"I put it up," replied Mr. Mablethorpe, "but my daughter composed it.

She makes rather a special feature of the common courtesies of life.

Mind your elbow against that gatepost."

Two minutes later Philip found himself being presented to a languid but still pretty lady, who a.s.sured him, in a speech which appeared in some curious way to be addressed to Mr. Mablethorpe rather than himself, that she was charmed to meet him, in spite of a headache, and that she had no doubt that fresh servants would ultimately be forthcoming to take the places of those whose resignations the introduction of an unexpected boy into a hitherto tranquil household would naturally precipitate. Adding a mournful postscript to the effect that Philip would doubtless have made an admirable secretary for her husband, but for the fact that his uncle would inevitably insist upon his speedy return to Holly Lodge, Mrs.

Mablethorpe, with a look of patient endurance upon her delicate features, faded away upstairs, to bedew herself with eau-de-Cologne and partake of luncheon in bed.

"Friends," observed Mr. Mablethorpe solemnly as his wife disappeared, "are requested to accept this (the only) intimation and invitation. Now, Philip, come and be introduced to my daughter."

The three spent a perfectly happy afternoon together. Miss Dumpling treated "the new inmate," as Mr. Mablethorpe called Philip, with marked favour, introducing him _seriatim_ to three cows, named respectively Boo, Moo, and Coo; a family of lop-eared rabbits; and an aged gramophone suffering from bronchial weakness.

Towards tea-time Mr. Mablethorpe, who knew his wife almost as well as he loved her, penetrated to the invalid's bedroom, and there apologised in the most handsome manner for several crimes which he had not committed.

Mrs. Mablethorpe, having delivered herself of a brief homily upon the whole duty of a husband entrusted with the care of a delicate wife, now felt sufficiently recovered to come downstairs and partake of a tea of encouraging dimensions.

Philip surveyed her curiously. His feminine horizon was enlarging itself.

"Julius, dear," observed Mrs. Mablethorpe presently, "I know, of course, that it is perfectly useless to say anything to you about Baby's upbringing,--the child is ruined for life by this time,--but I must protest, however feebly, against your feeding her with that sweet and sticky cake. We shall have her running in and out of the dentist's every five minutes in a year or two."

"You hear that, Daniel Lambert?" asked Mr. Mablethorpe of his ruined child. "Mother says we aren't to have any more cake. I think it is most tyrannical of her: she knows how we love running in and out of the dentist's. But we must obey orders. About turn, and let us get back to the bread-and-b.u.t.ter! Come on--I'll race you!"

Mr. Mablethorpe began to munch bread-and-b.u.t.ter with enormous enthusiasm, and poor Dumps, reluctantly laying down a generous slice of plum-cake, followed his example. But when the trio finally obtained permission to retire to the library and play at "wolves"--a pastime to which it appeared that Mr. Mablethorpe was much addicted--and tumbled upstairs together, Philip overheard the unregenerate father whisper to his daughter:--

"If you wish a wish and then feel in my pocket, old lady, you may find something."

In the library the Dumpling offered Philip a share in a large slice of plum-cake.

Philip went to bed that evening in the room which had been prepared for his reception (fortunately without causing any break-up in the staff of the establishment), but did not sleep for a long while. He had much to think of. It seemed almost incredible that he had left Holly Lodge only yesterday, and that it was only last night that he had slept with the wolf-scarers in Montagu Falconer's studio; yet it was a fact. The remembrance of the studio brought back visions of Peggy. He wondered when, if ever, he should see her again. He compared her with Dumps, but quickly realised that comparisons were impossible. Dumps was a decent little kid, though fat, but she was not Pegs.

Then he thought of Dumps's parents, and he began to understand that it takes all sorts to make a world. He was beginning to realise the importance, in every department of life, of "making allowances." This duty was not confined to one s.e.x, as he had previously imagined. Mrs.

Falconer, it was true, spent her life in making allowances for Mr.

Falconer. But here was Mr. Mablethorpe doing precisely the same thing for Mrs. Mablethorpe.

Finally, he thought of Uncle Joseph and the Beautiful Lady. Perhaps, he reflected, if these two had made allowances for one another earlier in life their coming together would not have been delayed for ten years.

Incidentally he made a note that, dragons having become obsolete, a knight might do worse than set out to persuade people to make allowances for one another.

CHAPTER XII

THE OFFICIAL DEMISE OF TOMMY SMITH

NEXT morning Mr. Mablethorpe, after a quite unexpectedly serious conversation with Philip, departed upon Boanerges to seek out Uncle Joseph.

Having achieved a comparatively unadventurous journey (if we except a collision with a milk-cart in the Finchley Road), he drew up at Holly Lodge, which looked very much the same as when Philip had left it two days before, save that a large board, newly painted and announcing that "This House" was to be "Let or Sold," projected over the laurel hedge which separated the gravel sweep from the roadway.

Uncle Joseph was at home, and received his visitor in the library.

The owner of Boanerges came to the point at once.

"My name," he said, "is Mablethorpe. I do not suppose that the information will interest you in the least, but it is customary to give it. What is more to the point is the fact that I have found a stray nephew. Have you lost one?"

Uncle Joseph admitted that this was so.

"He appears to have left home," continued Mr. Mablethorpe, "two days ago, owing to a sudden and rather unexpected change in your domestic routine."

"He told you the story, then?"

"Yes."

"I cannot quite understand," said Uncle Joseph, "why the event to which you refer should have made it necessary for him to leave my house. In fact, I should have thought it would have been an inducement to him to remain. Have a cigar?"

Mr. Mablethorpe helped himself, and replied thoughtfully:--

"I gather that the--the event to which we have referred absolved him, in his rather immature judgment, from further allegiance to your person and service."

Uncle Joseph eyed his visitor keenly.

"Service--eh? Did he explain to you the nature of his services?"

"Yes, he told me all about it. The Kind Young Hearts, the Unwanted Doggies, Tommy Smith--everything. I made him tell me every shred of the story. I would not have missed a word of it. It was priceless--immense--the most brilliant thing I ever heard of! As a brother-artist, in a smaller and less remunerative way, I beg to offer you my felicitations and thanks. But our young friend Philip appears to have found his share of the work uncongenial. Apparently his conscience--"

"Not his conscience," interposed Uncle Joseph: "his disposition. The boy is a born sentimentalist, like his father before him. I had noticed the paternal characteristics developing for some time, and I expected an upheaval sooner or later. The--the event to which reference has been made precipitated matters, that is all."

"Quite so," agreed Mr. Mablethorpe. "But whatever his underlying forces may be, your nephew appears to be a youth of some directness of character. When I intercepted him yesterday he was on his way to Coventry, with the intention of studying the mechanics of automobilism.

He is now in my house, and on my representations has agreed to place his future unreservedly in your hands. But I don't think you will persuade him to go back to the Little Tommy Smith business, you know."

"There is no need," said Uncle Joseph. "Little Tommy Smith is dead, and his works have perished with him."

"So I had gathered," said Mr. Mablethorpe.

"How?" asked Uncle Joseph, a little startled.

Mr. Mablethorpe waved his hand in the direction of the window.

"Partly from the presence of that board outside," he said, "and partly because, in the light of--of recent events, any other _denouement_ would have been an inartistic anticlimax, contrary to the canons of the best fiction."

Uncle Joseph surveyed his rather unusual visitor with interest.

"You appear to know something of men and women," he said.

"I have to," explained Mr. Mablethorpe. "I make a living by studying the weaknesses of mankind and publishing the results of my observations at four-and-sixpence net."

"A novelist, I gather."

"Yes, but of the obsolete school. I hate your morbid, soul-dissecting, self-centred pessimist like poison. I go in for happy endings and the eternal good in human nature. In this respect I rejoice to observe that you are not going to disappoint me."