They say (said Reginald) that there's nothing sadder thanvictory except defeat. If you've ever stayed with dullpeople during what is alleged to be the festive season, youcan probably revise that saying. I shall never forgetputting in a Christmas at the Babwolds'. Mrs. Babwold issome relation of my father's--a sort of to-be-left-till-called-for cousin--and that was considered sufficient reasonfor my having to accept her invitation at about the sixthtime of asking; though why the sins of the father should bevisited by the children--you won't find any notepaper in thatdrawer; that's where I keep old menus and first-nightprogrammes.Mrs. Babwold wears a rather solemn personality, and has neverbeen known to smile, even when saying disagreeable things toher friends or making out the Stores list. She takes herpleasures sadly. A state elephant at a Durbar gives one avery similar impression. Her husband gardens in allweathers. When a man goes out in the pouring rain to brushcaterpillars off rose-trees, I generally imagine his lifeindoors leaves something to be desired; anyway, it must bevery unsettling for the caterpillars.Of course there were other people there. There was a MajorSomebody who had shot things in Lapland, or somewhere of thatsort; I forget what they were, but it wasn't for want ofreminding. We had them cold with every meal almost, and hewas continually giving us details of what they measured fromtip to tip, as though he thought we were going to make themwarm under-things for the winter. I used to listen to himwith a rapt attention that I thought rather suited me, andthen one day I quite modestly gave the dimensions of an okapiI had shot in the Lincolnshire fens. The Major turned abeautiful Tyrian scarlet (I remember thinking at the timethat I should like my bathroom hung in that colour), and Ithink that at that moment he almost found it in his heart todislike me. Mrs. Babwold put on a first-aid-to-the-injuredexpression, and asked him why he didn't publish a book of hissporting reminiscences; it would be so interesting. Shedidn't remember till afterwards that he had given her two fatvolumes on the subject, with his portrait and autograph as afrontispiece and an appendix on the habits of the Arcticmussel.It was in the evening that we cast aside the cares anddistractions of the day and really lived. Cards were thoughtto be too frivolous and empty a way of passing the time, somost of them played what they called a book game. You wentout into the hall--to get an inspiration, I suppose--then youcame in again with a muffler tied round your neck and lookedsilly, and the others were supposed to guess that you were"Wee MacGreegor." I held out against the inanity as long asI decently could, but at last, in a lapse of good-nature, Iconsented to masquerade as a book, only I warned them that itwould take some time to carry out. They waited for the bestpart of forty minutes, while I went and played wineglassskittles with the page-boy in the pantry; you play it with achampagne cork, you know, and the one who knocks down themost glasses without breaking them wins. I won, with fourunbroken out of seven; I think William suffered from over-anxiousness. They were rather mad in the drawing-room at mynot having come back, and they weren't a bit pacified when Itold them afterwards that I was "At the end of the passage.""I never did like Kipling," was Mrs. Babwold's comment, whenthe situation dawned upon her. "I couldn't see anythingclever in Earthworms out of Tuscany--or is that by Darwin?"Of course these games are very educational, but, personally,I prefer bridge.On Christmas evening we were supposed to be specially festivein the Old English fashion. The hall was horribly draughty,but it seemed to be the proper place to revel in, and it wasdecorated with Japanese fans and Chinese lanterns, which gaveit a very Old English effect. A young lady with aconfidential voice favoured us with a long recitation about alittle girl who died or did something equally hackneyed, andthen the Major gave us a graphic account of a struggle he hadwith a wounded bear. I privately wished that the bears wouldwin sometimes on these occasions; at least they wouldn't govapouring about it afterwards. Before we had time to recoverour spirits, we were indulged with some thought-reading by ayoung man whom one knew instinctively had a good mother andan indifferent tailor--the sort of young man who talksunflaggingly through the thickest soup, and smooths his hairdubiously as though he thought it might hit back. Thethought-reading was rather a success; he announced that thehostess was thinking about poetry, and she admitted that hermind was dwelling on one of Austin's odes. Which was nearenough. I fancy she had been really wondering whether ascrag-end of mutton and some cold plum-pudding would do forthe kitchen dinner next day. As a crowning dissipation, theyall sat down to play progressive halma, with milk-chocolatefor prizes. I've been carefully brought up, and I don't liketo play games of skill for milk-chocolate, so I invented aheadache and retired from the scene. I had been preceded afew minutes earlier by Miss Langshan-Smith, a ratherformidable lady, who always got up at some uncomfortable hourin the morning, and gave you the impression that she had beenin communication with most of the European Governments beforebreakfast. There was a paper pinned on her door with asigned request that she might be called particularly early onthe morrow. Such an opportunity does not come twice in alifetime. I covered up everything except the signature withanother notice, to the effect that before these words shouldmeet the eye she would have ended a misspent life, was sorryfor the trouble she was giving, and would like a militaryfuneral. A few minutes later I violently exploded an air-filled paper bag on the landing, and gave a stage moan thatcould have been heard in the cellars. Then I pursued myoriginal intention and went to bed. The noise those peoplemade in forcing open the good lady's door was positivelyindecorous; she resisted gallantly, but I believe theysearched her for bullets for about a quarter of an hour, asif she had been an historic battlefield.I hate travelling on Boxing Day, but one must occasionally dothings that one dislikes.
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