Purkiss hastened to explain.
"I am sorry," he said. "I should not have let my feelings get the better of me. It is just that, situated as I am, the mere sight of the younger generation chills me to the marrow. Mr. Little," said Purkiss, avoiding Algernon Aubrey's eye, for the child was giving him the sort of cold, hard look which Jack Dempsey used to give his opponents in the ring, "there is to be a Bonny Babies contest here tomorrow, and I have got to act as judge."
Bingo's hauteur vanished. He could understand the other's emotion, for he knew what an assignment like that involved. Freddie Widgeon of the Drones had once got let in for judging a similar competition in the south of France, and his story of what he had gone through on that occasion had held the club smoking-room spellbound.
"Golly!" he said. "How did that happen?"
"Mrs. Purkiss arranged it. She felt that the appearance of its proprietor in the public eye would stimulate the circulation of Wee Tots, bringing in new subscribers. Subscribers!" said Purkiss, waving a passionate hand. "I don't want subscribers. All I want is to be allowed to enjoy a quiet and peaceful holiday completely free from bonny babies of every description. To be relieved of this hideous burden that has been laid upon me I would give untold gold."
It was as though an electric shock had passed through Bingo. He leaped perhaps six inches.
"You would?" he said. "Untold gold?"
"Untold gold."
"When you sav untold gold, would you go as high as a fiver?"
"Certainly, and consider the money well spent."
"Then hand it over," said Bingo, "and in return I will take your place on the judge's rostrum. It will stimulate the circulation of Wee Tots just as much as if its editor appears in the public eye."
For an instant ecstasy caused Purkiss to quiver from stem to stern. The word "Whoopee!" seemed to be trembling on his lips. Then the light died out of his face.
"But what of Mrs. Purkiss? She has issued her orders. How can I disobey them?"
"My dear Purkiss, use the loaf. All you have to do is sprain your ankle or dislocate your spine or something. Fall out of a window. Get run over by a lorry. Any lorry driver will be glad to run over you, if you slip him a couple of bob. Then you will be set. Obviously the old geezer…I should say Mrs. Purkiss…can't expect you to go bounding about judging bonny babies if you are lying crippled on a chesterfield of pain. You were saying something about a fiver, Purkiss. I should be glad to see the colour of your money."
As in a dream, Purkiss produced a five-pound note. As in a dream, he handed it over. As in a dream, Bingo took it.
"Mr. Little…" Purkiss began. Then words failed him, and with a defiant look at Algernon Aubrey such as an Indian coolie, safe up a tree, might have given the baffled crocodile at the foot of it, he strode away humming a gay air, his hat on the side of his head. And Bingo was gazing lovingly at the bank note and on the point of giving it a hearty kiss, when a nippy little breeze, springing up from the sea, blew it out of his hand and it went fluttering away in the direction of the esplanade as if equipped with wings.
It was a situation well calculated to nonplus the keenest-witted. It nonplussed Bingo completely. His primary impulse, of course, was to follow his lost treasure as it flew, it taking the high road and himself the low road, but even as he braced his muscles for the quick crosscountry run there flashed into his mind those parting words of Mrs. Bingo's about not letting Algernon Aubrey out of his sight. He knew what had been the thought behind them. Let out of sight, the child might well wander into the sea and go down for the third time or get on the wrong side of the law by hitting some holiday-maker on the head with his spade. None knew better than he how prone the little fellow was to cleave the casques of men, as the poet said, if you put a spade in his hands. There was a certain type of Homburg hat which had always proved irresistible to him.
It was borne in upon Bingo that he was on what is generally called the horns of a dilemma. He stood there, like Hamlet, moody and irresolute, and while he hesitated the issue was taken out of his hands. The five-pound note fluttered down into a car which was on the point of starting, and its driver, gathering it up with a look on his face that suggested a sudden conviction that the age of miracles was still with us, drove off.
It was some ten minutes later that Bingo, who had spent most of those ten minutes with his head buried in his hands, tottered on to the esplanade with Algernon Aubrey in his arms and was passing the door of the Hotel Magnifique, when Oofy Prosser came out.
The poet Wordsworth has told us that his heart was accustomed to leap up when he beheld a rainbow in the sky, and this was how Bingo's heart behaved when he beheld Oofy Prosser. It was not that Oofy was a thing of beauty… his pimples alone would have kept him out of the rainbow class…but he had that quality which so many disgustingly rich men have of looking disgustingly rich. And in addition to being disgustingly rich, he was Algernon Aubrey's godfather. It was with hope dawning in his soul that Bingo bounded forward.
"Oofy, old man!"
Observing what it was that Bingo was carrying, Oofy backed hastily.
"Hey!" he exclaimed. "Don't point that thing at me!"
"It's only my baby."
"I dare say. But point it the other way."
"I think he wants to kiss you."
"Stand back!" cried Oofy, brandishing his panama hat. "I am armed!"
It seemed to Bingo that the conversation was straying from the right fines. He hastened to change the subject.
"I wonder if you have noticed, Oofy, that I am pale and haggard?" he said.
"You look all right to me. At least," said Oofy, qualifying this statement, "as right as you ever do."
"Ah, then, it doesn't show. I'm surprised. I should have thought it would have done. For I am in desperate straits, Oofy. If I don't get hold of someone who will lend me a fiver…"
"Very hard to find, that type of man. Why do you want a fiver?"
Bingo was only too ready to explain. He knew Oofy Prosser to be a man allergic to sharing the wealth, but his, he felt, was a story calculated to break down the toughest sales resistance. In accents broken with emotion he told it from its earliest beginnings to this final ghastly tragedy that had befallen him. When he had finished, Oofy remained for some moments plunged in thought. Then his eyes, generally rather dull, lit up, as if the thought into which he had been plunged had produced an inspiration.
"You say you're judging this Bonny Babies thing?"
"Yes, but that doesn't get me anywhere. I can't ask Purkiss for another fiver."
"You don't have to. As I see it, the matter is quite simple. Your primary object is to divert your wife's mind from gold cuff finks and pawn shops - to give her, in other words, something else to think about. Very well. Enter that little gargoyle of yours and award him the first prize, and she will be so delighted that gold cuff links will fade out of her mind. I guarantee this. I am not a mother myself, but I understand a mother's heart from soup to nuts. In her pride at the young plugugly's triumph everything else will be forgotten."
Bingo stared. It seemed to him that the other's brain, that brain whose subtle scheming had so often chiselled fellow members of the Drones out of half-crowns and even larger sums, must have blown a fuse.
"But, Oofy, old man, reflect. If I judge a Bonny Babies contest and raise the hand of my personal baby with the words 'The winnah!', I shall be roughly handled, if not. lynched. These mothers are tough stuff. You were there when Freddie Widgeon was telling us about what happened to him at Cannes."
Oofy clicked his tongue impatiently.
"Naturally I had not overlooked an obvious point like that. The child will not be entered as whatever-its-ghastly-name-is Little, but as whatever-its-ghastly-name-is Prosser. Putting it in words of one syllable, I will bring the young thug to the trysting place, affecting to be its uncle. You will then, after careful consideration, award it the first prize. And if you're worrying about whether such a scheme is strictly honest, forget it. The
prize will only be an all-day sucker or a woolly muffler or something. It isn't as if money were involved."
"Something in that."
"There is everything in that. If money entered into it, I would never dream of suggesting such a ruse," said Oofy virtuously. "But who cares who wins a woolly muffler? Well, there it is. Take it or leave it. I'm simply trying to do the friendly thing and keep your home from being in the melting pot. I take it I am right in assuming that if this business of the cufflinks comes out, your home will be in the melting pot?"
"Yes, right in the melting pot"'
"Then I would certainly advise you to adopt my plan. You will? Fine. Excuse me a moment," said Oofy. "I have to make a telephone call."
He went into the hotel, rang up his bookmaker in London, and the following conversation ensued.
"Mr. McAlpin?"
"Speaking."
"This is Mr. Prosser."
"Oh, yes?"
"Listen, Mr. McAlpin, I'm down at Bramley-on-Sea, and they are having a Bonny Babies contest tomorrow. I'm entering my little nephew."
"Oh, yes?"
"And I thought it would add to the interest of the proceedings if I had a small bet on. Do your activities as a turf accountant extend to accepting wagers on seaside Bonny Baby competitions?"
"Certainly. We cover all sporting events."
"What odds will you give against the Prosser colt?"
"Your nephew, you say?"
"That's right."
"Does he look like you?"
"There is quite a resemblance."
"Then you can have fifty to one."
"Right. In tenners."
Oofy returned to Bingo.
"The only thing I’m afraid of," he said, "is that when it comes to the acid test, you may lose your nerve."
"Oh, I won't."
"You might, if there were no added inducement. So I'll tell you what I'll do. The moment you have given your decision, I will slip you five pounds and you will be able to take the cuff links out of pawn, thus avoiding all unpleasantness in the unlikely event of your wife continuing to bear them in mind despite her child's triumph. May as well be on the safe side."
Bingo could not speak. His heart was too full for words. The only thing that kept his happiness from being perfect was a sudden fear lest, before the event could take place, Oofy might be snatched up to heaven in a fiery chariot.
Nevertheless, as he made his way to the arena on the following afternoon, he was conscious of distinct qualms and flutterings. And his apprehensions were not relieved by the sight of the assembled competitors.
True, the great majority of the entrants had that indefinable something in their appearance that suggested that if the police were not spreading dragnets for them., they were being very negligent in their duties, but fully a dozen were so comparatively human that he could see that it was going to cause comment when he passed them over in favour of Algernon Aubrey. Questions would be asked, investigations made. Quite possibly he would be had up before the Jockey Club and warned off the turf.
However, with the vast issues at stake there was nothing to do but stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood and have a go at it, so proceeding to the platform he bowed to the applause of what looked to him like about three hundred and forty-seven mothers, all ferocious, raised a hand to check - if possible - the howling of their offspring, and embarked on the speech which he had been at pains to prepare in the watches of the night.
He spoke of England's future, which, he pointed out, must rest on these babies and others like them, adding that he scarcely need remind them that the England to which he alluded had been described by the poet Shakespeare as this royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle, this earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, this other Eden, demi-Paradise, this fortress built by nature for herself against infection and the hand of war. Than which, he thought they would all agree with him, nothing could be fairer.
He spoke of Wee Tots, putting in a powerful build-up for the dear old sheet and urging one and all to take advantage of the easy subscription terms now in operation.
He spoke - and here his manner took on a new earnestness - of the good, clean spirit of fair play which has made England what it is - the spirit which, he was confident, would lead all the mothers present to accept the judge's decision, even should it go against their own nominees, with that quiet British sportsmanship which other nations envy so much. He had a friend, he said, who, acting as judge of a Baby Contest in the south of France, had been chased for a quarter of a mile along the waterfront by indignant mothers of Hon. Mentions armed with knives and hat pins. That sort of thing could never happen at Bramley-on-Sea. No, no. English mothers were not like that. And while on this subject, he said, striking a lighter note, he was reminded of a little story of two Irishmen who were walking up Broadway, which may be new to some of you present here this afternoon.
The story went well. A studio television audience could hardly have laughed more heartily. But though he acknowledged the guffaws with a bright smile, inwardly his soul had begun to shrink like a salted snail. Time was passing, and there were no signs of Oofy and his precious burden. Long 'ere this he should have rolled up with the makings.
He resumed his speech. He told another story about two Scotsmen who were walking down Sauchiehall Street in Glasgow. But now his comedy had lost its magic and failed to grip. A peevish voice said "Get on with it", and the sentiment plainly pleased the gathering. As he began a third story about two Cockneys who were standing on a street corner in Whitechapel, possibly a hundred peevish voices said "Get on with it", and shortly after that perhaps a hundred and fifty.
And still no Oofy.
Five minutes later, the popular clamour for a showdown having taken on a resemblance to the howling of timber wolves in a Canadian forest, he was compelled to act. With ashen face he awarded the handsome knitted woolly jacket to a child selected at random from the sea of faces beneath him and sank into a chair, a broken man.
And as he sat there, trying not to let his mind dwell on the shape of things to come, a finger tapped him on the shoulder and he looked up and saw standing beside him a policeman.
"Mr. Little?" said the policeman.
Bingo, still dazed, said Yes, he thought so.
"I shall have to ask you to come along with me," said the policeman.
Other policemen on other occasions, notably on the night of the annual aquatic encounter on the River Thames between the rival crews of the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge, had made the same observation to Bingo, and on such occasions he had always found it best to go quietly. He rose and accompanied the officer to the door, and with a curiosity perhaps natural in the circumstances asked why he was being pinched.
"Not pinched, sir," said the policeman, as they walked off. "You're wanted at the station to identify an accused….if you can identify him. His statement is that he's a friend of yours and was acting with your cognisance and approval."
"I don't follow you, officer," said Bingo, who did not follow the officer. "Acting how?"
"Taking your baby for an airing, sir. He claims that you instructed him to do so. It transpired this way. Accused was observed by a Mrs. Purkiss with your baby on his person slinking along the public thoroughfare. He was a man of furtive aspect in a panama hat with a scarlet ribbon, and Mrs. Purkiss, recognizing the baby, said to herself 'Cor lumme, stone the crows!'."
"She said…what was that line of Mrs. Purkiss's again?"
"Cor lumme, stone the crows!' sir. The lady's suspicions having been aroused, she summoned a constable and gave accused in charge as a kidnapper, and after a certain amount of fuss and unpleasantness he was conducted to the station and deposited in a cell. Prosser he said his name was. Is the name Prosser familiar to you, sir?"
The Officer's statement that there had been a certain amount of fuss and unpleasantness involved in the process of getting the accused Prosser to the police station was borne out by the latter's appearance when he was led into Bing
o's presence. He had a black eye and his collar had been torn from the parent stud. The other eye, the one that was still open, gleamed with fury and what was patently a loathing tor the human species.
The sergeant who was seated at the desk invited Bingo to inspect the exhibit.
"This man says he knows you."
"That's right."
"Friend of yours?"
"Bosom."
"And you gave him your baby?"
"Well, you could put it that way. More on loan, of course."
"Ho!" said the sergeant, speaking like a tiger of the jungle deprived of its prey, if tigers of the jungle in those circumstances do say Ho! "You're quite sure?"
"Oh, rather."
"So sucks to you, sergeant!" said Oofy. "And now," he went on haughtily, "I presume that I am at liberty to go."
"You do, do you? Then you pre-blinking-well-sume wrong," said the sergeant, brightening at the thought that he was at least going to save something from the wreck of his hopes and dreams. "Not by any manner of means you aren't at liberty to go. There's this matter of obstructing the police in the execution of their duty. You punched Constable Wilks in the abdomen."
"And I'd do it again."
"Not for a fortnight or fourteen days you won't," said the sergeant, now quite his cheerful self once more. "The Bench is going to take a serious view of that, a very serious view. All right, constable, remove the prisoner."
"Just a second," said Bingo, though something seemed to tell him that this was not quite the moment. "Could I have that fiver, Oofy?"
His suspicions were proved correct. It was not the moment. Oofy did not reply. He gave Bingo a long, lingering look from the eye which was still functioning, and the arm of the law led him out. And Bingo had started to totter off, when the sergeant reminded him that there was something he was forgetting.