The Brother of Daphne Part 4

"Wear it in a pig-tail. I'll plait it for you. It'll be worth another sovereign to the Bananas."

"If you put it like that--" she said slowly.

"I do, Judy."

If the suggestion was not prompted by motives which were entirely disinterested, I think I may be forgiven.

"I say, Judy," I said a little later, pausing unnecessarily in my work, and making pretence to comb with my fingers the tresses as yet ungathered into the plait.

"Yes? What a long time you are!"

Well, there was a knot.

She tried to look round into my face at that, but I vigorously unplaited about two inches, which seemed to satisfy her. For me, I thought of Penelope and her web and the wooers, and smiled.

"Well, what is it, Punch?"

"About the mask."

"No good!"

"But, Judy--"

For the next two minutes I did a little listening. When she paused for breath:

"Have some ham," I suggested.

"Bother the ham! Do you hear what I say?"

"I heard you bother the ham."

"Before that?"

"Something about a mask, was it?"

"Give me back my hair," she demanded.

"No, no," I said hastily, "not that! I won't ask again."

"Promise."

"I promise."

When I had finished the plaiting, I tied the ends with a piece of ribbon which she produced, kissed them, and sat down in the gra.s.s at her feet.

We had oceans of time, for the fete did not begin till two. But we agreed there must be a rehearsal of some kind.

"What do you know about yourself, Punch?"

"I have a foggy recollection of domestic differences."

"You used to beat me cruelly."

"Ah, but you had a nagging tongue, Judy. I can hear your defiant 'wootle' now."

Her lips parted in a smile at the reminiscence, and before they closed again she had slipped something between them. The next instant the wood rang with a regular hurricane of toots and wootles.

"Oh, Judy!"

"Wootle?" she said inquiringly.

"Rather! But hush--you'll wake the echoes."

"And why not? They ought to be up and about by now."

I shook my head.

"They're a sleepy folk," I said; "they get so little rest. The day is noisy enough, but at night, what with dogs baying the moon, and the nightjars calling, when owls do cry--"

"When owls do cry--"

"--and the earnest but mistaken chanticleer, they have a rotten time.

Poor echoes! And they wake very easily here."

"Don't they everywhere?"

"Oh, no! I know some that are very heavy sleepers. In fact, it's hopeless to try and wake them without the welkin."

"The welkin?"

"Yes, you make him ring, you know. They nearly always hear him. And if they don't the first time, you make him ring again."

For a little s.p.a.ce she laughed helplessly. At last:

"I am an idiot to encourage you. Seriously," she added, "about the little play."

"Presently by us to be enacted?"

"The plot," I said, "is as follows. Punch has a row with Judy and knocks her out. (Laughter.) Various well-intentioned and benignant fools look in on Punch to pa.s.s the time of day, and get--very properly--knocked out for their pains. (Loud and prolonged laughter.) This is followed by the side-splitting incident in which a handy clown not only eludes the thirsty bludgeon, but surrept.i.tiously steals the inevitable sausages. Exit clown. Punch, already irritated at having missed clown, misses sausages, and exit in high dudgeon. Re-enter Judy, followed by sausaged clown, who comforts her. (Oh, Judy!) Re-enter Punch. Justifiable tussle. Punch sees sausages and begins to find his length. Clown sees stars and exit. Punch knocks out Judy with a left hook. To him, gloating, enter constable. It seems Judy's knock-out more serious than usual. Constable suggests that Punch shall go quietly. Punch does not see it, and retires to fetch persuader.

Constable protests and is persuaded. (Laughter.) Enter ghost--not clear whose ghost, but any ghost in a storm. Punch unnerved. Ghost gibbers. Punch more unnerved. Ghost gibbers again. Punch terrified.

Exit ghost and enter hangman, to whom Punch, unstrung by recent encounter with apparition, falls an easy prey. Curtain. You bow from the mouth of the booth. I adjust nose and collect money in diminutive tin pail. How's that?"

"Lovely, Punch! But where does Toby dear come in?"

At the mention of his name the terrier rose and went to her. His mistress stroked his soft head.

"In the background," said I. "Or the offing (nautical). I don't think he'd better act. Let him be stage-door-keeper."