people and other
foul things. He wandered along for a while in a distrait way, and then suddenly
out of the corner of his eye he became aware that he was in the presence of
fruit. A shop on the starboard side was full of it, and he discovered that he
was standing outside Bellamy’s.
And what is
more, there, nestling in a basket in the middle of a lot of cotton-wool and
blue paper, was a platoon of strawberries.
And, as he
gazed at them, Mervyn began to see how this thing could be worked with the
minimum of discomfort and the maximum of profit to all concerned. He had just
remembered that his maternal uncle Joseph had an account at Bellamy’s.
The next
moment he had bounded through the door and was in conference with one of the
reduced duchesses who do the fruit-selling at this particular emporium. This
one, Mervyn tells me, was about six feet high and looked down at him with
large, haughty eyes in a derogatory manner — being, among other things, dressed
from stem to stern in black satin. He was conscious of a slight chill, but he
carried on according to plan.
‘Good morning,’
he said, switching on a smile and then switching it off again as he caught her
eye. ‘Do you sell fruit?’
If she had
answered ‘No,’ he would, of course, have been nonplussed. But she did not. She
inclined her head proudly.
‘Quate,’ she
said.
‘That’s fine,’
said Mervyn heartily. ‘Because fruit happens to be just what I’m after.’
‘Quate.’
‘I want that
basket of strawberries in the window.’
‘Quate.’
She reached
for them and started to wrap them up. She did not seem to enjoy doing it. As
she tied the string, her brooding look deepened. Mervyn thinks she may have had
some great love tragedy in her life.
‘Send them to
the Earl of Blotsam, 66A, Berkeley Square, ‘said Mervyn, alluding to his
maternal uncle Joseph.
‘Quate.’
‘On second
thoughts,’ said Mervyn, ‘no. I’ll take them with me. Save trouble. Hand them
over, and send the bill to Lord Blotsam.’
This,
naturally, was the crux or nub of the whole enterprise. And to Mervyn’s
concern, his suggestion did not seem to have met with the ready acceptance for
which he had hoped. He had looked for the bright smile, the courteous
inclination of the head. Instead of which, the girl looked doubtful.
‘You desi-ah
to remove them in person?’
‘Quate,’ said
Mervyn.
‘Podden me,’
said the girl, suddenly disappearing.
She was not
away long. In fact, Mervyn, roaming hither and thither about the shop, had
barely had time to eat three or four dates and a custard apple, when she was
with him once more.
And now she
was wearing a look of definite disapproval, like a duchess who has found half a
caterpillar in the castle salad.
‘His lordship
informs me that he desi-ahs no strawberries.’
‘Eh?’
‘I have been
in telephonic communication with his lordship and he states explicitly that he
does not desi-ah strawberries.’
Mervyn gave a
little at the knees, but he came back stoutly.
‘Don’t you
listen to what he says,’ he urged. ‘He’s always kidding. That’s the sort of
fellow he is. Just a great big happy schoolboy. Of course he desi-ahs
strawberries. He told me so himself. I’m his nephew.’
Good stuff, he
felt, but it did not seem to be getting over. He caught a glimpse of the girl’s
face, and it was definitely cold and hard and proud. However, he gave a
careless laugh, just to show that his heart was in the right place, and seized
the basket.
‘Ha, ha!’ he
tittered lightly, and started for the street at something midway between a
saunter and a gallop.
And he had not
more than reached the open spaces when he heard the girl give tongue behind
him.
‘EEEE — EEEE —
EEEE — EEEE — EEEEEEEEEEE!’ she said, in substance.
Now, you must
remember that all this took place round about the hour of noon, when every
young fellow is at his lowest and weakest and the need for the twelve o’clock
bracer has begun to
foul things. He wandered along for a while in a distrait way, and then suddenly
out of the corner of his eye he became aware that he was in the presence of
fruit. A shop on the starboard side was full of it, and he discovered that he
was standing outside Bellamy’s.
And what is
more, there, nestling in a basket in the middle of a lot of cotton-wool and
blue paper, was a platoon of strawberries.
And, as he
gazed at them, Mervyn began to see how this thing could be worked with the
minimum of discomfort and the maximum of profit to all concerned. He had just
remembered that his maternal uncle Joseph had an account at Bellamy’s.
The next
moment he had bounded through the door and was in conference with one of the
reduced duchesses who do the fruit-selling at this particular emporium. This
one, Mervyn tells me, was about six feet high and looked down at him with
large, haughty eyes in a derogatory manner — being, among other things, dressed
from stem to stern in black satin. He was conscious of a slight chill, but he
carried on according to plan.
‘Good morning,’
he said, switching on a smile and then switching it off again as he caught her
eye. ‘Do you sell fruit?’
If she had
answered ‘No,’ he would, of course, have been nonplussed. But she did not. She
inclined her head proudly.
‘Quate,’ she
said.
‘That’s fine,’
said Mervyn heartily. ‘Because fruit happens to be just what I’m after.’
‘Quate.’
‘I want that
basket of strawberries in the window.’
‘Quate.’
She reached
for them and started to wrap them up. She did not seem to enjoy doing it. As
she tied the string, her brooding look deepened. Mervyn thinks she may have had
some great love tragedy in her life.
‘Send them to
the Earl of Blotsam, 66A, Berkeley Square, ‘said Mervyn, alluding to his
maternal uncle Joseph.
‘Quate.’
‘On second
thoughts,’ said Mervyn, ‘no. I’ll take them with me. Save trouble. Hand them
over, and send the bill to Lord Blotsam.’
This,
naturally, was the crux or nub of the whole enterprise. And to Mervyn’s
concern, his suggestion did not seem to have met with the ready acceptance for
which he had hoped. He had looked for the bright smile, the courteous
inclination of the head. Instead of which, the girl looked doubtful.
‘You desi-ah
to remove them in person?’
‘Quate,’ said
Mervyn.
‘Podden me,’
said the girl, suddenly disappearing.
She was not
away long. In fact, Mervyn, roaming hither and thither about the shop, had
barely had time to eat three or four dates and a custard apple, when she was
with him once more.
And now she
was wearing a look of definite disapproval, like a duchess who has found half a
caterpillar in the castle salad.
‘His lordship
informs me that he desi-ahs no strawberries.’
‘Eh?’
‘I have been
in telephonic communication with his lordship and he states explicitly that he
does not desi-ah strawberries.’
Mervyn gave a
little at the knees, but he came back stoutly.
‘Don’t you
listen to what he says,’ he urged. ‘He’s always kidding. That’s the sort of
fellow he is. Just a great big happy schoolboy. Of course he desi-ahs
strawberries. He told me so himself. I’m his nephew.’
Good stuff, he
felt, but it did not seem to be getting over. He caught a glimpse of the girl’s
face, and it was definitely cold and hard and proud. However, he gave a
careless laugh, just to show that his heart was in the right place, and seized
the basket.
‘Ha, ha!’ he
tittered lightly, and started for the street at something midway between a
saunter and a gallop.
And he had not
more than reached the open spaces when he heard the girl give tongue behind
him.
‘EEEE — EEEE —
EEEE — EEEE — EEEEEEEEEEE!’ she said, in substance.
Now, you must
remember that all this took place round about the hour of noon, when every
young fellow is at his lowest and weakest and the need for the twelve o’clock
bracer has begun to
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