The Long Vacation Part 14

"Most politely he informed me that this place does not agree with his health; and there did not seem sufficient scope for his services since the Reverend Underwood had become so much more independent. So we were thankful to dispose of him to Lord de Vigny."

"He was a great plague," interpolated Adrian, "always jawing about the hall-door."

"Are you really without a man-servant?" demanded Gerald.

"In the house. Lomax comes up from the stables to take some of the work.

Some lemonade, Gerald?"

Gerald gazed round in search of unutterable requirements; but only met imploring eyes from aunt and sister, and restraining ones from his uncle. He subsided and submitted to the lemonade, while Anna diverted attention by recurring rather nervously to the former subject.

"And I have got rid of Porter, she kept me in far too good order."

"As if Sibby did not," said Clement.

"Aye, and you too! But that comes naturally, and began in babyhood!"

"What have you done with the house at Brompton?"

"Martha is taking care of it--Mrs. Lightfoot, don't you know? One of our old interminable little Lightfoots, who went to be a printer in London, married, and lost his wife; then in our break-up actually married Martha to take care of his children! Now he is dead, and I am thankful to have her in the house."

"To frighten loafers with her awful squint."

"You forgive the rejection of 'The Inspector's Tour'? Indeed I think you expected it."

"I wanted to see whether the young ladies would find it out."

"No compliment to our genius," said his aunt.

"I a.s.sure you, like Mrs. Bennet, 'there is plenty of that sort of thing,'" said Anna. "Some of them were mystified, but Gillian and Dolores Mohun were in ecstasies."

"Ecstasies from that cheerful name?"

"She is the New Zealand niece--Mr. Maurice Mohun's daughter. They carried it home to their seniors, and of course the verdict was 'too strong for Rockquay atmosphere,'" said his aunt.

"So it did not even go to Uncle Lance," said Anna. "Shall you try the 'Pursuivant'?"

"On the contrary, I shall put in the pepper and salt I regretted, and try the 'Censor'."

"Indeed?" observed his uncle, in a tone of surprise.

"Oh," said Gerald coolly, "I have sent little things to the 'Censor'

before, which they seem to regard in the light of pickles and laver."

The 'Censor' was an able paper on the side of philosophical politics, and success in that quarter was a feather in the young man's cap, though not quite the kind of feather his elders might have desired.

"Journalism is a kind of native air to us," said Mrs. Grinstead, "but from 'Pur.'"

"'Pur' is the element of your dear old world, Cherie," said Gerald, "and here am I come to do your bidding in its precincts, for a whole long vacation."

He spoke lightly, and with a pretty little graceful bow to his aunt, but there was something in his eyes and smile that conveyed to her a dread that he meant that he only resigned himself for the time and looked beyond.

"Uncle Lance is coming," volunteered Adrian.

"Yes," said Geraldine. "Chorister that he was, and champion of Church teaching that he is, he makes the cause of Christian education everywhere his own, and is coming down to see what he can do inexpensively with native talent for concert, or masque, or something--'Robin Hood' perhaps."

"Ending in character with a rush on the audience?" said Gerald.

"Otherwise 'Robin Hood' is stale."

"Tennyson has spoilt that for public use," said Mrs. Grinstead. "But was not something else in hand?"

"Only rehea.r.s.ed. It never came off," said Gerald.

"The most awful rot," said Adrian. "I would have nothing to do with it."

"In consequence it was a failure," laughed Gerald.

"It was 'The Tempest', wasn't it?" said Anna.

"Not really!" exclaimed Mrs. Grinstead.

"About as like as a wren to an eagle," said Gerald.

"We had it at the festival last winter. The authors adapted the plot, that was all."

"The authors being--

"The present company," said Gerald, "and Uncle Bill, with Uncle Lance supplying or adapting music, for we were not original, I a.s.sure you."

"It was when Uncle Clem was ill," put in Anna, "and somehow I don't think we took in the accounts of it."

"No," said Gerald, "and n.o.body did it con amore, though we could not put it off. I should like to see it better done."

"Such rot!" exclaimed Adrian. "There's an old man, he was Uncle Lance with the great white beard made out of Kit's white bear's skin, and he lived in a desert island, where there was a s.h.i.+pwreck--very jolly if you could see it, only you can't--and the savages--no, the wreckers all came down."

"What, in a desert island?"

"It was not exactly desert. Gerald, I say, do let there be savages. It would be such a lark to have them all black, and then I'd act."

"What an inducement!"

"Then somebody turned out to be somebody's enemy, and the old chap frightened them all with squibs and crackers and fog-horns, till somebody turned out to be somebody else's son, and married the daughter."

"If you trace 'The Tempest' through that version you are clever," said Gerald.

"I told you it was awful rot," said Adrian.

"There's Merrifield! Excuse me, Cherie." And off he went.

"The sentiments of the actors somewhat resembled Adrian's. It was too new, and needed more learning and more pains, so they beg to revert to 'Robin Hood'. However, I should like to see it well got up for once, if only by amateurs. Miranda has a capital song by Uncle Bill, made for Francie's soprano. She cuts you all out, Anna."