The Baroness and Clovis sat in a much-frequented corner of the
Park exchanging biographical confidences about the long succession
of passers-by.
"Who are those depressed-looking young women who have just gone
by?" asked the Baroness; "they have the air of people who have
bowed to destiny and are not quite sure whether the salute will be
returned."
"Those," said Clovis, "are the Brimley Bomefields. I dare say you
would look depressed if you had been through their experiences."
"I'm always having depressing experiences;" said the Baroness, "
but I never give them outward expression. It's as bad as looking
one's age. Tell me about the Brimley Bomefields."
"Well," said Clovis, "the beginning of their tragedy was that they
found an aunt. The aunt had been there all the time, but they had
very nearly forgotten her existence until a distant relative
refreshed their memory by remembering her very distinctly in his
will; it is wonderful what the force of example will accomplish.
The aunt, who had been unobtrusively poor, became quite pleasantly
rich, and the Brimley Bomefields grew suddenly concerned at the
loneliness of her life and took her under their collective wings.
She had as many wings around her at this time as one of those
beast-things in Revelation."
"So far I don't see any tragedy from the Brimley Bomefields' point
of view," said the Baroness.
"We haven't got to it yet," said Clovis. "The aunt had been used
to living very simply, and had seen next to nothing of what we
should consider life, and her nieces didn't encourage her to do
much in the way of making a splash with her money. Quite a good
deal of it would come to them at her death, and she was a fairly
old woman, but there was one circumstance which cast a shadow of
gloom over the satisfaction they felt in the discovery and
acquisition of this desirable aunt: she openly acknowledged that a
comfortable slice of her little fortune would go to a nephew on
the other side of her family. He was rather a deplorable thing in
rotters, and quite hopelessly top-hole in the way of getting
through money, but he had been more or less decent to the old lady
in her unremembered days, and she wouldn't hear anything against
him. At least, she wouldn't pay any attention to what she did
hear, but her nieces took care that she should have to listen to a
good deal in that line. It seemed such a pity, they said among
themselves, that good money should fall into such worthless hands.
They habitually spoke of their aunt's money as 'good money,' as
though other people's aunts dabbled for the most part in spurious
currency.
"Regularly after the Derby, St. Leger, and other notable racing
events they indulged in audible speculations as to how much money
Roger had squandered in unfortunate betting transactions.
"'His travelling expenses must come to a big sum,' said the eldest
Brimley Bomefield one day; 'they say he attends every race-meeting
in England, besides others abroad. I shouldn't wonder if he went
all the way to India to see the race for the Calcutta Sweepstake
that one hears so much about.'
"'Travel enlarges the mind, my dear Christine,' said her aunt.
"'Yes, dear aunt, travel undertaken in the right spirit,' agreed
Christine; 'but travel pursued merely as a means towards gambling
and extravagant living is more likely to contract the purse than
to enlarge the mind. However, as long as Roger enjoys himself, I
suppose he doesn't care how fast or unprofitably the money goes,
or where he is to find more. It seems a pity, that's all.'
"The aunt by that time had begun to talk of something else, and it
was doubtful if Christine's moralizing had been even accorded a
hearing. It was her remark, however--the aunt's remark, I mean--
about travel enlarging the mind, that gave the youngest Brimley
Bomefield her great idea for the showing-up of Roger.
"'If aunt could only be taken somewhere to see him gambling and
throwing away money,' she said, 'it would open her eyes to his
character more effectually than anything we can say.'
"'My dear Veronique,' said her sisters, 'we, can't go following
him to race-meetings.'
"'Certainly not to race-meetings,' said Veronique, 'but we might
go to some place where one can look on at gambling without taking
part in it.'
"'Do you mean Monte Carlo?' they asked her, beginning to jump
rather at the idea.
"'Monte Carlo is a long way off, and has a dreadful reputation,'
said Veronique; 'I shouldn't like to tell our-friends that we were
going to Monte Carlo. But I believe Roger usually goes to Dieppe
about this time of year, and some quite respectable English people
go there, and the journey wouldn't be expensive. If aunt could
stand the Channel crossing the change of scene might do her a lot
of good.'
"And that was how the fateful idea came to the Brimley Bomefields.
"From the very first set-off disaster hung over the expedition, as
they afterwards remembered. To begin with, all the Brimley
Bomefields were extremely unwell during the crossing, while the
aunt enjoyed the sea air and made friends with all manner of
strange travelling companions. Then, although it was many years
since she had been on the Continent, she had served a very
practical apprenticeship there as a paid companion, and her
knowledge of colloquial French beat theirs to a standstill. It
became increasingly difficult to keep under their collective wings
a person who knew what she wanted and was able to ask for it and
to see that she got it. Also, as far as Roger was concerned, they
drew Dieppe blank; it turned out that he was staying at Pourville,
a little watering-place a mile or two further west. The Brimley
Bomefields discovered that Dieppe was too crowded and frivolous,
and persuaded the old lady to migrate to the comparative seclusion
of Pourville.
"'You won't find it dull, you know,' they assured her; 'there is a
little casino attached to the hotel, and you can watch the people
dancing and throwing away their money at PETITS CHEVAUX.'
"It was just before PETITS CHEVAUX had been supplanted by BOULE.
"Roger was not staying in the same hotel, but they knew that the
casino would be certain of his patronage on most afternoons and
evenings.
"On the first evening of their visit they wandered into the casino
after a fairly early dinner, and hovered near the tables. Bertie
van Tahn was staying there at the time, and he described the whole
incident to me. The Brimley Bomefields kept a furtive watch on
the doors as though they were expecting some one to turn up, and
the aunt got more and more amused and interested watching the
little horses whirl round and round the board.
"'Do you know, poor little number eight hasn't won for the last
thirty-two times,' she said to Christine; 'I've been keeping
count. I shall really have to put five francs on him to encourage
him.'
"'Come and watch the dancing, dear,' said Christine nervously. It
was scarcely a part of their strategy that Roger should come in
and find the old lady backing her fancy at the PETITS CHEVAUX
table.
"'Just wait while I put five francs on number eight,' said the
aunt, and in another moment her money was lying on the table. The
horses commenced to move round, it was a slow race this time, and
number eight crept up at the finish like some crafty demon and
placed his nose just a fraction in front of number three, who had
seemed to be winning easily. Recourse had to be had to
measurement, and the number eight was proclaimed the winner. The
aunt picked up thirty-five francs. After that the Brimley
Bomefields would have had to have used concerted force to get her
away from the tables. When Roger appeared on the scene she was
fifty-two francs to the good; her nieces were hovering forlornly
in the background, like chickens that have been hatched out by a
duck and are despairingly watching their parent disporting herself
in a dangerous and uncongenial element. The supper-party which
Roger insisted on standing that night in honour of his aunt and
the three Miss Brimley Bomefields was remarkable for the
unrestrained gaiety of two of the participants and the funereal
mirthlessness of the remaining guests.
"'I do not think;' Christine confided afterwards to a friend, who
re-confided it to Bertie van Tahn, 'that I shall ever be able to
touch PATÉ DE FOIE GRAS again. It would bring back memories of
that awful evening.'
"For the next two or three days the nieces made plans for
returning to England or moving on to some other resort where there
was no casino. The aunt was busy making a system for winning at
PETITS CHEVAUX. Number eight, her first love, had been running
rather unkindly for her, and a series of plunges on number five
had turned out even worse.
"'Do you know, I dropped over seven hundred francs at the tables
this afternoon,' she announced cheerfully at dinner on the fourth
evening of their visit.
"'Aunt! Twenty-eight pounds! And you were losing last night
too.'
"'Oh, I shall get it all back,' she said optimistically; 'but not
here. These silly little horses are no good. I shall go
somewhere where one can play comfortably at roulette. You needn't
look so shocked. I've always felt that, given the opportunity, I
should be an inveterate gambler, and now you darlings have put the
opportunity in my way. I must drink your very good healths.
Waiter, a bottle of PONTET CANET. Ah, it's number seven on the
wine list; I shall plunge on number seven to-night. It won four
times running this afternoon when I was backing that silly number
five.'
"Number seven was not in a winning mood that evening. The Brimley
Bomefields, tired of watching disaster from a distance, drew near
to the table where their aunt was now an honoured habituée, and
gazed mournfully at the successive victories of one and five and
eight and four, which swept 'good money' out of the purse of
seven's obstinate backer. The day's losses totalled something
very near two thousand francs.
"'You incorrigible gamblers,' said Roger chaffingly to them, when
he found them at the tables.
"'We are not gambling,' said Christine freezingly; 'we are looking
on.'
"'I DON'T think,' said Roger knowingly; 'of course you're a
syndicate and aunt is putting the stakes on for all of you.
Anyone can tell by your looks when the wrong horse wins that
you've got a stake on.'
"Aunt and nephew had supper alone that night, or at least they
would have if Bertie hadn't joined them; all the Brimley
Bomefields had headaches.
"The aunt carried them all off to Dieppe the next day and set
cheerily about the task of winning back some of her losses. Her
luck was variable; in fact, she had some fair streaks of good
fortune, just enough to keep her thoroughly amused with her new
distraction; but on the whole she was a loser. The Brimley
Bomefields had a collective attack of nervous prostration on the
day when she sold out a quantity of shares in Argentine rails.
'Nothing will ever bring that money back,' they remarked
lugubriously to one another.
"'Veronique at last could bear it no longer, and went home; you
see, it had been her idea to bring the aunt on this disastrous
expedition, and though the others did not cast the fact verbally
in her face, there was a certain lurking reproach in their eyes
which was harder to meet than actual upbraidings. The other two
remained behind, forlornly mounting guard over their aunt until
such time as the waning of the Dieppe season should at last turn
her in the direction of home and safety. They made anxious
calculations as to how little 'good money' might, with reasonable
luck, be squandered in the meantime. Here, however, their
reckoning went far astray; the close of the Dieppe season merely
turned their aunt's thoughts in search of some other convenient
gambling resort. 'Show a cat the way to the dairy--' I forget how
the proverb goes on, but it summed up the situation as far as the
Brimley Bomefields' aunt was concerned. She had been introduced
to unexplored pleasures, and found them greatly to her liking, and
she was in no hurry to forgo the fruits of her newly acquired
knowledge. You see, for the first time in her life the old thing
was thoroughly enjoying herself; she was losing money, but she had
plenty of fun and excitement over the process, and she had enough
left to do very comfortably on. Indeed, she was only just
learning to understand the art of doing oneself well. She was a
popular hostess, and in return her fellow-gamblers were always
ready to entertain her to dinners and suppers when their luck was
in. Her nieces, who still remained in attendance on her, with the
pathetic unwillingness of a crew to leave a foundering treasure
ship which might yet be steered into port, found little pleasure
in these Bohemian festivities; to see 'good money' lavished on
good living for the entertainment of a nondescript circle of
acquaintances who were not likely to be in any way socially useful
to them, did not attune them to a spirit of revelry. They
contrived, whenever possible, to excuse themselves from
participation in their aunt's deplored gaieties; the Brimley
Bomefield headaches became famous.
"And one day the nieces came to the conclusion that, as they would
have expressed it, 'no useful purpose would be served' by their
continued attendance on a relative who had so thoroughly
emancipated herself from the sheltering protection of their wings.
The aunt bore the announcement of their departure with a
cheerfulness that was almost disconcerting.
"'It's time you went home and had those headaches seen to by a
specialist,' was her comment on the situation.
"The homeward journey of the Brimley Bomefields was a veritable
retreat from Moscow, and what made it the more bitter was the fact
that the Moscow, in this case, was not overwhelmed with fire and
ashes, but merely extravagantly over-illuminated.
"From mutual friends and acquaintances they sometimes get glimpses
of their prodigal relative, who has settled down into a confirmed
gambling maniac, living on such salvage of income as obliging
moneylenders have left at her disposal.
"So you need not be surprised," concluded Clovis, "if they do wear
a depressed look in public."
"Which is Veronique?" asked the Baroness.
"The most depressed-looking of the three," said Clovis.
_________
-THE END-
[Hector Munro] Saki's short story: The Way To The Dairy
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
