The Right Stuff | Page 7

as
such, provided that he keeps his head, has an extremely pleasant time

of it. If, however, any obtuse and amorous youth persists in mistaking
what Nanki-Poo once described as "customary expressions of
affability" for an indication that his infatuation is reciprocated, the
Twins act promptly. They have "no use" for such creatures, they once
explained to me; and they proceed to rid themselves of the incubus in a
fashion entirely their own.
As soon as the pressure of the affaire rises to danger-point--i.e., when
the youth begins to pay markedly more attention to one Twin than the
other--he is asked, say, to lunch. Here he is made much of by the object
of his affections, who looks radiant in, let us say, white batiste; while
the unemployed Twin, in (possibly) blue poplin, holds discreetly aloof.
After lunch the Twins, leaving their victim to smoke a cigar, retire
swiftly to their room, where they exchange costumes, and descend
again to the drawing-room. There Dolly, now arrayed in white batiste,
enters upon the path of dalliance where Dilly left off; and Dilly,
relieved from duty, crochets in a window-recess, and silently enjoys her
sister's impersonation.
One of two things happens. Romeo either does not notice the difference,
or else he does. If he does not, he continues to flounder heavily along in
pursuit of the well-beloved, oblivious of the fact that he is wasting his
efforts on an understudy. After an appropriate interval the cold truth is
revealed to him in a hysterical duet, and he goes home, glaring
defiantly, but feeling an entire and unmitigated ass.
Or he may actually recognise that Dilly has been replaced by
Dolly,--this is what happens when the case is a really serious one,--and
if this occurs he is more sorrowful than angry, poor fellow, for he sees
that he is being trifled with; and your true lover is the most desperately
earnest person in the world. In either case the affaire terminates then
and there. And that is how my sisters-in-law, with adroitness and
despatch, return immature and undesirable suitors to their native
element. The whole proceeding reminds me irresistibly of the
Undersized Fish Bill, a measure whose progress I once assisted in its
course through a Committee of the House.
However, having been bidden to procure a Private Secretary, I meekly

set about looking for one. One night at dinner we held a symposium on
the subject, and endeavoured to evolve an outline of the kind of
gentleman who was likely to suit us. The following is a précis of the
result. I leave the intelligent reader to trace each item to its author; also
the various parenthetical comments on the same:--
(a) He must be a 'Varsity man.
(b) He must be able to keep accounts, and transact business generally.
(c) He must be content with a salary of two hundred a-year, with board
and residence in the house. ("He can have that little room off the library
for a sitting-room, dear, and sleep in the old night-nursery.")
(d) He must not wear celluloid collars or made-up ties. ("But he'll have
to, poor dear, if the Infant Samuel only gives him two hundred a-year.")
(e) He must be prepared to run through my speeches before I deliver
them. ("I suppose that means write them!"), look up my subject-matter,
verify my references, and so on. ("That will be an improvement. But
what will the halfpenny papers do then, poor things?")
(f) He must be the sort of man that one can have in to a dinner-party
without any fear of accidents. ("Yes. He must be all right about peas,
asparagus, and liqueurs. And finger-bowls, dearest. You remember the
man who drank out of his at that queer political dinner to the
constituents?")
(g) He must be nice to my Philly.
(h) He must be dark. ("Pshaw!")
(i) He must be fair. ("Ugh!")
(j) He must be able to waltz and play bridge.
At this point I suggested that a prepaid telegram to the Celestial
Regions would alone procure the article we required. However, we
ultimately descended to an advertisement in the Morning Post, and in

due course I obtained a secretary. In fact, I obtained several. We had
them seriatim, and none stayed longer than a month. I do not propose
to write a detailed history of the dynasty which I now found it my
privilege to support. A brief résumé of each will suffice.
Number One.--Cambridge Football Blue. Big and breezy. Spelling
entirely phonetic. Spent most of his time smoking in the drawing-room,
and laboured under the delusion that, as my amanuensis, he was at
liberty to forge my signature to all documents, including cheques. He
used my official note-paper to back horses on, and was finally
requested to leave, after an unseemly brawl with