CHAPTER XXI
ADVENTURES RARE AND STRANGE
IT was opposite the Magnificent that they came upon adventure the second. Two gentlemen of somewhat informal aspect, one of whom was in need of a shave, and both of whose hats were light green, greeted Mary as if they were half afraid to do so, and yet didn’t like to pass her by.
“Thought perhaps you mightn’t remember us, Mary.”
“Remember you, Horace! Could I ever forget you? And why, I declare it’s Johnny?”
And Mary shook hands with Horace and Johnny so simply and so cordially—for all that she had married a Toff—that they were obliged to confess that they were quite sure she couldn’t.
The next moment Horace and Johnny were being introduced to the Toff; with rather a display of wariness on their part, because provincial stars who have had to carve out their own destiny have not much use for the Breed, and they owed him a grudge as well for having robbed the profession of an idol. So when the Toff held out his hand and appeared pleased to meet them, it was not so certain that they were pleased to meet him.
“Horace Allwright, Philip, the very first Pickles I ever played to—and the best.”
“Oh, go hon, John Willie,” said the Star of the North, blushing to the roots of his hair, which was red and, therefore, made his pleasure the more conspicuous. But he wasn’t going to stand any swank from Eton and Ch: Ch:; and the rather fierce eye of this fine natural comedian said so pretty distinctly.
Mary was undefeated, though, and Johnny Dubosque not being so great a man as Horace Allwright, and consequently having less in the way of dignity to look after, was soon behaving as if nothing had happened.
“But I expect you’ll never come to the provinces again, Polly,” said Johnny Dubosque sadly. “I said to Horace it was all up with us as soon as you got to the Lane. But you’ll be turning up the perfession altogether now.”
Mary said it might be so, and Johnny Dubosque sighed deeply, and informed the Toff in a burst of confidence that her place could never be filled. And the Toff—for all that the Twin Brethren were not a little discomposed by hearing one who was not a fellow alumnus speak of the wife as Polly—apologized so nicely to the Perfession for having done what it had done, that Johnny Dubosque, who had a generous heart, felt not a little inclined to forgive him, and Horace Allwright somewhat waived the question of his dignity.
“Come across to the Magnificent, old chap, and ’ave a drink,” said Horace Allwright in a sudden and overwhelming burst of hospitality.
The Toff accepted the invitation, and for that act of grace, my lords and gentlemen, honor is due to the Twin Brethren, who as you do not require to be told, would have disbursed current coin of the realm to shirk this obvious duty. But it would never do to make an enemy of a friend of Mary’s. Therefore the Twin Brethren allowed themselves to be led across the road about as cheerfully as a lamb is led to the slaughter; and the grandees of the place stared very hard at the entrance of These Theatrical People; and the Twin Brethren devoutly hoped that no stray member of the Button Club was lying concealed among the ferns.
Modest libations were ordered by Mr. Horace Allwright in a rather loud manner, with a lemon squash for Mary, although this was mere natural politeness on her part.
“We shall not see her equal as Cinderella, not in our time, my lord,” said Mr. Horace Allwright in a very audible aside to the Toff, in order to keep in touch with the public.
“Of course you will, Horace, and many a better one,” said the Uncrowned Queen of Blackhampton, having with her ready tact and her quick observation detected the plight of the unhappy Twin Brethren who were blenching a little under their tan.
Not so far off were a pair of Contemporaries, out of sight, perchance, yet by no means out of hearing.
“Why, if it isn’t that damned fool Shel, with his mésalliance!”
“No—yes—my God!”
“Rather nice, though, in spite of the friends of the family.”
“Let us go and pull the leg of the silly old fool, and make him turn out for us to-morrow.”
Whereupon the Contemporaries rose from their table, very finely grown young men and superbly tailored, as all distinguished athletes should be.
“Why, Shel, old man, how are you?”
Hearty hand-grips were exchanged, although the Twin Brethren were not feeling so very robust at present.
“Fancy meeting you here!”
There was no particular reason why they shouldn’t meet there, but it is always a useful opening card. And then the Olympians were introduced to Mary, and pretty keenly did they scrutinize her, although they pretended so well that they were doing nothing of the sort that it would have taken a woman to have told what the sly dogs were at.
And then Miss Mary trod very hard on the foot of Eton and Ch: Ch:, which begged pardon humbly and introduced Mr. Horace Allwright and Mr. Johnny Dubosque, and piously hoped to its Maker that it hadn’t got mixed in their names.
“Pleased to meet you, gentlemen,” said Mr. Horace Allwright spaciously. “’Ave a drink.”
The Olympians had had a drink already, but they had no objection to having another; and this accommodating disposition caused Mary to take them into favor at once, and they were invited to sit down.
“’Ere’s a health to the bride,” said Mr. Johnny Dubosque.
“Thank you, Johnny.”
“I was just a-tellin’ his lordship,” said Mr. Horace Allwright, “that she was absolutely the finest Cinderella I’ve ever played to, and I’ve played to some of the first in my time, let me tell you. Good ’ealth, gentlemen.”
And while Mr. Horace Allwright was happily engaged in pledging the health of the company, Mary proceeded to transfix the first Olympian with such a staunch, straight and demure gray eye that the heart of the famous athlete was literally pinned against the antimacassar of yellow plush upholstery which had been provided by the hotel for the use of its patrons.
“His lordship’s drawn a winner in the lottery, gentlemen,” continued Mr. Horace Allwright, and in this the first Olympian was strongly inclined to concur.
“Cut it out, Horace,” said the Uncrowned Queen of Blackhampton with a very arch glance at Johnny Dubosque. “It isn’t cricket, is it, Johnny? in these fashionable watering-places. And I won’t have you pull the leg of my Phil-ipp by calling him my lord, when he’s promised me solemn to stand for Mr. Lloyd George.”
“You haven’t, Shel?” quoth the Olympians, feeling it was up to them to say something, and that this was something they might say.
“Oh, but he has,” said the Uncrowned Queen, “and I should never have married him if he hadn’t—should I, Phil-ipp?”
And she transfixed both the Olympians this time with that demure glance of tremendous impact.
“Oh, but I say, Mrs. Shel,” quoth the first Olympian, beginning to feel a glow within, “what about his Governor, you know?”
“I don’t know about his Governor, Mr. Wilbraham, because I’m not received in the Family at present.”
And this time the glance came right home to the Twin Brethren, who at once began to feel like bucking up a little.
“But you are bound to be, Mrs. Shel, aren’t you?” said Mr. Wilbraham with great Tact.
“Why am I bound to be?” inquired the Uncrowned Queen, whose good gray eye had begun to play the dickens with the second Olympian.
“Oh, you are, you know. Isn’t she, Toddles?”
Toddles was strongly of opinion that she was.
“Well, of course, if you both really think that—”
But in the secret recesses of his nature, Toddles was even more strongly of opinion that if she persisted in looking at him in that way he would be bound to kiss her.
“Are you and Mr. Wilbraham any good at snooker? Yes, I can see it in your eyes. Well, Phil-ipp and Johnny and I will play the three of you for a sovereign.”
“Done with you, Mrs. Shel,” said the Olympians with promptitude.
And then Mrs. Shelmerdine looked very demurely at Horace Allwright, and imposed the condition that the stakes should be deposited with the marker, as her success in life was entirely due to the fact that she never trusted on principle a man who came from Leeds.
“But I come from Leeds myself,” said Toddles, who, of course, was none other than the popular Yorkshire cricketer when he had time to spare for the game.
“Why not?”
“Yes; why not? But how could you tell I came from Leeds, Mrs. Shelmerdine?”
“By your trousers.”
Horace and Johnny roared long and loud at this brilliant sally. The natural insight of those famous comedians had taught them already that if Toddles had a weakness, it was an undue pride in his trousers, which of course the young man was quite entitled to have, since they were the work of Mr. F-ster of London and Oxford.
“Now, don’t let her pull your leg, old man,” said Philip, who, as usual a little behind in the uptake, had only just begun his roar. “She’ll rag the life out of you if you’ll let her.”
Without further preface or apology, an adjournment was made to the billiard saloon, which was down a very long corridor. En route, Mr. Wilbraham, whose name in athletic circles was Weary William, because he was never in a hurry, confided to Toddles that she was every bit as nice off the stage as she was on it.
To which Toddles, in whose cognomen a meaning has yet to be discovered, rejoined that “He was always a far-seein’ old swine.”
Mary liked a light cue, and used it in a manner which did not suggest the novice. By what means she had gained her skill, it would be best, perhaps, not to inquire. At least, it is hardly likely that Grandma had taught her.
The Olympians also had misspent their youth a little, and Horace Allwright’s father had been a billiard-marker, so it was quite as well, perhaps, that Mary was so skillful, and that Philip was able to say he was a pupil of Mr. John Roberts, Junior. The master might not have been very proud of him, though, to judge by the way he started; but he improved as the game went on, and as Johnny Dubosque knew Stevenson to talk to, the game was quite worth looking at in the opinion of a somewhat saturnine-looking gentleman who sat in the corner drinking Schweppe’s ginger ale, and picking winners out of the Sportsman.
The game was twenty-nine all, and there was only one ball left on the table, and that was “a sitter” on the brink of the left-hand top pocket, which Mary, who had played amazingly well all through, had left there to her unfeigned sorrow. It was all over, bar the shouting, when Toddles proceeded to deliver his cue, for it really was a shot that one who had used his youth as he had done ought not to have missed with his eyes shut.
In the most unaccountable manner the famous center forward missed the shot with his eyes wide open, promptly apostrophized his Maker, and insisted in paying the stakes.
“You did that a-purpose, Mr. Toddles,” said Mary sternly, “and I scorn to take your money. I am not a suffragist yet, but that’s the kind of thing to make me one. Why, a woman can’t even have fair play at a game like snooker.”
Followed a heated controversy. Mr. Toddles would not confess to his guilt, which was really so flagrant that Mary wondered how he dared deny the charge. Horace Allwright and Weary William lied circumstantially to support the misdemeanant, but Mary refused to accept the stakes, and in this we venture to think she was right.
No, Toddles, young friend, it is not the way to produce a race of sportswomen. Your intentions were of the highest, certainly, but your charming opponent had taken such degrees in the school of experience, although she was hardly twenty-four at present, that she didn’t even think it polite.
There was only one method of composing the quarrel, and that was to play the match over again. And this time, it is sad to relate of three excellent sportsmen, good care was taken that there should be no doubt whatever about the issue.
“And now you have taken us on at this game, Shel,” said the first Olympian, “we shall expect you to turn out for us to-morrow against Brighton and Hove Albion.”
“But I haven’t kicked a ball for years.”
“So much the worse for you. The match is for the benefit of the widow and young children of a good chap, and you were always a great draw for the public.”
“Was I?” said Mr. Philip apprehensively, for he read in the eyes of Mary that his doom was sealed.
“Were you, Phil-ipp! Might never have kicked three goals against Scotland, mightn’t you? Why, of course you’ll play; especially as it’s a benefit match.”
“But I haven’t kicked a ball for years and years, and I’ve got no gear either.”
“We’ll soon fix you up with some gear, won’t we, Mrs. Shel?” said the exultant Olympians.
“Ra-ther.”
Poor Philip protested bitterly; but he knew, alas! that he would have to bow to the inevitable. At a quarter-past three on the morrow, after an absence of four years, he was doomed to reappear in the ranks of the famous amateur team whom he had helped to make history.