 
Undershell (to himself, as he emerges from a back staircase). I suppose this is the corridor? The boy said the name of the room was painted up over the door.... Ah, there it is; and, yes, Mr. Spurrell's name on a card.... The door is ajar; he is probably waiting for me inside. I shall meet him quite temperately, treat it simply as a—— (He enters; a waste-paper basket, containing an ingenious arrangement of liquid and solid substances, descends on his head.) What the devil do you mean, sir, by this outrageous——? All dark! Nobody here! Is there a general conspiracy to insult me? Have I been lured up here for a brutal—— (Spurrell bursts in.) Ah, there you are, sir! (With cold dignity, through the lattice-work of the basket.) Will you kindly explain what this means? Spurrell. Wait till I strike a light. (After lighting a pair of candles.) Well, sir, if you don't know why you're ramping about like that under a waste-paper basket, I can hardly be expected to—— Undershell. I was determined not to remove it until somebody came in; it fell on my head the moment I entered; it contained something in a soap-dish, which has wetted my face. You may laugh, sir, but if this is a sample of your aristocratic—— Spurrell. If you could only see yourself! But I'd nothing to do with it, 'pon my word I hadn't; only just this minute got away from the hall.... I know! It's that sulky young beggar, Bearpark. I remember he slipped off on some excuse or other just now. He must have come in here and fixed that affair up for me—confound him! Undershell. I think I'm the person most entitled to—— But no matter; it is merely one insult more among so many. I came here, sir, for a purpose, as you are aware. Spurrell (ruefully). Your dress clothes? All right, you shall have them directly. I wouldn't have put 'em on if I'd known they'd be wanted so soon. Undershell. I should have thought your own would have been more comfortable. Spurrell. More comfortable! I believe you. Why, I assure you I feel like a Bath bun in a baby's sock! But how was I to know? You shouldn't leave your things about like that! Undershell. It is usual, sir, for people to come to a place like this provided with evening clothes of their own. Spurrell. I know that as well as you do. Don't you suppose I'm unacquainted with the usages of society! Why, I've stayed in boarding-houses at the seaside many a time where it was de rigger to dress—even for high tea! But coming down, as I did, on business, it never entered my head that I should want my dress suit. So, when I found them all as chummy and friendly as possible, and expecting me to dine as a matter of course,—why, I can tell you I was too jolly glad to get hold of anything in the shape of a swallowtail and white choker to be over particular! Undershell. You seem to have been more fortunate in your reception than I. But then I had not the advantage of being here in a business capacity. Spurrell. Well, it wasn't that altogether. You see, I'm a kind of a celebrity in my way. Undershell. I should hardly have thought that would be a recommendation here. Spurrell. I was surprised myself to find what a lot they thought of it; but, bless you, they're all as civil as shopwalkers; and, as for the ladies, why, the old Countess and Lady Maisie and Lady Rhoda couldn't be more complimentary if I'd won the Victoria Cross, instead of getting a first prize for breeding and exhibiting a bull-bitch at Cruft's Dog show! Undershell (bitterly, to himself). And this is our aristocracy! They make a bosom friend of a breeder of dogs; and find a poet only fit to associate with their servants! What a theme for a satirist! (Aloud.) I see nothing to wonder at. You possess precisely the social qualifications most likely to appeal to the leisured class. Spurrell. Oh, there's a lot of humbug in it, mind you! Most of 'em know about as much of the points of a bull as the points of a compass, only they let on to know a lot because they think it's smart. And some of 'em are after a pup from old Drummy's next litter. I see through all that, you know! Undershell. You are a cynic, I observe, sir. But possibly the nature of the business which brings you here renders them—— Spurrell. That's the rummest thing about it. I haven't heard a word about that yet. I'm in the veterinary profession, you know. Well, they sent for me to see some blooming horse, and never even ask me to go near it! Seems odd, don't it? Undershell (to himself). I had to go near the blooming horse! Now I begin to understand; the very servants did not expect to find a professional vet in any company but their own! (Aloud.) I—I trust that the horse will not suffer through any delay. Spurrell. So do I; but how do I know that some ignorant duffer mayn't be treating him for the wrong thing? It may be all up with the animal before I get a chance of seeing what I can do? Undershell (to himself). If he knew how near I went to getting the poor beast shot! But I needn't mention that now. Spurrell. I don't say it isn't gratifying to be treated like a swell, but I've got my professional reputation to consider, you know; and if they're going to take up all my time talking about Andromeda—— Undershell (with a start). Andromeda! They have been talking about Andromeda? To you! Then it's you who—— Spurrell. Haven't I been telling you? I should just jolly well think they have been talking about her! So you didn't know my bull's name was Andromeda before, eh? But you seem to have heard of her, too! Undershell (slowly). I—I have heard of Andromeda—yes. [He drops into a chair, dazed. Spurrell (complacently). It's curious how that bitch's fame seems to have spread. Why, even the old Bishop—— But, I say, you're looking rather queer; anything the matter with you, old fellow? Undershell (faintly). Nothing—nothing. I—I feel a little giddy, that's all. I shall be better presently. [He conceals his face. Spurrell (in concern). It was having that basket down on your head like that. Too bad! Here, I'll get you some water. (He bustles about.) I don't know if you're aware of it, old chap, but you're in a regular dooce of a mess! Undershell (motioning him away irritably). Do you suppose I don't know that? For Heaven's sake, don't speak to me! let me alone!... I want to think—I want to think. (To himself.) I see it all now! I've made a hideous mistake! I thought these Culverins were deliberately—— And all the time—— Oh, what an unspeakable idiot I've been!... And I can't even explain!... The only thing to do is to escape before this fellow suspects the truth. It's lucky I ordered that carriage! (Aloud, rising.) I'm all right now; and—and I can't stay here any longer. I am leaving directly—directly! Spurrell. You must give me time to get out of this toggery, old chap; you'll have to pick me out of it like a lobster! Undershell (wildly). The clothes? Never mind them now. I can't wait. Keep them! Spurrell. Do you really mean it, old fellow? If you could spare 'em a bit longer, I'd be no end obliged. Because, you see, I promised Lady Rhoda to come and finish a talk we were having, and they've taken away my own things to brush, so I haven't a rag to go down in except these; and they'd all think it so beastly rude if I went to bed now! Undershell (impatiently). I tell you you may keep them, if you'll only go away! Spurrell. But where am I to send the things to when I've done with 'em? Undershell. What do I—— Stay, here's my card. Send them to that address. Now go and finish your evening! Spurrell (gratefully). You are a rattling good chap, and no mistake! Though I'm hanged if I can quite make out what you're doing here, you know! Undershell. It's not at all necessary that you should make it out. I am leaving immediately, and—and I don't wish Sir Rupert or Lady Culverin to hear of this—you understand? Spurrell. Well, it's no business of mine; you've behaved devilish well to me, and I'm not surprised that you'd rather not be seen in the state you're in. I shouldn't like it myself! Undershell. State? What state? Spurrell. Ah, I wondered whether you knew. You'll see what I mean when you've had a look at yourself in the glass. I dare say it'll come off right enough. I can't stop. Ta, ta, old fellow, and thanks awfully! [He goes out. Undershell (alone). What does he mean? But I've no time to waste. Where have they put my portmanteau? I can't give up everything. (He hunts round the room, and eventually discovers a door leading into a small dressing-room.) Ah, it's in there. I'll get it out, and put my things in. (As he rushes back, he suddenly comes face to face with his own reflection in a cheval glass.) Wh—who's that? Can this—this piebald horror possibly be—me? How——? Ah, it was ink in that infernal basket—not water! And my hair's full of flour! I can't go into a hotel like this, they'd think I was an escaped lunatic! (He flies to a wash-hand stand, and scrubs and sluices desperately, after which he inspects the result in the mirror.) It's not nearly off yet! Will anything get rid of this streakiness? (He soaps and scrubs once more.) And the flour's caked in my hair now! I must brush it all out before I am fit to be seen. (He gradually, after infinite toil, succeeds in making himself slightly more presentable.) Is the carriage waiting for me all this time? (He pitches things into his portmanteau in a frantic flurry.) What's that? Some one's coming! [He listens. Tredwell (outside). It's my conviction you've been telling me a pack o' lies, you young rascal. For what hearthly business that feller Undershell could 'ave in the Verney—— However, I'll soon see how it is. (He knocks.) Is any one in 'ere? Undershell (to himself, distractedly). He mustn't find me here! Yet, where—— Ah, it's the only place! [He blows out the candles, and darts into the dressing-room as Tredwell enters. Tredwell. The boy's right. He is in here; them candles is smouldering still. (He relights one, and looks under the bed.) You'd better come out o' that, Undershell, and give an account of yourself—do you 'ear me?... He ain't under there! (He tries the dressing-room door; Undershell holds his breath, and clings desperately to the handle.) Very well, sir, I know you're there, and I've no time to trouble with you at present, so you may as well stay where you are till you're wanted. I've 'eard o' your goings-on from Mr. Adams, and I shall 'ave to fetch Sir Rupert up to 'ave a talk with you by and bye. [He turns the key upon him, and goes. Undershell (to himself, overwhelmed, as the butler's step is heard retreating.) And I came down here to assert the dignity of Literature! |
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