PAYING GUESTS. E. F. Benson
was something challenging about so remarkable a statement. Mr. Kemp's head was whirling slightly (but not aching) for Mrs. Bliss seemed to skip about so, but he pulled himself together, and tried, figuratively, to catch hold of her.
"But you yourself," he said. "Aren't you limping very badly, and leaning on a stick? Indeed, I was going to ask you as soon as I had finished telling you about my hip, what form of rheumatism you are suffering from."
Again that radiant smile brightened.
"I'm not suffering from any at all," she said. "Error. It is only a false claim, which I am getting rid of by right thought."
"But why did you come to Bolton then," he asked. "Can't you think rightly at home? Haven't you come here for treatment?"
This question did not disconcert her in the slightest.
"Yes, I'm going to have a course of baths," she said, "but entirely for my dear husband's sake, who is still in blindness. I have, out of love for him, consented to do that--bear ye one another's burdens, you know--but what is curing me, oh, so rapidly, of this false claim of rheumatoid arthritis, as I think they call it, is my own demonstrating over it. All the way down in the train, I treated myself for it, and a friend in London is going to give me absent treatment for it from ten to-night till half-past."
"Absent treatment?" asked Mr. Kemp. "What's that?"
"She will just sit and realise that there is nothing the matter with me, because there can't be anything the matter, since all is health and harmony."
"And will that make it any better?" asked Mr. Kemp.
"It cannot possibly fail to do so. It is the only true healing."
"Then perhaps you won't need your bath to-morrow," said he.
She gave the gayest of laughs.
"Of course I shan't need it, dear Mr. Kemp," she said. "As I told you I am only taking the treatment for my dear husband's sake. That is not really inconsistent. It is only like telling a fairy story to amuse some dear sweet child. Though such a story is not true, it does not mean one is telling lies. What is curing me is the absolute knowledge that Omnipotent Mind never made suffering and never meant us to suffer. Hence, if we think we suffer, it is all a delusion or Error. It can't be real since Mind never made it."
"Dear me, it all sounds most interesting," said Mr. Kemp. "I wonder if it would do me any good."
Mrs. Bliss got up rather too briskly, and the smile completely faded for a moment as a pang of imaginary pain shot through her knee. But almost instantly it reasserted itself.
"There, do you see?" she said. "Surely that will convince you. Just for a moment, I allowed myself to entertain Error, but at once I denied Error, and what I thought was pain has gone. Of course there wasn't any pain really. To-morrow I will lend you my precious, precious book, The Manual of Mental Science, which will prove to you that you can't have pain. What a delicious refreshing talk we've had! Now I must be off, for my friend will be giving me absent treatment, and I must be with her in spirit."
Mrs. Bliss limped slowly but smilingly away and clinging on to the banisters which creaked beneath her solid grasp, and leaning heavily on her stick hauled herself upstairs. She paused at the top, panting a little.
"Not a single touch of pain," she said exultantly.
Mr. Kemp was delighted to hear it, for she seemed barely able to get upstairs at all, but she must know best.
Very serious and exciting bridge meantime had been proceeding in the smoking-room. The points could not be ruinous to anybody, for as usual, they were threepence a hundred, and thus anyone who lost as much as a shilling, was heartily condoled with by the resulting capitalist. The game itself, with its subtleties and intricacies, furnished the excitement, and Colonel Chase, of course, was the final authority on all points of play, and instructed partner and adversaries alike with unstinted criticism.
"A golden rule: to draw out trumps is a golden rule," he was asserting. "They always used to say of me at the mess that I never left a trump in my opponent's hands. You lost a trick or two in the last game, partner, by neglecting that, but then our opponents were indulgent to your fault, and let us off. If Mrs. Holders had led a club after you had played your king, she and Mrs. Oxney would have got a couple more tricks, and penalised us soundly."
Mrs. Holders was still feeling Bolshevistic.
"But I hadn't got a club, Colonel," she said. (This was not true, but that made no difference.)
"Ah no: you hadn't," said he. "What I should have said was if Mrs. Oxney had led a club. That's what I meant."
"Yes, to be sure I ought to have," said Mrs. Oxney, who never had a notion what her hand contained the moment she had got rid of it.
"I think so: I think so," said Colonel Chase. "Hammer away at a suit, establish it at all costs. It pays in the end. Now let's have a look. Who dealt this?"
"I did," said Mrs. Holders, "And I pass."
"No bid, then, is what you should say. I must consider: a difficult problem. I shall declare two hearts, partner. Two, mind: let's have no underbidding. You can trust me for having a sound reason when I say two hearts instead of one."
"Fancy! Two hearts straight off," said Mrs. Oxney. "I should never dare to do such a thing. I can do nothing against such a declaration."
"No, I expect you'll find yourselves in the Potarge this time," said Colonel Chase. "No bid then: well, partner?"
Now Miss Kemp had got into terrible trouble last night for taking Colonel Chase out of a major suit into a minor suit, and so though she only held two microscopic hearts, but an immense tiara of diamonds, she also passed, but Mrs. Holders without a moment's hesitation was daring enough to double. This almost amounted to an impertinence, and the Colonel drew himself up as if insulted: he was not accustomed to have his declaration doubled. He stared at her for a withering moment and she saw red.
"Very well, I've nothing more to say," he said. "I pass."
"You should say 'no bid' Colonel," remarked Mrs. Holders.
Colonel Chase was a very fair-minded man, when it was not reasonably possible to be otherwise.
"So I should, so I should," he said. "Peccavi! And I trust I am not too old to learn. No bid, all round is it? And a club led by Mrs. Oxney. So let's have a look at your hand, partner. Ha, six fine diamonds! Potarge indeed. Let's get to work, and discuss our short-comings afterwards. I find it a little difficult to concentrate with so much agreeable conversation going on. A club! I'll play the queen from your hand. Some do, some don't, but I have always maintained it is the correct play."
A perfect whirlwind of disaster descended upon the unfortunate man. The queen of clubs was taken by Mrs. Holders's king, who returned it and Mrs. Oxney took it with her ace. She then pulled out a small diamond by mistake, and pleasantly found that Mrs. Holders had got none. Mrs. Holders trumped it, and led a third club. This established a very jolly cross-ruff, for wicked Mrs. Oxney had opened clubs from an ace and a small one.
"Never saw such luck," said Colonel Chase, as small trumps on each side of him secured tricks with monotonous regularity. "I can't think why you didn't take me out with two diamonds, partner."
"Because she would have required three," said Mrs. Holders.
"Indeed! Well, that would have been cheaper than letting my two hearts stand. Ha! Now we'll make an end of this."
He trumped one of these wretched little clubs with the king: Mrs. Oxney, with many apologies overtrumped with the ace.
"I never saw such bad luck, Colonel," she said. "Everything against you. Too bad! Of course it looked as if Mrs. Holders held the ace."
"I should think so indeed, considering she doubled me," said the Colonel. "I can't think what you doubled me on, Mrs. Holders. The rest I imagine are mine. Let's see. I declared two hearts I believe. Then we're four down. Somewhat expensive, partner, when we should have had the game if you had only declared diamonds. Well, well: we