The Gay Adventure Part 15

The vicarage lawn was big enough for two tennis-courts, with a little over for croquet in miniature or clock-golf. It took, theoretically, an able-bodied man an hour and a half to "run the machine over it." The optimistic phrase was the vicar's, who had not run the machine (or its predecessors) for twenty years. A succession of practical runners made the sum come out differently; and one rebellious soul--"of course, my dear, a radical chapel-goer"--had invited his employer to shove the qualified mower himself and see if 'e could do it in a qualified howerananarf. The sporting offer was not accepted, but the idealistic standard maintained. It was, in fact, a gra.s.s-cutting bogy who had never been beaten yet.

"Be careful, Brown," said Mrs. Peters, preparatory to a departure indoors, "to gather up _all_ the gra.s.s and put it in the sack. It looks so untidy if you leave any lying about."

"Yes, ma'am," said Brown respectfully; "I'll be sure to do so. I ought to finish in half an hour or so."

"Less, if you _work_, Brown," said Mrs. Peters reprovingly. She knew he had been mowing for little over an hour, but discipline must be kept up.

Besides, does not Browning say, "A man's reach should exceed his grasp, or what's a Heaven for?" Without waiting for possible protests she went into the house.

The odd-job man smiled.

"She's all right," he said softly to no one in particular. "Oh, lor', _yes_!... _She's_ all right."

He whistled softly, but without obvious discontent, and made a change in his labors. Giving the machine a well-earned rest, he began to gather up the cut gra.s.s from a square of canvas that lay extended on the ground and stuffed it into the sack referred to by Mrs. Peters. This task brought him near the tall privet-hedge, reinforced by a four-foot paling, which sheltered the vicarage garden from the road. He had hardly accounted for a dozen armfuls when a voice from the other side of the hedge said, "Good morning."

Regardless of Mrs. Peters' late instructions, the odd-job man dropped a generous portion of gra.s.s and stood transfixed. "So you've come!" he said quietly but distinctly. "For goodness' sake let's have a look at your pretty face!"

The privet-hedge parted, and a damsel of twenty-three smiled upon the gratified Brown.

"Is that better?" she asked.

"Lots," replied the odd-job man, pressing closer to the hedge. "But I tell you what would be better still----"

"Yes?"

"I shall have to whisper it...."

The damsel, full of innocent curiosity, bent forward to listen. The odd-job man, congratulating himself on extraordinary cunning, bent forward and essayed a kiss of welcome. The intended recipient, however, seemed to be possessed of a sixth sense or instinct, for, when his lips were on the point of meeting hers, she drew back with a melodious cry of surprise. The kiss was too late to be checked, and unhappily was bestowed upon a bunch of privet.

The odd-job man mildly whispered the equivalent of "How very annoying!"

and then remonstrated in a louder tone. He pointed out that he had not seen his visitor for a week, and that under the circ.u.mstances the least she could do, etc.

"Ye ... es," agreed the damsel, parting the hedge once more, "it is true, all that you say. But you forget that you have not earned it yet."

"Holy Moses!" said the odd-job man, appealing to the heavens. "Here I chuck my job in London at a word--or, rather, a letter from you! I come down here got up as a laborer; I hang about the blessed village till I'm sick for the town and you again; I get taken on here to work--and, mind you, it _is_ work, though I don't grumble at that. And it's all for to keep an eye on a chap I've never seen."

"And not for me?"

"You silly chu--I beg your pardon, miss--that is, my dear! What I do mean is, who are you gettin' at? Of _course_, it's for you, and I'm going through with it. But I do think you might give me a bit of encouragement like, when you come at last----"

He paused; there was the sound of steps coming down the road, and he had no wish to be overheard courting. Thus drawn back to real life, conscience p.r.i.c.ked him, and he wondered if there was any danger of Mrs.

Peters reappearing. In a panic he looked over his shoulder.... No! the lawn was deserted: he still had time. But when he turned to the hedge he was surprised to see his love with her head pushed right through the privet, scarlet from excitement. A hand, too, appeared, enjoining caution and silence.

You must have recognized ere this that Brown, the odd-job man beneath the thrall of Mrs. Peters, was none other than Mr. Henry Brown, cab-proprietor, under different auspices. You will remember, then, the type of man he was but a few chapters ago, middle-aged, reserved, cautious and a little unenterprising. But you will not forget that love had made a change in his habits, outlook and elan. He was younger now, more alert, audacious and full of guile. So you must not be surprised that when he saw his lady beckoning, appealing to him to come closer, be careful, not talk, but observe--when he saw her head (and it was a very pretty head) framed in harmonious privet--when he saw this gift of fortune, you must not be surprised that he accepted it. He drew near and kissed her very quietly but very heartily. She, for some obscure reason wis.h.i.+ng to remain unseen, did not dare to withdraw her head or box his ears. All she could do was to bite her lip and stamp her dainty heel, while she remained, ostrich-like, in the hedge.

The footsteps pa.s.sed, but before they began to grow fainter Henry Brown repeated the salutation. "Couldn't help it!" he said meekly, answering the sparkle in her eyes. "You shouldn't tempt a man. Now, what's the row?"

She was too excited to rebuke him; the moment was too precious to be lost. "You see him?" she queried, pointing to the retreating figure of Lionel, who was on the road to The Quiet House. "Well, that is the man you are to watch! That is he from whom you are to recover the doc.u.ment!"

"The deuce it is!" said Henry, gazing after Lionel with interest. "Well, he's big enough to give trouble...."

"You are not afraid?"

"Not particularly," he said with a slow smile. "It's not a job I hanker after, but I've promised you to try, and I will try. You'll tell me, I dare say, what you think the best way of setting about it?"

"Of course. You are far too stupid to think for yourself. And now, good-by!"

"I say, you're not going! And I had such a lot to talk about ... that wedding, for instance...."

"What wedding?" She paused, chin in air.

"Come! that's a good 'un. Ours."

"Pstt! the a.s.surance of these male creatures!--As if I would marry a man who kisses me by force! No, Mr. Brown, do not count on that. Do what you have promised first, and then I will think about it. If I choose, well ... If I do not choose, well ... I promise nothing."

"That's a poor sort of bargain."

"It is no bargain: I do not bargain. I give an order. Good-by. Oh, I will write to you----"

"Thank you--thank you----" he began.

"To tell you what to do. I shall not be far, but you must not attempt to see me without my leave."

She turned on her heel and marched down the road. The odd-job man whistled in amused dismay. "They're all alike," he muttered as he turned to his work again and met the vicar's wife. She was coming from the house and wore a severe expression.

"Did I hear you talking, Brown?"

"I can't say, ma'am," he answered stolidly. She frowned.

"Be good enough not to equivocate," she commanded. "_Were_ you talking?"

"I often talk aloud to myself," said Henry mildly. He was an honest man and did not take kindly to lies, even of the whitest. Mrs. Peters frowned again.

"Indeed!" she said icily. "Do you mean to say you were not talking to a young woman through the hedge?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Henry, "I was. I suppose I'm allowed to rest for a minute now and then."

"Rest is a very different thing from philandering. That I can not allow.

It looks very bad from the road to see the vicarage servants gossiping or worse through the hedge. Remember, Brown, it must not happen again. I can not understand one of our village girls----"

She paused interrogatively, but Henry was not so silly as to fall into the trap. He began to oil the machine, and even Mrs. Peters did not like to ask pointblank who his sweetheart was. Instead, she finished with a snap, "--making herself so cheap."

She went back to the house again. Henry straightened up and glared after her. "They're all alike!" he said again; but how he could include two such different people as Mrs. Peters and his adored in the same condemnation is hard to understand. The words of the sentence, it is true, were identical; but the inflection hinted at a great gulf fixed between the two offenders. Possibly they were charged with different offenses.

"They're all alike...." Are they? Does the same essential lurk beneath the surface? Supposing we could dissect Mrs. Peters, Alicia, Mizzi, Beatrice Blair, and a thousand Ermyntrudes or Sallies, should we find the same germ of woman? Take Lionel's evidence, if it were available.

You might safely a.s.sert that to him Beatrice was different from and superior to any other woman you could produce. Henry Brown would as stoutly hold the same of his anonymous sweetheart. Mr. Peters and Mr.

Hedderwick we may hope would take an identical line, or at least they would have once. But these are, or have been, lovers, the blindest of mortals, and their evidence is too partial to be trustworthy. A cynic like Pope would tell you that every woman is at heart a rake, and might find a score of others to support him. A Shaw might produce a monster like Ann Whitfield and brazenly say she was typical. A Chesterton would talk of women being sublime as individuals but horrible in a herd. A son might say that his mother was perfect, but he, too, would be partial.

What is the truth about woman? Only a woman can say, and she would find it hard to take a detached view. Probably truth was partly expressed by the odd-job man in words--wholly expressed by his words and inflection.

They are human and feminine if you probe deep enough, but there are variations, unimagined harmonies and discords for the seeker. "They're all alike"--with a difference, and no man can learn the whole truth from a text-book. The text-book can give him elementary rules which may serve him well, but he must be prepared to find plenty of exceptions. The student, however, need not fear monotony.