The Test Case
Well-meaning chappies at the club sometimes amble up to me and tap meon the wishbone, and say "Reggie, old top,"--my name's ReggiePepper--"you ought to get married, old man." Well, what I mean to sayis, it's all very well, and I see their point and all that sort ofthing; but it takes two to make a marriage, and to date I haven't met agirl who didn't seem to think the contract was too big to be taken on.Looking back, it seems to me that I came nearer to getting over thehome-plate with Ann Selby than with most of the others. In fact, butfor circumstances over which I had no dashed control, I am inclined tothink that we should have brought it off. I'm bound to say that, nowthat what the poet chappie calls the first fine frenzy has been on theice for awhile and I am able to consider the thing calmly, I am deucedglad we didn't. She was one of those strong-minded girls, and I hate tothink of what she would have done to me.At the time, though, I was frightfully in love, and, for quite a whileafter she definitely gave me the mitten, I lost my stroke at golf socompletely that a child could have given me a stroke a hole and gotaway with it. I was all broken up, and I contend to this day that I wasdashed badly treated.Let me give you what they call the data.One day I was lunching with Ann, and was just proposing to her asusual, when, instead of simply refusing me, as she generally did, shefixed me with a thoughtful eye and kind of opened her heart."Do you know, Reggie, I am in doubt.""Give me the benefit of it," I said. Which I maintain was pretty goodon the spur of the moment, but didn't get a hand. She simply ignoredit, and went on."Sometimes," she said, "you seem to me entirely vapid and brainless; atother times you say or do things which suggest that there arepossibilities in you; that, properly stimulated and encouraged, youmight overcome the handicap of large private means and do somethingworthwhile. I wonder if that is simply my imagination?" She watched mevery closely as she spoke."Rather not. You've absolutely summed me up. With you beside me,stimulating and all that sort of rot, don't you know, I should show aflash of speed which would astonish you.""I wish I could be certain.""Take a chance on it."She shook her head."I must be certain. Marriage is such a gamble. I have just been stayingwith my sister Hilda and her husband----""Dear old Harold Bodkin. I know him well. In fact, I've a standinginvitation to go down there and stay as long as I like. Harold is oneof my best pals. Harold is a corker. Good old Harold is----""I would rather you didn't eulogize him, Reggie. I am extremely angrywith Harold. He is making Hilda perfectly miserable.""What on earth do you mean? Harold wouldn't dream of hurting a fly.He's one of those dreamy, sentimental chumps who----""It is precisely his sentimentality which is at the bottom of the wholetrouble. You know, of course, that Hilda is not his first wife?""That's right. His first wife died about five years ago.""He still cherishes her memory.""Very sporting of him.""Is it! If you were a girl, how would you like to be married to a manwho was always making you bear in mind that you were only number two inhis affections; a man whose idea of a pleasant conversation was astring of anecdotes illustrating what a dear woman his first wife was.A man who expected you to upset all your plans if they clashed withsome anniversary connected with his other marriage?""That does sound pretty rotten. Does Harold do all that?""That's only a small part of what he does. Why, if you will believe me,every evening at seven o'clock he goes and shuts himself up in a littleroom at the top of the house, and meditates.""What on earth does he do that for?""Apparently his first wife died at seven in the evening. There is aportrait of her in the room. I believe he lays flowers in front of it.And Hilda is expected to greet him on his return with a happy smile.""Why doesn't she kick?""I have been trying to persuade her to, but she won't. She justpretends she doesn't mind. She has a nervous, sensitive temperament,and the thing is slowly crushing her. Don't talk to me of Harold."Considering that she had started him as a topic, I thought this prettyunjust. I didn't want to talk of Harold. I wanted to talk about myself."Well, what has all this got to do with your not wanting to marry me?"I said."Nothing, except that it is an illustration of the risks a woman runswhen she marries a man of a certain type.""Great Scott! You surely don't class me with Harold?""Yes, in a way you are very much alike. You have both always had largeprivate means, and have never had the wholesome discipline of work.""But, dash it, Harold, on your showing, is an absolute nut. Why shouldyou think that I would be anything like that?""There's always the risk."A hot idea came to me."Look here, Ann," I said, "Suppose I pull off some stunt which only adeuced brainy chappie could get away with? Would you marry me then?""Certainly. What do you propose to do?""Do! What do I propose to do! Well, er, to be absolutely frank, at themoment I don't quite know.""You never will know, Reggie. You're one of the idle rich, and yourbrain, if you ever had one, has atrophied."Well, that seemed to me to put the lid on it. I didn't mind aheart-to-heart talk, but this was mere abuse. I changed the subject."What would you like after that fish?" I said coldly.You know how it is when you get an idea. For awhile it sort of simmersinside you, and then suddenly it sizzles up like a rocket, and thereyou are, right up against it. That's what happened now. I went awayfrom that luncheon, vaguely determined to pull off some stunt whichwould prove that I was right there with the gray matter, but withoutany clear notion of what I was going to do. Side by side with this inmy mind was the case of dear old Harold. When I wasn't brooding on thestunt, I was brooding on Harold. I was fond of the good old lad, and Ihated the idea of his slowly wrecking the home purely by being a chump.And all of a sudden the two things clicked together like a couple ofchemicals, and there I was with a corking plan for killing two birdswith one stone--putting one across that would startle and impress Ann,and at the same time healing the breach between Harold and Hilda.My idea was that, in a case like this, it's no good trying opposition.What you want is to work it so that the chappie quits of his ownaccord. You want to egg him on to overdoing the thing till he gets sothat he says to himself, "Enough! Never again!" That was what was goingto happen to Harold.When you're going to do a thing, there's nothing like making a quickstart. I wrote to Harold straight away, proposing myself for a visit.And Harold wrote back telling me to come right along.Harold and Hilda lived alone in a large house. I believe they did agood deal of entertaining at times, but on this occasion I was the onlyguest. The only other person of note in the place was Ponsonby, thebutler.Of course, if Harold had been an ordinary sort of chappie, what I hadcome to do would have been a pretty big order. I don't mind manythings, but I do hesitate to dig into my host's intimate privateaffairs. But Harold was such a simple-minded Johnnie, so grateful for alittle sympathy and advice, that my job wasn't so very difficult.It wasn't as if he minded talking about Amelia, which was his firstwife's name. The difficulty was to get him to talk of anything else. Ibegan to understand what Ann meant by saying it was tough on Hilda.I'm bound to say the old boy was clay in my hands. People call me achump, but Harold was a super-chump, and I did what I liked with him.The second morning of my visit, after breakfast, he grabbed me by thearm."This way, Reggie. I'm just going to show old Reggie Amelia's portrait,dear."There was a little room all by itself on the top floor. He explained tome that it had been his studio. At one time Harold used to do a bit ofpainting in an amateur way."There!" he said, pointing at the portrait. "I did that myself, Reggie.It was away being cleaned when you were here last. It's like dearAmelia, isn't it?"I suppose it was, in a way. At any rate, you could recognize thelikeness when you were told who it was supposed to be.He sat down in front of it, and gave it the thoughtful once-over."Do you know, Reggie, old top, sometimes when I sit here, I feel as ifAmelia were back again.""It would be a bit awkward for you if she was.""How do you mean?""Well, old lad, you happen to be married to someone else."A look of childlike enthusiasm came over his face."Reggie, I want to tell you how splendid Hilda is. Lots of other womenmight object to my still cherishing Amelia's memory, but Hilda has beenso nice about it from the beginning. She understands so thoroughly."I hadn't much breath left after that, but I used what I had to say:"She doesn't object?""Not a bit," said Harold. "It makes everything so pleasant."When I had recovered a bit, I said, "What do you mean by everything?""Well," he said, "for instance, I come up here every evening at sevenand--er--think for a few minutes.""A few minutes?!""What do you mean?""Well, a few minutes isn't long.""But I always have my cocktail at a quarter past.""You could postpone it.""And Ponsonby likes us to start dinner at seven-thirty.""What on earth has Ponsonby to do with it?""Well, he likes to get off by nine, you know. I think he goes off andplays bowls at the madhouse. You see, Reggie, old man, we have to studyPonsonby a little. He's always on the verge of giving notice--in fact,it was only by coaxing him on one or two occasions that we got him tostay on--and he's such a treasure that I don't know what we should doif we lost him. But, if you think that I ought to stay longer----?""Certainly I do. You ought to do a thing like this properly, or not atall."He sighed."It's a frightful risk, but in future we'll dine at eight."It seemed to me that there was a suspicion of a cloud on Ponsonby'sshining morning face, when the news was broken to him that for thefuture he couldn't unleash himself on the local bowling talent as earlyas usual, but he made no kick, and the new order of things began.My next offensive movement I attribute to a flash of absolute genius. Iwas glancing through a photograph album in the drawing-room beforelunch, when I came upon a face which I vaguely remembered. It was oneof those wide, flabby faces, with bulging eyes, and something about itstruck me as familiar. I consulted Harold, who came in at that moment."That?" said Harold. "That's Percy." He gave a slight shudder."Amelia's brother, you know. An awful fellow. I haven't seen him foryears."Then I placed Percy. I had met him once or twice in the old days, and Ihad a brainwave. Percy was everything that poor old Harold dislikedmost. He was hearty at breakfast, a confirmed back-slapper, and a manwho prodded you in the chest when he spoke to you."You haven't seen him for years!" I said in a shocked voice."Thank heaven!" said Harold devoutly.I put down the photograph album, and looked at him in a deuced seriousway. "Then it's high time you asked him to come here."Harold blanched. "Reggie, old man, you don't know what you are saying.You can't remember Percy. I wish you wouldn't say these things, even infun.""I'm not saying it in fun. Of course, it's none of my business, but youhave paid me the compliment of confiding in me about Amelia, and I feeljustified in speaking. All I can say is that, if you cherish her memoryas you say you do, you show it in a very strange way. How you cansquare your neglect of Percy with your alleged devotion to Amelia'smemory, beats me. It seems to me that you have no choice. You musteither drop the whole thing and admit that your love for her is dead,or else you must stop this infernal treatment of her favorite brother.You can't have it both ways."He looked at me like a hunted stag. "But, Reggie, old man! Percy! Heasks riddles at breakfast.""I don't care.""Hilda can't stand him.""It doesn't matter. You must invite him. It's not a case of what youlike or don't like. It's your duty."He struggled with his feelings for a bit. "Very well," he said in acrushed sort of voice.At dinner that night he said to Hilda: "I'm going to ask Amelia'sbrother down to spend a few days. It is so long since we have seenhim."Hilda didn't answer at once. She looked at him in rather a curious sortof way, I thought. "Very well, dear," she said.I was deuced sorry for the poor girl, but I felt like a surgeon. Shewould be glad later on, for I was convinced that in a very short whilepoor old Harold must crack under the strain, especially after I had putacross the coup which I was meditating for the very next evening.It was quite simple. Simple, that is to say, in its working, but adevilish brainy thing for a chappie to have thought out. If Ann hadreally meant what she had said at lunch that day, and was prepared tostick to her bargain and marry me as soon as I showed a burst ofintelligence, she was mine.What it came to was that, if dear old Harold enjoyed meditating infront of Amelia's portrait, he was jolly well going to have all themeditating he wanted, and a bit over, for my simple scheme was to lurkoutside till he had gone into the little room on the top floor, andthen, with the aid of one of those jolly little wedges which you use tokeep windows from rattling, see to it that the old boy remained theretill they sent out search parties.There wasn't a flaw in my reasoning. When Harold didn't roll in at thesound of the dinner gong, Hilda would take it for granted that he wasdoing an extra bit of meditating that night, and her pride would stopher sending out a hurry call for him. As for Harold, when he found thatall was not well with the door, he would probably yell withconsiderable vim. But it was odds against anyone hearing him. As forme, you might think that I was going to suffer owing to the probablepostponement of dinner. Not so, but far otherwise, for on the night Ihad selected for the coup I was dining out at the neighboring inn withmy old college chum Freddie Meadowes. It is true that Freddie wasn'tgoing to be within fifty miles of the place on that particular night,but they weren't to know that.Did I describe the peculiar isolation of that room on the top floor,where the portrait was? I don't think I did. It was, as a matter offact, the only room in those parts, for, in the days when he did hisamateur painting, old Harold was strong on the artistic seclusionbusiness and hated noise, and his studio was the only room in use onthat floor.In short, to sum up, the thing was a cinch.Punctually at ten minutes to seven, I was in readiness on the scene.There was a recess with a curtain in front of it a few yards from thedoor, and there I waited, fondling my little wedge, for Harold to walkup and allow the proceedings to start. It was almost pitch-dark, andthat made the time of waiting seem longer. Presently--I seemed to havebeen there longer than ten minutes--I heard steps approaching. Theycame past where I stood, and went on into the room. The door closed,and I hopped out and sprinted up to it, and the next moment I had thegood old wedge under the wood--as neat a job as you could imagine. Andthen I strolled downstairs, and toddled off to the inn.I didn't hurry over my dinner, partly because the browsing and sluicingat the inn was really astonishingly good for a roadhouse and partlybecause I wanted to give Harold plenty of time for meditation. Isuppose it must have been a couple of hours or more when I finallyturned in at the front door. Somebody was playing the piano in thedrawing room. It could only be Hilda who was playing, and I had doubtsas to whether she wanted company just then--mine, at any rate.Eventually I decided to risk it, for I wanted to hear the latest aboutdear old Harold, so in I went, and it wasn't Hilda at all; it was AnnSelby."Hello," I said. "I didn't know you were coming down here." It seemedso odd, don't you know, as it hadn't been more than ten days or sosince her last visit."Good evening, Reggie," she said."What's been happening?" I asked."How do you know anything has been happening?""I guessed it.""Well, you're quite right, as it happens, Reggie. A good deal has beenhappening." She went to the door, and looked out, listening. Then sheshut it, and came back. "Hilda has revolted!""Revolted?""Yes, put her foot down--made a stand--refused to go on meekly puttingup with Harold's insane behavior.""I don't understand."She gave me a look of pity. "You always were so dense, Reggie. I willtell you the whole thing from the beginning. You remember what I spoketo you about, one day when we were lunching together? Well, I don'tsuppose you have noticed it--I know what you are--but things have beengetting steadily worse. For one thing, Harold insisted on lengtheninghis visits to the top room, and naturally Ponsonby complained. Hildatells me that she had to plead with him to induce him to stay on. Thenthe climax came. I don't know if you recollect Amelia's brother Percy?You must have met him when she was alive--a perfectly unspeakableperson with a loud voice and overpowering manners. Suddenly, out of ablue sky, Harold announced his intention of inviting him to stay. Itwas the last straw. This afternoon I received a telegram from poorHilda, saying that she was leaving Harold and coming to stay with me,and a few hours later the poor child arrived at my apartment."You mustn't suppose that I stood listening silently to this speech.Every time she seemed to be going to stop for breath I tried to horn inand tell her all these things which had been happening were not mereflukes, as she seemed to think, but parts of a deuced carefully plannedscheme of my own. Every time I'd try to interrupt, Ann would wave medown, and carry on without so much as a semi-colon.But at this point I did manage a word in. "I know, I know, I know! Idid it all. It was I who suggested to Harold that he should lengthenthe meditations, and insisted on his inviting Percy to stay."I had hardly got the words out, when I saw that they were not makingthe hit I had anticipated. She looked at me with an expression ofabsolute scorn, don't you know."Well, really, Reggie," she said at last, "I never have had a very highopinion of your intelligence, as you know, but this is a revelation tome. What motive you can have had, unless you did it in a spirit of puremischief----" She stopped, and there was a glare of undiluted repulsionin her eyes. "Reggie! I can't believe it! Of all the things I loathemost, a practical joker is the worst. Do you mean to tell me you didall this as a practical joke?""Great Scott, no! It was like this----"I paused for a bare second to collect my thoughts, so as to put thething clearly to her. I might have known what would happen. She dashedright in and collared the conversation."Well, never mind. As it happens, there is no harm done. Quite thereverse, in fact. Hilda left a note for Harold telling him what she haddone and where she had gone and why she had gone, and Harold found it.The result was that, after Hilda had been with me for some time, in hecame in a panic and absolutely grovelled before the dear child. Itseems incredible but he had apparently had no notion that his absurdbehavior had met with anything but approval from Hilda. He went on asif he were mad. He was beside himself. He clutched his hair and stampedabout the room, and then he jumped at the telephone and called thishouse and got Ponsonby and told him to go straight to the little roomon the top floor and take Amelia's portrait down. I thought that alittle unnecessary myself, but he was in such a whirl of remorse thatit was useless to try and get him to be rational. So Hilda wasconsoled, and he calmed down, and we all came down here in theautomobile. So you see----"At this moment the door opened, and in came Harold."I say--hello, Reggie, old man--I say, it's a funny thing, but we can'tfind Ponsonby anywhere."There are moments in a chappie's life, don't you know, when Reason, soto speak, totters, as it were, on its bally throne. This was one ofthem. The situation seemed somehow to have got out of my grip. Isuppose, strictly speaking, I ought, at this juncture, to have clearedmy throat and said in an audible tone, "Harold, old top, I knowwhere Ponsonby is." But somehow I couldn't. Something seemed to keepthe words back. I just stood there and said nothing."Nobody seems to have seen anything of him," said Harold. "I wonderwhere he can have got to."Hilda came in, looking so happy I hardly recognized her. I rememberfeeling how strange it was that anybody could be happy just then."I know," she said. "Of course! Doesn't he always go off to theinn and play bowls at this time?""Why, of course," said Harold. "So he does."And he asked Ann to play something on the piano. And pretty soon we hadsettled down to a regular jolly musical evening. Ann must have played amatter of two or three thousand tunes, when Harold got up."By the way," he said. "I suppose he did what I told him about thepicture before he went out. Let's go and see.""Oh, Harold, what does it matter?" asked Hilda."Don't be silly, Harold," said Ann.I would have said the same thing, only I couldn't say anything.Harold wasn't to be stopped. He led the way out of the room andupstairs, and we all trailed after him. We had just reached the topfloor, when Hilda stopped, and said "Hark!"It was a voice."Hi!" it said. "Hi!"Harold legged it to the door of the studio. "Ponsonby?"From within came the voice again, and I have never heard anything totouch the combined pathos, dignity and indignation it managed tocondense into two words."Yes, sir?""What on earth are you doing in there?""I came here, sir, in accordance with your instructions on thetelephone, and----"Harold rattled the door. "The darned thing's stuck.""Yes, sir.""How on earth did that happen?""I could not say, sir.""How can the door have stuck like this?" said Ann.Somebody--I suppose it was me, though the voice didn't sound familiar--spoke. "Perhaps there's a wedge under it," said this chappie."A wedge? What do you mean?""One of those little wedges you use to keep windows from rattling,don't you know.""But why----? You're absolutely right, Reggie, old man, there is!"He yanked it out, and flung the door open, and out came Ponsonby,looking like Lady Macbeth."I wish to give notice, sir," he said, "and I should esteem it a favorif I might go to the pantry and procure some food, as I am extremelyhungry."And he passed from our midst, with Hilda after him, saying: "But,Ponsonby! Be reasonable, Ponsonby!"Ann Selby turned on me with a swish. "Reggie," she said, "did youshut Ponsonby in there?""Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I did.""But why?" asked Harold."Well, to be absolutely frank, old top, I thought it was you.""You thought it was me? But why--what did you want to lock me in for?"I hesitated. It was a delicate business telling him the idea. And whileI was hesitating, Ann jumped in."I can tell you why, Harold. It was because Reggie belongs to thatsub-species of humanity known as practical jokers. This sort of thingis his idea of humor.""Humor! Losing us a priceless butler," said Harold. "If that's youridea of----"Hilda came back, pale and anxious. "Harold, dear, do come and help mereason with Ponsonby. He is in the pantry gnawing a cold chicken, andhe only stops to say 'I give notice.'""Yes," said Ann. "Go, both of you. I wish to speak to Reggie alone."That's how I came to lose Ann. At intervals during her remarks I triedto put my side of the case, but it was no good. She wouldn't listen.And presently something seemed to tell me that now was the time to goto my room and pack. Half an hour later I slid silently into the night.Wasn't it Shakespeare or somebody who said that the road to Hell--orwords to that effect--was paved with good intentions? If it wasShakespeare, it just goes to prove what they are always saying abouthim--that he knew a bit. Take it from one who knows, the old boy wasabsolutely right.
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