Tom, Dick and Harry Part 59

"Mrs Jones requests the pleasure of Mr Alfred James Remington Trimble's company to tea in the Sanatorium parlour this evening at 6 p.m.;" and so on, in each case.

My suggestion to add "R.S.V.P." and "Evening dress _de rigueur_" she thought it best to decline. But her kind leniency was thrown away, for within half an hour eight notes dropped in upon us, couched in the politest phraseology.

Here was Langrish's, for instance:--

"Everard Langrish, Esquire, begs to thank Mrs Jones for asking him to tea at six sharp, when he will be very pleased to fall in with her wishes and be of service in any other way her better feelings may dictate."

Langrish told me afterwards he cribbed this last sentence out of a story he had read in a weekly newspaper. He rather fancied it was "on the spot."

Trimble's was less romantic:--

"Dear Madam,--I accept with thanks. Sarah gets rather outside sometimes, but we do what we can for him. Till then,--

"I am yours affectionately,--

"A.J.R. Trimble."

Warminster's was, no doubt, meant to be impressive:--"The President of the Philosophical Conversation Club presents his compliments to Mrs Jones, and desires to inform her of his intention to wait upon her at the hour named in her letter. He trusts that Mrs Jones is in good health, and that her ailing child will be spared to her a little longer.

Having several matters to attend to, the President of the Philosophical Conversation Club must now abruptly terminate, namely, Percy Algernon Warminster."

The ending seemed to me decidedly weak compared with the rest. I will only give one more--that of c.o.xhead:--

"Dear Mrs Jones, I'll come to tea; At six o'clock you shall me see.

I'm sorry Sarah's been laid up And drinks his physic from a cup.

Unless unto the contrary I hear.

My Eton suit I think I'll wear.

And now 'farewell,' as great John Knox said.

Yours truly, Samuel Wilberforce c.o.xhead."

This effusion struck me as rather like cheek; but my mother seemed to like it.

As evening approached I began to grow very nervous, and have to confess that my mother was the cause of my concern. I was so afraid she was not properly impressed with the gravity of the occasion--that perhaps she would not be dressed at her best--or that the tea might not be up to the mark--or that for any cause the fellows should consider they had been "done." I'm sure I wearied the life out of her by my inquiries as to the nature of the jam, as to whether the cake would go round twice, whether any of the teacups were cracked, whether the nine chairs ranged round the little room were all sound on their legs, who would open the door to let them in, whether my mother would mind not proposing juvenile games like table-turning, or clumps, and whether when the time came for them to go she would mind not looking at her watch or yawning, for fear they should think it a hint.

All which points the dear soul faithfully promised should be borne in mind and attended to, with a little quiet banter at my expense, which helped to remind me that, after all, one's mother may be trusted not to disgrace a fellow, if left to herself.

In due time she presented herself in her Sunday dress, looking very pretty and smart--quite creditable, in fact. The tea also, as it appeared laid out on the sideboard--I had urged, by the way, that it should be served in party style, and not partaken of round a table-- looked a well-found meal for the most exacting of Philosophers. I myself reposed in state in bed, arrayed in my Eton jacket and best collar and choker. The fire in the hearth was both cheerful and adequate, and the knowledge that the Sanatorium maid was downstairs in her cap and clean ap.r.o.n, to show the young gentlemen up, finally relieved my anxiety.

In due time there was a ring, and a sound of the funereal tramp of eighteen feet on the staircase, and I knew that Mrs Jones's party had begun.

They all trooped in together, looking very grave and shy, and spick and span in their full-dress, and evidently on their good behaviour. My mother shook hands with each in unexceptionable style, repeating his name as I announced it from the bed, and expressing her pleasure at making his acquaintance.

The sight of me propped up on my pillows, somewhat pale still, and as shy as themselves, seemed to impress them a good deal, and added to the funereal character of the entertainment. A long pause ensued, broken only by the entrance of the maid with the teapot, and Langrish's remark to Trimble that it was a fine day.

Then my mother had the wit to observe that she hoped it would be equally fine on the day of the Sports, and she was so sorry she would miss them, as she understood Mr Sharpe's house was likely to win a good many of the events, and of course her sympathies were entirely that way.

This went down beautifully, and drew from c.o.xhead the remark,--

"It's a pity Sar--I mean Jones iv.--is out of it. He might have got the Quarter-mile."

"Are the names down yet?" I asked.

"Yes. We stuck them down to-day," said Langrish.

"Any one else in for the Senior Mile?"

"No; only Tempest and Redwood."

Another pause--everybody evidently meditating what my mother would like to hear next.

My mother meanwhile moved to the sideboard and began to pour out tea.

"Do you take cream and sugar?" she said, with a pleasant smile, to Langrish. How relieved I was she did not call him "Everard" or "dear!"

"Yes, please--can I pa.s.s round?" he replied.

It was admirable. I had been in terror lest he would have collared the first cup and stuck to it.

"Thank you, if you will, please. I see they are beginning to get your old house ready for rebuilding."

"It won't be ready this term, though," said Warminster; "it will take--a slice of cake, thanks."

"No sugar for me, thanks," said c.o.xhead. "I wonder if Jarman will have to pay for it?"

"Does your _mater_ take cream and sugar?" said Purkis to me, in an aside.

"I shouldn't think so," said Langrish, "because he didn't do it on purpose, you know."

"Thank you very much. Do you mind putting it down there? And won't you sit down?" said my mother, setting the example.

"I expect he'd better give up smoking, as he's always setting things on fire," ventured I. "Mother knows about the guy last term, don't you, mother?"

"Yes, indeed," said she, with a laugh, which won over the Philosophers in a body. "That was a lucky escape for everybody. I was horrified."

"Well, old Sar--I mean Jones iv.--"

"I think he understands his nickname better than his real name," said my clever parent.

"Old Sarah," said Langrish, getting rapidly at his ease, "let us in for that. You see (cake up, please), it was this way--"

And he launched forth into an account of that famous adventure, into which the company one by one cut, at my expense, of course, and highly to the diversion of my mother.

Meanwhile the teapot was kept busy, and the jam went its rounds--some of it on to c.o.xhead's s.h.i.+rt-front--and by the end of it all the Philosophers found themselves comfortably at home.

"I say," said I, when a break came, "how's the club getting on?

Anything fresh?"

Langrish glanced round at my mother.