The Jesting of Arlington Stringham

by H.H. Munro (SAKI)

　　Arlington Stringham made a joke in the House of Commons. It was athin House, and a very thin joke; something about the Anglo-Saxonrace having a great many angles. It is possible that it wasunintentional, but a fellow-member, who did not wish it to besupposed that he was asleep because his eyes were shut, laughed.One or two of the papers noted "a laugh" in brackets, and another,which was notorious for the carelessness of its political news,mentioned "laughter." Things often begin in that way."Arlington made a joke in the House last night," said EleanorStringham to her mother; "in all the years we've been marriedneither of us has made jokes, and I don't like it now. I'm afraidit's the beginning of the rift in the lute.""What lute?" said her mother."It's a quotation," said Eleanor.To say that anything was a quotation was an excellent method, inEleanor's eyes, for withdrawing it from discussion, just as youcould always defend indifferent lamb late in the season by saying"It's mutton."And, of course, Arlington Stringham continued to tread the thornypath of conscious humour into which Fate had beckoned him."The country's looking very green, but, after all, that's whatit's there for," he remarked to his wife two days later."That's very modern, and I dare say very clever, but I'm afraidit's wasted on me," she observed coldly. If she had known howmuch effort it had cost him to make the remark she might havegreeted it in a kinder spirit. It is the tragedy of humanendeavour that it works so often unseen and unguessed.Arlington said nothing, not from injured pride, but because he wasthinking hard for something to say. Eleanor mistook his silencefor an assumption of tolerant superiority, and her anger promptedher to a further gibe."You had better tell it to Lady Isobel. I've no doubt she wouldappreciate it."Lady Isobel was seen everywhere with a fawn coloured collie at atime when every one else kept nothing but Pekinese, and she hadonce eaten four green apples at an afternoon tea in the BotanicalGardens, so she was widely credited with a rather unpleasant wit.The censorious said she slept in a hammock and understood Yeats'spoems, but her family denied both stories."The rift is widening to an abyss," said Eleanor to her motherthat afternoon."I should not tell that to anyone," remarked her mother, afterlong reflection."Naturally, I should not talk about it very much?" said Eleanor,"but why shouldn't I mention it to anyone?""Because you can't have an abyss in a lute. There isn't room."Eleanor's outlook on life did not improve as the afternoon woreon. The page-boy had brought from the library BY MERE AND WOLDinstead of BY MERE CHANCE, the book which every one denied havingread. The unwelcome substitute appeared to be a collection ofnature notes contributed by the author to the pages of someNorthern weekly, and when one had been prepared to plunge withdisapproving mind into a regrettable chronicle of ill-spent livesit was intensely irritating to read "the dainty yellow-hammers arenow with us and flaunt their jaundiced livery from every bush andhillock." Besides, the thing was so obviously untrue; eitherthere must be hardly any bushes or hillocks in those parts or thecountry must be fearfully overstocked with yellow-hammers. Thething scarcely seemed worth telling such a lie about. And thepage-boy stood there, with his sleekly brushed and parted hair,and his air of chaste and callous indifference to the desires andpassions of the world. Eleanor hated boys, and she would haveliked to have whipped this one long and often. It was perhaps theyearning of a woman who had no children of her own.She turned at random to another paragraph. "Lie quietly concealedin the fern and bramble in the gap by the old rowan tree, and youmay see, almost every evening during early summer, a pair oflesser whitethroats creeping up and down the nettles and hedge-growth that mask their nesting-place."The insufferable monotony of the proposed recreation! Eleanorwould not have watched the most brilliant performance at HisMajesty's Theatre for a single evening under such uncomfortablecircumstances, and to be asked to watch lesser whitethroatscreeping up and down a nettle "almost every evening" during theheight of the season struck her as an imputation on herintelligence that was positively offensive. Impatiently shetransferred her attention to the dinner menu, which the boy hadthoughtfully brought in as an alternative to the more solidliterary fare. "Rabbit curry," met her eye, and the lines ofdisapproval deepened on her already puckered brow. The cook was agreat believer in the influence of environment, and nourished anobstinate conviction that if you brought rabbit and curry-powdertogether in one dish a rabbit curry would be the result. AndClovis and the odious Bertie van Tahn were coming to dinner.Surely, thought Eleanor, if Arlington knew how much she had hadthat day to try her, he would refrain from joke-making.At dinner that night it was Eleanor herself who mentioned the nameof a certain statesman, who may be decently covered under thedisguise of X."X," said Arlington Stringham, "has the soul of a meringue."It was a useful remark to have on hand, because it applied equallywell to four prominent statesmen of the day, which quadrupled theopportunities for using it."Meringues haven't got souls," said Eleanor's mother."It's a mercy that they haven't," said Clovis; "they would bealways losing them, and people like my aunt would get up missionsto meringues, and say it was wonderful how much one could teachthem and how much more one could learn from them.""What could you learn from a meringue?" asked Eleanor's mother."My aunt has been known to learn humility from an ex-Viceroy,"said Clovis."I wish cook would learn to make curry, or have the sense to leaveit alone," said Arlington, suddenly and savagely.Eleanor's face softened. It was like one of his old remarks inthe days when there was no abyss between them.It was during the debate on the Foreign Office vote that Stringhammade his great remark that "the people of Crete unfortunately makemore history than they can consume locally." It was notbrilliant, but it came in the middle of a dull speech, and theHouse was quite pleased with it. Old gentlemen with bad memoriessaid it reminded them of Disraeli.It was Eleanor's friend, Gertrude Ilpton, who drew her attentionto Arlington's newest outbreak. Eleanor in these days avoided themorning papers."It's very modern, and I suppose very clever," she observed."Of course it's clever," said Gertrude; "all Lady Isobel's sayingsare clever, and luckily they bear repeating.""Are you sure it's one of her sayings?" asked Eleanor."My dear, I've heard her say it dozens of times.""So that is where he gets his humour," said Eleanor slowly, andthe hard lines deepened round her mouth.The death of Eleanor Stringham from an overdose of chloral,occurring at the end of a rather uneventful season, excited acertain amount of unobtrusive speculation. Clovis, who perhapsexaggerated the importance of curry in the home, hinted atdomestic sorrow.And of course Arlington never knew. It was the tragedy of hislife that he should miss the fullest effect of his jesting.