Happy Pollyooly | Page 8

for her mending. A brief examination of his wardrobe showed her that
her surmise was accurate: there was at least a month's hard mending to
be done before that wardrobe would contain garments really worthy of
the name of underclothing. She decided to begin by darning his socks,
for she chanced to have some black darning wool in her workbox. She
brought three pairs of them into the studio, and began to darn. Nature
had been generous, even lavish, to Hilary Vance in the matter of feet;
and his socks were enormous. So were the holes in them. But their
magnitude did not shake Pollyooly's resolve to darn them.
She had been at work for about three-quarters of an hour when there
came a knock at the door. She went to it in some trepidation, expecting
to find a raging Butterwick on the threshold. She opened it gingerly,
and to her relief looked into the friendly face of Mr. James, the
novelist.
On that friendly face sat the expression of weary resignation with
which he was wont to intervene in the affairs of his great-hearted, but
impulsive, friend.
He greeted Pollyooly warmly, and asked if Hilary Vance were in.
Pollyooly told him the artist was lunching at the Savage Club.

Mr. James hesitated; then walking down the passage into the studio, he
said:
"Well, I expect that you'll be able to tell me the latest news of the affair.
I've just got back from Scotland to find a letter from Mr. Ruffin to say
that Mr. Vance has at last found the lady of his dreams and is engaged
to be married to a florist's assistant of the name of Flossie. I expect Mr.
Ruffin's rotting; he knows what a bother Mr. Vance is. But I thought I'd
better come round and make sure. Do you know anything about it?"
"I don't think he's engaged to her quite. But he's expecting to be every
day," said Pollyooly.
"Oh, he is, is he?" said Mr. James in a tone of some exasperation.
"What's she like?"
"She's fair, with a lot of fair hair and a very large hat with lots of
flowers in it," said Pollyooly.
"She would be!" broke in Mr. James with a groan.
"And she gives herself airs because of that hat."
"Just what I supposed," said Mr. James, fuming.
"But she's engaged to Mr. Reginald Butterwick," said Pollyooly.
"The deuce she is!" cried Mr. James; and a faint gleam of hope
brightened his face. "And who is Mr. Reginald Butterwick?"
"He's with Messrs. Mercer & Topping; but he can always get an
afternoon off to knock the stuffing out of any one, because he boxes at
the Chiswick Polytechnic. And he's going to get his afternoon off
to-day to knock the stuffing out of Mr. Vance."
"The deuce he is!" cried Mr. James. "Well, a good hiding would do
Hilary a world of good," he added in a vengeful tone. "Teach him not
to go spooning florists' assistants."

"Oh, no. He might get hurt ever so badly," said Pollyooly firmly.
Mr. James' face grew stubborn; then it softened, and he said:
"Well, there's always the danger of his getting a finger broken; and that
wouldn't do. I suppose we must stop the affray--it might get into the
papers too."
"Yes: we must stop it, if we can," said Pollyooly anxiously.
"Well, if he's lunching at the Savage he'll play Spelka after it; and I
shall catch him there. I'll keep him out all the afternoon--till his rival
has tired of waiting and gone."
"Oh, yes. That would be much the best," said Pollyooly gratefully.
Mr. James went briskly to the door. At it he stopped and said:
"There's a chance that I may miss him. There may not be a game of
Spelka; and he may come straight home. Perhaps you'd better wait in
till about five."
"Yes: I think I'd better. He'd be sure to come back and not know
anything about Mr. Butterwick, if there weren't anybody here," said
Pollyooly.
He bade her good-bye; and let himself out of the house. She returned to
her darning.
It was as well that she had not left the house, for about twenty minutes
later the front door was opened, and the passage and studio quivered
gently to Hilary Vance's weight. Pollyooly sprang up and met him at
the door of the studio with Flossie's note.
At the sight of the handwriting, a large, gratified smile covered all the
round expanse of his face. But as he read, the smile faded, giving way
to an expression of the liveliest surprise and consternation.
"What the deuce is this?" he cried loudly.

"She said he was going to knock the stuffing out of you, Mr. Vance,
and he might be here any time