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<h2 id="id02024" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XXXVI</h2> Raggett's Sense of Humour 'Edith,' said Bruce, 'I'm rather worried about Raggett.' 'Are you? Why?' 'Well, the last time I met him, he came up and asked me if I knew the difference between a sardine and a hedgehog. Of course I said no, thinking it was some riddle, but he only answered, "Then you must be a fool!"' Edith smiled. 'Is that all?' 'No, it is not all. It will give you a shock, what I'm going to tell you now. At the office—at the office, mind—I received a letter from Raggett, written on a crumpet.' 'On a what?' 'On a crumpet. The letter was gummed on; the thing had a stamp, and was properly addressed to me, and it came through the post. The note itself was quite rational, but the postscript—what do you suppose the postscript said?' 'I can't think.' 'It said, "PS—Please excuse my writing to you on a crumpet, as I haven't a muffin!"' Edith laughed. 'It's all very well to laugh, but it's a very sad thing. The poor chap is going off his head. I don't know what to do about it.' 'He isn't really, Bruce. I know what it is. I can explain the whole thing. Last time I saw him—he called the day you were rehearsing—he said he had given up being a Legitimist, and was going to try, if possible, to develop a sense of humour. He thinks for one thing it will please me. I'm sure he hopes you will tell me the story about the crumpet, and that I shall admire him for it.' 'Do you seriously mean that he's trying to be funny on your account?' 'That's the idea.' 'But what have you to do with his career? What is it to you? I mean, what is it to him—whether you like people to be funny or serious?' 'Nothing, really.' 'You admit openly, Edith, that you know he has such a liking for you that he is becoming a clown in the hope that you will think him witty?' 'That is it. He's afraid he's a bore—too dull. He wants to amuse me. That's all.' 'What right has he to wish anything of the kind? Have you not got me, if you wish to be amused? If I thought that you were right—but, mind you, I don't; all women have their little vanities, and I believe it's a delusion of yours about Raggett—I think he's simply been getting a little queer in the head lately. However, if I did think it, I should consider it an outrage. To write me a letter on a crumpet, as a joke! Joke, indeed! Men have been called out for less, Edith.' Bruce thought a little while, then he said— 'I'll take no notice of it this time. But if I have any more nonsense from Raggett, I shall ask for an explanation. I shall say to him, "My wife tells me that your tone, which I consider greatly wanting in deference to me, is meant as homage to her! What do you mean?" I shall say to Raggett, just like this, "What the—"' Edith already regretted her candour. 'No, no; you mustn't bully poor Raggett. Perhaps I was wrong. I daresay he wanted to amuse us both.' 'That is more likely,' said Bruce, relenting. 'But he's going the wrong way to work if he wishes to retain my good opinion of him. And so I shall tell him if he gives me any more of this sort of thing.' 'Instead of bothering about Raggett, I do wish you would answer your father's letter, Bruce.' 'Good gracious; surely I need not answer it at once!' 'I think you should.' 'Well, what does he say?' Bruce had such a dislike to plain facts that he never, if he could avoid it, would read a letter to himself containing any business details. Edith took out the letter. 'Why I've told you already, but you wouldn't listen. On condition that you are not late at the office or absent from it except on holidays, for any reason, either pleasure or illness, for the next two years, your father will pay the debt and help you to start fresh.' 'But how can I be sure I shan't be ill? A man in my delicate state.' 'Oh, assume that you won't. Try not to be—promise to be well. Surely it's worth it?' 'Very well, perhaps it is. What a curious, eccentric man the governor is! No other man would make such extraordinary conditions. Look here, you can write for me, Edith dear, and say I accept the arrangement, and I'm awfully obliged and grateful and all that. You'll know how to put it. It's a great nuisance though, for I was thinking of giving up the whole of tomorrow to rehearsing—and chucking the office. And now I can't. It's very awkward.' 'Well, I'll write for you, though you certainly ought to do it yourself, but I shall say you are going to see them, and you will—next Sunday, won't you?' 'Sunday would be rather an awkward day. I've made a sort of vague engagement. However, if you insist, very well.' 'I can't quite understand,' said Edith, after a pause, 'how it is that the rehearsals take so long now. Yesterday you said you had to begin at eleven and it wasn't over till half-past four. And yet you have only two or three words to say in the second act and to announce someone in the first.' 'Ah, you don't understand, my dear. One has to be there the whole time so as to get into the spirit of the thing. Rehearsals sometimes take half the night; especially when you're getting to the end. You just stop for a minute or two for a little food, and then start again. Yesterday, for instance, it was just like that.' 'Where did you lunch?' 'Oh, I and one or two of the other men looked in at the Carlton.' 'It can't have taken a minute or two. It's a good distance from Victoria Street.' 'I know, but we went in the Mitchells' motor. It took no time. And then we rushed back, and went on rehearsing. How we work!' 'And what were you going to do tomorrow?' He hesitated. 'Oh, tomorrow? Well, now, after this promise to the governor, I shan't be able to get there till half-past four. I should have liked to get there by twelve. And it's very awkward indeed, because Miss Flummerfelt asked me to take her out to lunch, and I half promised. In fact, I could hardly get out of it.' 'She asked you to take her alone?' 'Oh, in a thing like this you all become such pals and comrades; you don't stop to think about chaperones and things. Besides, of course, I meant to ask you to join us.' 'Very sweet of you.' 'There's the post,' remarked Bruce. He went out into the little hall. Edith went with him. 'Who is your letter from?' asked Edith, as they went back. Bruce blushed a little. 'It looks something like Miss Flummerfelt's handwriting.' 'Oh, do show me the letter!' said Edith, as he seemed about, having read it, to put it in the fire. He was obliged to allow her to take it, and she read:— 'Dear Mr Ottley, 'It's very kind of you to ask me to lunch tomorrow, but I can't possibly manage it. I'm engaged tomorrow, besides which I never go out anywhere without my mother. 'Yours sincerely, 'Elsa Flummerfelt.' Edith smiled. 'That's fortunate,' she said. 'After all, you won't have the awkwardness of putting her off. What a good thing.' 'I assure you, Edith,' said Bruce, looking very uncomfortable, 'that I had forgotten which way it was. But, of course, I felt I ought—as a matter of decent civility to Mitchell, don't you know—to ask her once. I suppose now that you won't like me going to the rehearsals any more?' 'Oh, no! not at all,' said Edith serenely. 'I see, on the contrary, that there is nothing at all to be alarmed at. What a nice girl Miss Flummerfelt must be! I like her handwriting.' 'I see nothing particularly nice about her.' 'But she's wonderfully handsome, isn't she?' 'Why no; she has a clumsy figure, drab hair, and a colourless complexion. Not at all the type that I admire.' 'You told me the other day that she was an ideal blonde. But, of course, that,' said Edith, 'was before she refused to lunch with you!' <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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