Marge Askinforit Part 5

To be quite honest, I never had the opportunity. But I did get engaged to quite a lot of other things.

My first engagement was when I was very, very young. He was a humorous man, and perhaps I was wrong in taking him so seriously. Still, he must have adored me. When I accepted him his hair turned completely white--an infallible test of the depth of emotion.

He was an excellent whip. It used to be a wonderful sight to see him taking a pair of young horses down Ludgate Hill on a greasy day at noon, with the whole road chock-a-block with traffic, lighting a pipe with a wooden match with one hand, carrying on an animated conversation with the other with a fare on the front seat, dropping white-hot satire on the heads of drivers less efficient than himself, and always getting the 'bus through safely with about an inch to spare on each side.

On the other hand, he was almost entirely ignorant of Marcus Aurelius, Henry James, Step-dancing, t.i.tian, the Manners and Customs of Polite Society, Factory-Girl Reclamation, Cardinal Newman, or the Art of Self-advertis.e.m.e.nt. He said, with an entire absence of pretension, that these things were not on his route.

When I announced our engagement the members of my family who were present, about seventeen of them, all swooned, except dear papa, who said in his highly-strung way that if I married anybody he would put the R.S.P.C.A. on to me.

I said what I thought, and fled for consolation to Casey, my married sister. But she also was discouraging.

"Marge," she said, "give it a miss. You have a rich nature, beautiful hair, a knowledge of the world, nervous tension, some of the appearance of education, and four pound fifteen put by in the Post Office. You must look higher."

I have always detested scenes--which, perhaps, seems strange in a girl as fond of the limelight as I was. I began to re-consider the question.

Accidentally, I discovered that he had a wife already. What with one thing and another, I thought it best to write and give him up. He immediately resigned his appointment with the London General, gave me a long-priced certainty for the Oaks, and left for New York. When he returned, two years later, his hair was pale green.

But if the engagement did not come off, the certainty for the Oaks did.

In consequence of this I left for Ramsgate by the "Marguerite" some days later. Dressed? Well, you should have seen me.

It chanced that one of the pa.s.sengers on the boat was Mr. Aaron Birsch.

He had been presented to me some weeks before by Mr. Bunting. I knew that he was a turf commissioner, had speculated with success in cottage property, and was commonly reported to be much richer than he looked.

Beyond that, I know very little of him. Apparently, however, he had made it his business to know quite a good deal of me. Mr. Bunting was his informant, and I had always been a quite special favourite of the _doyen_ of the Soles.

Mr. Birsch came up to me at once. We chatted on various topics, and he told me of something which was likely to be quite useful for Goodwood.

Then he said suddenly:

"Matter of fact, there was a bit of private business I wanted a word with you about. This boat's too full of what I call riff-raff.

Mouth-organs. Bad taste. Can't hear yourself speak. But we get an hour at Ramsgate, and if you'll take a snack with me there, I can tell you what I've got to say."

More from curiosity than from anything else, I accepted. And I must say that our luncheon conversation was rather remarkable.

BIRSCH: To come to the point, you're the very identical girl that I want Alfred to marry.

MARGE (_innocently_): Alfred?

BIRSCH: Yes, my son.

MARGE: But I have never even seen him.

BIRSCH: And when you have you'll probably wish you hadn't. But don't let that prejudice you. It's the inside of the head that counts. That boy's got a perfect genius for cottage property and real tact with it. Only last week he raised an old woman's rent a s.h.i.+lling a week, and when he left she gave him a rosebud and said she'd pray for him. It takes some doing--a thing like that. Now, I want a public career for that boy, and if he marries you he can't miss it. Do you know what Mr. Bunting said to me about you?

MARGE (_breathlessly_): But he's so flattering. I think he likes me--I don't know why. I sometimes wonder----

BIRSCH (_just as if I'd never spoken_): Bunting said to me: "That girl, Marge, will get into the newspapers. It may be in the Court News, and it may be in the Police-court News. That will depend on which she prefers. But she'll get there, and she'll stick there!"

That's what I want for Alfred. Everything's ready for him to start firing, but he needs you to sight the gun.

MARGE: And if you can't get me, whom would you like?

BIRSCH: Well, Lady Artemis Morals has some gift for publicity. But Alfred won't marry a t.i.tle--say's he rather thinks of making a t.i.tle for himself. The boy's got ambition. The cash is forthcoming.

And you can do the rest.

MARGE: It is a flattering offer. You'll let me think over it?

He kindly consented, and we returned to the boat. However, on the way back the sea became very rough and unpleasant; and I threw up the idea.

(By the way, you don't mind me writing the dialogue, as above, just as if it were a piece out of a play? I've always brought the sense of the theatre into real life.)

Poor Aaron Birsch! He was only one of the very many men who have been extremely anxious that I should marry somebody else. Two years later Alfred died of cerebral tumescence--a disease to which the ambitious are peculiarly liable. That cat, Millie Wyandotte, happened to say to Birsch that if I had married his son I should now have been a wealthy young widow.

"Anybody who married Marge," said Birsch, "would not die at the end of two years."

"I suppose not," said Millie. "He'd be more likely to commit suicide at the end of one."

I never did like that girl.

But I must speak now of what was perhaps my most serious engagement.

Hugo Broke--his mother was one of the Stoneys--was intended from birth for one of the services and selected domestic service. Here it was thought that his height--he was seven foot one--would tell in his favour. However, the d.u.c.h.ess of Exminster, in ordering that the new footman should be dismissed, said that height was desirable, but that this was prolixity.

However, it was not long before he found a congenial sphere for his activities with the London branch of the Auto-extensor Co. of America.

The Auto-extensor Co. addresses itself to the abbreviated editions of humanity. It is claimed for the Auto-extensor system that there is absolutely no limit to the increase in height which may be obtained by it, provided of course, that the system is followed exactly, that nothing happens to prevent it, and that the rain keeps off.

Hugo walked into the Regent Street establishment of the Auto-extensor people, and said:

"Good morning. I think I could be of some service to this company as an advertis.e.m.e.nt."

"I am sure you could," said the manager. "If you will kindly wait a moment while the boy fetches the step-ladder I will come up and arrange terms."

In the result, the large window of the Regent Street establishment was furnished as a club smoking-room or thereabouts. In the very centre, in a chair of exaggerated comfort but doubtful taste, sat Hugo. He was exquisitely attired. He read a newspaper and smoked cigarettes. By his side, in a magnificent frame, was a printed notice, giving a rather fanciful biography of the exhibit.

"This gentleman," the notice ran, "was once a dwarf. For years he suffered in consequence agonies of humiliation, and then a friend called his attention to the Auto-extensor System of increasing height. He did not have much faith in it, but in desperation he gave it a trial--and it made him what he now is. Look for yourselves. Facts speak louder than words. All we ask you to do is to trust the evidence of your own eyes."

The window proved a great attraction. The crowd before it was most numerous about four o'clock, because every day at that hour a dramatic and exciting scene was witnessed. Putting down his newspaper, Hugo struck a bell on a little table by his side. A page entered through the excessively plush curtains at the back, and Hugo gave a brief and haughty order. The boy somewhat overacted respectful acquiescence, retired through the curtains, and reappeared again with tea and thin bread and b.u.t.ter. Of these delicacies Hugo partook _coram populo_. This carried conviction with it. One onlooker would say to another: "Shows you he's real, don't it? At one time I thought it was only a dummy." And for some time afterwards the a.s.sistant in the shop would be kept busy, handing out the gratis explanatory booklet of the Auto-extensor Co.

It was in this window that I first saw Hugo. I arrived a little late that afternoon, and missed the first act, where he puts down the newspaper and rings the bell. But I saw the conclusion of the piece.

My eyes filled with tears. Here--here at last--I had met somebody whose chilled-steel endurance of publicity equalled, and perhaps exceeded, my own.

I entered the shop, procured the explanatory booklet, and asked at what hour they closed. At that hour I met him as he left business, and my first feelings were of disappointment. His clothes were not the exquisite raiment that he had worn as an exhibit in the window. The white spats, the sponge-bag trousers with the knife-edge crease, the gold-rimmed eye-gla.s.s, the well-cut morning coat, the too a.s.sertive waistcoat--all were the property of the Auto-extensor Co. and not to be worn out of business hours. He now wore a shabby tweed suit and a cap.

But he was still a noticeable figure; a happy smile came into the faces of little boys as he went past.

"Like your job?" I said shyly, as I took the seat next to him on the top of the omnibus.

He replied rather gruffly that he supposed a bloke had to work for his living, and all work was work, whatever way you looked at it. Further questions elicited that the pay was satisfactory, but that he did not regard the situation as permanent. The public would get tired of it and some other form of advertis.e.m.e.nt would be found. He complained, too, that he was supposed to keep up the appearance of a wealthy toff smoking cigarettes continually for a period of seven hours, and the management provided only one small packet of woodbines per diem for him to do it on.

I produced my cigarette-case. It was one which Lord Baringstoke--always a careless man--had lost. It had been presented to me by dear Mr.

Bunting. Hugo said he had not intended anything of that sort, but helped himself.

A quarter of an hour later we had our first quarrel. I asked him if it was cold up where he was. He said morosely that he had heard that joke on his stature a few times before. I told him that if he lived long enough--and I'd never seen anybody living much longer--he was likely to hear it a few times again. He then said that either I could hop off the 'bus or he would, and he didn't care which. After that we both were rather rude. He got me by the hair, and I had just landed a straight left to the point when the conductor came up and said he would not have it.