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By Root 2506 0

The curious thing about persons regarding whom society has taken this largely self-defensive measure is that the existence of the individual himself reaches a pitch when nothing he does can ever be accepted as serious. If he commits suicide, or murder, only the grotesque aspects of the event dominate the circumstances: on the whole, avoidance of such major issues being an integral part of such a condition. My uncle was a good example of the action of this law; though naturally I did not in those days see him with anything like this clearness of vision. If Reading were his destination, there could be no hint of immediate intention to leave the country: and, unless on ticket-of-leave, he was evidently under no sort of legal restraint. He finished blowing his nose, pushed the handkerchief back up his sleeve, and, using without facetious implication a then popular catchword, said: “How’s your father?”

“All right.”

“And your mother?”

“Very well.”

“Good,” said Uncle Giles, as if it were a relief to him personally that my parents were well, even when the rest of the world might feel differently on the same matter.

There was a pause. I asked how his own health had been, at which he laughed scornfully.

“Oh, me,” he said. “I’ve been about the same. Not growing any younger. Trouble with the old duodenal. I rather wanted to get hold of your father about signing some papers. Is he still in Paris? I suppose so.”

“That bit of the Conference is finished.”

“Where is he?”

“London.”

“On leave?”

“Yes.”

“The War Office haven’t decided where they are going to send him?”

“No.”

My uncle looked put out at this piece of news. It was most unlikely, hardly conceivable, that he really intended to impose his company on my father, who had for many years discouraged close association with his brother, except when possessed with an occasional and uncontrollable desire to tell Uncle Giles to his face what he thought of him, a mood that rarely lasted more than thirty-six hours; by the end of which period of time the foredoomed inefficacy of any such contact made itself clear.

“In London, is he?” said Uncle Giles, wrinkling the dry, reddish skin at the sides of his nostrils, under which a web of small grey veins etched on his nose seemed to imply preliminary outlines for a game of noughts-and-crosses. He brought out a leather cigarette-case and – before I could prevent him – lighted a cigarette.

“Visitors are not really supposed to smoke here.”

“Oh, aren’t they?” said Uncle Giles. He looked very surprised. “Why not?”

“Well, if the place smells of smoke, you can’t tell if someone else smokes too.”

“Of course you can’t,” said Uncle Giles readily, blowing, outward a long jet of smoke. He seemed puzzled.

“Le Bas might think a boy had been smoking.”

“Who is Le Bas?”

“Our housemaster.”

How he had managed to find the house if he were ignorant of Le Bas’s identity was mysterious: even inexplicable. It was, however, in keeping with the way my uncle conducted his life that he should reach his destination without knowing the name of the goal. He continued to take small puffs at his cigarette.

“I see,” he said.

“Boys aren’t allowed to smoke.”

“Quite right. Stunts the growth. It is a great mistake to smoke before you are twenty-one.”

Uncle Giles straightened his back and squared his shoulders. One had the impression that he was well aware that young people of the day could scarcely attempt to compete with the rigorous standards that had governed his own youth. He shook his head and flicked some ash on to one of the dirty plates.

“It is a hundred to one Le Bas won’t come in,” said Stringham. “I should take a chance on it.”

“Take a chance on what?” Uncle Giles asked.

“On smoking.”

“You mean I really ought to put this out?”

“Don’t bother.”

“Most certainly I shall bother,” said Uncle Giles. “I should not dream of breaking a rule of that sort. Rules are made to be obeyed, however foolish they may sometimes seem. The question is where had I best put this, now that the regulation has been broken?”

By the time my uncle had decided to extinguish