Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3822/The Helpmeet

by F. O. Langley

THE HELPMEET.

"May I come in?" said Cecily, knocking at my study door.

"If you insist," said I.

"I only want to use the telephone," she explained, as if that made it any better.

"You couldn't take it away and use it somewhere else?" I asked.

She was unmoved. "It needn't disturb you," she said. "I'll be as quiet as a mouse."

"Won't that be rather dull for the people at the other end of the line?" I ventured.

"Now, you go on with your writing." she said severely. So I went on.

Herbert closed the door softly behind him and went out, leaving Ermyntrude alone. She had let him go. He had gone. He had left her alone. Her—Ermyntrude—alone. It has been truly said that women are queer creatures. They do not like being left alone.

Chapter LVII.

Herbert picked up his hat and stick and passed out of the spacious hall into the street, closing the door softly behind him. It was his habit when angry to close doors softly behind him. He was frequently angry; men often are, and with reason.

"There's something I want to ask you," said Cecily.

"Ask away," I said brusquely.

"Not you," said Cecily, frowning at me and then smiling at the receiver.

And so Herbert found himself in the street. Where should he go? What should he do... say... think... feel...? He was quite unable to decide. Somehow he couldn't bring his mind to bear on the subject. He could hardly recall the name of the lady with whom he had been conversing, let alone what all the trouble was about. He paused and lit a cigarette. Absolutely there was nothing else for it.

"How are you getting on?" I asked Cecily a little peevishly.

"Nicely, thanks," she answered. "And you?"

"Oh, nicely, too," said I, with a sigh.

As for Whatshername Ermyntrude, she was in little better case. She felt as if nothing was ever going to happen to her again; almost, she thought, things had given up happening for good. She felt... but she haldly knew what she felt. After all, love wasn't Maybe love was She should not bear to think of love. Engaged? That is what she had been but wasn't any longer. Who was to blame? Was it Herbert? Was it she? Was it Exchange Providence? The more thought she gave to the matter the further she seemed to be from a definite conclusion. At times it seemed as if At one time it appeared as though At one time At times At 2284 Mayfair Mayfair 2248 2248 Mayfair Twice two is four, twice four is eight.

"Are you coming to the end of your friends?" I asked Cecily.

"If I'm not wanted I'll go," said she snappily.

"You're always wanted, of course," I apologised.

"Then I'll stay," said she brightly.

Chapter LVIII.

As Herbert turned his back on Kensington and walked towards Gerrard Piccadilly, he would, had he looked behind him, have seen a malevolent, sinister man emerge from the shadow and follow him stealthily. But Herbert did not look behind him And why not? It is impossible to say. Suffice it that he didn't. Nay, that is exactly what Herbert did see when he looked behind him. "My God," said he, turning pale..."

"Can we dine with the Monroes on Tuesday?" asked Cecily.

"That depends a good deal on whether they invite us," I answered.

"It's only Jack trying to be funny," Cecily told the receiver.

As I was saying," continued Herbert, "it's James MacClure."

"No less," said the other, with a fiendish smile.

It is necessary to go back a little in order to properly properly to appreciate the momentous importance of the arrival of this man at this juncture. He was destined to play a large poart in Herbert's future; the manner of their acquaintance was this.

Many years ago McClure had James was the son of rich but Jas, as his college friends used to call McClure James Producing a revolver from his hip pocket, Herbert shot James McClure through the heart.

Cecily flapped about with the Directory.

"Trying to find a number that you haven't used already?" I enquired.

Chapter LIX.

Ermyntrude

Chapter LIX.

Ermyntrude

Chapter LIX.

Minnie

Chapter LIX.

On the whole it must be agreed that Herbert was well rid of this Ermyntrude person. There was nothing particular against her except that she was a woman, but surely to goodness that is enough. When Eve arrived the trouble began; when telephones were invented it came to a hear. Think what literature might have achieved had it not always been obsessed by its desire to find some brief definition good enough for woman! I think it is our chief difficulty in appreciating the supposed greatness of Vergil that he couldn't do any better than "Varium et mutabile semper." If Vergil had been a butcher or a grocer or any other unhappy shopkeeper liable to the daily insult to receiving household orders, he must have expressed it more thoroughly. For my own part, sitting here in my study and thinking that metter over to myself, I cannot do better than adopt the phraseology of the telephone instructions: "Intermittent Buzz."

And so Herbert didn't marry, but lived happily ever afterwards. After all, Ermyntrude was essentially a women; they all are, confound them, but some of us are not so lucky as was Herbert in finding out in time.

And that, of course, was the chapter that Cecily suddenly chose to read... nor was it less than an hour before peace was declared again. The terms, however, were not unfavourable. I was partially forgiven, and, what was better still, Cecily wholly departed. I then wrote a revised version of

Chapter LIX.

Ermyntrude was still where we left her, but was beginning to collect her scattered thoughts when Herbert re-entered. He closed the door behind him, neither softly nor loudly, but just ordinariliy, and without more ado took Ermyntrude in his arms.

"We will never again think of all that came between us," he murmured.

She smiled up at him.

"It shall be as nothing," he added.

"It shall," said she.

"It shall indeed," say I.

 

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