Under One Flag. Marsh Richard
to say next took my breath away. "I know my boy. I know his faults. I know his virtues. He has many fine qualities." Had he? I could only say I had not noticed them. "But it has not been always altogether fortunate for him that he is such a universal favourite-especially with young women." She looked at me in a style which made me go both hot and cold. "He has generous instincts; noble impulses; a natural inclination to do only what is right and proper. But-alas! – he is of a pliant disposition, as clay in the hands of the modeller; easily led astray."
"Is that so? I am bound to admit that your son has not struck me as being a very vertebrate creature, but I don't see what his peculiarities have to do with me."
"Miss Wilson, I don't like to hear you talk like that. I don't like it."
"Mrs Spencer!"
"It shows a callous disposition, especially in one who is, apparently, so young."
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean perfectly well. Your own conscience is telling you, as you sit there, that you have taken advantage of his simplicity to induce my boy to do what he never would have done if he had been left alone."
"Mrs Spencer! This is monstrous!"
"It is no use your jumping up from your chair in that excitable manner and raising your voice. I am here to do my duty as a mother, and as the wife of the rector of this parish. Already your machinations have created a scandal, and you have set the whole place by the ears. Can you deny that you have entangled my son in a dreadful business, the end and aim of which is to perform in public a stage play for which you are responsible?"
"I presume that you are aware that you are alluding to Mr Frank Spencer's own musical comedy."
"It is not straightforward of you to attempt to take up such an attitude, Miss Wilson. Is it not a fact that for the play-which Mrs Parker informs me is of an absolutely impossible kind-"
"Oh, Mrs Parker was your informant, was she?"
"Certainly. She was never more shocked in her life. To think that she should have been invited-actually invited! – to listen to such dreadful stuff!"
"It was your son who invited her; it was he who read the dreadful stuff, of which he is part author."
"Miss Wilson, it is unworthy of you to try to put the blame upon my boy, who is a mere lad."
"He's older than I am."
"In years, but we do not count by years only. I insist upon your telling me if for that dreadful play you are not principally, and practically, solely responsible?"
"I certainly have tried to make sense of your son's nonsense."
"And you really propose to perform it in public?"
"For the benefit of the parochial charities."
"For the benefit of the parochial charities!" You should have seen the expression which was on her funny little face as she repeated my words. "Miss Wilson, you dare to say such a thing! When you are perfectly well aware that neither the rector nor I would ever permit a farthing of any money obtained by such means to be devoted to such a purpose!"
"This is the most extraordinary thing I ever heard. Don't you know that the inception of the whole affair is your son's? He came and begged me to take part in an entertainment in aid of the parochial charities; he forced me to read his wretched play-"
"Oh, Miss Wilson! Miss Wilson! How can you talk to me in such a manner!" She actually wrung her hands, or seemed to. "Your painful behaviour compels me to ask if it is a fact that you are engaged to be married?"
"I am, though I do not see what that has to do with the matter under discussion."
"Then, under such circumstances, do you think it right and proper to encourage my poor boy?"
"Encourage your poor boy! I!"
I thought when she said that, that I should have had a fit.
"He is always with you; it is common talk. He is continually at your house-"
"Do you imagine that I invite him?"
I believe that I screamed at her.
"He has a photograph of yours in his cigarette-case; another in his pocket-book; another in his desk; a fourth on his bedroom mantelpiece."
"That's where my photographs have vanished to! Now I understand! Let me inform you, Mrs Spencer, that if, as you say, your son has my photographs, he has stolen them. Yes, stolen them-without asking my permission, and without my knowledge-like any common thief."
I do not deny that I lost my temper, but who, under the circumstances, would not have done? We had a brisk discussion. When we parted it was with a mutually-expressed hope that it was to meet no more.
Soon afterwards I went out to get some stamps. Old Bunting, who keeps the general shop and the post-office, received me with what he perhaps meant for an ingratiating simper.
"I hear, miss, that we're to have lively doings up at the Assembly Rooms; real old-fashioned ballet dancing and all sorts of things."
"I don't know what you mean, Mr Bunting."
I did not.
"Regular music-hall performances, so I'm told; short skirts and no end. It seems a bit unusual for ladies and gentlemen to go in for that kind of thing, but you'll have the place crammed to the doors, I promise you so much."
When I left Bunting's almost the first person I encountered was Mr Frank Spencer. I had it out with him then and there.
"Mr Spencer, will you at once return those four photographs of mine which you have stolen, or will it be necessary to communicate with the police?" He had the assurance to pretend to look surprised, but then he had assurance enough to pretend anything. "Your mother informs me that the whole idea of a performance in aid of the parochial charities is an invention of your own; on your father's behalf she repudiates it altogether. How dare you attempt to drag me into such a thing? As for that miserable musical comedy of yours-"
"Of ours."
If I could believe my senses there was still a twinkle in his eye.
"Of yours; you will give me your word of honour that you will destroy it at once, or I promise you that you shall hear from my solicitors."
"Really, Miss Wilson, I think it's rather hard of you to assail a fellow tooth and nail like this."
"You think I'm hard on you, do you? Here comes someone who, I fancy, you will find is of a different opinion." For who should come sailing into sight but George. Although I had not the faintest notion where he had sprung from, on the whole the sight of him was not unwelcome. "George," I began, "Mr Spencer has stolen four of my photographs. I want him to return them to me at once."
"So this is Mr Spencer." George looked him up and down in a style which was not exactly flattering. "I am sure, Mr Spencer, that it is unnecessary for me to emphasise Miss Wilson's request."
"Quite. Here are two of the photographs in question." He took one from a cigarette-case, and a second from a pocket-book, as his mother had said. That boy's audacity! "I will see that the other two are forwarded directly I reach home."
I still addressed myself to George.
"Mr Spencer appears desirous of associating me with a scrawl which he calls a musical comedy. Will you request him to see that the manuscript of the thing is entirely destroyed?"
"You hear, Mr Spencer?"
"Perfectly. I will do better than Miss Wilson asks. I will send the 'scrawl' in question with the two photographs. She will then be able to do with it what she pleases. While apologising for any inconvenience which Miss Wilson may have been occasioned, I would beg to be allowed to add that I think that Miss Wilson is disposed to regard me with almost undue severity. She forgets how hard up for amusement a fellow may be in a place like this. My idea was to get her to join me in playing off a joke on the aboriginals which wouldn't be forgotten for years. I can only express my regret that she should have taken up the point of view she has."
The impertinent young rascal walked off with his head in the air, and a look on his face