Luck of the Bodkins Read Free Page B

talking to the reporters about Ideals and the Future of the Screen. The members of the All England Ladies' Hockey Team were there, saying good-bye to friends and relations before embarking on their tour of the United States. Ambrose Tennyson, the novelist, was there, asking the bookstall clerk if he had anything by Ambrose Tennyson. Porters were wheeling trucks; small boys with refreshment baskets were trying to persuade passengers that what they needed at nine o'clock in the morning was a slab of milk chocolate and a bath bun; a dog with a collecting-box attached to its back was going the rounds in the hope of making a quick touch in aid of the Railwaymen's Orphanage before it was too late. The scene, in short, presented a gay and animated appearance.
    In this, it differed substantially from the young man with the dark circles under his eyes who was propping himself up against a penny-in-the-slot machine. An undertaker, passing at that moment, would have looked at this young man sharply, scenting business. So would a buzzard. It would have seemed incredible to them that life still animated that limp frame. The Drones Club had given Reggie Tennyson a farewell party on the previous night, and the effects still lingered.
    That the vital spark, however, was not quite extinct was proved an instant later. A cl ear, hearty feminine voice sud denly said: 'Why, hello, Reggie!' about eighteen inches from his left ear, and a sharp spasm shook him from head to foot, as if he had been struck by some blunt instrument. Opening his eyes, which he had closed in order not to be obliged to see Mr Llewellyn - who, even when you were at the peak of your form, was no Taj Mahal - he gradually brought into focus a fine, upstanding girl in heather-mixture tweed and recognized in her his cousin, Gertrude Butterwick. Her charming face was rose-flushed, her hazel eyes shining. She was a delightful picture of radiant health. It made him feel sick to look at her.
    'Well, Reggie, I do call this nice of you.'
    ‘ Eh? ’
    'Coming to see me off.'
    A wounded, injured expression came into Reggie Tennyson's ashen face. He felt that his sanity had been impugned. And not without reason. Few young men would care to have it supposed that they had got up at half-past seven in the morning to say good-bye to their cousins.
    'See you off?'
    'Didn't you come to see me off?'
    'Of course I didn't come to see you off. I didn't know you were going anywhere. Where are you going, anyway?'
    It was Gertrude's turn to look injured.
    'Didn't you know I had been chosen for the England Hockey Team? We're playing a series of matches in America.'
    'Good God!' said Reggie, wincing. He was aware, of course, that his cousin was addicted to these excesses, but it was not pleasant to have to hear about them.
    A sudden illumination came to Gertrude.
    'Why, how silly of me. You're sailing, too, aren't you?'
    'Well, would I be up at a ghastly hour like this, if I wasn't?'
    'Of course, yes. The family are sending you off to Canada, to work in an office. I remember hearing father talking about it.'
    'He,' said Reggie coldly, 'was the spearhead of the movement.'
    'Well, it's about time. Work is what you want,'
    ‘ Work is not what I want. I hate the thought of it ’ 'You needn't be so cross.'
    ‘ Yes, I need,' said Reggie. 'Crosser, if I could manage it. Work is what I want, forsooth 1 Of all the silly, drivelling, fat ’ headed remarks ...'
    'Don't be so rude. ’
    Reggie passed a careworn hand across his forehead.
    'Sorry,' he said, for the Tennysons did not war upon women, 'I apologize. The fact is, I'm not quite myself this morning. I have rather a severe headache. I expect you've suffered in the same way yourself after a big binge. I overdid it last night in the society of a few club cronies, and this morning, as I say, I have rather a severe headache. It starts somewhere down at the ankles and gets worse all the way up. I say, have you noticed a rummy thing? I mean, how a really bad