The Remoulding of Groby Lington

by H.H. Munro (SAKI)

"A man is known by the company he keeps."In the morning-room of his sister-in-law's house Groby Lington fidgeted away thepassing minutes with the demure restlessness of advanced middle age. About aquarter of an hour would have to elapse before it would be time to say his good-byes and make his way across the village green to the station, with a selectedescort of nephews and nieces. He was a good-natured, kindly dispositioned man,and in theory he was delighted to pay periodical visits to the wife and childrenof his dead brother William; in practice, he infinitely preferred the comfortand seclusion of his own house and garden, and the companionship of his booksand his parrot to these rather meaningless and tiresome incursions into a familycircle with which he had little in common. It was not so much the spur of hisown conscience that drove him to make the occasional short journey by rail tovisit his relatives, as an obedient concession to the more insistent butvicarious conscience of his brother, Colonel John, who was apt to accuse him ofneglecting poor old William's family. Groby usually forgot or ignored theexistence of his neighbour kinsfolk until such time as he was threatened with avisit from the Colonel, when he would put matters straight by a burnedpilgrimage across the few miles of intervening country to renew his acquaintancewith the young people and assume a kindly if rather forced interest in the well-being of his sister-in-law. On this occasion he had cut matters so fine betweenthe timing of his exculpatory visit and the coming of Colonel John, that hewould scarcely be home before the latter was due to arrive. Anyhow, Groby hadgot it over, and six or seven months might decently elapse before he need againsacrifice his comforts and inclinations on the altar of family sociability. Hewas inclined to be distinctly cheerful as he hopped about the room, picking upfirst one object, then another, and subjecting each to a brief bird-likescrutiny.Presently his cheerful listlessness changed sharply to an attitude of vexedattention. In a scrap-book of drawings and caricatures belonging to one of hisnephews he had come across an unkindly clever sketch of himself and his parrot,solemnly confronting each other in postures of ridiculous gravity and repose,and bearing a likeness to one another that the artist had done his utmost toaccentuate. After the first flush of annoyance had passed away, Groby laughedgood-naturedly and admitted to himself the cleverness of the drawing. Then thefeeling of resentment repossessed him, resentment not against the caricaturistwho had embodied the idea in pen and ink, but against the possible truth thatthe idea represented. Was it really the case that people grew in time toresemble the animals they kept as pets, and had he unconsciously become more andmore like the comically solemn bird that was his constant companion? Groby wasunusually silent as he walked to the train with his escort of chattering nephewsand nieces, and during the short railway journey his mind was more and morepossessed with an introspective conviction that he had gradually settled downinto a sort of parrot-like existence. What, after all, did his daily routineamount to but a sedate meandering and pecking and perching, in his garden, amonghis fruit trees, in his wicker chair on the lawn, or by the fireside in hislibrary? And what was the sum total of his conversation with chance-encounteredneighbours? "Quite a spring day, isn't it?" "It looks as though we should havesome rain." "Glad to see you about again; you must take care of yourself." "Howthe young folk shoot up, don't they?" Strings of stupid, inevitable perfunctoryremarks came to his mind, remarks that were certainly not the mental exchange ofhuman intelligences, but mere empty parrot-talk. One might really just as wellsalute one's acquaintances with "Pretty Polly. Puss, puss, miaow!" Groby beganto fume against the picture of himself as a foolish feathered fowl which hisnephews sketch had first suggested, and which his own accusing imagination wasfilling in with such unflattering detail."I'll give the beastly bird away," he said resentfully; though he knew at thesame time that he would do no such thing. It would look so absurd after all theyears that he had kept the parrot and made much of it suddenly to try and findit a new home."Has my brother arrived?" he asked of the stable-boy, who had come with thepony-carriage to meet him."Yessir, came down by the two-fifteen. Your parrot's dead." The boy made thelatter announcement with the relish which his class finds in proclaiming acatastrophe."My parrot dead?" said Groby. "What caused its death?""The ipe," said the boy briefly."The ipe?" queried Groby. "Whatever's that?""The ipe what the Colonel brought down with him," came the rather alarminganswer."Do you mean to say my brother is ill?" asked Groby. "Is it somethinginfectious?""Th' Coloners so well as ever he was," said the boy; and as no furtherexplanation was forthcoming Groby had to possess himself in mystified patiencetill he reached home. His brother was waiting for him at the hall door."Have you heard about the parrot?" he asked at once. "'Pon my soul I'm awfullysorry. The moment he saw the monkey I'd brought down as a surprise for you hesquawked out, 'Rats to you, sir!' and the blessed monkey made one spring at him,got him by the neck and whirled him round like a rattle. He was as dead asmutton by the time I'd got him out of the little beggar's paws. Always been sucha friendly little beast, the monkey has, should never have thought he'd got itin him to see red like that. Can't tell you how sorry I feel about it, and nowof course you'll hate the sight of the monkey.""Not at all," said Groby sincerely. A few hours earlier the tragic end which hadbefallen his parrot would have presented itself to him as a calamity; now itarrived almost as a polite attention on the part of the Fates."The bird was getting old, you know," he went on, in explanation of his obviouslack of decent regret at the loss of his pet. "I was really beginning to wonderif it was an unmixed kindness to let him go on living till he succumbed to oldage. What a charming little monkey!" he added, when he was introduced to theculprit.The new-comer was a small, long-tailed monkey from the Western Hemisphere, witha gentle, half-shy, half-trusting manner that instantly captured Groby'sconfidence; a student of simian character might have seen in the fitful redlight in its eyes some indication of the underlying temper which the parrot hadso rashly put to the test with such dramatic consequences for itself. Theservants, who had come to regard the defunct bird as a regular member of thehousehold, and one who gave really very little trouble, were scandalized to findhis bloodthirsty aggressor installed in his place as an honoured domestic pet."A nasty heathen ipe what don't never say nothing sensible and cheerful, same aspore Polly did," was the unfavourable verdict of the kitchen quarters.One Sunday morning, some twelve or fourteen months after the visit of ColonelJohn and the parrot-tragedy, Miss Wepley sat decorously in her pew in the parishchurch, immediately in front of that occupied by Groby Lington. She was,comparatively speaking, a new-comer in the neighbourhood, and was not personallyacquainted with her fellow-worshipper in the seat behind, but for the past twoyears the Sunday morning service had brought them regularly within each other'ssphere of consciousness. Without having paid particular attention to thesubject, she could probably have given a correct rendering of the way in whichhe pronounced certain words occurring in the responses, while he was well awareof the trivial fact that, in addition to her prayer book and handkerchief, asmall paper packet of throat lozenges always reposed on the seat beside her.Miss Wepley rarely had recourse to her lozenges, but in case she should be takenwith a fit of coughing she wished to have the emergency duly provided for. Onthis particular Sunday the lozenges occasioned an unusual diversion in the eventenor of her devotions, far more disturbing to her personally than a prolongedattack of coughing would have been. As she rose to take part in the singing ofthe first hymn, she fancied that she saw the hand of her neighbour, who wasalone in the pew behind her, make a furtive downward grab at the packet lying onthe seat; on turning sharply round she found that the packet had certainlydisappeared, but Mr. Lington was to all outward seeming serenely intent on hishymn-book. No amount of interrogatory glaring on the part of the despoiled ladycould bring the least shade of conscious guilt to his face."Worse was to follow," as she remarked afterwards to a scandalized audience offriends and acquaintances. "I had scarcely knelt in prayer when a lozenge, oneof my lozenges, came whizzing into the pew, just under my nose. I turned roundand stared, but Mr. Lington had his eyes closed and his lips moving as thoughengaged in prayer. The moment I resumed my devotions another lozenge camerattling in, and then another. I took no notice for a while, and then turnedround suddenly just as the dreadful man was about to flip another one at me. Hehastily pretended to be turning over the leaves of his book but I was not to betaken in that time. He saw that he had been discovered and no more lozengescame. Of course I have changed my pew.""No gentleman would have acted in such a disgraceful manner," said one of herlisteners; "and yet Mr. Lington used to be so respected by everybody. He seemsto have behaved like a little ill-bred schoolboy.""He behaved like a monkey," said Miss Wepley.Her unfavourable verdict was echoed in other quarters about the same time. GrobyLington had never been a hero in the eyes of his personal retainers, but he hadshared the approval accorded to his defunct parrot as a cheerful well-dispositioned body, who gave no particular trouble. Of late months, however,this character would hardly have been endorsed by the members of his domesticestablishment. The stolid stable-boy, who had first announced to him the tragicend of his feathered pet, was one of the first to give voice to the murmurs ofdisapproval which became rampant and general in the servants' quarters, and hehad fairly substantial grounds for his disaffection. In a burst of hot summerweather he had obtained permission to bathe in a modest-sized pond in theorchard, and thither one afternoon Groby had bent his steps, attracted by loudimprecations of anger mingled with the shriller chattering of monkey-language.He beheld his plump diminutive servitor, clad only in a waistcoat and a pair ofsocks, storming ineffectually at the monkey which was seated on a low branch ofan apple tree, abstractedly fingering the remainder of the boy's outfit, whichhe had removed just out of his reach."The ipe's been an' took my clothes," whined the boy, with the passion of hiskind for explaining the obvious. His incomplete toilet effect rather embarrassedhim, but he hailed the arrival of Groby with relief, as promising moral andmaterial support in his efforts to get back his raided garments. The monkey hadceased its defiant jabbering, and doubtless with a little coaxing from itsmaster it would hand back the plunder."If I lift you up," suggested Groby, "you will just be able to reach theclothes."The boy agreed, and Groby clutched him firmly by the waistcoat, which was aboutall there was to catch hold of, and lifted him clear of the ground. Then, with adeft swing he sent him crashing into a clump of tag nettles, which closedreceptively round him. The victim had not been brought up in a school whichteaches one to repress one's emotions - if a fox had attempted to gnaw at hisvitals he would have flown to complain to the nearest hunt committee rather thanhave affected an attitude of stoical indifference. On this occasion the volumeof sound which he produced under the stimulus of pain and rage and astonishmentwas generous and sustained, but above his bellowings he could distinctly hearthe triumphant chattering of his enemy in the tree, and a peal of shrilllaughter from Groby.When the boy had finished an improvised St. Vitus caracole, which would havebrought him fame on the boards of the Coliseum, and which indeed met with readyappreciation and applause from the retreating figure of Groby Lington, he foundthat the monkey had also discreetly retired, while his clothes were scattered onthe grass at the foot of the tree."They'm two ipes, that's what they be," he muttered angrily, and if his judgmentwas severe, at least he spoke under the sting of considerable provocation.It was a week or two later that the parlour-maid gave notice, having beenterrified almost to tears by an outbreak of sudden temper on the part of themaster anent some under done cutlets. "'E gnashed 'is teeth at me, 'e didreely," she informed a sympathetic kitchen audience."I'd like to see 'im talk like that to me, I would," said the cook defiantly,but her cooking from that moment showed a marked improvement.It was seldom that Groby Lington so far detached himself from his accustomedhabits as to go and form one of a house-party, and he was not a little piquedthat Mrs. Glenduff should have stowed him away in the musty old Georgian wing ofthe house, in the next room, moreover, to Leonard Spabbink, the eminent pianist."He plays Liszt like an angel," had been the hostess's enthusiastic testimonial."He may play him like a trout for all I care," had been Groby's mental comment,"but I wouldn't mind betting that he snores. He's just the sort and shape thatwould. And if I hear him snoring through those ridiculous thin-panelled walls,there'll be trouble."He did, and there was.Groby stood it for about two and a quarter minutes, and then made his waythrough the corridor into Spabbink's room. Under Groby's vigorous measures themusicians flabby, redundant figure sat up in bewildered semi-consciousness likean ice-cream that has been taught to beg. Groby prodded him into completewakefulness, and then the pettish self-satisfied pianist fairly lost his temperand slapped his domineering visitant on the hand. In another moment Spabbink wasbeing nearly stifled and very effectually gagged by a pillow-case tightly boundround his head, while his plump pyjama'd limbs were hauled out of bed andsmacked, pinched, kicked, and bumped in a catch-as-catch-can progress across thefloor, towards the flat shallow bath in whose utterly inadequate depths Grobyperseveringly strove to drown him. For a few moments the room was almost indarkness: Groby's candle had overturned in an early stage of the scuffle, andits flicker scarcely reached to the spot where splashings, smacks, muffledcries, and splutterings, and a chatter of ape-like rage told of the strugglethat was being waged round the shores of the bath. A few instants later the one-sided combat was brightly lit up by the flare of blazing curtains and rapidlykindling panelling.When the hastily aroused members of the house-party stampeded out on to thelawn, the Georgian wing was well alight and belching forth masses of smoke, butsome moments elapsed before Groby appeared with the half-drowned pianist in hisarms, having just bethought him of the superior drowning facilities offered bythe pond at the bottom of the lawn. The cool night air sobered his rage, andwhen he found that he was innocently acclaimed as the heroic rescuer of poorLeonard Spabbink, and loudly commended for his presence of mind in tying a wetcloth round his head to protect him from smoke suffocation, he accepted thesituation, and subsequently gave a graphic account of his finding the musicianasleep with an overturned candle by his side and the conflagration well started.Spabbink gave his version some days later, when he had partially recovered fromthe shock of his midnight castigation and immersion, but the gentle pityingsmiles and evasive comments with which his story was greeted warned him that thepublic ear was not at his disposal. He refused, however, to attend theceremonial presentation of the Royal Humane Society's life-saving medal.It was about this time that Groby's pet monkey fell a victim to the diseasewhich attacks so many of its kind when brought under the influence of a northernclimate. Its master appeared to be profoundly affected by its loss, and neverquite recovered the level of spirits that he had recently attained. In companywith the tortoise, which Colonel John presented to him on his last visit, hepotters about his lawn and kitchen garden, with none of his erstwhilesprightliness; and his nephews and nieces are fairly well justified in alludingto him as "Old Uncle Groby."

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