Surfeit of Lampreys Read Free

Roberta helplessly, “What would you like?”
    â€œI’m sick at the sight of blood so I couldn’t be a doctor. I lose my temper when I argue, so I couldn’t be a lawyer, and I hate the poor, so I couldn’t be a parson.”
    â€œWasn’t there some idea of your managing Deepacres?”
    â€œA sheep farmer?”
    â€œWell—a run-holder. Deepacres is a biggish run, isn’t it?”
    â€œToo big for the Lampreys. Poor Daddy! When we first got here he became so excessively New Zealand. I believe he used sheep-dip on his hair and shall I ever forget him with the dogs! He bought four—I think they cost twenty pounds each. He used to sit on his horse and whistle so unsuccessfully that even the horse couldn’t have heard him and the dogs all lay down and went to sleep and the sheep stood in serried ranks and gazed at him in mild surprise. Then he tried swearing and screaming but he lost his voice in less than no time. We should never have come out here.”
    â€œI can’t understand why you did.”
    â€œIn a vague sort of way I fancy we were shooting the moon. I was at Eton and really didn’t know anything about it, until they whizzed me away to the ship.”
    â€œI suppose you’ll all go back to England,” said Roberta unhappily.
    â€œWhen Uncle Gabriel dies. Unless, of course, Aunt G. has any young.”
    â€œBut isn’t she past it?”
    â€œYou’d think so, but it would be just like the Gabriels. I wish I could work that Chinese Mandarin trick and say in my head, ‘Uncle G. has left us!’ and be sure that he would instantly fall down dead.”
    â€œHenry!”
    â€œWell, my dear, if you knew him. He’s the most revolting old gentleman. How Daddy ever came to have such a brother! He’s mean and hideous and spiteful and ought to have been dead ages ago. There were two uncles between him and Daddy but they were both killed in the Great War. I understand that they were rather nice, and at any rate they had no sons, which is the great thing in their favour.”
    â€œHenry, I get so muddled. What is your Uncle Gabriel’s name?”
    â€œGabriel.”
    â€œNo, I mean his title and everything.”
    â€œOh. Well, he’s the Marquis of Wutherwood and Rune. While my grandfather was alive, Uncle G. was Lord Rune, the Earl of Rune. That’s the eldest son’s title you see. Daddy is just a younger son.”
    â€œAnd when your Uncle G. dies your father will be Lord Wutherwood and you’ll be Lord Rune?”
    â€œYes, I shall, if the old pig ever does die.”
    â€œWell, then there’d be a job for you. You could go into the House of Lords.”
    â€œNo; I couldn’t. Poor Daddy would do that. He could bring in a bill about sheep-dip if peers are allowed to bring in bills. I rather think they only squash them, but I’m not sure.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t care about being a politician, I suppose?”
    â€œNo,” said Henry sadly, “I’m afraid I wouldn’t.” He looked thoughtfully at Roberta and shook his head. “The only thing I seem to have any inclination for is writing nonsense-rhymes and playing cricket and I’m terribly bad at both. I adore dressing up of course, but only in funny noses and false beards, and we all like doing that, even Daddy, so I don’t imagine it indicates the stage as a career. I suppose I shall have to try and win the heart of an ugly heiress. I can’t hope to fascinate a pretty one.”
    â€œOh,” cried Roberta in a fury, “don’t pretend to be so feeble !”
    â€œI’m not pretending, alas.”
    â€œAnd don’t be so affected. ‘Alas’!”
    â€œBut it’s true, Robin. We are feeble. We’re museum pieces. Carry-overs from another age. Two generations ago we didn’t bother about what we would do when we grew up. We went into regiments, or politics,