CHAPTER XIX
SIDELIGHTS ON A PUBLIC CHARACTER
Mr. Samuel Stillbottle, notebook in hand, with a look of professionalseverity upon his pinched features, slowly circumnavigated thedrawing-room, making an inventory of the furniture. He was followed,step for step, by the deeply interested Caution and Cure, who, findingthe bonds of discipline unusually relaxed, owing to the preoccupation oftheir elders, had seized an early opportunity of escaping from theregion belowstairs in which they were supposed to be enjoying theirafternoon siesta, in order to pursue their acquaintance with thegentleman whom they had christened, on sight, "the funny man." They hadencountered Mr. Stillbottle in the kitchen, and had conceived a likingfor him at once. As appraisers of character their point of view wascircumscribed and their judgment immature; but Mr. Stillbottle'sperformance at dinner had won their unqualified respect and admiration.They had accordingly decided to spend the rest of their lives in hiscompany, and with that intent in view had laboriously scaled thestaircase, and were now doing their best, by a series of ill-timeddemonstrations of cordiality, to obstruct their new friend in theexecution of his duty.
"Chesterfield sofa--two castors loose--one-fifteen," murmured Mr.Stillbottle, plying his pencil. ("Run away, that's good children.)Me'ogany whatnot"--he slipped his hand round behind the piece offurniture in question--"with deal back, two-ten. Armchair, with off'ind leg cracked, twelve-and-six. (Run away, that's little dears. Runaway and drown the kitten, or give the canary a shampoo; but don't standthere starin' at me like a pair of images. I don't like it, so don't doit.) Now for the 'arpsichord!"
The harassed Mr. Stillbottle began to examine the Welwyns' piano. TheCure turned to The Caution.
"Funny man!" she reiterated ecstatically.
"Yesh," assented The Caution, who suffered from a slight palatalaffection. "Funny man! Lesh fight him a little bit!"
As an intimation that the approaching combat was to be of thefriendliest description, he first smiled seraphically upon Mr.Stillbottle (who was looking the other way at the moment), and thendealt that gentleman a well-directed blow in the back of each kneesimultaneously with his pudgy fists. Mr. Stillbottle, who, owing to hisignorance of infantile patois, was entirely unprepared for thisonslaught, promptly fell head-first into the arm-chair with the damagedhind leg, reducing its value by a further one-and-ninepence. Before hecould extricate himself his enraptured admirers had conceived andpartially put into execution the happy design of tickling him to death.
"Now, look 'ere," he exclaimed indignantly, when he was sufficientlyrecovered from the suddenness of this outrage to resume an uprightposition, "you must drop it! Pop off! I won't 'ave it! If I ketch'old of either of you--if I ketch--all right, say no more about it! Ibelieve that little girl 'as got the evil eye," he muttered weakly tohimself. Mr. Stillbottle's nerves were not in good order, and The Curehad regarded him with unwinking steadfastness for something like fiveminutes. "Go and play over there," he urged, almost piteously, "and letme do my job. Now, where was I? Ho, yes--the pianner."
He submitted that venerable instrument to a further scrutiny.
"_Collard and Collard_," he observed. ("A very appropriate title, too,for this 'ouse!) Date, about seventy-four or five, I should say." Helifted the lid and struck a few inharmonious chords. "Not been toonedsince bought. Loud pedal broke, and ivories off three keys. Mouse-'olein the back. Say thirty-five bob, or two p--Will you _drop_ it?"
Mr. Stillbottle made this request from the floor, upon which he hadsuddenly adopted a recumbent attitude. The Caution and the Cure, havingdecided to initiate their idol into what they had always considered themost consummate jest in existence, had placed a heavy footstool closebehind his heels; and Mr. Stillbottle, stepping back a pace in order toview the _tout ensemble_ of the piano, had carried the joke to asuccessful and rapturous conclusion.
Amid appreciative shrieks of merriment from the twins, their fermentingplayfellow rose solemnly to his feet, and was pausing dramatically forthe double purpose of recovering his breath and deciding upon aneffective scheme of reprisal, when he became aware that the door wasopen and that the master of the house was smilingly contemplating theentertainment.
"You three appear to be having a romp," said Mr. Welwyn genially. "Youare evidently a lover of children, Mr. Stillbottle!"
Fortunately for the delicate ears of The Caution and The Cure, Mr.Stillbottle was still incapable of utterance. By the time that his twoadmirers had been escorted to the door by their progenitor and bidden toreturn to their own place, his power of speech had returned; butperceiving that the time for explanation was now past, the misjudgedromper decided to postpone the refutation of the libel until some otheroccasion.
"Be seated, Mr. Stillbottle," said Mr. Welwyn politely.
Mr. Stillbottle selected the sofa, which it will be remembered had beenmarked as high as one pound fifteen.
"I hope you had a comfortable dinner," continued Mr. Welwyn.
"Thank you," replied Mr. Stillbottle briefly--"I 'ad."
Mr. Welwyn produced half-a-sovereign.
"I make a point of being punctilious over money matters," he said,handing the coin to the broker's man. "When our little--er--contracthas been carried to a successful conclusion I shall be happy to hand youanother."
Mr. Stillbottle pocketed the money.
"When may I expect the other?" he enquired.
"If all goes well, about six o'clock this evening."
"I see," said Mr. Stillbottle comprehendingly. "Carriages atfive-forty-five--eh?"
"Precisely," said Mr. Welwyn. "You have hit off the situation to anicety." He laughed, in high spirits. His resilient nature hadentirely recovered from the humiliation of the morning. "Meanwhile"--heproduced a sheet of note-paper--"I shall be obliged if you will kindlycommit these notes to memory."
Mr. Stillbottle laboriously perused the document.
"Lord love a duck!" he observed in a dazed voice--"What's this?"
"A list of--let us say, your entrances and exits this afternoon,"explained Mr. Welwyn smoothly. "You understand theatrical terms, Ibelieve."
He had struck the right chord. Mr. Stillbottle's rheumy eye lit up.
"Entrances and ex-- oho! Now I begin to take you," he said. "We 'reagoin' to do drawing-room theatricals, are we? Kind o' benefitmatinee--eh?"
"In a sense, yes," replied Mr. Welwyn. "Are you endowed with thedramatic instinct?"
"Come again!" said Mr. Stillbottle politely.
"Could you play a part, do you think?"
"Could I play a part?" repeated Mr. Stillbottle witheringly. "Could aduck swim? Why, I was _in_ the profession, off and on, for a matter offourteen years."
"In what capacity?" asked Mr. Welwyn, much interested.
"Well, I've bin a good many things," said the versatile Stillbottle,putting his feet up on the sofa. "I've bin a guest in the palace of theDook of Alsatia; I 've bin the middle bit of the sea-serpent--what youmight call the prime cut--in a ballet of fish; and I was once the secondwave on the O.P. side of the storm what wrecked Sinbad the Sailor."
Mr. Welwyn smiled sympathetically. Here was another rolling stone.
"What made you abandon such a promising career, Mr. Stillbottle?" heasked.
The late prime cut of the sea-serpent shook his head gloomily.
"The old story," he said--"professional jealousy. It started with mybein' cast for the front legs of a elephant in a pantomime. That wasthe stage-manager's bit of spite. My usual place is the _'ind_legs--and that takes a bit of doing, I can tell you. (The 'ind legs 'asto wag the tail, you see.) If I was to tell you the number of 'ind legsI'd played, you'd be surprised," he continued, plunging into an orgy ofirrelevant reminiscence. "Why, I recollect in eighty-four, at the OldBrit., 'Oxton way--"
"But what was the matter with the front legs you were speaking of?"enquired Mr. Welwyn opportunely.
"The matter," replied Mr. Stillbott
le testily, "was that they was n't_'ind_ legs. Not bein' used to them, I stepped in wrong way round onthe first night. We got shoved on the stage somehow, but every time westarted to move I ran straight into the 'ind legs. In the end we brokethe elephant's back between us. What was more, we spoiled the PrincipalBoy's best song. The audience was much too occupied watchin' a elephantgivin' a imitation of a camel to listen to _'er_. Besides, she wassittin' on the elephant 'erself at the time, and bein' rather stout, 'ad'er work cut out to 'old on. She got me fired next day. Said I was n'tsober."
"That was a libel, of course," said Mr. Welwyn soothingly.
"In a manner of speakin'," replied Mr. Stillbottle guardedly--"yes." Hetook up Mr. Welwyn's sheet of note-paper again.
"What is all this?" he enquired rather querulously. "Stage directions,or cues, or what?"
"Everything," said Mr. Welwyn. "Your lines and business, in fact."
Mr. Stillbottle nodded comprehendingly, and proceeded to read aloud:--
"_When front-door bell rings, answer door and show party up, askingtheir names and announcing them distinctly._"
"You can do that?"
"I'll 'ave a dash for it, anyway. Then: _Bring in tea and put it ontea-table_."
Mr. Stillbottle's unsteady gaze wandered round the apartment until itencountered the table.
"Tea-table, left centre," he remarked to himself. "_Then, at irregularintervals, come in and make the following remarks to me_:--that's you, Isuppose?"
Mr. Welwyn nodded, and Mr. Stillbottle read the paper aloud to the end.Then he slowly folded it up, and remarked, not altogether unreasonably,that he was damned. He added a respectful rider in the French tongue,to the effect that Mr. Welwyn was _tres moutarde_.
"You understand," said his employer with great seriousness--he hadcrossed the Rubicon now, and was determined to risk nothing by imperfectrehearsal--"you must use your own discretion as to when you come in withyour messages. About once every ten minutes, I should say."
"Don't you think, governor," suggested Mr. Stillbottle, almost timidly,"that that last stretcher--the one about the shover--is just a bit _too_thick? Suppose your guests start askin' to see the car--what, then?You'll be in the cart, you know!"
"It is all right," said Mr. Welwyn. "I am giving the car up, on accountof recent taxation, and so on. It is in the market now, and may be soldat any moment--to-day, perhaps."
"I beg pardon," said Mr. Stillbottle humbly. "I see I can teach younothing." Then he added, conversationally: "Did you ever know a CaptainSlingsby, by any chance?"
"No. Who was he?"
"Another of the lads, like yourself. I thought perhaps you might havebeen workin' with him at some time. I came acrost him once or twice. Hewas a pretty tough nut. His line was to dress up as a curate and gethimself adopted by rich widders; but he was n't the artist you are, sir.He 'ad n't your education, I should say. Are the whole family in this,may I enquire?"
"Er--yes," replied Mr. Welwyn helplessly.
"Ah!" Mr. Stillbottle nodded his head. "I thought somehow that I hadcome on a happy visit to the Nut Family as soon as I got acquainted withyour two youngest. Well, it's a pleasure to work with people at the topof their profession, and I'll see you through."
Mr. Welwyn thanked him, almost inaudibly.
"But when do you suppose," pursued Mr. Stillbottle, transferring hisfeet from the sofa to the floor, "that I shall get out of this DramaticAcademy of yours? I 'ave n't come 'ere for a _course_, you know. Areyou going to touch the tea-party for the money, or let me distrain onthe furniture, or what?"
"I can't tell you at present," said Mr. Welwyn; "but I will endeavour toarrange something by the evening."
"Well, let me know soon, ole sport," said Mr. Stillbottle--"that's all.I 'ave my arrangements to make, too, remember. My _word_, look atMother!"
This interjection was occasioned by the entrance of Mrs. Welwyn andAmelia, dressed for the party. Mrs. Welwyn was arrayed in a quieter andmore tasteful fashion than might have been expected. Her costume, whichhad been designed and constructed by her eldest daughter, would havestruck an impartial critic as one which made the very best of her ageand figure. Amelia wore a short white frock, with a blue sash. Her longcoppery hair flowed to her waist, and her hazel eyes were aglow withexcitement.
"Father dear, what do you think of the way Tilly has turned me out?"enquired Mrs. Welwyn gaily.
For the moment her troubles were behind her. For once she wassuitably--and to the outward eye expensively--attired; and the knowledgeof the fact had induced in her humble but feminine soul that degree ofminor intoxication which the materially-minded male usually achieves,more grossly but less extravagantly, by means of a pint of champagne.
Slowly gyrating for the delectation of her husband, Mrs. Welwynunexpectedly encountered the unsympathetic gaze of Mr. Stillbottle. Sheblushed red, and ceased to revolve.
"Oh, that you?" she exclaimed, in an embarrassed voice.
"Yes, it's me--what's left of me," replied Mr. Stillbottle lugubriously."Wearing me out, this job is."
He displayed his paper of cues.
Mrs. Welwyn regarded him severely.
"It's time you dressed yourself," she said. "I have put my son'sevening clothes out for you--in the bathroom," she added pointedly."You had better go and put them on. He is bigger than you, but you'llmanage."
Mr. Stillbottle acquiesced.
"Very good," he remarked graciously. "Wardrobe mistress must be obeyed,I suppose. I'm beginning to warm up to this part. I shall surprise youall yet."
"I hope not," murmured Mr. Welwyn devoutly.
"Did you tell him about the name, Father?" prompted Amelia.
"No, I forgot," said Mr. Welwyn. "Mr. Stillbottle, I think thisafternoon that we had better address you by some other name than yourown."
"What," enquired Mr. Stillbottle, with a touch of hauteur, "is thematter with me own little patteronymic?"
"Just to sustain the character, you know," urged Mr. Welwyn.
Mr. Stillbottle sighed, in humorous resignation.
"All right," he said. "Confer the title."
Mr. Welwyn turned to his wife.
"What do you say to 'Howard,' Mother?" he asked.
"Nothing with an H in front of it for _me_, dearie, if you please,"announced Mrs. Welwyn firmly. "I can see enough rocks of that kindahead of me this afternoon as it is."
"Why not 'Russell'?" suggested Amelia. "Russell Square, you know."
Mrs. Welwyn stroked her resourceful little daughter's hair gratefully.
"That will do finely," she said. "You are Russell," she announcedbriefly to Mr. Stillbottle.
The newly christened infant acquiesced listlessly, and rose from thesofa.
"Now I must tear myself away," he said, "to don me trunks and 'ose andget up this patter. I'm a slow study. No promptin', I presume?"
"No," said Mr. Welwyn.
"Gaggin' permitted?" enquired Mr. Stillbottle, without much hope.
"Certainly not."
"Very good. So long, everybody. _Exit Russell_, door in back."
With a theatrical gesture, the ci-devant impersonator of elephants' hindlegs disappeared. The Welwyns regarded one another apprehensively.
"Oh, dear!" said Mrs. Welwyn.
"We must make the best of him, Martha," said her husband. "After all,we did not invite him here of our own accord: he _has_ to be present inthe house in some capacity. Still, I admit he is the weak spot in ourenterprise--the heel of Achilles, so to speak."
But Mr. Welwyn was wrong.