The Match-Maker

by H.H. Munro (SAKI)

　　The grill-room clock struck eleven with the respectfulunobtrusiveness of one whose mission in life is to be ignored.When the flight of time should really have rendered abstinence andmigration imperative the lighting apparatus would signal the factin the usual way.Six minutes later Clovis approached the supper-table, in theblessed expectancy of one who has dined sketchily and long ago."I'm starving," he announced, making an effort to sit downgracefully and read the menu at the same time."So I gathered;" said his host, "from the fact that you werenearly punctual. I ought to have told you that I'm a FoodReformer. I've ordered two bowls of bread-and-milk and somehealth biscuits. I hope you don't mind."Clovis pretended afterwards that he didn't go white above thecollar-line for the fraction of a second."All the same," he said, "you ought not to joke about such things.There really are such people. I've known people who've met them.To think of all the adorable things there are to eat in the world,and then to go through life munching sawdust and being proud ofit.""They're like the Flagellants of the Middle Ages, who went aboutmortifying themselves.""They had some excuse," said Clovis. "They did it to save theirimmortal souls, didn't they? You needn't tell me that a man whodoesn't love oysters and asparagus and good wines has got a soul,or a stomach either. He's simply got the instinct for beingunhappy highly developed."Clovis relapsed for a few golden moments into tender intimacieswith a succession of rapidly disappearing oysters."I think oysters are more beautiful than any religion," he resumedpresently. "They not only forgive our unkindness to them; theyjustify it, they incite us to go on being perfectly horrid tothem. Once they arrive at the supper-table they seem to enterthoroughly into the spirit of the thing. There's nothing inChristianity or Buddhism that quite matches the sympatheticunselfishness of an oyster. Do you like my new waistcoat? I'mwearing it for the first time to-night.""It looks like a great many others you've had lately, only worse.New dinner waistcoats are becoming a habit with you.""They say one always pays for the excesses of one's youth;mercifully that isn't true about one's clothes. My mother isthinking of getting married.""Again!""It's the first time.""Of course, you ought to know. I was under the impression thatshe'd been married once or twice at least.""Three times, to be mathematically exact. I meant that it was thefirst time she'd thought about getting married; the other timesshe did it without thinking. As a matter of fact, it's really Iwho am doing the thinking for her in this case. You see, it'squite two years since her last husband died.""You evidently think that brevity is the soul of widowhood.""Well, it struck me that she was getting moped, and beginning tosettle down, which wouldn't suit her a bit. The first symptomthat I noticed was when she began to complain that we were livingbeyond our income. All decent people live beyond their incomesnowadays, and those who aren't respectable live beyond otherpeoples. A few gifted individuals manage to do both.""It's hardly so much a gift as an industry.""The crisis came," returned Clovis, "when she suddenly started thetheory that late hours were bad for one, and wanted me to be in byone o'clock every night. Imagine that sort of thing for me, whowas eighteen on my last birthday.""On your last two birthdays, to be mathematically exact.""Oh, well, that's not my fault. I'm not going to arrive atnineteen as long as my mother remains at thirty-seven. One musthave some regard for appearances.""Perhaps your mother would age a little in the process of settlingdown.""That's the last thing she'd think of. Feminine reformationsalways start in on the failings of other people. That's why I wasso keen on the husband idea.""Did you go as far as to select the gentleman, or did you merelythrow out a general idea, and trust to the force of suggestion?""If one wants a thing done in a hurry one must see to it oneself.I found a military Johnny hanging round on a loose end at theclub, and took him home to lunch once or twice. He'd spent mostof his life on the Indian frontier, building roads, and relievingfamines and minimizing earthquakes, and all that sort of thingthat one does do on frontiers. He could talk sense to a peevishcobra in fifteen native languages, and probably knew what to do ifyou found a rogue elephant on your croquet-lawn; but he was shyand diffident with women. I told my mother privately that he wasan absolute woman-hater; so, of course, she laid herself out toflirt all she knew, which isn't a little.""And was the gentleman responsive?""I hear he told some one at the club that he was looking out for aColonial job, with plenty of hard work, for a young friend of his,so I gather that he has some idea of marrying into the family.""You seem destined to be the victim of the reformation, afterall."Claws wiped the trace of Turkish coffee and the beginnings of asmile from his lips, and slowly lowered his dexter eyelid. Which,being interpreted, probably meant, "I DON'T think!"