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Once a Week

<h3>THE SPREADING WALNUT TREE</h3> We were having breakfast in the garden with the wasps, and Peter was enlarging on the beauties of the country round his new week-end cottage. "Then there's Hilderton," he said; "that's a lovely little village, I'm told. We might explore it to-morrow." Celia woke up suddenly. "Is Hilderton near here?" she asked in surprise. "But I often stayed there when I was a child." "This was years ago, when Edward the Seventh was on the throne," I explained to Mrs. Peter. "My grandfather," went on Celia, "lived at Hilderton Hall." There was an impressive silence. "You see the sort of people you're entertaining," I said airily to Peter. "My wife's grandfather lived at Hilderton Hall. Celia, you should have spoken about this before. It would have done us a lot of good in Society." I pushed my plate away. "I can't go on eating bacon after this. Bring me peaches." "I should love to see it again." "If I'd had my rights," I said, "I should be living there now. I must put my solicitor on to this. There's been foul play somewhere." Peter looked up from one of the maps which, being new to the country, he carries with him. "I can't find Hilderton Hall here," he said. "It's six inches to the mile, so it ought to be marked." "Celia, our grandfather's name is being aspersed. Let us look into this." We crowded round the map and studied it anxiously. Hilderton was there, and Hilderton House, but no Hilderton Hall. "But it's a great big place," protested Celia. "I see what it is," I said regretfully. "Celia, you were young then." "Ten." "Ten. And naturally it seemed big to you, just as Yarrow seemed big to Wordsworth, and a shilling seems a lot to a baby. But really——" "Really," said Peter, "it was semi-detached." "And your side was called Hilderton Hall and the other side Hilderton Castle." "I don't believe it was even called Hilderton Hall," said Peter. "It was Hilderton Villa." "I don't believe she ever had a grandfather at all," said Mrs. Peter. "She must have had a grandfather," I pointed out. "But I'm afraid he never lived at Hilderton Hall. This is a great blow to me, and I shall now resume my bacon." I drew my plate back and Peter returned his map to his pocket. "You're all very funny," said Celia, "but I know it was Hilderton Hall. I've a good mind to take you there this morning and show it to you." "Do," said Peter and I eagerly. "It's a great big place——" "That's what we're coming to see," I reminded her. "Of course they may have sold some of the land, or—I mean, I know when I used to stay there it was a—a great big place. I can't promise that it——" "It's no good now, Celia," I said sternly. "You shouldn't have boasted." Hilderton was four miles off, and we began to approach it—Celia palpably nervous—at about twelve o'clock that morning. "Are you recognizing any of this?" asked Peter. "N-no. You see I was only about eight——" "You must recognise the church," I said, pointing to it. "If you don't, it proves either that you never lived at Hilderton or that you never sang in the choir. I don't know which thought is the more distressing. Now what about this place? Is this it?" Celia peered up the drive. "N-no; at least I don't remember it. I know there was a walnut tree in front of the house." "Is that all you remember?" "Well, I was only about six——" Peter and I both had a slight cough at the same time. "It's nothing," said Peter, finding Celia's indignant eye upon him. "Let's go on." We found two more big houses, but Celia, a little doubtfully, rejected them both. "My grandfather-in-law was very hard to please," I apologized to Peter. "He passed over place after place before he finally fixed on Hilderton Hall. Either the heronry wasn't ventilated properly, or the decoy ponds had the wrong kind of mud, or——" There was a sudden cry from Celia. "This is it," she said. She stood at the entrance to a long drive. A few chimneys could be seen in the distance. On either side of the gates was a high wall. "I don't see the walnut tree," I said. "Of course not, because you can't see the front of the house. But I feel certain that this is the place." "We want more proof than that," said Peter. "We must go in and find the walnut tree." "We can't all wander into another man's grounds looking for walnut trees," I said, "with no better excuse than that Celia's great-grandmother was once asked down here for the week-end and stayed for a fortnight. We——" "My grandfather," said Celia coldly, "lived here." "Well, whatever it was," I said, "we must invent a proper reason. Peter, you might pretend you've come to inspect the gas-meter or the milk or something. Or perhaps Celia had better disguise herself as a Suffragette and say that she's come to borrow a box of matches. Anyhow, one of us must get to the front of the house to search for this walnut tree." "It—it seems rather cheek," said Celia doubtfully. "We'll toss up who goes." We tossed, and of course I lost. I went up the drive nervously. At the first turn I decided to be an insurance inspector, at the next a scout-master, but, as I approached the front door, I thought of a very simple excuse. I rang the bell under the eyes of several people at lunch and looked about eagerly for the walnut tree. There was none. "Does Mr.—er—Erasmus—er—Percival live here?" I asked the footman. "No, sir," he said—luckily. "Ah! Was there ever a walnut—I mean was there ever a Mr. Percival who lived here? Ah! Thank you," and I sped down the drive again. "Well?" said Celia eagerly. "Mr. Percival doesn't live there." "Whoever's Mr. Percival?" "Oh, I forgot; you don't know him. Friends," I added solemnly, "I regret to tell you there is no walnut tree." "I am not surprised," said Peter. The walk home was a silent one. For the rest of the day Celia was thoughtful. But at the end of dinner she brightened up a little and joined in the conversation. "At Hilderton Hall," she said suddenly, "we always——" "H'r'm," I said, clearing my throat loudly. "Peter, pass Celia the walnuts." <hr class="min" /> I have had great fun in London this week with the walnut joke, though Celia says she is getting tired of it. But I had a letter from Peter to-day which ended like this:— <div class="blockquot">"By the way, I was an ass last week. I took you to Banfield in mistake for Hilderton. I went to Hilderton yesterday and found Hilderton Hall—a large place with a walnut tree. It's a little way out of the village, and is marked big on the next section of the map to the one we were looking at. You might tell Celia." </div> True, I might.... Perhaps in a week or two I shall. <hr /> <h3>DEFINITIONS</h3> As soon as we had joined the ladies after dinner Gerald took up a position in front of the fire. "Now that the long winter evenings are upon us," he began—— "Anyhow, it's always dark at half-past nine," said Norah. "Not in the morning," said Dennis, who has to be excused for anything foolish he says since he became obsessed with golf. "Please don't interrupt," I begged. "Gerald is making a speech." "I was only going to say that we might have a little game of some sort. Norah, what's the latest parlour game from London?" "Tell your uncle," I urged, "how you amuse yourselves at the Lyceum." "Do you know 'Hunt the Pencil'?" "No. What do you do?" "You collect five pencils; when you've got them, I'll tell you another game." "Bother these pencil games," said Dennis, taking an imaginary swing with a paper-knife. "I hope it isn't too brainy." "You'll want to know how to spell," said Norah severely, and she went to the writing-desk for some paper. In a little while—say, half an hour—we had each a sheet of paper and a pencil, and Norah was ready to explain. "It's called Definitions. I expect you all know it." We assured her we didn't. "Well, you begin by writing down five or six letters, one underneath the other. We might each suggest one. 'E.'" We weighed in with ours, and the result was E P A D U. "Now you write them backwards." There was a moment's consternation. "Like 'bath-mat'?" said Dennis. "An 'e' backwards looks so silly." "Stupid—like this," explained Norah. She showed us her paper. <div class='center'> <table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> <tr><td class="td1">E</td><td class="rgt">U</td></tr> <tr><td class="td1">P</td><td class="rgt">D</td></tr> <tr><td class="td1">A</td><td class="rgt">A</td></tr> <tr><td class="td1">D</td><td class="rgt">P</td></tr> <tr><td class="td1">U</td><td class="rgt">E</td></tr> </table></div> "This is thrilling," said Mrs. Gerald, pencilling hard. "Then everybody has to fill in words all the way down, your first word beginning with 'e' and ending with 'u,' and so on. See?" Gerald leant over Dennis and explained carefully to him, and in a little while we all saw. "Then, when everybody's finished, we define our words in turn, and the person who guesses a word first gets a mark. That's all." "And a very good game too," I said, and I rubbed my head and began to think. "Of course," said Norah, after a quarter of an hour's silence, "you want to make the words difficult and define them as subtly as possible." "Of course," I said, wrestling with 'E—U.' I could only think of one word, and it was the one everybody else was certain to have. "Are we all ready? Then somebody begin." "You'd better begin, Norah, as you know the game," said Mrs. Gerald. We prepared to begin. "Mine," said Norah, "is a bird." "Emu," we all shouted; but I swear I was first. "Yes." "I don't think that's a very subtle definition," said Dennis. "You promised to be as subtle as possible." "Go on, dear," said Gerald to his wife. "Well, this is rather awkward. Mine is——" "Emu," I suggested. "You must wait till she has defined it," said Norah sternly. "Mine is a sort of feathered animal." "Emu," I said again. In fact, we all said it. Gerald coughed. "Mine," he said, "isn't exactly a—fish, because it——" "Emu," said everybody. "That was subtler," said Dennis, "but it didn't deceive us." "Your turn," said Norah to me. And they all leant forward ready to say "Emu." "Mine," I said, "is—all right, Dennis, you needn't look so excited—is a word I once heard a man say at the Zoo." There was a shriek of "Emu!" "Wrong," I said. Everybody was silent. "Where did he say it?" asked Norah at last. "What was he doing?" "He was standing outside the Emu's cage." "It must have been Emu." "It wasn't." "Perhaps there's another animal beginning with 'e' and ending with 'u,'" suggested Dennis. "He might have said,'Look here, I'm tired of this old Emu, let's go and see the E-doesn't-mu,' or whatever it's called." "We shall have to give it up," said Norah at last. "What is it?" "Ebu," I announced. "My man had a bad cold, and he said, 'Look, Baria, there's ad Ebu.' Er—what do I get for that?" "Nothing," said Norah coldly. "It isn't fair. Now, Mr. Dennis." "Mine is not Emu, and it couldn't be mistaken for Emu; not even if you had a sore throat and a sprained ankle. And it has nothing to do with the Zoo, and——" "Well, what is it?" "It's what you say at golf when you miss a short putt." "I doubt it," I said. "Not what Gerald says," said his wife. "Well, it's what you might say. What Horace would have said." "'Eheu'—good," said Gerald, while his wife was asking "Horace who?" We moved on to the next word, P—D. "Mine," said Norah, "is what you might do to a man whom you didn't like, but it's a delightful thing to have and at the same time you would hate to be in it." "Are you sure you know what you are talking about, dear?" said Mrs. Gerald gently. "Quite," said Norah with the confidence of extreme youth. "Could you say it again very slowly," asked Dennis, "indicating by changes in the voice which character is speaking?" She said it again. "'Pound,'" said Gerald. "Good—one to me." Mrs. Gerald had "pod," Gerald had "pond"; but they didn't define them very cleverly and they were soon guessed. Mine, unfortunately, was also guessed at once. "It is what Dennis's golf is," I said. "'Putrid,'" said Gerald correctly. "Mine," said Dennis, "is what everybody has two of." "Then it's not 'pound,'" I said, "because I've only got one and ninepence." "At least, it's best to have two. Sometimes you lose one. They're very useful at golf. In fact, absolutely necessary." "Have you got two?" "Yes." I looked at Dennis's enormous hands spread out on his knees. "Is it 'pud'?" I asked. "It is? Are those the two? Good heavens!" and I gave myself a mark. A—A was the next, and we had the old Emu trouble. "Mine," said Norah—"mine is rather a meaningless word." "'Abracadabra,'" shouted everybody. "Mine," said Miss Gerald, "is a very strange word, which——" "'Abracadabra,'" shouted everybody. "Mine," said Gerald, "is a word which used to be——" "'Abracadabra,'" shouted everybody. "Mine," I said to save trouble, "is 'Abracadabra.'" "Mine," said Dennis, "isn't. It's what you say at golf when——" "Oh lor!" I groaned. "Not again." "When you hole a long putt for a half." "You generally say, 'What about that for a good putt, old thing? Thirty yards at least,'" suggested Gerald. "No." "Is it—is it 'Alleluia'?" suggested Mrs. Gerald timidly. "Yes." "Dennis," I said, "you're an ass." <hr class="min" /> "And now," said Norah at the end of the game, "who's won?" They counted up their marks. "Ten," said Norah. "Fifteen," said Gerald. "Three," said his wife. "Fourteen," said Dennis. They looked at me. "I'm afraid I forgot to put all mine down," I said, "but I can easily work it out. There were five words, and five definitions of each word. Twenty-five marks to be gained altogether. You four have got—er—let's see—forty-two between you. That leaves me——" "That leaves you minus seventeen," said Dennis. "I'm afraid you've lost, old man." He took up the shovel and practised a few approach shots. "It's rather a good game." I think so too. It's a good game, but, like all paper games, its scoring wants watching. <hr /> <h3>A BILLIARD LESSON</h3> I was showing Celia a few fancy strokes on the billiard-table. The other members of the house-party were in the library, learning their parts for some approaching theatricals—that is to say, they were sitting round the fire and saying to each other, "This is a rotten play." We had been offered the position of auditors to several of the company, but we were going to see Parsifal on the next day, and I was afraid that the constant excitement would be bad for Celia. "Why don't you ask me to play with you?" she asked. "You never teach me anything." "There's ingratitude. Why, I gave you your first lesson at golf only last Thursday." "So you did. I know golf. Now show me billiards." I looked at my watch. "We've only twenty minutes. I'll play you thirty up." "Right-o. What do you give me—a ball or a bisque or what?" "I can't spare you a ball, I'm afraid. I shall want all three when I get going. You may have fifteen start, and I'll tell you what to do." "Well, what do I do first?" "Select a cue." She went over to the rack and inspected them. "This seems a nice brown one. Now then, you begin." "Celia, you've got the half-butt. Put it back and take a younger one." "I thought it seemed taller than the others." She took another. "How's this? Good. Then off you go." "Will you be spot or plain?" I said, chalking my cue. "Does it matter?" "Not very much. They're both the same shape." "Then what's the difference?" "Well, one is more spotted than the other." "Then I'll be less spotted." I went to the table. "I think," I said, "I'll try and screw in off the red." (I did this once by accident and I've always wanted to do it again.) "Or perhaps," I corrected myself, as soon as the ball had left me, "I had better give a safety miss." I did. My ball avoided the red and came swiftly back into the left-hand bottom pocket. "That's three to you," I said without enthusiasm. Celia seemed surprised. "But I haven't begun yet," she said. "Well, I suppose you know the rules, but it seems funny. What would you like me to do?" "Well, there isn't much on. You'd better just try and hit the red ball." "Right." She leant over the table and took long and careful aim. I held my breath.... Still she aimed.... Then, keeping her chin on the cue, she slowly turned her head and looked up at me with a thoughtful expression. "Oughtn't there to be three balls on the table?" she said, wrinkling her forehead. "No," I answered shortly. "But why not?" "Because I went down by mistake." "But you said that when you got going, you wanted—— I can't argue bending down like this." She raised herself slowly. "You said—— Oh, all right, I expect you know. Anyhow, I have scored some already, haven't I?" "Yes. You're eighteen to my nothing." "Yes. Well, now I shall have to aim all over again." She bent slowly over her cue. "Does it matter where I hit the red?" "Not much. As long as you hit it on the red part." She hit it hard on the side, and both balls came into baulk. "Too good," I said. "Does either of us get anything for it?" "No." The red and the white were close together, and I went up the table and down again on the off-chance of a cannon. I misjudged it, however. "That's three to you," I said stiffly, as I took my ball out of the right-hand bottom pocket. "Twenty-one to nothing." "Funny how I'm doing all the scoring," said Celia meditatively. "And I've practically never played before. I shall hit the red hard now and see what happens to it." She hit, and the red coursed madly about the table, coming to rest near the top right-hand pocket and close to the cushion. With a forcing shot I could get in. "This will want a lot of chalk," I said pleasantly to Celia, and gave it plenty. Then I let fly.... "Why did that want a lot of chalk?" said Celia with interest. I went to the fire-place and picked my ball out of the fender. "That's three to you," I said coldly. "Twenty-four to nothing." "Am I winning?" "You're leading," I explained. "Only, you see, I may make a twenty at any moment." "Oh!" She thought this over. "Well, I may make my three at any moment." She chalked her cue and went over to her ball. "What shall I do?" "Just touch the red on the right-hand side," I said, "and you'll go into the pocket." "The right-hand side? Do you mean my right-hand side, or the ball's?" "The right-hand side of the ball, of course; that is to say, the side opposite your right hand." "But its right-hand side is opposite my left hand, if the ball is facing this way." "Take it," I said wearily, "that the ball has its back to you." "How rude of it," said Celia, and hit it on the left-hand side, and sank it. "Was that what you meant?" "Well ... it's another way of doing it." "I thought it was. What do I give you for that?" "You get three." "Oh, I thought the other person always got the marks. I know the last three times——" "Go on," I said freezingly. "You have another turn." "Oh, is it like rounders?" "Something. Go on, there's a dear. It's getting late." She went, and left the red over the middle pocket. "A-ha!" I said. I found a nice place in the "D" for my ball. "Now then. This is the Gray stroke, you know." I suppose I was nervous. Anyhow, I just nicked the red ball gently on the wrong side and left it hanging over the pocket. The white travelled slowly up the table. "Why is that called the grey stroke?" asked Celia with great interest. "Because once, when Sir Edward Grey was playing the German Ambassador—but it's rather a long story. I'll tell you another time." "Oh! Well, anyhow, did the German Ambassador get anything for it?" "No." "Then I suppose I don't. Bother." "But you've only got to knock the red in for game." "Oh!... There, what's that?" "That's a miss-cue. I get one." "Oh!... Oh well," she added magnanimously, "I'm glad you've started scoring. It will make it more interesting for you." There was just room to creep in off the red, leaving it still over the pocket. With Celia's ball nicely over the other pocket there was a chance of my twenty break. "Let's see," I said, "how many do I want?" "Twenty-nine," replied Celia. "Ah," I said ... and I crept in. "That's three to you," I said icily. "Game." <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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