GIFT OF 
 Mrs. Emersson 
 
IF WINTER 
 DON'T 
 
 ABCDI: r 
 
 NQTSOMUCI1INGON 
 
 BY 
 
 BARRY PAIN 
 
 NEW YORK 
 FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
Copyright, 1922, by 
 FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 9^ $ . 
 
 t- 
 
 Printed in the United States of America 
 
<?' 
 
 These parodies do good to the book 
 parodied; great good, sometimes; they 
 are kindly meant, and the parodist has 
 usually keenly enjoyed the book of which 
 he sits down to make a fool. 
 
 R. L. STEVENSON. 
 
PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 I 
 
 "!F WINTER COMES" placed its author not only as a 
 Best Seller, but as one of the Great Novelists of to-day. 
 Not always are those royalties crowned by those laurels. 
 Tarzan (of, if I remember rightly, the Apes) never 
 won the double event. And I am told by superior 
 people that, intellectually, Miss Ethel M. Dell takes the 
 hindmost. Personally, I found "If Winter Comes" a 
 most sympathetic and interesting book. I think there 
 are only two points on which I should be disposed to 
 quarrel with it. Firstly, though Nona is a real creation, 
 Effie is an incredible piece of novelist's machinery. 
 Secondly, I detest the utilization of the Great War at 
 the present day for the purposes of fiction. It is alto- 
 gether too easy. It buys the emotional situation ready- 
 made. It asks the reader's memory to supplement the 
 writer's imagination. And this is not my sole objection 
 to its use. 
 
 II 
 
 I wonder if I might, without being thought blas- 
 phemous, say a word or two about the Great Novelists 
 of to-day. They have certain points of resemblance. 
 I do not think that over-states it. 
 
yi PREFACE 
 
 They have the same little ways. They divide their 
 chapters into sections, and number the sections in plain 
 figures. This is quite pontifical, and lends your story 
 the majesty of an Act of Parliament. The first man 
 who did it was a genius. And the other seven hundred 
 and eighteen showed judgment. I propose to use it 
 myself when I remember it. 
 
 Then there is the three-dot trick. At one time those 
 dots indicated an omission. To-day, some of our best 
 use them as an equivalent of the cinema fade-out. 
 Those dots prolong the effect of a word or sentence; 
 they lend it an afterglow. You see what I mean? 
 Afterglow . . . 
 
 One must mention, too, the staccato style the style 
 that makes the printer send the boy out for another 
 hundred gross of full-stops. All the Great Novelists 
 of to-day use it, more or less. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Let us see what can be done with it. Here, for 
 instance, is a sentence which was taught me in the 
 nursery, for its alleged tongue-twisting quality: 
 "She stood at the door of Burgess's fish-sauce shop, 
 Strand, welcoming him in." In that form it is not 
 impressive, but now note what one of these staccato 
 merchants might make of it. 
 
 "Across the roaring Strand red and green lights 
 spelling on the gloom. 'BURGESS'S FISH-SAU.' 
 A moment's darkness and again 'BURGESS'S FISH- 
 
PREFACE vii 
 
 SAU.' Like, that. Truncated. The final CE not 
 functioning. He had to look though it hurt him. Hurt 
 horrible. Damnably. And his eyes traveled down- 
 ward. 
 
 "Suddenly and beyond hope she ! Isobel-at-the-last. 
 Standing in the doorway. White on black. Slim. 
 Willowy. Incomparable. Incommensurable. She saw 
 him and her lips rounded to a call. He sensed it 
 through the traffic. Come in. Calling and calling. 
 Come in. 
 
 "Come in. ... 
 
 "Out of the rain." 
 
 It is like a plaintive hymn sung to a banjo accom- 
 paniment. 
 
 Incidentally it illustrates another favorite trick of 
 these gentlemen the introduction of a commonplace 
 or even jarring detail into a romantic scene in order 
 to increase its appearance of reality. It is quite a good 
 trick. 
 
 IV 
 
 And sometimes, not every day but sometimes, one 
 gets a little weary even of the best tricks. Need the 
 author depend quite so much on the printer for his 
 effects? Scenes and passages in a book seem to be 
 standing very near the edge, and the wanton thought 
 occurs to one that a little shove would send them over. 
 In fact, one gets irritable. And then anything bad 
 may happen. This parody for instance. 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 LUKE SHARPER. Age, thirty-four. Married, but not 
 much. Private residence, Jawbones, Halfpenny Hole, 
 Surrey. Favorite recreation, suffering. Favorite 
 flower 
 
 Oh, drop it ! Let us rather listen to Mr. Alfred Jingle, 
 solicitor, talking to his artist friend. 
 
 "Met Sharper yesterday. Remember him at the old 
 school? Flap Sharper we called him. Not that they 
 really did flap. His ears, I mean. They just crept up 
 and bent over when he was thinking hard. People 
 came to see it. Came from miles around. 
 
 "Rum chap. Rum ways. Never agreed with anybody 
 present, including himself. Always inventing circum- 
 stantial evidence to convict himself of crimes he had 
 never committed. Remember the window ? Half -brick 
 came flying through it. Old Borkins looked out. Below 
 stood Flap Sharper with the other half -brick in his 
 hand. Arm drawn back. No other boy in sight. The 
 two halves fitted exactly. It certainly looked like it. 
 
fc IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 Poor old Flap found that it felt like it, too. But he had 
 never chucked that half -brick. Ogilvie did it. Remem- 
 ber hrm ? The one we called Pink-eye. Have a drink ? 
 
 "I offered Sharper my sympathy. Wouldn't have it. 
 Said 'Why?' Maintained that we had all got to suffer 
 in this life, and it was better to begin early. Excellent 
 practice. Then his ears crept up and bent over. Got 
 it again later in the day for drawing a caricature of old 
 Borkins. Never did it, of course. Couldn't draw. 
 Can't remember who did it. Oh, you did, did you? 
 Like you. Have another ? 
 
 "Yes, we have a certain amount of business in Dilbor- 
 ough. I'm generally down there once or twice a year. 
 I walk over to Halfpenny Hole and lunch with Sharper. 
 It's a seven mile walk. But lunch at the hotel is seven- 
 and-six. Doing uncommonly well, is Sharper. He's 
 in Pentlove, Postlethwaite and Sharper. You know. 
 The only jams that really matter. Pickles, too. Chut- 
 ney. Very hot stuff. Oh, yes, Sharper's all right. 
 
 "You ought to run down and see Halfpenny Hole. 
 What is it the agents say? Old-world. It's very 
 old-world. Only three houses in it, and all different. 
 Whether the garden settlement will spoil it or not is 
 another matter. You go and paint it before it gets 
 spoilt. 
 
 "Strictly between ourselves, I am not quite sure that 
 Sharper and his wife hit it off. Oh, nothing much. It's 
 just that when he speaks to her she never answers, and 
 when she speaks to him he never answers. In fact, 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 3 
 
 if she speaks at all he groans and moves his ears. 
 Charming woman, very. Quite pretty. There may 
 be nothing in it. I saw no actual violence. Sharper 
 may merely have been suffering. He wouldn't be 
 happy if he wasn't. Have a drink. No?" 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 HALFPENNY HOLE lay in the bottom of a slope seven 
 miles from Dilborough. Dilborough was almost the 
 same distance from Halfpenny Hole. Jawbones was, 
 I think we must say, an old-world house, and had the 
 date 1623 carved over the doorway. Luke Sharper 
 had carved it himself. A little further down the road 
 there was there's no other word for it an old-world 
 bridge with I'm afraid we must have it once more 
 an old-world stream running underneath it. It gave 
 one the impression that it had always been like that. 
 Always the stream under the bridge. Never the bridge 
 under the stream. But now that the Garden Settlement 
 had come things might be very different. Houses were 
 going up; Mr. Doom Dagshaw's Mammoth Circus 
 was going up ; even the rates were going up. 
 
 At the end of his honeymoon Luke Sharper went 
 to see a man about a dog, and left his wife to prepare 
 Jawbones for his accommodation. She was a good 
 housekeeper, and Luke acknowledged it. Whenever 
 he thought about her at all, he always added "but 
 she is a good housekeeper." He was desperately fair. 
 
 "This/' said Mabel, opening a door, as Luke began 
 his vi^it of inspection, "this is your den." 
 
 5 
 
6 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 Luke's ears moved. He kissed her twice. "But, 
 you know, I cannot bear it. There are some words 
 which I am unable to endure, such as salt-cellar, tuber- 
 culosis, tennis-net and den." 
 
 "Very well," said Mabel, a little coldly, "we'll call 
 it your cage. And just look. There is a pair of my 
 father's old slippers that I have brought for you. Size 
 thirteen. You've got none quite like that, have you?" 
 
 He put one arm round her waist. 
 
 "Where did you say the dustbin was?" he asked. 
 
 "But," she said amazed, "you don't mean to say 
 
 Surely you wear slippers?" 
 
 "I never was," he replied firmly. Nor did he. 
 
 "And now," said Mabel, "come into the kitchen and 
 see the two maids that I have engaged. Two 
 nice respectable sisters named Morse Ellen Morse 
 
 "There isn't an T in Morse," he said gloomily. 
 
 "And Kate Morse," Mabel continued. 
 
 She opened the door into the spotless kitchen, and 
 the two maids sprang instantly to attention. One of 
 them was cleaning silver, the other was still lingering 
 over tea. The first was very long, and the second 
 very short. 
 
 Luke slapped his leg enthusiastically. "Oh, by 
 Jove," he said, "this is ripping. Morse. Don't you 
 see? Dot and Dash. Dot and Dash." 
 
 He howled with laughter. Dash dropped the tea-pot 
 Dot had hysterics. 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 7 
 
 "I think," said Mabel, without a smile, "we had 
 better go into the garden." 
 
 Everything in the garden was lovely. 
 
 "Luke," said Mabel, "I did not quite like what you 
 said in the kitchen just now. It was just a teeny- 
 weeny " 
 
 "Funny, wasn't it?" said Luke. "You must admit 
 it was funny. Seemed to come to me all of a flash. 
 I'll bet that nothing more amusing has been said in 
 this house since the day it was built. Dot and Dash! 
 Dot and Dash! Oh, help!" 
 
 He rolled about the path in uncontrollable laughter. 
 
 Mabel looked sadder and sadder. He said that made 
 it all the funnier, and laughed more. 
 
 After dinner he wrote the joke out carefully. It 
 seemed a pity that Punch should not have it. Mabel 
 yawned, and said she would go up to bed. 
 
 "Tired?" asked Luke. 
 
 "A little. There's something about you, Luke, that 
 makes one feel tired. By the way, did you ever 
 know Mr. Mark Sabre?" 
 
 "God forbid I mean, no." 
 
 "Well, he called one of his maids High Jinks and 
 the other Low, but it turned out later in the story 
 that the one that was first Low became High, while 
 High became Low. I thought I'd just mention it to 
 you as a warning." 
 
 "Right-o. I'll be very careful. I may as well come 
 
8 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 up to bed myself. The editor of Punch will be a happy 
 man to-morrow morning/* 
 
 At intervals that night Mabel was awakened by 
 screams of laughter. Once she enquired what the cause 
 was. 
 
 "Dot and Dash/' he replied, chuckling. "Too good 
 for words! Oh, can't you see it?" 
 
 "Good-night again," said Mabel. 
 
 On the following night, when he returned from 
 business, Mabel met him in the hall. 
 
 "Darling," she said, "we've had trouble with thfr 
 sink in the scullery." 
 
 "What did you do about it?" 
 
 "I sent for the plumber. He seemed such a nice, 
 intelligent man." 
 
 "Have you kept him to dine with us?" 
 
 "No. Why on earth should I? He had a glass of 
 beer in the kitchen." 
 
 "People dine with me sometimes," said Luke, "who 
 are neither nice nor intelligent. Oh, can't you see, 
 Mabel, that we are all equal in the sight of Heaven?" 
 
 "Yes," said Mabel, "but you're not in sight of 
 Heaven not by a long way. I don't suppose you 
 ever will be. Besides, if he had stayed, the dinner 
 could not have gone on." 
 
 Luke's ears twitched convulsively. "I can't see that," 
 he said. "It is unthinkable. How can you say that?" 
 
 "Well," said Mabel, "one of the vegetables we are 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 9 
 
 to eat to-night happens to be leeks. And, of course, 
 he, being a plumber, would have stopped them." 
 
 Luke did not swear. He simply went up to his 
 bedroom in silence. There he began ticking certain 
 subjects off on his finger. Number One, Den. Num- 
 ber Two, Slippers. Number Three, Dot and Dash. 
 Number Four, Plumber. She would never see. She 
 would never understand. And he was married to it. 
 He put up both hands and pushed his ears back into 
 position. 
 
 (I had fully intended to divide this chapter into 
 sections and to number them in plain figures. Careless 
 of me. Thoughtless. Have a shot at it in the next 
 chapter ? I think so. Yes, almost . . . ) 
 

CHAPTER III 
 
 PENTLOVE, POSTLETHWAITE AND SHARPER occupied a 
 large factory, with offices and showroom attached, in 
 Dilborough. They had no address. The name of the 
 firm alone was quite sufficient to find them. Some 
 people added the word Dilborough; some simply put 
 Surrey; some merely England. They were known 
 to everybody. Their motto "Perfect Purity" was 
 in every daily paper every day. And during those 
 weeks when the pickle manufacturing was going on, 
 every little hamlet within a radius of twenty miles 
 was aware of the fact if the wind set in that direction. 
 There was no Pentlove in the firm, and no Postle- 
 thwaite, and hardly any Sharper. An ex-schoolmaster, 
 Diggle by name, had secured the entire control of 
 the business. He had no partners, though Sharper 
 had a small interest in the firm. He had achieved 
 this position by unscrupulousness and low cunning. 
 For of real ability he had not a trace. In fact, the 
 staff mostly called him Cain, because he was not able. 
 Another point of resemblance was that he was not 
 
 much of a hand at a sacrifice. He looked after the 
 
 ii 
 
12 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 financial side of the business, and did a good deal of 
 general interference in every branch of it. 
 
 The manufacturing side was under the control of 
 Arthur Dobson, a red- faced man who had been with 
 the firm for twenty years. He very wisely maintained 
 its tradition of the very highest quality coupled with 
 the very highest prices. "Perfect Purity." It was an 
 admitted fact that Pentlove, Postlethwaite and Sharper 
 actually used limes in the manufacture of lime juice. 
 Another startling innovation was the use of calves' 
 feet in the preparation of calf's- foot jelly. This was 
 the more extravagant because, of course, only the front 
 feet of the calf may be used for this purpose. Three 
 back feet make one back-yard. Naturally the price was 
 ruinous. But it all added to the reputation of the firm. 
 And the best hotels thought it worth while to advertise 
 that the pickles and preserves they provided were by 
 Messrs. Pentlove, Postlethwaite and Sharper. It may be 
 as well to add that Arthur Dobson was a knave. 
 When he was talking to Cain he always slated Sharper. 
 When he was talking to Sharper he always slated Cain. 
 His specialty was the continuous discovery of some 
 cheaper place in which to lunch. He would ask Luke 
 Sharper to join him in these perilous adventures, but 
 Luke, in his sunny way, always refused. 
 
 "Standoffish," said Dobson. "Damn standoffish." 
 
 Luke Sharper represented the literary side of the 
 
 business. He wrote all the advertisements. It was 
 
 a rule of the firm that the advertisements should be 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 13 
 
 scholarly, and that none should appear which did not 
 contain at least one quotation from a classical language. 
 Luke had also initiated the production of various 
 booklets dealing with the materials and the methods 
 of business. Nominally they were published; practi- 
 cally they were given away to any considerable pur- 
 chaser. Some of these were written by Sharper 
 himself. There was, for example, "The Romance of 
 the Raspberry," of which the Dilborough Gazette had 
 said : "An elegant little brochure." This was a great 
 triumph. Even Diggle had to admit it. He had gone 
 so far as to say that one of these fine days he would 
 really have to think about making Sharper a partner. 
 Other of the booklets were written in collaboration. 
 For instance, in the composition of "Thoughts on 
 Purity," Sharper had the assistance of the Reverend 
 Noel Atall. 
 
 Luke kept a set of these booklets, bound in lilac 
 morocco, in his room at the office. He loved them. 
 He was proud of them. He regarded them as his 
 children, and would sit for hours patting them gently. 
 As the issue of each booklet was limited to one hun- 
 dred copies, and it was customary to present one of 
 them with each order of 20 or upwards, some of 
 them were out of print, and difficult to obtain. This 
 had been enough to start the collectors. In book 
 catalogues there would sometimes appear a complete 
 set of the Pentlove, Postlethwaite and Sharper booklets. 
 
i 4 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 And the price asked was gratifying. Luke fainted with 
 joy the first time he saw this in the catalogue. 
 
 At one time* he had been in the habit of taking the 
 booklet home in order to read it aloud to Mabel. He 
 never did it now. It was hopeless. No insight. No 
 sympathy. No appreciation. No anything. Blind 
 and deaf to beauty. But she really was a good house- 
 keeper. 
 
 Luke bicycled from home to business every morning, 
 and from business to home every evening. He enjoyed 
 this immensely. Every morning as he rode off he said 
 to himself: "Further from Mabel. Further and 
 further from Mabel. Every day, in every way, I'm 
 getting further and further." On his return journey 
 in the evening he experienced the same relief in getting 
 further from old Cain, and further from the office. 
 
 At the middle point of his journey it always seemed 
 to him that he did not belong to the office any more, 
 and that he did not belong to Mabel either. He was 
 all his own, in a world by himself. He would go on in 
 a snow-white ecstasy. Then he would get up, dust his 
 clothes, and re-mount. 
 
 He had some habits, which, to the stupid and cen- 
 sorious, might almost seem childish. He cut for him- 
 self with his little hatchet a number of pegs, and always 
 carried some of them in his pocket. At every point 
 on the road where he fell off, he drove in a peg. It 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 15 
 
 seemed to him a splendid idea. In a wave of enthu- 
 siasm he told Mabel all about it. 
 
 "Isn't it absolutely splendid?" he asked. 
 
 "Dotty," said Mabel, briefly. 
 
 He went out into the woodshed and cut more pegs. 
 
 One Monday morning as he started on his ride he 
 saw before him at intervals all down the road little 
 white specks. Yes, every one of those pegs had been 
 painted white by somebody. 
 
 Who could have done it? He decided at once that 
 it must be Mabel. She had repented of her harsh- 
 ness. She had made up her mind to try to enter more 
 into his secret soul. This was her silent way of showing 
 it. He determined that if this were so he would start 
 kissing her again that evening. It overcame him com- 
 pletely. He drove in one more peg, and re-mounted. 
 
 "Mabel," he said that night at dinner, "It's good 
 and sweet of you to have painted all those pegs white. 
 It must have taken you a long time." 
 
 "Never touched your rotten old pegs," said Mabel. 
 "Pass the salt." 
 
 His ears twitched. 
 
 3 
 
 Later that evening he sat alone in his bedroom. He 
 also used this room as a study. He had been driven 
 to this somewhat frowsty practice by the fact that 
 he could not possibly sit in any room that had ever 
 been called a den. 
 
16 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 A tap at the door. Ellen Morse entered to turn the 
 bed down. A bright idea flashed across Luke's mind. 
 His ears positively jumped. 
 
 He believed in liberty, equality and familiarity, espe- 
 cially familiarity. So did Ellen Morse. 
 
 "Dot," he said, "was it you who painted my fall-pegs 
 white?" 
 
 "Well, old bean," said Dot, "it was like this. I'll 
 tell you." She seated herself on the bed. "You see, 
 this house has only got four reception-rooms and eight 
 bedrooms, and all the washing's done at home, and all 
 the dressmaking, and there's a good deal of entertain- 
 ing, mostly when you're not there, and everything has 
 to be right up to the mark. Well, as there were the 
 whole two of us to do it, your old woman thought 
 time would be hanging heavy on our hands, so now 
 we do the garden as well. The other day Mr. Doom 
 Dagshaw was lunching here, and they were going to 
 play tennis afterwards. Your bit of skirt has some 
 proper games with that Dagshaw. I watch them out 
 of the pantry window in my leisure moments. Well, 
 anyhow, I'd to mark out the tennis court, and I mixed 
 up a bit more of the stuff than was needed, and I 
 thought I might as well use it up on your pegs. You 
 see, I get a half -Sunday off every three months, and 
 it was only a fourteen-mile walk there and back. And 
 I'm sure I didn't know what else to do with my 
 holiday." 
 
 "Dot," said Luke, "you seem to be able to enter into 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 17 
 
 things. You get the hang of my ideas. Some do, 
 some don't. If you can sneak off for half-an-hour 
 to-morrow evening we'll go and play at boats together." 
 
 "Boats?" 
 
 "Yes. You know the bridge. We get two pieces 
 of wood, throw them in the stream on one side, then 
 run across and watch them come out on the other. 
 And the one that comes out first, wins. Won't that 
 be glorious?" 
 
 "Well, you are one to think of things," said Dot. 
 
 (And now we'll have a little novelty. The Great 
 Novelists of to-day number their sections. We'll have 
 a number without any section. This has never been 
 done be 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 IT can be hardly necessary to say that Mabel caught 
 Luke and Dot playing boats on the following evening. 
 Luke was always discovered. He was even detected 
 when he had done nothing. 
 
 As he dressed for dinner that night, he reflected that 
 once more Mabel had disappointed him. He had 
 expected her to get into a fury of jealousy, and to sus- 
 pect him of the most criminal intentions with regard 
 to Dot. This would have been real suffering for him, 
 and he would have enjoyed it. But all she had said 
 to him was that she wished he would behave a little 
 more like a man and a little less like a baby, and an 
 imbecile baby at that. All she had said to Dot was that 
 she thought she could find her some other occupation. 
 It was difficult for him to keep his temper. But he 
 exercised self-control. In fact, he never spoke another 
 word for the rest of the evening. It was a pity. He 
 was such a pleasant man. Why could not Mabel see it? 
 
 Things were no better at breakfast next morning. 
 
 Mabel said, "J ust fancy, Mrs. Smith in a sable stole 
 at church last Sunday, and I know for a fact that he 
 only gets three-ten. If it was real sable it was wicked, 
 and if it was not she was acting a lie." 
 
 19 
 
20 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 Luke smote the table once with his clenched fist, 
 spilt his tea, and resumed his newspaper. 
 
 "Further from Mabel," he thought, as he mounted 
 his bike. "Every day, in every way, I'm getting further 
 and further." 
 
 About two miles from Dilborough he became sud- 
 denly aware that two motor-cars were approaching 
 him. They were being driven abreast at racing speed, 
 and occupied the whole of the road. For one moment 
 Luke thought of remaining where he was, and causing 
 Mabel to be a widow. Then, murmuring to himself, 
 "Safety first," he ran up the grassy slope at the side 
 of the road and fell off. Both the cars pulled up. A 
 man's voice sang out cheerily : "Hallo, Sharper. Hallo, 
 hallo. Who gave you leave to dismount?" 
 
 Luke recognized the voice. One of the cars was 
 driven by Lord Tyburn, and the other by his wife, 
 Jona. 
 
 Luke hurriedly drove in a peg to mark the spot, and 
 came down into the road again. 
 
 "How's yourself?" said Lord Tyburn. "We've been 
 away for two years. Timbuctoo, Margate. All over 
 the place. Only got back to Gallows last night." 
 
 Luke shook hands with him and with Jona. 
 
 "You've not changed much," said Jona. "Same 
 funny old face." 
 
 "It is the only one that I happen to have, Lady 
 Tyburn." 
 
 "Oh, drop it. Call me Jona. You always used to, 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 21 
 
 Lukie, you know. And Bill don't mind ; do you, Bill ?" 
 
 "That? Lord, no. But what you have been and 
 done, Sharper, is to spoil a very pretty and sporting 
 event. Jona and I were racing to Halfpenny Hole, 
 and I'd got her absolutely beaten." 
 
 "Liar," said Jona, "I was leading leading by 
 inches." 
 
 "Ah, but I'd lots in reserve." 
 
 "Strong, silent man, ain't you?" said Jona. 
 
 They both laughed. 
 
 "Yes," said Luke, "I'm afraid I was rather in the 
 way. I seem to be almost always in the way. It hap- 
 pens at home. It happens at the office. I say, I wonder 
 what you two would have done if you'd met a cart?" 
 
 "Jumped it," said Jona, and laughed again. 
 
 "Sorry," said Lord Tyburn, "but I must rush off. 
 I've just spotted my agent, five fields away. So long, 
 Sharper. Come up and inspect us soon." 
 
 He drove the car up the grassy slope, smashed a 
 way through the hedge after all, it was his own hedge 
 and vanished. 
 
 "He drives wonderfully," said Luke. 
 
 "He's that kind," said Jona. "He does everything 
 well. He does himself well. Are you glad to see me 
 again, Lukie?" 
 
 The tips of his ears crept slowly forward. "I shall 
 have to think for a long time to know that I really 
 am to see you again." 
 
22 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 " 'Fraid I can't wait a long time," said Jona. "See 
 you again soon." 
 
 She waved her hand to him and drove off. 
 
 Luke rode on as if in a dream. Suddenly he became 
 aware that he had passed the door of his office. He 
 thought of turning round in the street and riding back, 
 but he had turned round in the street once before, and 
 a great number of people haH been hurt. He dis- 
 mounted and walked back. 
 
 As his custom was, he knocked at the door of Mr. 
 Diggle's room and entered. Mr. Diggle, who still 
 retained much of his school-master manner, sat at his 
 desk with his back to Sharper. He did not look round. 
 
 "That you, Sharper?" he said. 
 
 "Yes, sir. Good morning," said Sharper. 
 
 Diggle went on writing for a minute in silence, and 
 then said drearily: "Well, what is it?" 
 
 "Please can I have that partnership now?" asked 
 Sharper. 
 
 "Not to-day. Don't fidget with your hands. Keep 
 your ears quiet, if possible. Close the door gently as 
 you go out." 
 
 Luke went gloomily back to his own room. He had 
 not done himself justice. He never did do himself 
 justice with Diggle. Diggle made him feel as if he 
 were fifteen. 
 
 But thoughts of Diggle did not long occupy his mind. 
 Once more he seemed to be standing in the road, with 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 23 
 
 the warm fragrance of petrol and lubricating oil play- 
 ing on his face. Once more he saw her. 
 
 Jona. 
 
 Some would have hesitated to call her beautiful. 
 To Luke she was all the beauty in the world. Concen- 
 trated. At one time Jona had had the chance of marry- 
 ing him, but apparently she did not know a good thing 
 when she saw it. Tyburn had the title and the property, 
 and was better-looking and more amusing, and had 
 stationary ears. But had he the character of a child 
 martyr ? He had not. Now Luke was great at martyr- 
 dom ; also at childishness. 
 
 For nearly an hour Luke sat with his manuscript 
 before him. He was writing another elegant little 
 brochure. This one dealt with the jam-pots of Ancient 
 Assyria. During that hour he did not write one single 
 word, but thought continuously of Jona. 
 
 He pulled himself up abruptly. Why, he was 
 married to Mabel. Of course, he was. It was just as 
 if he could not trust his memory for anything these 
 days. He had been rather rude to Mabel at break- 
 fast. Well, not rude exactly, but not friendly. Mrs. 
 Smith had a sable stole. He ought to have said some- 
 thing about it. He must try at once to think of 
 something that would be said about a sable stole. 
 
 He must make it up to Mabel in some way. What 
 could he give her? He could give her more of his 
 society. He would stop work, go back to her at once, 
 and be just as nice as nice could be. 
 
24 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 He put on his hat, and met Diggle in the passage. 
 
 "Where are you going?" said Diggle. 
 
 "I was going home, sir," said Luke, "I'm not very 
 well this morning." 
 
 (For a Christian martyr he certainly did lie like sin.) 
 
 "Don't let it occur again," said Diggle. 
 
 He encountered Mabel in the hall of his house. She 
 had a letter in her hand. She seemed surprised to see 
 him, and very far from pleased. 
 
 "What in goodness are you here for?" she said. 
 "Forgotten something?" 
 
 He set his teeth. In spite of discouragement, he was 
 going to be very nice indeed. 
 
 "I am afraid," he said, "I rather forgot my manners 
 at breakfast this morning. Sorry." 
 
 "I didn't notice they were any worse than usual. 
 You surely didn't come back to say that?" 
 
 "Oh, no. I thought we'd take a holiday together. 
 Like old times, what? We'll go for a nice long walk, 
 and take a packet of sandwiches and " 
 
 "Oh, don't be silly. I can't possibly go out. Prob- 
 ably Mr. Doom Dagshaw is coming to lunch." 
 
 "He's a damned sweep," said Luke impulsively, and 
 corrected himself. "I mean to say, he's not a man 
 whose society I'm particularly anxious to cultivate." 
 
 "How was I to know you would come barging in 
 like this? I never wanted you to meet him." 
 
 More self-control needed. 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 25 
 
 "I shall be perfectly pleasant and chatty to him/' 
 said Luke resolutely. 
 
 "This letter's just come for you," said Mabel. "The 
 address is in Lady Tyburn's handwriting." 
 
 He blushed profusely. His ears waved to and fro. 
 Why on earth had not Jona warned him that this was 
 going to happen?" 
 
 "Read it," said Mabel. 
 
 He glanced through it. It was very brief. 
 
 "Well?" asked Mabel. 
 
 "It's nothing. Nothing at all." 
 
 "I should like to see it, if you don't mind." 
 
 She took the letter and read aloud: "Lukie, dear. 
 Just back from two years' travel. You two might blow 
 in to lunch one day. Any old day. Chops and tomato 
 sauce. Yours, Jona." 
 
 "Most extraordinary," said Mabel. "Why does she 
 call you Lukie?" 
 
 "Well, damn it all," said Luke, "she couldn't call 
 me lucky. Oh, what does it matter? We were 
 boy and girl together. Innocent friends of long 
 standing." 
 
 "And what does this mean? Chops and tomato 
 sauce? Chops! Gracious Heavens! And tomato 
 
 sauce." 
 
 "It's just a joke. Silly, no doubt." 
 "It might be an allusion to your complexion at the 
 present moment. It might be a mere substitute for 
 
26 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 some endearing word or promise, agreeably to a pre- 
 concerted system of correspondence." 
 
 He had an uneasy feeling that he had heard or 
 read all this before somewhere. 
 
 "Merely a joke," he pleaded. "And what does it 
 matter?" 
 
 "She's a cat, anyhow. She'd better keep off the 
 grass, and I'll tell her so. What did she say when 
 she saw you this morning?" 
 
 "Hardly anything. Her husband was with her. I 
 say, how on earth did you know?" 
 
 "Her husband was not with her when I met her. 
 But do you know what this sudden return of yours 
 means? This unusual desire to apologize for your 
 manners, and to take me out for the day ? Guilty con- 
 science. I'm going into the garden to cut flowers for 
 the luncheon table." 
 
 "Let me come with you and hold the scissors?" 
 
 "If you hold the scissors, how the dickens am I going 
 to cut the flowers? You're really too trying." 
 
 No, it was not going well. More self-control would 
 be needed. A happy idea struck him. 
 
 "Didn't you say that Mrs. Smith had a stable sole 
 I mean, a sable stole, in church or somewhere?" 
 
 "And you don't try that on either." 
 
 "I don't suppose I should look well in it," he said 
 brightly. 
 
 He followed her into the garden. The flowers were 
 cut, and subsequently arranged, in complete silence. He 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 27 
 
 had the feeling that anything he said might not be taken 
 down, but would certainly be used in evidence against 
 him. 
 
 And then, in the hall, was heard the voice of Mr. 
 Doom Dagshaw, the proprietor of the Mammoth Circus 
 at the Garden Settlement. 
 
 "Lunch ready? So it ought to be. Don't announce 
 me. Waste of time. I know my way about in this 
 house." 
 
 He entered. He was a young man of sulky, some- 
 what dictatorial expression. His dress had something 
 of the clerical appearance, an effect at which he dis- 
 tinctly aimed. 
 
 "Hallo," he said, and sat down on the table and 
 yawned. Then he caught sight of Luke. 
 
 "You here?" he said. "What for?" 
 
 "Just a little holiday," said Luke nervously, "a little 
 treat for me. You don't mind?" 
 
 Doom Dagshaw did not answer him, but turned to 
 Mabel. 
 
 "Lunch is ready," he said, "let's get on to it." 
 
 They passed into the dining-room. Luke observing 
 salmon at one end of the table, and cutlets at the other, 
 asked, with a smile, if those two sentences generally ran 
 concurrently. 
 
 "Oh, hold your jaw," said Dagshaw. 
 
 "That's the way to talk to him," said Mabel approv- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Yours, too," Dagshaw added, turning to Mabel. 
 
28 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 "I'll do any talking that has to be done. I'm here to 
 talk about my circus. Yes, and to eat ham. Isn't any? 
 Ought to be. Give me three of those cutlets. You 
 don't realize what a circus is, you people. It's a church. 
 It's a cathedral. It's more." 
 
 "I hope," said Luke, "that it's getting on nicely, and 
 will be a great success." 
 
 "Bound to be. Can't help it. When I bought the 
 land from the Garden Settlement Syndicate I made it a 
 condition that there should be a clause in every lease 
 granted that a year's season ticket should be taken for 
 the Mammoth Circus." 
 
 "I don't quite see," said Mabel, "how it's like a 
 church." 
 
 "The circus has a ring. The ring is a circle. The 
 circle is the symbol of eternity. Will anybody be able 
 to see my highly-trained chimpanzee in the trapeze act 
 without realizing as he has never realized before, the 
 meaning of the word uplift? Think of the stars in their 
 program. And by what strenuous discipline and self- 
 denial they have reached their high position." 
 
 " Ter ardua ad astra/ " quoted Luke. 
 
 "Hold your jaw. Three more cutlets. Think of the 
 clowns. They tumble over, they fall from horses, they 
 fail to jump through the rings. They are lashed by 
 the whip of the ring-master. What a lesson in rever- 
 ence is here. People who jeer, people who make fun, 
 people who parody great works of fiction always and 
 invariably come to a bad end. It will be not only a 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 29 
 
 mammoth circus but a moral circus. It will be the 
 greatest ethical institution in this part of the world. Its 
 work will be more subtle than that of any other. Its 
 appeal will be to the unconscious rather than to the 
 conscious mind. Freud never thought of that. I did 
 it myself. I am a genius. Potatoes." 
 
 After lunch it was suggested that Mr. Doom Dag- 
 shaw should take Mabel up to the Garden Settlement 
 to set the progress that was being made in the building 
 of the Mammoth Circus. 
 
 "You won't care to come?" said Mabel to her hus- 
 band. And it seemed less like a question than a com- 
 mand. 
 
 "No, not in my line," said Luke, still doing his best. 
 "Hope you'll enjoy yourselves." 
 
 When they had gone, Luke retired to his study- 
 bedroom. There was a tap at the door. It was Dot 
 who entered. 
 
 "She's out," said Dot. "Boats?" 
 
 "Right-o. Gorgeous," said Luke. 
 
 ******* 
 
 Normally dinner was at half -past seven. But Mabel 
 did not get back till a quarter to eight. It was eight 
 o'clock before they began. Mabel offered no explana- 
 tion beyond saying that there really had been a great 
 deal of architectural detail to examine. Luke had pre- 
 pared a series of six pleasant and gratifying things to 
 say about Mr. Doom Dagshaw and the Mammoth 
 Circus. He found himself absolutely unable to say any 
 
30 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 of them. He could say other things. He could say 
 "Windmill, watermill" ten times over, very quickly, 
 without a mistake. But somehow he could not say 
 Mammoth Circus. 
 
 Well, at any rate, he might be bright and amusing. 
 At this time it was customary perhaps too customary 
 to ask if you had read a certain book by a certain 
 author, the name of the author being artfully arranged 
 so as to throw some light on the title of the book. 
 Luke remembered three of these which had been told 
 him at the office. Unfortunately they were all of them 
 far too improper for general use. 
 
 So he just said any bright thing that came into his 
 mind. Mabel looked very tired. She admitted she 
 was tired. She said she had walked about a thousand 
 miles. 
 
 "And then I come back to this kind of thing/' she 
 said. 
 
 The rest of the dinner, which was brief, passed in 
 complete silence. Then Mabel went into the drawing- 
 room, and Luke remained behind and lit a cigarette. 
 
 "This will never do," he said to himself. "I must 
 keep it up. I must be pleasant. I must say number one 
 of those six sentences about Doom Dagshaw and the 
 Mammoth Circus, even it if splits my palate and my 
 tongue drops out." 
 
 He threw down his cigarette, walked firmly into the 
 drawing-room, and closed the door. "Mabel," he said, 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 31 
 
 "I hope you enjoyed your visit to the Doom Circus with 
 Mr. Mammoth Dagshaw." 
 
 Mabel looked up coldly from the book she was 
 reading. 
 
 "Back again already?" she said. "Well, what was it 
 you were saying?" 
 
 "I was saying," said Luke gaily, "that I hoped you 
 enjoyed your visit to the Dammoth Circus with Mr. 
 Dag Moomshaw." 
 
 "Port never did agree with you," said Mabel. "You 
 shouldn't take it." She resumed her book. 
 
 Luke tried the second of the pleasant sentences. 
 
 "Dagshaw always seems to me to be one of those 
 masterful men who sooner or later " 
 
 He ducked his head just in time, and the book which 
 Mabel had thrown knocked over the vase of flowers 
 behind him. 
 
 "If you can't let me read in peace," she said, "at any 
 rate, you shan't sneer at my friends. You're always 
 doing it, and everybody notices it. I simply can't under- 
 stand you. You're like nothing on earth. What have 
 you done with that love-letter of yours?" 
 
 "Oh, come," he said, "I've had no love letter." 
 
 "You silly liar; I mean the letter from your Lady 
 Tyburn. Have you been kissing it?" 
 
 "Really, Mabel, this is absurd. I might as well ask 
 you if you have been kissing the Mammoth Circus." 
 
 "I'm going to bed," said Mabel abruptly. "I'm 
 
32 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 absolutely fed up with you. I'm sick to death of you. 
 I hate you. And I despise you." 
 
 She went out and slammed the door violently. Four 
 more vases went over, and three pictures fell. 
 
 Luke went over to the open window and looked 
 out into the cool night. At the house opposite a girl 
 was singing very beautifully "The End of a Perfect 
 Day," 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 As he sat in his office on the following Thursday 
 morning, the whistle of the speaking-tube sounded 
 shrilly and interrupted him in the act of composition. 
 He went angrily to the tube. 
 
 "What do you want to interrupt me for/' he called, 
 "when you know I'm busy? What the devil do you 
 want, anyway?" 
 
 "I want you, Lukie," said a gentle voice in reply. 
 
 "Come up at once," he said. "Awfully sorry. 
 Frightfully glad you've come. If there's a chance of 
 making a mistake within a hundred miles of me, I 
 seldom miss it." 
 
 Lady Tyburn came radiantly into the room, drawing 
 off her gloves. 
 
 "Nasty shock for you, isn't it?" she said. She held 
 out both hands to him. "Will you . . . will you 
 help yourself?" 
 
 "Thanks," he said, as he clasped them warmly. "I 
 will have some of each." 
 
 After a minute or two she withdrew her hands and 
 sat down. 
 
 "Has that dirty dog given you a partnership yet?" 
 she asked. 
 
 33 
 
34 IF WINTER DONT 
 
 "Diggle? Not yet. I ask him from time to time. 
 He always seems too busy to talk about it at any length. 
 It's wonderful to see you here, Jona." 
 
 "You got my letter?" 
 
 "I did. In fact, there was some considerable beano 
 about it at home. But never mind about that." 
 
 "You didn't come to see me, so I was drawn here. 
 Magnet and tin-tack." 
 
 He looked at her little white nose. "I see the point," 
 he said. 
 
 "Say some more," she said, "I like to hear you talk, 
 Funny face. Funny old ears. Funny old cocoanut 
 with, oh, such a lot of milk in it. You do think 
 a lot of thinky thoughts, don't you. And you put them 
 all down in those dear little books of yours." 
 
 "Not all," said Luke, "I'm limited in my subjects. 
 Jam, you know. Pickles. Sardines. That hurts to 
 be limited. I want to be free. Here, I am imprisoned. 
 I am buried alive. Plunged, still teething, in the 
 brougham." 
 
 "Still teething? I knew you were young at heart. 
 Still, at the age of thirty-two " 
 
 "I had intended to say that I was plunged, still 
 breathing, in the tomb. I do get carried away so. 
 Sometimes I form plans. I think I will leave this busi- 
 ness and write my biography. It would be a record, 
 not of the facts that are, but of the facts as I should 
 like them to be." 
 
 "Brilliant," said Jona. 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 35 
 
 "I don't know/* said Luke, wagging his ears, "I 
 sometimes doubt whether I am sufficiently in touch with 
 real life. I must consult somebody about it." 
 
 "Consult me. No, not now. Show me the first of 
 the little books that you ever wrote." 
 
 He handed her the little lilac-bound copy of "The 
 Romance of a Raspberry." She put it reverently to her 
 lips, patted it gently, and laid it down again. 
 
 "Do you talk it over with Mabel? Isn't Mabel tre- 
 mendously proud of it?" 
 
 "She is tremendously proud, but she has great self- 
 restraint." He recalled the end of the perfect day. 
 "As a general rule," he added, "when nothing hap- 
 pens to irritate her." 
 
 "Does she love you very much?" 
 
 "I don't remember her mentioning anything of the 
 kind recently. But it's you I want to talk about, Jona. 
 Tell me about your life." 
 
 "I don't live. I'm marking time. You throw a brick 
 into the stream " 
 
 "No," said Luke, "not a brick. I sometimes play 
 boats." 
 
 "I was going to say," Jona continued, "that the brick 
 remains motionless while the stream goes past it." 
 
 "But cannot we apply the principle of relativity 
 here?" he asked. "May it not be that the stream stands 
 still while the brick goes past it? It would appear so 
 to the brick." 
 
 "That's one of your dinky, thinky thoughts, isn't it?" 
 
36 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 A sound of uproar, of crashes and loud voices, came 
 up from the street below. 
 
 "I wonder what that is?" said Luke. 
 
 "It's Bill, probably. He said he'd call for me." She 
 crossed over to the window and looked out. "Yes, 
 that's Bill. Driving the team of zebras he got from 
 Doom Dagshaw. The horses don't seem to like it. 
 There's a cart and horse just gone in at that draper's 
 window. Quite a number of horses seem to have fallen 
 down on the pavement. There's a policeman with a 
 note-book. He seems to be asking Bill questions. And 
 Bill's making him laugh. He manages those zebras 
 perfectly. He does everything well." 
 
 Luke had joined her at the window. "Who's the 
 lady sitting beside him ?" he asked. 
 
 "One of his harem. Staying with us. Don't pity 
 me. I deserve nothing. I made a mistake once. Don't 
 ask me what. Don't come down with me. Good-bye, 
 Lukie, dear." 
 
 Luke watched her as she drove off. And then Mr. 
 Diggle entered without knocking. 
 
 "Who's your lady friend?" said Diggle, snappishly. 
 "I mean the one that's just gone off in the circus. 
 Simply unendurable. The whole street outside my 
 business premises in confusion. I opened my window 
 to look out, and that man pointed me out with his 
 whip and said to the girl beside him : That's our Mr. 
 Diggle. If you like our chutney, try our cheddar.' I 
 shall go down and speak to the policeman at once. This 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 37 
 
 sort of thing must be stopped. Come, come, Sharper, 
 give me the name, please." 
 
 "The lady who called to see me/* said Luke, "was 
 Lady Tyburn. It was her husband who was driving 
 the zebras." 
 
 "That makes a difference. Our spirited young aris- 
 tocracy! I understand that the firm's productions are 
 used exclusively up at Gallows. Glad you mentioned 
 the name, Sharper." 
 
 "And can I have that partnership now?" asked Luke. 
 
 "Not immediately. Get on with your work." 
 ******* 
 
 But it was impossible to work with the image of Jona 
 still in his mind. He was puzzled. Grasping one ear 
 in each hand he tried to think it out. What had she 
 meant by "help yourself," and "the magnet and the tin- 
 tack?" Why had she kissed "The Romance of the 
 Raspberry?" What did she mean by "I made a mis- 
 take?" It almost looked as if . . . 
 
 No, it could not be that. 
 
 Still, really you know, when you came to think 
 about it ... 
 
 He walked over to the window once more. In the 
 street below the policeman was instructing a group of 
 drivers, the draper, and other persons concerned, that 
 all applications for compensation should be sent in to 
 Lord Tyburn, and that they would be dealt with strictly 
 in rotation. 
 
CTTAPTKR VI 
 
 ON his arrival at the office next morning Luke was 
 somewhat surprised to receive a visit in his office from 
 Mr. Arthur Dobson. Apparently Mr. Dobson had 
 something on his mind. He wandered about nervously 
 saying incoherent things about the weather. 
 
 "Anything doing?" asked Luke. 
 
 "Nothing much. I say, I've found a new place to 
 lunch at. It's run by an Italian, Malodorato. Quite 
 a little place, in Mud Lane. Still there it is, you know. 
 Five courses for one and threepence. That takes some 
 beating." 
 
 "Stuff must be pretty bad." 
 
 "Well, possibly yes. Hut think what a lot of it you 
 get for your money. Come and lunch there to-day." 
 
 "Thanks. I have promised to go up to Gallows 
 to-day to lunch with the Tyburns." 
 
 "You and your ari ,I<K ratic friends. Well, I could 
 tell you something, Mr. Sharper. I ought not to. It 
 would have to be distinctly understood that you don't 
 breathe a word about it to a soul." 
 
 "Of course, of course." 
 
 39 
 
4 o IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 "Very well, then. You look at that sheet of office 
 paper. Old Cain has got his name above the line, and 
 yours and mine beneath it. Well, I may tell you that 
 in a few days' time the only name below the line will 
 be your own. I'm being taken into partnership." 
 
 "What a damned shame! I mean to say, I con- 
 gratulate you. That old blighter has been talking about 
 taking me into partnership for the last two years. At 
 any rate, I have." 
 
 "I only talked to him about it once. You see, I 
 happen to be the only one of us three that understands 
 the manufacturing side. You've never been inside the 
 factory in your life. Diggle hardly ever goes, except 
 to make a fool of himself by some damn silly sugges- 
 tion. No, he keeps to the financial side. He's got a 
 whole pack of doubtful financial dodges, and he'll get 
 seven years for one of them some day. All I did was 
 to tell Diggle that I was applying for the post of man- 
 ager in a certain rival firm, having had twenty years' 
 experience here. And I asked him if he would give 
 me a testimonial. He said : 'No, but I will give you 
 a partnership.' You don't seem to get hold of the right 
 way of doing things, Sharper." 
 
 "All the same," said Sharper, "I'm going straight 
 off to Diggle's room now, and I'm going to give him 
 hell." 
 
 "Oh, I say, you can't do that. If he knew I'd told 
 you, there'd be the very devil of a row." 
 
 "Oh, he won't know. I may be a high-minded suf- 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 41 
 
 ferer, but I'm a very fair liar as well. I'll put it right 
 for you." 
 
 He entered Mr. Diggle's room. Mr. Diggle, seated, 
 with his back to him, continued the letter he was' 
 writing. 
 
 "Look here," said Sharper impulsively, "what have 
 you been and done with that partnership of mine?" 
 
 "That you, Sharper ? Sit down. I shall be a minute 
 or two. I said, sit down. I did not ask you to twist 
 your feet round the legs of the chair. Refrain also 
 from waggling your toes violently. It interrupts my 
 train of thought. Keep the hand still, if you please. 
 Thank you." 
 
 There were three minutes of absolute silence during 
 which Diggle, in the most leisurely way possible, fin- 
 ished and blotted his letter. 
 
 "And now, Sharper," said Diggle, "I think you 
 wished to say something." 
 
 "Well, I mean to say, what have you been and done 
 with my partnership?" 
 
 "I was not aware that you had one." 
 
 "No, but you promised me. And now you've gone 
 and given it to Dobson." 
 
 "I promised you nothing. And that, I think, is 
 what you have got. Dobson is very gravely in error 
 in telling you anything at all about it. If you will 
 kindly send him here, I will speak to him on the sub- 
 ject." 
 
 "Dobson never said a single word about it. I'll 
 
42 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 take my Bible oath he never did. He came into my 
 room and began to speak in rather a dictatorial way, 
 and I said, 'You might be a partner/ and he blushed." 
 
 "I do not think so," said Diggle. "Dobson does not 
 blush. If he did blush it could not show on that 
 complexion." 
 
 "But on my word of honor he did. White- faced 
 men blush red. Red- faced men blush purple. Any 
 man of science will tell you that." 
 
 "The appointment of a partnership is entirely within 
 my discretion. It has nothing to do with you. If you 
 have nothing further to say, I need not detain you." 
 
 "I've a lot more to say, only I can't think of it. I 
 never can. But it's there. Inside my head. On the 
 letter paper you and he will have your names above the 
 line, and mine will be below it." 
 
 "That merely shows that I know where to draw the 
 line. I wish you did." 
 
 "It's not for myself I mind so much. It's those dear 
 little books of mine. All bound in lilac morocco. Sit- 
 ting down. It's just as if they were slighted. If this 
 kind of thing goes on, I shan't play any more." 
 
 "I'm not asking you to. But you can return to your 
 work. And you remind me. I have had a bill from 
 the binders of those books sent in to the firm's account. 
 I have explained that this should be charged to your 
 private account. You will get it in due course. Close 
 the door quietly, please, as you go out." 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 43 
 
 On his way back to his own room Luke again en- 
 countered Arthur Dobson. 
 
 "It's all right," said Luke, "I said you didn't tell me, 
 but had given it away by blushing when I chanced to 
 speak of it." 
 
 "Couldn't you have thought of a better one than 
 that?" 
 
 "Oh, it's all right. And I don't mind telling you I've 
 given him a pretty good dressing-down. I let him 
 have the rough side of my tongue." 
 
 "Ah," said Dobson, "now that really is something 
 like a lie." 
 
 Luke went back to his own room and sat there deep 
 in thought. Why was everybody so hard and cold? 
 Diggle, Dobson, Mabel they were all so cruel and rude 
 to him. Nobody loved him. Except Dot and Dash, 
 and possibly . . . 
 
 No, that was not to be thought of. 
 
 All the same it reminded him that it was time for 
 him to brush his hair and wash his little hands, and 
 go up to lunch at Gallows. 
 
 2 
 
 It was a large luncheon party, for Gallows was full of 
 guests. Everybody was very merry and bright, except 
 Luke. Tyburn was specially elated, for his little drive 
 with the zebras had only cost thirteen hundred alto- 
 gether. There had apparently been a terrific rag the 
 night before. While the guests were at dinner, Tyburn 
 
44 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 arranged for a number of wild beasts to be brought up 
 from the Mammoth Circus. One was put into the bed- 
 room of each guest to greet him or her on going to 
 bed. No, there had been no real damage done. One 
 of the lions had fainted. It had been given sal volatile, 
 and had recovered. Only three of the animals and two 
 of the guests were missing. And one of the guests 
 was a Bishop who had never been really wanted. Jona 
 told the whole story hilariously. 
 
 Why was it, Luke asked himself, that she was al- 
 ways so merry and bright with others, and so very dif- 
 ferent when she was with him? Could it be that she 
 wore a mask to the rest of the world, and disclosed 
 her real self only to him? It could. It could also be 
 just the other way round. That was the annoying part 
 of it. 
 
 He was depressed during lunch. The story of Ty- 
 burn's practical joke of the previous evening had upset 
 him. He did not like these practical jokes. He was 
 nervous. He felt that at any moment, at a precon- 
 certed signal, the table might blow up, or the ceiling 
 fall down. Everybody else would laugh, and he would 
 hate it. He seldom laughed at anything anybody else 
 laughed at, though he enjoyed some little jokes of his 
 own that nobody else seemed to appreciate. Especially 
 Mabel. She seemed to be enjoying herself at the other 
 side of the table, laughing at the stories that Major 
 Capstan was telling her. From the Major's expression, 
 Luke diagnosed that the stories were not quite well, 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 45 
 
 not exactly oh, you know. Would it be Doom Dag- 
 shaw or Major Capstan? Oh, what was he thinking 
 of? 
 
 Why had he not been put next to Jona? Why did 
 the girl on his right, whom he had never met before, 
 persist in addressing him as Funny face? Why is a 
 mouse when it spins? The world was full of conun- 
 drums. 
 
 In the garden after lunch, Jona came straight up to 
 him. 
 
 "We are going to play games," she said. 
 
 "What games?" 
 
 "Well, this morning we played leap-frog down the 
 stairs. That was a little idea of Bill's." 
 
 Luke had noticed at lunch that two of the guests 
 wore sticking-plaster on their noses. This explained 
 it. 
 
 "I don't think I should like playing leap-frog," he 
 said. "I sometimes play at boats with Dot." 
 
 "We'll play at hide-and-seek," said Jona. "You and 
 I will hide together. Come along." 
 
 They hid in the cool dusk of the tool-shed. Jona 
 sat on the wheelbarrow and talked, and talked, and 
 talked. 
 
 At the end of half-an-hour, Luke had failed to ask 
 her what she had meant by certain things on the day 
 that she had called at his office. He made rather a 
 specialty of not being able to say anything that he 
 particularly wanted to say. 
 
46 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 He said : "It's funny they've not found us yet." 
 
 "Not so very funny," said Jona. "You see, I for- 
 got to tell any of them that we were going to play 
 this game. Here's one of the gardeners coming. 
 Damn. I suppose we'd better join the rest of the 
 crowd." 
 
 It was not until Mabel and Luke were leaving that 
 Luke got a chance of another word with Jona. 
 
 "We're leaving for town to-morrow," said Jona. 
 "You'll write and tell me everything that's in your 
 old head, won't you?" 
 
 Luke felt that he ought not to write. Mabel would 
 not like it. It would be wrong. 
 
 "Thanks," he said, "we so seldom have any postage 
 stamps in the house. And I've lost my Onoto pen, 
 and I sprained my wrist falling off my bicycle." 
 
 "Oh, do write, Lukie dear." She held out her hand 
 to him. 
 
 "Good-by," he said, and ran down the steps. At 
 the bottom of the steps stood the cab, an interesting 
 antique, which was to convey Mabel home. Mabel 
 and Major Capstan were waiting near the door. 
 
 "You only took about twenty minutes saying good-by 
 to Lady Tyburn," said Mabel. "I'm giving Major 
 Capstan a lift. If you think it's fair on the horse to 
 ask it to draw the three of us, get in, of course. Other- 
 wise, it's beautiful weather for a nice walk." 
 
 "I will walk/' said Luke. "I prefer it." He wished 
 to be alone. 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 47 
 
 He sat down on the first milestone in the road, and 
 meditated with his head in his hands. 
 
 Mabel. His wife. He was very good to her. He 
 had been perfectly faithful to her. And was it worth 
 while? What did she think about him? How much 
 did she care for him? There were two men after 
 her. He seemed to visualize the situation as a scrap 
 from the stop-press of a newspaper. 
 
 1. MABEL. 
 
 2. DOOM. 
 
 3. CAPSTAN. 
 
 Also ran. Luke Sharper, Esq. 
 
 He recalled some of the things Jona had said to him 
 in the tool-shed. She had been rather frank in speak- 
 ing of her husband. 
 
 "Bill's wonderful," she said. "He caught the tiger 
 last night. When the keeper couldn't get it. He does 
 everything well. He is the most fascinating man in 
 the world until you get used to him. I've got used 
 to him. He fascinates all women. That would not 
 matter so much, but nearly all women fascinate him. 
 I pretend not to notice it. I think he does it partly 
 to see how I will take it. I remain merry and bright. 
 With a breaking heart, you understand. How much 
 longer I shall be able to stand it, I do not know. Oh, 
 my hands are so cold." 
 
 He had noticed a pair of the gardener's gloves lying 
 
48 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 on the lawn-mower. He handed them to her. She 
 flung them away, a little petulantly it seemed to him. 
 
 He rose from the milestone and walked on. Certain 
 words seemed to keep time with his footsteps. "She 
 wants me to write to her. And I ought not. She 
 wants me to write to her. And I ought not." 
 
 He passed the post-office, and turned back to it 
 again. Went on, and again turned back. This time 
 he entered with his mind all bemused. 
 
 "Have you any nice stamps?" he asked. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 MABEL looked very enraged as she entered the house. 
 "Anything the matter?" he enquired. 
 
 "Yes. You might not think so. As I do, probably 
 you wouldn't. But Ellen's got a new parasol, and 
 Kate's got a swollen knee, and has got to have it up." 
 
 "And I suppose it will be just the same with Ellen's 
 parasol. I suppose you wanted it the other way round 
 Dot to have the parasol and Ellen to have the " 
 
 "I wanted nothing of the kind. Why should I 
 want my cook to go peacocking about with a pink 
 parasol, making a fool of herself, and bringing dis- 
 grace on the house? Why should I want Kate to be 
 incapacitated from doing her proper work?" 
 
 "I think," said Luke, "I must go and see it." 
 
 "Go and see Kate's knee? Don't be indelicate." 
 
 "No, I meant the parasol. I should imagine that 
 Dot's knee has solely a pathological interest at present. 
 But I did mean the parasol I swear it. How did it 
 come about?" 
 
 "Love of finery. Vanity. Passion for wasting her 
 money." 
 
 "Oh, this time I meant the knee not the parasol." 
 
 49 
 
50 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 "Well, that was just absolute selfishness. All serv- 
 ants love to get swollen knees, and chilblains and 
 chapped hands. They like to make a fuss about them- 
 selves. And to make their employer pay a substitute 
 to do their work. They're all like that. It was just 
 the same before I married. Yes, every housemaid I 
 employ. Contracts these swollen kneeses. They only 
 do it to annoy. Because they know it teases." 
 
 "But what are you going to do about it? Have 
 you got medical advice? Do you think a nurse will 
 be needed? When I had the measles the only things 
 I fancied were- " 
 
 "Kate has not got measles. She's got a cold com- 
 press, and she's got the entire contents of the plate- 
 chest to clean. And when she's finished that, I'll find 
 her something else. If she thinks she can't work sit- 
 ting down, she will discover that she is mistaken." 
 
 "Wait a minute. I've got a joke. A real one this 
 time. Dot with a swollen knee. We shall have to call 
 her Dot-and-go-one. See? Well, why don't you 
 laugh? I must go into the kitchen and tell them at 
 
 once." 
 
 Mabel sighed deeply. There were simply no words 
 for him. He was right away outside, beyond the 
 limit. In a few minutes he came back again. 
 
 "It certainly does look very pink," he said. 
 
 "That's the effect of the cold compress. Though why 
 on earth you should " 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 51 
 
 "I didn't mean the knee, I meant the parasol. I'll 
 swear I did." 
 
 "Well, whatever you meant, I wish you would keep 
 out of the kitchen. I wish you wouldn't address the 
 servants by nicknames. I wish you wouldn't be so 
 abominably familiar with them." 
 
 "Familiar? Well, hang it all, when a poor girl's 
 got a swollen knee it's unfriendly not to show a little 
 sympathy. It does no harm. I just chatted her on 
 the peak " 
 
 "You ?" 
 
 "As I said, I just patted her on the cheek, and asked 
 her how she was getting on. No harm in that." 
 
 "And now perhaps you'll tell me what on earth I'm 
 to do for a substitute. I don't know of a single girl 
 in this neighborhood who could come in and help." 
 
 "I have it. I can save the situation. I have an 
 idea. On the i6th inst, at Jawbones, Halfpenny Hole, 
 Surrey, Mr. Luke Sharper, of an idea. Both doing 
 well." 
 
 "Would you mind telling me what you are talking 
 about?" 
 
 "I'm talking about old Vessunt. He's a foreman. 
 Up at the factory. Fine old chap. Religious but quite 
 honest. He's got a daughter, Effie. Very superior 
 girl. And she's looking for a job. I can get her for 
 you to-morrow morning. Effie Vessunt. Rather bright 
 and sparkling, what?" 
 
 "At any rate, I can see her." 
 
52 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 "You can, even with the naked eye. But I say, yon 
 know, she really is rather superior. She'll have to 
 have her meals with us." 
 
 "If I engage her, she will feed in the kitchen.*' 
 
 "Mabel, must you always disagree with me? Have 
 you no spirit of compromise? Can't you meet me 
 half way in a little thing like this?" 
 
 "If I met you half way the girl would have her 
 meals in the passage. And I don't suppose she'd like 
 it, and anyhow she'd be in everybody's way." 
 
 "And this when I've just been of real use to you." 
 
 "So you ought to be. You were indirectly respon- 
 sible for the accident that gave Kate the swollen knee. 
 It was your wretched old push-bike that she fell over." 
 
 Luke wagged his ears. "Indirectly," he said. 
 "There are many of us in it indirectly. Dunlop, for 
 instance. Niggers in a rubber plantation. Factories 
 in Coventry. A retail shop in High Holborn. And 
 me. All working together. Combining and elaborat- 
 ing in order to give Dot a nasty one on the knee-cap. 
 It's rather a great thought when you come to think it 
 out that way." 
 
 "I can't see why you want to ride that old job-lot 
 of scrap-iron at all. You might just as well go by 
 train, now that the new line is opened. All my friends 
 do it. Why can't you go by train?" 
 
 "I believe I know the answer to that one. Don't 
 tell me. I'll go upstairs and think it out." 
 
 He went up to the frowsty study-bedroom, and sat 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 53 
 
 down at his table. Mechanically he drew from his 
 pocket the sheet of thirty stamps with which, after a 
 few disparaging remarks, the lady at the post-office had 
 supplied him. He spread them out before him. Thirty 
 stamps. Thirty letters to Jona. He felt inclined to 
 kiss every one of them. 
 
 He did not do so. He reflected that in the ordinary 
 course of affixing them to the envelope he would put 
 them to his lips in any case. It was not sense to do 
 the same piece of work twice over. 
 
 Jona. 
 
 Should he, or shouldn't he? He knew that he 
 shouldn't. Mabel would not like it. He ought to put 
 Jona out of his mind, and to burn those stamps. But 
 that was not economical. It was possible to have 
 thirty stamps, and yet to avoid writing thirty love- 
 letters to Jona, He folded them up and put them back 
 in his pocket. 
 
 What was it he had come up to do? He remem- 
 bered. Mabel had asked him a question. He ran 
 downstairs and rejoined her. 
 
 "Because of the season ticket," he said. 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 "Well, you asked me why I couldn't go by train. I 
 could get a season ticket, but I should lose it the first 
 day. Then they fine you forty shillings, and make you 
 buy another. And that would go on, and on, and on 
 until I was bankrupt and a beggar. And we should 
 haye to go down the High Street together, singing 
 
54 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 hymns. And you never did have any voice, and " 
 
 "Oh, that'll do," said Mabel, wearily. 
 
 "Look here," he said, brightly, "I've brought you a 
 present, Mabel. I think you will find these useful." 
 
 He produced the postage stamps from his pocket. 
 
 "Just a few stamps," he said. 
 
 "All right," said Mabel, not taking them. "Stick 
 them down anywhere." 
 
 "They should be stuck down in the top right-hand 
 corner," he said; "but I leave it all entirely to you." 
 
 He went out. She had not even thanked him. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 EFFIE VESSUNT remained at Jawbones for a fortnight. 
 At the end of that time Dot's knee had, so to speak, 
 submitted and returned to barracks, and she could re- 
 sume her ordinary work. Effie went to Bournemouth, 
 where she took a position as kennel maid. 
 
 Luke heard nothing from Jona. Occasionally he saw 
 her name in the newspaper as one of those present at 
 some social function. Twice he read that her husband 
 had been fined for being drunk while driving a motor- 
 car. Beyond this, nothing. Luke adhered to his reso- 
 lution. He never sent her a letter. He wrote one. It 
 was a long and passionate letter, full of poetry and 
 beauty. But he never posted it. 
 
 He made a paper boat of it. And launched it on that 
 old-world stream. It floated away under the bridge, 
 and on and on for nearly twenty yards. Then an old- 
 world cow came down to the edge of the stream and 
 ate it. The cow died. 
 
 And so the months passed away. He completed an- 
 other little monograph for the firm entitled "Pulp," of 
 which he said beautifully that it was the beginning of 
 all jam and the end of all books. Then he remembered 
 
 55 
 
56 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 that Jona had rather seemed to encourage him in his 
 idea of writing his biography. He planned it all out 
 in his mind. He pictured himself wrongly suspected, 
 loathed by everybody (except Jona), suffering horribly, 
 terribly ill. He thoroughly enjoyed it. 
 
 He enjoyed it so much that he felt he had to tell 
 Mabel about it. He did. 
 
 "Mabel," he said, "have you ever realized that under 
 certain circumstances the most awful things would hap- 
 pen to me that ever befell the hero of a melodrama? 
 Just take the train of events. Effie has an illegitimate 
 child. She writes and tells you about it." 
 
 "But she wouldn't," said Mabel. "She was with me 
 for a fortnight, and I always kept her in her place." 
 
 "Well, she refuses to say who the father is." 
 
 "Why?" asked Mabel. ' 
 
 "Because the story can't possibly go on if she doesn't. 
 Please don't interrupt me again until I've finished. 
 EfEe has no money. She goes to see her father, who 
 will take her in, but not the child. It's an accepted 
 convention that the unmarried mother must be parted 
 from her child. So EfEe and the baby turn up here. 
 I say that they shall stay. You say that in that case 
 you'll go, which you do, having previously dismissed 
 Dot and Dash. In consequence, everybody in this 
 neighborhood cuts me, I am turned out of my busi- 
 ness, and as the dates agree, I am believed to be the 
 father of the child. Effie has the housework to do as 
 well as the baby to look after, and in consequence, I 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 57 
 
 am horribly neglected. The handle of the front door 
 is not polished, and when an old friend comes down 
 from London to see me, I have nothing to give him for 
 lunch except cold meat and a fruit tart that is no 
 longer in its first youth. So I take a week-end at 
 Brighton without Effie. She cleans my straw hat with 
 oxalic acid, which I have bought for her. I throw 
 away the hat and buy another. While I am at Brighton 
 she kills herself and the baby with what is left of the 
 oxalic acid. At the inquest I am unable to say any- 
 thing except Took here/ am severely censured by 
 the coroner's jury, and nearly lynched by the crowd 
 outside. I go back to the house and find a letter on 
 the clock, which entirely clears me and tells me that 
 the father of the child is the son of Dobson, the dirty 
 dog who sneaked my partnership. So I go to see 
 Dobson and find that he has just got the news that 
 his son is dead. I therefore burn Effie's letter so as 
 to get the sole evidence of my innocence out of the 
 way, and then have a haemorrhage of the brain. And 
 you divorce me, and then " 
 
 "Look here, Luke, you'd better go and lie down for 
 a little. You've been bicycling in the sun, you know." 
 , "What do you mean? Wouldn't it happen so? 
 Isn't it all absolutely inevitable?" 
 
 "Not absolutely," said Mabel. "The previous 
 knowledge that one has of you would go for some- 
 thing. There was never any sign of an attachment of 
 that kind between you and Effie. If you had been the 
 
58 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 father of the child you would most certainly not have 
 left her alone, without any provision, at the time the 
 child was born. I should be quite certain of that. 
 So would the two maids here. Effie would apply to 
 young Dobson, and failing him, to old Dobson. This 
 is about the last house to which she would come. Her 
 instinct would be to keep away from the neighbor- 
 hood where she was known. If her own father agreed 
 to take her in, it's almost certain that he would take 
 the baby as well. Your ideas about that convention 
 are exaggerated, and old-fashioned. If she did come 
 here, and you insisted on her staying, I should put 
 up with it, though I should not like it, until some 
 arrangement could be made for her to go elsewhere 
 with her child. And that arrangement could be made 
 easily and quickly. I do not see why I should dis- 
 miss the maids, and if I did they are paid with your 
 money, and are much more devoted to you than they 
 are to me. You would only have to speak and they 
 would remain. No seducer would bring his victim 
 and her child to the house where his wife was living. 
 You would be thought quixotic but not guilty. If 
 Effie saw that you were cut by everybody and that she 
 had brought trouble on you, she would be particularly 
 careful not to cause more serious trouble for you by 
 committing suicide. And if she committed suicide, 
 she would not implicate you in it by making you buy 
 the poison. She would neither make fruit tart, nor 
 clean a straw hat, because she simply would not have 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 59 
 
 the time. You don't know much about young babies, 
 do you? I should not divorce you, and should have 
 no evidence on which I could get a divorce. In fact, 
 the whole thing's skittles. By the way, when did Effie 
 have her baby?" 
 
 "She never did," said Luke despondently. "That's 
 always the way. Whenever I make a beautiful thing, 
 some cow always gets it. It's happened before. If I 
 wrote my beautiful biography, some cow would parody 
 it. The world's full of cows." 
 
 "Well, I'm sorry, of course," said Mabel. "You 
 can do most incredibly foolish things. You do fre- 
 quently fail to say what you should say. But even 
 with those advantages, I doubt if it would be possible 
 for you to incur so much suffering and suspicion as 
 you describe. I shall have to think out some other 
 little martyrdom for you." 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 LOOKING out of his window at the office in the after- 
 noon, Luke Sharper saw a motor-car stop in front of 
 the draper's opposite. Lady Tyburn got out and en- 
 tered the shop. So she was back. 
 
 Putting on his hat, so far as his agitated ears would 
 permit, Luke rushed out into the street, crossed the 
 road, and met her as she came out. 
 
 "Jona," he panted. 
 
 "Lukie, at last," she gasped. 
 
 "You were not long in the shop !" 
 
 "Just the same length that I am outside. I have 
 been there three times to-day. Standing there, look- 
 ing up at your window. Every time I bought a yard 
 of elastic. Do you want any elastic?" 
 
 "No, thank you. Will you have a cup of tea?" 
 
 Emotion would not permit her to speak. But she 
 nodded and got into the car. He followed her. On 
 the way to the confectioner's neither of them spoke a 
 word. 
 
 At the tea-room the following conversation took 
 place: "Tea?" 
 
 "Please." 
 
 61 
 
62 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 "Milk?" 
 
 "Thanks." 
 
 "Sugar?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Buns?" 
 
 "One." 
 
 And then they sat and gazed at one another, slowly 
 champing buns in which they took no interest what- 
 ever. After twenty minutes Lady Tyburn said : "My 
 chauffeur has had no tea. He must drive to Gallows 
 and have tea at once. Will you come too?" 
 
 "As far as the gates," he said. "I'll walk back. 
 I'm not coming in." 
 
 "Do," she said. "Bill has borrowed a panther from 
 the Mammoth Circus, and they're having larks with 
 it in the billiard-room." 
 
 Luke shook his head. "I don't like panthers," he 
 said wearily. "I don't like anything much. Mabel 
 looks like a panther sometimes." 
 
 During the twenty minutes* drive up to Gallows 
 neither of them spoke. 
 
 When they reached the gate, Jona said: "Better 
 come up to the house and finish our talk." 
 
 "No," said Luke ; "stay here a little. There's some- 
 thing I must say to you. I've been trying to say it 
 for the last hour. It gets stuck. I shall pull it out 
 somehow." 
 
 Lady Tyburn sent the car away, and they sat down 
 on the trunk of a fallen tree. He sat on one side, and 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 63 
 
 she on the other, back to back. They could not bear 
 to look one another in the face. Presently she said: 
 
 "You're trembling, Lukie. I can feel it. Trem- 
 bling. Like a jelly." 
 
 "You're another," said Luke. "Oh, Jona. There's 
 something I've been trying to ask you for the last ten 
 months, and perhaps there will never be another oppor- 
 tunity. Do you remember when you came to my 
 office?" 
 
 She drove her elbow lightly into his ribs. It seemed 
 to him to signify she did remember. 
 
 "There were things you said 'Will you help your- 
 self/ with your hands out 'magnet and tintack' 'I 
 made a mistake once.' You said those things, Jona." 
 
 "What a memory the young man has got," said 
 Jona, wistfully. 
 
 "Yes, but what did you mean?" 
 
 "Well, they were what is called conversation. You 
 talk too, you know, sometimes." 
 
 "But that doesn't tell me what you meant." 
 
 "They meant," she said in a plain, matter-of-fact 
 way, "that I ought not to have married Bill. I ought 
 to have married you, Lukie. My mistake entirely. 
 Don't apologize." 
 
 She jerked herself backward, and he fell off the tree. 
 He lay on the grass moaning. "O crikey! O crikey! 
 O crikey, crikey, crikey !" 
 
64 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 He got up slowly. He was entirely covered with small 
 pieces of dried grass. Jona came round the end of the 
 tree and began picking pieces of grass off him. 
 
 "You're in a mess," she said. 
 
 "We're both in a mess/' he said. "Right in. Up 
 to the neck." 
 
 "I don't know how much longer I shall be able to 
 stand it," said Jona. "In London it was actresses. 
 Down here it's ladies from the Mammoth Circus. We 
 have three equestriennes and a tight-rope dancer stay- 
 ing with us, and he makes love to them all. He's not 
 been sober not noticeably for the last six weeks. I 
 still keep up the bright badinage, but it sometimes 
 seems artificial. It's wearing thin. Everything's 
 wearing thin. Very thin. Oh Lukie!" 
 
 "Listen," said Luke resolutely. "I'm going to be 
 noble. This is little Lukie, underneath his straw hat, 
 being noble. Some men would confess their love for 
 you. They would pour out in words the passion that 
 was consuming them. I shall not. In fact, you'll have 
 to guess. Only, if the time ever does come that you 
 simply cannot stand it any longer, apply to me. Appli- 
 cations should be sent to the office address in care of 
 Mabel. Write distinctly. Good-by, Jona." 
 
 He tore himself from her, and reeled away, not 
 knowing what direction he was taking. 
 
 After an hour he found himself standing in front 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 65 
 
 of his own office. It was just as well. He had left 
 his bicycle there. 
 
 Diggle came down the stairs into the street, and 
 Luke walked up to him at once: "Can I have that 
 partnership now?" said Luke. 
 
 Diggle glanced at his watch. 
 
 "Applications of this kind," he said, "should be 
 made in office hours. It is now after six. Good eve- 
 ning, Mr. Sharper." 
 
 Mechanically, automatically, not knowing what he 
 did, Luke prepared for his ride home to Jawbones. 
 Then he became aware that he was pushing something 
 along on the pavement. What was it? It was a bi- 
 cycle. He pushed it into a policeman. The policeman 
 asked him to take it into the road. 
 
 He walked along in the road now, still wheeling his 
 bicycle, and looking all around him. 
 
 What a lot of shops seemed to be selling brooms. 
 Yes, and soap. Long bars of yellow soap. There 
 were big advertisements on the boardings. He read 
 them aloud: "WASHO. WORKS BY ITSELF." 
 
 And again: "PINGO FOR THE PAINT. A 
 PENNY PACKET OF PINGO DOES THE 
 TRICK." There was a picture of a beautiful lady 
 using Pingo, her face expressing rapture. 
 
 What did it all mean? 
 
 He did not know. But it meant that spring was 
 coming. Spring, with its daffodils, its pretty little 
 birds and all the other things. 
 
-.- 
 
 . 
 
 
 nor 
 
 - . . _ 
 
 2HL "WlL "fiTiiianv 
 
 ff nnLti 
 lint 
 
 te^ar v-;: 
 
 nl 
 
 JL niltr 5EttST 3fe 
 
 
 r. 
 - ' ill JITnHEL. 
 
 
 - ^ 
 
68 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 entirely filled with dust, and the smell of decayed fish, 
 don't you think?' 
 
 "Cheerful talk for a luncheon party, wasn't it? That 
 man's on the verge of a breakdown. Don't like it at all. 
 That wife of his is overdoing it. Shall look him up 
 again next week. His mind's not right. He forgot 
 to pay for the lunch. I suggested that I should do it, 
 and he let me. Something seriously wrong there. 
 Seriously. Have a drink." 
 
 4 
 
 Three days later Mr. Alfred Jingle resumed the 
 subject. 
 
 "I told you things were bad with Sharper. They're 
 worse. Much. I was there this morning. Enquired 
 at his business place. They said their Mr. Sharper 
 had gone out. Took a cab to Halfpenny Hole. Half- 
 way there spotted Sharper sitting on a bank by the 
 roadside with his bicycle beside him. Face like a tor- 
 tured hyena. I got out and asked him what he was 
 doing there. 
 
 " 'Nowhere else to go,' he said. 'Spring-cleaning at 
 home. And now they've started spring-cleaning at the 
 office. All my dear little children piled up on the floor 
 in the dust.' 
 
 "Told him I didn't know he had a family. 
 
 " 'I mean my books. Lilac morocco. At my own 
 expense. The firm wouldn't stick it. Decorators were 
 sending out for more size when I left. I can't go back 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 69 
 
 there. Even if there were no spring-cleaning I couldn't 
 go to Jawbones. Mabel gave me a list of things to buy 
 in Dilborough. Glass soap and soft paper. I mean 
 soft soap and glass paper. Lots of other things. I've 
 forgotten to get any of them. All I can do is to sit here 
 until the world comes to an end/ 
 
 "Well, I shoved him into my cab, and drove back 
 to the 'Crown' at Dilborough. On the way I tried 
 to buck him up a bit, but it was no use. He was abso- 
 lutely broken-down. I asked him whose turn it was 
 to pay for lunch, and he said he thought it was mine. 
 Memory going. Well, I stuffed a drink into him and 
 took nine myself. I can tell you I needed them. Then 
 I got him to go back to business. Said he must save 
 those lilac-bound children of his. Bright idea, what? 
 Then I told him he could buy the things for his wife 
 afterwards. He went like a lamb, too broken to resist. 
 I confess I am worried about him. I must try to see 
 him again if 
 
 5 
 a chance of doing so." 
 
 (And that shows you again, how the number of 
 a chapter-section may be used economically.) 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 LUKE knocked at the door of Mr. Biggie's room, 
 and entered. 
 
 "I'm back," he said. "Been lunching with a man. 
 Can I have a partnership?" 
 
 "Not to-day, Mr. Sharper," said Diggle. "You 
 should be more reasonable. The whole office is more 
 or less disorganized by the spring-cleaning. It seems 
 to me that you try to make more trouble. You go out 
 a great deal for a business man." 
 
 "I have to. Things for my wife, you know. Soft 
 glass and paper soap. Things of that kind." 
 
 "I don't wish to hear about it. They will not 
 be actually beginning on your room till Monday. It 
 may be in some slight disorder, but that need not pre- 
 vent you from going back there and getting on with 
 your work. You have to write that full-page advertise- 
 ment for the 'Church Times,' you remember." 
 
 He went on to his own room. He picked up the 
 little booklets from the floor, dusted each one carefully, 
 and wrapped it in white paper. As he was finishing 
 the last a letter was brought in to him. The messenger 
 was waiting for an answer. It was in Jona's hand- 
 writing. 
 
 71 
 
72 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 "Darling Lukie," she wrote, "I can bear it no more. 
 Take me away, please. Shall I come along to your 
 office, or will you call for the goods? Jona." 
 
 He collapsed in a chair, his head buried in his hands. 
 
 Half-an-hour later the clerk came in to say that 
 the messenger was still waiting. 
 
 "Sit down," said Luke. 
 
 The clerk sat down for half-an-hour. Luke still 
 meditated. Then the office boy came in to fetch the 
 clerk. It was necessary to do something, to decide at 
 once. His promise to Mabel had been quite definite. 
 He would bring back the spring-cleaning requisites on 
 his bicycle that evening. There had been a sardonic 
 cruelty in sending him to purchase the materials for his 
 own torture. Still, he had promised. 
 
 Drawing a sheet of the firm's paper with the memo, 
 head on it towards him, he wrote as follows : 
 
 "Jona: I can't get away to elope with you to-day. 
 My wife won't let me. If you are still of the same 
 mind on Saturday, the train I shall take for Brighton 
 leaves Victoria at eleven." 
 
 He sent the letter down to the messenger, and then 
 Diggle entered. 
 
 "Do you want to see me about the partnership?" 
 said Sharper. 
 
 "No. I wanted to see you about the full-page 
 advertisement for the 'Church Times/ Have you 
 written it?" 
 
 "I've not, so to speak, written it." 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 73 
 
 "Well, Sharper, I've been talking to Dobson about 
 you. I don't want to hurt your feelings, but our office 
 space here is very limited. We are of the opinion that 
 perhaps the amount of room you occupy here is intrin- 
 sically of more value than any services which you 
 render to the business, or even the pleasure that your 
 society naturally gives us. I don't know if you take 
 my meaning." 
 
 "Do you want to turn me out?" said Sharper. 
 
 "Don't put it like that. You don't seem to know 
 anything about business. You never do any work. 
 You're playing about with Lady Tyburn in a way 
 that'll bring scandal on the firm. But we don't want 
 to turn you out. We don't want to do anything harsh. 
 All we say is that we think it would be better for all 
 concerned if you don't come here again. I think 
 that will be all. Good evening, Mr. Sharper." 
 
 Luke went out and purchased the articles Mabel had 
 asked him to buy. He then went to four different 
 chemists, and at each one purchased a little oxalic acid, 
 saying in each case that he wanted it to clean a straw 
 hat. 
 
 With his bicycle laden considerably above the Plim- 
 soll mark, he pedalled wearily homewards. He only 
 fell off once, and it was a pity that this broke the bottle 
 of turpentine, for he happened to be carrying it in 
 the inside pocket of his coat. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 shall dine in the kitchen," said Mabel. "The 
 dining-room and drawing-room are finished, but I 
 am keeping them locked up until the workmen are otrt 
 of the house, and all the mess is cleared away." 
 
 "You are an excellent housekeeper," gaid Luke. 
 "Won't it be jolly to dine in the kitchen with Dot and 
 Dash?" 
 
 "Ellen will sit in the garden while we are at dinner. 
 Kate will wait on us as usual. I am sorry to say that 
 a workman spilt a pail of whitewash in your room. 
 Most of it went over your books. After dinner we will 
 sit in the den." 
 
 "Mabel," said Luke, "when I told you of the suffer- 
 ing that would happen to me in consequence of Erne 
 having the illegitimate child, which she never did, you 
 said that it was all impossible. Part of it has come 
 true. They don't want me to go to the business any 
 more, and they've said so." 
 
 "Have they?" said Mabel. "Of course I knew they 
 would. I've been expecting it for some time past. 
 You see, you're not fitted for business. I don't know 
 
 75 
 
76 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 that you're particularly fitted for anything. Well, 
 when you talked to me about that Effie nonsense, I told 
 you I'd arrange a little martyrdom for you if I could. 
 Haven't I done it?" 
 
 "You have. In the interest of my sanity " 
 
 "In the interests of your what?" 
 
 "In the interests of my sanity I shall go to Brighton 
 for the week-end." 
 
 "Do," said Mabel. "You're terribly in the way here. 
 It's about the first sensible idea you've had for this 
 last year." 
 
 By half -past ten next morning he was on the plat- 
 form at Victoria station. Would Jona be there? 
 
 Apparently not. He caught a distant glimpse of 
 Lord Tyburn, but it was not with him that he was 
 proposing to elope. Besides, Tyburn was accompanied 
 by a somewhat highly painted and decorated young 
 lady. Luke waited till the last moment, and waited in 
 vain. He stepped into the train just as it was mov- 
 ing off. 
 
 2 
 
 At this point we will ask our Mr. Alfred Jingle to 
 oblige again. 
 
 "Tell you what," he said to his artist friend. "I 
 was wrong about Sharper again. I thought he'd 
 reached the limit of human mess and martyrdom. He 
 hadn't. He'd not got within a street of it. He's there 
 now. Right up to the limit and leaning over the edge. 
 
 "Down at Brighton this week-end with my old 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 77 
 
 missus. Sitting out on the pier. Sunday morning. 
 Listening to the band. Overture to 'William Tell/ 
 Always is. Whenever I strike a band, it's 'William 
 Tell' or 'Zampa/ Every time. 
 
 "Suddenly the missus says to me, 'Who's that old 
 chap over there with a face like a turnip?' 
 
 "I looked up. It was Luke Sharper. Looking 
 ghastly. His hair was grey. His face was grey. Even 
 his flannel trousers were grey. All grey and worn. 
 I don't mean the trousers particularly. General effect, 
 you know. Ears drooping down with no life or motion 
 in them. I went up to him and asked him what brought 
 him down to Brighton. 
 
 ' 'Go away,' he said. 'I'm a leper. I'm an outcast. 
 I'm a pariah dog. Go before I bring misery on you/ 
 
 "I told him I'd chance it, and asked him again what 
 he was doing at Brighton. 
 
 " 'I've eloped,' he said. 
 
 "'With whom?' I asked. 
 
 " 'Nobody. She never turned up. That's not my 
 fault. In the sight of Heaven we are all equal, and 
 I'm an eloper. I'm a faithless hound. That's not all, 
 Jingle. They've thrown me out of the business. And 
 that's not all. I bought four packets of oxalic acid. 
 I've put them down where Mabel is bound to see them. 
 There's one on her pillow, one on the clock, one on 
 the piano, and one on the mantelpiece. You see ? I'm 
 a murderer. Mabel will take the hint, and will commit 
 suicide. That will upset Dot and Dash, and they will 
 
78 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 commit suicide too. I only hope the man who spilt 
 whitewash over my bookcase will commit suicide as 
 well. Don't come and see me in the condemned cell. 
 I don't want to see anybody any more. That's why 
 I'm sitting on Brighton pier on a warm Sunday 
 morning.' 
 
 " 'You've got this wrong, Sharper/ I said. 'I know 
 your wife. She won't commit suicide because you've 
 gone. She possibly might have done it if you had 
 stopped. So your maids won't be upset, and they 
 won't commit suicide either. And the painter's man 
 who spilt the whitewash over your books will be 
 enjoying the joke over his Sunday dinner. You're 
 no good at the leper-and-pariah business. Come over 
 and be introduced to my missus.' 
 
 "'What you say might be true if I were a real 
 man, but I have horrible doubts. I don't feel like a 
 real man/ 
 
 " 'Come off it/ I said. 'What do you feel like, 
 then?' 
 
 " 'I feel like a lot of tripe out of some damn-silly 
 book/ 
 
 "Well, I took him over to the missus, and she got 
 on the buzz. She's an energetic talkist. He never 
 got time to say he was a leper once. Then some pals 
 of hers came up to talk to her, and he and I escaped. 
 I asked him what he was going to do. He said he 
 V(as going back to Halfpenny Hole directly, in order 
 to save the coroner's officer the trouble of fetching him. 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 79 
 
 Then he asked me to have a drink. We had three 
 each. He rushed off to the station, and left me to pay. 
 A man in that state is not fit to be alone. And it's 
 not too safe for anybody who happens to be with him. 
 I let him go." 
 
 3 
 
 It was half -past five when Luke got back to Jawbones 
 again. He rang the bell. As the door was not opened, 
 he fang again. 
 
 Then from the garden behind the house he heard 
 the sound of voices and laughter. He recognized the 
 laugh. It was Dot's. It was a full-bodied, fruity 
 laugh. Luke walked round the house and into the 
 garden to see what was happening. 
 
 On the lawn sat Dot, Dash, and the first and second 
 footmen from Gallows. A table showed that tea, 
 including bottled beer, had been served with some 
 profusion. But the banquet was over and all* four 
 reclined in deck-chairs, smoking cigarettes. 
 
 Luke stared at them blankly. "Afraid I'm rather 
 interrupting/' he stammered. 
 
 "Well, old bean," said Dot. "You do come as a 
 bit of a surprise. We'd not expected you before 
 Tuesday. But our two gentlemen friends Albert and 
 Hector I think you've met them have to be back at 
 their job at six. So we shan't keep you long. The 
 kitchen door's open if you care to slip into the house 
 and wait." 
 
 Luke's powerful mind made a rapid deduction. This 
 
8o IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 could never have happened if Mabel had not been 
 powerless to prevent it. So Mabel must have . . . 
 Yes, the oxalic acid. 
 
 "Can you tell me," he said in sepulchral tones, "where 
 I shall find the body of my poor wife?" 
 
 "Afraid I can't," said Dot. Her laughter jarred 
 on him. 
 
 "Let us," he said, "be reverent. When did she die?" 
 
 Here Dash, under the pink parasol, broke in, "But 
 she's alive. And I'll bet she's a good deal livelier than 
 she's been for years past. I helped her pack, and it 
 was some trousseau. The old girl's done a bunk. See? 
 Skipped it with a gentleman friend of hers." 
 
 "You might have mentioned that before," said Luke, 
 aggrieved. "I quite thought that something was the 
 matter." 
 
 "Well, she's left a letter for you in your almost-silver 
 cigarette case. You'll find it in the bath-room, balanced 
 on 'the hot-water tap. You run along and read it. 
 You're the least little bit in the way at this tea party." 
 
 4 
 
 Seated on the edge of the bath, Luke read as follows" 
 "You could always see every point of view except 
 one, and that was your wife's. 
 
 "Once or twice the sting of your jelly-fish of a con- 
 science made you try to be nice to me. There are 
 words and acts from a man to a woman which may be 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 81 
 
 lovely to the woman if they come spontaneously and 
 naturally. If they are produced as by a force-pump, 
 they are an insult. If you tried to hide the pump, it 
 was a poor effort. 
 
 "When you took up with that Tyburn minx, I thought 
 that you had realized the situation, that you saw that 
 I found life with you detestable and intolerable, and 
 that you meant to give me a chance to divorce you. 
 I employed a private detective with what I had saved 
 out of the house-money, and had you watched. The 
 detective reported that there was nothing good enough 
 
 or bad enough for the High Court, and that the 
 
 woman seemed to be doing most of the work. 
 
 "So as the mixture of cowardice and selfishness 
 which you call your conscience would not let you give 
 me a chance to divorce you, I determined to make you 
 divorce me. The first thing to do was to get you out 
 of the way. It is so trying and undignified to elope 
 if a husband is looking on, and possibly interfering. 
 So I adopted a system of intensive spring-cleaning. 
 I don't think I left out anything which could incon- 
 venience and annoy you. It went on and on. No house 
 has been spring-cleaned like this since the world began. 
 I fancy it was the whitewash over your books that 
 finally shunted you. You left in the early morning. I 
 packed at leisure and left in the evening, taking with 
 me a gentleman who financed that great success, Doom 
 Dagshaw's Mammoth Circus. 
 
 "As he is not in the book, I may mention that he is 
 
82 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 a Mr. Nathan Samuel. But no matter. A nose by any 
 other name would smell as efficiently. He is a true 
 Christian with no fault except his love for me. 
 
 "The necessary particulars will be sent to your 
 solicitors, and I hope you will then get busy. 
 
 "Ta-ta, old crock. Vours, Mabel/' 
 
 "P.S. You shouldn't leave oxalic acid about like 
 that. Don't you know it's a poison? I've hidden it 
 underneath your dress-shirts, in case of accidents." 
 
 Luke put the letter down. There was a step outside 
 the door and Dot entered. 
 
 "Thought I should find you here," said Dot. 
 "Everything all right?" 
 
 "Couldn't be better. But why did she leave the letter 
 on the hot- water tap?" 
 
 "Oh, that was just a little joke of hers. She said 
 you always got into any hot water that might be going 
 about, and so you'd be sure to find it there." 
 
 "Do you see what this means, Dot? It means that 
 in future we can play at boats without any fear of inter- 
 ruption." 
 
 "M'yes," said Dot. "It's not the very devil of a 
 game, is it? Been over the house yet? I must say 
 it does look nice, now all the cleaning and decorating's 
 finished. Albert and Hector both noticed it." 
 
 "Yes, very nice. I suppose you and Dash would 
 like to be getting dinner for me." 
 
 "That's what we're panting after. But it can't be 
 done, because there's nothing to eat. At least, there's 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 83 
 
 nothing for you. Besides, after this afternoon we are 
 both emotionally worn-out. And that's not all. Albert 
 and Hector brought us a bit of news from Gallows. 
 Just you take my tip and ask no questions. You take 
 the train into Dilborough and dine at the 'Crown.' 
 You might I don't say you will, but you might 
 get a bit of a surprise. If you hurry you'll catch 
 the 7.5." 
 
 Luke thrust his wife's letter into his pocket, and 
 hurried. 
 
 "No," said the sad-eyed waiter, in reply to Luke's 
 enquiry. "No, we do not serve the dinner on Sunday 
 night. In Dilborough Sunday night, there is what 
 you call, nothing doing. You can have a nice chop." 
 
 "I hate chops," said Luke moodily. "All right, get 
 me a chop." 
 
 "The lady who stay here, she have a chop too. She 
 also say she hate chops. You have to wait a little time 
 perhaps, because the chef is out Sunday evening. You 
 wait in the drawing-room. It is very nice. Very com- 
 fortable. There is a newspaper of last Friday eve- 
 ning." 
 
 Luke submitted and entered the fly-haunted draw- 
 ing-room. He sat down with his head in his hands. 
 Mabel's letter had been characteristically unlike her. 
 Her letters were never in the least bit like herself. That 
 was perhaps their only attraction. It was only in the 
 
84 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 postscript that he seemed actually to hear her speak. 
 
 "Poor Nathan Samuel!" he said to himself. "Poor 
 Moses Nathan Modecai Samuel!" 
 
 The door opened and Jona came in, clad in a be- 
 trayed-heroine tea-gown. She looked beautiful but 
 tragic. 
 
 "Jona," he cried, springing to his feet. 
 
 She shrank back, covering her face with her hands. 
 
 "Don't speak to me," she said. "Don't come near 
 me. I'm a leper, a pariah, and an outcast." 
 
 "Oh, look here, hang it all, you can't, you know. 
 That's mine. If there's any lepering to be done, I do 
 that. Outcast? How do you mean outcast?" 
 
 "Haven't you heard?" she said. 
 
 "No," said Luke. "Come and sit on my knee, and 
 tell me all your troubles." 
 
 "I oughtn't," she said, but she did. 
 
 "You didn't turn up at Victoria yesterday. Couldn't 
 you leave your husband?" 
 
 "I couldn't," she said. "I couldn't, because I've not 
 got a husband. And have never had a husband. One 
 of Bill's previous wives started to make a fuss, and 
 he made a clean breast of it to me. He'd married in 
 two different names before he married me, and both 
 wives are still living. He went to Brighton on Satur- 
 day to marry one more. Because he wants to get his 
 picture, as the peer convicted of trigamy, on the back 
 page of the 'Daily Mail,' with the fourth wife inset. 
 So you see what has happened. It was my fault, but 
 
IF WINTER DON'T 85 
 
 that's how I come to be in the pariah class. Can you 
 bear me any longer?" 
 
 "Yes," said Luke, "you're not heavy." 
 
 And then the sad-eyed waiter came in without knock- 
 ing, and they broke away. 
 
 "I beg pardon," said the waiter. "Perhaps I inter- 
 rupt a little. I come to say the chops is ready. Shall 
 I put the two places close together?" 
 
 "Very close* together," said Luke. 
 
 They entered the dining-room. 
 
 "You needn't remain," said Luke to the waiter. 
 "We'll help ourselves." 
 
 "Ver' good," said the waiter. "I understand. I am 
 since three years of experience in the week-end busi- 
 ness. I come when you ring not before." 
 
 Luke and Jona talked together earnestly for an hour. 
 Then they remembered they had been intending to 
 dine. Luke removed the cover from the dish and 
 looked at two large melancholy chops, frozen hard. 
 
 "Can we?" said Luke. 
 
 "Not in this life," said Jona. "Get it removed." 
 
 Luke produced a visiting-card, and wrote on the 
 back of it : "A Present for a Good Dog. From Jona 
 and Lukie !" He put the card in the dish and replaced 
 the cover. Then he investigated the wine list, rang 
 the bell, and ordered champagne and dry biscuits to 
 be put in the drawing-room. 
 
86 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 (The reader is requested to look out. Once more the 
 numbers of the section will be used as a part of the 
 sections. The price of paper is still very high.) 
 
 "Just imagine/' said Luke. "Only this morning I 
 was convinced that life was hell. Absolute hell." 
 
 "And now?" asked Jona, shyly. 
 
 "Now I know that it's 
 
 7," 
 he said, and kissed her. 
 
 Luke walked back. It was some time in the small 
 hours that he entered his house burglariously by forc- 
 ing open the window of a room that had once been 
 called a den. 
 
 As he sat at breakfast the next morning, Dot said : 
 "Hope they gave you a good dinner at the 'Crown' 
 last night." 
 
 "I don't know," he said. "I don't really remember 
 what we 
 
 8." 
 
 "All love and honey, what?" suggested Dot. 
 "Dot," said Luke, "don't be asi- 
 
 "Oh, that's all right," said Dot. "You don't need 
 to pay any at- 
 
 10. 
 
 tion to my chaff." 
 
EPILOGUE 
 
 LUKE sold Jawbones for a much higher price than he 
 had expected. 
 
 "You see," the agent explained, "the place is in such 
 a perfect condition. Everything up to the mark. 
 Absolutely spotless." 
 
 "Yes," said Luke. "Mrs. Sharper was an excellent 
 housekeeper. I've always said so." 
 
 Luke had intended to pay Dot and Dash board- 
 wages until he was free to marry Jona, and then to 
 take them into his service again. But this was not to be. 
 
 "Sorry," said Dot, "but it won't do. Of course we 
 wish you every happiness, and no doubt in time you'll 
 get used to not suffering so much, and not being mis- 
 understood so frequent. But me and Dash has been 
 brought up respectable, and respectable we shall remain. 
 I've no doubt your good lady thought it was all right, 
 and went to church with him, and signed the book and 
 all that. But facts are facts, and the fact is that for 
 years and years she was living the life of open sin with 
 that Lord Tyburn. No, we couldn't stick it. Besides, 
 I'm going to marry Hector to take entire charge of a 
 small flat, one in family, no children or washing, every 
 Sunday, and frequent outings. And my sister's doing 
 the same with Albert. All the same, here's luck." 
 
 87 
 
88 IF WINTER DON'T 
 
 Our friend, Mr. Alfred Jingle, solicitor, arranged 
 everything splendidly. He prevented Luke from insert- 
 ing, in a moment of enthusiasm, an advertisement 
 under the Fashionable Intelligence in the daily press 
 that a divorce had been arranged and would shortly 
 take place, between Luke Sharper, Esq., formerly of 
 Jawbones, Halfpenny Hole, and Mabel, his wife. The 
 case was undefended, and the day after the decree was 
 made absolute Luke married Jona. 
 
 Nor did Mr. Alfred Jingle forget, when he made 
 out his bill of costs, to include in his out-of-pocket 
 expenses, the cost of certain luncheons and drinks 
 which Mr. Sharper would, no doubt, have defrayed 
 had he not at that time been in a condition of absent- 
 mindedness induced by martyrdom. 
 
 Not only did Lord Tyburn succeed in getting his 
 photograph on to the back page of the "Daily Mail." 
 There was also another photograph of the four ladies 
 whom he had married, reading from left to right. He 
 did everything well. 
 
 THE END