The Holiday Round Part 65

"That's what we've come about," said Dorothy.

I rubbed my forehead wearily.

"Would one of you explain?" I asked. "I can't think what's happened.

You're at least a paragraph ahead of me."

Reginald sat down again and lit a cigarette.

"It's simply this," he said, trying to keep calm. "You may call me what you like, but I am always the same person week after week."

"Nonsense. Why, it was Richard last week."

"But the same person."

"And Gerald the week before. Gerald, yes; he was rather a good chap."

"Just the same, only the name was different. And who are we? We are you as you imagine yourself to be."

I looked inquiringly at Dorothy.

"Last week," he went on, "you called me Richard. And I proposed to Phyllis."

"And I accepted him," said Dorothy.

"You!" I said. "What were YOU doing there, I should like to know?"

"Last week I was Phyllis."

"The week before," went on Reginald, "I was Gerald, and I proposed to Millicent."

"I was Millicent, and I accepted him."

"The week before that I was--Good Heavens, think of it--I was George!"

"A beastly name, I agree," I said.

"You gave it me."

"Yes, but I wasn't feeling very well that week."

"I was Mabel," put in Dorothy, "and I accepted him."

"No, no, no--no, don't say that. I mean, one doesn't accept people called George."

"You made me."

"Did I? I'm awfully sorry. Yes, I quite see your point."

"The week before," went on Reginald remorselessly, "I was--"

"Don't go back into February, please! February is such a rotten month with me. Well now, what's your complaint?"

"Just what I said," explained Reginald. "You think you have a new hero and heroine every week, but you're mistaken. We are always the same; and, personally, I am tired of proposing week after week to the same girl."

There was just something about Reginald that I seemed to recognize.

Just the very slightest something.

"Then who are you really," I asked, "if you're always the same person?"

"Yourself. Not really yourself, of course, but yourself as you fondly imagine you are."

I laughed scornfully. "You're nothing of the sort. How ridiculous!

The hero of my own stories, indeed! Myself idealized--then I suppose you think you're rather a fine fellow?" I sneered.

"I suppose you think I am."

"No, I don't. I think you are a silly a.s.s. Saying I'm my own hero.

I'm nothing of the sort. And I suppose Dorothy is me, too?"

"I'm the girl you're in love with," said Dorothy. "Idealized."

"I'm not in love with any one," I denied indignantly.

"Then your ideal girl."

"Ah, you might well be that," I smiled.

I looked at her longingly. She was wonderfully beautiful. I went a little closer to her.

"And we've come," said Reginald, putting his oar in again, "to say that we're sick of getting engaged every week."

I ignored Reginald altogether.

"Are you really sick of him?" I asked Dorothy.

"Yes!"

"As sick of him as I am?"

"I--I daresay."

"Then let's cross him out," I said. And I went back to the table and took up my pen. "Say the word," I said to Dorothy.

"Steady on," began Reginald uneasily. "All I meant was--"

"Personally, as you know," I said to Dorothy, "I think he's a silly a.s.s. And if you think so too--"

"I say, look here, old chap--"