Austin and His Friends | Page 7

shifting clouds. Do you know, I even see
beauty in this wooden leg of mine, great beauty, though everybody else

thinks it perfectly hideous! So that is why I hope I am not wrong in
imagining that perhaps I may, really, be in some sense an artist."
For a moment St Aubyn did not speak. "The boy's a great artist," he
muttered to himself. His interest was now excited in good earnest; here
was no common mind. Of art Austin knew practically nothing, but the
artistic instinct was evidently tingling in every vein of him. St Aubyn
himself lived for art and literature, and was amazed to have come
across so curiously exceptional a personality. He drew the boy out a
little more, and then, in a moment of impulse, did a most unaccustomed
thing: he invited Austin to lunch with him on the following Thursday,
promising, in addition, that they should spend the afternoon together
looking over his conservatories and picture-gallery.
So great an honour, so undreamt-of a privilege, sent Austin's blood to
the roots of his hair. He flourished his leg more proudly than ever as he
stumped victoriously home and announced the great news to Aunt
Charlotte. That estimable lady was fingering some notepaper on her
writing-table as her excited nephew came bursting in upon her with his
face radiant.
"Auntie," he cried, "what do you think? You'll never guess. I'm going
to lunch with Mr St Aubyn on Thursday!"
Aunt Charlotte turned round, looking slightly dazed.
"Going to lunch with whom?" she asked.
"With Mr St Aubyn. You know--he lives at Moorcombe Court. I met
him in the woods and had a long talk with him, and now he's going to
show me all his pictures--and his engravings--and his wonderful
orchids and things. I'm to spend all the afternoon with him. Isn't it
splendid! I could never have hoped for such an opportunity. And he's
so awfully nice--so cultured and clever, you know--"
"Really!" said Aunt Charlotte, drawing herself up. "Well, you're vastly
honoured, Austin, I must say. Mr St Aubyn is chary of his civilities. It
is very kind of him to ask you, I'm sure, but I think it's rather a liberty
all the same."
"A liberty!" repeated Austin, aghast.
"He has never called on me," returned Aunt Charlotte, statelily. "If he
had wished to cultivate our acquaintance, that would have been at least
the usual thing to do. However, of course I've no objection. On
Thursday, you say. Well, now just give me your attention to something

rather more important. I intend to invite some people here to tea next
week, and you may as well write the invitations for me now."
Austin's face lengthened. "Oh, why?" he sighed. "It isn't as though
there was anybody worth asking--and really, the horrid creatures that
infest this neighbourhood--. Whom do you want to ask?"
"I'm astonished at you, speaking of our friends like that," replied his
aunt, severely. "They're not horrid creatures; they're all very nice and
kind. Of course we must have the MacTavishes----"
"I knew it," groaned Austin, sinking into a chair. "Those dear
MacTavishes! There are nineteen of them, aren't there? Or is it only
nine?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Austin," said Aunt Charlotte. "Then there are the
Miss Minchins--that'll be eleven; the vicar and his wife, of _course_;
and old Mr and Mrs Cobbledick. Now just come and sit here----"
"The Cobbledicks--those old murderers!" cried Austin. "Do you want
us to be all assassinated together?"
"Murderers!" exclaimed Aunt Charlotte, horrified. "I think you've gone
out of your mind. A dear kindly old couple like the Cobbledicks! Not
very handsome, perhaps, but--murderers! What in the world will you
say next?"
"The most sinister-looking old pair of cut-throats in the parish,"
returned Austin. "I should be sorry to meet them on a lonely road on a
dark night, I know that. But really, auntie, I do wish you'd think better
of all this. We're quite happy alone; what do we want of all these
horrible people coming to bore us for Heaven knows how many hours?
Of course I shall be told off to amuse the MacTavishes; just think of it!
Seven red-haired, screaming, giggling monsters----"
"Hold your tongue, do, you abominable boy!" cried Aunt Charlotte.
"I'm inviting our friends for my pleasure, not for yours, and I forbid you
to speak of them in that wicked, slanderous, disrespectful way. Come
now, sit down here and write me the invitations at once."
"For the last time, auntie, I entreat you----" began Austin.
"Not a word more!" replied his aunt. "Begin without more ado."
"Well, if you insist," consented Austin, as he dragged himself into the
seat. "Have you fixed upon a day?"
"No--any day will do. Just choose one yourself," said Aunt Charlotte,
as she dived