London under a sky. There had been rain in the night, and the trees were still dripping. Presently, however, there appeared in the a of blue: and through this in the clouds the sun, at but with confidence, on the and of Grosvenor Square. Stealing across the square, its the of Drexdale House, until the London of the of that name; then, through the window of the breakfast-room, played on the of Mr. Bingley Crocker, late of New York in the United States of America, as he over his paper. Mrs. Bingley Crocker, across the table reading her mail, the did not touch. Had they done so, she would have for Bayliss, the butler, to come and the shade, for she neither from Man from Nature.
Mr. Crocker was about fifty years of age, clean-shaven and of a stoutness. He was as he read. His smooth, good-humoured an which might have been disgust, perplexity, or a of both. His wife, on the other hand, was looking happy. She the from her with of her eyes, just as she would have from Bingley, if he had had any. This was a woman who, like her sister Nesta, had been able all her life to more with a than other with and threat. It had been a popular among his friends that her late husband, the well-known Pittsburg G. G. Brunt, had been in the of all if he the of her photograph on his table.
From the of opened Mrs. Crocker looked up, a the line of her lips.
"A card from Lady Corstorphine, Bingley, for her at-home on the twenty-ninth."
Mr. Crocker, still absorbed, absently.
"One of the most in England. . . . She has with the right of people. Her brother, the Duke of Devizes, is the Premier's friend."
"Uh?"
"The Duchess of Axminster has to ask me to look after a at her for the Indigent Daughters of the Clergy."
"Huh?"
"Bingley! You aren't listening. What is that you are reading?"
Mr. Crocker himself from the paper.
"This? Oh, I was looking at a report of that game you me go and see yesterday."
"Oh? I am you have to take an in cricket. It is a social in England. Why you such a about taking it up, I can't think. You used to be so of and is just the same thing."
A close would have marked a of the look of pain on Mr. Crocker's face. Women say this of thing carelessly, with no wish to wound: but that makes it none the less hard to bear.
From the came the of the telephone, then the of Bayliss it. Mr. Crocker returned to his paper.
Bayliss entered.
"Lady Corstorphine to speak to you on the telephone, madam."
Half-way to the door Mrs. Crocker paused, as if something that had her memory.
"Is Mr. James up, Bayliss?"
"I not, madam. I am by one of the house-maids who passed his door a time that there were no sounds."
Mrs. Crocker left the room. Bayliss, preparing to her example, was by an from the table.
"Say!"
His master's voice.
"Say, Bayliss, come here a minute. Want to ask you something."
The approached the table. It to him that his was not looking himself this morning. There was something a wild, a little haggard, about his expression. He had on it in the in the Servants' Hall.
As a of fact, Mr. Crocker's was a perfectly one. He was from one of those of home-sickness, which him in the Summer months. Ever since his marriage five years and his from his native land he had been a to the complaint. The less in Winter and Spring, but from May he severely.
Poets have with the of every one. They have of Ruth, of Israel in bondage, of for their native Africa, and of the miner's of home. But the of the bug, by to live three thousand miles away from the Polo Grounds, have been neglected in song. Bingley Crocker was such a one, and in Summer his were awful. He away in a country where they said "Well played, sir!" when they meant "'at-a-boy!"
"Bayliss, do you play cricket?"
"I am a little past the age, sir. In my days . . ."
"Do you it?"
"Yes, sir. I an at Lord's or the Oval when there is a good match."
Many who a with the would have looked on this as an of in Bayliss, but Mr. Crocker was not surprised. To him, from the very beginning, Bayliss had been a man and a who was always to his in order to answer questions with the thousand and one problems which the social life of England presented. Mr. Crocker's mind had itself with to the of class distinction: and, while he had himself of his early to address the as "Bill," he failed to him as man to man in his moments of perplexity. Bayliss was always to be of assistance. He liked Mr. Crocker. True, his manner might have a more man than his as a too closely that of an father a son who was not right in the head: but it had in it.
Mr. Crocker up his paper and it at the page, pointing with a forefinger.
"Well, what all this mean? I've out of since I in England, but yesterday they got the to work and took me off to see Surrey play Kent at that place Lord's where you say you go sometimes."
"I was there yesterday, sir. A very game."
"Exciting? How do you make that out? I sat in the all afternoon, waiting for something to loose. Doesn't anything at cricket?"
The a little, but managed to a smile. This man, he reflected, was but an American and as such more to be than censured. He to explain.
"It was a yesterday, sir, to the rain."
"Eh?"
"The was sticky, sir."
"Come again."
"I that the why the game yesterday you as slow was that the wicket—I should say the turf—was sticky—that is to say wet. Sticky is the term, sir. When the is sticky, the are to a great of caution, as the of the the to make the turn more in either direction as it the than when the is not sticky."
"That's it, is it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Thanks for telling me."
"Not at all, sir."
Mr. Crocker pointed to the paper.
"Well, now, this to be the box-score of the game we saw yesterday. If you can make out of that, go to it."
The passage on which his rested was "Final Score," and ran as follows:
SURREY
First Innings
Hayward, c Wooley, b Carr ....... 67
Hobbs, out ................... 0
Hayes, st Huish, b Fielder ...... 12
Ducat, b Fielder ................ 33
Harrison, not out ............... 11
Sandham, not out ................. 6
Extras .......................... 10
Total (for four wickets) ....... 139
Bayliss the gravely.
"What is it you wish me to explain, sir?"
"Why, the whole thing. What's it all about?"
"It's perfectly simple, sir. Surrey the toss, and took knock. Hayward and Hobbs were the opening pair. Hayward called Hobbs for a run, but the was unable to across and was out by mid-on. Hayes was the next man in. He out of his ground and was stumped. Ducat and Hayward a the of the wicket, until Ducat was by a good length off-break and Hayward at second off a googly. Then Harrison and Sandham played out time."
Mr. Crocker through his nose.
"Yes!" he said. "Yes! I had an idea that was it. But I think I'd like to have it once again, slowly. Start with these figures. What that sixty-seven mean, opposite Hayward's name?"
"He sixty-seven runs, sir."
"Sixty-seven! In one game?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why, Home-Run Baker couldn't do it!"
"I am not familiar with Mr. Baker, sir."
"I you've a ball-game?"
"Ball-game, sir?"
"A game?"
"Never, sir."
"Then, Bill," said Mr. Crocker, in his to the of his early London days, "you haven't lived. See here!"
Whatever of respect for class Mr. Crocker had managed to the opening of the now definitely disappeared. His and he like a war-horse. He the by the and him closer to the table, then to move forks, spoons, cups, and the of his plate about the cloth with an energy little of feverish.
"Bayliss!"
"Sir?"
"Watch!" said Mr. Crocker, with the air of an high about to a into the Mysteries.
He a roll from the basket.
"You see this roll? That's the home plate. This spoon is base. Where I'm this cup is second. This piece of is third. There's your diamond for you. Very well, then. These of sugar are the and the outfielders. Now we're ready. Batter up? He here. Catcher him. Umps catcher."
"Umps, I take it, sir, is what we would call the umpire?"
"Call him anything you like. It's part of the game. Now here's the box, where I've put this of marmalade, and here's the pitcher, up."
"The would be to our bowler?"
"I so, though why you should call him a past me."
"The box, then, is the bowler's wicket?"
"Have it your own way. Now pay attention. Play ball! Pitcher's up. Put it over, Mike, put it over! Some speed, kid! Here it comes, right in the groove. Bing! Batter it and for first. Outfielder—this of sugar—boots it. Bonehead! Batter touches second. Third? No! Get back! Can't be done. Play it safe. Stick around the sack, old pal. Second up. Pitcher something on the now the cover. Whiffs him. Back to the bench, Cyril! Third up. See him his hands in the dirt. Watch this kid. He's good! He lets two alone, then the next right on the nose. Whizzes around to second. First guy, the one we left on second, comes home for one run. That's a game! Take it from me, Bill, that's a game!"
Somewhat overcome with the energy with which he had himself into his lecture, Mr. Crocker sat and himself with cold coffee.
"Quite an game," said Bayliss. "But I find, now that you have it, sir, that it is familiar to me, though I have always it under another name. It is played a great in this country."
Mr. Crocker started to his feet.
"It is? And I've been five years here without it out! When's the next game scheduled?"
"It is in England as Rounders, sir. Children play it with a soft and a racquet, and from it. I had of it as a for adults."
Two into the butler's face.
"Children?" The word came in a whisper.
"A racquet?"
"Yes, sir."
"You—you didn't say a soft ball?"
"Yes, sir."
A of to Mr. Crocker. He had five years in England, but not till this moment had he to the full how alone he was in an land. Fate had him, and helpless, in a country where they called Rounders and played it with a soft ball.
He into his chair, him. And as he sat the to melt and he was upon a green field, in the centre of which a man in a was a Salome dance. Watching this person with a cold and eye, another man, above his a club. Two Masked Marvels him in of waiting. On seats all around sat a of shirt-sleeved spectators, and the air was full of voices.
One voice itself from the din.
"Pea-nuts! Get y'r pea-nuts!"
Something that was almost a Bingley Crocker's frame. Bayliss the upon him with concern. He was sure the master was unwell.
The case of Mr. Bingley Crocker was one that would have provided an "instance" for a to into an and the lesson that money not of with it happiness. And has his position in the stanza.
An from home in vain.
Oh, give me my again;
The gaily, that came at my call,
Give me them, and that peace of mind than all.
Mr. Crocker had in a cottage, had his relations with the of his native land the stage of by the poet; but "Lambs Club" for the and "members" for the latter, and the complete.
Until the time of his second marriage Bingley Crocker had been an actor, a snapper-up of small character-parts the gods provided. He had an excellent disposition, no money, and one son, a man of twenty-one. For forty-five years he had a hand-to-mouth in which his next had come as a surprise: and then, on an Atlantic liner, he met the of G. G. Brunt, the to that magnate's fortune.
What Mrs. Brunt have in Bingley Crocker to her to single him out from all the world comprehension: but the of Cupid are commonplace. It were best to into and to results. The and its in the ten days which it took one of the smaller Atlantic to sail from Liverpool to New York. Mr. Crocker was on he was returning with a company from a failure in London, Mrs. Brunt she had been told that the slow were the steadiest. They the as and ended it as an couple—the being expedited, no doubt, by the that, if it to Bingley to the on his peace, he soon the of doing so, for the of ship-board the always of his bride's nature.
The was in a by the only blood-relations of the two principals. Jimmy, Mr. Crocker's son, on being that his father had his to the of a millionaire, the and enthusiasm, and at a little supper which he gave by way of to a of his newspaper and which till six in the morning, when it was up by the of waiters for which the restaurant is famous, that work and he would from then on be total strangers. He in terms to the Providence which over good men and saves them from the of themselves in the flower of their as to the Moloch of greed: and, having with his guests in that a of luck had not to each of them, them to their in drink. Which they did.
Far different was the of Mrs. Crocker's sister, Nesta Pett. She of the match. At least, the that in her final with her sister she the bridegroom-to-be as a mummer, a fortune-hunter, a broken-down tramp, and a sneaking, confidence-trickster colour to the that she was not a warm of it. She with Mrs. Crocker's that they should speak to each other again as long as they lived: and it was after this that the husband Bingley, step-son Jimmy, and all her other and to London, where they had since. Whenever Mrs. Crocker spoke of America now, it was in of the and contempt. Her friends were English, and every year more of England's aristocracy. She to a leading in London Society, and already her progress had been astonishing. She the right people, in the right square, said the right things, and the right thoughts: and in the Spring of her third year had succeeded in Bingley of his of his with the "Say, tell ya something." Her progress, in short, was to assume the of a walk-over.
Against her complete and only one thing militated. That was the of her step-son, Jimmy.
It was of Jimmy that she spoke when, having the on its hook, she returned to the breakfast-room. Bayliss had withdrawn, and Mr. Crocker was in at the table.
"A most thing has happened, Bingley," she said. "It was most of dear Lady Corstorphine to ring me up. It that her nephew, Lord Percy Whipple, is in England. He has been in Ireland for the past three years, on the staff of the Lord Lieutenant, and only in London yesterday afternoon. Lady Corstorphine has promised to a meeting him and James. I particularly want them to be friends."
"Eugenia," said Mr. Crocker in a voice, "do you know they call Rounders over here, and children play it with a soft ball?"
"James is a problem. It is necessary that he should make friends with the right of men."
"And a racquet," said Mr. Crocker.
"Please to what I am saying, Bingley. I am talking about James. There is a American in him which to of better. I was with the Delafields at the Carlton yesterday, and there, only a tables away, was James with an man in clothes. It was that James should have been in public at all with such a person. The man had a nose and talked through it. He was saying in a loud voice that turn something about his left-scissors hook—whatever that may have been. I later that he was a low professional pugilist from New York—a man named Spike Dillon, I think Captain Wroxton said. And Jimmy was him lunch—at the Carlton!"
Mr. Crocker said nothing. Constant had him an at saying nothing when his wife was talking.
"James must be to his responsibilities. I shall have to speak to him. I was only the other day of a most man, rich and in his to the party funds, who was only a knighthood, he had a son who had in a manner that not possibly be overlooked. The present Court is in its views. James cannot be too careful. A amount of in a man is proper in the best set, provided that he is wild in the right company. Every one that Lord Datchet was from the Empire Music-Hall on Boat-Race night every year his at Oxford University, but nobody minds. The family it as a joke. But James has such low tastes. Professional pugilists! I that many years ago it was not for men in Society to be about with such persons, but those days are over. I shall speak to James. He cannot to call attention to himself in any way. That breach-of-promise case of his three years ago, is, I and trust, forgotten, but the on his part might start the papers talking about it again, and that would be fatal. The to a title must be as as—"
It was not, as has been above, the of Mr. Crocker to his wife when she was speaking, but he did it now.
"Say!"
Mrs. Crocker frowned.
"I wish, Bingley—and I have told you so often—that you would not your with the word 'Say'! It is such a Americanism. Suppose some day when you are the House of Lords you should make a like that! The papers would let you the end of it."
Mr. Crocker was convulsively, as if his with a view to speech. Like Saul of Tarsus, he had been by the light which his wife's had to upon him. Frequently his in London he had just why Eugenia had settled there in to her own country. It was not her to do without an object, yet until this moment he had been unable to her motives. Even now it almost incredible. And yet what meaning would her have other than the one which had him as a blackjack?
"Say—I mean, Eugenia—you don't want—you aren't trying—you aren't to—you haven't any idea of trying to them to make me a Lord, have you?"
"It is what I have been for all these years!"
"But—but why? Why? That's what I want to know. Why?"
Mrs. Crocker's glittered.
"I will tell you why, Bingley. Just we were married I had a talk with my sister Nesta. She was offensive. She to you in terms which I shall forgive. She to look on you, to think that I was marrying me. So I am going to make you an English and send Nesta a newspaper of the Birthday Honours with your name in it, if I have to keep till I die! Now you know!"
Silence fell. Mr. Crocker cold coffee. His wife with into the future.
"Do you that I shall have to stop on here till they make me a lord?" said Mr. Crocker limply.
"Yes."
"Never go to America?"
"Not till we have succeeded."
"Oh Gee! Oh Gosh! Oh Hell!" said Mr. Crocker, the of years.
Mrs. Crocker though resolute, was not unkindly. She for her husband's of mind. She was to permit American the sinking-in of her great idea, much as a broad-minded might to the of a the process. Docility and would be of him later, but not till the had abated. She spoke to him.
"I am we have had this talk, Bingley. It is best that you should know. It will help you to your responsibilities. And that me to James. Thank Lord Percy Whipple is in town. He is about James' age, and from what Lady Corstorphine tells me will be an friend for him. You who he is, of course? The second son of the Duke of Devizes, the Premier's friend, the man who can the Birthday Honours. If James and Lord Percy can only a close friendship, our will be as good as won. It will everything. Lady Corstorphine has promised to a meeting. In the meantime, I will speak to James and him to be more careful."
Mr. Crocker had produced a of pencil from his pocket and was on the table-cloth.
Lord Crocker
Lord Bingley Crocker
Lord Crocker of Crocker
The Marquis of Crocker
Baron Crocker
Bingley, Viscount Crocker
He as he read the words. A him.
"Eugenia!"
"Well?"
"What will the boys at the Lambs say?"
"I am not interested," his wife, "in the boys at the Lambs."
"I you wouldn't be," said the gloomily.
