III.—ANOTHER MILESTONE
"You're very thoughtful," said Miss Middleton. "What's the matter?"
"I am extremely unhappy," I confessed.
"Oh, but think of Foster and Hobbs and Woolley."
I thought of Foster; I let my mind dwell upon Hobbs. It was no good.
"I am still rather sad," I said.
"Why? Doesn't anybody love you?"
"Millions adore me fiercely. It isn't that at all. The fact is I've just had a birthday."
"Oh, I AM sorry. Many happy—"
"Thank you."
"I thought it was to-morrow," Miss Middleton went on eagerly. "And I'd bought a cricketing set for you, but I had to send it back to have the bails sawn in two. Or would you rather have had a bicycle?"
"I'd rather have had nothing. I want to forget about my birthday altogether."
"Oh, are you as old as that?"
"Yes," I said sadly, "I am as old as that. I have passed another landmark. I'm what they call getting on."
We gazed into the fire in silence for some minutes.
"If it's any comfort to you," said Miss Middleton timidly, "to know that you don't LOOK any older than you did last week—"
"I'm not sure that I feel any older."
"Then, except for birthdays, how do you know you ARE older?"
I looked at her and saw that I could trust her.
"May I confess to you?" I asked.
"But of course!" she cried eagerly. "I love confessions." She settled herself comfortably in her chair. "Make it as horrible as you can," she begged.
I picked a coal out of the fire with the tongs and lit my cigarette.
"I know that I'm getting old," I said; "I know that my innocent youth is leaving me, because of the strange and terrible things which I find myself doing."
"Oo-o-o-oh," said Miss Middleton happily to herself.
"Last Monday, about three o'clock in the afternoon, I—No, I can't tell you this. It's too awful."
"Is it very bad?" said Miss Middleton wistfully.
"Very. I don't think you—Oh, well, if you must have it, here it is. Last Monday I suddenly found myself reading carefully and with every sign of interest a little pamphlet on—LIFE INSURANCE!"
Miss Middleton looked at me quickly, smiled suddenly, and then became very grave.
"I appeared," I went on impressively, "to be thinking of insuring my life."
"Have you done it?"
"No, certainly not. I drew back in time. But it was a warning—it was the writing on the wall."
"Tell me some more," said Miss Middleton, after she had allowed this to sink in.
"Well, that was Monday afternoon. I told myself that in the afternoon one wasn't quite responsible, that sometimes one was only half awake. But on Tuesday morning I was horrified to discover myself—before breakfast—DOING DUMB-BELLS!"
"The smelling-salts—quick!" said Miss Middleton, as she closed her eyes.
"Doing dumb-bells. Ten lunges to the east, ten lunges to the west, ten lunges—"
"Were you reducing your figure?"
"I don't know what I was doing. But there I found myself on the cold oil-cloth, lunging away—lunging and lunging and—" I stopped and gazed into the fire again.
"Is that all you have to tell me?" said Miss Middleton.
"That's the worst. But there have been other little symptoms—little warning notes which all mean the same thing. Yesterday I went into the bank, to get some money. As I began to fill in the cheque Conscience whispered to me, 'That's the third five pounds you've had out this week.'"
"Well, of all the impertinence—What did you do?"
"Made it ten pounds, of course. But there you are; you see what's happening. This morning I answered a letter by return of post. And did you notice what occurred only just now at tea?"
"Of course I did," said Miss Middleton indignantly. "You ate all the muffins."
"No, I don't mean that at all. What I mean is that I only had three lumps of sugar in each cup. I actually stopped you when you were putting the fourth lump in. Oh yes," I said bitterly, "I am getting on."
Miss Middleton poked the fire vigorously.
"About the lunges," she said.
"Ten to the east, ten to the west, ten to the nor'-nor'-east, ten to-"
"Yes. Well, I should have thought that that was just the thing to keep you young."
"It is. That's the tragedy of it. I used to BE young; now I KEEP young. And I used to say, 'I'll insure my life SOME day'; but now I think about doing it to-day. When once you stop saying 'some day' you're getting old, you know."
"Some day," said Miss Middleton, "you must tell me all about the Crimea. Not now," she went on quickly, "because you're going to do something very silly in a moment, if I can think of it—something to convince yourself that you are still quite young."
"Yes, do let me. I really think it would do me good."
"Well, what can you do?"
"Can I break anything?" I asked, looking round the room.
"I really don't think you must. Mother's very silly about things like that. I'm SO sorry; father and I would love it, of course."
"Can I go into the kitchen and frighten the cook?"
Miss Middleton sighed mournfully.
"ISN'T it a shame," she said, "that mothers object to all the really nice things?"
"Mrs Middleton is a little difficult to please. I shall give up trying directly. What about blacking my face and calling on the Vicar for a subscription?"
"I should laugh in church on Sunday thinking of it. I always do."
I lit another cigarette and smoked it thoughtfully.
"I have a brilliant idea," I said at last.
"Something really silly?"
"Something preposterously foolish. It seems to me just now the most idiotic thing I could possibly do."
"Tell me!" beseeched Miss Middleton, clasping her hands.
"I shall," I said, gurgling with laughter, "insure my life."
IV.-THE HERALD OF SUMMER
MISS MIDDLETON has a garden of which she is very proud. Miss Middleton's father says it belongs to him, and this idea is fostered to the extent that he is allowed to pay for the seeds and cuttings and things. He is also encouraged to order the men about. But I always think of it as Miss Middleton's garden, particularly when the afternoons are hot and I see nothing but grimy bricks out of my window. She knows all the flowers by name, which seems to me rather remarkable.
"I have come," I announced, feeling that some excuse was necessary, "to see the lobretias; don't say that they are out. I mean, of course, do say that they are out."
"But I don't think we have any," she said in surprise. "I've never heard of them. What are they like?"
"They're just the ordinary sort of flower that people point to and say, 'That's a nice lobretia.' Dash it, you've got a garden, you ought to know."
"I am afraid," smiled Miss Middleton, "that there isn't such a flower—not yet. Perhaps somebody will invent it now they've got the name."
"Then I suppose I must go back to London," I said, getting up.
"Bother."
"Stay and inspect the meter," pleaded Miss Middleton. "Or ask father for a subscription for the band. Surely you can think of SOME excuse for being here."
"I will stay," I said, sitting down again, "and talk to you. Between ourselves, it is one of the reasons why I came. I thought you might like to hear all the latest news. Er—we've started strawberries in London."
Miss Middleton sighed and shook her head.
"But not here," she said.
"I was afraid not, but I thought I'd remind you in case. Well, after all, what ARE strawberries? Let's talk about something else. Do you know that this is going to be the greatest season of history? I've got a free pass to the Earl's Court Exhibition, so I shall be right in the thick of it."
"Oh, I thought last season was the great one."
"It was spoilt by the Coronation, the papers say. You remember how busy we were at the Abbey; we hadn't time for anything else."
"What else do the papers say? I seem to have missed them lately.
I've had a thousand things to do."
"Well, the Sardine Defence League has just been formed. I think of putting up for it. I suppose you have to swear to do one kind action to a sardine everyday. Let's both join, and then we shall probably get a lot of invitations."
"Do they have a tent at the Eton and Harrow match?" asked Miss
Middleton anxiously.
"I will inquire. I wonder if there is a Vice-Presidency vacant. I should think a Vice-President of the Sardine Defence League could go anywhere."
"V.P.S.D.L.," said Miss Middleton thoughtfully. "It would look splendid. I must remember to send you a postcard to-morrow."
Tea came, and I put my deck-chair one rung up to meet it. It is difficult in a horizontal position to drink without spilling anything, and it looks so bad to go about covered with tea.
"This is very jolly," I said. "Do you know that my view during working hours consists of two broken windows and fifty square feet of brick? It's not enough. It's not what I call a vista. On fine days I have to go outside to see whether the sun is shining."
"You oughtn't to want to look out of the window when you're working.
You'll never be a Mayor."
"Well, it all makes me appreciate the country properly. I wish I knew more about gardens. Tell me all about yours. When are the raspberries ripe?"
"Not till the end of June."
"I was afraid you'd say that. May I come down and see your garden at the end of June—one day when I'm not at Earl's Court? You can give all the gardeners a holiday that day. I hate to be watched when I'm looking at flowers and things."
"Are you as fond of raspberries as all that? Why didn't I know?"
"I'm not a bit mad about them, really, but they're a symbol of Summer. On a sloshy day in November, as I grope my way through the fog, I say to myself, 'Courage, the raspberries will soon be ripe.'"
"But that means that summer is half over. The cuckoo is what I'm listening for all through November. I heard it in April this year."
I looked round to see that nobody was within earshot.
"I haven't heard it yet," I confessed. "It wasn't really so much to see the lobretias as to hear the cuckoo that I came to have tea with you. I feel just the same about it; it's the beginning of everything. And I said to myself, 'Miss Middleton may not have a first-rate show of lobretias, because possibly it is an unfavourable soil for them, or they may not fit in with the colour scheme; but she does know what is essential to a proper garden, and she'll have a cuckoo.'"
"Yes, we do ourselves very well," said Miss Middleton confidently.
"Well, I didn't like to say anything about it before, because I thought it might make you nervous, and so I've been talking of other things. But now that the secret is out, I may say that I am quite ready." I stopped and listened intently with my head on one side.
There was an appalling silence.
"I don't seem to hear it," I said at last.
"But I haven't heard it here yet," Miss Middleton protested. "It was in Hampshire. The cuckoos here are always a bit late. You see, our garden takes a little finding. It isn't so well known in—in Africa, or wherever they come from—as Hampshire."
"Yes, but when I've come down specially to hear it—"
"CUCK-OO," said Miss Middleton suddenly, and looked very innocent.
"There, that was the nightingale, but it's the cuckoo I really want to hear."
"I AM sorry about it. If you like, I'll listen to you while you tell me who you think ought to play for England. I can't make it more summery for you than that. Unless roses are any good?"
"No, don't bother," I said in some disappointment; "you've done your best. We can't all have cuckoos any more than we can all have lobretias. I must come again in August, when one of the pioneers may have struggled here. Of course in Hampshire—"
"CUCK-OO," said somebody from the apple tree.
"There!" cried Miss Middleton.
"That's much better," I said. "Now make it come from the laburnum,
Lieutenant."
"I'm not doing it, really!" she said. "At least only the first time."
"CUCK-OO," said somebody from the apple tree again.
There was no doubt about it. I let my deck-chair down a rung and prepared to welcome the summer.
"Now," I said, "we're off."