yourself.”
“Beloved,” said Berry, helping himself to toast, “I cannot tell a lie. I did it – with my little hatchet. Elijah would have been ravished. The blood gushed out upon me.”
“How dreadful.”
“It was,” said Berry, “a shocking spectacle. Had a police-officer entered the bathroom, I should have been arrested for attempted suicide. In my agitation, I also dropped the razor and cut myself on the foot. But I seem to be in good health. No shortage of red corpuscles, as far as I saw.”
“But you did it only last week.”
“My sweet,” said Berry, attacking his scrambled eggs, “the copper-bottomed miracle is that I don’t do it twice a day. Each time I uncover those weapons – one for each day in the week – I come all over of a tremble. The only trouble is, they don’t seem to freeze the blood.”
“Are you sure you strop them right?”
Berry shuddered.
“I don’t want them any sharper, if that’s what you mean The wonder is my jaw hasn’t dropped.”
“You must get a razor like Boy’s.”
Berry shook his head.
“I’ve tried his. It’s the finest skin-eraser I know. I’d rather have a slice off the joint than erysipelas.”
“I’m not sure you’re not right,” said I, caressing my chin. “What I go through every morning…”
“Jonah manages somehow.”
“Jonah,” said Berry, “has an abnormal skin. He could file his beard down every day, and it wouldn’t leave any trace. If he was to have an injection, they’d have to send for a drill. Oh, no, there’s nothing for it. My dressing-gown, by the way, had better go to Madame Tussaud’s.”
“What, not your new one?”
“The same,” said Berry calmly. “It made me think of Omar Khayyám. You remember those deathless lines. ‘The Moving Razor cuts ; and, having cut , Moves on…’”
Calling her maid, Wilson, as fast as her habit would let her, my sister fled.
“Some years ago,” said Berry, “when I was Caesar’s wife, I used to shave with potsherds. It was most economical. When one got blunt, you dropped it, and then you had three or four. Of course you had to watch your step. There used to be a fresco at Pompeii of Julius using the bathroom after me. It was called The night I overtrod the Ceramics .”
“I’ve sent for a new one,” I said. “It’s just come out. They say you can use it in the dark.”
Berry laughed bitterly.
“I can use mine in the dark,” he said, “But I’m not going to.”
“Don’t be a fool,” I said. “The presumption—”
“All right,” said Berry. “You try it. If, after one calendar month you look less like a gargoyle afflicted with the King’s Evil—”
“That’ll do, Heidelburg.”
After a long look, Berry protruded his tongue.
I rose to my feet.
“Permit me to remind you,” I said, “that the horses have been ordered for half-past ten.”
Forty-five minutes later, we were riding over the forest to the pretty hamlet of Gamecock, which lay, seven miles from White Ladies, snug in a fold of the greenwood that kept it from curious eyes.
Our way was a lovely way – by heath and glade and water and gravel road; and the majesty of the timber, the sweetness of the prospects, the union of Husbandry and Nature – above all, the comfortable air of stability lifted up all our hearts. Progress or no, it was clear that this most goodly heritage could never be scathed; that, slowly but surely, Tradition had made it safe; that, wars or rumours of wars, this would endure – the same yesterday, today and for ever, the English countryside.
But for a milk-float, we had the world to ourselves, till we rounded Holy Brush, to see a gypsy encampment down in the dell below.
Our appearance occasioned a flurry.
Two children went flying, a giant of a man strode leisurely out of view, and a woman came lightly towards us, over the sward.
That she had been sent to delay us was perfectly clear.
Signing to Daphne to stay, Berry rode past the woman and up to
“Beloved,” said Berry, helping himself to toast, “I cannot tell a lie. I did it – with my little hatchet. Elijah would have been ravished. The blood gushed out upon me.”
“How dreadful.”
“It was,” said Berry, “a shocking spectacle. Had a police-officer entered the bathroom, I should have been arrested for attempted suicide. In my agitation, I also dropped the razor and cut myself on the foot. But I seem to be in good health. No shortage of red corpuscles, as far as I saw.”
“But you did it only last week.”
“My sweet,” said Berry, attacking his scrambled eggs, “the copper-bottomed miracle is that I don’t do it twice a day. Each time I uncover those weapons – one for each day in the week – I come all over of a tremble. The only trouble is, they don’t seem to freeze the blood.”
“Are you sure you strop them right?”
Berry shuddered.
“I don’t want them any sharper, if that’s what you mean The wonder is my jaw hasn’t dropped.”
“You must get a razor like Boy’s.”
Berry shook his head.
“I’ve tried his. It’s the finest skin-eraser I know. I’d rather have a slice off the joint than erysipelas.”
“I’m not sure you’re not right,” said I, caressing my chin. “What I go through every morning…”
“Jonah manages somehow.”
“Jonah,” said Berry, “has an abnormal skin. He could file his beard down every day, and it wouldn’t leave any trace. If he was to have an injection, they’d have to send for a drill. Oh, no, there’s nothing for it. My dressing-gown, by the way, had better go to Madame Tussaud’s.”
“What, not your new one?”
“The same,” said Berry calmly. “It made me think of Omar Khayyám. You remember those deathless lines. ‘The Moving Razor cuts ; and, having cut , Moves on…’”
Calling her maid, Wilson, as fast as her habit would let her, my sister fled.
“Some years ago,” said Berry, “when I was Caesar’s wife, I used to shave with potsherds. It was most economical. When one got blunt, you dropped it, and then you had three or four. Of course you had to watch your step. There used to be a fresco at Pompeii of Julius using the bathroom after me. It was called The night I overtrod the Ceramics .”
“I’ve sent for a new one,” I said. “It’s just come out. They say you can use it in the dark.”
Berry laughed bitterly.
“I can use mine in the dark,” he said, “But I’m not going to.”
“Don’t be a fool,” I said. “The presumption—”
“All right,” said Berry. “You try it. If, after one calendar month you look less like a gargoyle afflicted with the King’s Evil—”
“That’ll do, Heidelburg.”
After a long look, Berry protruded his tongue.
I rose to my feet.
“Permit me to remind you,” I said, “that the horses have been ordered for half-past ten.”
Forty-five minutes later, we were riding over the forest to the pretty hamlet of Gamecock, which lay, seven miles from White Ladies, snug in a fold of the greenwood that kept it from curious eyes.
Our way was a lovely way – by heath and glade and water and gravel road; and the majesty of the timber, the sweetness of the prospects, the union of Husbandry and Nature – above all, the comfortable air of stability lifted up all our hearts. Progress or no, it was clear that this most goodly heritage could never be scathed; that, slowly but surely, Tradition had made it safe; that, wars or rumours of wars, this would endure – the same yesterday, today and for ever, the English countryside.
But for a milk-float, we had the world to ourselves, till we rounded Holy Brush, to see a gypsy encampment down in the dell below.
Our appearance occasioned a flurry.
Two children went flying, a giant of a man strode leisurely out of view, and a woman came lightly towards us, over the sward.
That she had been sent to delay us was perfectly clear.
Signing to Daphne to stay, Berry rode past the woman and up to
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