Laughing Gas

  Yes, unquestionably I had got to get the stuff.

  But, equally unquestionably, there didn't appear to be a single damned source from which I could do so.

  There was Eggy, of course. He, no doubt, if informed of the position of affairs, and made to understand that only a temporary loan from him stood between a fondly loved cousin and the back of Miss Brinkmeyer's hairbrush, would let me have a bit. But how was I to establish contact with him? I hadn't a notion where he was living. And my movements were so restricted that I was not in a position to go wandering from party to party till I hit on one where he was gate-crashing.

  Besides, I had to have money now, immediately. In another few hours it would be too late.

  It was hopeless. There was nothing to be done. It was an unpleasant conclusion to be forced to come to, but there was no getting away from it, I was stymied. I would have to stay where I was and accept what the future might bring, merely trusting that when the worst happened a telephone directory or a stout bath towel placed in the interior of my knickerbockers would do something to ease the strain.

  Musing thus, I came abreast of the drawing-room. This drawing-room hadn't a door, just an archway with curtains across it. And suddenly, as I was about to pass by, from the other side of these curtains there proceeded a voice.

  'Oh, yes,' it said. 'Oh, quite.'

  I halted, spellbound. The speaker was Eggy.

  Chapter 14.

  I THOUGHT for a second that I must have imagined it. I mean, it seemed too good to be true that the one chap I wanted to see should have popped up out of a trap like this so exactly at the psychological moment. I couldn't have been more surprised if I had been Aladdin just after rubbing the lamp.

  To make sure, I crept to the curtains and peeped through.

  It was Eggy all right. He was sitting on the edge of a chair, sucking the knob of his stick. Opposite him sat Miss Brinkmeyer. Her back was towards me, but I could see Eggy's face clear enough. It was, as always at this time of day, greenish, though not unpleasantly so. He is one of those fellows with clean-cut, patrician features whom green rather suits.

  Miss Brinkmeyer was speaking.

  ‘I’m glad you agree with me,' she said, and there was an unwonted chumminess in her manner, as if she were getting together with a kindred soul. 'As a teacher of elocution, you should know.'

  The mystery was solved. Putting two and two together, I was enabled to follow the run of the scenario. I remembered that Ann had told me that she had got Eggy a job. The kid Cooley had mentioned that I had an elocution lesson this morning. And when the footman had announced his arrival just now, Miss Brinkmeyer had said: 'What ho, the elocution teacher', or words to that effect.

  All quite simple, of course, and I wasn't a bit surprised to find Eggy operating in this capacity. Since the talkies came in, you can't heave a brick in Hollywood without beaning an English elocution teacher. The place is full of Britons on the make, and if they can't get jobs on the screen, they work the elocution-teaching racket. Refer-

  ences and qualifications are not asked for. So long as you're English, you are welcomed into the home. I am told that there are English elocution teachers making good money in Hollywood who haven't even got roofs to their mouths.

  'Nothing,' said Miss Brinkmeyer, continuing, 'is more important in talking pictures than a good accent. Looks, acting, personality ... they don't mean a thing if you've got a voice like a bad dream.'

  'True.'

  'Like this child has. Have you ever seen him on the screen?'

  'Well, no. What with one thing and another —' 'There you are. And you come from England.' 'Yes.'

  'London?' 'Yes.'

  'Lived there right along, I guess?' 'Oh, rather.'

  'And you've never seen a Cooley picture. That's what I mean. Mr Brinkmeyer will have it that the little boll-weevil's voice is all right, because look what he grossed last time in Kansas City or wherever it may be, and all stuff like that. But what I tell Mr Brinkmeyer is that America isn't everything.'

  'Quite.'

  'You can't afford to neglect Great Britain and the Dominions. Look how he flops in London, I tell Mr Brinkmeyer. And now you bear me out by saying you've never so much as seen him.'

  'Ah.'

  'I guess pretty nearly nobody has over there, judging by the returns. And why? Because he's got an Ohio accent you could turn handsprings on.'

  'Tut.'

  'And what I tell Mr Brinkmeyer is that it's got to be sandpapered around the edges as soon as ever it can be, or we'll be losing out on him.'

  'Quite.'

  'Of course, naturally we don't want him to have one of those regular English accents. But there's a sort of in-between way of talking that goes everywhere. Like Ronald Colman and people.'

  'Ah.'

  'And that's what I want you to teach him.' 'Quite.'

  'Of course, I don't know what your methods are. Miss Bannister just said you were the most celebrated teacher of elocution in London and had trained all the announcers of the British Broadcasting Corporation. ...'

  This seemed to startle old Egg)- a bit. He didn't quite swallow his stick, but very nearly.

  'Did she?' he said, having drawn it to the surface again.

  'Sure. She said you were particularly good at ironing out their Lancashire accents. That's what gave me the idea that you might be able to cope with this Ohio affliction this child has got.'

  'Oh, quite. We must see what we can do. ... Er - Miss Bannister all right this morning?'

  It was the first thing he had said that hadn't gone well. Miss Brinkmeyer drew herself up with a good spot of chill on. I couldn't think what she had got against Ann, but it was plain she didn't like her.

  'I haven't seen Miss Bannister this morning.'

  'No?'

  'When I do, I shall have something to say to her.'

  'Why, is anything up?'

  'I would prefer not to discuss it.'

  'Oh, quite.'

  A bit of a lull followed. The jarring note had been struck, and it had knocked the conversation temporarily endways. Miss Brinkmeyer sat with folded arms. Eggy sucked his stick.

  Miss Brinkmeyer was the first to come out of the silence.

  'Well, as I was saying, I don't know what your methods are. I haven't a notion how you experts start on this kind of proposition —' Eggy perked up.

  ‘I’ll tell you,' he said. 'Methods differ. There are various schools of thought. Some have one system, some another. I, personally, like to begin by taking a good stiff Scotch and soda —'

  'What!'

  'Or, better, two Scotch and sodas. This keys up the brain and puts one in the vein to instruct. So if you have Scotch in the house —'

  'We have not.'

  'Then make it rye,' said Eggy, full of resource.

  Miss Brinkmeyer eyed him coldly.

  'We have no liquor of any description.'

  'None?'

  'None.'

  'Oh?' said Eggy, and I suppose that was about all a chap who had had such a setback to his dreams and visions could have been expected to say.

  'Mr Brinkmeyer and I are regular attendants at the Temple of the New Dawn.'

  'Oh?' said Eggy. He took another suck at his stick, as if trying to extract what poor refreshment he could from that.

  'Yes. I had some little difficulty in persuading Mr Brinkmeyer to become a disciple, but eventually I succeeded, and he now sits under Sister Stott.'

  Eggy removed the stick from his mouth, squared his shoulders, cleared his throat, and spoke in a firm, resonant voice.

  'He sits under Sister Stott.'

  'That's what I said - he sits under Sister Stott.'

  'I mean, I can say it.'

  'I don't understand you.'

  'Pretty good, don't you think?'

  'What is good?'

  'Being able to say it.'

  It seemed to seep through into Eggy's mind that an explanation would be in order.

  'I was only thinking of s
omething that happened yesterday. I met a girl who talked the most subversive rot. I had been rattling off things like "British constitution" and "The Leith police dismisseth us" without an effort, and she tried to make me believe that being able to say things didn't affect the issue. She scared me a bit, I confess, but to-day I can see through her specious arguments. Perfectly absurd, I mean, to pretend that a fellow is not absolutely all right if he can say things like "British constitution" and "The Leith police dismisseth us", not to mention such a complex and intricate sentence as "He sits under Stister Stott" ... or, rather, he stits ... Wait,' said Eggy, marshalling his forces. 'We mustn't allow ourselves to become confused. This is a perfectly straight, clean-cut issue. Putting the thing in a nutshell, then, he stots ...'

  He paused. A rather worried look came into his face. And then just as he was starting to have another go at it, his voice died away in a sort of whistling sigh. The stick, slipping from his nerveless grasp, clattered to the floor. He sat rigid in his chair, his Adam's apple going up and down very slowly. He had caught sight of me peering through the curtains.

  I couldn't see Miss Brinkmeyer's face, but I imagine it wore an enquiring look. One of those odd looks. Her voice sounded odd.

  'Is something the matter, Mr Mannering?'

  The green of Eggy's face had shaded away to a delicate white. I had come through the curtains and was standing there giving him an encouraging smile. I wanted to put the old chap at his ease.

  'No,' he said. 'Oh, no. No, thanks.'

  'You seem unwell.'

  Eggy swallowed once or twice.

  'No, not a bit, thanks. Never better.'

  He removed his eyes from mine with a powerful effort.

  'If only it wouldn't grin'

  'Grin?'

  'I can't see why it has to grin.' 'I beg your pardon?'

  'Nothing,' said Eggy. 'Nothing. Only there's something so sort of ghastly and gloating about it. Pink rabbits, now, must be quite different.'

  It semed to be beginning to dawn on Miss Brinkmeyer that she had run up against something rather hot.

  'Would you like a glass of water?'

  'Eh? No. No, thanks.'

  There was a silence.

  'I say,' said Eggy, 'tell me about this Temple, will you. It attracts me. This girl I was speaking of mentioned it yesterday, and I liked the sound of it. One of these Cure establishments, is it? I mean, take the case of a fellow -let's call him A - who's been hitting it up a bit. Do they take him in and make him over?'

  'That is just what they do.'

  'Even if he is a bit far gone?'

  'No wreck is too far gone for Sister Stott to save.'

  'I have an idea I'll join up. I'm practically a teetotaller already, of course, but I've been having a bit of imp trouble lately. Nothing serious, but annoying. Where do I find this Temple?'

  'It's out at Culver City.'

  'Do you have to be proposed and seconded and all that?'

  'You just walk in. All are welcome.' 'That's good.'

  'But we haven't time to talk about that now.' 'No, no. Quite.'

  'I want to warn you about this child. Be firm with him.' 'Oh, rather.'

  'Stand no nonsense from him. He'll try to put something over on you if he thinks he can.' 'A tough egg, what?'

  'As tough as they come. I should describe him as a kind of human hydrophobia skunk.'

  I wasn't going to stand this sort of thing. Constructive criticism, yes. Vulgar abuse, no.. I stepped forward. 'I heard that remark,' I said coldly. Miss Brinkmeyer turned. 'Oh, you're there, are you?' 'Good God!' said Eggy. 'Can you see it, too?' 'I beg your pardon?'

  'Can you see an imp standing over there?' 'Imp is right. This is the Cooley child.' 'It is?' 'Certainly.'

  'Phew I' said Eggy, sinking back in his chair and beginning to mop his brow.

  Miss Brinkmeyer gave me one of her unpleasant looks.

  'Your hair's all out of curl. Why can't you keep it tidy. This is Mr Mannering, who is going to grapple with that accent of yours. Say "How do you do, Mr Mannering".'

  I was perfectly willing to meet her over so small a point.

  'How do you do, Mr Mannering?' I said.

  'How do you do?' said Eggy. 'I think I've met your astral body.'

  'Well, you've heard him speak now,' said Miss Brinkmeyer, rising. 'I'll leave you to it. I have to see the cook. Do what you can about that voice of his. Get that Ohio twang out of it, if you have to use an axe.'

  For some moments after she had gone, Eggy sat plying the handkerchief and heaving like a troubled ocean. Presently he put the handkerchief away.

  'Golly, what a relief!' he said. 'You gave me a nice shock, my lad, I can tell you. You ought to do something about that astral body of yours - keep it on the chain or something. You may not know it, but yesterday it got loose somehow and came and breathed in my left ear, not only causing me alarm and despondency but putting me on an entirely wrong track and leading me to take a completely mistaken view of the state of affairs. Of course, it's all right now. I see that the whole thing —'

  I stood wrapped in thought. Now that I had succeeded in getting him alone, I was wondering how best to approach the rather delicate matter in hand.

  'I see now that the whole thing was a perfectly natural psychic phenomenon. A perfectly natural psychic phenomenon,' he repeated, as if the words did him good. 'I don't say I understand it - probably our minds are not meant to understand these things - but I expect it's happening all over the place all the time. And that girl tried to kid me that I was breaking up I It just shows how you ought never to listen to people. They mean well, but they talk rot. Do you realize that if we hadn't met like this, so that I was able to see that the whole thing was a perfectly natural psychic phenomenon, I should by this time have been a bally teetotaller? I assure you. My mind was made up. I was fully resolved to go to that Temple of whatever it is and sign on for the duration.'

  I continued to muse. My position, I could see, would require careful explanation. It would be necessary, of course, to issue a statement, and this would have to be done in just the right way.

  I had little doubt that in the end I would be able to get the salient data across to him. Eggy, though jumpy, is not at all a sceptical chap. To take but one instance, he believes everything the racing experts in the morning papers write. He would, I fancied, make a receptive audience.

  But, of course, the preliminary pourparlers would have to be done just so. His voice took on a peevish note.

  'What an ass that girl was. Suppose her father did see a pink rabbit. Suppose it did ask him for a match. What of it? These things are entirely a matter of the individual. What will cause one man to see pink rabbits will have no effect whatsoever on another who is made of sterner stuff. It's a question of constitution and, I fancy, of glands. I've got a magnificent constitution and my glands are top-hole, so I have nothing to worry about. But I mustn't go gassing on like this all the morning. Probably boring you stiff. Besides, I'm supposed to teach you elocution.

  'Well, I've heard your voice, laddie, and I agree with the old girl that something's got to be done about it. It wants massage or amputation or something along those lines. It's that "ow" that seems to be the main snag. The way you said "How do you do?" sounded like a banjo with stomach trouble. Suppose we start by treating that. Repeat this after me. "How now, brown cow ..." '

  I came to a decision. It was no good beating about the bush. I must lay my cards on the table. Explanations might be necessary later, but first of all I must get straight down to what old Plimsoll calls the res.

  'Listen,' I said, 'I've got something to say to you.'

  'Exactly. "How now, brown cow." Come on, laddie, all together now. Repeat after me: "How now, brown cow, do not frown beneath the bough".'

  I refused to be diverted from my purpose in order to humour him with any such drivel.

  'I must begin by mentioning,' I said, 'that I am your cousin, Reggie Havershot.'

  Eggy had been repeati
ng 'How now, brown cow' in an inviting and encouraging manner, but this stopped him like a bullet. He blinked several times.

  'Did you say something then?' he asked in a low, rather hollow voice.

  'I said that I was your cousin Reggie Havershot. It's quite simple,' I went on reassuringly. 'My soul got into the wrong body.'

  There was silence for a moment. He seemed to be drinking it in. Then just as I thought he had begun to grasp the gist, he heaved a long, shuddering sort of sigh and with a gesture of sad resignation stooped and picked up his hat and stick.

  'This is the end,' he said. 'I give up. If anyone asks for me, I shall be at the Temple of the New Dawn. Address letters care of Sister Stott.'

  He passed through the curtains with a bowed head.

  'Hi! Wait a minute!' I cried and, legging it after him, collided with some solid body. For an instant everything went black, and it was not long before I discovered the reason for this. I was standing with my face embedded in a human stomach.

  I backed a bit, and looked up. It was the butler in whose midriff I had been parking myself.

  Chapter 15

  'OOF!' he said, massaging the wound. 'Woof!'

  Had I been my usual courteous self, I should no doubt have paused to apologize and condole, for there was no question that I had caught the man a stinker. His face was a vivid mauve and his gooseberry eyes were watering freely. But I had no time now for doing the civil thing to butlers. I wanted to overtake Egg)' and go on with my statement.

  With this end in view, I hared for the front door, only to find that he was nowhere in sight. He had gone, leaving not a rack behind.

  It was in sombre mood that I returned to the hall. The butler was still there, looking somewhat restored. The purple flush had left his face, and he had ceased to knead his waistcoat. He was leaning against the wall, puffing gently. Nature and a robust constitution had apparently pulled him through.

  I gave him a bleak look. I found it hard to forgive him for his untimely intrusion. But for encountering him in the fairway, I should have been able to resume my chat with Eggy, amplifying the statement I had made with corroborative detail, as old Plimsoll would say. And owing to being delayed, I had lost him. He had vanished beyond recall, like the dew off a rose. Blast all butting-in butlers was the way I felt about it.