OUR PASTORAL.
"Hulloa, Melhuish," I said, "after all you had ideal weather for your Midsummer Night's Dream yesterday."
"Ideal," said Melhuish moodily.
"Really, if you'd picked the day it couldn't have been better. You want peculiar atmospheric conditions for a pastoral, don't you? Just enough sun, not too much wind, temperature congenial for sitting out-of-doors. You had 'em all."
Melhuish nodded.
"Your garden must be looking like fairyland too now with the roses out and the trees in all their full summer greenery."
He nodded again.
"What a setting for the Dream! It drew a crowd, of course?"
"Yes, we drew the county."
I sighed regretfully. "How I wish I hadn't funked it, but with my lumbago I never dare risk damp grass and it looked so awfully like rain in the morning."
Melhuish suddenly got excited. "Looked like rain!" he said violently. "It did rain. It rained several drops. I never saw such drops, as big as saucers. Perhaps you didn't hear the thunder?"
"My dear bean," I said, "it was the thunder which put me off coming to see you as Bottom and Mrs. Melhuish as Titania in the most idyllic surroundings I can imagine."
"You wouldn't have seen us in any idyllic surroundings," said Melhuish. He had relapsed into moodiness again. I could see there was something serious.
"What happened, old friend?" I said gently.
"We began rehearsing during that glorious spell of sunshine in the spring, when the garden was a carpet of daffodils and it was a sheer joy to play about out-of-doors. Then the weather broke for a time and we migrated to the Parish Hall. You know our Parish Hall?"
"Quite well. A little tin place on the left from the rectory."
"That's it. It's got a platform on trestles at one end and a paraffin lamp in the middle. The Vicar placed it at our disposal when there wasn't a Women's Institute or a choir practice, and on chilly nights he had the 'Beatrice stove' lit for us. Then the Summer began in real earnest. We got in extra gardeners, worked like niggers ourselves, and when the turf was in perfect condition and the thyme was coming up on Titania's bank we fixed the date and billed the county.
"After that we all got nervous and went about consulting weather forecasts. Old Moore prophesied heavy rains. The Daily Mail said a cyclone from New York was on the way. The weather-glasses jumped about and seemed to know their own minds even less than usual. Three days before the date thunderstorms were reported all over the country and a fowl was struck by lightning. But not a drop of rain came to our village.
"At the dress-rehearsal the night before the performance we debated the weather prospects until the moon rose. Lysander said his bit of seaweed which he brought from Bognor was as dry as parched peas and he would back it against any fool barometer. Cocklewhite, our prompter, said he didn't want to depress the company, but he had a leech in a bottle of water which rose for fine weather and sank for wet, and he was bound to tell us it was like lead at the bottom at the present moment. Hermia pointed to the heavens, 'Red sky at night shepherds' delight,' she quoted. There was no getting away from the swallows; they were nose-diving to a bird. 'Hang swallows,' Oberon said; 'put your trust in mosquitoes. Look at my eyelid.'
"'It's no good talking,' Theseus said; 'nobody can tell until the morning, and then it'll be up to Bottom to decide by 11.30 whether it's to be indoors or out. He's our stage-manager and we know his arrangements in case of rain. They're the only arrangements possible in our little village, and it's going to be a nightmare instead of a dream if they have to be carried out. But we can depend upon Bottom to make a wise decision. He'll notify us and the boy-scouts will notify the audience. All we've got to do is not to grouse.'
"Cocklewhite said he would phone me the position of his leech at 9 a.m., and Lysander promised to report any change in the condition of the seaweed. I set our glass and Titania and I got up at half-hour intervals during the night and tapped it. It refused to budge either way.
"At dawn Titania looked out of the window and gave a wild cry. 'Red sky in the morning shepherds' warning,' she wailed. At breakfast Cocklewhite phoned that his leech was dead, and he had strong suspicions it had died from atmospheric pressure. Almost at the same moment Lysander sent word that his seaweed had gone clammy during the night. Half-an-hour later came a clap of thunder and the drops of rain I mentioned. I needn't go on. You can guess the rest."
Melhuish paused.
"But the performance came off, didn't it?" I said.
"Yes, in the Parish Hall. It was a perfect day for a pastoral."
Profiteer. "I want you to paint me with a book in my 'and and my valet standin' unobtrusively in the background in case I might wish to call 'im."