AN AWKWARD CASE
This is one of those really difficult cases (being the seventh of the quarter) where the editor of The Perfect Lady simply has to ask his readers what A. should have done. The sort of reply that will be given is; "A. should have carried it off easily." Remarks like that are unhesitatingly included among the "Answers adjudged idiotic."
The thing happened in the train, while I was returning to town after a couple of nights in the country. The scene—an empty carriage, myself in one corner. On the seat opposite lay my dressing-case. I had unlocked it in order to take out a book, and was deep in this when we stopped at a wayside station. The opening of the door woke me suddenly; somebody was daring to get into my compartment. Luckily one only—a girl.
Women always wish to travel with their backs to the engine; in the event of an accident you don't have so far to go. She sat down next to my bag. Naturally I jumped up (full of politeness), seized the handle, and swung the thing up on to the rack.
That, at least, was the idea. It was carried out literally, but not figuratively. The bag went up beautifully; only—on its way it opened, and the contents showered down upon the seats, the floor, and—yes, even upon her....
The contents....
This story shows upon what small accidents great events turn. If I had only been going instead of coming back! A couple of clean shirts, a few snow-white collars, a pair of sky-blue pyjamas perfectly creased, socks and handkerchiefs neatly folded—one would not have minded all these being thrown before a stranger; at least, not so much. Going, too, the brushes and things would have been in their proper compartments; they would have swung up on to the rack. I feel convinced that, if the thing had happened going, I should have carried it off all right. We should have laughed together, we should have told each other of similar accidents which had happened to friends, and we should have then drifted into a general conversation about the weather. Going ....
But coming back! It was an early train, and I had packed hurriedly. The brushes and things had been put in anyhow, and they came out anyhow. There was an absurd piece of shaving soap wrapped up in one of "An Englishman's Letters." (I always think that things wrapped up like that look so horrible.) There was a shaving-brush in a pink piece of Globe lying on the sky-blue pyjamas (and the pyjamas all anyhow). Then the collars. I do think a dirty collar ... besides I had screwed them up tightly in order to get them in.... Of course she wouldn't understand that....
Socks. Now this is too awful. I don't know if I can mention this. Well—well then, they had two wretched sock-suspenders attached to them. Odd ones, as I live—black and pink. You see, I had got up in a hurry, and...
Handkerchiefs. They had been shoved into the pumps. I had been pressed for space, and...
You know, there were about thirty-nine different things that I wanted to explain to her. In novels the hero is always throwing upon the heroine an expressive glance, full of meaning. That is what I wanted. There is probably, if one only knew it, a shrug, a wave of the hand, which really does express the fact that you were coming and not going, and took in The Times yourself, and had packed in a hurry, and ...
If I could only have handed a Statement to the Press....
And I have yet to mention the unkindest blow of all. The evening clothes themselves, the only presentable things, stayed in the bag. If they had come out too, then I might have done something. I should have left them to the last—conspicuous upon the floor. Then I should have picked them up slowly, examined them, and nodded at the braid on the trousers as if to say, "Hang it, that's the sort of man I am really." I think, if they had come out too, I could still have carried the thing off....
What should A. do? Should he say to the girl, "Close your eyes and count twenty, and see what somebody's brought you," and then, while she was not looking, push the clothes under the seat? Should he be quite calm, and, stretching in front of her, say, "My sock, I think," or politely, "Perhaps you would care to look at a piece of The Daily Mail?" Should he disown the thing altogether? "I'm very sorry. Let me put them back for you." That would have been a master-stroke.
Or should he, to divert attention, pull the alarm, and pay his five pounds like a man?
But what did A. do?
Alas! He did nothing heroic. For one moment he stood there; then he pulled down the bag, fell on his knees, and began throwing the things in madly. He picked up the bag, locked it, and put it on the rack.
Then he turned to the girl. Now he was going to have spoken to her. An apology, a laugh—yes, even now he might have carried it off.
Only he happened to look up ... and he saw above her head the cord of his pyjamas dangling over the edge of the rack.