The Oyster Part 25

"For the tiny crippled children." They rattled their little bags of money as they sold their goods.

"Fink there are any crippled children?" said Lady Pollie to her friend the Honourable Anne Buller.

"No fear! They's all kept in big places in beds. It's just fun for us an' Mumsie. She loves her yellow dress; she's a rose too, Mumsie is.

Who gave you the gold piece, Pollie?"

"The fat man there; he said I was a sufferin' angel, or perhaps it was 'nother long word. Let's go an' eat ices or strawberries."

Money pouring into cash boxes; sovereigns for b.u.t.tonholes; notes for foolish trumpery.

Royalty, gracious, really charitable, came in the afternoon, made its way through the crush which thronged to watch it, bought lavishly but sensibly, spoke kindly to stall-holders, honoured Dollie and Esme with special notice.

"I hear you got it all up. So good of you. It is one of the hospitals most needed. We went there last week."

Small Royalty carries off a box of sweets with the glee of extremely natural childhood; a merry mite; far more simply brought up than shrewd little Lady Pollie. _She_ knew that there were real crippled children, wan, stunted products of the slums, tended and made happy, perhaps cured, in that struggling hospital. She had seen them in their little blue jackets, looking eagerly at her kindly mother and at her as they went from bed to bed. They pa.s.sed through a curtseying crowd, bought, went on to tea, gracious, kindly people.

"They've simply made it," Esme said. "What a crowd we have. A charming box of sweets. Yes. Souvenir of the Bazaar--boxes specially made--one guinea. Too much? There's a small one for ten shillings; but the Princess took one of the others. Thank you! The big one? Oh, Captain Gore Helmsley--buy sweets?"

Jimmie, darkly handsome, his years disguised by careful grooming, strolled by. He stopped to say, laughing, that his digestion could not a.s.similate chocolates and dragees. Sybil Chauntsey, a glowing little nasturtium, her brown beauty set off by brilliant yellow, came hurrying up, young Knox with her; he had come up to try again. She was selling b.u.t.tonholes, helping at one of the flower stalls.

"I'll buy a flower though," Jimmie turned quickly.

"I've only one left," Sybil said, "this yellow carnation. Captain Knox wants it. I was just coming for a pin. Mine have all dropped. It's five shillings."

"I'll give you ten," Helmsley said. "Touch it with your lips it shall be a pound."

"Two," said Knox, sharply.

"An auctioneer!" Esme clapped her hands. "Well done, Sybil. Come, Captain Helmsley."

"Four!" said Helmsley, carelessly.

"Five!"

A little crowd gathered. Sybil, glowing, laughing, her childish vanity touched by this piece of vulgar advertis.e.m.e.nt. In her gay yellow and red-striped gown she stood holding up the flower; the nasturtium's head-dress was a hood of vivid green, opening over mock flower petals.

"Six!"

"Seven!"

"Ten!" said Jimmie, carelessly. "Come, that's a fair price for a flower--but I'll go on."

Young Knox stopped bidding suddenly, his face growing white. He watched Sybil, laughing brightly, kiss the flower, saw Jimmie Helmsley touch it covertly with his lips where her soft red ones had lain, and hold out the yellow bud to be fastened on.

"I win the flower," he said mockingly.

"One moment." Young Knox bent close to Sybil. "I'll say good-bye. It's not quite my game--this. But if you ever want me, remember I'm there, as I told you before. Good-bye."

The glow died out of Sybil Chauntsey's face; her fingers trembled as she fastened in the flower and took her five pound notes.

Helmsley walked on with her. Would she come to tea? He had a big box of sweets for her. Wouldn't she have them?

Sybil woke up after a minute or two, grew feverishly gay with the gaiety which cloaks sorrow; was almost noisy, her cheeks glowing, her eyes glittering; took a dozen presents from Gore Helmsley: Venetian beads, sweets, charms, bought at fabulous prices.

"Poor chap, not to think your flower worth more than a tenner,"

Helmsley had said in his mocking voice.

The Great Charity Bazaar ran on wheels oiled by golden oil; the cash-boxes filled. Kindly Canon Bright walked round it dreaming of the debt which would be paid off his beloved hospital. Of instruments, of comforts for the tiny sufferers, of the increased room which they could make.

Lord Boredom, very immaculately dressed, was helping his mother, but he preferred taking a basket at a time round the hall than attending the stall. Once he came back with a demure-looking young lady whom the d.u.c.h.ess welcomed cordially as "My dear Miss Moover," making Sukey Ploddy sniff loudly.

But the sensation of the evening was when the d.u.c.h.ess was taken to the Cafe Chantant to see on the white curtain the words: "Miss Moover, by kind permission of the Magnificent Theatre."

The d.u.c.h.ess went in. Miss Moover's dance was audacious, her draperies shadow-like; she squirmed and twisted and bounded across the stage, displaying the exquisitely-formed limbs which made London flock to see her. She was agile, graceful, never exaggerated, full of the joy of youth.

From the Magnificent Theatre! The d.u.c.h.ess, breathing heavily, staggered out, her black dress rustling. "A dancer! A _creature_!"

"I shall never," she said, "countenance those Holbrooks again," and with stony eyes she cut Luke deliberately and sent for her son.

"It was unfortunate, my love," said Mr Holbrook, mildly, "the whole idea."

The big bazaar day died to change to a blaze of electric lights, to a kaleidoscope of colour, of flower dresses, blue and yellow and pink and white, blending and moving; of diners in the miniature Ritz Hotel and other restaurants, eating luxurious meals.

It began again next day, a cheaper, less select affair, with half the a.s.sistants far too tired to come, and it ran through another day; a huge spider sucking golden blood from innumerable flies.

It was over at last; the stall-holders ate a merry supper; a.s.sistants from the shops cleared away their goods; no one bothered much about it all now.

The Society papers would publish accounts and photographs, with Dollie and Esme, charitable ladies, always in the most prominent place.

Canon Bright and the secretary were jubilant at supper, thanking everyone; they would call in a day or two. If Mrs Gresham would let them, they would help her with the accounts.

But Dollie told them pleasantly that she wanted no help as yet.

A few days later she sat with Esme over piles of papers, totting carelessly.

"They've charged horribly for those sweets. Oh! and Claire's bill is exorbitant!" She held it up.

"It's double what it ought to be," said Esme.

"H'm!" Dollie totted. "I want to pay her off. Just a little on to the hall account, and to odd nothings, and there are a few extra gowns in the price of the blue; that will make it right. One can't slave for nothing," said Dollie. "You can get a couple of gowns, too. I arranged that with her. It was worth it," said Dollie, "to stop the woman's mouth."

When cheques came in other people seemed to have found their expenses equally high. London tradesmen charge highly for decorating, for a.s.sistance. The golden coins paid out for charity went for glitter and show, for gowns and waste. The Ritz had not paid its way. All stall-holders lunched and dined free there. Hunt & Mason sent in a bill of some size.

In a month's time Dollie wanted it all to be forgotten; she sent a cheque to the hospital with all her accounts carefully copied out.

The secretary turned pale as he read the amount. "That!" he said, "that--after it all! And now, for a year's time, if we appeal for funds, people will say, 'But you've just had that bazaar; we went there, bought lavishly, we cannot help again so soon.'

"Miss Harnett," he said heavily to the matron, "we must give up all idea of that west ward; we cannot afford it; or those new reclining chairs and instruments."