Reginald

Saki

Description

pubOne.info present you this new edition. I did it- I who should have known better. I persuaded Reginald to go to the McKillops' garden-party against his will.

Sujets

• Short story

Informations

• Publié par: Pub One Info
• Date de parution: 06 novembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9782819943631
• Langue: English

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REGINALD
I did it— I who should have known better. Ipersuaded Reginald to go to the McKillops’ garden-party against hiswill.
We all make mistakes occasionally.
“They know you’re here, and they’ll think it sofunny if you don’t go. And I want particularly to be in with Mrs.McKillop just now. ”
“I know, you want one of her smoke Persian kittensas a prospective wife for Wumples— or a husband, is it? ” (Reginaldhas a magnificent scorn for details, other than sartorial. ) “And Iam expected to undergo social martyrdom to suit the connubialexigencies”—
“Reginald! It’s nothing of the kind, only I’m sureMrs. McKillop Would be pleased if I brought you. Young men of yourbrilliant attractions are rather at a premium at hergarden-parties. ”
“Should be at a premium in heaven, ” remarkedReginald complacently.
“There will be very few of you there, if that iswhat you mean. But seriously, there won’t be any great strain uponyour powers of endurance; I promise you that you shan’t have toplay croquet, or talk to the Archdeacon’s wife, or do anything thatis likely to bring on physical prostration. You can just wear yoursweetest clothes and moderately amiable expression, and eatchocolate-creams with the appetite of a blasé parrot.Nothing more is demanded of you. ”
Reginald shut his eyes. “There will be theexhaustingly up-to-date young women who will ask me if I have seen San Toy ; a less progressive grade who will yearn to hearabout the Diamond Jubilee— the historic event, not the horse. Witha little encouragement, they will inquire if I saw the Allies marchinto Paris. Why are women so fond of raking up the past? They’re asbad as tailors, who invariably remember what you owe them for asuit long after you’ve ceased to wear it. ”
“I’ll order lunch for one o’clock; that will giveyou two and a half hours to dress in. ”
Reginald puckered his brow into a tortured frown,and I knew that my point was gained. He was debating what tie wouldgo with which waistcoat.
Even then I had my misgivings.
* * * * *
During the drive to the McKillops’ Reginald waspossessed with a great peace, which was not wholly to be accountedfor by the fact that he had inveigled his feet into shoes a sizetoo small for them. I misgave more than ever, and having oncelaunched Reginald on to the McKillops’ lawn, I established him neara seductive dish of marrons glacés , and as far from theArchdeacon’s wife as possible; as I drifted away to a diplomaticdistance I heard with painful distinctness the eldest Mawkby girlasking him if he had seen San Toy .
It must have been ten minutes later, not more, and Ihad been having quite an enjoyable chat with my hostess, andhad promised to lend her The Eternal City and my recipe forrabbit mayonnaise, and was just about to offer a kind home for herthird Persian kitten, when I perceived, out of the corner of myeye, that Reginald was not where I had left him, and that the marrons glacés were untasted. At the same moment I becameaware that old Colonel Mendoza was essaying to tell his classicstory of how he introduced golf into India, and that Reginald wasin dangerous proximity. There are occasions when Reginald iscaviare to the Colonel.
“When I was at Poona in ’76”—
“My dear Colonel, ” purred Reginald, “fancyadmitting such a thing! Such a give-away for one’s age! I wouldn’tadmit being on this planet in ’76. ” (Reginald in his wildestlapses into veracity never admits to being more than twenty-two.)
The Colonel went to the colour of a fig that hasattained great ripeness, and Reginald, ignoring my efforts tointercept him, glided away to another part of the lawn. I found hima few minutes later happily engaged in teaching the youngestRampage boy the approved theory of mixing absinthe, within fullearshot of his mother. Mrs. Rampage occupies a prominent place inlocal Temperance movements.
As soon as I had broken up this unpromising tête-à-tête and settled Reginald where he could watch thecroquet players losing their tempers, I wandered off to find myhostess and renew the kitten negotiations at the point where theyhad been interrupted. I did not succeed in running her down atonce, and eventually it was Mrs. McKillop who sought me out, andher conversation was not of kittens.
“Your cousin is discussing Zaza with theArchdeacon’s wife; at least, he is discussing, she is ordering hercarriage. ”
She spoke in the dry, staccato tone of one whorepeats a French exercise, and I knew that as far as MillieMcKillop was concerned, Wumples was devoted to a lifelongcelibacy.
“If you don’t mind, ” I said hurriedly, “I thinkwe’d like our carriage ordered too, ” and I made a forced march inthe direction of the croquet-ground.
I found everyone talking nervously and feverishly ofthe weather and the war in South Africa, except Reginald, who wasreclining in a comfortable chair with the dreamy, far-away lookthat a volcano might wear just after it had desolated entirevillages. The Archdeacon’s wife was buttoning up her gloves with aconcentrated deliberation that was fearful to behold. I shall haveto treble my subscription to her Cheerful Sunday Evenings Fundbefore I dare set foot in her house again.
At that particular moment the croquet playersfinished their game, which had been going on without a symptom offinality during the whole afternoon. Why, I ask, should it havestopped precisely when a counter-attraction was so necessary?Everyone seemed to drift towards the area of disturbance, of whichthe chairs of the Archdeacon’s wife and Reginald formed thestorm-centre. Conversation flagged, and there settled upon thecompany that expectant hush that precedes the dawn— when yourneighbours don’t happen to keep poultry.
“What did the Caspian Sea? ” asked Reginald, withappalling suddenness.
There were symptoms of a stampede. The Archdeacon’swife looked at me. Kipling or someone has described somewhere thelook a foundered camel gives when the caravan moves on and leavesit to its fate. The peptonised reproach in the good lady’s eyesbrought the passage vividly to my mind.
I played my last card.
“Reginald, it’s getting late, and a sea-mist iscoming on. ” I knew that the elaborate curl over his right eyebrowwas not guaranteed to survive a sea-mist.
* * * * *
“Never, never again, will I take you to agarden-party. Never . . . You behaved abominably . . . What did theCaspian see? ”
A shade of genuine regret for misused opportunitiespassed over Reginald’s face.
“After all, ” he said, “I believe an apricot tiewould have gone better with the lilac waistcoat. ”
REGINALD ON CHRISTMAS PRESENTS
I wish it to be distinctly understood (saidReginald) that I don’t want a “George, Prince of Wales” Prayer-bookas a Christmas present. The fact cannot be too widely known.
There ought (he continued) to be technical educationclasses on the science of present-giving. No one seems to have thefaintest notion of what anyone else wants, and the prevalent ideason the subject are not creditable to a civilised community.
There is, for instance, the female relative in thecountry who “knows a tie is always useful, ” and sends you somespotted horror that you could only wear in secret or in TottenhamCourt Road. It might have been useful had she kept it to tieup currant bushes with, when it would have served the doublepurpose of supporting the branches and frightening away the birds—for it is an admitted fact that the ordinary tomtit of commerce hasa sounder æsthetic taste than the average female relative in thecountry.
Then there are aunts. They are always a difficultclass to deal with in the matter of presents. The trouble is thatone never catches them really young enough. By the time one haseducated them to an appreciation of the fact that one does not wearred woollen mittens in the West End, they die, or quarrel with thefamily, or do something equally inconsiderate. That is why thesupply of trained aunts is always so precarious.
There is my Aunt Agatha, par exemple , whosent me a pair of gloves last Christmas, and even got so far as tochoose a kind that was being worn and had the correct number ofbuttons. But— they were nines ! I sent them to a boy whom Ihated intimately: he didn’t wear them, of course, but he couldhave— that was where the bitterness of death came in. It was nearlyas consoling as sending white flowers to his funeral. Of course Iwrote and told my aunt that they were the one thing that had beenwanting to make existence blossom like a rose; I am afraid shethought me frivolous— she comes from the North, where they live inthe fear of Heaven and the Earl of Durham. (Reginald affects anexhaustive knowledge of things political, which furnishes anexcellent excuse for not discussing them. ) Aunts with a dash offoreign extraction in them are the most satisfactory in the way ofunderstanding these things; but if you can’t choose your aunt, itis wisest in the long-run to choose the present and send her thebill.
Even friends of one’s own set, who might be expectedto know better, have curious delusions on the subject. I am not collecting copies of the cheaper editions of OmarKhayyam. I gave the last four that I received to the lift-boy, andI like to think of him reading them, with FitzGerald’s notes, tohis aged mother. Lift-boys always have aged mothers; shows suchnice feeling on their part, I think.
Personally, I can’t see where the difficulty inchoosing suitable presents lies. No boy who had brought himself upproperly could fail to appreciate one of those decorative bottlesof liqueurs that are so reverently staged in Morel’s window— and itwouldn’t in the least matter if one did get duplicates. And therewould always be the supreme moment of dreadful uncertainty whetherit was crême de menthe or Chartreuse— like the expectantthrill on seeing your partner’s hand turned up at bridge. Peoplemay say what they like about the decay of Christianity; thereligious system that produced green Chartreuse can never reallydie.
And then, of course, there a