CHAPTER ELEVEN

"Archer,"saidMrs.Flanderswiththattendernesswhichmotherssooftendisplaytowardstheireldestsons,"willbeatGibraltarto-morrow." Thepostforwhichshewaswaiting(strollingupDodsHillwhiletherandomchurchbellsswungahymntuneaboutherhead,theclockstrikingfourstraightthroughthecirclingnotestheglasspurplingunderastorm-cloudandthetwodozenhousesofthevillagecowering,infinitelyhumble,incompanyunderaleafofshadow),thepost,withallitsvarietyofmessages,envelopesaddressedinboldhands,inslantinghands,stampednowwithEnglishstamps,againwithColonialstamps,orsometimeshastilydabbedwithayellowbar,thepostwasabouttoscatteramyriadmessagesovertheworld.Whetherwegainornotbythishabitofprofusecommunicationitisnotforustosay.Butthatletter-writingispractisedmendaciouslynowadays,particularlybyyoungmentravellinginforeignparts,seemslikelyenough. Forexample,takethisscene. HerewasJacobFlandersgoneabroadandstayingtobreakhisjourneyinParis.(OldMissBirkbeck,hismother'scousin,haddiedlastJuneandlefthimahundredpounds.) "Youneedn'trepeatthewholedamnedthingoveragain,Cruttendon,"saidMallinson,thelittlebaldpainterwhowassittingatamarbletable,splashedwithcoffeeandringedwithwine,talkingveryfast,andundoubtedlymorethanalittledrunk. "Well,Flanders,finishedwritingtoyourlady?"saidCruttendon,asJacobcameandtookhisseatbesidethem,holdinginhishandanenvelopeaddressedtoMrs.Flanders,nearScarborough,England. "DoyouupholdVelasquez?"saidCruttendon. "ByGod,hedoes,"saidMallinson. "Healwaysgetslikethis,"saidCruttendonirritably. JacoblookedatMallinsonwithexcessivecomposure. "I'lltellyouthethreegreatestthingsthatwereeverwritteninthewholeofliterature,"Cruttendonburstout."'Hangtherelikefruitmysoul.'"hebegan…. "Don'tlistentoamanwhodon'tlikeVelasquez,"saidMallinson. "Adolphe,don'tgiveMr.Mallinsonanymorewine,"saidCruttendon. "Fairplay,fairplay,"saidJacobjudicially."Letamangetdrunkifhelikes.That'sShakespeare,Cruttendon.I'mwithyouthere.Shakespearehadmoregutsthanallthesedamnedfrogsputtogether.'Hangtherelikefruitmysoul,'"hebeganquoting,inamusicalrhetoricalvoice,flourishinghiswine-glass."Thedevildamnyoublack,youcream-facedloon!"heexclaimedasthewinewashedovertherim. "'Hangtherelikefruitmysoul,'"CruttendonandJacobbothbeganagainatthesamemoment,andbothburstoutlaughing. "Cursetheseflies,"saidMallinson,flickingathisbaldhead."Whatdotheytakemefor?" "Somethingsweet-smelling,"saidCruttendon. "Shutup,Cruttendon,"saidJacob."Thefellowhasnomanners,"heexplainedtoMallinsonverypolitely."Wantstocutpeopleofftheirdrink.Lookhere.Iwantgrilledbone.What'stheFrenchforgrilledbone?Grilledbone,Adolphe.Nowyoujuggins,don'tyouunderstand?" "AndI'lltellyou,Flanders,thesecondmostbeautifulthinginthewholeofliterature,"saidCruttendon,bringinghisfeetdownontothefloor,andleaningrightacrossthetable,sothathisfacealmosttouchedJacob'sface. "'Heydiddlediddle,thecatandthefiddle,'"Mallin