The Sunny Side | Page 7

and tell me how many we have.
One likes to know. I cannot afford pocket-money for more than a
dozen."

"Ten." She took a franc from me and gave it to the biggest girl.
(Anne-Marie, our first, and getting on so nicely with her French.)
Rapidly she explained what was to be done with it, Anne-Marie's look
of intense rapture slowly straightening itself to one of ordinary
gratitude as the financial standing of the other nine in the business
became clear. Then we waved farewell to our family and went on.
High above the village, a thousand feet above the sea, we rested, and
looked down upon the silvery olives stretching into the blue ... and
more particularly upon one red roof which stood up amid the
grey-green trees.
"That's the Cardews' villa," I said.
Myra was silent.
When Myra married me she promised to love, honour and write all my
thank-you-very-much letters for me, for we agreed before the ceremony
that the word "obey" should mean nothing more than that. There are
two sorts of T.Y.V.M. letters--the "Thank you very much for asking us,
we shall be delighted to come," and the "Thank you very much for
having us, we enjoyed it immensely." With these off my mind I could
really concentrate on my work, or my short mashie shots, or whatever
was of importance. But there was now a new kind of letter to write, and
one rather outside the terms of our original understanding. A friend of
mine had told his friends the Cardews that we were going out to the
Riviera and would let them know when we arrived ... and we had
arrived a week ago.
"It isn't at all an easy letter to write," said Myra. "It's practically asking
a stranger for hospitality."
"Let us say 'indicating our readiness to accept it.' It sounds better."
Myra smiled slowly to herself.
"'Dear Mrs. Cardew,'" she said, "'we are ready for lunch when you are.
Yours sincerely.'"

"Well, that's the idea."
"And then what about the others? If the Cardews are going to be nice
we don't want to leave Dahlia and all of them out of it."
I thought it over carefully for a little.
"What you want to do," I said at last, "is to write a really long letter to
Mrs. Cardew, acquainting her with all the facts. Keep nothing back
from her. I should begin by dwelling on the personnel of our little
company. 'My husband and I,' you should say, 'are not alone. We have
also with us Mr. and Mrs. Archibald Mannering, a delightful couple.
Mr. A. Mannering is something in the Territorials when he is not
looking after his estate. His wife is a great favourite in the county. Next
I have to introduce to you Mr. Thomas Todd, an agreeable young
bachelor. Mr. Thomas Todd is in the
Sucking-a-ruler-and-looking-out-of-the-window Department of the
Admiralty, by whose exertions, so long as we preserve the 2 Todds to 1
formula--or, excluding Canadian Todds, 16 to 10--Britannia rules the
waves. Lastly, there is Mr. Samuel Simpson. Short of sight but warm of
heart, and with (on a bad pitch) a nasty break from the off, Mr. S.
Simpson is a littérateur of some eminence but little circulation,
combining on the cornet intense wind-power with no execution, and on
the golf course an endless enthusiasm with only an occasional contact.
This, dear Mrs. Cardew, is our little party. I say nothing of my
husband.'"
"Go on," smiled Myra. "You have still to explain how we invite
ourselves to lunch."
"We don't; we leave that to her. All we do is to give a list of the meals
in which, in the ordinary course, we are wont to indulge, together with
a few notes on our relative capacities at each. 'Perhaps,' you wind up, 'it
is at luncheon time that as a party we show to the best advantage. Some
day, my dear Mrs. Cardew, we must all meet at lunch. You will then
see that I have exaggerated neither my husband's appetite, nor the light
conversation of my brother, nor the power of apology, should any little
contretemps occur, of Mr. Samuel Simpson. Let us, I say, meet at lunch.

Let us--'" I took out my watch suddenly.
"Come on," I said, getting up and giving a hand to Myra; "we shall only
just be in time for it."

V.
THE GAMESTERS
"It's about time," said Simpson one evening, "that we went to the tables
and--er--" (he adjusted his spectacles)--"had a little flutter."
We all looked at him in silent admiration.
"Oh, Samuel," sighed Myra, "and I promised your aunt that you
shouldn't gamble while you were away."
"But, my dear Myra, it's the first thing the fellows at the club ask you
when you've