“Where is father? Why didn’t he come back with you?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, he didn’t seem any too keen on my company. I left him in the locker-room chewing a cigar. Gave me the impression of having something on his mind,”
“Oh, Archie! You didn’t beat him AGAIN?”
Archie looked uncomfortable. He gazed out to sea with something of embarrassment.
“Well, as a matter of fact, old thing, to be absolutely frank, I, as it were, did!”
“Not badly?”
“Well, yes! I rather fancy I put it across him with some vim and not a little emphasis. To be perfectly accurate, I licked him by ten and eight.”
“But you promised me you would let him beat you to-day. You know how pleased it would have made him.”
“I know. But, light of my soul, have you any idea how dashed difficult it is to get beaten by your festive parent at golf?”
“Oh, well!” Lucille sighed. “It can’t be helped, I suppose.” She felt in the pocket of her sweater. “Oh, there’s a letter for you. I’ve just been to fetch the mail. I don’t know who it can be from. The handwriting looks like a vampire’s. Kind of scrawly.”
Archie inspected the envelope. It provided no solution.
“That’s rummy! Who could be writing to me?”
“Open it and see.”
“Dashed bright scheme! I will, Herbert Parker. Who the deuce is Herbert Parker?”
“Parker? Father’s valet’s name was Parker. The one he dismissed when he found he was wearing his shirts.”
“Do you mean to say any reasonable chappie would willingly wear the sort of shirts your father–? I mean to say, there must have been some mistake.”
“Do read the letter. I expect he wants to use your influence with father to have him taken back.”
“MY influence? With your FATHER? Well, I’m dashed. Sanguine sort of Johnny, if he does. Well, here’s what he says. Of course, I remember jolly old Parker now–great pal of mine.”
Dear Sir,–It is some time since the undersigned had the honour of conversing with you, but I am respectfully trusting that you may recall me to mind when I mention that until recently I served Mr. Brewster, your father-in-law, in the capacity of valet. Owing to an unfortunate misunderstanding, I was dismissed from that position and am now temporarily out of a job. “How art thou fallen from Heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning!” (Isaiah xiv. 12.)
“You know,” said Archie, admiringly, “this bird is hot stuff! I mean to say he writes dashed well.”
It is not, however, with my own affairs that I desire to trouble you, dear sir. I have little doubt that all will be well with me and that I shall not fall like a sparrow to the ground. “I have been young and now am old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread” (Psalms xzxvii. 25). My object in writing to you is as follows. You may recall that I had the pleasure of meeting you one morning in Mr. Brewster’s suite, when we had an interesting talk on the subject of Mr. B.’s objets d’art. You may recall being particularly interested in a small china figure. To assist your memory, the figure to which I allude is the one which you whimsically referred to as Pongo. I informed you, if you remember, that, could the accompanying figure be secured, the pair would be extremely valuable.
I am glad to say, dear sir? that this has now transpired, and is on view at Beale’s Art Galleries on West Forty-Fifty Street, where it will be sold to-morrow at auction, the sale commencing at two-thirty sharp. If Mr. Brewster cares to attend, he will, I fancy, have little trouble in securing it at a reasonable price. I confess that I had thought of refraining from apprising my late employer of this matter, but more Christian feelings have prevailed. “If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink; for in so doing thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head” (Romans xii. 20). Nor, I must confess, am I altogether uninfluenced by the thought that my action in this matter may conceivably lead to Mr. B. consenting to forget the past and to reinstate me in my former position. However, I am confident that I can leave this to his good feeling.