Had you thought of a butler? inquired Miss Titworthy.
A butler?
Yes, instead of a maid. Youll pardon the suggestion but I was thinking that Mr. Boyce-Upchurch being a foreigner and accustomed, of course, to butlers, and a butler giving a sort of air a tone, as it were to a household, that perhaps well
They had fallen on fertile ground, those seeds. They were sprouting, germinating. Before the massive shoulders of the Ingleglade Womans Clubs efficient recording secretary had vanished down the bowery and winding reaches of Edgecliff Avenue they were putting forth small green speculative shoots through Mrs. Gridleys mind. Always and ever, from the very first days of her married life, Mrs. Gridley had cherished in the back of her mind a picture of an establishment in which the butler, a figure of dignity and poise and gray striped trousers in the daytime but full-dress by night, would be the chief of staff. As what woman has not? And now for the gratifying of that secret ambition she had an excuse and a reason.
Section Two of this narrative brings us to another conversation. At this stage the narrative seems somehow to fall naturally into sections, but one has a premonition that toward the last it will become a thing of cutbacks and close-ups and iris-ins and fade-outs, like a movie. It brings us to this other conversation, which passed over the telephone between Mrs. Gridley and her brother Mr. Oliver Braid.
Well, Dumplings, said that gentleman, speaking at noon of Tuesday from his office, the hellish deed is done!
You got one then? she answered eagerly.
Got one? Madam, you wrong me and you low-rate him. I got the One and only One the Original One. The only misleading thing about him is his name. Be prepared for a pleasant shock. Its Launcelot Ditto. I ask you to let that soak into your tissues and be absorbed by the system. Only Ditto means more of the same and if Im any judge, there arent any more at home like him and there never will be. But the Launcelot part fits like a union suit.
Oh, girl, Im telling you hes got everything, including the adenoids. Not the puny domestic brand of our own faulty and deficient land, mind you, but the large, super-extra-fine export, golden-russet adenoid of that favored island whose boast is that Britons never shall be slaves except to catarrh. And hes as solemn as a Masonic funeral. And he stepped right out of a book by way of the stage. He ought to be serving strawberries and Devonshire cream on the terrace to the curate of St. Ives and the dear old Dowager Duchess of What-you-may-call-em, while the haw-haw blooms in the hedgerow. He ought to be coming on at the beginning of Act One to answer the telephone and pat the sofa pillows smooth and fold up The Pink Un, and sigh deeply because the Young Marster is going to the dogs. He ought to be outlining the plot to a housekeeper in rustling black silk named Meadows.
Ollie Braid, are you delirious?
Not at all. I am dazed, dazzled, blinded, but I am not delirious. I can half shut my eyes and see him in his hours of ease sitting in our buttery perusing that sprightly volume with full-page illustrations entitled The Stately Homes of Old England. Sounds pretty good, eh what? Good hell! Hes perfect. He certainly ought to do a lot for us socially over there in Ingleglade. I can half shut em again and see the local peasantry turning a lovely pea-green with envy as he issues forth on the front lawn to set up the archery butts so that we may practice up on our butting. Thats another place where the buttery will come in handy.
He was willing to come out, then?
Well, at first he did balk a little on the idea of demeaning himself by accepting a position with the lower or commuting classes. The country, yes; the town, perhaps, but the environs well, hardly. That was his attitude. But with my lilting love-song I won him, he-siren that I am. I told him Ingleglade was not really suburban but merely outlying, if one gets what one means. That wasnt deception, that was diplomacy. Anyhow, havent we got some of the outlyingest real-estate dealers in the entire state of New Jersey? Do we not combine all the drawbacks of the city with few or none of the advantages of the country? I often sit and wonder whence comes this magic power of mine for bending strong natures to my will. The crowning stroke was when I told him Boyce-Upchurch was so shortly to honor us. That won him. He admires Boyce-Upchurch tremendously. Not his books he hasnt read em but it seems he knows Boyce-Upchurchs uncle, whos an archduke or a belted earl or something well up among the face-cards.
You talk too much, Oliver. You think youre funny and you arent.
Oh, but, madam
Shut up a minute! He has references, of course?
Fair lady, sweet dame, I plight you my solemn word that with the references hes got from noble British families he could be our ambassador to the Court of St. James the day after he took out his naturalization papers. Hes temporarily unattached but thats because he hasnt been able to find anybody worthy of him. Hes only taking us on trial. Why hark ye, lass, he used to work for the Unrable Urrible Ubbs. Hes got the documents to prove it.
The what?
Im merely telling you what he said. It didnt sound like a name to me, either, at first. But now its beginning to grow on me; I may make a song out of it.
When will he be out?
This very night. Im chaperoning him personally. We are to meet at the ferry, and Im to wear a primrose in my buttonhole in case hes forgotten how I look. Im reading up now on the history of the Norman Conquest. I want to be prepared to meet him on his own ground should he care for conversation.
Ollie, you always were an idiot.
Dear wench, tis a family failing. I have a sister, a flower-like slip of a thing, but, alas, she suffers from pollen in the pod.
And whats more, shes going to give you a hard slap the first chance. Over the line her voice took on an uncertain tone. Of course I know youre exaggerating frightfully but
As regards Launcelot, you couldnt exaggerate. He confounds the powers of description. He baffles the most inventive imagination. He
Oh, do listen! All at once Im beginning to worry about Norah. I hadnt thought of her until right now.
What of Norah?
Well, from what you say and even making allowances for your romancing, this man must be very English. And Norahs so so Irish. Delia is, too, for that matter. But especially Norah.
Strange, but I had noticed that myself about our Norah.
Notice it? I should say. She calls the English what is it she calls them?
Black-and-Tans. Also Saxon oppressors. Also a name which is pronounced by hissing first and then gritting the teeth in a bitter manner. I think its an old Gaelic word signifying Oliver Cromwell. You may recall having heard that Norah has a brother who had some personal misunderstanding with the authorities in Dublin in the year 1916. He became at that time very seriously antagonized toward them. And it looks to me as though Norah was inclined to take sides in the controversy.
Naturally. But she may make trouble. I hadnt thought of that before. And if he should happen to do anything or say anything to arouse her or if she should take one of her grudges against Mr. Boyce-Upchurch oh, Im scared, Oliver!
Prithee be blithe and gay. Norah and I understand each other. We have a bond between us or will have one as soon as I tell her privately that Im contributing to a fund for financing an uprising on the part of those poor down-trodden Hindus. Immediately on my arrival this evening Ill take Norah apart and