The Red House Mystery and Other Novels. A. A. Milne
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Well, hang it, old man, there's a bit of a difference. Paderewski and I--well, I mean we don't compete.
WENTWORTH. Oh, I don't know. I daresay he's as rotten at golf as you, if the truth were really known.
TOMMY. No, but seriously, it's a bit different when you get two brothers like Gerald and Bob; and whatever the elder one does, the younger one does a jolly sight better. Now Paderewski and I--
WENTWORTH. Good heavens! I wish I hadn't started you on that. Get back to Bob. I thought Bob was on the Stock Exchange and Gerald in the Foreign Office. There can't be very much competition between them there.
TOMMY. Well, but there you are! Why isn't Bob in the Foreign Office and Gerald on the Stock Exchange? Why, because Gerald's the clever one, Gerald's the popular one, the good-looking one, the lucky one, the county cricketer, the plus three at golf--
WENTWORTH. Oh Lord! I thought you'd get golf into it. I suppose you were working up to your climax. Poor old Bob is about eighteen at golf, eh?
TOMMY. As a matter of fact, he's a very decent five. And there you are again. In any other family, Bob would be thought rather a nut. As it is--
WENTWORTH. As it is, Tommy, there are about thirty-five million people in England who've never played golf and who would recognize Bob, if they met him, for the decent English gentleman that he is.
TOMMY. I think you exaggerate, old chap. Golf's been getting awfully popular lately.
WENTWORTH. Personally I am very fond of Bob.
TOMMY. Oh, so am I. He's an absolute ripper. Still, _Gerald_, you know--I mean it's jolly bad luck on poor old Bob. Now Paderewski and I--
[Enter GERALD from the garden, a charming figure in a golfing coat and white flannels. Perhaps he is a little conscious of his charm; if so, it is hardly his fault, for hero-worship has been his lot from boyhood. He is now about twenty-six; everything that he has ever tried to do he has done well; and, if he is rather more unembarrassed than most of us when praised, his unself-consciousness is to a stranger as charming as the rest of him. With it all he is intensely reserved, with the result that those who refuse to succumb to his charm sometimes make the mistake of thinking that there is nothing behind it.]
GERALD. Hallo, Wentworth, how are you? All right?
WENTWORTH (getting up and shaking hands). Yes, thanks. How are you?
GERALD. Simply bursting. Have you seen your room and all that sort of thing?
WENTWORTH. Yes, thanks.
GERALD. Good. And Tommy's been entertaining you. (To TOMMY) Tommy, I interrupted your story about Paderewski. I don't think I know it. (To WENTWORTH) You must listen to this; it may be fairly new.
TOMMY. Don't be an ass. As a matter of fact, we were discussing something quite serious.
GERALD (to WENTWORTH). How long have you been here?
WENTWORTH. About ten minutes.
GERALD. And Tommy hasn't told you that he did the eighth in one this morning?
WENTWORTH. He hasn't really told me yet. He's only mentioned it once or twice in passing.
TOMMY (modestly). Well, I mean it's bound to appear in the papers, so naturally one--
GERALD. Oh, it's a great business. Champagne will flow like water to-night. There will also be speeches.
WENTWORTH. Which reminds me, Gerald, I have to congratulate you.
GERALD. Thank you very much. When you've seen her you'll want to do it again.
TOMMY (looking through the window). Hallo, there's Letty.
GERALD. If you want to tell her about it, run along, Tommy.
TOMMY (moving off). I thought I'd just take her on at putting. [He goes out.]
GERALD (sitting down). You'll stay till--well, how long can you? Tuesday, anyhow.
WENTWORTH. I think I can manage till Tuesday. Thanks very much. Miss Carey is here, of course?
GERALD. Yes, she'll be in directly. She's gone to the station to meet Bob.
WENTWORTH (smiling). And Gerald didn't go with her?
GERALD (smiling). At least six people suggested that Gerald should go with her. They suggested it very loudly and archly--
WENTWORTH. So Gerald didn't?
GERALD. So Gerald didn't. (After a pause) I can't stand that sort of thing.
WENTWORTH. What sort of thing?
GERALD (after a pause). Poor old boy! you've never been in love-- barring the nine or ten times you're just going to tell me about. I mean never really in love.
WENTWORTH. Don't drag _me_ into it. What is it you can't stand?
GERALD. People being tactful about Pamela and me. ... Aunt Tabitha asked me yesterday if she might have Pamela for half an hour to do something or other--as if she were an umbrella, with my initials on it. ... And somebody else said, "I've quite fallen in love with your Pamela; I hope you don't mind." _Mind_? I tell you, Wentworth, my boy, if you aren't in love with Pamela by Tuesday, there'll be the very deuce of a row. Your electro-plated butter-dish, or whatever it's going to be, will be simply flung back at you.
WENTWORTH. Well, as long as Miss Pamela understands--
GERALD. Of course she understands. We understand each other.
WENTWORTH (preening himself ). Then I'll do my best. Mind, if she does happen to reciprocate my feelings, I wash my hands of all responsibility. (Going towards the staircase) Good-afternoon, Miss Farringdon.
[MISS FARRINGDON is coming slowly down the stairs.]
MISS FARRINGDON. Good-afternoon, Mr. Wentworth. Welcome.
(She must be well over eighty. She was pretty once, and sharp-tongued; so much you could swear to now. For the rest she is very, very wise, and intensely interested in life.)
GERALD (going over and kissing her). Good-morning, Aunt Tabitha. Your chair is waiting for you. (He conducts her to it.)
MISS FARRINGDON. I'm a nasty cross old thing before lunch, Mr. Wentworth, so I don't come down till afterwards nowadays. Is Gerald being as charming as usual?
WENTWORTH (smiling). Oh, pretty well.
GERALD (looking at her lovingly and then turning to WENTWORTH). It's having a very bad effect on her, this morning seclusion. She's supposed to be resting, but she spends her time trying to think of nasty things to say about me. The trouble with a mind like Aunt Tabitha's is that it can't think of anything _really_ nasty.
MISS FARRINGDON. The trouble with Gerald, Mr. Wentworth, is that he goes about expecting everybody to love him. The result is that they nearly all do. However, he can't get round _me_.
GERALD. It isn't true, Wentworth; she adores me.
MISS FARRINGDON. He wouldn't be happy if he didn't think so.
WENTWORTH (gracefully). I can sympathize with him there.
GERALD. The slight coolness which you perceive to have arisen