George-Kentucky-Claiborne-Brown was waiting uneasily in Mr Schreiber's study in the penthouse, whither he had been summoned, the next afternoon after lunch, and this uneasiness increased as Mr and Mrs Schreiber entered the room together, followed by Mrs Harris, Mrs b.u.t.terfield, and an eight-going-on-nine-year-old boy known as Little Henry.

Mr Schreiber motioned his own side to sit and said to the performer, 'Sit down, Kentucky. We have something rather important to talk to you about.'

The too-easily aroused ire began to shine in the singer's eyes. He knew what the meeting was all about all right, and he wasn't having any of it. He took up a kind of a defiant stand in a corner of the room and said, 'If you-all think you're going to come over me for givin' that kid a poke, you can guess again. The little b.a.s.t.a.r.d was annoyin' me at mah rehearsin'. I tol' him to beat it - he got fresh and Ah belted him one. And what's more, Ah'd do it again. Ah tol' you Ah didn't like foreigners any more'n Ah liked negras. All they have to do is keep out of mah way, and then n.o.body is goin' to have any trouble.'

'Yes, yes,' said Mr Schreiber testily, 'we know all that.' But now that he had Kentucky safely under contract he was no longer compelled to be as patient or put up with as much. 'But that isn't what I've asked you to come here to talk about today. It's something quite different. Sit yourself down and let's get at it.'

Relieved somewhat that the purpose of the get-together was not to chew him out for slapping the child, Kentucky sat on a chair back-to-front and watched them all suspiciously out of his small, mean eyes.

Mr Schreiber said, 'Your right name is George Brown, and you did your military service in the U.S. Air Force from 1949 to 1952.'

Kentucky set his jaws. 'What if Ah am and what if Ah did?'

Mr Schreiber, who appeared to be enjoying himself - indeed, he now relinquished the role of detective and was seeing himself as Mr District Attorney - said, 'On the 14th of April, 1950, you married a Miss Pansy Amelia Cott in Tunbridge Wells, while you were still in the Air Force, and approximately five months or so later a son was born to you, christened Henry Brown.'

'What?' shouted Kentucky. 'Man oh man, are you real crazy? You're just nothin' but off. Ah never heard of any of those people.'

Mrs Harris felt as though she were taking part in a television play, and that soon she would be called upon to speak her lines, lines that in antic.i.p.ation of this scene she had rehea.r.s.ed to herself and thought rather effective - slightly paraphrased from films and stories she remembered. It was to go something like this: Mr Claiborne, I have a great surprise for you, and one that may cause you some astonishment. In my neighbourhood in London there lived a lonely child, starved, beaten, and abused by cruel foster-parents, unbeknownst to his father in far off America. I - that is to say, we, Mrs b.u.t.terfield and I - have rescued this child from the clutches of the unfeeling monsters into whose hands he had fallen and brought him here to you. That child is little Henry here, none other than your own natural son. Henry, go over and give your Dad a great big hug and kiss. Mr Claiborne, I have a great surprise for you, and one that may cause you some astonishment. In my neighbourhood in London there lived a lonely child, starved, beaten, and abused by cruel foster-parents, unbeknownst to his father in far off America. I - that is to say, we, Mrs b.u.t.terfield and I - have rescued this child from the clutches of the unfeeling monsters into whose hands he had fallen and brought him here to you. That child is little Henry here, none other than your own natural son. Henry, go over and give your Dad a great big hug and kiss.

While Mrs Harris was going over this speech and clinging to her fancy to the last, Mr Schreiber uncovered the papers on his desk and Kentucky, attracted by the rustle, looked over and saw the photostatic copy of his Air Force record, plus the photograph of himself. It cooled him off considerably. 'Your serial number in the Air Force was AF28636794, like it's tattooed on your wrist,' said Mr Schreiber, 'and your record up to the date of your discharge is all here, including your marriage and the birth of your son.'

Kentucky glared at Mr Schreiber and said, 'So what? What if it is? What business is that of anyone? Ah deevo'ced the woman - she was a no-good s.l.u.t. It was all done legal and proper in accordance with the laws in the State of Alabama, and Ah got the papers that say so. What's all this about?'

Mr Schreiber's interrogation continued as inexorably as his fancy told him it should. 'And the boy?' he asked. 'Have you any idea where he is or what has become of him?'

'What's it to you? And why don't you mind your own business?' Kentucky snarled. 'Ah signed a contract to sing for your lousy network, but that don't give you no right to be askin' no personal questions. Anyway, Ah deevo'ced the woman legal and proper and contributed to the support of the child. Last I heard of him he was bein' looked after by his mother and gittin' along fine.'

Mr Schreiber put down the papers, looked across his desk and said, 'Tell him, Mrs Harris.'

Thus taken by surprise and thrown an entrance cue entirely different from the one she had expected, Mrs Harris went completely up in her lines and blurted, 'It's a lie! 'E's 'ere - this is 'im right 'ere sitting next to me.'

Kentucky's jaw dropped and he stared over at the three, with the child in the middle, and yelled, 'What? That little b.a.s.t.a.r.d?'

Mrs Harris was on her feet in a flash, ready for battle, her blue eyes blazing with anger. ' 'E ain't no little b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' she retorted, ' 'e's your flesh and blood, legally married like it sez in those pypers, and I brought 'im to you all the way over 'ere from London.'

There was one of those silences during which father looked at son, and son looked at father, and between them pa.s.sed a glance of implacable dislike. 'Who the h.e.l.l asked you to?' Kentucky snarled.

How it happened Mrs Harris never would have known, but there she was, Samaritan and Fairy G.o.dmother Extraordinary, suddenly forced upon the defensive. 'n.o.body asked me,' she said. 'I did it on me own. The little tyke was bein' beaten and starved by them 'orrid Gussets. We could hear 'im through the walls. I said to Mrs b.u.t.terfield, "If his dad in America knew about this, 'e wouldn't stand for it, not for a minute" ' - Mrs b.u.t.terfield here gave a corroborative nod - ' "he'd want 'im out of there in a flash." So here we are. Now what 'ave you got to say to that?'

Before he could reply something that might have been unprintable, from the twist that his mouth had taken, Mrs Schreiber, who saw that Mrs Harris was floundering and things getting out of hand, interpolated quickly, 'Mrs Harris and Mrs b.u.t.terfield live right next door to these people - the Gussets - there were the foster-parents - that is to say, Henry's mother boarded the child with them after she remarried, and when the money stopped coming and they couldn't find her they began to abuse the child. Mrs Harris couldn't bear it and brought him over here to you. She is a good woman and had the best interests of the child at heart and-' here she suddenly realised that her explanations were sounding just as lame and fl.u.s.tered as Mrs Harris's had a moment ago, and she subsided in confusion, looking for help to her husband.

'That's about the way of it, Kentucky,' said Mr Schreiber, stepping into the breach, 'though I think maybe it could have been better put. When she brought him over here Mrs Harris didn't know who the father was, except she figured when she located him and he found out how much the kid needed him and what was happening to him, he'd take over.'

Kentucky clucked his tongue and snapped his knuckles in a curious kind of rhythm he sometimes used in a ballad, and when he had finished he said, 'Oh she did, did she?' He then looked over at Mrs Harris and Mrs b.u.t.terfield and said, 'Listen, you two interferin' old b.i.t.c.hes, you know what you can do with that brat? You can take him right back where he come from, wherever that was. Ah didn't ask you to bring him over here, Ah don't want him, and Ah ain't goin' to have him. Ah'm just a little ol' country boy, but Ah'm smart enough to know man public don't want me hooked up with no deevo'ce and no kid, and if you try any funny business about tryin' to make me take him, Ah'll call the pack of you a bunch of dirty liars, tear up mah contract and then you can go whistlin' for Kentucky Claiborne - and Ah got ten million hundred per cent American kids that'll back me up.'

Having delivered himself of this homily, Claiborne let his glance wander around the little group, where it lingered not so much as a second upon his son, and then said, 'Well, folks, I guess that'll be about all. Reckon Ah'll be seein' you.' He got up and shambled out of the room.

Mr Schreiber gave vent to his feelings. 'That dirty low-life!' he said.

Mrs b.u.t.terfield threw her ap.r.o.n over her head and ran for the kitchen.

Mrs Harris stood, ashen-faced, and repeated, 'I'm an interferin' old b.i.t.c.h.' And then said, 'I've done it now, 'aven't I?'

But the loneliest figure was that of little Henry, who stood in the centre of the room, the large eyes and the too-large head now filled with more wisdom and sadness than had ever been collected there, while he said, 'Blimey, I wouldn't want 'im for a dad.'

Mrs Schreiber went over, took the child in her arms and wept over him.

But Mrs Harris, faced with the last and total collapse of all her dreams and illusions, was far too shattered even to weep.

MRS HARRIS'S mind, which previously had tricked her so naughtily into believing that Kentucky Claiborne would receive his child with open arms and from then on exude nothing but sweetness and light, now did her a kindness. It simply blanked out completely. It permitted her to get to her room, take off her clothes, don a nightdress, and get into bed, and thereafter drew a merciful curtain over all that had happened. Had it not done so, the fierce pride of Mrs Harris would not have been able to have borne the humiliation she had undergone and the collapse of the beautiful dreams of a good life for a little boy that she had nourished for so long, and to which she had given so much of herself. She lay with her eyes wide open, staring up at the ceiling, seeing, hearing, and saying nothing. mind, which previously had tricked her so naughtily into believing that Kentucky Claiborne would receive his child with open arms and from then on exude nothing but sweetness and light, now did her a kindness. It simply blanked out completely. It permitted her to get to her room, take off her clothes, don a nightdress, and get into bed, and thereafter drew a merciful curtain over all that had happened. Had it not done so, the fierce pride of Mrs Harris would not have been able to have borne the humiliation she had undergone and the collapse of the beautiful dreams of a good life for a little boy that she had nourished for so long, and to which she had given so much of herself. She lay with her eyes wide open, staring up at the ceiling, seeing, hearing, and saying nothing.

It was Mrs b.u.t.terfield's shrill scream of fear and anguish upon making the discovery that gave the alarm and brought Mrs Schreiber rushing into the kitchen.

'Oh Ma'am,' said Mrs b.u.t.terfield after she had been calmed somewhat, 'it's Ada. Something's wrong with 'er - something 'orrible. She just lies there kind of like she's 'arf dead and won't say a word.'

Mrs Schreiber took one look at the small, wispy figure tucked away in the bed, looking even smaller and wispier now that all the air of her ebullient ego had been let out of her, made one or two attempts to rouse her and when they failed, rushed to her husband, and telephoned to Dr Jonas, the family physician.

The doctor arrived and did those professional things he deemed necessary, and then came out to the Schreibers. 'This woman has had a severe shock of some kind,' he said. 'Do you know anything about her?'

'You're telling me,' said Mr Schreiber, and then launched into the story of what had happened, culminating with the scene with the unwilling father.

The doctor nodded and said, 'Yes, I can see. Well, we shall have to wait. Sometimes this is Nature's way of compensating for the unbearable. She seems to have a good deal of vitality, and in my opinion it will not be too long before she begins to come out of it.'

But it was a week before the fog which had descended upon Mrs Harris began to lift, and the impetus for its dispelling arose in a somewhat extraordinary manner.

The Schreibers were hardly able to endure waiting, because of what had taken place in the interim and the new state of affairs which they were dying to impart to Mrs Harris, certain that if once she returned to herself it would contribute to her rapid convalescence.

It began with a telephone call for Mrs Harris shortly before lunch one day, and which Mrs Schreiber answered. Mr Schreiber was likewise present, as his office was not far from his home and he liked to return for lunch. What seemed to be a most elegant and cultured English voice said, 'I beg your pardon, but might I have a word with Mrs Harris?'

Mrs Schreiber said, 'Oh dear, I am afraid not. You see, she's ill. Who is this, please?'

The voice echoed her, 'Oh dear,' and added, 'ill, you say? This is Bayswater speaking - John Bayswater of Bayswater, London. Nothing serious, I trust.'

Mrs Schreiber in an aside to her husband said, 'It's someone for Mrs Harris by the name of Bayswater,' then into the phone, 'Are you a friend of hers?'

Mr Bayswater replied, 'I believe I may count myself such. She requested me to telephone her on my next visit to New York, and certainly my employer, the Marquis de Cha.s.sagne, the French Amba.s.sador, will be anxious about her. I am his chauffeur.'

Mrs Schreiber remembered now, and with her hand over the mouthpiece quickly transferred the information to her husband.

'Have him come up,' said Mr Schreiber. 'What harm can it do? And maybe it could do her some good - you never know.'

Twenty minutes later an anxious Mr Bayswater, elegant in his grey whipcord uniform, his smart chauffeur's cap in one hand, appeared at the door of the Schreiber apartment and was ushered by them into Mrs Harris's bedroom, with the worried and, since Mrs Harris's illness, perpetually snuffling Mrs b.u.t.terfield looming in the background.

Mrs Harris had been taking mild nourishment, tea and bread and b.u.t.ter or light biscuits, but otherwise had given no sign of recognition of anyone about her.

Mr Bayswater, it seemed, had been a very worried man over a period, and it was this worry which had brought him to New York. The most perfect Rolls to which he had ever been wedded had developed a mysterious noise in its innards, a noise barely audible to any but the trained ear of Mr Bayswater, to whom it sounded like the crackling of mid-summer thunder, and whom it was driving up the wall. It was unbearable to him that this should happen in a Rolls, and even more so in one he had had the honour to select and test himself.

All his skill, knowledge, ac.u.men, and experience of years had not enabled him to locate the seat of this disturbance, and thereafter for him there had been no rest or solace, and he had brought the car to New York for a more thorough stripping down and examination at the Rolls Service Station there. He had delivered the machine to the garage and thought that in a chat with Mrs Harris he might relieve his mind of the burdens imposed upon it by this imperfection.

But now that he stood looking down upon this pale ghost of a woman, the apple cheeks shrunken and the heretofore naughty, snapping, and merry little eyes clouded over, all thoughts of the stricken Rolls were swept from his head and for the first time in many, many years he was conscious of a new kind of heartache. He went over to her bedside, sat down, took one of her hands in his, quite oblivious to the watching Schreibers and Mrs b.u.t.terfield, and lapsing as he was inclined to when under a great emotional strain, ''Ere, 'ere Ada, this will never do. What's all this about?'

Something in his voice penetrated. Perhaps it was the two dropped aitches which turned the key in the lock and opened the door for Mrs Harris. She lifted her head and looked directly into the elegant and austere face of Mr Bayswater, noted the curly grey hair, almost patrician nose and thin lips, and said in a weak voice, ' 'Ullo, John. What brings you up 'ere?'

'Business,' replied Mr Bayswater. 'You told me to get on the blower if I came this way. I did, and they told me you weren't too perky. What's it all about?'

They all thrust to the fore now, Mrs b.u.t.terfield yammering, 'Ow Ada, thank the Good Lord you're better,' Mrs Schreiber crying, 'Oh Mrs Harris, how wonderful! You're better, aren't you? We've been so worried,' and Mr Schreiber shouting, 'Mrs Harris! Mrs Harris, listen! Everything's all right - we've got the most wonderful news for you!'

The face and the voice of Mr Bayswater had indeed put Mrs Harris's cart back on the road by recalling the most delectable drive up from Washington with him, and an even more delectable stop at a famous roadside restaurant on the way, where she had had a most extraordinarily tasty soup of clams, leeks, potatoes, and cream, called New England clam chowder. It would have been better for her had she been able to live within these memories a little longer, but alas, the cries of the others soon broke the spell and brought her back to the realisation of the catastrophe she had precipitated. She covered her face with her hands and cried, 'No, no! Go away - I can't face anyone. I'm silly, interferin' old woman who spoils everything she lays her 'ands on. Please go away.'

But Mr Schreiber was not to be denied now. He pushed forward saying, 'But you don't understand, Mrs Harris something terrific has happened since you've been - I mean since you haven't been well. Something absolutely stupendous! We're adopting little Henry! He's ours. He's going to stay with us, if you don't mind. You know we love the kid and he loves us. He'll have a good home with us and grow up into a fine man.'

Mrs Harris was yet very ill in her soul and thus only half heard what Mr Schreiber was saying, but since it seemed to have something to do with little Henry, and he sounded cheerful and happy about it, she took her hands from her face and gazed about her, looking greatly like an unhappy little monkey.

'It was Henrietta's idea,' Mr Schreiber explained, 'and right away the next day I got hold of Kentucky and had another talk with him. He ain't a bad guy when you get to know him more. It's just he don't like kids. He's got a thing about he'd lose his following if it came out he'd been married and divorced abroad and had a kid who was half English. So I said if he wouldn't have any objections we'd like to adopt the kid, Henrietta and I, and bring him up like our own son.'

' "You're an interferin' old b.i.t.c.h. Take the brat back to England," 'e sez to me,' quoted Mrs Harris. ' 'Is own father.'

'But you don't understand,' Mr Schreiber said. 'He isn't making any trouble. It all works out one hundred per cent for everybody. The kid's an American citizen, so he's got a right to be here. Kentucky's his legal father, and the evidence is right there in the Air Force files. We've written to England to get a birth certificate for the little fellow. There'll be no trouble with anybody because, as his father, Claiborne's got the right to have him here with him. The legal beagles are making out the adoption papers, and he's going to sign 'em as soon as they're ready.'

Some penetration had been achieved now, for Mrs Harris turned a slightly more cheerful countenance to Mr Schreiber and said, 'Are you sure? 'E'd 'ave a good 'ome with you.'

'Of course I'm sure,' cried Mr Schreiber, delighted that he had registered. 'I'm telling you, the guy was tickled to death to get rid - I mean, he's glad too that the kid's going to be with us.'

Mrs Schreiber thought that Mrs Harris had gone through enough for that particular period, nudged her husband and said, 'We can talk more about it later, Joel - maybe Mrs Harris would like to be alone with her friend for a bit now.' Mr Schreiber, film magnate, detective, and District Attorney, showed himself to be an exemplary husband as well by getting it in one and saying, 'Sure, sure. We'll run along now.'

When they had gone, Mrs b.u.t.terfield too having tactfully withdrawn, Mr Bayswater said, 'Well, there you are. It's turned out all right, hasn't it?'

A remnant of the black wave of disillusionment that had engulfed her swept over Mrs Harris again, for it had been such a beautiful dream, and she had steeped herself in it for so long. 'I'm a fool,' she said. 'An interferin' busy-body who ain't got the brynes to mind 'er own business. I've done nothink but cause everybody trouble. Me, who was so c.o.c.ksure about turnin' up little 'Enry's father in America. Lor', what a b.l.o.o.d.y mess I've made of things.'

Mr Bayswater went to give her a little pat on her hand, and was surprised to find he was still holding it clutched in his, so he gave it a squeeze instead, and said, 'Go on with you. You shouldn't talk like that. It looks to me as though you managed to turn up not one but two fathers for little 'Enry. Two for the price of one isn't so bad.'

The merest whisper of a smile softened Mrs Harris's face for the first time, but she was not going to let go her megrims and guilt-feelings quite so easily. 'It could've turned out 'orrible,' she said, 'if it 'adn't been for Mr Schreiber. What would've become of the little fellow if it 'adn't been for 'im?'

'What would have become of the little fellow if it hadn't been for you you?' said Mr Bayswater, and smiled down at her.

Mrs Harris smiled back and said, 'What brings you up to New York, John?'

Now his troubles came sweeping back over Mr Bayswater, and his elegant frame in the whipcord uniform gave a slight shudder, and he pa.s.sed the back of his hand over his brow. 'It's the Rolls,' he said. 'She's developed a noise in her and I can't find it. I'm like to go out of me mind - that is to say, go out of my mind. I've been at it for over a week now and can't find it. It isn't in the gear-box, and it isn't in the silencer or the oil bath air cleaner. I've had the rear axle down, and it isn't there. I've looked through the hydraulic system, and taken down the engine. It isn't in the distributor head, and there's nothing the matter with the water pump. Sometimes you get a click in the fan belt, but it isn't that.'

'What's it like?' Mrs Harris asked, thus showing herself to be a woman who could be interested in a man's world as well.

'Well, it isn't exactly a tapping or a clicking, nor would I say it was exactly a knocking or a sc.r.a.ping - nor even a ticking or a pipping,' explained Mr Bayswater, 'but it's there. I can 'ear it. You shouldn't hear anything in a Rolls-Royce - not my my Rolls-Royce. It's under the seat somewhere, but not exactly - rather more at the back, and it's driving me up the wall. It's somehow as if the Good Lord had said, "You there, so proud and stuck-up about your automobile - perfect you said it was. I'll show you perfect. Let's see you get around Rolls-Royce. It's under the seat somewhere, but not exactly - rather more at the back, and it's driving me up the wall. It's somehow as if the Good Lord had said, "You there, so proud and stuck-up about your automobile - perfect you said it was. I'll show you perfect. Let's see you get around this this, Mr Stuck-up." It ain't that I'm stuck-up,' explained Mr Bayswater, 'it's just that I love Rolls cars. All me life I've never loved anything else. All me life I've been looking for the perfect one, and this was it - until now.'

The distress on the handsome features of the elderly chauffeur touched Mrs Harris's heart and made her forget her own troubles, and she wished genuinely to be able to comfort him as he somehow had managed to comfort her. Some long-ago memory was nibbling at her newly awakened and refreshed mind, and it suddenly gave her a sharp nip. 'I 'ad a lady once I did for some years ago,' she said, 'a proper Mrs Rich-b.i.t.c.h she was. She 'ad a Rolls and a chauffeur, and one day I heard 'er say, "James, there's something rattling in the back of the car. Find it before I 'as a nervous breakdown." Coo, 'e nearly went orf 'is loaf tryin' to locate it. 'Ad the car took apart and put together twice, and then come across it by accident. You know what it was?'

'No,' said Mr Bayswater. 'What was it?'

'One of 'er hairpins that fell out and slipped down be'ind the seat. But that couldn't be it, could it? The Marquis don't wear 'airpins.'

Mr Bayswater had a lapse, a real, fat, juicy lapse. 'Blimey,' he cried, 'Gaw bleedin' blimey!' and on his face was the look of the condemned who hears that he has been reprieved by the Governor. 'I think you've got it! The Marquis doesn't wear hairpins, but last week I drove Madame Mogahdjibh, the wife of the Syrian Amba.s.sador, home after a party. She was loaded with them - big black ones. Ada, my girl, here's the smack you didn't get on the boat,' and he leaned down and kissed her brow, then leaped to his feet and said, 'I'm going to find out. I'll be seeing you,' and rushed from the room.

Left to herself Mrs Harris reflected upon this matter of perfection for which humans seem to strive, as exemplified by Mr Bayswater's distress over something that had come to shatter the perfection of the finest car in the world, and she thought that perhaps perfection belonged only to that Being on High who sometimes seemed friendly to humans, and sometimes less so, and at other times even a little jealous.

Had she been asking too much? 'Yes', something inside Mrs Harris answered vehemently, 'far too much.' It had not been only fairy G.o.dmother she had been trying to play, it had been almost G.o.d, and the punishment that had followed had been swift and sure. And then her thoughts turned back to her Dior dress which had been so exquisite and so perfect, and the ugly burnt-out panel that was in it to remind her that though the dress itself had been spoiled, out of the experience had come something even better in the shape of some wonderful friendships.

And from thence it was but a step to the comfort that if she had been less than successful in her avowed mission of reuniting little Henry with his father, it had not been wholly a failure. Nothing in life ever was a complete and one hundred per cent success, but often one could well afford to settle for less, and this would seem to be the greatest lesson one could learn in life. Little Henry was out of the hands of the unspeakable Gussets, he had acquired adoptive parents who loved him and would help him to grow into a good and fine man; she herself had experienced and learned to feel an affection for a new land and a new people. Thus to grouse and grumble and carry on in the face of such bounty now suddenly took on the colour of darkest ingrat.i.tude. The Schreibers so happy, little Henry equally so - how dare she not be happy herself because her ridiculous and vainglorious little dream had been exploded.

'Ada 'Arris,' she said to herself, 'you ought to be ashymed of yerself, lyin' about 'ere on yer back when there's work to be done.' She called out aloud, 'Violet.'

Mrs b.u.t.terfield came galumphing into the room like an overjoyed hippopotamus. 'Did you call me, dearie? Lor' bless us, but if you ain't lookin' like yer old self again.'

' 'Ow about making me a cuppa tea, love?' said Mrs Harris. 'I'm gettin' up.'

THE early summer enchantment of May and June in New York, with girls out in their light summer dresses, the parks in full bloom, and the skies clear and sunny, had given way to the sweltering, uncomfortable humidity and heatwaves of July. The Schreiber household was running like clockwork, with a permanent staff now trained and disciplined by Mrs Harris, the final formalities by which the Schreibers became the adopted parents and guardians of Henry Brown completed, and the child installed in his own quarters in the Schreiber house. The pa.s.sage of time was bringing nearer two events about which something would have to be done. early summer enchantment of May and June in New York, with girls out in their light summer dresses, the parks in full bloom, and the skies clear and sunny, had given way to the sweltering, uncomfortable humidity and heatwaves of July. The Schreiber household was running like clockwork, with a permanent staff now trained and disciplined by Mrs Harris, the final formalities by which the Schreibers became the adopted parents and guardians of Henry Brown completed, and the child installed in his own quarters in the Schreiber house. The pa.s.sage of time was bringing nearer two events about which something would have to be done.

One of them was the arrival of vacation time, the annual exodus from the hot city to the more temperate climes of mountains or seash.o.r.e, and the other was the approaching expiration on the 17th of July of the visitors' visas to the United States of the dames b.u.t.terfield and Harris.

Mr and Mrs Schreiber held several conferences together on the subject, and then one evening Mrs b.u.t.terfield and Mrs Harris were called into Mr Schreiber's study, where they found the couple seated, looking portentous.

'Dear Mrs Harris and dear Mrs b.u.t.terfield, don't stand, do sit down please,' said Mrs Schreiber. 'My husband and I have something to discuss with you.'

The two Englishwomen exchanged glances and then gingerly occupied the edges of two chairs, and Mrs Schreiber said, 'Mr Schreiber and I have taken a small cottage in Maine by the sea for little Henry and ourselves, where we intend to spend several months and rest quietly. Mr Schreiber is very tired after the work of reorganizing his company and we don't wish to do any entertaining. We can leave our flat here in the hands of our staff, but we were wondering whether you and Mrs b.u.t.terfield wouldn't accompany us to Forest Harbour and look after little Henry and myself while we are there. Nothing would make us happier.'

The two women exchanged looks again, and Mr Schreiber said, 'You don't have to worry about your visitors' visas - I got friends in Washington who can get you a six months' extension. I was going to do that anyway.'

'And afterwards in the fall when we come back, well, we rather hoped you'd stay with us too,' Mrs Schreiber continued. And then in a rush blurted, 'We hoped somehow we might persuade you to stay with us for always. You see, little Henry loves you both, and - so do we - I mean, we feel we owe you a debt of grat.i.tude we can never repay. If it hadn't been for you we never should have had little Henry for our very own, and he already means more to us than my husband and I are able to say. We just don't ever want you to go. You won't have to work hard, and you can always make your home with us. Will you stay? Will you come with us this summer?'

In the silence that ensued after this plea the two Londoners exchanged looks for the third time, and Mrs b.u.t.terfield's chins began to quiver, but Mrs Harris as spokesman and captain of the crew remained more in control, though she too was visibly touched by the offer. 'Lor' bless you both for your kindness,' she said, 'Violet and I have been discussing nothing else for days. We're ever so sorry - we carn't.'

Mr Schreiber looked genuinely nonplussed. 'Discussing it for days?' he said. 'Why, we've only sprung it on you now. We haven't known about it ourselves until just recent- '

'We've seen it coming,' said Mrs Harris, and Mrs b.u.t.terfield, all her chins throbbing now, put a corner of her ap.r.o.n to one eye and said, 'Such dear, kind people.'

'You mean you knew all about the house we've taken in the country and that we'd want you and Mrs b.u.t.terfield to come with us there?' Mrs Schreiber asked in astonishment.

Mrs Harris was not at all abashed. She replied, 'One 'ears things about the 'ouse. Little pitchers have big ears, and rolling stones have bigger ones. What is there to talk about in servants' 'all except what goes on in the front of the 'ouse?'

'Then you won't stay?' said Mrs Schreiber, a note of unhappiness in her voice.