Yours in all gratitude,

P.D.B.W.

I had forgotten to say, thank you for telling me about the accident and reassuring me as to its results. It was the first I had heard of it-as old James Forsyte says, “Nobody ever tells me anything.” I will oblige with a few kind words.

“Poor old Peter!” said Harriet.

The remark probably deserves to be included in an anthology of Great First Occasions.

Lord Saint-George, when she went to pay him a parting visit, was considerably improved in appearance; but his expression was worried. His bed strewn with untidy papers, he seemed to be trying to cope with his affairs and to be making but heavy weather of it. He brightened up considerably at sight o Harriet.

“Oh, look! You’re just the person I’ve been praying for. I’ve no head for this kind of thing, and all the beastly bills keep sliding off the bed. I can write my name pretty well, but I can’t keep track of things. I’m sure I’ve paid some of these brutes twice over.”

“Let me help; can I?”

“I hoped you’d say that. It’s so nice of you to spoil me, isn’t it? I can’t think how things mount up so. They rook one shockingly at these places. But one must have something to eat, mustn’t one? And belong to a few clubs. And play a game or two. Of course polo comes a bit expensive, but it’s rather done just now. It’s nothing, really. Of course, the mistake was going round with that bunch in Town last vac. Mother imagines they’re O.K. because they’re in the studbook, but they’re pretty hot, really. She’ll be no end surprised if they end up in gaol, and her white-headed boy with them. Sad degeneracy of old landed families, and that kind of thing. Solemn rebuke by learned judge. I somehow got behind-hand with things about the New Year, and never caught up again. It looks to me as though Uncle Peter was going to get a bit of a shock. He’s written, by the way. Much more like himself.”

He tossed the letter over.

Dear Jerry,

Of all the thundering nuisances that ever embittered the lives of their long-suffering relatives, you are the worst. For God’s sake put down that racing car before you kill yourself; strange as it may appear, I still retain some lingering remnants of affection for you. I hope they take your licence away for life, and I hope you feel like hell. You probably do. Don’t worry any more about the money.

I am writing to thank Miss Vane for her kindness to you. She is a person whose good opinion I value, so be merciful to my feelings as a man and an uncle.

Bunter has just found three silver threads among the gold. He is incredibly shocked. He begs to tender you his respectful commiseration, and advises scalp-massage (for me, I mean).

When you can manage it, send a line to report progress to your querulous and rapidly-decaying uncle.

P.W.

“He’ll get a whole crop of silver threads when he realizes that I hadn’t paid up the insurance,” said the viscount, callously, as he took the letter back.

“What!”

“Fortunately there was nobody else involved, and the police weren’t on the spot. But I suppose I shall hear from the Post Office about their blasted telegraph pole. If I have to go before the magistrates and the Governor hears of it, he’ll be annoyed. It’ll cost a bit to get the car put right. I’d throw the damned thing away, only Dad gave it to me in one of his generous fits. And of course, about the first thing he asked when I came out from under was whether the insurance was all right. And being in no state to argue, I said Yes. If only it doesn’t get into the papers about the insurance, we’re all right-only the repairs will make a nice little item in Uncle Peter’s total.”

“Is it fair to make him pay for that?”

“Damned unfair,” said Lord Saint-George, cheerfully. “The Governor ought to pay the insurance himself. He’s like the Old Man of Thermopylae-never does anything properly. If you come to that, it isn’t fair to make Uncle Peter pay for all the horses that fall down when one backs them. Or for all the rotten little gold-diggers one carts round either-I shall have to lump them together under ‘Sundries.’ And he’ll say, ‘Ah, yes! Postage stamps, telephone calls, and live wires.’ And then I shall lose my head and say, ‘Well Uncle-’ I hate those sentences that start with ‘Well, Uncle.’ They always seem to go on and on and lead anywhere.”

“I don’t suppose he’ll ask for details, if you don’t volunteer them. Look! I’ve got all these bills sorted. Shall I write out the cheques for you to sign?”

“I wish you would. No, he won’t ask. He’ll only sit looking harmless till I tell him. I suppose that’s the way he gets criminals to come across with it. It’s not a nice characteristic. Have you got that note from Levy? That’s the main thing. And there’s a letter from a chap called Cartwright that’s rather important. I borrowed a bit from him up in Town once or twice. What’s he make it come to?… Oh, rot! It can’t be as much as that… Let’s see… Well, I suppose he’s right… And Archie Campbell-he’s my bookmaker-God! what a lot of screws! they oughtn’t to allow the poor beasts out. And the odds-and-ends here? What a marvellously neat way you have with these things, haven’t you? Shall we tot them all up and see where we get to? Then if I faint, you can ring the bell for Nurse.”

“I’m not very good at arithmetic. You’d better check this up. It looks a bit unlikely, but I can’t make it come any less.”

“Add on, say a hundred and fifty, estimated repairs to car, and then we’ll see. Oh, hell! what have we here?”

“The portrait of a blinking idiot,” said Harriet, irresistibly.

“Amazing fellow, Shakespeare. The apt word for all occasions. Yes; there’s a ‘Well, Uncle’ look about this, all right. Of course, I get my quarter’s allowance at the end of the month, but there’s the vac. to get through and all next term. One thing, I’ll have to go home and be good; can’t get about the place much like this. The Governor more or less hinted that I ought to pay my own doctor’s bill, but I wasn’t taking the hint. Mother blames Uncle Peter for the whole thing.”

“Why on earth?”

“Setting me a bad example of furious driving. He is a bit hot, of course, but he never seems to get my foul luck.”

“Can he possibly be a better driver?”

“Darling Harriet, that’s unkind. You don’t mind my calling you Harriet?”

“As a matter of fact, I do, rather.”

“But I can’t keep on saying ‘Miss Vane’ to a person who knows all my hideous secrets. Perhaps I’d better accustom myself to saying ‘Aunt Harriet’. What’s wrong with that? You simply can’t refuse to be an adopted aunt to me. My Aunt Mary has gone all domestic and hasn’t time for me, and my mother’s sisters are the original gorgons. I’m dreadfully unappreciated and quite auntless for all practical purposes.”

“You deserve neither aunts nor uncles, considering how you treat them. Do you mean to finish these cheques today? Because, if not, I have other things to do.”

“Very well. We will continue to rob Peter to pay all. It’s wonderful what a good influence you have over me. Unbending devotion to duty. If you’d only take me in hand I might turn out quite well after all.”

“Sign, please.”

“But you don’t seem very susceptible. Poor Uncle Peter!”

“It will be poor Uncle Peter by the time you’ve finished.”

“That’s what I mean. Fifty-three, nineteen, four-it’s shocking the way other people smoke one’s fags, and I’m sure my scout bags half of them Twenty-six, twelve, eight. Nineteen, seven, two. A hundred quid gone before you’ve time to look at it. Thirty-one, fourteen. Twelve, nine, six. Five, fifteen three. What’s all this tale about ghosts playing merry hell in Shrewsbury?”

Harriet jumped. “Damn! which of our little beasts told you about that?”

“None of ’em told me. I don’t encourage women students. Nice girls no doubt, but too grubby. There’s a chap on my staircase who came up today with a story…I forget, he told me not to mention it. What’s it all about? and why the hush-hush?”