The Way to the Dairy
The Baroness and Clovis sat in a much-frequented corner of the Park exchangingbiographical confidences about the long succession of passers-by."Who are those depressed-looking young women who have just gone by?" asked theBaroness; "they have the air of people who have bowed to destiny and are notquite sure whether the salute will be returned.""Those," said Clovis, "are the Brimley Bomefields. I dare say you would lookdepressed if you had been through their experiences.""I'm always having depressing experiences," said the Baroness, "but I never givethem outward expression. It's as bad as looking one's age. Tell me about theBrimley Bomefields.""Well," said Clovis, "the beginning of their tragedy was that they found anaunt. The aunt had been there all the time, but they had very nearly forgottenher existence until a distant relative refreshed their memory, by rememberingher very distinctly in his will; it is wonderful what the force of example willaccomplish. The aunt, who had been unobtrusively poor, became quite pleasantlyrich, and the Brimley Bomefields grew suddenly concerned at the loneliness ofher life and took her under their collective wings. She had as many wings aroundher at this time as one of those beast-things in Revelation.""So far I don't see any tragedy from the Brimley Bomefields' point of view,"said the Baroness."We haven't got to it yet," said Clovis. "The aunt had been used to living verysimply, and had seen next to nothing of what we should consider life, and hernieces didn't encourage her to do much in the way of making a splash with hermoney. Quite a good deal of it would come to them at her death, and she was afairly old woman, but there was one circumstance which cast a shadow of gloomover the satisfaction they felt in the discovery and acquisition of thisdesirable aunt: she openly acknowledged that a comfortable slice of her littlefortune would go to a nephew on the other side of her family. He was rather adeplorable thing in rotters, and quite hopelessly top-hole in the way of gettingthrough money, but he had been more or less decent to the old lady in herunremembered days, and she wouldn't hear anything against him. At least, shewouldn't pay any attention to what she did hear, but her nieces took care thatshe should have to listen to a good deal in that line. It seemed such a pity,they said among themselves, that good money should fall into such wortlesshands. They habitually spoke of their aunt's money as 'good money,' as thoughother people's aunts dabbled for the most part in spurious currency."Regularly after the Derby, St. Leger, and other notable racing events theyindulged in audible speculations as to how much money Roger had squandered inunfortunate betting transactions." 'His travelling expenses must come to a big sum,' said the eldest BrimleyBomefield one day; 'they say he attends every race-meeting in England, besidesothers abroad. I shouldn't wonder if he went all the way to India to see therace for the Calcutta Sweepstake that one hears so much about.'" 'Travel enlarges the mind, my dear Christine,' said her aunt." 'Yes, dear aunt, travel undertaken in the right spirit,' agreed Christine;'but travel pursued merely as a means towards gambling and extravagant living ismore likely to contract the purse than to enlarge the mind. However, as long asRoger enjoys himself, I suppose he doesn't care how fast or unprofitably themoney 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 it was doubtfulif Christine's moralizing had been even accorded a hearing. It was her remark,however - the aunt's remark, I mean - about travel enlarging the mind, that gavethe youngest Brimley Bomefield her great idea for the showing-up of Roger." 'If aunt could only be taken somewhere to see him gambling and throwing awaymoney,' she said, 'it would open her eyes to his character more effectually thananything we can say.'" 'My dear Veronique,' said her sisters, 'we can't go following him to race-meetings.'" 'Certainly not to race-meetings,' said Veronique, 'but we might go to someplace where one can look on at gambling without talking part in it.'" 'Do you mean Monte Carlo?' they asked her, beginning to jump rather at theidea." 'Monte Carlo is a long way off, and has a dreadful reputation,' saidVeronique; 'I shouldn't like to tell our friends that we were going to MonteCarlo. But I believe Roger usually goes to Dieppe about this time of year, andsome quite respectable English people go there, and the journey wouldn't beexpensive. If aunt could stand the Channel crossing the change of scene might doher a lot of good.'"And that was how the fateful idea came to the Brimley Bomefields."From the very first set-off disaster hung over the expedition, as theyafterwards remembered. To begin with, all the Brimley Bomefields were extremelyunwell during the crossing, while the aunt enjoyed the sea air and made friendswith all manner of strange travelling companions. Then, although it was manyyears since she had been on the Continent, she had served a very practicalapprenticeship there as a paid companion, and her knowledge of colloquial Frenchbeat theirs to a standstill. It became increasingly difficult to keep undertheir collective wings a person who knew what she wanted and was able to ask forit and to see that she got it. Also, as far as Roger was concerned, they drewDieppe blank; it turned out that he was staying at Pourville, a little watering-place a mile or two further west. The Brimley Bomefields discovered that Dieppewas too crowded and frivolous, and persuaded the old lady to migrate to thecomparative seclusion of Pourville." 'You won't find it dull, you know,' they assured her; 'there is a littlecasino attached to the hotel, and you can watch the people dancing and throwingaway 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 the casino would becertain of his patronage on most afternoons and evenings."On the first evening of their visit they wandered into the casino after afairly early dinner, and hovered near the tables. Bertie van Tahn was stayingthere at the time, and he described the whole incident to me. The BrimleyBomefields kept a furtive watch on the doors as though they were expecting someone to turn up, and the aunt got more and more amused and interested watchingthe little horses whirl round and round the board." 'Do you know, poor little number eight hasn't won for the last thirty-twotimes,' she said to Christine; 'I've been keeping count. I shall really have toput five francs on him to encourage him.'" 'Come and watch the dancing, dear,' said Christine nervously. It was scarcelya part of their strategy that Roger should come in and find the old lady backingher fancy at the petits chevaux table." 'Just wait while I put five francs on number eight,' said the aunt, and inanother moment her money was lying on the table. The horses commenced to moveround; it was a slow race this time, and number eight crept up at the finishlike some crafty demon and placed his nose just a fraction in front of numberthree, who had seemed to be winning easily. Recourse had to be had tomeasurement, and the number eight was proclaimed the winner. The aunt picked upthirty-five francs. After that the Brimley Bomefields would have had to haveused concerted force to get her away from the tables. When Roger appeared on thescene she was fifty-two francs to the good; her nieces were hovering forlornlyin the background, like chickens that have been hatched out by a duck and aredespairingly watching their parent disporting herself in a dangerous anduncongenial element. The supper-party which Roger insisted on standing thatnight in honour of his aunt and the three Miss Brimley Bomefields was remarkablefor the unrestrained gaiety of two of the participants and the funerealmirthlessness of the remaining guests." 'I do not think,' Christine confided afterwards to a friend, who re-confidedit to Bertie van Tahn, 'that I shall ever be able to touch pate de foie grasagain. It would bring back memories of that awful evening.'"For the next two or three days the nieces made plans for returning to Englandor moving on to some other resort where there was no casino. The aunt was busymaking a system for winning at petits chevaux. Number eight, her first love, hadbeen running rather unkindly for her, and a series of plunges on number five hadturned out even worse." 'Do you know, I dropped over seven hundred francs at the tables thisafternoon,' she announced cheerfully at dinner on the fourth evening of theirvisit." 'Aunt! Twenty-eight pounds! And you were losing last night too.'" 'Oh, I shall get it all back,' she said optimistically; 'but not here. Thesesilly little horses are no good. I shall go somewhere where one can playcomfortably at roulette. You needn't look so shocked. I've always felt that,given the opportunity, I should be an inveterate gambler, and now you darlingshave put the opportunity in my way. I must drink your very good healths. Waiter,a bottle of Pontet Canet. Ah, it's number seven on the wine list; I shall plungeon number seven tonight. It won four times running this afternoon when I wasbacking that silly number five.'"Number seven was not in a winning mood that evening. The Brimley Bomefields,tired of watching disaster from a distance, drew near to the table where theiraunt was now an honoured habituÈe, and gazed mournfully at the successivevictories of one and five and eight and four, which swept 'good money' out ofthe purse of seven's obstinate backer. The day's losses totalled something verynear two thousand francs." 'You incorrigible gamblers,' said Roger chaffingly to them, when he found themat the tables." 'We are not gambling,' said Christine freezingly; 'we are looking on.'" 'I don't think,' said Roger knowingly; 'of course you're a syndicate and auntis putting the stakes on for all of you. Any one can tell by your looks when thewrong horse wins that you've got a stake on.'"Aunt and nephew had supper alone that night, or at least they would have ifBertie hadn't joined them; all the Brimley Bomefields had headaches."The aunt carried them all off to Dieppe the next day and set cheerily about thetask of winning back some of her losses. Her luck was variable; in fact, she hadsome fair streaks of good fortune, just enough to keep her thoroughly amusedwith her new distraction; but on the whole she was a loser. The BrimleyBomefields had a collective attack of nervous prostration on the day when shesold out a quantity of shares in Argentine rails. 'Nothing will ever bring thatmoney back,' they remarked lugubriously to one another."Veronique at last could bear it no longer, and went home; you see, it had beenher idea to bring the aunt on this disastrous expedition, and though the othersdid not cast the fact verbally in her face, there was a certain lurking reproachin their eyes which was harder to meet than actual upbraidings. The other tworemained behind, forlornly mounting guard over their aunt until such time as thewaning of the Dieppe season should at last turn her in the direction of home andsafety. They made anxious calculations as to how little 'good money' might, withreasonable luck, be squandered in the meantime. Here, however, their reckoningwent far astray; the close of the Dieppe season merely turned their aunt'sthoughts in search of some other convenient gambling resort. 'Show a cat the wayto the dairy--' I forget how the proverb goes on, but it summed up the situationas far as the Brimley Bomefields' aunt was concerned. She had been introduced tounexplored pleasures, and found them greatly to her liking, and she was in nohurry to forgo the fruits of her newly acquired knowledge. You see, for thefirst time in her life the old thing was thoroughly enjoying herself; she waslosing money, but she had plenty of fun and excitement over the process, and shehad enough left to do very comfortably on. Indeed, she was only just learning tounderstand the art of doing oneself well. She was a popular hostess, and inreturn her fellow-gamblers were always ready to entertain her to dinners andsuppers when their luck was in. Her nieces, who still remained in attendance onher, with the pathetic unwillingness of a crew to leave a foundering treasureship which might yet be steered into port, found little pleasure in theseBohemian festivities; to see 'good money' lavished on good living for theentertainment of a nondescript circle of acquaintances who were not likely to bein any way socially useful to them, did not attune them to a spirit of revelry.They contrived, whenever possible, to excuse themselves from participation intheir aunt's deplored gaieties; the Brimley Bomefield headaches became famous."And one day the nieces came to the conclusion that, as they would haveexpressed it, 'no useful purpose would be served' by their continued attendanceon a relative who had so thoroughly emancipated herself from the shelteringprotection of their wings. The aunt bore the announcement of their departurewith a cheerfulness that was almost disconcerting." 'It's time you went home and had those headaches seen to by a specialist,' washer comment on the situation."The homeward journey of the Brimley Bomefields was a veritable retreat fromMoscow, and what made it the more bitter was the fact that the Moscow, in thiscase, was not overwhelmed with fire and ashes, but merely extravagantly over-illuminated."From mutual friends and acquaintances they sometimes get glimpses of theirprodigal relative, who has settled down into a confirmed gambling maniac, livingon such salvage of income as obliging moneylenders have left at her disposal."So you need not be surprised," concluded Clovis, "if they do wear a depressedlook in public.""Which is Veronique?" asked the Baroness."The most depressed-looking of the three," said Clovis.
The Way to the Dairy was featured as
TheShort Story of the Day on
Mon, Jan 25, 2016
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