A Bachelor's Comedy

“It will be so awkward – such near neighbours,” sighed Mrs. Atterton.

“Why, mother,” said Elizabeth, “it will be delightful. Every time we see Dick and his wife we shall think how thankful we are, and every time they see us they will think how thankful they are, so the oftener we meet the jollier we shall be.”

And this was a point of view so in keeping with the sentiments of the Atterton family that by the time the guests had been informed by telephone and wire that the marriage would not take place, they all regarded the unpleasant part of the business as over and done with, and were ready for the next jolly thing. Probably no interrupted wedding ever went like that before, but then there are not many Attertons. And they were so tremendously glad that Elizabeth had escaped being unhappy.

“To think,” said Mrs. Atterton, raising cold beef to her lips at luncheon, “that it is all over; and that we have food in this house to feed a hundred people!”

“What!” said Bill, jumping up with a sort of war-whoop and flinging down his napkin. “Girls – do not eat cold beef when a banquet waits without! Hi! Minion!” to the convulsed Sims, who adored him and regarded his vilest pun as the essence of refined art, “Fetch forth the baked meats which the seneschal has basted for the morrow’s feast.”

“A seneschal isn’t a cook, you idiot!” laughed Norah.

“There is some boned turkey, ma’am,” suggested Sims at Mrs. Atterton’s elbow, “and a good many of the sweets are made.”

“Come and let’s see for ourselves,” shouted Bill, who was rather beyond himself with all the excitement. “Andy – Elizabeth – Father, come on! Norah, don’t be grand to-day. Sims, lead on to the larder!”

So, pulling, pushing, shouting, dancing by Mrs. Atterton’s side like a lunatic at large, did that insane Bill manage to get his family out of the dining-room and into the great still-room, where the fine dishes that were ready for the luncheon next day had been already placed. It was only when the cook hurried in, flushed and indignantly astonished, that they knew how utterly ridiculous they were.

“Now, cook,” said the brazen Bill, the only one not abashed, “as we can’t have a wedding feast to-morrow, we’ll have one to-day. We’ll take the six best sweets and the boned turkey, and you can have a jollification in the servants’ hall with the rest.”

“Madam!” said the cook, turning upon her mistress. It was all she could say, but it saved her from bursting.

“Bill – this is really too – ” began Mrs. Atterton when the queer spirit which had inspired her husband at the dancing class, months ago, took possession of him again and made him seize a tall tower made of pink and white cream, step forward jauntily, and call back over his shoulder a reckless —

“I’ll lead – everybody a dish. Now – Tum-tum-te-tum-tum-tum-tum!”

And it is a fact that they all walked out of the still-room headed by Mr. Atterton humming the wedding march in a sort of hoarse, crowing bellow; and Sims brought up the rear with a jelly in his hand and tears of laughter rolling down his purple cheeks, while he tried to look as if nothing unusual were happening.

“You can never,” said Mrs. Atterton breathlessly, suddenly remembering her back, “you can never wonder again why Bill is so idiotic. It’s hereditary. He can’t help it.”

“Andy – make Elizabeth have some of that pink stuff. She has eaten nothing for ages. But she won’t ‘want to willow’ now. A parson’s wife should look solid,” called Bill across the table.

Everybody laughed and sat down, while Andy cut off the top of the pink tower; and as he brought the plate to Elizabeth it seemed just the lovely beginning of all the ways in which he meant to serve her throughout their lives. Their fingers touched as she took it from him, and their deep happiness made them grave for a moment.

Then Mrs. Atterton said comfortably —

“After all, it will be great fun getting the furniture.”

“Yes, we’ll all go up to London and help to choose,” concluded Bill. “What fun!”

So there was another jolly side of it, and Mrs. Atterton felt almost consoled for the loss of the Stamfords’ heirlooms by the thought of buying furniture for Elizabeth’s new home.

“But what is to become of Flitterkins?” said Bill. “The lady with the roving eye – you won’t want her?”

“We might find Mrs. Jebb a post,” said Mr. Atterton.

“She doesn’t want a post; she wants a home,” said Elizabeth.

“I should hate to behave badly to her,” said Andy.

Then Norah gave her opinion —

“A little fancy shop at Bardswell, where she can be as refined as she likes, and talk about Mr. Jebb to everybody until she sees him in wings with a halo round his head, and really believes she never could have married anybody else.”

“We could all buy embroidery silks every time we went into Bardswell, whether we wanted them or not,” agreed Mrs. Atterton.

“We’ll stock the shop when we go to buy the furniture,” said Elizabeth eagerly.

“And call it ‘The Ladies’ Needlework Club,’ ” added Norah, with her little smile.

“I say, Elizabeth,” remarked Bill, “I shall take back that hunting-crop and give you a new wedding present. What would you like?”

Elizabeth looked first at him and then at her lover.

“A mahogany sideboard with a plate-glass back exactly like Mrs. Simpson’s.”

“What?” cried Bill. “Go on, you silly! I mean, really.”

“So do I,” said Elizabeth.

After that they went away from the table, and there was a buzz of talking and laughter, until Elizabeth and Andy found themselves alone at last in the twilight.

“You didn’t think it silly about the sideboard?” said Elizabeth.

“No,” said Andy.

But the last unspoken conversation here recorded was quite different.

THE END