Title Page
The Author
A Source of Irritation
Where Was Wych Street?
Burney's Laugh
The Chinese Philosopher and the European War
Cricket
George
"Solemn-Looking Blokes"
About the Publisher
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STACY AUMONIER (1877–1928) was a British writer, sometimes mistakenly credited as Stacey Aumonier. Between 1913 and 1928, he wrote more than 85 short stories, 6 novels, a volume of character studies, and a volume of 15 essays.
It was as a short-story writer that he was most highly regarded.Nobel Prize winner (and Forsyte Saga author) John Galsworthy described Stacy Aumonier as "one of the best short-story writers of all time" and predicted that, through the best of his stories, he would "outlive all the writers of his day."
James Hilton (author of Goodbye, Mr Chips and Lost Horizon) said of Aumonier: "I think his very best works ought to be included in any anthology of the best short stories ever written." Asked to choose "My Favourite Short Story" for the March 1939 edition of Good Housekeeping, James Hilton chose a story by Aumonier, "The Octave of Jealousy", which the magazine described as a "bitterly brilliant tale."
His short stories were published in 6 volumes during his lifetime, and in at least 25 different U.K. and U.S. magazines.
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TO LOOK AT OLD SAM Gates you would never sus- pect him of having nei-ves. His sixty-nine years of close application to the needs of the soil had given him a certain earthy stolidity. To ob- serve him hoeing, or thinning out a broad field of tur- nips, hardly attracted one's attention. He seemed so much part and parcel of the whole scheme. He blended into the soil like a glorified swede. Neverthe- less, the half-dozen people who claimed his acquaintance knew him to be a man who suffered from little moods of irritability.
And on this glorious morning a little incident an- noyed him unreasonably. It concerned his niece Ag- gie. She was a plump girl with clear blue eyes and a face as round and inexpressive as the dumplings for which the county was famous. She came slowly across the long sweep of the downland and putting down the bundle wrapped up in a red handkerchief which con- tained his breakfast and dinner, she said:
" Well, uncle, is there any noos ? "
Now this may not appear to the casual reader to be a remark likely to cause irritation, but it affected old Sam Gates as a very silly and unnecessary question. It was moreover the constant repetition of it which was beginning to anger him. He met his niece twice a day. In the morning she brought his bundle of food at seven, and when he passed his sister's cottage on the way home to tea at five she was invariably hanging about the gate. And on each occasion she always said, in exactly the same voice:
" Well, uncle, is there any noos ? "
" Noos " ! What " noos " should there be ? For sixty-nine years he had never lived further than five miles from Halvesham. For nearly sixty of those years he had bent his back above the soil. There were indeed historic occasions: once, for instance, when he had married Annie Hachet. And there was the birth of his daughter. There was also a famous occasion when he had visited London. Once he had been to a flower-show at Market Roughborough. He either went or didn't go to church on Sundays. He had had many interesting chats with Mr. James at " The Cowman," and three years ago had sold a pig to Mrs. Waig. But he couldn't always have interesting " noos " of this sort up his sleeve. Didn't the silly gaffer know that for the last three weeks he had been thinning out turnips for Mr. Dodge on this very same field ? What " noos " could there be?
He blinked at his niece, and didn't answer. She undid the parcel, and said:
" Mrs. Goping's fowl got out again last night."
He replied, " Ah ! " in a non-committal manner, and began to munch his bread and bacon. His niece picked up the handkerchief and humming to herself, walked
back across the field. It was a glorious morning, and a white sea-mist added to the promise of a hot day. He sat there munching, thinking of nothing in particular, but gradually subsiding into a mood of placid content. He noticed the back of Aggie disappear in the distance. It was a mile to the cottage, and a mile and a half to Halvesham. Silly things, girls! They were all alike. One had to make allowances. He dismissed her from his thoughts and took a long swig of tea out of a bottle. Insects buzzed lazily. He tapped his pocket to assure himself that his pouch of shag was there, and then he continued munching. When he had finished, he lighted his pipe and stretched himself comfortably. He looked along the line of turnips he had thinned, and then across the adjoining field of swedes. Silver streaks appeared on the sea below the mist. In some dim way he felt happy in his solitude amidst this sweeping immensity of earth and sea and sky.
And then something else came to irritate him. It was one of " these dratted airyplanes." " Airy- planes " were his pet aversion. He could find nothing to be said in their favor. Il^asty, noisy, vile-smelling things that seared the heavens, and make the earth dan- gerous. And every day there seemed to be more and more of them. Of course " this old war " was respon- sible for a lot of them, he knew. The war was " a plaguey noosance." They were short-handed on the farm. Beer and tobacco were dear, and Mrs. Stevens' nephew had been and got wounded in the foot.
He turned his attention once more to the turnips.
But an " airyplane " has an annoying genius for grip- ping one's attention. When it appears on the scene, however much we dislike it, it has a way of taking stage-center; we cannot help constantly looking at it. And so it was with old Sam Gates. He spat on his hands, and blinked up at the sky. And suddenly the aeroplane behaved in a very extraordinary manner. It was well over the sea when it seemed to lurch in a drunken manner, and skimmed the water. Then it shot up at a dangerous angle and zigzagged. It started to go farther out, and then turned and made for the land. The engines were making a curious grating noise. It rose once more, and then suddenly dived downwards and came plump down right in the middle of Mr. Dodge's field of swedes !
Finally, as if not content with this desecration, it ran along the ground, ripping and tearing up twenty- five yards of good swedes, and then came to a stop. Old Sam Gates was in a terrible state. The aeroplane was more than a hundred yards away, but he waved his arms, and called out:
" Hi ! you there, you mustn't land in they swedes ! They're Mister Dodge's."
The instant the aeroplane stopped a man leapt out, and gazed quickly round. He glanced at Sam Gates, and seemed uncertain whether to address him or whether to concentrate his attention on the flying-ma- chine. The latter arrangement appeared to be his ul- timate decision. He dived under the engine, and be- came frantically busy. Sam had never seen any one
work with such furious energy. But all the same, it was not to be tolerated. It was disgraceful. Sam shouted out across the field, almost hurrying in his in- dignation. When he approached within earshot of the aviator, he cried out again:
" Hi ! you mustn't rest your old airj'plane here. You've kicked up all Mr. Dodge's swedes. A nice thing you've done ! "
He was within five yards when suddenly the aviator turned and covered him with a revolver! And, speak- ing in a sharp, staccato voice, he said :
" Old grandfather, you must sit down. I am very occupied. If you interfere or attempt to go away, I shoot you. So ! "
Sam gazed at the horrid glittering little barrel, and gasped. Well, he never! To be threatened with mur- der when you're doing your duty in your employer's private property ! But, still, perhaps the man was mad. A man must be more or less mad to go up in one of those crazy things. And life was very sweet on that summer morning, in spite of sixty-nine years. He sat down among the swedes.
The aviator was so busy with his cranks and machin- ery that he hardly deigned to pay him any attention, except to keep the revolver handy. He worked fever- ishlv, and Sam sat watching him. At the end of ten minutes he seemed to have solved his troubles with the machine, but he still seemed very scared. He kept on glancing round and out to sea. When his repairs were completed, he straightened his back and wiped the perspiration from his brow. He was apparently on the point of springing back into the machine and going off, when a sudden mood of facetiousness, caused by- relief from the strain he had endured, came to him. He turned to old Sam, and smiled; at the same time remarking :
"Well, old grandfather, and now we shall be all right, isn't it?"
He came close up to Sam, and then suddenly started back.
" Gott ! " he cried. " Paul Jouperts ! " Sam gazed at him, bewildered, and the madman started talking to him in some foreign tongue. Sam shook his head.
" You no right," he remarked, " to come bargin' through they swedes of Mr. Dodge's."
And then the aviator behaved in a most peculiar man- ner. He came up and examined his face very closely, and gave a gentle tug at his beard and hair, as if to see whether it were real or false.
" What is your name, old man ? " he said. " Sam Gates."
The aviator muttered some words that sounded some- thing like " mare vudish ! " and then turned to his ma- chine. He appeared to be dazed and in a great state of doubt. He fumbled with some cranks, but kept glanc- ing at old Sam. At last he got into the car and started the engine. Then he stopped, and sat there deep in thought. At last he suddenly sprang out again, and, approaching Sam, he said very deliberately :
" Old grandfather, I shall require you to accompany me."
Sam gasped.
"Eh?" he said. "What he talkhi' about? 'com- pany ? I got these here lines o' tarnips — I be already behoind — "
The disgusting little revolver once more flashed be- fore his eyes.
" There must be no discussion," came the voice. "It is necessary that you mount the seat of the car without delay. Otherwise I shoot you like the dog you are. So ! "
Old Sam w^as hale and hearty. He had no desire to die so ignominiously. The pleasant smell of the downland was in his nostrils. Ilis foot was on his na tive heath. He mounted the seat of the car, content- ing himself with a mutter:
" Well, that be a noice thing, I must say ! Flyin' about the country with all they tarnips on'y half thinned — "
He found himself strapped in. The aviator was in a fever of anxiety to get away. The engines made a ghastly splutter and noise. The thing started running along the ground. Suddenly it shot upwards, giving the swedes a last contemptuous kick. At twenty min- utes to eight that morning old Sam found himself be- ing borne right up above his fields and out to sea ! His breath came quickly. He was a little frightened.
" God forgive me ! " he murmured.
The thing was so fantastic and sudden, his mind could not grasp it. He only felt in some vague way that he was going to die, and he struggled to attune his mind to the change. He offered up a mild prayer to God, Who, he felt, must be very near, somewhere up in these clouds. Automatically he thought of the vicar at Halvesham, and a certain sense of comfort came to him at the reflection that on the previous day he had taken a " cooking of runner beans " to God's represent- ative in that village. He felt calmer after that, but the horrid machine seemed to go higher and higher. He could not turn in his seat and he could see nothing but sea and sky. Of course the man was mad, mad as a March hare. Of what earthly use could he be to any one? Besides, he had talked pure gibberish, and called him Paul Something, when he had already told him that his name was Sam. The thing would fall down into the sea soon, and they would both be drowned. Well, well ! He had reached the three-score years and ten.
He was protected by a screen, but it seemed very cold. What on earth would Mr. Dodge say? There was no one left to work the land but a fool of a boy named Billy Whitehead at Deric's Cross. On, on, on they went at a furious pace. His thoughts danced dis- connectedly from incidents of his youth, conversations with the vicar, hearty meals in the open, a frock his sister wore on the day of the postman's wedding, the drone of a psalm, the illness of some ewes belonging to Mr. Dodge. Everything seemed to be moving very rapidly, upsetting his sense of time. He felt out-raged and yet at moments there was something entranc- ing in the wild experience. He seemed to be living at an incredible pace. Perhaps he was really dead, and on his way to the Kingdom of God ? Perhaps this was the way they took people ?
After some indefinite period he suddenly caught sight of a long strip of land. Was this a foreign country? or were they returning? He had by this time lost all feeling of fear. He became interested, and almost dis- appointed. The " airyplane " was not such a fool as it looked. It was very wonderful to be right up in the sky like this. His dreams were suddenly disturbed by a fearful noise. He thought the machine was blown to pieces. It dived and ducked through the air, and things were bursting all round it and making an a^vful din; and then it went up higher and higher. After a while these noises ceased, and he felt the machine glid- ing downwards. They were really right above solid land, trees, and fields, and streams, and white villages. Down, down, down they glided. This was a foreign country. There were straight avenues of poplars and canals. This was not Halvesham. He felt the thing glide gently and bump into a field. Some men ran forward and approached them, and the mad aviator called out to them. They were mostly fat men in gray uniforms, and they all spoke this foreign gibberish. Some one came and unstrapped him. He was very stiff, and could hardly move. An exceptionally gross- looking man punched him in the ribs, and roared with laughter. They all stood round and laughed at him, while the mad aviator talked to them and kept pointing at him. Then he said :
" Old grandfather, jou must come with me." He was led to a zinc-roofed building, and shut in a little room. There were guards outside with fixed bay- onets. After a while the mad aviator appeared again, accompanied by two soldiers. He beckoned him to fol- low. They marched through a quadrangle and entered another building. They went straight into an office where a very important-looking man, covered with medals, sat in an easy-chair. There was a lot of saluting and clicking of heels.
The aviator pointed at Sam and said something, and the man with the medals started at sight of him, and then came up and spoke to him in English.
" What is your name ? Where do you come from ? Your age ? The name and birthplace of your parents ? " He seemed intensely interested, and also pulled his hair and beard to see if they came off. So well and naturally did he and the aviator speak English that after a voluble cross-examination they drew apart, and con- tinued the conversation in that language. And the extraordinary conversation was of this nature:
" It is a most remarkable resemblance," said the man with medals. " Unghublich ! V>\\t what do you want me to do with him, Hau^semann ? "