bread and marmalade without havingto listen to him talking about marriage.
"Well, anyhow, be that as it may," said Reggie, biting jovially andspeaking in a thick but joyous voice. "I'm getting married today,and chance it. This morning, this very morning, I leap off thedock!"
George was startled out of his despondency.
"What!"
"Absolutely, laddie!"
George remembered the conventions.
"I congratulate you."
"Thanks, old man. And not without reason. I'm the luckiest fellowalive. I hardly knew I was alive till now."
"Isn't this rather sudden?"
Reggie looked a trifle furtive. His manner became that of aconspirator.
"I should jolly well say it is sudden! It's got to be sudden.Dashed sudden and deuced secret! If the mater were to hear of it,there's no doubt whatever she would form a flying wedge and bust upthe proceedings with no uncertain voice. You see, laddie, it's MissFaraday I'm marrying, and the mater--dear old soul--has other ideasfor Reginald. Life's a rummy thing, isn't it! What I mean to sayis, it's rummy, don't you know, and all that."
"Very," agreed George.
"Who'd have thought, a week ago, that I'd be sitting in this jollyold chair asking you to be my best man? Why, a week ago I didn'tknow you, and, if anybody had told me Alice Faraday was going tomarry me, I'd have given one of those hollow, mirthless laughs."
"Do you want me to be your best man?"
"Absolutely, if you don't mind. You see," said Reggieconfidentially, "it's like this. I've got lots of pals, of course,buzzing about all over London and its outskirts, who'd be gladenough to rally round and join the execution-squad; but you knowhow it is. Their maters are all pals of my mater, and I don't wantto get them into trouble for aiding and abetting my little show, ifyou understand what I mean. Now, you're different. You don't knowthe mater, so it doesn't matter to you if she rolls around and putsthe Curse of the Byngs on you, and all that sort of thing. Besides,I don't know." Reggie mused. "Of course, this is the happiest dayof my life," he proceeded, "and I'm not saying it isn't, but youknow how it is--there's absolutely no doubt that a chappie does notshow at his best when he's being married. What I mean to say is,he's more or less bound to look a fearful ass. And I'm perfectlycertain it would put me right off my stroke if I felt that somechump like Jack Ferris or Ronnie Fitzgerald was trying not togiggle in the background. So, if you will be a sportsman and comeand hold my hand till the thing's over, I shall be eternallygrateful."
"Where are you going to be married?"
"In London. Alice sneaked off there last night. It was easy, as ithappened, because by a bit of luck old Marshmoreton had gone totown yesterday morning--nobody knows why: he doesn't go up toLondon more than a couple of times a year. She's going to meet meat the Savoy, and then the scheme was to toddle round to thenearest registrar and request the lad to unleash the marriageservice. I'm whizzing up in the car, and I'm hoping to be able topersuade you to come with me. Say the word, laddie!"
George reflected. He liked Reggie, and there was no particularreason in the world why he should not give him aid and comfort inthis crisis. True, in his present frame of mind, it would betorture to witness a wedding ceremony; but he ought not to let thatstand in the way of helping a friend.
"All right," he said.
"Stout fellow! I don't know how to thank you. It isn't putting youout or upsetting your plans, I hope, or anything on those lines?"
"Not at all. I had to go up to London today, anyway."
"Well, you can't get there quicker than in my car. She's a hummer.By the way, I forgot to ask. How is your little affair comingalong? Everything going all right?"
"In a way," said George. He was not equal to confiding his troublesto Reggie.
"Of course, your trouble isn't like mine was. What I mean is, Maudloves you, and all that, and all you've got to think out is ascheme for laying the jolly old family a stymie. It's apity--almost--that yours isn't a case of having to win the girl,like me; because by Jove, laddie," said Reggie with solemnemphasis, "I could help you there. I've got the thing down fine.I've got the infallible dope."
George smiled bleakly.
"You have? You're a useful fellow to have around. I wish you wouldtell me what it is."
"But you don't need it."
"No, of course not. I was forgetting."
R
eggie looked at his watch.
"We ought to be shifting in a quarter of an hour or so. I don'twant to be late. It appears that there's a catch of some sort inthis business of getting married. As far as I can make out, if youroll in after a certain hour, the Johnnie in charge of theproceedings gives you the miss-in-baulk, and you have to turn upagain next day. However, we shall be all right unless we have abreakdown, and there's not much chance of that. I've been tuning upthe old car since seven this morning, and she's sound in wind andlimb, absolutely. Oil--petrol--water--air--nuts--bolts--sprockets--carburetor--all present and correct. I've been looking after themlike a lot of baby sisters. Well, as I was saying, I've got thedope. A week ago I was just one of the mugs--didn't know a thingabout it--but now! Gaze on me, laddie! You see before you oldColonel Romeo, the Man who Knows! It all started on the night ofthe ball. There was the dickens of a big ball, you know, tocelebrate old Boots' coming-of-age--to which, poor devil, hecontributed nothing but the sunshine of his smile, never havinglearned to dance. On that occasion a most rummy and extraordinarything happened. I got pickled to the eyebrows!" He laughed happily."I don't mean that that was a unique occurrence and so forth,because, when I was a bachelor, it was rather a habit of mine toget a trifle submerged every now and again on occasions of decentmirth and festivity. But the rummy thing that night was that Ishowed it. Up till then, I've been told by experts, I was achappie in whom it was absolutely impossible to detect thesymptoms. You might get a bit suspicious if you found I couldn'tmove, but you could never be certain. On the night of the ball,however, I suppose I had been filling the radiator a trifle tooenthusiastically. You see, I had deliberately tried to shovemyself more or less below the surface in order to get enough nerveto propose to Alice. I don't know what your experience has been,but mine is that proposing's a thing that simply isn't within thescope of a man who isn't moderately woozled. I've often wonderedhow marriages ever occur in the dry States of America. Well, as Iwas saying, on the night of the ball a most rummy thing happened.I thought one of the waiters was you!"
He paused impressively to allow this startling statement to sinkin.
"And was he?" said George.
"Absolutely not! That was the rummy part of it. He looked as likeyou as your twin brother."
"I haven't a twin brother."
"No, I know what you mean, but what I mean to say is he looked justlike your twin brother would have looked if you had had a twinbrother. Well, I had a word or two with this chappie, and after abrief conversation it was borne in upon me that I was up to thegills. Alice was with me at the time, and noticed it too. Now you'dhave thought that that would have put a girl off a fellow, and allthat. But no. Nobody could have been more sympathetic. And she hasconfided to me since that it was seeing me in my oiled conditionthat really turned the scale. What I mean is, she made up her mindto save me from myself. You know how some girls are. Angelsabsolutely! Always on the look out to pluck brands from theburning, and what not. You may take it from me that the good seedwas definitely sown that night."
"Is that your recipe, then? You would advise the would-bebridegroom to buy a case of champagne and a wedding licence and getto work? After that it would be all over except sending out theinvitations?"
Reggie shook his head.
"Not at all. You need a lot more than that. That's only the start.You've got to follow up the good work, you see. That's where anumber of chappies would slip up, and I'm pretty certain I shouldhave slipped up myself, but for another singularly rummyoccurrence. Have you ever had a what-do-you-call it? What's theword I want? One of those things fellows get sometimes."
"Headaches?" hazarded George.
"No, no. Nothing like that. I don't mean anything you get--I meansomething you get, if you know what I mean."
"Measles?"
"Anonymous letter. That's what I was trying to say. It's a mostextraordinary thing, and I can't understand even now where thedeuce they came from, but just about then I started to get a wholebunch of anonymous letters from some chappie unknown who didn'tsign his name."
"What you mean is that the letters were anonymous," said George.
"Absolutely. I used to get two or three a day sometimes. WheneverI went up to my room, I'd find another waiting for me on thedressing-table."
"Offensive?"
"Eh?"
"Were the letters offensive? Anonymous letters usually are."
"These weren't. Not at all, and quite the reverse. Theycontained a series of perfectly topping tips on how a fellow shouldproceed who wants to get hold of a girl."
"It sounds as though somebody had been teaching you ju-jitsu bypost."
"They were great! Real red-hot stuff straight from the stable.Priceless tips like 'Make yourself indispensable to her in littleways', 'Study her tastes', and so on and so forth. I tell you,laddie, I pretty soon stopped worrying about who was sending themto me, and concentrated the old bean on acting on them. Theyworked like magic. The last one came yesterday morning, and it wasa topper! It was all about how a chappie who was nervous shouldproceed. Technical stuff, you know, about holding her hand andtelling her you're lonely and being sincere and straightforward andletting your heart dictate the rest. Have you ever asked for onecard when you wanted to fill a royal flush and happened to pick outthe necessary ace? I did once, when I was up at Oxford, and, byJove, this letter gave me just the same thrill. I didn't hesitate.I just sailed in. I was cold sober, but I didn't worry about that.Something told me I couldn't lose. It was like having to hole out athree-inch putt. And--well, there you are, don't you know." Reggiebecame thoughtful. "Dash it all! I'd like to know who the fellowwas who sent me those letters. I'd like to send him awedding-present or a bit of the cake or something. Though I supposethere won't be any cake, seeing the thing's taking place at aregistrar's."
"You could buy a bun," suggested George.
"Well, I shall never know, I suppose. And now how about tricklingforth? I say, laddie, you don't object if I sing slightly from timeto time during the journey? I'm so dashed happy, you know."
"Not at all, if it's not against the traffic regulations."
Reggie wandered aimlessly about the room in an ecstasy.
"It's a rummy thing," he said meditatively, "I've just rememberedthat, when I was at school, I used to sing a thing called thewhat's-it's-name's wedding song. At house-suppers, don't you know,and what not. Jolly little thing. I daresay you know it. It starts'Ding dong! Ding dong!' or words to that effect, 'Hurry along! Forit is my wedding-morning!' I remember you had to stretch out the'mor' a bit. Deuced awkward, if you hadn't laid in enough breath.'The Yeoman's Wedding-Song.' That was it. I knew it was somechappie or other's. And it went on 'And the bride in something orother is doing something I can't recollect.' Well, what I mean is,now it's my wedding-morning! Rummy, when you come to think of it,what? Well, as it's getting tolerable late, what about it? Shiftho?"
"I'm ready. Would you like me to bring some rice?"
"Thank you, laddie, no. Dashed dangerous stuff, rice! Worse thanshrapnel. Got your hat? All set?"
"I'm waiting."
"Then let the revels commence," said Reggie. "Ding dong! DingDong! Hurry along! For it is my wedding-morning! And the bride--Dash it, I wish I could remember what the bride was doing!"
"Probably writing you a note to say that she's changed her mind,and it's all off."
"Oh, my God!" exclaimed Reggie. "Come on!"