The Way to the Dairy

by H.H. Munro (SAKI)

　　The Baroness and Clovis sat in a much-frequented corner of thePark exchanging biographical confidences about the long successionof passers-by."Who are those depressed-looking young women who have just goneby?" asked the Baroness; "they have the air of people who havebowed to destiny and are not quite sure whether the salute will bereturned.""Those," said Clovis, "are the Brimley Bomefields. I dare say youwould look depressed if you had been through their experiences.""I'm always having depressing experiences;" said the Baroness, "but I never give them outward expression. It's as bad as lookingone's age. Tell me about the Brimley Bomefields.""Well," said Clovis, "the beginning of their tragedy was that theyfound an aunt. The aunt had been there all the time, but they hadvery nearly forgotten her existence until a distant relativerefreshed their memory by remembering her very distinctly in hiswill; it is wonderful what the force of example will accomplish.The aunt, who had been unobtrusively poor, became quite pleasantlyrich, and the Brimley Bomefields grew suddenly concerned at theloneliness of her life and took her under their collective wings.She had as many wings around her at this time as one of thosebeast-things in Revelation.""So far I don't see any tragedy from the Brimley Bomefields' pointof view," said the Baroness."We haven't got to it yet," said Clovis. "The aunt had been usedto living very simply, and had seen next to nothing of what weshould consider life, and her nieces didn't encourage her to domuch in the way of making a splash with her money. Quite a gooddeal of it would come to them at her death, and she was a fairlyold woman, but there was one circumstance which cast a shadow ofgloom over the satisfaction they felt in the discovery andacquisition of this desirable aunt: she openly acknowledged that acomfortable slice of her little fortune would go to a nephew onthe other side of her family. He was rather a deplorable thing inrotters, and quite hopelessly top-hole in the way of gettingthrough money, but he had been more or less decent to the old ladyin her unremembered days, and she wouldn't hear anything againsthim. At least, she wouldn't pay any attention to what she didhear, but her nieces took care that she should have to listen to agood deal in that line. It seemed such a pity, they said amongthemselves, that good money should fall into such worthless hands.They habitually spoke of their aunt's money as 'good money,' asthough other people's aunts dabbled for the most part in spuriouscurrency."Regularly after the Derby, St. Leger, and other notable racingevents they indulged in audible speculations as to how much moneyRoger had squandered in unfortunate betting transactions."'His travelling expenses must come to a big sum,' said the eldestBrimley Bomefield one day; 'they say he attends every race-meetingin England, besides others abroad. I shouldn't wonder if he wentall the way to India to see the race for the Calcutta Sweepstakethat one hears so much about.'"'Travel enlarges the mind, my dear Christine,' said her aunt."'Yes, dear aunt, travel undertaken in the right spirit,' agreedChristine; 'but travel pursued merely as a means towards gamblingand extravagant living is more likely to contract the purse thanto enlarge the mind. However, as long as Roger enjoys himself, Isuppose he doesn't care how fast or unprofitably the money goes,or where he is to find more. It seems a pity, that's all.'"The aunt by that time had begun to talk of something else, and itwas doubtful if Christine's moralizing had been even accorded ahearing. It was her remark, however--the aunt's remark, I mean--about travel enlarging the mind, that gave the youngest BrimleyBomefield her great idea for the showing-up of Roger."'If aunt could only be taken somewhere to see him gambling andthrowing away money,' she said, 'it would open her eyes to hischaracter more effectually than anything we can say.'"'My dear Veronique,' said her sisters, 'we, can't go followinghim to race-meetings.'"'Certainly not to race-meetings,' said Veronique, 'but we mightgo to some place where one can look on at gambling without takingpart in it.'"'Do you mean Monte Carlo?' they asked her, beginning to jumprather at the idea."'Monte Carlo is a long way off, and has a dreadful reputation,'said Veronique; 'I shouldn't like to tell our-friends that we weregoing to Monte Carlo. But I believe Roger usually goes to Dieppeabout this time of year, and some quite respectable English peoplego there, and the journey wouldn't be expensive. If aunt couldstand the Channel crossing the change of scene might do her a lotof good.'"And that was how the fateful idea came to the Brimley Bomefields."From the very first set-off disaster hung over the expedition, asthey afterwards remembered. To begin with, all the BrimleyBomefields were extremely unwell during the crossing, while theaunt enjoyed the sea air and made friends with all manner ofstrange travelling companions. Then, although it was many yearssince she had been on the Continent, she had served a verypractical apprenticeship there as a paid companion, and herknowledge of colloquial French beat theirs to a standstill. Itbecame increasingly difficult to keep under their collective wingsa person who knew what she wanted and was able to ask for it andto see that she got it. Also, as far as Roger was concerned, theydrew Dieppe blank; it turned out that he was staying at Pourville,a little watering-place a mile or two further west. The BrimleyBomefields discovered that Dieppe was too crowded and frivolous,and persuaded the old lady to migrate to the comparative seclusionof Pourville."'You won't find it dull, you know,' they assured her; 'there is alittle casino attached to the hotel, and you can watch the peopledancing and throwing away their money at PETITS CHEVAUX.'"It was just before PETITS CHEVAUX had been supplanted by BOULE."Roger was not staying in the same hotel, but they knew that thecasino would be certain of his patronage on most afternoons andevenings."On the first evening of their visit they wandered into the casinoafter a fairly early dinner, and hovered near the tables. Bertievan Tahn was staying there at the time, and he described the wholeincident to me. The Brimley Bomefields kept a furtive watch onthe doors as though they were expecting some one to turn up, andthe aunt got more and more amused and interested watching thelittle horses whirl round and round the board."'Do you know, poor little number eight hasn't won for the lastthirty-two times,' she said to Christine; 'I've been keepingcount. I shall really have to put five francs on him to encouragehim.'"'Come and watch the dancing, dear,' said Christine nervously. Itwas scarcely a part of their strategy that Roger should come inand find the old lady backing her fancy at the PETITS CHEVAUXtable."'Just wait while I put five francs on number eight,' said theaunt, and in another moment her money was lying on the table. Thehorses commenced to move round, it was a slow race this time, andnumber eight crept up at the finish like some crafty demon andplaced his nose just a fraction in front of number three, who hadseemed to be winning easily. Recourse had to be had tomeasurement, and the number eight was proclaimed the winner. Theaunt picked up thirty-five francs. After that the BrimleyBomefields would have had to have used concerted force to get heraway from the tables. When Roger appeared on the scene she wasfifty-two francs to the good; her nieces were hovering forlornlyin the background, like chickens that have been hatched out by aduck and are despairingly watching their parent disporting herselfin a dangerous and uncongenial element. The supper-party whichRoger insisted on standing that night in honour of his aunt andthe three Miss Brimley Bomefields was remarkable for theunrestrained gaiety of two of the participants and the funerealmirthlessness of the remaining guests."'I do not think;' Christine confided afterwards to a friend, whore-confided it to Bertie van Tahn, 'that I shall ever be able totouch PAT DE FOIE GRAS again. It would bring back memories ofthat awful evening.'"For the next two or three days the nieces made plans forreturning to England or moving on to some other resort where therewas no casino. The aunt was busy making a system for winning atPETITS CHEVAUX. Number eight, her first love, had been runningrather unkindly for her, and a series of plunges on number fivehad turned out even worse."'Do you know, I dropped over seven hundred francs at the tablesthis afternoon,' she announced cheerfully at dinner on the fourthevening of their visit."'Aunt! Twenty-eight pounds! And you were losing last nighttoo.'"'Oh, I shall get it all back,' she said optimistically; 'but nothere. These silly little horses are no good. I shall gosomewhere where one can play comfortably at roulette. You needn'tlook so shocked. I've always felt that, given the opportunity, Ishould be an inveterate gambler, and now you darlings have put theopportunity in my way. I must drink your very good healths.Waiter, a bottle of PONTET CANET. Ah, it's number seven on thewine list; I shall plunge on number seven to-night. It won fourtimes running this afternoon when I was backing that silly numberfive.'"Number seven was not in a winning mood that evening. The BrimleyBomefields, tired of watching disaster from a distance, drew nearto the table where their aunt was now an honoured habitue, andgazed mournfully at the successive victories of one and five andeight and four, which swept 'good money' out of the purse ofseven's obstinate backer. The day's losses totalled somethingvery near two thousand francs."'You incorrigible gamblers,' said Roger chaffingly to them, whenhe found them at the tables."'We are not gambling,' said Christine freezingly; 'we are lookingon.'"'I DON'T think,' said Roger knowingly; 'of course you're asyndicate and aunt is putting the stakes on for all of you.Anyone can tell by your looks when the wrong horse wins thatyou've got a stake on.'"Aunt and nephew had supper alone that night, or at least theywould have if Bertie hadn't joined them; all the BrimleyBomefields had headaches."The aunt carried them all off to Dieppe the next day and setcheerily about the task of winning back some of her losses. Herluck was variable; in fact, she had some fair streaks of goodfortune, just enough to keep her thoroughly amused with her newdistraction; but on the whole she was a loser. The BrimleyBomefields had a collective attack of nervous prostration on theday when she sold out a quantity of shares in Argentine rails.'Nothing will ever bring that money back,' they remarkedlugubriously to one another."'Veronique at last could bear it no longer, and went home; yousee, it had been her idea to bring the aunt on this disastrousexpedition, and though the others did not cast the fact verballyin her face, there was a certain lurking reproach in their eyeswhich was harder to meet than actual upbraidings. The other tworemained behind, forlornly mounting guard over their aunt untilsuch time as the waning of the Dieppe season should at last turnher in the direction of home and safety. They made anxiouscalculations as to how little 'good money' might, with reasonableluck, be squandered in the meantime. Here, however, theirreckoning went far astray; the close of the Dieppe season merelyturned their aunt's thoughts in search of some other convenientgambling resort. 'Show a cat the way to the dairy--' I forget howthe proverb goes on, but it summed up the situation as far as theBrimley Bomefields' aunt was concerned. She had been introducedto unexplored pleasures, and found them greatly to her liking, andshe was in no hurry to forgo the fruits of her newly acquiredknowledge. You see, for the first time in her life the old thingwas thoroughly enjoying herself; she was losing money, but she hadplenty of fun and excitement over the process, and she had enoughleft to do very comfortably on. Indeed, she was only justlearning to understand the art of doing oneself well. She was apopular hostess, and in return her fellow-gamblers were alwaysready to entertain her to dinners and suppers when their luck wasin. Her nieces, who still remained in attendance on her, with thepathetic unwillingness of a crew to leave a foundering treasureship which might yet be steered into port, found little pleasurein these Bohemian festivities; to see 'good money' lavished ongood living for the entertainment of a nondescript circle ofacquaintances who were not likely to be in any way socially usefulto them, did not attune them to a spirit of revelry. Theycontrived, whenever possible, to excuse themselves fromparticipation in their aunt's deplored gaieties; the BrimleyBomefield headaches became famous."And one day the nieces came to the conclusion that, as they wouldhave expressed it, 'no useful purpose would be served' by theircontinued attendance on a relative who had so thoroughlyemancipated herself from the sheltering protection of their wings.The aunt bore the announcement of their departure with acheerfulness that was almost disconcerting."'It's time you went home and had those headaches seen to by aspecialist,' was her comment on the situation."The homeward journey of the Brimley Bomefields was a veritableretreat from Moscow, and what made it the more bitter was the factthat the Moscow, in this case, was not overwhelmed with fire andashes, but merely extravagantly over-illuminated."From mutual friends and acquaintances they sometimes get glimpsesof their prodigal relative, who has settled down into a confirmedgambling maniac, living on such salvage of income as obligingmoneylenders have left at her disposal."So you need not be surprised," concluded Clovis, "if they do weara depressed look in public.""Which is Veronique?" asked the Baroness."The most depressed-looking of the three," said Clovis.