The Disentanglers. Lang Andrew

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      ‘What do you want them for? To support them?’

      ‘I want them as accomplices,’ said Merton. ‘As collaborators.’

      ‘Blackmail?’ asked Logan. ‘Has it come to this? I draw the line at blackmail. Besides, they would starve first, good girls would; or marry Lord Methusalem, or a beastly South African richard.’

      ‘Robert Logan of Restalrig, that should be’ – Merton spoke impressively – ‘you know me to be incapable of practices, however lucrative, which involve taint of crime. I do not prey upon the society which I propose to benefit. But where are the girls?’

      ‘Where are they not?’ Logan asked. ‘Dawdling, as jesters, from country house to country house. In the British Museum, verifying references for literary gents, if they can get references to verify. Asking leave to describe their friends’ parties in The Leidy’s News. Trying for places as golfing governesses, or bridge governesses, or gymnastic mistresses at girls’ schools, or lady laundresses, or typewriters, or lady teachers of cookery, or pegs to hang costumes on at dress-makers’. The most beautiful girl I ever saw was doing that once; I met her when I was shopping with my aunt who left her money to the Armenians.’

      ‘You kept up her acquaintance? The girl’s, I mean,’ Merton asked.

      ‘We have occasionally met. In fact – ’

      ‘Yes, I know, as you said lately,’ Merton remarked. ‘That’s one, anyhow, and there is Mary Willoughby, who got a second in history when I was up. She would do. Better business for her than the British Museum. I know three or four.’

      ‘I know five or six. But what for?’ Logan insisted.

      ‘To help us in supplying the widely felt want, which is my discovery,’ said Merton.

      ‘And that is?’

      ‘Disentanglers – of both sexes. A large and varied staff, calculated to meet every requirement and cope with every circumstance.’ Merton quoted an unwritten prospectus.

      ‘I don’t follow. What the deuce is your felt want?’

      ‘What we were talking about.’

      ‘Ground bait for salmon?’ Logan reverted to his idea.

      ‘No. Family rows about marriages. Nasty letters. Refusals to recognise the choice of a son, a daughter, or a widowed but youthful old parent, among the upper classes. Harsh words. Refusals to allow meetings or correspondence. Broken hearts. Improvident marriages. Preaching down a daughter’s heart, or an aged parent’s heart, or a nephew’s, or a niece’s, or a ward’s, or anybody’s heart. Peace restored to the household. Intended marriage off, and nobody a penny the worse, unless – ’

      ‘Unless what?’ said Logan.

      ‘Practical difficulties,’ said Merton, ‘will occur in every enterprise. But they won’t be to our disadvantage, the reverse – if they don’t happen too often. And we can guard against that by a scientific process.’

      ‘Now will you explain,’ Logan asked, ‘or shall I pour this whisky and water down the back of your neck?’

      He rose to his feet, menace in his eye.

      ‘Bear fighting barred! We are no longer boys. We are men – broken men. Sit down, don’t play the bear,’ said Merton.

      ‘Well, explain, or I fire!’

      ‘Don’t you see? The problem for the family, for hundreds of families, is to get the undesirable marriage off without the usual row. Very few people really like a row. Daughter becomes anæmic; foreign cures are expensive and no good. Son goes to the Devil or the Cape. Aged and opulent, but amorous, parent leaves everything he can scrape together to disapproved of new wife. Relations cut each other all round. Not many people really enjoy that kind of thing. They want a pacific solution – marriage off, no remonstrances.’

      ‘And how are you going to do it?’

      ‘Why,’ said Merton, ‘by a scientific and thoroughly organised system of disengaging or disentangling. We enlist a lot of girls and fellows like ourselves, beautiful, attractive, young, or not so young, well connected, intellectual, athletic, and of all sorts of types, but all broke, all without visible means of subsistence. They are people welcome in country houses, but travelling third class, and devilishly perplexed about how to tip the servants, how to pay if they lose at bridge, and so forth. We enlist them, we send them out on demand, carefully selecting our agents to meet the circumstances in each case. They go down and disentangle the amorous by – well, by entangling them. The lovers are off with the old love, the love which causes all the worry, without being on with the new love – our agent. The thing quietly fizzles out.’

      ‘Quietly!’ Logan snorted. ‘I like “quietly.” They would be on with the new love. Don’t you see, you born gomeral, that the person, man or woman, who deserts the inconvenient A. – I put an A. B. case – falls in love with your agent B., and your B. is, by the nature of the thing, more ineligible than A. – too poor. A babe could see that. You disappoint me, Merton.’

      ‘You state,’ said Merton, ‘one of the practical difficulties which I foresaw. Not that it does not suit us very well. Our comrade and friend, man or woman, gets a chance of a good marriage, and, Logan, there is no better thing. But parents and guardians would not stand much of that: of people marrying our agents.’

      ‘Of course they wouldn’t. Your idea is crazy.’

      ‘Wait a moment,’ said Merton. ‘The resources of science are not yet exhausted. You have heard of the epoch-making discovery of Jenner, and its beneficent results in checking the ravages of smallpox, that scourge of the human race?’

      ‘Oh don’t talk like a printed book,’ Logan remonstrated. ‘Everybody has heard of vaccination.’

      ‘And you are aware that similar prophylactic measures have been adopted, with more or less of success, in the case of other diseases?’

      ‘I am aware,’ said Logan, ‘that you are in danger of personal suffering at my hands, as I already warned you.’

      ‘What is love but a disease?’ Merton asked dreamily. ‘A French savant, Monsieur Janet, says that nobody ever falls in love except when he is a little bit off colour: I forget the French equivalent.’

      ‘I am coming for you,’ Logan arose in wrath.

      ‘Sit down. Well, your objection (which it did not need the eyes of an Argus to discover) is that the patients, the lovers young, whose loves are disapproved of by the family, will fall in love with our agents, insist on marrying them, and so the last state of these afflicted parents – or children – will be worse than the first. Is that your objection?’

      ‘Of course it is; and crushing at that,’ Logan replied.

      ‘Then science suggests prophylactic measures: something akin to vaccination,’ Merton explained. ‘The agents must be warranted “immune.” Nice new word!’

      ‘How?’

      ‘The object,’ Merton answered, ‘is to make it impossible, or highly improbable, that our agents, after disentangling the affections of the patients, curing them of one СКАЧАТЬ