A Touch of Realism

by H.H. Munro (SAKI)

　　

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"I hope you've come full of suggestions forChristmas," said Lady Blonze to her latest arrived guest;"the old-fashioned Christmas and the up-to-date Christmasare both so played out. I want to have something reallyoriginal this year.""I was staying with the Mathesons last month," saidBlanche Boveal eagerly, "and we had such a good idea.Every one in the house-party had to be a character andbehave consistently all the time, and at the end of thevisit one had to guess what every one's character was.The one who was voted to have acted his or her characterbest got a prize.""It sounds amusing," said Lady Blonze."I was St. Francis of Assisi," continued Blanche;"we hadn't got to keep to our right sexes. I keptgetting up in the middle of a meal, and throwing out foodto the birds; you see, the chief thing that one remembersof St. Francis is that he was fond of the birds. Everyone was so stupid about it, and thought that I was theold man who feeds the sparrows in the Tuileries Gardens.Then Colonel Pentley was the Jolly Miller on the banks ofDee.""How on earth did he do that?" asked Bertie vanTahn." 'He laughed and sang from morn till night,' "explained Blanche."How dreadful for the rest of you," said Bertie;"and anyway he wasn't on the banks of Dee.""One had to imagine that," said Blanche."If you could imagine all that you might as wellimagine cattle on the further bank and keep on callingthem home, Mary-fashion, across the sands of Dee. Or youmight change the river to the Yarrow and imagine it wason the top of you, and say you were Willie, or whoever itwas, drowned in Yarrow.""Of course it's easy to make fun of it," saidBlanche sharply, "but it was extremely interesting andamusing. The prize was rather a fiasco, though. Yousee, Millie Matheson said her character was LadyBountiful, and as she was our hostess of course we allhad to vote that she had carried out her character betterthan anyone. Otherwise I ought to have got the prize.""It's quite an idea for a Christmas party," saidLady Blonze; "we must certainly do it here."Sir Nicholas was not so enthusiastic. "Are youquite sure, my dear, that you're wise in doing thisthing?" he said to his wife when they were alonetogether. "It might do very well at the Mathesons, wherethey had rather a staid, elderly house-party, but here itwill be a different matter. There is the Durmot flapper,for instance, who simply stops at nothing, and you knowwhat Van Tahn is like. Then there is Cyril Skatterly; hehas madness on one side of his family and a Hungariangrandmother on the other.""I don't see what they could do that would matter,"said Lady Blonze."It's the unknown that is to be dreaded," said SirNicholas. "If Skatterly took it into his head torepresent a Bull of Bashan, well, I'd rather not behere.""Of course we shan't allow any Bible characters.Besides, I don't know what the Bulls of Bashan really didthat was so very dreadful; they just came round andgaped, as far as I remember.""My dear, you don't know what Skatterly's Hungarianimagination mightn't read into the part; it would besmall satisfaction to say to him afterwards: 'You'vebehaved as no Bull of Bashan would have behaved.' ""Oh, you're an alarmist," said Lady Blonze; Iparticularly want to have this idea carried out. It willbe sure to be talked about a lot.""That is quite possible," said Sir Nicholas.* * * *Dinner that evening was not a particularly livelyaffair; the strain of trying to impersonate a self-imposed character or to glean hints of identity fromother people's conduct acted as a check on the naturalfestivity of such a gathering. There was a generalfeeling of gratitude and acquiescence when good-naturedRachel Klammerstein suggested that there should be anhour or two's respite from "the game" while they alllistened to a little piano-playing after dinner.Rachel's love of piano music was not indiscriminate, andconcentrated itself chiefly on selections rendered by heridolised offspring, Moritz and Augusta, who, to do themjustice, played remarkably well.The Klammersteins were deservedly popular asChristmas guests; they gave expensive gifts lavishly onChristmas Day and New Year, and Mrs. Klammerstein hadalready dropped hints of her intention to present theprize for the best enacted character in the gamecompetition. Every one had brightened at this prospect;if it had fallen to Lady Blonze, as hostess, to providethe prize, she would have considered that a littlesouvenir of some twenty or twenty-five shillings' valuewould meet the case, whereas coming from a Klammersteinsource it would certainly run to several guineas.The close time for impersonation efforts came to anend with the final withdrawal of Moritz and Augusta fromthe piano. Blanche Boveal retired early, leaving theroom in a series of laboured leaps that she hoped mightbe recognised as a tolerable imitation of Pavlova. VeraDurmot, the sixteen-year-old flapper, expressed herconfident opinion that the performance was intended totypify Mark Twain's famous jumping frog, and herdiagnosis of the case found general acceptance. Anotherguest to set an example of early bed-going was WaldoPlubley, who conducted his life on a minutely regulatedsystem of time-tables and hygienic routine. Waldo was aplump, indolent young man of seven-and-twenty, whosemother had early in his life decided for him that he wasunusually delicate, and by dint of much coddling andhome-keeping had succeeded in making him physically softand mentally peevish. Nine hours' unbroken sleep,preceded by elaborate breathing exercises and otherhygienic ritual, was among the indispensable regulationswhich Waldo imposed on himself, and there wereinnumerable small observances which he exacted from thosewho were in any way obliged to minister to hisrequirements; a special teapot for the decoction of hisearly tea was always solemnly handed over to the bedroomstaff of any house in which he happened to be staying.No one had ever quite mastered the mechanism of thisprecious vessel, but Bertie van Tahn was responsible forthe legend that its spout had to be kept facing northduring the process of infusion.On this particular night the irreducible nine hourswere severely mutilated by the sudden and by no meansnoiseless incursion of a pyjama-clad figure into Waldo'sroom at an hour midway between midnight and dawn."What is the matter? What are you looking for?"asked the awakened and astonished Waldo, slowlyrecognising Van Tahn, who appeared to be searchinghastily for something he had lost."Looking for sheep," was the reply."Sheep?" exclaimed Waldo."Yes, sheep. You don't suppose I'm looking forgiraffes, do you?""I don't see why you should expect to find either inmy room," retorted Waldo furiously."I can't argue the matter at this hour of thenight," said Bertie, and began hastily rummaging in thechest of drawers. Shirts and underwear went flying on tothe floor."There are no sheep here, I tell you," screamedWaldo."I've only got your word for it," said Bertie,whisking most of the bedclothes on to the floor; "if youweren't concealing something you wouldn't be soagitated."Waldo was by this time convinced that Van Tahn wasraving mad, and made an anxious, effort to humour him."Go back to bed like a dear fellow," he pleaded,"and your sheep will turn up all right in the morning.""I daresay," said Bertie gloomily, "without theirtails. Nice fool I shall look with a lot of Manx sheep."And by way of emphasising his annoyance at theprospect he sent Waldo's pillows flying to the top of thewardrobe."But why no tails?" asked Waldo, whose teeth werechattering with fear and rage and lowered temperature."My dear boy, have you never heard the ballad ofLittle Bo-Peep?" said Bertie with a chuckle. "It's mycharacter in the Game, you know. If I didn't go huntingabout for my lost sheep no one would be able to guess whoI was; and now go to sleepy weeps like a good child or Ishall be cross with you.""I leave you to imagine," wrote Waldo in the courseof a long letter to his mother, "how much sleep I wasable to recover that night, and you know how essentialnine uninterrupted hours of slumber are to my health."On the other hand he was able to devote some wakefulhours to exercises in breathing wrath and fury againstBertie van Tahn.Breakfast at Blonzecourt was a scattered meal, onthe "come when you please" principle, but the house-partywas supposed to gather in full strength at lunch. On theday after the "Game" had been started there were,however, some notable absentees. Waldo Plubley, forinstance, was reported to be nursing a headache. A largebreakfast and an "A.B.C." had been taken up to his room,but he had made no appearance in the flesh."I expect he's playing up to some character," saidVera Durmot; "isn't there a thing of Moliere's, 'LeMalade Imaginaire'? I expect he's that."Eight or nine lists came out, and were dulypencilled with the suggestion."And where are the Klammersteins?" asked LadyBlonze; "they're usually so punctual.""Another character pose, perhaps," said Bertie vanTahn; " 'the Lost Ten Tribes.' ""But there are only three of them. Besides, they'llwant their lunch. Hasn't anyone seen anything of them?""Didn't you take them out in your car?" askedBlanche Boveal, addressing herself to Cyril Skatterly."Yes, took them out to Slogberry Moor immediatelyafter breakfast. Miss Durmot came too.""I saw you and Vera come back," said Lady Blonze,"but I didn't see the Klammersteins. Did you put themdown in the village?""No," said Skatterly shortly."But where are they? Where did you leave them?""We left them on Slogberry Moor," said Vera calmly."On Slogberry Moor? Why, it's more than thirtymiles away! How are they going to get back?""We didn't stop to consider that," said Skatterly;"we asked them to get out for a moment, on the pretencethat the car had stuck, and then we dashed off full speedand left them there.""But how dare you do such a thing? It's mostinhuman! Why, it's been snowing for the last hour.""I expect there'll be a cottage or farmhousesomewhere if they walk a mile or two.""But why on earth have you done it?"The question came in a chorus of indignantbewilderment."That would be telling what our characters are meantto be," said Vera."Didn't I warn you?" said Sir Nicholas tragically tohis wife."It's something to do with Spanish history; we don'tmind giving you that clue," said Skatterly, helpinghimself cheerfully to salad, and then Bertie van Tahnbroke forth into peals of joyous laughter."I've got it! Ferdinand and Isabella deporting theJews! Oh, lovely! Those two have certainly won theprize; we shan't get anything to beat that forthoroughness."Lady Blonze's Christmas party was talked about andwritten about to an extent that she had not anticipatedin her most ambitious moments. The letters from Waldo'smother would alone have made it memorable.

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