Mrs. Jallatt's young people's parties were severely exclusive; it
came cheaper that way, because you could ask fewer to them. Mrs.
Jallatt didn't study cheapness, but somehow she generally attained
it.
"There'll be about ten girls," speculated Rollo, as he drove to the
function, "and I suppose four fellows, unless the Wrotsleys bring
their cousin, which Heaven forbid. That would mean Jack and me
against three of them."
Rollo and the Wrotsley brethren had maintained an undying feud
almost from nursery days. They only met now and then in the
holidays, and the meeting was usually tragic for whichever happened
to have the fewest backers on hand. Rollo was counting to-night on
the presence of a devoted and muscular partisan to hold an even
balance. As he arrived he heard his prospective champion's sister
apologising to the hostess for the unavoidable absence of her
brother; a moment later he noted that the Wrotsleys HAD brought
their cousin.
Two against three would have been exciting and possibly unpleasant;
one against three promised to be about as amusing as a visit to the
dentist. Rollo ordered his carriage for as early as was decently
possible, and faced the company with a smile that he imagined the
better sort of aristocrat would have worn when mounting to the
guillotine.
"So glad you were able to come," said the elder Wrotsley heartily.
"Now, you children will like to play games, I suppose," said Mrs.
Jallatt, by way of giving things a start, and as they were too well-
bred to contradict her there only remained the question of what they
were to play at.
"I know of a good game," said the elder Wrotsley innocently. "The
fellows leave the room and think of a word; then they come back
again, and the girls have to find out what the word is."
Rollo knew the game. He would have suggested it himself if his
faction had been in the majority.
"It doesn't promise to be very exciting," sniffed the superior
Dolores Sneep as the boys filed out of the room. Rollo thought
differently. He trusted to Providence that Wrotsley had nothing
worse than knotted handkerchiefs at his disposal.
The word-choosers locked themselves in the library to ensure that
their deliberations should not be interrupted. Providence turned
out to be not even decently neutral; on a rack on the library wall
were a dog-whip and a whalebone riding-switch. Rollo thought it
criminal negligence to leave such weapons of precision lying about.
He was given a choice of evils, and chose the dog-whip; the next
minute or so he spent in wondering how he could have made such a
stupid selection. Then they went back to the languidly expectant
females.
"The word's 'camel,'" announced the Wrotsley cousin blunderingly.
"You stupid!" screamed the girls, "we've got to GUESS the word. Now
you'll have to go back and think of another."
"Not for worlds," said Rollo; "I mean, the word isn't really camel;
we were rotting. Pretend it's dromedary!" he whispered to the
others.
"I heard them say 'dromedary'! I heard them. I don't care what you
say; I heard them," squealed the odious Dolores. "With ears as long
as hers one would hear anything," thought Rollo savagely.
"We shall have to go back, I suppose," said the elder Wrotsley
resignedly.
The conclave locked itself once more into the library. "Look here,
I'm not going through that dog-whip business again," protested
Rollo.
"Certainly not, dear," said the elder Wrotsley; "we'll try the
whalebone switch this time, and you'll know which hurts most. It's
only by personal experience that one finds out these things."
It was swiftly borne in upon Rollo that his earlier selection of the
dog-whip had been a really sound one. The conclave gave his under-
lip time to steady itself while it debated the choice of the
necessary word. "Mustang" was no good, as half the girls wouldn't
know what it meant; finally "quagga" was pitched on.
"You must come and sit down over here," chorused the investigating
committee on their return; but Rollo was obdurate in insisting that
the questioned person always stood up. On the whole, it was a
relief when the game was ended and supper was announced.
Mrs. Jallatt did not stint her young guests, but the more expensive
delicacies of her supper-table were never unnecessarily duplicated,
and it was usually good policy to take what you wanted while it was
still there. On this occasion she had provided sixteen peaches to
"go round" among fourteen children; it was really not her fault that
the two Wrotsleys and their cousin, foreseeing the long foodless
drive home, had each quietly pocketed an extra peach, but it was
distinctly trying for Dolores and the fat and good-natured Agnes
Blaik to be left with one peach between them.
"I suppose we had better halve it," said Dolores sourly.
But Agnes was fat first and good-natured afterwards; those were her
guiding principles in life. She was profuse in her sympathy for
Dolores, but she hastily devoured the peach, explaining that it
would spoil it to divide it; the juice ran out so.
"Now what would you all like to do?" demanded Mrs. Jallatt by way of
diversion. "The professional conjurer whom I had engaged has failed
me at the last moment. Can any of you recite?"
There were symptoms of a general panic. Dolores was known to recite
"Locksley Hall" on the least provocation. There had been occasions
when her opening line, "Comrades, leave me here a little," had been
taken as a literal injunction by a large section of her hearers.
There was a murmur of relief when Rollo hastily declared that he
could do a few conjuring tricks. He had never done one in his life,
but those two visits to the library had goaded him to unusual
recklessness.
"You've seen conjuring chaps take coins and cards out of people," he
announced; "well, I'm going to take more interesting things out of
some of you. Mice, for instance."
"Not mice!"
A shrill protest rose, as he had foreseen, from the majority of his
audience.
"Well, fruit, them."
The amended proposal was received with approval. Agnes positively
beamed.
Without more ado Rollo made straight for his trio of enemies,
plunged his hand successively into their breast-pockets, and
produced three peaches. There was no applause, but no amount of
hand-clapping would have given the performer as much pleasure as the
silence which greeted his coup.
"Of course, we were in the know," said the Wrotsley cousin lamely.
"That's done it," chuckled Rollo to himself.
"If they HAD been confederates they would have sworn they knew
nothing about it," said Dolores, with piercing conviction.
"Do you know any more tricks?" asked Mrs. Jallatt hurriedly.
Rollo did not. He hinted that he might have changed the three
peaches into something else, but Agnes had already converted one
into girl-food, so nothing more could be done in that direction.
"I know a game," said the elder Wrotsley heavily, "where the fellows
go out of the room, and think of some character in history; then
they come back and act him, and the girls have to guess who it's
meant for."
"I'm afraid I must be going," said Rollo to his hostess.
"Your carriage won't be here for another twenty minutes," said Mrs.
Jallatt.
"It's such a fine evening I think I'll walk and meet it."
"It's raining rather steadily at present. You've just time to play
that historical game."
"We haven't heard Dolores recite," said Rollo desperately; as soon
as he had said it he realised his mistake. Confronted with the
alternative of "Locksley Hall," public opinion declared unanimously
for the history game.
Rollo played his last card. In an undertone meant apparently for
the Wrotsley boy, but carefully pitched to reach Agnes, he observed
-
"All right, old man; we'll go and finish those chocolates we left in
the library."
"I think it's only fair that the girls should take their turn in
going out," exclaimed Agnes briskly. She was great on fairness.
"Nonsense," said the others; "there are too many of us."
"Well, four of us can go. I'll be one of them."
And Agnes darted off towards the library, followed by three less
eager damsels.
Rollo sank into a chair and smiled ever so faintly at the Wrotsleys,
just a momentary baring of the teeth; an otter, escaping from the
fangs of the hounds into the safety of a deep pool, might have given
a similar demonstration of feelings.
From the library came the sound of moving furniture. Agnes was
leaving nothing unturned in her quest for the mythical chocolates. And then came a more blessed sound, wheels crunching wet gravel.
"It has been a most enjoyable evening," said Rollo to his hostess.
_________
-THE END-
[Hector Hugh Munro] Saki's short story: The Strategist
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