"Pip" Part 22

She threw off her opera-cloak and wrap and slipped into the chair beside her father. Then after one brief glance into his face she inquired--

"Well, old boy, what's the trouble?"

"Pip wants me to go for a holiday," said her father.

"Carried unanimously!" announced Pipette. "When shall we start?"

"Can't be done at present. Too busy."

"Get somebody from the hospital staff to do your work."

"Hear, hear!" said Pip.

Dr. Wilmot gazed into the fire. Presently he said,--

"It's not altogether professional work. Pip, you said just now that you were a blamed fool. Your father is another."

"Let us hear all about it," said Pipette maternally.

"Well, I am a prosperous man as professional men go. But a few years ago I realised a good many of my investments--"

"What does that mean?"

"I sacrificed my savings to get ready money, to finance that private cancer-research commission that Sir John Lindon and I got up,--you remember, Pip?"

"Yes; go on."

"Well, the Government ultimately paid the expenses of the commission,--we shamed them into it,--and I got my money back. When I came to reinvest it, instead of putting it into the old safe place, I devoted most of it to buying shares in a wild-cat Australian scheme--"

"Which has gone bust?" said Pip.

"Not quite. But the shares are down to the bottom mark, and there is no dividend. I believe the thing is sound, and that in a year or two we shall be all right again. Meanwhile--meanwhile, children, I am extremely hard up!"

To people who have never been hungrier than an unpunctual cook can make them, the prospect of actual poverty is always rather sobering. There was a long pause. Presently Pipette slipped a soft and protecting arm round her father's neck.

"Dad," she asked, "why did you buy those queer shares?"

"To get rich quick."

"Why quick?"

"Because"--the doctor hesitated, surveyed his son and daughter rather doubtfully, and finally proceeded--"because human life in general is an uncertain thing, old lady, and my life in particular happens to be--don't choke me, child!"

Pipette's encircling arm had grown suddenly rigid, and her father heard her heart flutter.

"Wh--what do you mean, Daddy?"

"I mean that I possess what insurance companies call 'a bad life.'

Nothing serious--slight heart trouble, that's all. I shall have to be careful for a bit, and all will be well. It's the cracked pitcher that lasts longest." Dr. Wilmot had unconsciously dropped into the easy and optimistic tones which he reserved for nervous patients.

After a little further conversation Pip and Pipette, somewhat rea.s.sured, retired to bed.

Next morning Pip departed to Rustleford, but not before he had conferred briefly with Pipette.

"Do you think I ought to leave the Governor?" he said.

Pipette puckered her alabaster brow thoughtfully.

"Yes; why not?" she replied at length. "It isn't as if he were in bed or anything. He'll go to his work just the same whether you are here or not. I have made him faithfully promise to come away for a holiday for the whole of September, so we must just let him have his way just now.

You go and enjoy yourself, little man. I'll look after him.

Besides"--Pipette's angelic features relaxed into the suspicion of a smirk--"I heard yesterday that a particular friend of yours was to be there."

"Who? Linklater?"

"No--a lady."

"Not Madeline--"

"Dear no. I thought you had forgotten her. Can't you guess?"

Pip turned a delicate plum colour.

"Ah, now you are getting nearer," said Pipette. "It's your little flapper friend, Elsie Innes. How long is it since you saw her?"

"About a year, I think. She has been away from town a lot lately,"

replied Pip, rather incautiously.

"She has put her hair up," said Pipette.

II

That evening Pip arrived at Rustleford.

He was hospitably greeted by John Ch.e.l.l, introduced to Mrs. Ch.e.l.l, Miss Emily Ch.e.l.l, and Miss Dorothy Ch.e.l.l, renewed his acquaintance with Jacky Ch.e.l.l, and then turned to the inspection of the rest of the house-party, most of whom were known to him.

The cricketers were headed by Raven Innes, a little past his best now, but still to be reckoned among the six finest bats in England. Then came Mallaby and Oake, the Oxford and Cambridge captains for that year. There was also a comic man--the Squire knew well that it takes all sorts to make an Eleven--a member of a n.o.ble house, with a polysyllabic and historic t.i.tle; but n.o.body ever called him anything but "c.o.c.kles." There were one or two county cricketers of established merit, with or against whom Pip had waged many a gallant battle; and it was reported that the Squire had up his sleeve a young local professional, who would one day be the finest fast bowler in England.

Finally, there were two guests who require more elaborate introduction.

The first was a young man of about twenty-three. His name was Gresley.

His father was sole proprietor of the Gresley Motor Works, and (it was said) a man of millions. He had sent his only son to Cambridge; and the son, a shy and retiring boy, after devoting his first two years to the study of mechanical science, oblivious of the glad fact that the world contained other things to do, had suddenly sprung into fame, almost _malgre lui_, as a bowler of absolutely natural "googlies," which fearsome term means an off-break with a leg-break action. This priceless talent had been accidentally discovered by Pip during a visit to Gresley's home in the vacation, in the course of a game of stump-cricket on the lawn after lunch. A year later Gresley had played for Cambridge at Lord's, with a success which had qualified him for an invitation to Rustleford. Indeed it was to him, together with Pip and the Squire's professional dark horse, that the Eleven looked for its wickets. Gresley was a small, slim fellow, looking much younger than he really was. He had been brought up by his widowed father almost by hand, and had never been to a public school. He was not quite at his ease in a crowd of people, and was devotedly attached to Pip, who had done him more than one good turn since they became acquainted.

The other man, Cullyngham, was of a very different type; and indeed Pip's first action on catching sight of him playing bridge in the hall was to seek out Raven Innes and inquire, with unusual heat, what "that swine" was doing in the house.

"Can't say, laddie," said Innes. "The Squire asked him, not I. I suppose he has only met him casually, and just knows him as a first-cla.s.s cricketer."

"First-cla.s.s cad!" grumbled Pip.

"Quite so, my son; but it's not our house, and he's not our guest.