WHEN DOCTORS DISAGREE
It is possible that, at about the time at which this story opens, youmay have gone into the Hotel Belvoir for a hair-cut. Many people did;for the young man behind the scissors, though of a singularly gloomycountenance, was undoubtedly an artist in his line. He clippedjudiciously. He left no ridges. He never talked about the weather. Andhe allowed you to go away unburdened by any bottle of hair-food.
It is possible, too, that, being there, you decided that you might aswell go the whole hog and be manicured at the same time.
It is not unlikely, moreover, that when you had got over the firstshock of finding your hands so unexpectedly large and red, you feltdisposed to chat with the young lady who looked after that branch ofthe business. In your genial way you may have permitted a note of gay(but gentlemanly) badinage to creep into your end of the dialogue.
In which case, if you had raised your eyes to the mirror, you wouldcertainly have observed a marked increase of gloom in the demeanour ofthe young man attending to your apex. He took no official notice of thematter. A quick frown. A tightening of the lips. Nothing more. Jealousas Arthur Welsh was of all who inflicted gay badinage, howevergentlemanly, on Maud Peters, he never forgot that he was an artist.Never, even in his blackest moments, had he yielded to the temptationto dig the point of the scissors the merest fraction of an inch into aclient's skull.
But Maud, who saw, would understand. And, if the customer was anobservant man, he would notice that her replies at that juncture becamesomewhat absent, her smile a little mechanical.
* * * * *
Jealousy, according to an eminent authority, is the 'hydra ofcalamities, the sevenfold death'. Arthur Welsh's was all that and a bitover. It was a constant shadow on Maud's happiness. No fair-minded girlobjects to a certain tinge of jealousy. Kept within proper bounds, itis a compliment; it makes for piquancy; it is the gin in theginger-beer of devotion. But it should be a condiment, not a fluid.
It was the unfairness of the thing which hurt Maud. Her conscience wasclear. She knew girls--several girls--who gave the young men with whomthey walked out ample excuse for being perfect Othellos. If she hadever flirted on the open beach with the baritone of the troupe ofpierrots, like Jane Oddy, she could have excused Arthur's attitude. If,like Pauline Dicey, she had roller-skated for a solid hour with ablack-moustached stranger while her fiance floundered in Mug's Alleyshe could have understood his frowning disapprovingly. But she was notlike Pauline. She scorned the coquetries of Jane. Arthur was the centreof her world, and he knew it. Ever since the rainy evening when he hadsheltered her under his umbrella to her Tube station, he had knownperfectly well how things were with her. And yet just because, in astrictly business-like way, she was civil to her customers, he mustscowl and bite his lip and behave generally as if it had been broughtto his notice that he had been nurturing a serpent in his bosom. It wasworse than wicked--it was unprofessional.
She remonstrated with him.
'It isn't fair,' she said, one morning when the rush of customers hadceased and they had the shop to themselves.
Matters had been worse than usual that morning. After days of rain andgreyness the weather had turned over a new leaf. The sun glinted amongthe bottles of Unfailing Lotion in the window, and everything in theworld seemed to have relaxed and become cheerful. Unfortunately,everything had included the customers. During the last few days theyhad taken their seats in moist gloom, and, brooding over the prospectof coming colds in the head, had had little that was pleasant to say tothe divinity who was shaping their ends. But today it had beendifferent. Warm and happy, they had bubbled over with gay small-talk.
'It isn't fair,' she repeated.
Arthur, who was stropping a razor and whistling tunelessly, raised hiseyebrows. His manner was frosty.
'I fail to understand your meaning,' he said.
'You know what I mean. Do you think I didn't see you frowning when Iwas doing that gentleman's nails?'
The allusion was to the client who had just left--a jovial individualwith a red face, who certainly had made Maud giggle a good deal. Andwhy not? If a gentleman tells really funny stories, what harm is therein giggling? You had to be pleasant to people. If you snubbedcustomers, what happened? Why, sooner or later, it got round to theboss, and then where were you? Besides, it was not as if the red-facedcustomer had been rude. Write down on paper what he had said to her,and nobody could object to it. Write down on paper what she had said tohim, and you couldn't object to that either. It was just Arthur'ssilliness.
She tossed her head.
'I am gratified,' said Arthur, ponderously--in happier moments Maudhad admired his gift of language; he read a great deal: encyclopediasand papers and things--'I am gratified to find that you had time tobestow a glance on me. You appeared absorbed.'
Maud sniffed unhappily. She had meant to be cold and dignifiedthroughout the conversation, but the sense of her wrongs was beginningto be too much for her. A large tear splashed on to her tray oforange-sticks. She wiped it away with the chamois leather.
'It isn't fair,' she sobbed. 'It isn't. You know I can't help it ifgentlemen talk and joke with me. You know it's all in the day's work.I'm expected to be civil to gentlemen who come in to have their handsdone. Silly I should look sitting as if I'd swallowed a poker. I_do_ think you might understand, Arthur, you being in theprofession yourself.'
He coughed.
'It isn't so much that you talk to them as that you seem to like--'
He stopped. Maud's dignity had melted completely. Her face was buriedin her arms. She did not care if a million customers came in, all atthe same time.
'Maud!'
She heard him moving towards her, but she did not look up. The nextmoment his arms were round her, and he was babbling.
And a customer, pushing open the door unnoticed two minutes later,retired hurriedly to get shaved elsewhere, doubting whether Arthur'smind was on his job.
For a time this little thunderstorm undoubtedly cleared the air. For aday or two Maud was happier than she ever remembered to have been.Arthur's behaviour was unexceptionable. He bought her a wrist-watch--light brown leather, very smart. He gave her some chocolates to eat inthe Tube. He entertained her with amazing statistics, culled from theweekly paper which he bought on Tuesdays. He was, in short, the perfectlover. On the second day the red-faced man came in again. Arthur joinedin the laughter at his stories. Everything seemed ideal.
It could not last. Gradually things slipped back into the old routine.Maud, looking up from her work, would see the frown and the bitten lip.She began again to feel uncomfortable and self-conscious as she worked.Sometimes their conversation on the way to the Tube was almost formal.
It was useless to say anything. She had a wholesome horror of being oneof those women who nagged; and she felt that to complain again wouldamount to nagging. She tried to put the thing out of her mind, but itinsisted on staying there. In a way she understood his feelings. Heloved her so much, she supposed, that he hated the idea of herexchanging a single word with another man. This, in the abstract, wasgratifying; but in practice it distressed her. She wished she were somesort of foreigner, so that nobody could talk to her. But then theywould look at her, and that probably would produce much the sameresults. It was a hard world for a girl.
And then the strange thing happened. Arthur reformed. One might almostsay that he reformed with a jerk. It was a parallel case to thosesudden conversions at Welsh revival meetings. On Monday evening he hadbeen at his worst. On the following morning he was a changed man. Noteven after the original thunderstorm had he been more docile. Maudcould not believe that first. The lip, once bitten, was stretched in asmile. She looked for the frown. It was not there.
Next day it was the same; and the day after that. When a week had goneby, and still the improvement was maintained, Maud felt that she mightnow look upon it as permanent. A great load seemed to have been takenoff her mind. She revised her views on the world. It was a ve
ry goodworld, quite one of the best, with Arthur beaming upon it like a sun.
A number of eminent poets and essayists, in the course of the last fewcenturies, have recorded, in their several ways, their opinion that onecan have too much of a good thing. The truth applies even to such agood thing as absence of jealousy. Little by little Maud began to growuneasy. It began to come home to her that she preferred the old Arthur,of the scowl and the gnawed lip. Of him she had at least been sure.Whatever discomfort she may have suffered from his spirited imitationsof Othello, at any rate they had proved that he loved her. She wouldhave accepted gladly an equal amount of discomfort now in exchange forthe same certainty. She could not read this new Arthur. His thoughtswere a closed book. Superficially, he was all that she could havewished. He still continued to escort her to the Tube, to buy heroccasional presents, to tap, when conversing, the pleasantlysentimental vein. But now these things were not enough. Her heart wastroubled. Her thoughts frightened her. The little black imp at the backof her mind kept whispering and whispering, till at last she was forcedto listen. 'He's tired of you. He doesn't love you any more. He's tiredof you.'
* * * * *
It is not everybody who, in times of mental stress, can find ready tohand among his or her personal acquaintances an expert counsellor,prepared at a moment's notice to listen with sympathy and advise withtact and skill. Everyone's world is full of friends, relatives, andothers, who will give advice on any subject that may be presented tothem; but there are crises in life which cannot be left to the amateur.It is the aim of a certain widely read class of paper to fill thisvoid.
Of this class _Fireside Chat_ was one of the best-knownrepresentatives. In exchange for one penny its five hundred thousandreaders received every week a serial story about life in highestcircles, a short story packed with heart-interest, articles on theremoval of stains and the best method of coping with the cold mutton,anecdotes of Royalty, photographs of peeresses, hints on dress, chatsabout baby, brief but pointed dialogues between Blogson and Snogson,poems, Great Thoughts from the Dead and Brainy, half-hours in theeditor's cosy sanctum, a slab of brown paper, and--the journal'sleading feature--Advice on Matters of the Heart. The weeklycontribution of the advice specialist of _Fireside Chat_, entitled'In the Consulting Room, by Dr Cupid', was made up mainly of Answers toCorrespondents. He affected the bedside manner of the kind, breezy oldphysician; and probably gave a good deal of comfort. At any rate, healways seemed to have plenty of cases on his hands.
It was to this expert that Maud took her trouble. She had been aregular reader of the paper for several years; and had, indeed,consulted the great man once before, when he had replied favourably toher query as to whether it would be right for her to accept caramelsfrom Arthur, then almost a stranger. It was only natural that sheshould go to him now, in an even greater dilemma. The letter was noteasy to write, but she finished it at last; and, after an anxiousinterval, judgement was delivered as follows:
'Well, well, well! Bless my soul, what is all this? M. P. writes me:
'I am a young lady, and until recently was very, very happy, exceptthat my fiance, though truly loving me, was of a very jealousdisposition, though I am sure I gave him no cause. He would scowl whenI spoke to any other man, and this used to make me unhappy. But forsome time now he has quite changed, and does not seem to mind at all,and though at first this made me feel happy, to think that he had gotover his jealousy, I now feel unhappy because I am beginning to beafraid that he no longer cares for me. Do you think this is so, andwhat ought I to do?'
'My dear young lady, I should like to be able to reassure you; but itis kindest sometimes, you know, to be candid, however it may hurt. Ithas been my experience that, when jealousy flies out of the window,indifference comes in at the door. In the old days a knight would joustfor the love of a ladye, risking physical injury rather than permitothers to rival him in her affections. I think, M. P., that you shouldendeavour to discover the true state of your fiance's feelings. I donot, of course, advocate anything in the shape of unwomanly behaviour,of which I am sure, my dear young lady, you are incapable; but I thinkthat you should certainly try to pique your fiance, to test him. Atyour next ball, for instance, refuse him a certain number of dances, onthe plea that your programme is full. At garden-parties, at-homes, andso on, exhibit pleasure in the society and conversation of othergentlemen, and mark his demeanour as you do so. These little testsshould serve either to relieve your apprehensions, provided they aregroundless, or to show you the truth. And, after all, if it is thetruth, it must be faced, must it not, M. P.?'
Before the end of the day Maud knew the whole passage by heart. Themore her mind dwelt on it, the more clearly did it seem to express whatshe had felt but could not put into words. The point about joustingstruck her as particularly well taken. She had looked up 'joust' in thedictionary, and it seemed to her that in these few words was containedthe kernel of her trouble. In the old days, if any man had attempted torival him in her affections (outside business hours), Arthur wouldundoubtedly have jousted--and jousted with the vigour of one who meansto make his presence felt. Now, in similar circumstances, he wouldprobably step aside politely, as who should say, 'After you, my dearAlphonse.'
There was no time to lose. An hour after her first perusal of DrCupid's advice, Maud had begun to act upon it. By the time the firstlull in the morning's work had come, and there was a chance for privateconversation, she had invented an imaginary young man, a shadowyLothario, who, being introduced into her home on the previous Sunday byher brother Horace, had carried on in a way you wouldn't believe,paying all manner of compliments.
'He said I had such white hands,' said Maud.
Arthur nodded, stropping a razor the while. He appeared to be bearingthe revelations with complete fortitude. Yet, only a few weeks before,a customer's comment on this same whiteness had stirred him to hisdepths.
'And this morning--what do you think? Why, he meets me as bold as youplease, and gives me a cake of toilet soap. Like his impudence!'
She paused, hopefully.
'Always useful, soap,' said Arthur, politely sententious.
'Lovely it was,' went on Maud, dully conscious of failure, butstippling in like an artist the little touches which give atmosphereand verisimilitude to a story. 'All scented. Horace will tease me aboutit, I can tell you.'
She paused. Surely he must--Why, a sea-anemone would be torn withjealousy at such a tale.
Arthur did not even wince. He was charming about it. Thought it verykind of the young fellow. Didn't blame him for being struck by thewhiteness of her hands. Touched on the history of soap, which hehappened to have been reading up in the encyclopedia at the freelibrary. And behaved altogether in such a thoroughly gentlemanlyfashion that Maud stayed awake half the night, crying.
* * * * *
If Maud had waited another twenty-four hours there would have been noneed for her to have taxed her powers of invention, for on thefollowing day there entered the shop and her life a young man who wasnot imaginary--a Lothario of flesh and blood. He made his entry withthat air of having bought most of the neighbouring property whichbelongs exclusively to minor actors, men of weight on the StockExchange, and American professional pugilists.
Mr 'Skipper' Shute belonged to the last-named of the three classes. Hehad arrived in England two months previously for the purpose of holdinga conference at eight-stone four with one Joseph Edwardes, to settle aquestion of superiority at that weight which had been vexing thesporting public of two countries for over a year. Having successfullyout-argued Mr Edwardes, mainly by means of strenuous work in theclinches, he was now on the eve of starting on a lucrative music-halltour with his celebrated inaudible monologue. As a result of thesethings he was feeling very, very pleased with the world in general, andwith Mr Skipper Shute in particular. And when Mr Shute was pleased withhimself his manner was apt to be of the breeziest.
He breezed into the shop, took a seat, an
d, having cast an experiencedeye at Maud, and found her pleasing, extended both hands, and observed,'Go the limit, kid.'
At any other time Maud might have resented being addressed as 'kid' bya customer, but now she welcomed it. With the exception of a slightthickening of the lobe of one ear, Mr Shute bore no outward signs ofhis profession. And being, to use his own phrase, a 'swell dresser', hewas really a most presentable young man. Just, in fact, what Maudneeded. She saw in him her last hope. If any faint spark of his ancientfire still lingered in Arthur, it was through Mr Shute that it must befanned.
She smiled upon Mr Shute. She worked on his robust fingers as if itwere an artistic treat to be permitted to handle them. So carefully didshe toil that she was still busy when Arthur, taking off his apron andputting on his hat, went out for his twenty-minutes' lunch, leavingthem alone together.
The door had scarcely shut when Mr Shute bent forward.
'Say!'
He sank his voice to a winning whisper.
'You look good to muh,' he said, gallantly.
'The idea!' said Maud, tossing her head.
'On the level,' Mr Shute assured her.
Maud laid down her orange-sticks.
'Don't be silly,' she said. 'There--I've finished.'
'I've not,' said Mr Shute. 'Not by a mile. Say!'
'Well?'
'What do you do with your evenings?'
'I go home.'
'Sure. But when you don't? It's a poor heart that never rejoices. Don'tyou ever whoop it up?'
'Whoop it up?'
'The mad whirl,' explained Mr Shute. 'Ice-cream soda and buck-wheatcakes, and a happy evening at lovely Luna Park.'
'I don't know where Luna Park is.'
'What did they teach you at school? It's out in that direction,' saidMr Shute, pointing over his shoulder. 'You go straight on about threethousand miles till you hit little old New York; then you turn to theright. Say, don't you ever get a little treat? Why not come along tothe White City some old evening? This evening?'
'Mr Welsh is taking me to the White City tonight.'
'And who is Mr Welsh?'
'The gentleman who has just gone out.'
'Is that so? Well, he doesn't look a live one, but maybe it's justbecause he's had bad news today. You never can tell.' He rose.'Farewell, Evelina, fairest of your sex. We shall meet again; so keep astout heart.'
And, taking up his cane, straw hat, and yellow gloves, Mr Shutedeparted, leaving Maud to her thoughts.
She was disappointed. She had expected better results. Mr Shute hadlowered with ease the record for gay badinage, hitherto held by thered-faced customer; yet to all appearances there had been no change inArthur's manner. But perhaps he had scowled (or bitten his lip), andshe had not noticed it. Apparently he had struck Mr Shute, an unbiasedspectator, as gloomy. Perhaps at some moment when her eyes had been onher work--She hoped for the best.
Whatever his feelings may have been during the afternoon, Arthur wasundeniably cheerful that evening. He was in excellent spirits. Hislight-hearted abandon on the Wiggle-Woggle had been noted and commentedupon by several lookers-on. Confronted with the Hairy Ainus, he hadtouched a high level of facetiousness. And now, as he sat with herlistening to the band, he was crooning joyously to himself inaccompaniment to the music, without, it would appear, a care in theworld.
Maud was hurt and anxious. In a mere acquaintance this blithe attitudewould have been welcome. It would have helped her to enjoy her evening.But from Arthur at that particular moment she looked for somethingelse. Why was he cheerful? Only a few hours ago she had been--yes,flirting with another man before his very eyes. What right had he to becheerful? He ought to be heated, full of passionate demands for anexplanation--a flushed, throaty thing to be coaxed back into a goodtemper and then forgiven--all this at great length--for having been ina bad one. Yes, she told herself, she had wanted certainty one way orthe other, and here it was. Now she knew. He no longer cared for her.
She trembled.
'Cold?' said Arthur. 'Let's walk. Evenings beginning to draw in now.Lum-da-diddley-ah. That's what I call a good tune. Give me somethinglively and bright. Dumty-umpty-iddley-ah. Dum tum--'
'Funny thing--' said Maud, deliberately.
'What's a funny thing?'
'The gentleman in the brown suit whose hands I did this afternoon--'
'He was,' agreed Arthur, brightly. 'A very funny thing.'
Maud frowned. Wit at the expense of Hairy Ainus was one thing--at herown another.
'I was about to say,' she went on precisely, 'that it was a funnything, a coincidence, seeing that I was already engaged, that thegentleman in the brown suit whose hands I did this afternoon shouldhave asked me to come here, to the White City, with him tonight.'
For a moment they walked on in silence. To Maud it seemed a hopefulsilence. Surely it must be the prelude to an outburst.
'Oh!' he said, and stopped.
Maud's heart gave a leap. Surely that was the old tone?
A couple of paces, and he spoke again.
'I didn't hear him ask you.'
His voice was disappointingly level.
'He asked me after you had gone out to lunch.'
'It's a nuisance,' said Arthur, cheerily, 'when things clash like that.But perhaps he'll ask you again. Nothing to prevent you coming heretwice. Well repays a second visit, I always say. I think--'
'You shouldn't,' said a voice behind him. 'It hurts the head. Well,kid, being shown a good time?'
The possibility of meeting Mr Shute had not occurred to Maud. She hadassumed that, being aware that she would be there with another, hewould have stayed away. It may, however, be remarked that she did notknow Mr Shute. He was not one of your sensitive plants. He smiledpleasantly upon her, looking very dapper in evening dress and a silkhat that, though a size too small for him, shone like a mirror.
Maud hardly knew whether she was glad or sorry to see him. It did notseem to matter much now either way. Nothing seemed to matter much, infact. Arthur's cheery acceptance of the news that she receivedinvitations from others had been like a blow, leaving her numb andlistless.
She made the introductions. The two men eyed each other.
'Pleased to meet you,' said Mr Shute.
'Weather keeps up,' said Arthur.
And from that point onward Mr Shute took command.
It is to be assumed that this was not the first time that Mr Shute hadmade one of a trio in these circumstances, for the swift dexterity withwhich he lost Arthur was certainly not that of a novice. So smoothlywas it done that it was not until she emerged from the Witching Waves,guided by the pugilist's slim but formidable right arm, that Maudrealized that Arthur had gone.
She gave a little cry of dismay. Secretly she was beginning to besomewhat afraid of Mr Shute. He was showing signs of being about tostep out of the role she had assigned to him and attempt something on alarger scale. His manner had that extra touch of warmth which makes allthe difference.
'Oh! He's gone!' she cried.
'Sure,' said Mr Shute. 'He's got a hurry-call from the Uji Village.The chief's cousin wants a hair-cut.'
'We must find him. We must.'
'Surest thing you know,' said Mr Shute. 'Plenty of time.'
'We must find him.'
Mr Shute regarded her with some displeasure.
'Seems to be ace-high with you, that dub,' he said.
'I don't understand you.'
'My observation was,' explained Mr Shute, coldly, 'that, judging fromappearances, that dough-faced lemon was Willie-boy, the first and onlylove.'
Maud turned on him with flaming cheeks.
'Mr Welsh is nothing to me! Nothing! Nothing!' she cried.
She walked quickly on.
'Then, if there's a vacancy, star-eyes,' said the pugilist at her side,holding on a hat which showed a tendency to wobble, 'count me in.Directly I saw you--see here, what's the idea of this road-work? Wearen't racing--'
Maud slowed down.
'Tha
t's better. As I was saying, directly I saw you, I said to myself,"That's the one you need. The original candy kid. The--"'
His hat lurched drunkenly as he answered the girl's increase of speed.He cursed it in a brief aside.
'That's what I said. "The original candy kid." So--'
He shot out a restraining hand. 'Arthur!' cried Maud. 'Arthur!'
'It's not my name' breathed Mr Shute, tenderly. 'Call me Clarence.'
Considered as an embrace, it was imperfect. At these moments a silkhat a size too small handicaps a man. The necessity of having to becareful about the nap prevented Mr Shute from doing himself completejustice. But he did enough to induce Arthur Welsh, who, having sightedthe missing ones from afar, had been approaching them at a walkingpace, to substitute a run for the walk, and arrive just as Maudwrenched herself free.
Mr Shute took off his hat, smoothed it, replaced it with extreme care,and turned his attention to the new-comer.
'Arthur!' said Maud.
Her heart gave a great leap. There was no mistaking the meaning in theeye that met hers. He cared! He cared!
'Arthur!'
He took no notice. His face was pale and working. He strode up to MrShute.
'Well?' he said between his teeth.
An eight-stone-four champion of the world has many unusual experiencesin his life, but he rarely encounters men who say 'Well?' to himbetween their teeth. Mr Shute eyed this freak with profound wonder.
'I'll teach you to--to kiss young ladies!'
Mr Shute removed his hat again and gave it another brush. This gave himthe necessary time for reflection.
'I don't need it,' he said. 'I've graduated.'
'Put them up!' hissed Arthur.
Almost a shocked look spread itself over the pugilist's face. So mightRaphael have looked if requested to draw a pavement-picture.
'You aren't speaking to ME?' he said, incredulously.
'Put them up!'
Maud, trembling from head to foot, was conscious of one overwhelmingemotion. She was terrified--yes. But stronger than the terror was thegreat wave of elation which swept over her. All her doubts hadvanished. At last, after weary weeks of uncertainty, Arthur was aboutto give the supreme proof. He was going to joust for her.
A couple of passers-by had paused, interested, to watch developments.You could never tell, of course. Many an apparently promising row nevergot any farther than words. But, glancing at Arthur's face, theycertainly felt justified in pausing. Mr Shute spoke.
'If it wasn't,' he said, carefully, 'that I don't want trouble with theSociety for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, I'd--'
He broke off, for, to the accompaniment of a shout of approval from thetwo spectators, Arthur had swung his right fist, and it had taken himsmartly on the side of the head.
Compared with the blows Mr Shute was wont to receive in the exercise ofhis profession, Arthur's was a gentle tap. But there was onecircumstance which gave it a deadliness all its own. Achilles had hisheel. Mr Shute's vulnerable point was at the other extremity. Insteadof countering, he uttered a cry of agony, and clutched wildly with bothhands at his hat.
He was too late. It fell to the ground and bounded away, with itsproprietor in passionate chase. Arthur snorted and gently chafed hisknuckles.
There was a calm about Mr Shute's demeanour as, having given histreasure a final polish and laid it carefully down, he began to advanceon his adversary, which was more than ominous. His lips were a thinline of steel. The muscles stood out over his jaw-bones. Crouching inhis professional manner, he moved forward softly, like a cat.
And it was at this precise moment, just as the two spectators,reinforced now by eleven other men of sporting tastes, werecongratulating themselves on their acumen in having stopped to watch,that Police-Constable Robert Bryce, intruding fourteen stones of boneand muscle between the combatants, addressed to Mr Shute thesememorable words: ''Ullo, 'ullo! 'Ullo, 'ullo, 'ul-_lo_!'
Mr Shute appealed to his sense of justice.
'The mutt knocked me hat off.'
'And I'd do it again,' said Arthur, truculently.
'Not while I'm here you wouldn't, young fellow,' said Mr Bryce, withdecision. 'I'm surprised at you,' he went on, pained. 'And you look arespectable young chap, too. You pop off.'
A shrill voice from the crowd at this point offered the constable allcinematograph rights if he would allow the contest to proceed.
'And you pop off, too, all of you,' continued Mr Bryce. 'Blest if Iknow what kids are coming to nowadays. And as for you,' he said,addressing Mr Shute, 'all you've got to do is to keep that face ofyours closed. That's what you've got to do. I've got my eye on you,mind, and if I catch you a-follerin' of him'--he jerked his thumb overhis shoulder at Arthur's departing figure--'I'll pinch you. Sure asyou're alive.' He paused. 'I'd have done it already,' he added,pensively, 'if it wasn't me birthday.'
* * * * *
Arthur Welsh turned sharply. For some time he had been dimly aware thatsomebody was calling his name.
'Oh, Arthur!'
She was breathing quickly. He could see the tears in her eyes.
'I've been running. You walked so fast.'
He stared down at her gloomily.
'Go away,' he said. 'I've done with you.'
She clutched at his coat.
'Arthur, listen--listen! It's all a mistake. I thought you--you didn'tcare for me any more, and I was miserable, and I wrote to the paper andasked what should I do, and they said I ought to test you and try andmake you jealous, and that that would relieve my apprehensions. And Ihated it, but I did it, and you didn't seem to care till now. And youknow that there's nobody but you.'
'You--The paper? What?' he stammered.
'Yes, yes, yes. I wrote to _Fireside Chat_, and Dr Cupid said thatwhen jealousy flew out of the window indifference came in at the door,and that I must exhibit pleasure in the society of other gentlemen andmark your demeanour. So I--Oh!'
Arthur, luckier than Mr Shute, was not hampered by a too small silkhat.
It was a few moments later, as they moved slowly towards theFlip-Flap--which had seemed to both of them a fitting climax forthe evening's emotions--that Arthur, fumbling in his waist-coat pocket,produced a small slip of paper.
'What's that?' Maud asked.
'Read it,' said Arthur. 'It's from _Home Moments_, in answer to aletter I sent them. And,' he added with heat, 'I'd like to have fiveminutes alone with the chap who wrote it.'
And under the electric light Maud read
ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS
_By the Heart Specialist_
Arthur W.--Jealousy, Arthur W., is not only the most wicked, but themost foolish of passions. Shakespeare says:
_It is the green-eyed monster, which doth mock The meat it feeds on._
You admit that you have frequently caused great distress to the younglady of your affections by your exhibition of this weakness. Exactly.There is nothing a girl dislikes or despises more than jealousy. Be aman, Arthur W. Fight against it. You may find it hard at first, butpersevere. Keep a smiling face. If she seems to enjoy talking to othermen, show no resentment. Be merry and bright. Believe me, it is theonly way.