IV
A CHILDREN'S PARTY
A good dinner in particular, and a comfortable sense of solvency ingeneral, had thrown me into a half whimsical, half melancholy musing,from which I was roused by a small pair of hands placed over my eyesfrom behind, and a challenge to guess.
There was not the least possibility of it being any one other than itwas, but I guessed "Jack Wharton," and had my ears boxed. Jack Whartonis a large creature with fat fingers, and more rings on each of themthan a Plantagenet sword has coronets--a well-meaning, meritorious kindof man, and my sister Carrie's special aversion.
Carrie sat on the arm of my chair, and paid little feminine attentionsto my hair, which she tried to make the most of--there is not so much ofit as there once was. A certain tendency to early harvest in hair is afamily trait, and I occasionally subdue the arrogance of my sister'syouth by reading to her from the health column of some family paper.
She patted down the last wisp, and addressed me.
"Do you know, Rol," she said, "I have an idea."
"I leap for joy, my dear," I replied.
Carrie is used to me. She went on unheeding.
"Suppose--suppose we give a children's party."
I looked at her in surprise. A children's party in my flat! What did shemean?
"Suppose we give a masked ball or a grandmother's tea?" I suggested.
"Oh well, if you will be silly--" Caroline said, sitting straight up,and adjusting the lace frivolity on her wrists.
"But who on earth are you going to ask to a children's party?" I asked.
"Oh, Rol," she replied, "there are lots and lots of children. There'sAlice Carmichael's nephew, Ted----"
"Ted Carmichael is seventeen years old," I remarked.
"And Nellie Bassishaw," she continued.
"Nellie Bassishaw is fifteen, and old-fashioned at that," I replied.
"Well, you must have some one to take charge of the children, you know,Rol. But there are heaps and heaps of nice children. There's MollyChatterton, and little Chris Carmichael, and lots of others. I do thinkit would be fun."
"I daresay it would," I replied. "And yourself and young Bassishaw wouldlook after them and amuse them, I suppose?"
"Yes, Arthur says he'll come and help," she answered. I had evidentlynot been the first one to be considered.
"And Arthur will bring half a dozen young Bassishaws, younger thanNellie?"
"Why, yes, I expect he will. Why not?"
"And has Arthur ordered a magic-lantern?" I asked.
"Not yet," replied Carrie. "That is, he _did_ suggest amagic-lantern--children like magic-lanterns, you know, Rol."
I was aware of it--other people than children like magic-lanterns. Ileaned back and sighed; it was apparently all arranged.
"And what date did you say you had decided on?" I asked.
"The 17th," replied my dutiful sister; "that is, if you'll be a goodbrother, and let us use your rooms, Rol."
"Oh, anything you like," I answered resignedly. "I'll clear out to theclub and you can do as you please. Only, mind you," I added, "I insistthat there shall be children. I will not be turned out of my rooms foryou and Bassishaw and all the Nellies and Teds of your acquaintance toplay any magic-lantern racket."
"Oh, you dear brother!" cried Carrie, blowing a kiss down the back of mycollar. "But you mustn't go out, Rol. We shall want you to help, youknow. You can----"
"Manage the gas, perhaps?" I suggested.
"Oh, the magic-lantern man will do that," she replied, laughing. "Youcan call the forfeits--you used to know a lot of forfeits, Rol--and pullcrackers and things."
And have sprawling youngsters climbing my back, and nurse them when theyget cross, I thought. But it was of no use demurring before a determinedyoung sister. I must make the best of it.
I was given due notice on the 16th, and cleared my papers away. AtCarrie's suggestion I also took down a print or two--children were soquick at noticing things, she said. Then I had the satisfaction ofseeing a Christmas-tree placed in the corner devoted to my armchair, andof being able to look forward to a week or two of occasionalpine-needles and grease-spots from toy candles whenever I wanted toread. A hairy man also came with a tool-bag, which he threw on mydining-table, and proceeded to make what seemed to me a radicalalteration in my gas system, trailing flexible tubes across the floor,over which I scarcely dared to step. I took my hat and fled, leavingCarrie to do as seemed good to her.
Carrie had made me promise to assist, and at five o'clock we were at thetop of the stairs receiving our young guests. Arthur Bassishaw wasthere, of course--he had been about for the last two days, and hadreally, Carrie said, been invaluable. Every few minutes a nursemaidarrived with some pink-legged, fluffy little lump, muffled up to itsbright eyes. Young Ted Carmichael brought my little friend Chris, whoclasped my knees and demanded that I should be a dragon on the spot.Miss Nellie Bassishaw came with half a dozen little Bassishaws, castinga glance at Master Ted that made that young gentleman nervous about hisgloves. Altogether by six o'clock some twenty small people were sittinground Carrie's table, with an attendant maid or two tall behind them,and the noise was just beginning.
Carrie, to do her justice, ordered young Bassishaw about as if he wereher own brother, and he assisted with piled-up plates and staggeringjellies in the most creditable manner. Master Ted Carmichael, however,was evidently divided in mind as to whether he should consider himselfpurely a guest, or whether his age qualified him for attendance on thekids, a perplexity in which his palpable devotion to Nellie did not helphim much. Nellie was difficult to woo that evening, and was playing offa smaller schoolboy on her half-grown-up admirer in a way that I likedimmensely. She has the germs of mischief in her, and is pretty into thebargain. Ted, therefore, moved in a state of unrest--now helping inministering to younger needs, and now resuming his seat helplessly.There was a speck of something in my memory that made me feel for Ted.
The noise increased, and by the time Master Chris--a most depravedchild--had thrust a handful of raisin-stalks and broken biscuits downthe neck of the lady of five whom he had taken in, children were rompinghere and there, regardless of whispering nurses who reminded them theywere still at table. They were swept into another room by Carrie, withstamping of sturdy legs and pulling of crackers. Ted tried to remainbehind to be near his disdainful lady, but I brought him along. I waswilling to help him.
I engaged Master Ted in conversation. The children, I said, would soonbe playing games, and then we men would have a few minutes toourselves--perhaps time for a cigar. He stiffened up in pleased pride,and the front of his first dress-suit expanded. He _was_ grown up, then.He ventured the remark that kids were awful slow, but they had to beamused, he expected.
"Slow, do you think, Ted?" I asked. "Why, I find them most interesting.Look at Miss Nellie there." (She had just come in.) "She looks almostgrown up, but any one can see she's the biggest child of the lot. Lookat her with little Molly Chatterton--she thinks she's got a doll. Ah,Ted, girls like that are at a very awkward age."
"They _are_ awkward," Ted admitted. "But Nellie, you know--Nellie's notso very--she was fifteen last--she's almost--oh, hang it, let's go outfor a smoke."
We made for the balcony.
"Have a cigarette, Mr. Butterfield?" said Ted, proffering a small silvercase.
"Thanks," I replied. "I think I'll have a cigar. Won't you have one ofthese? They're very mild."
Ted looked doubtfully at it, and shook his head.
"No, thanks," he said; "I don't often smoke cigars. I'm very fond of apipe now and then--after breakfast, you know; but cigars are a littletoo much for me. Light?"
He held me a light, and puffed elegantly at his cigarette. Thencontinued thoughtfully:
"The worst of women is," he said, "they seem to grow up so awfullyquick, you know. Why, Nellie Bassishaw there, you know--we used to berather flames when we were young. A year or two since, that is. We'renot so
very old yet, you know, Mr. Butterfield," he added, with aslightly conscious laugh.
"Call me Butterfield," I said softly and encouragingly.
"I don't mind saying," he continued, "I was awfully stuck a while back.I used to walk round the house at nights, you know--darned silly, ofcourse--and she used to drop me notes from her bedroom window. Of courseyou won't say a word to any of the men, but at one time she wanted me toelope."
"Indeed!" I said. "You surprise me. In that case I have greatlymisjudged her. She is not so young as I thought she was."
"No, she's not really, Butterfield," he said eagerly. "She's awfullyclever and grown up, and all that--that is, she was when we were sothick. Some time ago, you know."
I nodded. I didn't want to interrupt him.
"And she's going to have her hair up next birthday," he went on, "andthen she'll be quite grown up. I'm a bit sorry it's all off."
He threw down the end of his cigarette, and looked round at the balconywindow.
"No," I said, "it isn't time for the magic-lantern yet. Half an hour orso. And you're almost sorry it's all off?"
"Well, yes, in some ways," he replied. "Of course, I get about more thanshe does, you know. Men do see more life than girls, don't they,Butterfield? I went to a dance the other week, and of course Nelliecan't go to dances yet. But the men were another set, you know, and thewomen--well, it's not much fun sitting out in a conservatory withstrange women, is it?"
I reserved my opinion on the point, and he went on. He got veryconfidential, and by the time he had got through another cigarette hehad my views as to whether it was possible to keep a surreptitious wifeat Eton, whither he was to return shortly. I rather took to Master Ted,and decided that Carrie and Bassishaw should not have _all_ the fun outof the magic-lantern. I would willingly have prolonged the talk, but Tedwas glancing nervously at the window, and thought we really should goin--the youngsters would need looking after.
We went in, in time to catch them playing some game with a closed doorand a piece of mistletoe. I saw no necessity for Carrie and ArthurBassishaw joining in, but join in they did, while Miss Nellie lookedintelligently patronising. Ted was right--women did grow up quickly. AsI took a seat beside her I heard Ted whisper to Carrie that her brotherwas a brick.
"I hope you are having a good time, Nellie?" I said.
Nellie tossed her curls.
"Of course, real dances are more in your line," I continued, "but youcan spare an evening for the children now and then."
Nellie bit her lip; she felt the point keenly.
"I don't go to dances, Mr. Butterfield," she said stiffly.
"No?" I inquired blandly. "Well, some people _are_ prejudiced againstdancing. But I see no wrong in it myself. Do you regard dancing asfrivolous?"
She had to make the humiliating confession.
"I don't know anything about it," replied Nellie, turning half away. "Iam not allowed to go to dances."
"Dear me!" I said; "motives of health, doubtless?"
"No, I'm not considered old enough."
"Oh!" I said, in the tone of one who feels he has pushed his inquiriestoo far. "That is a pity. There is such fun at dances--sitting out, youknow, and such things. You can't have such fun anywhere else."
Nellie looked a defiant "Couldn't she, though," and I considered myyoung friend Ted's affair as good as arranged. I heard her whisper toBassishaw later that Mr. Butterfield was a beast.
Carrie came bustling up to ask me to help in the preparations for themagic-lantern; and shortly afterwards the light was down, and the greatwhite circle shifting and quivering on the sheet, to the whisperinganticipation of eager children. When, a few minutes later, I had takenChris Carmichael on my knee, and the pictures had begun, certain quietindications from the back told me that Master Ted was having a goodtime. I couldn't see the young monkeys at it, but I divined from thebrooding peace in that direction that they were hand in hand. Hand inhand at least.
An hour later the place was quiet once more, and only Carrie, Bassishaw,and myself were left, gathered round the cold magic-lantern. I looked atit and shook my head. I had to do it three times before they noticed me.
"What is it now, Rol?" said Carrie.
"Sixteen next birthday," I said to myself.
"What _are_ you talking about?"
"Used to drop him notes from her bedroom window," I mused.
"Oh, do shake him, Arthur."
Arthur shook me. I looked severely at them both.
"I suppose you know what you've done," I said, "you and yourmagic-lantern?"
They commenced a look of innocence, but I quelled them.
"If there is an elopement at your house shortly, Bassishaw," I said,"you can thank this children's party. Don't pretend you didn't seethem."
"I'm afraid, Butterfield, do you know, that they are mischievous youngbeggars," replied Bassishaw; "but it's not our fault."
"Not your fault!" I said, with rather a touch of scorn, I think, in myvoice; "not your fault! You bring overcharged adolescence together--youknow the moral laxity of sixteen--you know the latent depravity offemale sixteen especially--you provide them with a handy magic-lanternand every convenience--and it's not your fault! Well, I did my best todissuade you; you have only yourselves to thank. I wash my hands of allconsequences. Don't blame me."
It pleased me to throw the responsibility on someone else.