LORDS TEMPORAL
We have eight clocks, called after the kind people who gave them to us.Let me introduce you: William, Edward, Muriel, Enid, Alphonse, Percy,Henrietta, and John--a large family.
"But how convenient," said Celia. "Exactly one for each room."
"Or two in each corner of the drawing-room. I don't suggest it; I justthrow out the idea."
"Which is rejected. How shall we arrange which goes into which room?Let's pick up. I take William for the drawing-room; you take John foryour workroom; I take----"
"Not John," I said gently. John is---- John overdoes it a trifle. Thereis too much of John; and he exposes his inside--which is not quite nice.
"Well, whichever you like. Come on, let's begin. William."
As it happened, I particularly wanted William. He has an absolutelynoiseless tick, such as is suitable to a room in which work is to bedone. I explained this to Celia.
"What you want for the drawing-room," I went on, "is a clock which ticksostentatiously, so that your visitors may be reminded of the flight oftime. Edward is a very loud breather. No guest could fail to noticeEdward."
"William," said Celia firmly.
"William has a very delicate interior," I pleaded. "You could neverattend to him properly. I have been thinking of William ever since wehad him, and I feel that I understand his case."
"Very well," said Celia, with sudden generosity; "Edward. You haveWilliam; I have Alphonse for the dining-room; you have John for yourbedroom; I have Enid for mine; you----"
"Not John," I said gently. To be frank, John is improper.
"Well, Percy, then."
"Yes, Percy. He is young and fair. He shall sit on the chest of drawersand sing to my sock-suspenders."
"Then Henrietta had better go in the spare room, and Muriel in Jane's."
"Muriel is much too good for Jane," I protested. "Besides, a servantwants an alarm clock to get her up in the morning."
"You forget that Muriel cuckoos. At six o'clock she will cuckoo exactlysix times, and at the sixth 'oo' Jane brisks out of bed."
I still felt a little doubtful, because the early morning is a bad timefor counting cuckoos, and I didn't see why Jane shouldn't brisk out atthe seventh "oo" by mistake one day. However, Jane is in Celia'sdepartment, and if Celia was satisfied I was. Besides, the only otherplace for Muriel was the bathroom; and there is something about acuckoo-clock in a bathroom which--well, one wants to be educated up toit.
"And that," said Celia gladly, "leaves the kitchen for John." John, as Ithink I have said, displays his inside in a lamentable way. There is toomuch of John.
"If Jane doesn't mind," I added. "She may have been strictly broughtup."
"She'll love him. John lacks reserve, but he is a good time-keeper."
And so our eight friends were settled. But, alas, not for long. Ourdiscussion had taken place on the eve of Jane's arrival; and when sheturned up next day she brought with her, to our horror, a clock of herown--called, I think, Mother. At any rate, she was fond of it andrefused to throw it away.
"And it's got an alarm, so it goes in her bedroom," said Celia, "andMuriel goes into the kitchen. Jane loves it, because she comes from thecountry, and the cuckoo reminds her of home. That still leaves Johneating his head off."
"And, moreover, showing people what happens to it," I added severely. (Ithink I have already mentioned John's foible.)
"Well, there's only one thing for it; he must go under the spare-roombed."
I tried to imagine John under the spare-room bed.
"Suppose," I said, "we had a nervous visitor ... and she looked underthe bed before getting into it ... and saw John.... It is a terriblethought, Celia."
However, that is where he is. It is a lonely life for him, but we shallwind him up every week, and he will think that he is being of service tous. Indeed, he probably imagines that our guests prefer to sleep underthe bed.
Now, with John at last arranged for, our family should have been happy;but three days ago I discovered that it was William who was going to bethe real trouble. To think of William, the pride of the flock, betrayingus!
As you may remember, William lives with me. He presides over the room wecall "the library" to visitors and "the master's room" to Jane. Hesmiles at me when I work. Ordinarily, when I want to know the time, Ilook at my watch; but the other morning I happened to glance at William.He said "twenty minutes past seven." As I am never at work as early asthat, and as my watch said eleven-thirty, I guessed at once that Williamhad stopped. In the evening--having by that time found the key--I wentto wind him up. To my surprise he said "six-twenty-five." I put my earto his chest and heard his gentle breathing. He was alive and goingwell. With a murmured apology I set him to the right time ... and by themorning he was three-quarters of an hour fast.
Unlike John, William is reticent to a degree. With great difficulty Ifound my way to his insides, and then found that he had practically noneto speak of at all. Certainly he had no regulator.
"What shall we do?" I asked Celia.
"Leave him. And then, when you bring your guests in for a smoke, you cansay, 'Oh, don't go yet; this clock is five hours and twenty-threeminutes fast.'"
"Or six hours and thirty-seven minutes slow. I wonder which would soundbetter. Anyhow, he is much too beautiful to go under a bed."
So we are leaving him. And when I am in the mood for beauty I look atWilliam's mahogany sides and am soothed into slumber again ... and whenI want to adjust my watch (which always loses a little), I creep underthe spare-room bed and consult John. John alone of all our family keepsthe correct time, and it is a pity that he alone must live inretirement.