Once a Week. A. A. Milne

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      "Oh—skating."

      "I say, about this tailing expedition to-morrow——"

      "Er—yes, I was just going to talk about that."

      "Well, it's all right. Myra is getting Dahlia to ask her to come with us."

      "Good!" said Thomas, brightening up.

      "You see, we shall only be seven, even with Miss Aylwyn, and——"

      "Miss Aylwyn?" said Thomas in a hollow voice.

      "Yes, isn't that the name of your friend in red?"

      "Oh, that one. Oh, but that's quite—I mean," he went on hurriedly, "Miss Aylwyn is probably booked up for to-morrow. It's Miss Cardew who is so keen on tailing. That girl in green, you know."

      For a moment I stared at him blankly. Then I left him and dashed after Myra.

V.—A TAILING PARTY

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      The procession prepared to start in the following order:—

      (1) A brace of sinister-looking horses.

      (2) Gaspard, the Last of the Bandits; or "Why cause a lot of talk by pushing your rich uncle over the cliff, when you can have him stabbed quietly for one franc fifty?" (If ever I were in any vendetta business I should pick Gaspard first.)

      (3) A sleigh full of lunch.

      (4) A few well-known ladies and gentlemen (being the cream of the Hôtel des Angéliques) on luges; namely, reading from left to right (which is really the best method—unless you are translating Hebrew), Simpson, Archie, Dahlia, Myra, me, Miss Cardew, and Thomas.

      While Gaspard was putting the finishing knots to the luges, I addressed a few remarks to Miss Cardew, fearing that she might be feeling a little lonely amongst us. I said that it was a lovely day, and did she think the snow would hold off till evening? Also had she ever done this sort of thing before? I forget what her answers were.

      Thomas meanwhile was exchanging badinage on the hotel steps with Miss Aylwyn. There must be something peculiar in the Swiss air, for in England Thomas is quite a respectable man … and a godfather.

      "I suppose we have asked the right one," said Myra doubtfully.

      "His young affections are divided. There was a third girl in pink with whom he breakfasted a lot this morning. It is the old tradition of the sea, you know. A sailor—I mean an Admiralty civilian has a wife at every wireless station."

      "Take your seats, please," said Archie. "The horses are sick of waiting."

      We sat down. Archie took Dahlia's feet on his lap, Myra took mine, Miss Cardew took Thomas's. Simpson, alone in front, nursed a guide-book.

      "En avant!" cried Simpson in his best French-taught-in-twelve-lessons accent.

      Gaspard muttered an oath to his animals. They pulled bravely. The rope snapped—and they trotted gaily down the hill with Gaspard.

      We hurried after them with the luges. …

      "It's a good joke," said Archie, after this had happened three times, "but, personally, I weary of it. Miss Cardew, I'm afraid we've brought you out under false pretences. Thomas didn't explain the thing to you adequately. He gave you to understand that there was more in it than this."

      Gaspard, who seemed full of rope, produced a fourth piece and tied a knot that made even Simpson envious.

      "Now, Samuel," I begged, "do keep the line taut this time. Why do you suppose we put your apricot suit right in the front? Is it, do you suppose, for the sunset effects at eleven o'clock in the morning, or is it that you may look after the rope properly?"

      "I'm awfully sorry, Miss Cardew," said Simpson, feeling that somebody ought to apologize for something and knowing that Gaspard wouldn't, "but I expect it will be all right now."

      We settled down again. Once more Gaspard cursed his horses, and once more they started off bravely. And this time we went with them.

      "The idea all along," I explained to Miss Cardew.

      "I rather suspected it," she said. Apparently she has a suspicious mind.

      After the little descent at the start, we went uphill slowly for a couple of miles, and then more rapidly over the level. We had driven over the same road in a sleigh, coming from the station, and had been bitterly cold and extremely bored. Why our present position should be so much more enjoyable I didn't quite see.

      "It's the expectation of an accident," said Archie. "At any moment somebody may fall off. Good."

      "My dear old chap," said Simpson, turning round to take part in the conversation, "why anybody should fall off——"

      We went suddenly round a corner, and quietly and without any fuss whatever Simpson left his luge and rolled on to the track. Luckily any possibility of a further accident was at once avoided. There was no panic at all. Archie kicked the body temporarily out of the way; after which Dahlia leant over and pushed it thoughtfully to the side of the road. Myra warded it off with a leg as she neared it; with both hands I helped it into the deep snow from which it had shown a tendency to emerge; Miss Cardew put a foot out at it for safety; and Thomas patted it gently on the head as the end of the "tail" went past. …

      As soon as we had recovered our powers of speech—all except Miss Cardew, who was in hysterics—we called upon Gaspard to stop. He indicated with the back of his neck that it would be dangerous to stop just then; and it was not until we were at the bottom of the hill, nearly a mile from the place where Simpson left us, that the procession halted, and gave itself up again to laughter.

      "I hope he is not hurt," said Dahlia, wiping the tears from her eyes.

      "He wouldn't spoil a good joke like that by getting hurt," said Myra confidently. "He's much too much of a sportsman."

      "Why did he do it?" said Thomas.

      "He suddenly remembered he hadn't packed his safety-razor. He's half-way back to the hotel by now."

      Miss Cardew remained in hysterics.

      Ten minutes later a brilliant sunset was observed approaching from the north. A little later it was seen to be a large dish of apricots and cream.

      "He draws near," said Archie. "Now then, let's be stern with him."

      At twenty yards' range Simpson began to talk. His trot had heated him slightly.

      "I say," he said excitedly. "You——"

      Myra shook her head at him.

      "Not done, Samuel," she said reproachfully.

      "Not what, Myra? What not——"

      "You СКАЧАТЬ