The Trials of Tony/An Excellent Opening
An Excellent Opening
ARE you both asleep?" said Lady Custerd.
Two heads rose from the smoking-room lounges. At the same time Algie's feet dropped upon the floor, but Tony remained gracefully outstretched.
"No, "said Tony, "only exhausted."
"But you've hardly been out of the house today!"
"That's just it," said Algie.
"Nothin's so tirin' as thinkin'," explained Tony.
He was now fully matured and already showed every sign of fulfilling the promise of his youth. Three years spent chiefly in London, Doncaster, Newmarket, and other centers of culture and enterprise had contributed greatly to this result. His mustache was trimmed and brushed up in the most approved fashion, he had almost totally divested his vocabulary of the letter g, his complexion was rosier than ever, and all these physical allurements were now enhanced by the most perfect tailoring.
His faithful friend resembled him, if possible, more closely than ever; though, as Lady Custerd always maintained, there was "a something" about Anthony that distinguished him from the most artistic imitation.
"Dear me," she answered sympathetically, "what have you been thinking about?"
"What dear Tony's goin' to do next," said Algie.
"Well, and what have you decided?"
The twain exchanged a disconsolate glance.
"Nothin'," said Tony, and closed his eyes with the air of a man who thoroughly deserved a rest.
Ever since he left Oxford it had been his own opinion that this was really what he required. His father and certain other of his kindred might talk away as much as they liked about the necessity for his finding some means of earning a livelihood; but, as for himself, he found the mere contemplation of the various occupations they suggested quite fatiguing enough. Being the soul of good nature, he had endeavored to satisfy his parents' aspirations by drifting in whatever direction his counselors suggested. But what was the use when he was never allowed to get any farther? He had drifted toward the army till an unsympathetic examiner barred his way. He had floated actually into the city, but somehow or other the next wave washed him out again. In short, he had done his best to please the dear old Guv'nor, and now all he asked for was to be left alone. Yet this interminable babble about livelihood still continued.
"I call it rot," he remarked, suddenly opening his mild blue eyes.
"What is?" inquired his aunt.
"Askin' me to think of something myself. I'll do anything the Guv'nor likes; I've told him so any number of times. Why can't he find me something without all this worryin'? Today's been wasted in thinkin', and what's the result? Simply that poor old Algie and me's dead beat. It's wastin' Algie's time and it's wastin' mine."
Lady Custerd sighed and went in search of her brother-in-law. He had grown more incomprehensible than ever of late, and she had no great hopes of obtaining satisfaction: but she resolved to make a very determined effort to stir him up. Of course it was his business to find a job for dear Tony.
At her entrance Lord Raymes looked up from a letter he was reading.
"We have a humorist in our family," he observed.
"Oh," she said, "who is it?"
"James Rutland. He asks me for a couple of hundred pounds!"
"James Rutland!" she exclaimed. "I call that rather cool; and I sincerely trust, Raymes, that you won't dream of giving two hundred pounds to your second cousin—isn't he?—while your own children remain hard up."
"I must remember that argument."
"But what does he want so much money for? I always thought James Rutland was one of those queer people who live simple lives and that kind of thing."
"So he is. He wants to start poultry farming."
"Well, why not tell him you'll buy his eggs? That's much more sensible than sending him money; because you've got to have eggs anyhow."
"I had already thought of that, but unfortunately James proposes to start this venture in New Zealand."
"Then tell him you are very sorry, but you can't help him," said Lady Custerd decisively. "And now, Raymes, I do want to ask you to set yourself to think seriously of Tony's future. You must find something for the poor boy to do. I don't believe in young men having no occupation whatever; even if it was"
He interrupted her by the liveliest exhibition of pleasure he had displayed for many years:
"I have found something!"
"What?" she cried.
"I'll send James the money if he'll take Tony, too."
"Raymes!"
"Yes, Gwendolen, two hundred pounds is a larger check than I ever expected to write again: but think of the satisfaction of feeling that one's youngest boy was only twelve thousand miles away! Hang it, it's only paying fourpence a mile for the sensation."
"You aren't serious?"
"My dear Gwendolen, it's the chance of a lifetime. James is much too hard up to refuse, and once Tony gets out there he'll never have the energy to come home."
"But poultry farming—for Tony!"
"Compare it with bankruptcy."
Lord Raymes rose and politely held the door open.
"Come," he said, "we'll launch him while our enthusiasm is at its height."
It seemed as though Anthony were never going to enjoy the repose he had earned. Within ten minutes of his aunt's departure she and his father again disturbed the quiet of the smoking-room.
"Tony, my boy," said Lord Raymes affectionately, "you are in luck's way."
"Whose way?" asked Tony.
"Luck's."
"But the race isn't run till tomorrow."
Lord Raymes merely raised his eyebrows.
"The result has been decided tonight," he replied.
Tony looked at him gravely.
"Some one's been stuffin' you up," he pronounced.
His father regarded him with an indulgence born of their prospective separation.
"I have found a billet for you," he said.
"By jove!" said Algie.
Tony took the good news in more slowly.
"For me?"
"Yes."
"A billet, you said?"
"I did."
"That's all right," said Tony, and threw up his legs again on the sofa.
"Tony!" exclaimed his aunt, "don't you want to know what it is?"
"Oh—er—by the way, yes, what is it?"
"You are going into poultry farming with your cousin, James Rutland."
Tony stared.
"James Rutland? Never met the fellow. Bit of an ass, isn't he?"
"I think you will find him excellent company," his father assured him.
Tony reflected.
"But, I say, look here, poultry farming you said; what?"
"The very thing for you!"
"But what I mean is—how d'ye do it?"
"You start with a nest egg, I believe."
"With a hen," corrected Lady Custerd. "You must get your hens first, Raymes."
Algie had been listening to this conversation with increasing consternation. At this point he could contain his feelings no longer.
"But look here, I say, don't you know," he protested, "hens ain't very high-class; what?"
"It depends on the kind of hen," said Lord Raymes with undiminished enthusiasm; "some are perfect ladies, I believe."
His sister-in-law seemed a little scandalized.
"I wish you wouldn't put it quite like that," she expostulated.
"Ah," he explained smilingly, "but then, on the other hand, some ladies are perfect hens."
"I—I don't quite follow," she hesitated.
Tony's practical mind gave the conversation a fresh turn.
"Do we eat them, or what?" he asked.
"Eventually, I believe," said his father, "but I should imagine it was optional."
"I don't want to seem a wet blanket," put in Algie, "but isn't it a little infra dig. for dear old Tony—after only just failin' to get into the Guards?"
"In this life, Algernon, one must often be contented with the next best thing."
"But I say, look here," said Tony, struck with a new and puzzling aspect of the case, "suppose they start layin' eggs; what?"
"My dear fellow," cried his parent, "that's just where you come in!"
"But hang it, I ain't a vegetarian."
"My dear boy," smiled Lady Custerd, "you sell the eggs. That's how you make your profit."
"Oh!" said Tony.
Algie remained dissatisfied.
"I call it a deuced risky kind of business, if you ask me," he observed.
"Really?" said Lord Raymes. "Now if you ask me, I should say that an animal that can be persuaded to deposit a source of revenue every morning in your hen coop without even asking for a commission is the very bird we're all looking for."
"Yes, sir, but they break so easy."
"You can't make omelets otherwise, Algernon."
Tony had been listening to his father's arguments with an air of returning gayety.
Great business, I call it!" he exclaimed.
"D'ye mean to say you're on for it, Tony?" asked Algernon.
"Anything for a quiet life, dear boy. Where does one play this kind of game? I remember once noticin' hens near Epsom. What about trainin' ''em there? They'll lay as well one place as another, I s'pose."
"They do it best in New Zealand, I believe," said his father with a casual air.
"New Zealand," mused Tony; "that's a longish way off, ain't it?"
"Only twelve thousand miles."
"Beastly hot there; what?"
"One of the finest climates in the world."
"Oh, but I say, sir"
"Remarkable for the beauty of its women," Lord Raymes interposed hastily.
"Right you are," said Tony.
"Tony!" cried his friend disconsolately. But the die was cast.
•••••
It was just three weeks later that Lord Raymes and Lady Custerd found themselves dining alone together. From the fullness of her heart Lady Custerd murmured half aloud: "I suppose Tony's now right out at sea!"
"You suppose he's still quite at sea, eh?" Lord Raymes asked. "Yes, I presume one must take that for granted."
"I said that he must have sailed by now," she corrected.
"I have certainly taken every precaution I could think of. I didn't give James Rutland the chance of meeting him till three hours before the ship sailed. Hang it, James couldn't back out of it at three hours' notice!" His air grew cheerier. "Yes, Gwendolen, I think we are almost justified in regarding our dear Tony as an exile on the deep."
"Of course we all have our faults," said Lady Custerd; "but poor Tony really had much to contend with."
His father cordially agreed.
"Nature treated him shamefully; she seemed to have forgotten everything."
"Yet he had a charming disposition!"
"He would let one stroke him all day."
"And he repaid every obligation with genuine affection."
"With absolutely nothing else," Lord Raymes concurred.
"I shall long for him to come back!"
"You will have the sympathy of all New Zealand," Lord Raymes assured her.
"But it's so far for him to come!"
"Twelve thousand miles," said he. "Gad, I never dreamt I should ever get as far away from Tony as that!"
"Hullo!" said Tony.
The two disconsolate mourners stared at the apparition in silence.
"Didn't expect me back so soon; what?" it continued.
Lord Raymes was the first to recover.
"I ought to have," he confessed, "but something in this fine weather made me feel sanguine."
"Isn't the ship sailing tonight?" cried Lady Custerd.
"Oh, she's sailin' all right."
"And James Rutland?"
"He's not going either."
"Not going either? Why not?"
"Says he's got a nervous headache."
"When did it come on?" his father inquired stoically.
"It seemed to begin about two minutes after he saw me. At least he looked all right when I met him, but as soon as we started talkin' I noticed him gettin' queerer and queerer. Oh, by the way, I've got a letter from him."
His father opened it with philosophic calm. It contained only his own check for two hundred pounds and this penciled line written in a hand that evidently quivered with the stress of strong emotion:
"Not big enough."
"I told you Rutland was an ass," said Tony.
"You were wrong," his parent replied.