O. Henry Memorial Award Prize Stories of 1919 | Page 8

had been to flaunt Chev in
his face! In remorseful and hasty reparation he stumbled on. "But the
old fellows are always having great discussions as to which was the
best--you or your brother. Withers always maintains you were."
"Withers lies, then!" the other retorted. "I never touched Chev--never
came within a mile of him, and never could have."
They reached the dinner-table with that, and young Cary found himself
bewildered and uncomfortable. If Gerald hadn't liked praise of Chev, he

had liked praise of himself even less, it seemed.
Dinner was not a success. The Virginian found that, if there was to be
conversation, the burden of carrying it on was upon him, and gosh!
they don't mind silences in this man's island, do they? he commented
desperately to himself, thinking how different it was from America.
Why, there they acted as if silence was an egg that had just been laid,
and everyone had to cackle at once to cover it up. But here the talk
constantly fell to the ground, and nobody but himself seemed
concerned to pick it up. His attempt to praise Chev had not been
successful, and he could understand their not wanting to hear about
flying and the war before Gerald.
So at last, in desperation, he wandered off into descriptions of America,
finding to his relief, that he had struck the right note at last. They were
glad to hear about the States, and Lady Sherwood inquired politely if
the Indians still gave them much trouble; and when he assured her that
in Virginia, except for the Pocahontas tribe, they were all pretty well
subdued, she accepted his statement with complete innocency. And he
was so delighted to find at last a subject to which they were evidently
cordial, that he was quite carried away, and would up by inviting them
all to visit his family in Richmond, as soon as soon as the war was
over.
Gerald accepted at once, with enthusiasm; Lady Sherwood made polite
murmurs, smiling at him in quite a warm and almost, indeed, maternal
manner. Even Sir Charles, who had been staring at the food on his plate
as if he did not quite know what to make of it, came to the surface long
enough to mumble, "Yes, yes, very good idea. Countries must carry on
together--What?"
But that was the only hit of the whole evening, and when the Virginian
retired to his room, as he made an excuse to do early, he was so
confused and depressed that he fell into an acute attack of
homesickness.
Heavens, he thought, as he tumbled into bed, just suppose, now, this
was little old Richmond, Virginia, U.S.A., instead of being
Bishopsthorpe, Avery Cross near Wick, and all the rest of it! And at
that, he grinned to himself. England wasn't such an all-fired big country
that you'd think they'd have to ticket themselves with addresses a yard
long, for fear they'd get lost--now, would you? Well, anyway, suppose

it was Richmond, and his train just pulling into the Byrd Street Station.
He stretched out luxuriously, and let his mind picture the whole
familiar scene. The wind was blowing right, so there was the mellow
homely smell of tobacco in the streets, and plenty of people all along
the way to hail him with outstretched hands and shouts of "Hey, Skip
Cary, when did you get back?" "Welcome home, my boy!" "Well, will
you look what the cat dragged in!" And so he came to his own front
door-step, and, walking straight in, surprised the whole family at
breakfast; and yes--doggone it! if it wasn't Sunday, and they having
waffles! And after that his obliging fancy bore him up Franklin Street,
through Monroe Park, and so to Miss Sally Berkeley's door. He was
sound asleep before he reached it, but in his dreams, light as a little bird,
she came flying down the broad stairway to meet him, and--
But when he waked next morning, he did not find himself in Virginia,
but in Devonshire, where, to his unbounded embarrassment, a white
housemaid was putting up his curtains and whispering something about
his bath. And though he pretended profound slumber, he was well
aware that people do not turn brick-red in their sleep. And the problem
of what was the matter with the Sherwood family was still before him.
II
"They're playing a game," he told himself after a few days. "That is,
Lady Sherwood and Gerald are--poor old Sir Charles can't make much
of a stab at it. The game is to make me think they are awfully glad to
have me, when in reality there's something about me, or something I do,
that gets them on the raw."
He almost decided to make some excuse and get away;