The Talking-Out of Tarrington

by H.H. Munro (SAKI)

　　

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"Heavens!" exclaimed the aunt of Clovis, "here's some one I know bearing down onus. I can't remember his name, but he lunched with us once in Town. Tarrington -yes, that's it. He's heard of the picnic I'm giving for the Princess, and he'llcling to me like a lifebelt till I give him an invitation; then he'll ask if hemay bring all his wives and mothers and sisters with him. That's the worst ofthese small watering-places; one can't escape from anybody.""I'll fight a rearguard action for you if you like to do a bolt now,"volunteered Clovis; "you've a clear ten yards start if you don't lose time."The aunt of Clovis responded gamely to the suggestion, and churned away like aNile steamer, with a long brown ripple of Pekingese spaniel trailing in herwake."Pretend you don't know him," was her parting advice, tinged with the recklesscourage of the non-combatant.The next moment the overtures of an affably disposed gentleman were beingreceived by Clovis with a "silent-upon-a-peak-in-Darien" stare which denoted anabsence of all previous acquaintance with the object scrutinized."I expect you don't know me with my moustache," said the new-comer; "I've onlygrown it during the last two months.""On the contrary," said Clovis, "the moustache is the only thing about you thatseemed familiar to me. I felt certain that I had met it somewhere before.""My name is Tarrington," resumed the candidate for recognition."A very useful kind of name," said Clovis; "with a name of that sort no onewould blame you if you did nothing in particular heroic or remarkable, wouldthey? And yet if you were to raise a troop of light horse in a moment ofnational emergency, 'Tarrington's Light Horse' would sound quite appropriate andpulse-quickening; whereas if you were called Spoopin, for instance, the thingwould be out of the question. No one, even in a moment of national emergency,could possibly belong to Spoopin's Horse."The new-comer smiled weakly, as one who is not to be put off by mere flippancy,and began again with patient persistence:"I think you ought to remember my name--""I shall," said Clovis, with an air of immense sincerity. "My aunt was asking meonly this morning to suggest names for four young owls she's just had sent heras pets. I shall call them all Tarrington; then if one or two of them die or flyaway, or leave us in any of the ways that pet owls are prone to, there will bealways one or two left to carry on your name. And my aunt won't let me forgetit; she will always be asking 'Have the Tarringtons had their mice?' andquestions of that sort. She says if you keep wild creatures in captivity youought to see after their wants, and of course she's quite right there.""I met you at luncheon at your aunt's house once--" broke in Mr. Tarrington,pale but still resolute."My aunt never lunches," said Clovis; "she belongs to the National Anti-LuncheonLeague, which is doing quite a lot of good work in a quiet, unobtrusive way. Asubscription of half a crown per quarter entitles you to go without ninety-twoluncheons.""This must be something new," exclaimed Tarrington."It's the same aunt that I've always had," said Clovis coldly."I perfectly well remember meeting you at a luncheon-party given by your aunt,"persisted Tarrington, who was beginning to flush an unhealthy shade of mottledpink."What was there for lunch?" asked Clovis."Oh, well, I don't remember that--""How nice of you to remember my aunt when you can no longer recall the names ofthe things you ate. Now my memory works quite differently. I can remember a menulong after I've forgotten the hostess that accompanied it. When I was sevenyears old I recollect being given a peach at a garden-party by some Duchess orother; I can't remember a thing about her, except that I imagine ouracquaintance must have been of the slightest, as she called me a 'nice littleboy,' but I have unfading memories of that peach. It was one of those exuberantpeaches that meet you halfway, so to speak, and are all over you in a moment. Itwas a beautiful unspoiled product of a hothouse, and yet it managed quitesuccessfully to give itself the airs of a compote. You had to bite it and imbibeit at the same time. To me there has always been something charming and mysticin the thought of that delicate velvet globe of fruit, slowly ripening andwarming to perfection through the long summer days and perfumed nights, and thencoming suddenly athwart my life in the supreme moment of its existence. I cannever forget it, even if I wished to. And when I had devoured all that wasedible of it, there still remained the stone, which a heedless, thoughtlesschild would doubtless have thrown away; I put it down the neck of a young friendwho was wearing a very decollete sailor suit. I told him it was a scorpion, andfrom the way he wriggled and screamed he evidently believed it, though where thesilly kid imagined I could procure a live scorpion at a garden-party I don'tknow. Altogether, that peach is for me an unfading and happy memory--"The defeated Tarrington had by this time retreated out of earshot, comfortinghimself as best he might with the reflection that a picnic which included thepresence of Clovis might prove a doubtfully agreeable experience."I shall certainly go in for a Parliamentary career," said Clovis to himself ashe turned complacently to rejoin his aunt. "As a talker-out of inconvenientbills I should be invaluable."

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