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WHAT 
NOT 

*•* 

ROSE 
MACAULAY 


NOTE. 

As  this  book  was  written  during  the  war, 
and  intended  prophetically,  its  delay  until 
some  months  after  the  armistice  calls  for  a 
word  of  explanation. 

The  book  was  ready  for  publication  in 
November,  1918,  when  it  was  discovered  that 
a  slight  alteration  in  the  text  was  essential, 
to  safeguard  it  against  one  of  the  laws  of  the 
realm.  As  the  edition  was  already  bound, 
this  alteration  has  naturally  taken  a  consider- 
able time. 

However,  as  the  date  of  the  happenings 
described  in  "What  Not"  is  unspecified,  it 
may  still  be  regarded  as  a  prophecy,  not  yet 
disproved. 

R.  M. 


March,  1919 


WHAT  NOT 


WHAT  NOT 

A  PROPHETIC  COMEDY 


BY 

ROSE  MAGAULAY 

AUTHOR    OI' 
"NOX-COMBATANTS,"   "THE  SIAKING  OF  A  BIGOT,"  ETC. 


LONDON 
CONSTABLE  AND  COMPANY  LTD. 

1918 


TO 

CIVIL  SERVANTS 
I    HAVE    KNOWN 


"Wisdom  is  very  unpleasant  to  the  unlearned:  he  that  is 
without  understanding  will  not  remain  with  her.  She  will  lie 
upon  him  as  a  mighty  stone  of  trial ;  and  he  will  cast  her  from 
him  ere  it  be  long.  For  wisdom  is  according  to  her  name,  and 
she  is  not  manifest  unto  many.  .  .  . 

"  Desire  not  a  multitude  of  unprofitable  children.  .  .  ." 

JESUS,  SON  OF  SIRACH, 
c.  B.C.  150. 

"  It's  domestickness  of  spirit,  selvishnesse,  which  is  the  great 
let  to  Armies,  Religions,  and  Kingdomes  good." 

W.  GREKNHILL,  1643. 

"  It  has  come  to  a  fine  thing  if  people  cannot  live  in  their 
homes  without  being  interfered  with  by  the  police.  .  .  .  You 
are  upsetting  the  country  altogether  with  your  Food  Orders 
and  What  Not." 

DEFENDANT  IN  A  FOOD-HOARDING  CASE, 
January,  1918. 


APOLOGY 

ONE  cannot  write  for  evermore  of  life  in  war-time, 
even  if,  as  at  times  seems  possible,  the  war  outlasts 
the  youngest  of  us.  Nor  can  one  easily  write  of  life 
as  it  was  before  this  thing  came  upon  us,  for  that  is 
a  queer,  half-remembered  thing,  to  make  one  cry. 
This  is  a  tale  of  life  after  the  war,  in  which  alone 
there  is  hope.  So  it  is,  no  doubt,  inaccurate,  too 
sanguine  in  part,  too  pessimistic  in  part,  too  foolish 
and  too  far  removed  from  life  as  it  will  be  lived  even 
for  a  novel.  It  is  a  shot  in  the  dark,  a  bow  drawn 
at  a  venture.  But  it  is  the  best  one  can  do  in  the 
unfortunate  circumstances,  which  make  against  all 
kinds  of  truth,  even  that  inferior  kind  which  is 
called  accuracy.  Truth,  indeed,  seems  to  be  one 
of  the  things,  along  with  lives,  wealth,  joy,  leisure, 
liberty,  and  forest  trees,  which  has  to  be  sacrificed 
on  the  altar  of  this  all-taking  war,  this  bitter  un- 
sparing god,  which  may  perhaps  before  the  end 
strip  us  of  everything  we  possess  except  the  integrity 
of  our  so  fortunately  situated  island,  our  indomitable 
persistence  in  the  teeth  of  odds,  and  the  unstemmed 
eloquence  of  our  leaders,  all  of  which  we  shall  surely 
retain. 

ix 


x  APOLOGY 

This  book  is,  anyhow,  so  far  as  it  is  anything 
beyond  an  attempt  to  amuse  the  writer,  rather  of 
the  nature  of  suggestion  than  of  prophecy,  and 
many  will  think  it  a  poor  suggestion  at  that.  The 
suggestion  is  of  a  possible  remedy  for  what  appears 
to  have  always  been  the  chief  human  ailment,  and 
what  will,  probably,  after  these  present  troubles,  be 
even  more  pronounced  than  before.  For  wars  do 
not  conduce  to  intelligence.  They  put  a  sudden  end 
to  many  of  the  best  intellects,  the  keenest,  finest 
minds,  which  would  have  built  up  the  shattered 
ruins  of  the  world  in  due  time.  And  many  of  the 
minds  that  are  left  are  battered  and  stupefied  ;  the 
avenues  of  thought  are  closed,  and  people  are  too 
tired,  too  old,  or  too  dulled  by  violence,  to  build  up 
anything  at  all.  And  besides  these  dulled  and 
damaged  minds,  there  are  the  great  mass  of  the 
minds  which  neither  catastrophe  nor  emotion  nor 
violence  nor  age  nor  any  other  creature  can  blunt, 
because  they  have  never  been  acute,  have  never 
had  an  edge,  can  cut  no  ice  nor  hew  any  new  roads. 

So,  unless  something  drastic  is  done  about  it,  it 
seems  like  a  poor  look-out. 

This  book  contains  the  suggestion  of  a  means  of 
cure  for  this  world-old  ill,  and  is  offered,  free,  to  a 
probably  inattentive  and  unresponsive  Govern- 
ment, a  close  and  interested  study  of  whom  has  led 
the  writer  to  believe  that  the  erection  of  yet  another 
Department  might  not  be  wholly  uncongenial. 

It  will  be  observed  that  the  general  state  of  the 


APOLOGY  xi 

world  and  of  society  in  this  so  near  and  yet  so  un- 
known future  has  been  but  lightly  touched  upon. 
It  is  unexplored  territory,  too  difficult  for  the 
present  writer,  and  must  be  left  to  the  forecastings 
of  the  better  informed. 

A  word  as  to  the  title  of  this  work,  which  may 
seem  vague,  or  even  foolish.  Its  source  I  have  given. 
Food  Orders  we  all  know  ;  What  Not  was  not 
denned  by  the  user  of  the  phrase,  except  by  the 
remark  that  it  upset  the  country.  The  businesses 
described  in  this  tale  fulfil  that  definition ;  and,  if 
they  be  not  What  Not,  I  do  not  know  what  is. 

April,  1918. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

APOLOGY ix 

CHAPTER 

I.    THE  MINISTRY i 

II.    LITTLE  CHANTREYS 25 

III.  BRAINS  SUNDAY 50 

IV.  OUR  WEEK .66 

V.  THE  EXPLANATION  CAMPAIGN  ....      87 

VI.  THE  SIMPLE  HUMAN  EMOTIONS        .       .       .  in 

VII.  THE  BREAKING  POINT 133 

VIII.  ON  FIXED  HEARTS  AND  CHANGING  SCENES    .  156 

IX.  THE  COMMON  HERD 177 

X.  A  MINISTRY  AT  BAY 196 

XI.  THE  STORMING  OF  THE  HOTEL.       .       .       .216 

XII.  DEBRIS 225 


Mil 


WHAT  NOT 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  MINISTRY 
I 

AFTER  the  Great  War  (but  I  do  not  say  how  long 
after),  when  the  tumult  and  the  shouting  had  died, 
and  those  who  were  left  of  the  captains  and  the  kings 
had  gone  either  home  or  to  those  obscure  abodes 
selected  for  them  by  their  more  successful  fellows 
(to  allay  anxiety,  I  hasten  to  mention  that  three 
one-time  Emperors  were  among  those  thus  relegated 
to  distance  and  obscurity),  and  humanity,  released 
from  its  long  torment,  peered  nervously  into  a 
future  darkly  divined  (nervously,  and  yet  curiously, 
like  a  man  long  sick  who  has  just  begun  to  get  about 
again  and  cannot  yet  make  anything  coherent  of  the 
strange,  disquieting,  terrifying,  yet  enchanting 
jumble  which  breaks  upon  his  restored  conscious- 
ness)— while  these  things  happened,  the  trains  still 
ran  through  the  Bakerloo  tube,  carrying  people  to 
their  day's  work. 


2  WHAT  NOT 

Compartments  in  tube  trains  are  full  of  variety 
and  life — more  so  than  in  trains  above  ground, 
being  more  congested,  and  having  straps,  also  no 
class  snobbery.  Sv/aying  on  adjacent  straps  were  a 
fluffy  typist,  reading  "  The  Love  He  Could  Not 
Buy,"  in  the  Daily  Mirror,  a  spruce  young  civil 
servant  on  his  way  to  the  Foreign  Office,  reading  The 
Times,  a  clergyman  reading  the  Challenge,  who 
looked  as  if  he  was  interested  in  the  Life  and  Liberty 
movement,  another  clergyman  reading  the  Guardian, 
who  looked  as  if  he  wasn't,  an  elderly  gentleman 
reading  the  Morning  Post,  who  looked  patriotic 
but  soured,  as  if  he  had  volunteered  for  National 
Service  during  the  Great  War  and  had  found  it 
disappointing,  a  young  man  reading  the  Post-War, 
the  alert  new  daily,  and  a  citizen  with  a  law-abiding 
face  very  properly  perusing  the  Hidden  Hand.  The 
Hidden  Hand  was  the  Government  daily  paper. 
Such  a  paper  had  for  long  been  needed  ;  it  is  difficult 
to  understand  why  it  was  not  started  long  ago.  All 
other  papers  are  so  unreliable,  so  tiresome ;  a 
government  must  have  one  paper  on  which  it  can 
depend  for  unfailing  support.  So  here  was  the 
Hidden  Hand,  and  its  readers  had  no  excuse  for 
ignorance  of  what  the  government  desired  them  to 
think  about  its  own  actions. 

The  carriage  was  full  of  men  and  women  going  to 
their  places  of  business.  There  were  tired  young 
men,  lame  young  men,  pale  and  scarred  young 
men,  brown  and  fit  young  men,  bored  and  blase 


THE  MINISTRY  3 

young  men,  jolly  and  amused  young  men,  and 
nearly  all,  however  brown  or  fit  or  pale  or  lan- 
guid or  jolly  or  bored,  bore  a  peculiar  and  un- 
mistakable impress  stamped,  faintly  or  deeply,  on 
their  faces,  their  eyes,  their  carriage,  the  set  of 
their  shoulders. 

There  were,  among  the  business  men  and  girls, 
women  going  shopping,  impassive,  without  news- 
papers, gazing  at  the  clothes  of  others,  taking  in 
their  cost,  their  cut,  their  colour.  This  is  an  en- 
grossing occupation.  Those  who  practise  it  sit  quite 
still,  without  a  stir,  a  twinkle,  a  yawn,  or  a  paper, 
and  merely  look,  all  over,  up  and  down,  from  shoes 
to  hat.  .  .  .  They  are  a  strange  and  wonderful  race 
of  beings,  these  gazing  women  ;  one  cannot  see  into 
their  minds,  or  beyond  their  roving  eyes.  They  bear 
less  than  any  other  section  of  the  community  the 
stamp  of  public  events.  The  representatives  of  the 
type  in  the  Bakerloo  this  morning  did  not  carry  any 
apparent  impress  of  the  Great  War.  It  would  take 
something  more  than  a  great  war,  something  more 
even  than  a  food  crisis,  to  leave  its  mark  on  these 
sphinx-like  and  immobile  countenances.  Kingdoms 
may  rise  and  fall,  nations  may  reel  in  the  death- 
grapple,  but  they  sit  gazing  still,  and  their  minds, 
amid  the  rocking  chaos,  may  be  imagined  to  be 
framing  some  such  thoughts  as  these  :  "  Those  are 
nice  shoes.  I  wonder  if  they're  the  ones  Swan  and 
Edgar  have  at  305.  She's  trimmed  her  hat  herself, 
and  not  well.  That  skirt  is  last  year's  shape. 


4  WHAT  NOT 

That's  a  smart  coat.  Dear  me,  what  stockings ; 
you'd  think  anyone  would  be  ashamed." 

These  women  had  not  the  air  of  reckless  anticipa- 
tion, of  being  alert  for  any  happening,  however 
queer,  that,  in  differing  degrees,  marked  the  majority 
of  people  in  these  days.  For  that,  in  many,  seemed 
the  prevailing  note  ;  a  series  of  events  so  surprising 
as  to  kill  surprise,  of  disasters  so  appalling  as  to 
numb  horror,  had  come  and  gone,  leaving  behind 
them  this  reckless  touch,  and  with  it  a  kind  of  greed, 
a  determination  to  snatch  whatever  might  be  from 
life  before  it  tumbled  again  into  chaos.  They  had 
not  been  devoid  of  lessons  in  what  moralists  call 
Making  the  Best  of  It,  those  staggering  years  when 
everything  had  fallen  and  fallen,  successively  and 
simultaneously,  civilisation,  and  governments,  and 
hopes,  and  crowns,  and  nations,  and  soldiers,  and 
rain,  and  tears,  and  bombs,  and  buildings,  only  not 
prices,  or  newspapers. 

For,  if  everything  had  so  fallen  once,  it  might 
even  now  be  riding  for  a  fall  again  (in  spite  of  the 
League  of  Nations  and  other  devices  for  propping 
up  the  unsteady  framework  of  a  lasting  peace) .  The 
thing  was  to  get  what  one  could  first.  The  thing,  in 
the  opinion  of  one  traveller  in  that  train,  was  to 
wear  cap  and  bells,  to  dance  through  life  to  a  barrel 
organ,  to  defeat  a  foolish  universe  with  its  own 
weapons. 

And  always  there  was  that  sense  in  the  back- 
ground of  a  possible  great  disaster,  of  dancing  on 


THE  MINISTRY  5 

the  world's  thin  crust  that  had  broken  once  and  let 
one  through,  and  might  break  again.  Its  very  thin- 
ness, its  very  fragility  added  a  desperate  gaiety  to 
the  dance. 


2 

Ivy  Delmer  (who  was  not  the  traveller  alluded  to 
above,  and  did  not  consciously  think  or  feel  any  of 
these  things)  stood  holding  to  a  strap,  with  the 
novel  which  she  was  going  to  change  in  the  lunch 
hour  in  one  hand.  Ivy  Delmer,  a  shorthand  typist 
at  the  Ministry  of  Brains,  was  young,  ingenuous, 
soft-faced,  na'ive,  and  the  daughter  of  a  Bucking- 
hamshire vicar.  The  two  things  she  loved  best  in 
the  world  were  marzipan  and  the  drama.  Her  wide 
grey  eyes  travelled,  with  innocent  interest,  along 
the  faces  in  the  compartment ;  she  was  seeing  if  she 
liked  them  or  not.  Immaturely  and  unconsciously 
sexual,  she  looked  with  more  hope  of  satisfaction  at 
male  faces  than  at  female.  Not  but  that  she  was 
susceptible  to  strong  admirations  for  her  own  sex ; 
she  had  a  "  pash  "  for  Miss  Doris  Keane  and  Miss 
Teddie  Gerrard,  and,  in  private  life,  a  great  esteem 
for  Miss  Grammont,  at  the  Ministry,  whose  letters 
she  sometimes  took  down  in  shorthand.  But  every- 
one knows  there  is  a  greater  number  of  interesting 
faces  in  trains  belonging  to  another  sex  than  to 
one's  own,  and  it  is  no  use  pretending. 

Having  subjected  the  faces  within  her  range  to 
her  half -unconscious  judgment,  and  passed  tuem 


6  WHAT  NOT 

with  varying  degrees  of  credit,  Miss  Delmer,  for  lack 
of  anything  better  to  do,  read  the  advertisements 
and  exhortations  over  the  windows.  With  satisfac- 
tion she  noted  that  she  had  seen  all  the  advertised 
plays.  She  absorbed  such  temporal  maxims  and 
eternal  truths  as  "  Let  Mr.  Mustard  mix  your  bath," 
"  God  is  not  mocked,"  and  the  terrifying  utter- 
ances of  the  Safety-if -Possible  Council,  "  Is  it  safe  ? 
That  is  the  question.  No.  That  is  the  answer." 
"  If  you  hope  to  achieve  safety  in  a  street  aero  (i)  Do 
not  alight  before  the  aero  does.  (2)  Do  not  attempt 
to  jump  up  into  an  aero  in  motion."  Then  a  picture  : 
"  A  will  be  killed  because  he  is  standing  immediately 
beneath  a  descending  aero  bus.  B  will  be  killed 
because  he  and  others  like  him  have  shaken  the 
nerve  of  the  aviator."  A  series  of  warnings  which 
left  one  certain  that,  wherever  one  might  achieve 
safety,  it  would  not  be  in,  or  anywhere  at  all  near, 
a  street  aero.  That,  probably,  is  the  object.  In  the 
old  days  it  was  the  motor  bus  that  was  thus  made  a 
thing  of  terror  by  the  princes  of  the  nether  world. 
Now,  even  as  then,  their  efforts  met  with  success, 
and  the  tubes  were  filled  with  a  panic-stricken 
mob. 

Ivy  Delmer,  taking  an  empty  seat,  saw  Miss 
Grammont  at  the  other  side  of  the  carriage.  Miss 
Grammont  had  the  New  Statesman  and  the  Tatter 
and  was  reading  one  of  them.  She  was  partial  to 
both,  which  was  characteristic  of  her  attitude 
towcirds  life.  She  was  one  of  those  who  see  no  reason 


THE  MINISTRY  7 

why  an  intelligent  interest  in  the  affairs  of  the  world 
should  be  incompatible  with  a  taste  for  Eve.  She 
enjoyed  both  classical  concerts  and  new  revues. 
She  might  be  called  a  learned  worldling.  Ivy  Delmer 
was  rather  shy  of  her,  because  of  her  manner, 
which  could  be  supercilious,  because  of  her  reputed 
cleverness,  and  because  of  her  position  at  the 
Ministry,  which  was  a  long  way  above  Ivy's.  On 
the  other  hand,  her  clothes  made  one  feel  at  home  ; 
they  showed  skill  and  interest ;  she  had  not  that 
air  of  the  dowd  which  some  people  who  have  been 
to  college  have,  and  which  is  so  estranging  to  normal 
people. 

Kitty  Grammont,  something  of  the  elegant  rake, 
something  of  the  gamin,  something  of  the  adven- 
turess, something  of  the  scholar,  with  innocent 
amber-brown  eyes  gazing  ingenuously  from  under 
long  black  lashes,  a  slightly  cynical  mouth,  a  small, 
smooth,  rounded,  child's  face,  a  travelled  manner, 
and  an  excellent  brain,  was  adequately,  as  people 
go,  equipped  for  the  business  of  living.  She  had 
seen  some  life,  in  a  past  which,  if  chequered,  had 
not  lacked  its  gaiety,  meant  to  see  much  more,  in  a 
future  which  she  did  not  foresee  clearly  but  which 
she  intended  should  be  worthy  of  her,  and  was 
seeing  enough  to  go  on  with  in  a  present  which, 
though  at  moments  it  blackly  bored  her  (she  was 
very  susceptible  to  boredom),  was  on  the  whole 
decidedly  entertaining. 

Ivy  Delmer,  looking  at  her  across  the  compart- 


8  WHAT  NOT 

ment,  with  some  surprise  because  she  was  so  nearly 
punctual  this  morning,  this  not  being  one  of  her 
habits,  admired  her  greatly,  thinking  how  clever 
she  was,  how  clearly,  how  unhesitatingly,  how  in- 
cisively her  sentences  came  out  when  she  was 
dictating,  cutting  their  way,  in  that  cool,  light, 
dragging  voice  of  hers,  through  her  subject,  however 
intricate,  as  a  sharp  blade  cuts  ice ;  quite  different 
from  some  people's  dictation,  which  trails  to  and 
fro,  emending,  cancelling,  hesitating,  indistinct, 
with  no  edge  to  it,  so  that  one's  shorthand  has 
constantly  to  be  altered,  making  a  mess  on  the 
page,  and  bits  of  it  read  aloud  to  see  how  it  goes 
now,  which  was  a  nuisance,  because  one  can't  rely 
always  on  being  able  to  read  off  even  one's  own 
shorthand  quite  fluently  straight  away  like  that. 
Further — and  this  was  nearer  Ivy's  heart — Miss 
Grammont  wore,  as  a  rule,  charming  shoes.  She 
also  smoked  extraordinarily  nice  cigarettes,  and 
often  had  delicious  chocolates,  and  was  generous 
with  both. 

All  this  made  it  a  grief  to  Ivy  Delmer  that  Miss 
Grammont's  brother  and  his  family,  who  lived  in 
her  father's  parish,  and  with  whom  Miss  Grammont 
often  stayed,  were  not  Approved  Of.  Into  the 
reasons  for  this  it  will  be  more  appropriate  to  enter 
later  in  this  narrative. 


THE  MINISTRY  9 

3 

Oxford  Circus.  The  hub  of  the  world,  where 
seething  mobs  fought  on  the  platform  like  wild 
beasts.  Piccadilly  Circus.  Lucky  people,  thought 
Ivy  Delmer,  who  got  out  there,  all  among  gaiety 
and  theatres.  Trafalgar  Square.  There  naval 
officers  got  out,  to  visit  the  Admiralty,  or  the 
Nelson  Column.  Charing  Cross.  There  people 
had  got  out  during  the  Great  War,  to  go  and 
help  the  War  Office  or  the  Ministry  of  Munitions 
to  run  the  business.  So  much  help,  so  much 
energy,  so  many  hotels.  .  .  .  And  now  there  were 
more  than  ever,  because  so  much  needed  doing, 
and  hotels  are  the  means  heaven  has  given  us  to 
do  it  with. 

At  Charing  Cross  Ivy  Delmer  and  Kitty  Gram- 
mont  got  out,  for,  without  specifying  the  hotel 
where  the  Ministry  of  Brains  carried  on  its  labours, 
it  may  be  mentioned  without  indiscretion  that  it 
was  within  a  walk  of  Charing  Cross. 

Miss  Grammont  and  Miss  Delmer  walked  there, 
Miss  Delmer  well  ahead  and  hurrying,  because  to 
her  it  seemed  late,  Miss  Grammont  behind  and 
sauntering  because  to  her  it  seemed  superfluously 
early.  The  Ministry  daily  day  began  at  9.30,  and 
it  was  only  9.40  now. 

The  summer  morning  was  glittering  on  the  river 
like  laughter.  A  foolish  thing  it  seemed,  to  be 
going  into  an  hotel  on  a  summer  morning,  to  be  sit- 


io  WHAT  NOT 

ting  down  at  a  government  desk  laden  with  govern- 
ment files,  taking  a  government  pen  (which  was 
never  a  relief,  only  a  not-exactly)  and  writing 
pamphlets,  or  answers  to  letters  which,  if  left  long 
enough,  would  surely  answer  themselves,  as  is  the 
way  of  letters,  and  all  to  improve  the  Brains  of  the 
Nation.  Bother  the  Brains  of  the  Nation,  thought 
Miss  Grammont,  only  she  used  a  stronger  word,  as 
was  the  custom  in  what  Mrs.  Delmer  called  her  un- 
fortunate family.  Black  doubt  sometimes  smote 
her  as  to  not  so  much  the  efficacy  of  the  work  of  her 
Department  as  its  desirability  if  ever  it  should  be 
perfectly  accomplished.  Did  brains  matter  so 
greatly  after  all  ?  Were  the  clever  happier  than  the 
fools  ?  Miss  Grammont,  whose  university  career 
had  been  a  brilliant  intellectual  adventure,  felt  com- 
petent to  speak  for  both  these  types  of  humanity. 
She  knew  herself  to  be  happier  when  playing  the  fool 
than  when  exerting  her  highly  efficient  brain  ;  the 
lunatic-asylum  touch  gave  her  more  joy  than  the 
studious,  and  she  wore  learning  like  a  cap  and  bells. 
But  stupidity  was,  of  course,  a  bore.  It  must,  of 
course,  be  mitigated,  if  possible.  And  anyhow  the 
object  of  the  Ministry  of  Brains  was  not  to  make 
people  happy  (that  could  be  left  to  the  Directorate 
of  Entertainments),  nor  to  make  them  good  (that 
was  up  to  the  Church,  now,  to  the  great  benefit  of 
both,  divorced  from  the  State),  but  to  further  social 
progress  and  avert  another  Great  War. 
Miss  Grammont  yawned,  because  the  day  was  yet 


THE  MINISTRY  u 

so  young,  and  followed  Miss  Delmer  up  the  steps  of 
the  hotel. 

4 

The  Ministry  of  Brains,  a  vast  organisation,  had 
many  sections.  There  was  the  Propaganda  Section, 
which  produced  pamphlets  and  organised  lectures 
and  cinema  shows  (Miss  Grammont  had  been  lent 
temporarily  to  this  section  by  her  own  branch)  ; 
there  was  the  Men's  Education  Section,  the  Women's, 
and  the  Children's ;  the  Section  which  dealt  with 
brain-tests,  examinations,  certificates,  and  tribunals, 
and  the  Section  which  was  concerned  with  the  direc- 
tion of  the  intellects  of  the  Great  Unborn.  Ivy 
Delmer  was  attached  to  this  section,  and  Mr. 
Delmer,  when  he  heard  about  it,  was  not  altogether 
sure  it  was  quite  nice  for  her. 

"  She  surely  shouldn't  know  they  have  any,"  he 
had  said  to  his  wife,  who  was  weeding,  and  replied 
absently,  "  Any  what,  dear  ?  Who  ?  " 

"  Intellects,"  the  vicar  said.  "  The  Unborn.  Be- 
sides, they  haven't."  He  was  frowning,  and  jerk- 
ing out  dandelions  from  the  lawn  with  a  spud. 

"  Oh,  that's  not  it,  dear,"  Mrs.  Delmer  reassured 
him  vaguely.  "  Not  the  just  unborn,  you  know.  The 
— the  ever  so  long  unborn.  All  this  arrangement 
of  who  ought  to  marry  who.  Quite  silly,  of  course, 
but  no  harm  for  Ivy  in  that  way.  After  all,  there's 
no  reason  why  she  shouldn't  know  that  children 
often  inherit  their  brains  from  their  parents." 


12  WHAT  NOT 

The  vicar  admitted  that,  even  for  their  precious 
and  very  young  Ivy,  there  was  no  great  harm  in 
this. 

The  Section  in  question  was,  as  Mrs.  Delmer  had 
stated,  concerned  with  the  encouragement  and  dis- 
couragement of  alliances  in  proportion  as-  they 
seemed  favourable  or  otherwise  to  the  propagation 
of  intelligence  in  the  next  generation.  There  were 
numerous  and  complicated  regulations  on  the  sub- 
ject, which  could  not,  of  course,  be  enforced ;  the 
Ministry's  methods  were  those  of  stimulation, 
reward  and  punishment,  rather  than  of  coercion. 
There  were  bonuses  on  the  births  of  the  babies  of 
parents  conforming  to  the  regulations,  and  penal 
taxes  on  unregulated  infants,  taxes  increasing  in 
proportion  to  the  flagrancy  of  the  parents'  dis- 
obedience, so  that  the  offspring  of  parents  of  very 
low  mental  calibre  brought  with  them  financial  ruin. 
Everyone  held  a  Ministry  of  Brains  form,  showing 
his  or  her  mental  category,  officially  ascertained  and 
registered.  If  you  were  classified  A,  your  brains 
were  certified  to  be  of  the  highest  order,  and  you 
were  recommended  to  take  a  B2  or  63  partner  (these 
were  the  quite  intelligent).  To  ally  yourseJf  with 
another  A  or  a  Bi  was  regarded  as  wasteful,  there 
not  being  nearly  enough  of  these  to  go  round,  and 
your  babies  would  receive  much  smaller  bonuses. 
If  you  were  classed  Ci,  C2,  or  €3,  your  babies 
would  receive  no  encouragement,  unless  you  had 
diluted  their  folly  with  an  A  partner  ;  if  you  chose 


THE  MINISTRY  13 

to  unite  with  another  C  they  were  heavily  fined,  and 
if  you  were  below  63  (i.e.  uncertificated)  they  were 
fined  still  more  heavily,  by  whomsoever  diluted,  and 
for  the  third  and  subsequent  infants  born  under 
such  conditions  you  would  be  imprisoned.  (Only 
the  Ministry  had  not  been  working  long  enough  for 
anyone  to  have  yet  met  with  this  fate.  The  children 
of  unions  perpetrated  before  the  Mental  Progress 
Act  were  at  present  exempt.)  Families  among  the 
lower  grades  and  among  the  uncertificated  were  thus 
drastically  discouraged.  You  were  uncertificated 
for  matrimonial  purposes  not  only  if  you  were  very 
stupid,  but  if,  though  yourself  of  brilliant  mental 
powers,  you  had  actual  deficiency  in  your  near 
family.  If  you  were  in  this  case,  your  form  was 
marked  "A  (Deficiency)." 

And  so  on  :  the  details  of  the  regulations,  their 
intricacies  and  tangled  knots,  the  endless  and  com- 
plicated special  arrangements  which  were  made  with 
various  groups  and  classes  of  persons,  may  be  easily 
imagined,  or  (rather  less  easily,  because  the  index  is 
poor)  found  in  the  many  volumes  of  the  Ministry 
of  Brains  Instructions. 

Anyhow,  to  room  number  13,  which  was  among 
the  many  rooms  where  this  vast  and  intricate  subject 
was  dealt  with,  Ivy  Delmer  was  summoned  this 
Monday  morning  to  take  down  a  letter  for  Vernon 
Prideaux. 


14  WHAT  NOT 

5 

Vernon  Prideaux  was  a  fair,  slim,  neat,  eye-glassed 
young  man  ;  his  appearance  and  manners  were  ap- 
proved by  Ivy  Delmer's  standards  and  his  capabili- 
ties by  the  heads  of  his  department.  His  intellectual 
category  was  A  ;  he  had  an  impatient  temper,  a 
ready  tongue,  considerable  power  over  papers  (an 
important  gift,  not  possessed  by  all  civil  servants), 
resource  in  emergency,  competence  in  handling 
situations  and  persons,  decided  personal  charm,  was 
the  son  of  one  of  our  more  notorious  politicians,  and 
had  spent  most  of  the  war  in  having  malaria  on  the 
Struma  front,  with  one  interesting  break  when  he 
was  recalled  to  England  by  his  former  department 
to  assist  in  the  drawing  up  of  a  new  Bill,  dealing  with 
a  topic  on  which  he  was  an  expert.  He  was,  after  all 
this,  only  thirty  now,  so  had  every  reason  for  believ- 
ing, as  he  did,  that  he  would  accomplish  something 
in  this  world  before  he  left  it.  He  had  been  sucked 
into  the  activities  of  the  new  Ministry  like  so  many 
other  able  young  men  and  women,  and  was  finding 
it  both  entertaining  and  not  devoid  of  scope  for  his 
talents. 

Ivy  Delmer  admired  him  a  good  deal.  She  sat  at 
his  side  with  her  notebook  and  pencil,  her  soft,  wide 
mouth  a  little  parted,  waiting  for  him  to  begin.  He 
was  turning  over  papers  impatiently.  He  was  in  a 
rather  bad  temper,  because  of  his  new  secretary,  of 
whom  he  only  demanded  a  little  common  sense  and 


THE  MINISTRY  15 

did  not  get  it,  and  he  would  have  to  get  rid  of  her, 
always  a  tiresome  process.  He  couldn't  trust  her 
with  anything,  however  simple  ;  she  always  made  a 
hash  of  it,  and  filled  up  the  gaps,  which  were  pro- 
found, in  her  recollection  of  his  instructions  with  her 
own  ideas,  which  were  not.  He  had  on  Saturday 
given  her  some  forms  to  fill  up,  stock  forms  which 
were  always  sent  in  reply  to  a  particular  kind  of 
letter  from  the  public.  The  form  was  supposed 
merely  to  say,  "  In  reply  to  your  letter  with  refer- 
ence to  your  position  as  regards  the  tax  [or  bonus] 
on  your  prospective  [or  potential,  or  existing]  infant, 
I  am  to  inform  you  that  your  case  is  one  for  the 
decision  of  the  Local  Tribunals  set  up  under  the 
Mental  Progress  Act,  to  whom  your  application 
should  have  been  made."  Miss  Pomfrey,  who  was 
young  and  full  of  zeal  for  the  cause  (she  very  reason- 
ably wished  that  the  Mental  Progress  Act  had  been 
in  existence  before  her  parents  had  married),  had 
added  on  her  own  account  to  one  such  letter,  "  It 
was  the  stupidity  of  people  like  you  who  caused  the 
Great  War,"  and  put  it  this  morning  with  the  other 
forms  on  Prideaux's  table  for  signing.  Prideaux 
had  enquired,  fighting  against  what  he  knew  to  be 
a  disproportionate  anger  with  her,  didn't  she  really 
know  better  by  now  than  to  think  that  letters  like 
that  would  be  sent  ?  Miss  Pomfrey  had  sighed.  She 
did  not  know  better  than  that  by  now.  She  knew 
hardly  anything.  She  was  not  intelligent,  even  as 
B3's  went.  In  fact,  her  category  was  probably  a 


16  WHAT  NOT 

mistake.  Her  babies,  if  ever  she  had  any,  would  be 
of  a  mental  calibre  that  did  not  bear  contemplation. 
They  would  probably  cause  another  Great  War. 

So  Prideaux,  who  had  also  other  worries,  was  out 
of  temper. 

"  Sorry,  Miss  Delmer.  .  .  .  Ah,  here  we  are." 
He  fidgeted  about  with  a  file,  then  began  to  dictate 
a  letter,  in  his  quick,  light,  staccato  voice.  Ivy, 
clenching  the  tip  of  her  pink  tongue  between  her 
teeth,  raced  after  him. 

"  Sir, 

"  In  reply  to  your  letter  of  26th  May  with 
reference  to  the  taxation  on  babies  born  to  your 
employees  and  their  consequent  demand  for  in- 
creased wages,  I  am  instructed  by  the  Minister  of 
Brains  to  inform  you  that  this  point  is  receiving  his 
careful  attention,  in  connection  with  the  general 
economic  question  involved  by  the  terms  of  Ministry 
of  Brains  Instruction  743,  paragraph  3.  .  .  ." 

Prideaux  paused,  and  frowned  nervously  at  his 
secretary,  who  was  conducting  a  fruitless  conversa- 
tion over  his  telephone,  an  occupation  at  which  she 
did  not  shine. 

"  Hullo  .  .  .  yes  ...  I  can't  quite  hear  .  .  . 
who  are  you,  please  ?  ...  Oh  ...  yes,  he's  here. 
.  .  .  But  rather  busy,  you  know.  .  .  .  Dictating. 
.  .  .  Yes,  dictating.  .  .  .  Who  did  you  say  wanted 
him,  please  ?  .  .  .  Oh,  I  see.  ..." 


THE  MINISTRY  17 

"  What  is  it,  Miss  Pomfrey  ?  "  Prideaux  broke  in, 
making  her  start. 

"  It's  the  Minister's  secretary."  she  explained, 
without  covering  the  receiver.  "  He  says  will  you 
go  to  the  Minister.  There's  a  deputation — of 
bishops,  I  think  he  said.  About  the  new  Instruction 
about  Clergymen's  Babies.  .  .  .  But  I  said  you 
were  busy  dictating.  ..." 

Prideaux  had  jumped  to  his  feet,  frowning,  and 
was  at  the  door. 

'  You'd  better  make  a  note  that  I'm  never  busy 
dictating  or  doing  anything  else  when  the  Minister 
sends  for  me,"  he  shot  at  her  as  he  left  the  room. 

"  And  now  he's  cross,"  Miss  Pomfrey  murmured 
sadly. 

"  I  daresay  he's  only  angry  at  being  inter- 
rupted," said  Ivy  Delmer,  who  had  been  at  the  same 
secretarial  college  as  Miss  Pomfrey  and  thought  that 
her  days  in  the  Ministry  of  Brains  were  numbered. 

"  I  do  make  him  cross,"  Miss  Pomfrey  observed, 
accepting  the  fact  with  resignation,  as  one  of  the  sad, 
inevitable  fatalities  of  life,  and  returned  to  her  in- 
dexing. She  had  been  set  to  make  an  index  of  those 
Ministry  of  Brains  Instructions  which  had  come  out 
that  month.  She  had  only  got  to  the  nth  of  the 
month.  The  draught  fluttered  the  pages  about. 
Ivy  Delmer  watched  the  Instructions  waving  to 
and  fro  in  the  breeze — number  801,  Agriculturists, 
798,  Conscientious  Obstructionists,  897,  Residents  in 
Ireland,  674,  Parents  of  more  than  three  children. 
c 


i8  WHAT  NOT 

.  .  .  How  many  there  were,  thought  Ivy,  as  she 
watched.  How  clever  the  people  who  dealt  with 
such  things  needed  to  be.  She  thought  of  her  father's 
village,  and  the  people  in  it,  the  agriculturists,  the 
parents  of  more  than  three  children,  all  the  little 
human  community  of  lives  who  were  intimately 
affected  by  one  or  other  of  these  instructions,  and 
the  fluttering  pages  emerged  from  the  dry  realm  to 
which  such  as  Ivy  relegate  printed  matter  and  ideas, 
and  took  vivid  human  life.  It  mattered,  all  this 
complicated  fabric  of  regulations  and  rules  and 
agreements  and  arrangements ;  it  touched  the 
living  universe  that  she  knew — the  courting  boys 
and  girls  on  stiles  in  Buckinghamshire  lanes,  Em- 
meline,  the  Vicarage  housemaid,  who  had  married 
Sid  Dean  last  month,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  White  at  the 
farm,  all  the  great  stupid  pathetic  aggrieved  public, 
neatly  filed  letters  from  whom  covered  every  table 
in  the  Ministry,  awaiting  reply,  their  very  hand- 
writing and  spelling  calculated  to  touch  any  heart 
but  a  civil  servant's.  .  .  . 

Ivy  found  a  moment  in  which  to  hope  that  every- 
one in  the  Ministry  was  being  very  careful  and 
painstaking  about  this  business,  before  she  reverted 
to  wondering  whether  or  not  she  liked  the  colour 
which  Miss  Pomfrey  had  dyed  her  jersey. 

Having  decided  that  she  didn't,  and  also  that  she 
had  better  go  away  and  wait  for  Mr.  Prideaux  to 
send  for  her  again,  she  departed. 


THE  MINISTRY  19 

6 

Vernon  Prideaux,  having  given  his  assistance  to 
the  Minister  in  the  matter  of  the  third  clause  of 
the  new  Clergymen's  Babies  Instruction,  left  the 
Minister  and  the  deputation  together  and  returned 
to  his  room  via  the  Propaganda  Branch,  which  he 
visited  in  order  to  ask  Miss  Grammont  to  dine 
with  him  that  evening.  He  and  Kitty  Grammont 
had  known  one  another  for  some  years.  They 
had  begun  at  Cambridge,  where  Prideaux  had 
been  two  years  the  senior,  and  had  kept  up  an 
intermittent  friendship  [ever  since,  which  had,  since 
their  association  in  the  Ministry,  grown  into  in- 
timacy. 

Prideaux  found  Kitty  writing  a  pamphlet.  She 
was  rather  good  at  this  form  of  literature,  having  a 
concise  and  clear-cut  style  and  an  instinct  for  stop- 
ping on  the  right  word.  Some  pamphleteers  have 
not  this  art :  they  add  a  sentence  or  two  more,  and 
undo  their  effect.  The  pamphlet  on  which  Miss 
Grammont  was  at  this  moment  engaged  was  in- 
tended for  the  perusal  of  the  working  woman,  and 
bore  the  conversational  title,  "  The  Nation  takes  an 
interest  in  Your  Affairs  :  will  You  not  take  an 
interest  in  the  Affairs  of  the  Nation  ?  "  Which,  as 
Miss  Grammont  observed,  took  rather  a  long  time 
to  say,  but  may  have  been  worth  it. 

"  Dine  with  you  ?  I'll  be  charmed.  Where  and 
when  ?  " 


20  WHAT  NOT 

"  My  rooms,  eight  o'clock.  I've  got  my  parents 
and  the  Minister  coming." 

"  Oh,  the  Minister." 

"  Do  you  mind  ?  " 

"  No,  I'm  proud  to  meet  him.  I've  never  yet  met 
him  over  food,  so  to  speak,  only  officially.  I  admire 
our  Chester  more  every  day  he  lives,  don't  you  ? 
Nature  made  him  and  then  broke  the  die." 

"  Wonderful  man,"  Prideaux  agreed.  "  Extra- 
ordinary being.  ...  A  happy  touch  with  bishops, 
too.  Picked  that  up  in  the  home,  no  doubt ;  his 
father's  one.  Liking's  another  thing,  of  course.  .  .  . 
By  the  way,  do  you  know  what  his  category  is  ? 
However,  this  is  gossip.  I  must  get  back  and  dis- 
cover what's  the  latest  perpetration  of  my  new 
secretary.  See  you  to-night,  then." 

He  left  the  room.  Kitty  Grammont  observed 
with  satisfaction,  for  she  was  critical  of  such  things, 
how  well  his  clothes  fitted  him,  wondered  what  he 
had  nearly  told  her  about  the  Minister's  category, 
finished  her  pamphlet,  and  sent  it  out  for  typing. 
She  had  an  idea  that  this  pamphlet  might  not  get 
passed  by  the  censor,  and  wanted  to  find  out.  For 
the  censor  was  cautious  about  pamphlets,  wisely 
opining  that  you  cannot  be  too  careful.  Pamphlets 
may,  and  usually  do,  deal  with  dangerous  or  in- 
decent topics,  such  as  the  Future.  If  sufficiently 
dangerous  and  indecent,  they  become  Leaflets,  and 
are  suppressed  on  sight.  There  were  dangerous  and 
explosive  words,  like  Peace,  War,  and  Freedom 


I 


THE  MINISTRY  21 

which  the  censor  dealt  with  drastically.  The  danger 
of  the  word  Peace  dated,  of  course,  from  the  days 
when  Peace  had  not  yet  arrived  and  discussion  of  it 
was  therefore  improper,  like  the  discussion  of  an 
unborn  infant.  By  the  time  it  did  arrive,  its  rele- 
gation to  the  region  of  Things  we  do  not  Mention 
had  become  a  habit,  not  lightly  to  be  laid  aside,  so 
that  a  Ministry  of  Brains  pamphlet  entitled  "  The 
Peace  of  Fools  "  had  been  strangled  before  birth, 
the  censor  being  very  naturally  unable  to  believe 
that  it  did  not  refer  in  some  mysterious  way  to  the 
negotiations  which  had  ended  hostilities,  whereas  as 
a  matter  of  fact  it  was  all  about  the  foolish  content 
of  stupid  people  who  went  on  submitting  to  diseases 
which  a  little  intelligent  thought  would  have  pre- 
vented. There  had  also  perished,  owing  to  the  same 
caution  on  the  censor's  part,  and,  it  must  be  pre- 
sumed, to  the  same  guilty  conscience  on  the  part  of 
the  Government,  a  booklet  published  by  Messrs. 
Mowbray  in  a  purple  paper  cover  with  a  gold  cross 
on  it,  called  "  The  Peace  which  passeth  under- 
standing," not  to  mention  a  new  edition  of  Burke's 
"  Regicide  Peace,"  and  one  or  two  other  works  of 
which  the  censor,  whose  reading  was  obliged  to  be 
mainly  twentieth  century,  mistook  the  date.  And, 
if  treatises  concerning  Peace  were  suspected  from 
force  of  habit,  works  on  War  were  discouraged  also, 
on  the  sound  British  principle  that  the  stress  of  a 
great  Peace  is  not  the  time  to  talk  of  War  ;  we  must 
first  deal  with  Peace,  and  then  we  may  think  about 


22  WHAT  NOT 

War  ;  but  One  Thing  At  Once,  and  do  not  let  us  cry 
War,  War,  when  there  is  no  war.  But  there  may  be 
one  day,  argued  the  pamphleteers,  and  might  it  not 
be  well  to  prepare  our  minds  for  it  ?  To  which  the 
answer  very  properly  was,  No  ;  Britons  do  not  look 
ahead.  They  Come  Through,  instead.  And  anyhow 
it  was  treachery  to  those  who  were  spending  their 
energies  on  this  righteous  peace  to  discuss  a  prema- 
ture war,  which  could  neither  be  just  nor  lasting. 

Another  improper  subject,  naturally,  was  Liberty. 
That  needs  no  explanation  ;  it  has  always  been  im- 
proper in  well-regulated  countries,  like  Eugenics,  or 
the  Poor,  and  has  received  no  encouragement  from 
authority.  Notwithstanding  this,  so  many  improper 
works  upon  it,  in  every  conceivable  form,  have 
always  been  produced,  that  the  censors  had  to 
engage  a  special  clerk,  who  had  just  obtained  a  first 
class  in  English  Literature  at  Oxford,  and  who 
therefore  had  books  and  pamphlets  of  all  dates 
fresh  in  her  memory,  to  check  their  researches  and 
inform  them  when  their  energies  were  superfluous. 
Not  that  all  the  books  of  former  centuries  on  this 
topic  were  to  be  encouraged,  for,  after  all,  one  period 
is  in  some  respects  singularly  like  another,  and  the 
same  reflections  strangely  germane  to  both.  Natur- 
ally, therefore,  when  the  literary  clerk,  seeing  ad- 
vertised a  new  and  cheap  edition  of  Robert  Hall's 
"  Sentiments  proper  to  the  present  crisis,"  and, 
remembering  the  trend  of  this  work,  sent  for  it 
(having  sold  her  own  copy  at  Blackwell's  when  she 


THE  MINISTRY  23 

went  down),  and  read  such  remarks  as  "Freedom, 
driven  from  every  spot  on  the  continent,  has  sought 
an  asylum  in  a  country  which  she  always  chose  for 
her  favourite  abode,  but  she  is  pursued  even  here 
and  threatened  with  destruction.  ...  It  is  for  you 
to  decide  whether  this  freedom  shall  yet  survive,  or 
be  clothed  with  a  funeral  pall  and  be  wrapped  in 
eternal  gloom  " — very  properly  she  reported  the 
matter  to  headquarters,  and  the  cheap  edition  was 
called  in. 

Equally  naturally  there  perished  (without  the  help 
of  the  literary  clerk,  who  was  not  asked  to  judge  of 
twentieth  century  literature)  various  collections  of 
Free  Verse,  for  which  the  Poetry  Bookshop  was 
successfully  raided,  a  tract  of  the  sort  which  is 
dropped  about  trains,  published  by  the  Evangelical 
Tract  Society  and  called  "  Throw  off  your  Chains  !  ", 
"  Citizens  of  a  Free  City,"  which  was  found  at 
Mowbray's,  and  bore  on  its  title  page  the  statement 
"  Jerusalem  ...  is  free  "  (a  manifest  and  seditious 
untruth,  as  we,  of  course,  held  Jerusalem,  in  trust 
for  the  Jews),  and  many  others  of  like  tendency, 
such  as  works  on  Free  Food,  Free  Drink,  Free 
Housing,  Free  Love,  Free  Thought,  and  Labour  in 
Chains.  Even  fiction  was  suspect.  A  novel  entitled 
The  Dangers  of  Dora,  by  the  well-known  author  of 
The  Perils  of  Pauline  and  The  Exploits  of  Elaine, 
was  suppressed,  in  spite  of  what  should  have  been 
the  reassuring  fact  that  Dora,  like  Pauline  and  Elaine 
before  her,  triumphantly  worsted  all  her  foes  in  the 


24  WHAT  NOT 

end,  and  emerged  smiling  and  safe  on  the  last  page. 
Publishers  were  known  to  demand  the  alteration  of 
a  title  if  the  name  Dora  occurred  in  it,  such  whole- 
some respect  did  the  Censor's  methods  inspire. 

It  will  therefore  be  readily  understood  that  even 
government  departments  had  to  go  warily  in  this 
matter. 

The  Minister  of  Brains  held  pamphlet  propaganda 
to  be  of  the  greatest  importance.  A  week  ago  the 
workers  in  the  propaganda  section  had  been  sent 
for  and  interviewed  by  the  Minister  in  person.  This 
personal  contact  had,  for  the  time  being,  oddly 
weighted  Miss  Grammont's  too  irresponsible  levity, 
kindled  her  rather  cynical  coolness,  given  her  some- 
thing almost  like  zeal.  That  was  one  thing  about 
the  Minister — he  set  other  people  on  fire.  Another 
was  that  his  manners  were  bad  but  unexpected, 
and  a  third  that  he  looked  like  a  cross  between  M. 
Kerensky,  a  member  of  the  Geddes  family,  and  Mr. 
Nelson  Keys. 

Thus  Miss  Grammont,  thoughtfully  smoking  a 
Cyprus  cigarette,  summed  up  the  Minister  of  Brains. 


CHAPTER  II 

LITTLE  CHANTREYS 

I 

IVY  DELMER  went  home  to  Little  Chantreys  on  the 
following  Saturday  afternoon,  after  a  matinee  and 
tea  in  town,  in  the  same  train,  though  not  the  same 
carriage  as  Kitty  Grammont  and  Vernon  Prideaux, 
who  were  presumably  spending  the  week-end  at  the 
End  House.  Ivy  travelled  home  every  evening  of 
the  week.  Miss  Grammont  had  a  flat  in  town,  but 
spent  the  week-ends  when  she  was  not  otherwise 
engaged,  with  her  brother  in  Little  Chantreys,  which 
was  embarrassing  to  Ivy. 

As  Ivy  got  out  of  the  train  she  saw  Miss  Gram- 
mont's  brother  and  the  lady  who  could  scarcely  be 
called  her  sister-in-law,  on  the  platform,  accom- 
panied by  a  queer-looking  man  of  about  forty,  with 
ears  rather  like  a  faun's.  Anyone,  thought  Ivy, 
could  have  guessed  which  house  in  Little  Chantreys 
he  was  staying  at.  The  week-end  people  who  came 
to  the  End  House  differed  widely  one  from  another 
in  body  and  soul ;  some  looked  clever,  or  handsome, 
others  did  not,  some  were  over-dressed,  some  under, 
some,  like  Miss  Grammont  and  her  brothers,  just 

25 


26  WHAT  NOT 

right ;  there  were  musical  people,  sporting  people, 
literary  or  artistic  people,  stagy  people  (these  last 
were  the  friends  of  Miss  Pansy  Ponsonby,  who  was 
not  Miss  Gramrnont's  sister-in-law),  uncommon 
people,  and  common  people  ;  but  they  all,  thought 
Ivy  Delmer,  had  two  looks^n  common — they  looked 
as  if  they  wouldn't  get  on  very  well  with  her  father 
and  mother,  and  they  looked  as  if  they  didn't  read 
the  Bible. 

This  second  look  was  differentiated  according  to 
the  wearer  of  it.  Some  of  them  (like  this  man  to- 
day) looked  as  if  he  didn't  read  it  because  it  had 
become  so  inextricably  bound  up  with  vulgar  super- 
stition and  an  impossible  religion  that  he  despised 
it.  Some,  like  Miss  Grammont  and  her  brother 
Anthony,  looked  as  if  they  didn't  read  it  because 
they  already  knew  enough  of  it  to  be  funny  about  it 
when  they  wanted  to ;  others,  like  Miss  Pansy 
Ponsonby,  looked  as  if  she  had  really  once  given  it 
a  try,  but  had  found  it  dry  and  put  off  further 
perusal  until  such  time  as  she  lay  dying  and  might 
want  to  do  something  about  her  future  state.  And 
Miss  Gramrnont's  brother  Cyril  looked  as  if  it  was  a 
Protestant  book,  and  rather  vulgar.  Some,  again, 
looked  innocent,  as  if  they  had  never  heard  of  it, 
others  guilty,  as  if  they  never  wanted  to  again. 

Ivy  Delmer  walked  home  to  the  Vicarage,  hoping 
rather  that  the  End  House  wouldn't  come  to  church 
to-morrow.  It  was  taken,  from  time  to  time,  with 
an  unaccountable  fit  of  doing  this.  It  made  Ivy 


LITTLE  CHANTREYS  27 

uncomfortable.  Whether  or  not  it  came  to  pray, 
she  could  not  help  having  an  uneasy  suspicion  that 
it  stayed  to  mock. 


"  Hullo,  old  dear,"  said  Miss  Pansy  Ponsonby,  in 
her  rich  and  resonant  drawl,  as  Kitty  and  her  com- 
panion came  out  of  the  station.  "  Here  we  all  are 
again.  And  the  Cheeper.  He's  a  growin'  boy,  our 
Cheeper  :  he  puts  on  weight.  Takes  after  me  :  I 
put  on  weight  when  I  forget  my  exercises  and  don't 
keep  an  eye  on  myself.  Don't  I,  Tony  ?  Mr. 
Prideaux,  isn't  it  ?  How  do,  Mr.  Prideaux  ?  Vurry 
pleased  you've  come.  You  know  Mr.  Amherst,  don't 
you  ?  You  clever  folks  all  know  each  other."  Miss 
Ponsonby,  who  was  not  an  American,  had  once  per- 
formed in  the  same  company  as  Miss  Lee  White,  and 
had  caught  an  inflexion  or  two.  She  looked  with 
the  satisfaction  of  the  hospitable  hostess  at  the  little 
group,  and  added,  "  So  here  we  all  are.  And  vurry 
nice  too." 

It  was,  indeed,  not  an  unpleasing  group.  Domi- 
nating it  was  Miss  Ponsonby  herself,  very  tall,  very 
beautiful,  very  supple  (only  a  year  ago  she  had  been 
doing  her  celebrated  eel-dance  in  "  Hullo,  Peace !  "), 
with  long  and  lovely  violet  eyes  and  the  best  kind 
of  Icilma  skin,  adorned  tastefully  but  quite  un- 
necessarily with  pink  paint,  white  powder,  scarlet 
lip  salve,  and  black  lash-darkener.  All  this  was 
from  force  of  habit  :  Miss  Ponsonby  was  quite 


23  WHAT  NOT 

adequately  pink,  white,  scarlet  and  black  in  her  own 
person.  But,  as  Kitty  observed,  having  been  given 
by  heaven  such  an  absurd  thing  as  a  human  face, 
what  could  one  do  but  make  it  yet  more  absurd  by 
these  superimposed  gaieties  ?  You  cannot  take  a 
face  as  a  serious  thing ;  it  is  one  of  nature's  jests, 
and  it  is  most  suitably  dealt  with  as  the  clown  and 
the  pierrot  deal  with  theirs.  This  was  Kitty's  point 
of  view  ;  Pansy  had  none,  only  habits. 

Pansy  was  guiding  and  controlling  a  motor-pram, 
in  which  lay  the  Cheeper,  aged  four  months  (he  had 
no  Christian  name,  having  so  far  evaded  both  the 
registrar  and  the  font,  and  presumably  no  surname, 
owing  to  the  peculiar  circumstances  of  his  parents) . 
The  Cheeper's  father,  Anthony  Grammont,  was  a 
fair,  pale,  good-looking,  rather  tired  young  man  of 
seven  and  twenty,  with  a  slightly  plaintive  voice ; 
he  looked  as  if  he  shared,  only  with  more  languor, 
Miss  Ponsonby's  placid  and  engaging  enjoyment  of 
the  world  ;  he  had  been  in  one  of  the  hottest  corners 
of  France  through  the  European  War,  and  had 
emerged  from  it  a  bored  and  unambitious  colonel, 
deaf  of  one  ear,  adorned  with  a  Military  Cross,  and 
determined  to  repay  himself  for  his  expenditure  of 
so  much  time,  energy  and  health  by  enjoying  the 
fifty  or  sixty  years  which,  he  piously  hoped,  re- 
mained to  him,  to  the  full.  Which  he  was  now 
doing.  His  professional  life  was  passed  on  the 
Stock  Exchange. 

Mr.  Leslie  Amherst,  the  man  like  a  faun,  who  was 


LITTLE  CHANTREYS 


29 


staying  with  him,  was  an  old  friend  of  the  Grammont 
family.  He  wrote,  and  was  on  the  staff  of  a  weekly 
journal.  He  was  engaged  just  now  on  a  series  of 
articles  on  the  Forces  of  Darkness  in  Darkest 
Europe.  So  far  he  had  produced  i.  The  Legisla- 
ture, 2.  Capitalism,  3.  Industrialism,  4.  National- 
ism, 5.  Militarism,  6.  The  Press,  and  this  week  he 
was  writing  7.  Organised  Religion.  (It  will  no 
doubt  shock  some  readers  to  learn  that  these  forces 
had  not  all,  in  spite  of  the  earnest  hopes  enter- 
tained for  so  long  for  their  overthrowal,  yet  been 
overthrown ;  but  truth  compels  me  to  state  that 
they  had  not.)  Though  Amherst  talked  like  a  cynic, 
and  had  his  affectations,  he  was  an  earnest  thinker, 
and  sometimes  tired  his  host,  who  was  not,  and  who 
had  been  left  by  his  years  of  difficult  continental 
sojourn  with  a  supreme  distaste  for  any  further 
probing  into  the  problems  of  Darkest  Europe. 
Amherst  had  the  advantage,  in  this  matter,  of 
having  been  a  Conscientious  Objector  to  Military 
Service,  so  the  war  had  not  tired  him,  and  he  re- 
tained for  home  use  the  freshness  and  vigour  of 
attack  which  had,  in  the  case  of  many  of  his  fellow- 
countrymen,  been  all  used  up  abroad. 

The  End  House  party  was  completed  by  Kitty 
Grammont,  with  her  round,  long-lashed  eyes  and  her 
air  of  the  ingenuous  rake,  and  Vernon  Prideaux, 
brisk  and  neat  and  clever.  So  there  they  all  were  ; 
and  very  nice,  too. 

Kitty  kissed  her  brother  and  Miss  Ponsonby  and 


3o.  WHAT  NOT 

dug  the  Cheeper  in  the  ribs  in  the  manner  he  pre- 
ferred. She  was  very  fond  of  them  all,  and  found 
Miss  Ponsonby  immeasurably  entertaining.  Little 
had  she  thought,  when  of  old  she  used  joyfully  to 
watch  Miss  Pansy  Ponsonby  twist  and  kick  and  curl 
herself  about  the  stage  and  sing  fascinating  inanities 
in  her  lazy  contralto,  that  they  would  ever  be  linked 
by  no  common  bond.  Of  course  she  had  known  that 
her  brother  Anthony  was  showering  flowers,  choco- 
lates, suppers,  week-ends  and  air-trips  at  Miss 
Ponsonby's  nimble  feet  (the  toes  of  which  could 
bend  right  back  at  the  joints)  but  Anthony  had  been 
known  to  shower  these  things  at  the  feet  of  others. 
Certainly  Kitty  had  never  expected  that  he  would 
instal  this  delightful  and  expensive  being  in  a  real 
house,  have  a  real  infant,  and  really  settle  down, 
albeit  socially  ostracised  in  Buckinghamshire  because 
Imperfectly  married  (that  was  the  fault  of  Pansy's 
husband,  Mr.  Jimmie  Jenks,  who,  though  he  didn't 
want  her  himself,  selfishly  refused  to  sever  the  con- 
nection irrevocably). 

"  What's  the  afternoon  news  ?  "  enquired  Mr. 
Amherst,  as  they  walked  up  to  the  village. 

"  Haven't  seen  a  paper  for  half  an  hour,"  replied 
Prideaux,  who  kept  his  finger  on  the  pulse  of  the 
nation  and  liked  his  news  up  to  date.  "  I've  got  two 
five  o'clock  ones  with  me,  though.  The  Leeds  strike 
is  rather  worse,  the  Sheffield  one  rather  better.  The 
aero  bus  men  are  coming  out  on  Monday.  Dangerous 
unrest  among  Sussex  shepherds  and  Cotswold  cow- 


LITTLE  CHANTREYS  31 

men."  (Agricultural  labour  was  now  controlled  by 
the  State.)  "  Lord  Backwoods  has  been  speaking 
to  his  constituents  against  the  Bill  for  disfranchising 
Conscientious  Obstructionists  of  the  Mental  Progress 
Acts.  A  thoroughly  seditious  speech,  of  course. 
Poor  old  chap,  his  eldest  son  has  just  got  engaged 
to  be  married,  so  there'll  be  another  family  of  Back- 
woods babies  who  ought  never  to  exist.  It  will  hit 
them  heavily  financially.  .  .  .  And  the  International 
Police  have  found  another  underground  gun-factory 
near  Munich,  under  a  band-stand.  And  it's  con- 
firmed that  old  Tommy  Jackson  is  to  be  Drink 
Controller." 

"  Another  good  butler  spoilt,"  observed  Anthony 
Grammont.  "  He  was  a  jolly  good  butler  once.  And 
he'll  be  a  jolly  bad  Drink  Controller." 

"  Dear  old  Tommy,"  murmured  Miss  Ponsonby 
absently,  lifting  the  Cheeper  out  of  his  motor-pram 
with  one  strong  white  hand  and  balancing  him  on 
her  ample  shoulders.  "  He  was  vurry  kind  to  me  in 
the  dear  old  days,  when  I  spent  week-ends  at  Surrey 
Towers.  He  used  to  give  me  tips  on  Correct  Conduct. 
I  didn't  take  them ;  Correct  Conduct  wasn't  what 
the  people  there  asked  me  for  ;  but  I  was  grateful 
to  Tommy." 

"  If,"  said  Anthony,  "  there  is  any  member  of  a 
government  department,  existing,  fallen,  or  yet  to 
come,  who  has  not  in  the  dear  old  days  been  vurry 
kind  to  you,  my  dear  Pansy,  I  should  be  rather  glad 
to  know  his  name." 


32  WHAT  NOT 

"  Why,  certainly,"  returned  Pansy,  with  cheerful  | 
readiness.     "  Nicky  Chester,  the  Brains  Minister 
who's  making  himself  such  an  all-round  eternal 
nuisance,  doesn't  even  realise  I  exist,  and  if  he  did 
he'd  think  I  oughtn't." 

"  That's  where  you're  wrong,  Pansy,"  Kitty  said. 
"  He  thinks  everyone  ought  to  exist  who  does  any- 
thing as  well  as  you  do  your  things.  You're  Starred 
A,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"I've  gone  and  lost  the  silly  old  bus  ticket," 
said  Pansy  indifferently,  "  but  that's  what  it  said,  I 
think."  Starred  A  meant  (in  the  words  of  the  official 
definition)  first-class  ability  at  a  branch  of  work 
which  would  not  appear  to  be  a  valuable  contribu- 
tion to  the  general  efficiency  of  the  State.  The 
Cheeper,  child  of  a  starred  A  mother  and  a  63  father 
(Anthony's  brains  had  been  reduced  by  trench  life  ; 
he  had  been  quite  intelligent  at  Oxford),  was  subject 
neither  to  bonus  nor  tax. 

"  Anyhow,"  went  on  Pansy,  grinning  her  wide, 
sweet,  leisurely  grin,  "  I  think  I  see  Nicky  Chester 
sendin'  me  round  flowers  or  goodies  after  a  show  ! 
He's  seen  me,  you  know  :  he  was  in  a  box  the  first 
night  of  '  Hullo,  Peace ! '  He  laughed  at  the 
political  hits,  but  my  turns  left  him  cold ;  I  guess 
they  weren't  brainy  enough."  She  tossed  the 
Cheeper  in  the  air  and  caught  him,  strongly  and 
easily.  "  Make  him  supple  young,"  she  observed, 
"  an'  by  the  time  he's  six  he'll  be  a  star  Child 
Gamboller,  fit  for  revue.  He  takes  after  me.  Already 


LITTLE  CHANTREYS  33 

he  can  put  both  his  big  toes  in  his  little  mouth  at 
once." 

"  Very  unusual,  surely,"  remarked  Mr.  Amherst, 
looking  at  the  Cheeper  through  his  pince-nez  as  if 
he  were  an  insect  under  a  microscope.  Mr.  Amherst 
was  fellow  of  an  Oxford  college,  and  had  the 
academic  touch,  and  was  not  yet  entirely  used  to 
Pansy,  a  type  outside  his  previous  studies,  and  at 
no  time  would  he  be  really  used  to  anyone  under 
eighteen  years  of  age,  let  alone  six  months.  Possibly 
this  was  what  his  reviewers  meant  when  they  said 
that  he  lacked  the  touch  of  common  humanity. 

His  attention  was  diverted  from  the  Cheeper  by 
the  parish  church,  which  he  inspected  with  the 
same  curiosity  and  distaste. 

"  Organised  Religion,  I  presume,"  he  commented. 
"  If  you've  no  objection,  Anthony,  I  will  attend 
morning  service  there  to-morrow.  It  may  provide 
me  with  some  valuable  subject  matter  for  my 
article." 

"  We'll  all  go,"  said  Kitty.  "  The  End  House 
shall  set  an  example  to  the  village.  We'll  take 
Cyril,  too.  He  can  get  a  dispensation.  It's  Brains 
Sunday,  you  know,  and  all  patriotic  clergymen  will 
be  preaching  about  it.  Vernon  and  I  are  officially 
bound  to  be  there." 

"  I  don't  suppose  it  will  be  amusing,"  said 
Anthony.  "  But  we'll  go  if  you  all  want  to." 

"  Church,"  said  Pansy,  meditatively  regarding  the 
Early  Perpendicular  tower.  "  7  went  one  Sunday 


34  WHAT  NOT 

morning."  She  paused  reminscently,  and  added, 
without  chagrin,  "  The  vicar  turned  me  down." 

"  He  could  hardly,"  said  Mr.  Amherst  civilly,  "  do 
otherwise.  Your  position  is  not  one  which  is  at 
present  recognised  by  Organised  Religion." 

"  Oh,  he  recognised  it  all  right,"  Pansy  explained. 
"  That  was  just  the  trouble  ;  he  didn't  like  it.  ... 
He's  not  a  bad  old  sort.  He  came  to  call  afterwards, 
and  told  me  all  about  it.  He  was  quite  upset.  So 
was  I,  wasn't  I,  old  thing  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  returned  Anthony  placidly. 

"I'd  only  wanted  to  do  the  proper  thing,"  Pansy 
continued  her  unperturbed  narrative,  in  her  singu- 
larly beautiful  voice.  "  I  was  always  brought  up  to 
go  to  church  now  and  then.  I  was  confirmed  all  right. 
I  like  to  do  the  proper  thing.  It  only  seems  fair  to 
the  Cheeper  to  bring  him  up  in  the  way  he  should 
go.  I  wouldn't  care  for  him  to  grow  up  an  agnogger, 
like  all  you  people.  But  Mr.  Delmer  said  my  way  of 
life  was  too  ambiguous  to  square  with  comin'  to 
church.  Rather  a  sweet  word,  don't  you  think  ? 
Because  it  isn't  ambiguous  really,  you  know  ;  not  a 
bit,  I'm  afraid.  ...  So  when  the  Cheeper  turned 
up,  it  seemed  to  me  he  was  a  bit  ambiguous,  too,  an' 
that's  why  I  haven't  had  him  made  a  little  Christian 
yet.  The  vicar  says  he  can  square  that  up  all  right 
— he  called  on  purpose  to  tell  me — but  somehow 
we've  never  had  the  time  to  fix  it,  have  we,  darlin'  ? 
Tottie  O'Clare  .promised  me  she'd  be  godmother  if 
ever  I  did  have  him  done. 


LITTLE  CHANTREYS 


35 


"  Pansy,"  said  Anthony,  "  you're  boring  Amherst 
and  Prideaux.  They're  not  interested  in  babies,  or 
baptisms,  or  Tottie  O'Clare." 

Pansy  smiled  at  them  all  out  of  her  serene  violet 
eyes.  She  looked  like  some  stately,  supple  Aphro- 
dite ;  she  might,  but  for  the  delicate  soup£on  of 
powder  and  over-red  lips,  have  sat  for  a  madonna. 

"  Pansy,"  said  Kitty,  "  it's  the  Sistine  Madonna 
you're  like  ;  I've  got  it  at  last.  You're  the  divine 
type.  You  might  be  from  heaven.  You're  so 
restful.  We  all  spin  and  buzz  about,  trying  to 
get  things  done,  and  to  be  clever  and  fussy  and 
efficient  —  and  you  just  are.  You  happen,  like 
spring,  or  music.  You're  not  a  bit  like  Chester, 
but  you're  ever  so  much  more  important.  Isn't 
she,  Vernon  ?  " 

"  They're  both,"  said  Prideaux  tactfully,  "  of 
enormous  importance.  And  certainly,  as  you  say, 
not  in  the  least  alike.  Chester  is  neither  like  spring 
nor  music,  and  certainly  one  wouldn't  call  him  rest- 
ful. And  I  should  be  a  bit  surprised  to  learn  that 
heaven  is  where  he  either  began  or  will  end  his 
career.  .  .  .  But,  I  ask  you,  look  at  that." 

They  were  passing  the  little  Town  Hall,  that 
stood  in  the  village  market  place.  Its  face  was 
plastered  with  an  immense  poster,  which  Prideaux 
and  Kitty  surveyed  with  proprietary  pride,  Amherst 
with  cynical  amusement,  Anthony  with  bored 
resignation,  and  Pansy  and  the  Cheeper  with  placid 
wonder  at  the  world's  folly. 


36  WHAT  NOT 

"  Ours  is  a  wonderful  government,"  Kitty  com- 
mented. "  And  we  are  a  wonderful  ministry.  Think 
of  rural  England  all  plastered  with  that.  ...  I 
don't  believe  Chester  laughs  when  he  sees  it,  Vernon. 
I'm  sure  he  looks  at  it  proudly,  like  a  solemn, 
earnest  little  boy." 

"  And  quite  right  too,"  said  Prideaux,  screwing 
his  glass  into  his  eye  the  better  to  read.  For  this 
was  a  new  Ministry  of  Brains  poster  ;  new  this  week. 
It  read,  in  large  type,  "  Improve  your  Brains  !  Go 
in  for  the  Government  Course  of  Mind  Training  ! 
It  will  benefit  you,  it  will  benefit  your  country,  it 
will  benefit  posterity.  Old  Age  must  come.  But  it 
need  not  be  a  Doddering  Old  Age.  Lay  up  Good 
Mental  Capacities  to  meet  it,  and  make  it  a  Fruitful 
and  Happy  Time.  See  what  the  Mind  Training 
Course  has  done  for  others,  and  let  it  Do  the  Same 
for  You." 

Then,  in  smaller  type,  "  Here  are  a  few  reports 
from  those  who  have  benefited  by  it. 

"  From  a  famous  financier.  Since  I  began  the 
Course  I  have  doubled  my  income  and  halved  those 
of  750  others.  I  hope,  by  the  time  I  have  completed 
the  Course,  to  have  ruined  twice  this  number. 

"  From  a  Cabinet  Minister.  Owing  to  the  Mind 
Training  Course  I  have  now  remained  in  office  for 
over  six  weeks.  I  hope  to  remain  for  at  least  three 
more. 

"  From  a  newspaper  proprietor.  I  have  started 
eight  new  journals  since  I  took  the  Course,  over- 


LITTLE  CHANTREYS  37 

turned  three  governments,  directed  four  inter- 
national crises,  and  successfully  represented  Great 
Britain  to  the  natives  of  the  Pacific  Islands. 

' '  From  the  editor  of  a  notorious  weekly  paper.  I  took 
the  Course  because  I -seemed  to  be  losing  that  un- 
rivalled touch  which  has  made  my  paper  what,  I 
may  say,  it  is.  Since  taking  it,  more  than  my  old 
force  has  returned,  so  that  I  have  libelled  nine  promi- 
nent persons  and  successfully  defended  six  libel 
actions  in  the  courts.  The  M.T.  Course  teaches  one 
to  Live  at  one's  Best. 

"  From  a  Civil  Servant.  Every  time  a  new  govern- 
ment department  is  born  I  enter  it,  rendered  com- 
petent by  the  Mind  Training  Course  to  fill  its  highest 
posts.  When  the  Department  falls  I  leave  it,  un- 
damaged. 

"  From  a  Publisher.  My  judgment  has  been  so 
stimulated  by  the  Course  that  since  taking  it  I  have 
published  five  novels  so  unpleasant  that  correspond- 
ence still  rages  about  them  in  the  columns  of  the 
Spectator,  and  which  have  consequently  achieved 
ten  editions.  The  Course  teaches  one  why  some 
succeed  and  others  fail. 

"  From  a  Journalist.  I  now  only  use  the  words 
decimated,  literally,  annihilated,  and  proletariat, 
according  to  the  meanings  ascribed  to  them  in 
the  dictionary,  do  not  use  pacifism  more  than 
three  times  a  day,  nor  '  very  essential '  or  '  rather 
unique  '  at  all. 

"  From  a  famous  Theologian.    Before  I  undertook 


38  WHATNOT 

the  Course  I  was  a  Bishop  of  a  disestablished  Church. 
Now  my  brain  is  clarified,  my  eyes  are  opened,  and 
I  am  a  leader  of  the  Coming  Faith.  The  Course 
teaches  the  Meaning  of  Life. 

"  From  a  former  Secretary  of  State.  Since  taking 
the  Course  I  have  recognised  the  importance  of 
keeping  myself  informed  as  to  public  affairs,  and 
now  never  refer  in  my  public  speeches  to  any  speech 
by  another  statesman  without  having  previously 
read  a  summary  of  it. 

"  From  a  poet.  I  can  now  find  rhymes  to  nearly 
all  my  lines,  and  have  given  up  the  old-fashioned 
habit  of  free  rhythms  to  which  I  have  been  addicted 
since  1912.  I  can  even  find  rhymes  to  indemnity, 
also  a  rhyme  to  War  which  is  neither  gore,  claw,  nor 
star. 

"  From  an  inveterate  writer  of  letters  to  newspapers. 
1  no  longer  do  this. 

"  From  a  citizen.  I  was  engaged  to  be  married. 
Now  I  am  not." 

Then  in  large  type  again, 

"  All  this  has  happened  to  Others  !  Why  should 
it  not  happen  to  You  ?  Save  yourself,  save  your 
country,  save  the  world  !  How  shall  wisdom  be 
found,  and  where  is  the  place  of  understanding  ?  So 
asked  the  Preacher  of  the  ancient  world,  and  got  no 
answer,  because  then  there  was  none.  But  the 
answer  is  now  forthcoming.  Wisdom  is  to  be  found 
in  the  Government  Mind  Training  Course — the 
M.T.C.,  as  it  is  affectionately  called  by  thousands 


LITTLE  CHANTREYS  39 

of  men  and  women  who  are  deriving  benefits  from 
it.  Enter  for  it  to-day.  For  further  information 
apply  Mind  Training  Section,  Ministry  of  Brains, 
S.W.  i." 

Above  the  letterpress  was  a  picture  poster,  repre- 
senting two  youths,  and  called  "  Before  and  After." 
"  Before  "  had  the  vacuity  of  the  village  idiot, 
"  After  "  the  triumphant  cunning  of  the  maniac. 
The  Mind  Training  Course  had  obviously  completely 
overset  a  brain  formerly  harmless,  if  deficient. 

"  How  long,"  enquired  Amherst,  in  his  best 
Oxford  manner,  "  do  you  give  yourselves  ?  I 
address  the  enquiry,  as  a  member  of  the  public,  to 
you,  as  servants  of  a  government  which  can  resort 
to  such  methods  as  that." 

"  We  have  now  remained  in  office  for  over  six 
months,"  said  Kitty,  "  and  we  hope  to  remain  for 
at  least  three  more.  .  .  .  But  it's  for  us  to  ask  you, 
as  a  member  of  the  public,  how  long  you  intend  to 
give  us  ?  Personally  I'm  astonished  every  day  that 
our  hotel,  and  all  the  other  hotels,  aren't  stormed 
and  wrecked.  I  don't  know  why  the  Aero  Bus 
Company,  while  it's  on  strike,  doesn't  sail  over  us 
and  drop  bombs.  It  shows  we  must  be  more  popular 
than  we  deserve.  It  shows  that  people  really  like 
being  coerced  and  improved.  They  know  they  need 
it.  Look  at  the  people  going  about  this  village ; 
look  at  their  faces,  I  ask  you.  They're  like  '  Before.' 
Look  at  the  policeman  at  his  door,  half  out  of  his 
clothes.  He's  god-like  to  look  at ;  he's  got  a  figure 


40  WHAT  NOT 

like  the  Discobolus,  and  the  brain  of  a  Dr.  Watson. 
He  could  never  track  a  thief.  He's  looking  at  us ; 
he  thinks  we're  thieves,  probably,  just  because 
we're  ambiguous.  That's  the  sort  of  mind  he  has. 
Look  at  the  doctor,  in  his  absurd  little  Ford.  How 
much  do  you  suppose  he  knows  about  curing  people, 
or  about  the  science  of  bodies  ?  He  patches  them 
up  with  pills  and  drugs,  and  .  .  .  But  he  didn't 
cut  us,  Tony.  Why  not  ?  " 

"  He  and  the  vicar  don't,"  explained  Anthony. 
"  Professional  attendance.  There's  the  vicar,  out- 
side that  cottage.  See  him  put  his  hand  up  as  we 
pass  him." 

He  returned  the  salute  with  some  pride,  and  Pansy 
nodded  agreeably.  Amherst  examined  the  vicar, 
who  was  small  and  sturdy  and  had  a  nice  kind  face. 

Amherst  shook  his  head  when  they  had  left  him 
behind. 

"  Not  nearly  clever  enough  for  the  part,"  he  pro- 
nounced. "  To  organise  religion  a  man  should  have 
the  talents  of  the  devil,  or  at  least  of  the  intelligent 
civil  servant.  Prideaux  would  do  it  quite  weU  ;  or 
Chester  ;  only  Chester  might  be  too  erratic  for  the 
popular  taste.  No  wonder  Christianity  is  the  in- 
effective thing  it  is  in  this  country,  if  it's  left  in  the 
hands  of  officials  like  that.  That  man  couldn't 
organise  anything ;  I  bet  even  his  school  treats  go 
wrong — too  few  buns  or  something.  That's  the  hope 
for  the  world,  that  inefficiency  of  most  religious 
officials  ;  that's  why  the  public  will  succeed  before 


LITTLE  CHANTREYS  41 

long  in  throwing  off  the  whole  business,  even  before 
they  succeed  in  downing  Parliament  and  the  British 
autocracy,  who  are  a  shade  more  acute.  From  my 
point  of  view  your  vicar's  stupidity  is  all  to  the  good. 
If  he  preaches  to-morrow  as  the  Brains  Ministry 
want  him  to — and  he  looks  loyal  and  patriotic 
enough  to  try — he'll  be  preaching  against  his  own 
interests.  But  that's  what  all  you  Brains  people  are 
doing,  of  course.  You  don't  seem  to  see  that  if  you 
ever  were  to  succeed  in  making  the  human  race 
reasonably  intelligent,  your  number  would  be  up  ; 
you  wouldn't  be  stood  for  a  moment  longer.  You're 
sitting  on  a  branch  and  trying  to  saw  it  off.  Lucky 
for  you  your  saws  aren't  sharper." 

"  Chester  would  go  on  just  the  same  if  he  did  see," 
Kitty  said.  "  He  probably  does.  He's  an  idealist, 
but  his  eye  for  facts  is  very  penetrating.  And  he'd 
think  it  worth  while  to  perish  in  so  good  a  cause." 

"  The  fact  is,"  added  Prideaux,  "  that  he  never 
would  perish,  even  if  the  branch  did  fall ;  he'd 
climb  on  to  another  pretty  quickly  and  rise  as  the 
People's  Saviour.  Our  Nicky  won't  go  under." 


3 

They  arrived  at  the  End  House,  about  which 
there  is  little  to  say  except  that  it  lay  just  beyond 
the  straggling  village,  was  roomy,  comfortable,  un- 
tidy, full  of  dogs  all  named  after  revue  stars,  and 
was  an  interesting  mixture  of  the  Grammont  taste  in 


42  WHAT  NOT 

art  and  decoration,  which  was  the  taste  of  clever 
people  several  of  whom  were  artists,  and  of  Pansy's 
taste,  which  is  most  shortly  indicated  by  mentioning 
that  if  you  saw  the  house  before  you  saw  Pansy  you 
were  surprised,  and  if  you  had  seen  Pansy  first  you 
were  not.  The  drawing-room  floor  was  littered 
with  large  and  comfortable  and  brightly-hued 
cushions,  obviously  not  mistakes  but  seats.  This 
always  a  little  flurried  the  vicar  and  his  wife  when 
they  called ;  it  was,  as  Mrs.  Delmer  observed,  so 
very  Eastern,  and  suggested  other  habits  belonging 
to  the  same  dubious  quarter  of  the  globe,  some  of 
which  there  was  only  too  good  reason  to  believe 
had  been  adopted.  The  chimney-piece  was  worse, 
being  adorned  by  photographs  of  Pansy's  friends — 
her  loving  Tottie,  hers  everlastingly,  Guy,  warmly 
Phyllis  and  Harry,  and  so  forth.  (There  was  even 
hers  Jimmie,  which,  if  Mrs.  Delmer  had  known 
rather  more  of  Pansy's  domestic  circumstances  than 
she  did,  would  have  struck  her  as  being  in  very 
doubtful  taste.)  Some  of  these  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
fortunately,  had  elected  to  be  taken  head  and 
shoulders  only  (and  quite  enough  too,  thought  Mrs. 
Delmer,  wondering  how  far  below  the  bottom  of  the 
photograph  the  ladies'  clothes  began)  and  some 
showed  the  whole  figure.  ("  I  should  think  they 
did  !  "  said  Mrs.  Delmer,  on  her  first  call,  nervously 
retreating  from  the  chimney-piece.  It  may  be  men- 
tioned that  Mrs.  Delmer  was  not  in  the  habit  of 
witnessing  revues,  and  was  accustomed  to  an  ampler 


LITTLE  CHANTREYS  43 

mode  of  garment.  These  things  are  so  much  a 
question  of  habit.) 

These  photographs,  and  the  excellent  painting  in 
the  hall  of  Pansy  herself  in  her  eel  dance,  were  among 
the  minor  reasons  why  Ivy  Delmer  was  not  allowed 
to  enter  the  End  House.  There  were  three  reasons 
why  her  parents  did  so  ;  they  might  be  stupid,  but 
they  were  of  an  extraordinary  goodness,  and  could 
not  bear  to  leave  sin  alone,  anyhow  in  their  own 
parish,  where  it  set  such  an  unfortunate  example, 
when  they  might,  by  sufficient  battling,  perhaps 
win  it  over  to  righteousness ;  also  they  had  kind 
and  soft  hearts,  and  did  not  like  the  idea  of  Pansy 
alone  all  day  with  her  infant  son  and  the  two  most 
notoriously  ill-behaved  young  servants  in  the 
village ;  and  finally  they  were  Christians,  and  be- 
lieved that  the  teaching  of  their  religion  on  the 
subject  of  sociability  to  sinners  was  plain.  So, 
swallowing  their  embarrassed  distaste,  they  visited 
the  End  House  as  one  might  visit  a  hospital,  but 
kept  their  children  from  it,  because  it  was  a  hospital 
whose  patients  might  be  infectious. 

Into  this  house,  standing  hospitably  open-doored 
in  the  May  evening,  its  owner  and  his  friends  entered. 
It  affected  them  in  various  ways.  Anthony  Gram- 
mont  was  proud  of  his  house  and  garden,  his  Pansy 
and  his  Cheeper.  He  was  young  enough  to  be  vain 
of  being  head  of  a  household,  even  of  an  ambiguous 
household,  and  of  course  anyone  would  be  proud  of 
the  dazzling  and  widely-known  Pansy,  whose  name 


44  WHAT  NOT 

had  always  been  one  of  the  two  in  large  type  in 
advertisements  of  the  shows  in  which  she  figured 
(she  was  as  good  as  all  that) ;  and  he  was  tired  enough, 
mentally  and  physically,  by  his  life  of  the  last  few 
years,  its  discomforts,  it  homelessness,  its  bondage, 
its  painful  unnaturalness,  to  sink  with  relief  into 
Pansy's  exotic  cushions  and  all  they  stood  for. 

Kitty  found  the  house  and  household  inordinately 
cheering  and  entertaining  ;  the  mere  sight  of  Pansy's 
drawing-room  could  rouse  her  from  any  depres- 
sion. 

Vernon  Prideaux  shuddered  a  little  at  the  row  of 
photographs — he  detested  photographs  on  chimney- 
pieces — and  the  Eve  design  on  the  chair  covers  ;  he 
was  not  so  good  at  the  comic-opera  touch  as  Kitty 
was,  and  had  a  masculine  sense  of  propriety  and 
good  taste,  and  had  always  preferred  revue  stars  on 
the  stage  to  off  it.  He  had  also,  however,  a  wide 
tolerance  for  the  tastes  of  others,  and  was  glad  that 
Tony  Grammont  had  found  domestic  happiness. 

Amherst's  thoughts  were  brief  and  neat,  and 
might  be  summed  up  thus  :  "  Forces  of  Darkness — 
number  8.  The  expensive,  conscienceless,  and  un- 
thinking female." 

Pansy  went  upstairs  to  put  the  Cheeper  to  bed, 
and  Kitty  went  with  her  to  see  her  nephew  in  his 
bath,  putting  both  his  big  toes  into  his  mouth  at 
once. 

The  only  other  event  of  importance  which  hap- 
pened before  dinner  was  the  arrival  of  Cyril  Gram- 


LITTLE  CHANTREYS  '  45 

mont,  a  brother  of  Anthony's,  a  Cambridge  friend  of 
Prideaux's,  a  Roman  Catholic,  a  writer  of  epi- 
grammatic essays  and  light  verse,  and  a  budding 
publisher.  He  and  Pansy  usually  quarrelled.  He 
had  spent  the  war  partly  in  Macedonia,  as  a  member 
of  the  Salonika  Force,  digging  up  fragments  of 
sculpture  from  Amphipolis  and  the  other  ruined 
cities  of  those  regions,  tracking  what  he  then  held 
to  be  the  pernicious  influence  of  St.  Paul  with  the 
help  of  a  pocket  atlas  of  his  journeys  and  the 
obviously  evil  habits  and  dispositions  of  the  towns 
which  had  received  his  attentions,  and  partly  in 
Palestine,  where  he  had  taken  an  extreme  dislike  to 
both  Jews  and  Turks,  had  become  convinced  that 
they  must  be  so  wrong  about  everything  that 
mattered  that  Christians  must  be  right,  and  was 
forthwith  converted  from  atheism  to  Christianity. 
He  considered  that  war-time  is  no  time  for  Chris- 
tians, they  have  to  do  so  much  either  explaining  or 
protesting  or  both,  so  he  had  waited  till  the  war  was 
over,  and  had  then  proceeded  to  investigate  the 
various  forms  into  which  Christianity  had  developed 
(they  all  seemed  a  little  strange  to  him  at  first),  in 
order  to  make  his  choice.  An  impartial  friend  with 
whom  he  discussed  the  subject  told  him  that  he 
would  find  Roman  Catholicism  best  suited  to  his 
precise,  clear-cut,  and  Latin  type  of  mind,  provided 
that  he  succeeded  in  avoiding  all  contact  with  the 
more  luscious  forms  of  Roman  devotions,  which,  he 
was  warned,  would  disgust  him  as  much  as  patchouli, 


46  WHAT  NOT 

or  Carlo  Dolci.  "  And  anyhow,"  added  his  friend, 
probably  erroneously,  "  it  will  outlast  the  other 
churches,  for  all  its  obscurantism,  so  if  you  want  a 
going  concern,  join  it." 

So  Cyril  enquired  into  Roman  Catholicism,  found 
that,  in  its  best  cathedral  forms,  it  satisfied  his 
artistic  sense,  and,  in  its  sharply-cut  dogma,  his 
feeling  for  precise  form  (his  taste  in  art  was  violently 
against  the  post-bellum  school,  which  was  a  riot  of 
lazy,  sloppy,  and  unintellectual  formlessness),  and 
so,  accepting  as  no  stranger  than  most  of  the  growths 
of  a  strangely  sprouting  world  the  wonderful  tree 
which  had  grown  from  a  seed  so  remarkably  dis- 
similar, he  took  a  firm  seat  upon  its  branches, 
heedless  of  the  surprised  disapproval  of  most  of  his 
friends,  who  did  not  hold  that  any  organised  religion 
could  be  called  a  going  concern,  except  in  the  sense 
that  it  was  going  to  pot. 

So  here  was  Cyril,  at  the  End  House  for  Sunday, 
neat,  handsome,  incisive,  supercilious,  very  sure  of 
himself,  and  not  in  the  least  like  the  End  House, 
with  its  slatternly  brilliance,  its  yapping  dogs,  its 
absurdities,  its  sprawling  incoherence,  its  cushions, 
and  its  ambiguity. 

In  the  evening  Pansy  danced  her  willow-tree 
dance  for  them.  Her  hair  tumbled  down,  and  she 
ceased  to  look  like  the  Sistine  Madonna  and  became 
more  like  a  young  Bacchanal.  Some  of  her  jokes 
were  coarse  (you  have  to  be  coarse  sometimes  in 
revue,  and  cannot  leave  the  habit  entirely  behind 


LITTLE  CHANTREYS  47 

you  when  you  come  oft"  the  boards)  and  Amherst, 
who  was  refined,  was  jarred.  Then  she  quarrelled 
with  Cyril,  because  he  remarked,  with  his  cheerful 
and  businesslike  air  of  finality,  that  of  course  if  the 
Cheeper  were  not  baptised  he  would  go  to  hell. 
Upon  her  violent  remonstrance  he  merely  observed 
that  he  was  sorry,  but  facts  were  facts,  and  he 
couldn't  get  them  altered  to  please  her.  He  talked 
like  this  partly  to  annoy  Pansy,  because  it  amused 
him  to  see  her  cross,  and  partly  for  the  pleasure  of 
unobtrusively  watching  Amherst's  expression  when 
the  word  hell  was  mentioned. 

So,  to  unite  the  party,  Kitty  proposed  that  they 
should  play  the  new  card  game,  League  of  Nations, 
of  which  the  point  was  to  amass  cards  and  go  out 
while  presenting  an  appearance  of  doing  nothing 
at  all. 

Thus  harmoniously  and  hilariously  the  night  wore 
on,  till  at  last  the  End  House,  like  the  other  Little 
Chantreys  houses,  only  much  later,  went  to  bed. 


4 

Little  Chantreys  slept  under  the  May  moon, 
round  the  market  square  with  the  Ministry  of 
Brains  poster  in  the  middle. 

The  doctor  slept  with  the  sound  sleep  of  those  who 
do  not  know  the  width  of  the  gulf  between  what 
they  are  and  what  they  should  be. 

The  sick,  his  patients,  slept  or  woke,  tossing  un- 


.48  WHAT  NOT 

easily,  with  windows  closed  to  the  soft  night  air. 
Every  now  and  then  they  would  rouse  and  take  their 
medicine,  with  impatience,  desperation,  simple  faith, 
or  dull  obedience,  and  look  in  vain  for  a  bettering  of 
their  state.  Those  who  considered  themselves  well, 
never  having  known  what  welfare  really  was,  slept 
too,  in  stuffy,  air-tight  rooms,  disturbed  by  the 
wailing  of  babies  which  they  had  not  taught  not  to 
cry  aloud,  by  the  hopping  of  fleas  which  they  had 
failed  to  catch  or  to  subdue,  by  the  dancing  of  mice 
which  would  never  enter  traps  so  obvious  as  those 
which  they  scornfully  perceived  in  their  paths,  by 
Tilie  crowding  of  children  about  them,  too  close  to  be 
forgotten  or  ignored,  by  the  dragging  weight  of  in- 
competent, unfinished  yesterday  and  incompetent, 
unbegun  to-morrow. 

The  vicarage  slept.  The  vicar  in  his  sleep  had  a 
puzzled  frown,  as  if  life  was  too  much  for  him,  as  if 
he  was  struggling  with  forces  above  his  comprehen- 
sion and  beyond  his  grasp,  forces  that  should  have 
revolutionised  Little  Chantreys,  but,  in  his  hands, 
wouldn't.  The  vicar's  wife  slept  fitfully,  waking 
to  worry  about  the  new  cook,  whose  pastry  was  im- 
possible. She  wasn't  clever  enough  to  know  that 
cooking  shouldn't  be  done  in  this  inefficient,  waste- 
ful way  in  the  home,  but  co-operatively,  in  a  village 
kitchen,  and  pastry  should  be  turned  out  by  a 
pastry  machine.  Mrs.  Delmer  had  heard  of  this  idea, 
but  didn't  like  it,  because  it  was  new.  She  wasn't 
strong,  and  would  die  one  day,  worn  out  with 


LITTLE  CHANTREYS 


49 


domestic  worries  which  could  have  been  so  easily 
obviated.  .  .  . 

The  young  Delmers  slept.  They  always  did. 
They  mostly  ought  not  to  have  been  born  at  all ; 
they  were,  except  Ivy,  who  was  moderately  intelli- 
gent, below  standard.  They  slept  the  sleep  of  the 
unthinking. 

The  vicarage  girl  slept.  She  would  sleep  for  some 
time,  because  her  alarum  clock  was  smothered  by  a 
cushion ;  which  would  seem  to  indicate  more 
brains  on  her  part  than  were  to  be  found  in  the  other 
inmates  of  the  vicarage. 

So  Little  Chantreys  slept,  and  the  world  slept, 
governments  and  governed,  forces  of  darkness  and 
forces  of  light,  industry  and  idleness,  the  sad  and 
the  gay  ;  pathetic,  untutored  children  of  the  moment 
looking  neither  behind  nor  ahead. 

The  morning  light,  opening  dimly,  like  a  faintly- 
tinted  flower,  illumined  the  large  red  type  of  the 
poster  in  the  Little  Chantreys  market  place. 
"  IMPROVE  YOUR  BRAINS  !  "  So  Brains  Sun- 
day dawned  upon  a  world  which  did  indeed  seem  to 
need  it. 


CHAPTER  III 

BRAINS    SUNDAY 

I 

IVY  DELMER  had  been  right  in  her  premonition. 
The  End*House  was  in  church,  at  matins  (the  form 
of  Sunday  midday  worship  still  used  in  Little 
Chantreys,  which  was  old-fashioned).  Ivy  looked 
at  them  as  they  sat  in  a  row  near  the  front.  Mr. 
Anthony  Grammont  and  Miss  Ponsonby  sat  next  each 
other  and  conversed  together  in  whispers.  Miss 
Ponsonby  was  attired  in  pink  gingham,  and  not 
much  of  it  (it  was  not  the  fashion  to  have  exten- 
sive clothes,  or  of  rich  materials,  lest  people  should 
point  at  you  as  a  profiteer  who  had  made  money  out 
of  the  war  ;  even  if  you  had  done  this  you  hid  it  as 
far  as  was  convenient,  and  what  you  did  not  hide 
you  said  was  interest  on  war  loan).  Miss  Ponsonby, 
with  her  serene  smile,  looked  patient,  resigned, 
and  very  sweet  and  good.  Next  her  was  Miss 
Grammont,  who  looked  demure  in  a  dress  of 
motley,  and,  beyond  her  again,  Mr.  Prideaux,  who 
looked  restless  and  impatient,  either  as  if  he  were 
thinking  out  some  departmental  tangle,  or  as  if  he 
thought  it  had  been  a  silly  idea  to  come  to  church, 

5° 


BRAINS  SUNDAY  51 

or  both.  At  the  end  of  the  row  were  Mr.  Amherst, 
who  was  studying  the  church,  the  congregation 
and  the  service  through  his  glasses,  collecting  copy 
for  his  essay,  and  Mr.  Cyril  Grammont,  who  looked 
like  a  Roman  Catholic  attending  a  Protestant 
church  by  special  dispensation.  (This  look  cannot 
be  defined,  but  is  known  if  seen.) 

Ivy  looked  from  the  End  House  to  her  father, 
surpliced  at  the  lectern,  reading  the  Proper  Lesson 
appointed  for  Brains  Sunday,  Proverbs  8  and  9. 
"  Shall  not  wisdom  cry,  and  understanding  put 
forth  her  word  ?  She  standeth  in  the  top  of  high 
places,  by  the  way,  in  the  places  of  the  paths.  She 
crieth  at  the  gates,  at  the  entry  of  the  city,  at  the 
coming  in  at  the  doors,  ...  O  ye  simple,  under- 
stand wisdom,  and,  ye  fools,  be  of  an  understand- 
ing heart.  .  .  .  Wisdom  hath  builded  her  house, 
she  hath  hewn  out  her  seven  pillars  "  (that  was 
the  Ministry  hotel,  thought  Ivy).  ..."  She  hath 
sent  forth  her  maidens,  she  crieth  upon  the  highest 
place  of  the  city "  (on  the  walls  of  the  Little 
Chantreys  town  hall).  "  Whoso  is  simple,  let  him 
turn  in  hither.  .  .  .  Forsake  the  foolish  and  live, 
and  go  in  the  way  of  understanding.  .  .  .  Give 
instruction  to  a  wise  man  and  he  will  get  wiser  ; 
teach  a  just  man  and  he  will  increase  in  learning. 
.  .  .  The  fear  of  the  Lord  is  the  beginning  of 
wisdom,  and  the  knowledge  of  the  holy  is  under- 
standing. ..."  Which  set  Ivy  Delmer  wondering 
a  little,  for  she  believed  her  parents  to  be  holy,  or 


52  WHAT  NOT 

anyhow  very,  very  good,  and  yet  .  .  .  But  perhaps 
they  had,  after  all,  the  beginning  of  wisdom,  only 
not  its  middle,  nor  its  end,  if  wisdom  has  any  end. 
She  looked  from  her  father,  carefully  closing  the  big 
Bible  and  remarking  that  here  ended  the  first  lesson, 
to  her  mother,  carefully  closing  her  little  Bible  (for 
she  was  of  those  who  follow  lessons  in  books) ;  her 
mother,  who  was  so  wonderfully  good  and  kind  and 
selfless,  and  to  whom  old  age  must  come,  and  who 
ought  to  be  preparing  for  it  by  going  in  for  the 
Government  Mind  Training  Course,  but  who  said 
she  hadn't  time,  she  was  so  busy  in  the  house  and 
garden  and  parish.  And  half  the  things  she  did  or 
supervised  in  the  house  and  garden  ought,  said  the 
Ministry  of  Brains,  to  be  done  by  machinery,  or 
co-operation,  or  something.  They  would  have  been 
done  better  so,  and  would  have  left  the  Delmers  and 
their  parishioners  more  time.  More  time  for  what, 
was  the  further  question  ?  "  Save  time  now  spent 
on  the  mere  business  of  living,  and  spend  it  on  better 
things,"  said  the  Ministry  pamphlets.  Reading,  Ivy 
supposed  ;  thinking,  talking,  getting  an  fait  with  the 
affairs  of  the  world.  And  here  was  Mrs.  Delmer 
teaching  each  new  girl  to  make  pastry  (no  new  girl 
at  the  vicarage  ever  seemed  to  have  acquired  the 
pastry  art  to  Mrs.  Delmer's  satisfaction  in  her  pre- 
vicarage  career) — pastry,  which  should  have  been 
turned  out  by  the  yard  in  a  pastry  machine ;  and 
spudding  up  weeds  one  by  one,  which  should  have 
been  electrocuted,  like  superfluous  hairs,  or  flung 


BRAINS  SUNDAY  53 

up  by  dynamite,  like  fish  in  a  river.  .  .  .  But  when 
Mrs.  Delmer  heard  of  such  new  and  intelligent 
labour-saving  devices,  she  was  as  reluctant  to  adopt 
them  as  any  of  the  poor  dear  stupid  women  in  the 
cottages.  It  was  a  pity,  because  the  Church  should 
lead  the  way ;  and  really  now  that  it  had  been  set 
free  of  the  State  it  quite  often  did. 

Ivy  looked  with  puzzled,  thoughtful  eyes,  which 
this  morning,  unusually,  were  observing  people 
rather  than  their  clothes,  at  the  rest  of  the  congrega- 
tion, her  own  brothers  and  sisters  first.  The  young 
Delmers  were  several  in  number  ;  there  was  Betty, 
who  had  just  left  school,  and  showed  no  signs  of 
"  doing  "  anything,  except  her  hair,  the  flowers,  and 
occasionally  the  lamps.  For  the  rest,  she  played 
tennis  for  prizes  and  hockey  for  Bucks,  went  out  to 
tea,  and  when  in  doubt  dyed  her  clothes  or  washed 
the  dogs.  There  was  Charlie,  at  Cambridge.  Charlie 
was  of  those  for  whom  the  Great  War  had  been 
allowed  to  take  the  place  of  the  Littlego,  which  was 
fortunate  in  his  case,  as  he  had  managed  to  get 
through  the  one  but  would  probably  in.  no  circum- 
stances have  got  through  the  other.  And  there  was 
Reggie,  who  had  got  through  neither,  but  had  been 
killed  at  Cambrai  in  November,  1917.  There  were 
also  some  little  ones,  Jane  and  John,  aged  twelve 
and  eleven,  who,  though  separated  by  the  length  of 
a  seat,  still  continued  to  hold  communication  by 
Morse,  and  Jelly,  who  was  named  for  a  once  famous 
admiral  and  whose  age  cannot  be  specified.  Jelly 


54  WHAT  NOT 

was  small  and  stout,  sat  between  his  mother  and 
Ivy  and  stared  at  his  father  in  the  choir-stalls,  and 
from  time  to  time  lifted  up  his  voice  and  laughed, 
as  if  he  were  at  a  Punch  and  Judy  show. 

On  the  whole  an  agreeable  family,  and  well- 
intentioned  (though  Ivy  and  Betty  quarrelled  con- 
tinuously and  stole  each  other's  things),  but  certainly 
to  be  numbered  among  the  simple,  who  were  urged 
to  get  understanding.  Would  they  ever  get  it  ? 
That  was  the  question,  for  them  and  for  the  whole 
congregation  here  present,  from  the  smallest, 
grubbiest  school-child  furtively  sucking  bulls'-eyes 
aM  wiping  its  sticky  hands  upon  its  teacher's 
s._  :t,  to  the  vicar  in  the  pulpit,  giving  out  his 
text. 

"  The  fool  hath  said  in  his  heart,  there  is  no 
God  "  ;  that  was  the  text.  Ivy  saw  a  little  smile 
cross  the  clever  and  conceited  face  of  Mr.  Amherst 
as  it  was  given  out.  He  settled  himself  down  to 
listen,  expectant  of  entertainment.  He  believed 
that  he  was  in  luck.  For  Mr.  Amherst,  who  did  not 
say  in  his  heart  that  there  was  no  God,  because  even 
in  his  heart  he  scorned  the  affirmation  of  the  obvious, 
was  of  those  who  are  sure  that  all  members  of  the 
Christian  Church  are  fools  (unlike  Mr.  Arnold 
Bennett,  who  tries  and  fails,  he  did  not  even  try  to 
think  of  them  as  intellectual  equals),  so  he  avoided, 
where  he  could,  the  study  of  clever  Christians,  and 
welcomed  the  evidences  of  weakness  of  intellect  that 
crossed  his  path.  He  believed  that  this  was  going 


BRAINS  SUNDAY  55 

to  be  a  foolish  sermon,  which,  besides  amusing 
them  all,  would  help  him  in  his  article  on  Organised 
Religion. 

Ivy  could  not  help  watching  the  End  House  people. 
Somehow  she  knew  how  the  sermon  was  affecting 
them.  She  didn't  think  it  funny,  but  she  suspected 
that  they  would.  Her  father  wasn't  as  clever  as 
they  were  ;  that  was  why  he  failed  to  say  anything 
that  could  impress  them  except  as  either  dull  or 
comic.  Brains  again.  How  much  they  mattered. 
Clergymen  ought  to  have  brains ;  it  seemed  very  im- 
portant. They  ought  to  know  how  to  appeal  to  rich 
and  poor,  high  and  low,  wise  and  simple.  TK  ex- 
traordinary thing  called  religion — (Ivy  quite  :  '.ewly 
and  unusually  saw  it  as  extraordinary,  seeing  it 
for  a  moment  with  the  eyes  of  the  End  House,  to 
all  of  whom, -except  Miss  Ponsonby  and,  presumably, 
Cyril  Grammont,  it  was  like  fairy  lore,  like  Greek 
mythology,  mediaeval  archaic  nonsense) — this  extra- 
ordinary lore  and  the  more  extraordinary  force 
behind  it,  was  in  the  hands,  mainly  (like  everything 
else),  of  incompetents,  clerical  and  lay,  who  did  not 
understand  it  themselves  and  could  not  help  others 
to  do  so.  They  muddled  about  with  it,  as  Miss 
Pomfrey  muddled  about  with  office  papers.  ...  It 
would  not  be  surprising  if  the  force  suddenly  de- 
molished them  all,  like  lightning.  .  .  . 

But  such  speculations  were  foreign  to  Ivy,  and 
she  forgot  them  in  examining  the  hat  of  Mrs.  Peter- 
son, the  grocer's  wife,  which  was  so  noticeable  in 


56  WHAT  NOT 

its  excessive  simplicity — its  decoration  consisted 
wholly  of  home-grown  vegetables — as  to  convince 
beholders  that  Mr.  Peterson  had  not,  as  some  falsely 
said,  made  a  fortune  during  the  war  by  cornering 
margarine. 

2 

Mr.  Delmer  was  talking  about  the  worst  form  of 
unwisdom — Atheism ;  a  terrible  subject  to  him, 
and  one  he  approached  with  diffidence  but  reso- 
lution, in  the  face  of  the  unusual  pew-full  just 
below  him. 

"It  is  an  extraordinary  thing,"  he  was  saying, 
"  that  there  are  those  who  actually  deny  the  exist- 
ence of  God.  We  have,  surely,  only  to  think  of  the 
immeasurable  spaces  of  the  universe — the  distance 
He  has  set  between  one  thing  and  another.  ...  It 
is  reported  of  the  Emperor  Napoleon  that,  looking 
up  at  the  stars  one  night,  he  remarked  ..."  Ivy, 
who  had  heard  this  remark  of  the  Emperor  Napoleon's 
before,  let  her  attention  wander  again  to  the  hats  of 
Mrs.  Peterson  and  others.  When  she  listened  once 
more,  the  vicar  had  left  Napoleon,  though  he  was 
still  dealing  with  the  heavenly  bodies. 

"If  an  express  train,  performing  sixty  miles  an 
hour,  were  to  start  off  from  this  planet — were  such 
a  thing  possible  to  imagine,  which  of  course  it  is  not 
— towards  the  moon,  and  continue  its  journey 
without  stops  until  it  arrived,  it  would  reach  its 
destination,  according  to  the  calculations  of  scien- 


BRAINS  SUNDAY  57 

tists,  in  exactly  i  year,  8  months,  26  days."  (Ivy, 
who  had  left  school  lately  enough  to  remember  the 
distance  set  by  the  creator  between  the  earth  and 
the  moon,  began  to  work  this  out  in  her  head  ;  she 
did  not  think  that  her  father  had  got  it  quite  right.) 
"  And,  in  the  face  of  this,  there  are  those  who  say 
that  God  does  not  exist.  A  further  thought,  yet 
more  wonderful.  If  the  same  train,  travelling  at  the 
same  rapid  rate,  were  to  leave  this  earth  again,  this 
time  for  the  sun,  the  time  it  would  take  over  this 
journey  would  be — I  ask  you,  if  you  can,  to  imagine 
it,  my  friends — no  less  than  175  years,  i  week,  and 
6  days."  (Ivy  gave  it  up  ;  it  was  too  difficult  with- 
out pencil  and  paper.)  .  .  .  "  Is  it  possible  that, 
knowing  this,  there  are  still  those  who  doubt  God  ? 
Yet  once  more.  Imagine,  if  you  can,  this  train 
again  starting  forth,  this  time  bound  for  the  planet 
Jupiter.  Scientists  tell  us,  and  we  must  believe  it  " 
(All  right,  thought  Ivy,  with  relief,  if  he'd  got  it  out 
of  a  book),  "  that  such  a  journey  would  take,  if  per- 
formed when  Jupiter  was  at  its  furthest,  1097  years, 
9  months,  2  weeks,  5  days,  10  hours,  and  a  fraction. 
Can  it  really  be  that,  confronted  with  the  dizzy 
thought  of  these  well-nigh  incredibly  lengthy 
journeys  from  one  heavenly  body  to  another,  there 
are  yet  men  and  women  who  attribute  the  universe 
to  the  blind  workings  of  what  they  are  pleased  to 
call  the  Forces  of  Nature  ?  I  ask  you  to  consider 
earnestly,  could  any  force  but  God  have  conceived 
and  executed  such  great  distances  ?  And  Jupiter, 


58  WHAT  NOT 

my  friends,  is  comparatively  near  at  hand.  Take 
instead  one  of  those  little  (but  only  apparently  little) 
nameless  stars  twinkling  in  the  firmament.  Imagine 
our  train  starting  off  into  space  once  more.  ..." 

Ivy  failed  to  imagine  this  ;  her  attention  was 
occupied  with  the  End  House  seat.  The  train's  last 
journey  had  been  too  much  for  the  tottering  self- 
control  of  the  Grammont  family  and  Vernon 
Prideaux  (nothing  ever  broke  down  Mr.  Amherst's 
self-control,  and  Pansy's  thoughts  were  elsewhere). 
Prideaux's  head  rested  on  his  hand,  as  if  he  were  lost 
in  thought ;  Kitty  and  Anthony  were  shaking,  un- 
obtrusively but  unmistakably,  and  Cyril's  fine, 
supercilious  chin,  set  firmly,  was  quivering.  Cyril 
had,  from  childhood,  had  more  self-control  than  the 
other  two,  and  he  was  further  sustained  by  his  con- 
viction that  it  would  be  unthinkably  bad  form  for  a 
Catholic  to  attend  a  Protestant  service  and  laugh 
at  it  in  public. 

They  oughtn't,  thought  Ivy,  rather  indignantly, 
to  laugh  at  her  father's  sermon  when  he  wasn't 
meaning  to  be  funny.  If  he  saw  he  would  be  hurt. 
One  shouldn't  laugh  in  church,  anyhow  ;  even  Jane 
and  John  knew  that.  These  people  were  no  better 
than  Jelly. 

"  This  Sunday,"  continued  the  Vicar,  his  last  star 
journey  safely  accomplished,  "  is  the  day  that  has 
been  set  aside  by  our  country  for  prayer  and 
sermons  with  regard  to  the  proposed  increase  in  the 
national  brain-power.  This  is,  indeed,  a  sore  need  : 


BRAINS  SUNDAY  59 

but  let  us  start  on  the  firm  foundation  of  religion. 
\Yhat  is  wisdom  apart  from  that  ?  Nothing  but 
vanity  and  emptiness.  What  is  the  clever  godless 
man  but  a  fool  from  the  point  of  view  of  eternity  ? 
What  is  the  godly  fool  but  a  heavenly  success  ?  " 
("  He's  talking  sedition,"  whispered  Kitty  to 
Prideaux.  "  He'd  better  have  stuck  to  the 
trains.") 

But,  of  course,  the  vicar  continued,  if  one  can 
combine  virtue  and  intelligence,  so  much  the  better. 
It  has  been  done.  There  was,  e.g.  Darwin.  Also 
General  Gordon,  St.  Paul,  and  Lord  Roberts, 
who  had  said  with  his  last  breath,  in  June,  1915, 
"We've  got  the  men,  we've  got  the  money,  we've 
got  the  munitions  ;  what  we  now  want  is  a  nation 
on  its  knees."  (Ivy  saw  Prideaux  sit  up  very 
straight,  as  if  he  would  have  liked  to  inform  Mr. 
Delmer  that  this  libel  on  a  dying  soldier  had  long 
since  been  challenged  and  withdrawn.)  One  can, 
said  the  vicar,  find  many  more  such  examples  of 
this  happy  combination  of  virtue  and  intelligence. 
There  was  Queen  Victoria,  Florence  Nightingale, 
and  Lord  Rhondda  (who  in  the  dark  days  of 
famine  had  led  the  way  in  self-denial).  Not, 
unfortunately,  the  Emperor  Napoleon,  Friedrich 
Nietzsche,  or  the  Kaiser  Wilhelm  II.  The  good  are 
not  always  the  clever,  nor  the  clever  always  the 
good.  Some  are  neither,  like  the  late  Crown 
Prince  of  Germany  (who  was  now  sharing  a  small 
island  in  the  Pacific  with  the  Kaiser  Wilhelm 


60  WHAT  NOT 

and  MM.  Lenin  and  Trotzky,  late  of  Petrograd, 
and  neither  stupid  nor  exactly,  let  us  hope,  bad, 
but  singularly  unfortunate  and  misguided,  like  so 
many  Russians,  whom  it  is  not  for  us  to  judge). 

But  we  should  try  to  be  both  intelligent  and 
good.  We  should  take  every  step  in  our  power  to 
improve  our  minds.  (Prideaux  began  to  look  more 
satisfied  ;  this  was  what  sermons  to-day  ought  to 
be  about.)  It  is  our  duty  to  our  country  to  be  in 
telligent  citizens,  if  we  can,  said  the  vicar.  Reason 
is  what  God  has  differentiated  us  from  the  lower 
animals  by.  They  have  instinct,  we  reason.  Truly 
a  noble  heritage.  We  are  rather  clever  already  ; 
we  have  discovered  fire,  electricity,  coal,  and  in- 
vented printing,  steam  engines,  and  flying.  No 
reason  why  we  should  not  improve  our  minds 
further  still,  and  invent  (under  God)  more  things  yet. 
Only  one  thing  we  must  affirm  ;  the  State  should 
be  very  careful  how  it  interferes  with  the  domestic 
lives  of  its  citizens.  The  State  was  going  rather  far 
in  that  direction ;  it  savoured  unpleasantly  of 
Socialism,  a  tyranny  to  which  Englishmen  did  not 
take  kindly.  An  Englishman's  home  had  always 
been  his  castle  (even  castles,  thought  some  aggrieved 
members  of  the  congregation,  were  subject  to  un- 
pleasant supervision  by  the  police  during  food 
scarcity) .  No  race  was  before  us  in  its  respect  for 
law,  but  also  no  race  was  more  determined  that  their 
personal  and  domestic  relations  should  not  be 
tampered  with.  When  the  State  endeavoured  to 


BRAINS  SUNDAY  61 

set  up  a  Directorate  of  Matrimony,  and  penalised 
those  who  did  not  conform  to  its  regulations,  the 
State  was,  said  the  vicar,  going  too  far,  even  for 
a  State.  The  old  school  of  laissez-faire,  long  since 
discredited  as  an  economic  theory,  survived  as 
regards  the  private  lives  of  citizens.  It  is  not  the 
State  which  has  ordained  marriage,  it  is  God,  and 
God  did  not  say  "  Only  marry  the  clever ;  have  no 
children  but  clever  ones."  He  said,  speaking  through 
the  inspired  mouth  of  the  writer  of  the  book  of 
Genesis,  "Be  fruitful  and  multiply  and  replenish  the 
earth."  ("  And,  through  the  inspired  mouth  of 
Solomon,  '  Desire  not  a  multitude  of  unprofitable 
children,'  "  murmured  Anthony  Grammont,  who 
knew  his  Bible  in  patches,  but  was  apt  to  get  the 
authorship  wrong.) 

The  vicar  said  he  was  now  going  to  say  a  bold 
thing ;  if  it  brought  him  within  reach  of  the  law  he 
could  not  help  it.  He  considered  that  we  ought  all, 
in  this  matter,  to  be  what  are  called  Conscientious 
Obstructionists ;  we  ought  to  protest  against  this 
interference,  and  refuse  to  pay  the  taxes  levied  upon 
those  less  intelligent  infants  sent  to  us  by  heaven. 
He  did  not  say  this  without  much  thought  and 
prayer,  and  it  was,  of  course,  a  matter  for  everyone's 
own  conscience,  but  he  felt  constrained  to  bear  his 
witness  on  this  question. 

This  came  to  Ivy  as  a  shock.  She  had  not  known 
that  her  father  was  going  to  bear  his  witness  this 
morning.  She  watched  Prideaux's  face  with  some 


62  WHAT  NOT 

anxiety.  She  admired  and  feared  Prideaux,  and 
thought  how  angry  he  must  be.  Not  Miss  Gram- 
mont ;  Miss  Grammont  didn't  take  these  things 
quite  seriously  enough  to  be  angry.  Ivy  sometimes 
suspected  that  the  whole  work  of  the  Ministry  of 
Brains,  and,  indeed,  of  every  other  Ministry,  was  a 
joke  to  her. 

It  was  a  relief  to  Ivy  when  her  father  finished  his 
sermon  on  a  more  loyal  note,  by  an  urgent  exhorta- 
tion to  everyone  to  go  in  for  the  Mind  Training 
Course.  We  must  not  be  backward,  he  said,  in 
obeying  our  country  in  this  righteous  cause.  He, 
for  his  part,  intended  to  go  in  for  it,  with  his  house- 
hold (Mrs.  Delmer  looked  resigned  but  a  little 
worried,  as  if  she  was  mentally  fitting  in  the  Mind 
Training  Course  with  all  the  other  things  she  had 
to  do,  and  finding  it  a  close  fit)  and  he  hoped  every- 
one in  the  congregation  would  do  the  same.  Ivy 
saw  Prideaux's  profile  become  more  approving. 
Perhaps  her  father  had  retrieved  his  reputation  for 
patriotism  after  all.  Anyhow  at  this  point  the  And 
Now  brought  them  all  to  their  feet,  they  sang  a 
hymn  (the  official  hymn  composed  and  issued  by 
the  Brains  Ministry),  had  a  collection  (for  the 
education  of  imbeciles),  a  prayer  for  the  enlighten- 
ment of  dark  minds  (which  perhaps  meant  the  same), 
and  trooped  out  of  church. 


BRAINS  SUNDAY  63 


3 

"  He  ought,  of  course,"  said  Prideaux  at  lunch, 
"to  be  reported  and  prosecuted  for  propaganda 
contrary  to  the  national  interest.  But  we  won't 
report  him ;  he  redeemed  himself  by  his  patriotic 
finish." 

"He  is  redeemed  for  evermore  by  his  express 
train,"  said  Kitty. 

"  A  most  instructive  morning,"  said  Amherst. 

"  Protestants  are  wonderful  people,"  said  Cyril. 

"  I  always  said  that  man  was  a  regular  pet  lamb," 
said  Pansy.  "  And  hadn't  he  pluck  !  Fancy  givin' 
it  us  about  that  silly  old  baby  tax  with  you  two 
representatives  of  the  government  sitting  under  him 
an'  freezin'  him.  I  guess  111  have  the  Cheeper 
christened  first  opportunity,  just  to  please  him, 
what,  old  dear  ?  " 

Anthony,  thus  addressed,  said,  "  As  soon  and  as 
often  as  you  like,  darling.  Don't  mind  me.  Only  I 
suppose  you  realise  that  it  will  mean  thinking  of  a 
name  for  him — Sidney,  or  Bert,  or  Lloyd  George 
or  something." 

"  Montmorency,"  said  Pansy  promptly.  "  Monty 
for  short,  of  course  That'll  sound  awfully  well  in 
revue." 

It  should  be  noted  as  one  up  for  Mr.  Delmer  that 
his  sermon,  whether  or  not  it  brought  many  of  his 
parishioners  to  the  Government  Mind  Training 


64  WHAT  NOT 

Course,  had  anyhow  (unless  Pansy  forgot  again) 
brought  one  infant  soul  into  the  Christian  Church. 


4 

Mrs.  Delmer  said  to  Ivy,  "  I  suppose  we  shall  all 
have  to  go  in  for  it,  dear,  as  father's  told  everyone 
we're  going  to.  But  I  don't  quite  know  how  I'm 
going  to  get  the  time,  especially  with  this  new  boy  so 
untrustworthy  about  changing  the  hens'  water  when 
he  feeds  them  and  crushing  up  the  bones  for  them. 
Perhaps  he'll  be  better  when  he's  taken  the  course 
himself.  But  I  half  suspect  it's  not  so  much 
stupidity  as  naughtiness.  .  .  .  Well,  well,  if  father 
wants  us  to  we  must." 

Jane  said,  kicking  stones  along  the  road  as  she 
walked,  "  Shall  I  be  top  of  my  form  when  I've  taken 
the  Course,  mother  ?  Shall  I,  mother  ?  Will  John  ? 
John  was  lower  than  me  last  week.  Shall  we, 
mother  ?  " 

Mrs.  Delmer  very  sensibly  observed  that,  if 
all  the  other  children  in  the  parish  took  the 
course  too,  as  they  ought,  their  relative  capaci- 
ties would  remain  unchanged.  "  But  if  both 
you  and  John  took  a  little  more  pains  over 
your  home-work,  Jane,"  she  took  the  opportunity 
to  add,  whereupon  Jane  very  naturally  changed 
the  subject. 

Betty's  contribution  was  "  Brains  !  What  a  silly 
fuss  about  them.  Who  wants  brains  ?  " 


BRAINS  SUNDAY  65 

Which  was,  indeed,  a  very  pertinent  question,  and 
one  which  Nicholas  Chester  sometimes  sadly  asked 
himself. 

Who,  alas,  did  ? 


CHAPTER  IV 

OUR  WEEK 


BRAINS  Week  ("  Our  Week,"  as  it  was  called  by  the 
ladies  who  sold  flags  for  it)  having  opened  thus 
auspiciously,  flourished  along  its  gallant  way  like  a 
travelling  fair  urging  people  to  come  and  buy,  like 
a  tank  coaxing  people  to  come  in  and  purchase  war 
bonds,  like  the  War  Office  before  the  Military  Service 
Acts,  like  the  Ministry  of  Food  before  compulsory 
rationing.  It  was,  in  fact,  the  last  great  appeal  for 
voluntary  recruits  for  the  higher  intelligence  ;  if  it 
failed  then  compulsion  would  have  to  be  resorted  to. 
Many  people  thought  that  compulsion  should  in  any 
case  be  resorted  to  ;  what  was  the  good  of  a  govern- 
ment if  not  to  compel  ?  If  the  Great  War  hadn't 
taught  it  that,  it  hadn't  taught  it  much.  This  was 
the  view  put  forward  in  many  prominent  journals  ; 
others,  who  would  rather  see  England  free  than 
England  clever,  advocated  with  urgency  the  volun- 
tary scheme,  hoping,  if  it  might  be,  to  see  England 
both. 

It  was  a  week  of  strenuous  and  gallant  effort  on 
the  part  of  the  Government  and  its  assistants. 

66 


OUR  WEEK  67 

Every  Cinema  showed  dramas  representing  the  con- 
trasted fates  of  the  Intelligent  and  the  Stupid. 
Kiosks  of  Propaganda  and  Information  were  set  up 
in  every  prominent  shop.  Trafalgar  Square  was 
brilliant  with  posters,  a  very  flower-garden.  The 
Ministry  of  Brains'  artists  had  given  of  their  best. 
Pictorial  propaganda  bloomed  on  every  city  wall, 
"  Before  and  After,"  "  The  Rich  Man  and  the  Poor 
Man  "  (the  Rich  Man,  in  a  faultless  fur  coat,  ob- 
serving to  the  Poor  Man  in  patched  reach-me-downs, 
"  Yes,  I  was  always  below  you  at  school,  wasn't  I  ? 
But  since  then  I've  taken  the  Mind  Training  Course, 
and  now  money  rolls  in.  Sorry  you're  down  on  your 
luck,  old  man,  but  why  don't  you  do  as  I've  done  ?  ") 
and  a  special  poster  for  underground  railways,  por- 
traying victims  of  the  perils  of  the  streets — "  A  will 
be  safe  because  he  has  taken  the  Mind  Training 
Course  and  is  consequently  facing  the  traffic.  B  will 
not,  because  he  has  refused  to  improve  his  mind 
and  has  therefore  alighted  from  a  motor  bus  in  the 
wrong  direction  and  with .  his  back  to  oncoming 
traffic;  he  will  also  be  crushed  by  a  street  aero, 
having  by  his  foolish  behaviour  excited  the  aviator. 
B  will  therefore  perish  miserably,  AND  DESERVES 
TO." 

There  were  also  pictures  of  human  love,  that  most 
moving  of  subjects  for  art.  '  Yes,  dear,  I  love  you. 
But  we  are  both  C2  "  (they  looked  it).  "  We  cannot 
marry ;  we  must  part  for  ever.  You  must  marry 
Miss  Bryte-Braynes,  who  has  too  few  teeth  and 


68  WHAT  NOT 

squints,  and  I  must  accept  Mr.  Brilliantine,  who 
puts  too  much  oil  on  his  hair.  For  beauty  is  only 
skin-deep,  but  wisdom  endures  for  ever.  We  must 
THINK  OF  POSTERITY." 

Nor  was  Commerce  backward  in  the  cause.  Every 
daily  paper  contained  advertisements  from  our  more 
prominent  emporiums,  such  as  "  Get  tickets  for  the 
M.T.  Course  at  Selfswank's.  Every  taker  of  a  ticket 
will  receive  a  coupon  for  our  great  £1000  lottery. 
The  drawing  will  be  performed  in  a  fortnight  from 
to-day,  by  the  late  Prime  Minister's  wife."  (To 
reassure  the  anxious  it  should  be  said  that  the  late 
Prime  Minister  was  not  Deceased  but  abolished  ; 
the  country  was  governed  by  a  United  Council,  five 
minds  with  but  a  single  thought — if  that.)  "  By 
taking  our  tickets  you  benefit  yourself,  benefit 
posterity,  benefit  your  country,  and  stand  a  good 
chance  of  winning  A  CASH  PRIZE." 

And  every  patriotic  advertiser  of  clothes,  furs, 
jewellery,  groceries,  or  other  commodities,  tacked 
on  to  his  advertisement,  "Take  a  ticket  this  week 
for  the  M.T..  Course."  And  every  patriotic  letter- 
writer  bought  a  Brains  Stamp,  and  stamped  his 
envelopes  with  the  legend  "  Improve  your  Brains 
now." 

Railway  bookstalls  were  spread  with  literature 
on  the  subject.  The  Queen,  the  Gentlewoman,  the 
Sketch,  and  other  such  periodicals  suited,  one 
imagines,  to  the  simpler  type  of  female  mind,  had 
articles  on  "  Why  does  a  woman  look  old  sooner  than 


OUR  WEEK  69 

a  man  ?  "  (the  answer  to  this  was  that,  though  men 
are  usually  stupid,  women  are  often  stupider  still, 
and  have  taken  even  less  pains  to  improve~~their 
minds),  "  Take  care  of  your  mind  and  your  com- 
plexion will  take  care  of  itself,"  "  Raise  yourself  to 
category  A,  and  you  enlarge  your  matrimonial  field," 
"  How  to  train  Baby's  intellect,"  and  so  forth.  Side 
by  side  with  these  journals  was  the  current  number 
of  the  Cambridge  Magazine,  bearing  on  its  cover  the 
legend  "  A  Short  Way  with  Fools  ;  Pogrom  of  the 
Old  Men.  Everyone  over  forty  to  be  shot."  "  We 
have  always  said,"  the  article  under  these  headlines 
very  truly  began,  "  and  we  do  not  hesitate  to  say  it 
again,  that  the  only  way  to  secure  an  intelligent 
government  or  citizenship  in  any  nation  is  to  dis- 
pose, firmly  but  not  kindly,  of  the  old  and  the 
middle-aged,  and  to  let  the  young  have  their  day. 
There  will  then  be  no  more  such  hideous  blunders 
as  those  with  which  the  diplomacy  of  our  doddering 
elders  has  wrecked  the  world  again  and  again  during 
the  past  centuries." 

The  Evening  News  had  cartoons  every  day  of  the 
Combing  Out  of  the  Stupid,  whom  it  was  pleased  to 
call  Algies  and  Dollies.  The  New  Witness,  on  the 
other  hand,  striking  a  different  note,  said  that  it  was 
the  fine  old  Christian  Gentile  quality  of  stupidity 
which  had  made  Old  England  what  it  was  ;  the 
natives  of  Merrie  England  had  always  resented  ex- 
cessive acuteness,  as  exhibited  in  the  Hebrew  race 
at  their  expense.  The  Herald,  however,  rejoiced  in 


70  WHAT  NOT 

large  type  in  the  Open  Door  to  Labour  ;  the  Church 
Times  reported  Brains  Sunday  sermons  by  many 
divines  (in  most  of  them  sounded  the  protest  raised 
by  the  vicar  of  Little  Chantreys  against  interfer- 
ence with  domestic  rights,  the  Church  was  obviously 
going  to  be  troublesome  in  this  matter)  and  the  other 
journals,  from  the  Hidden  Hand  down  to  Home  Chat, 
supported  the  cause  in  their  varying  degrees  and 
characteristic  voices. 

Among  them  lay  the  Ministry  of  Brains  pamphlets, 
"  Brains.  How  to  get  and  keep  them,"  "  The  culti- 
vation of  the  Mind,"  etc.  In  rows  among  the  books 
and  papers  hung  the  Great  Thoughts  from  Great 
Minds  series — portraits  of  eminent  persons  with 
their  most  famous  remarks  on  this  subject  inscribed 
beneath  them.  "  It  is  the  duty  of  every  man, 
woman,  and  child  in  this  country  so  to  order  their 
lives  in  this  peace  crisis  as  to  make  the  least  possible 
demand  upon  the  intelligence  of  others.  It  is 
necessary,  therefore,  to  have  some  of  your  own." 
(Aa  eminent  minister.)  "  I  never  had  any  assist- 
ance beyond  my  wits.  Through  them  I  am  what  I 
am.  What  that  is,  it  is  for  others  rather  than  for 
myself  to  judge."  (A  great  journalist.)  "  It  was 
lack  of  brains  (I  will  ^->t  say  whose,  but  it  occurred 
before  the  first  Coalition  Government,  mind  you) 
which  plunged  Europe  into  the  Great  War.  Brains 
— again,  mark  you,  I  do  not  say  whose — must  make 
and  keep  the  Great  Peace."  (One  of  our  former 
Prime  Ministers.)  "  I  have  always  wished  I  had 


OUR  WEEK  71 

some."  (A  Royal  Personage.)  "  I  must  by  all 
means  have  a  Brains  Ministry  started  in  Liberia." 
(The  Liberian  Ambassador.)  Then,  after  remarks 
by  Shakespeare,  Emerson,  Carlyle,  Mr.  R.  J.  Camp- 
bell, Henry  James,  President  Wilson,  Marcus 
Aurelius,  Solomon,  Ecclesiasticus  ("  What  is  heavier 
than  lead,  and  what  is  the  name  thereof  but  a 
fool  ?  ")  and  Miss  Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox,  the  portrait 
gallery  concluded  with  Mr.  Nicholas  Chester,  the 
Minister  of  Brains,  looking  like  an  embittered 
humorist,  and  remarking,  "  It's  a  damned  silly 
world." 

2 

"  Amen  to  that,"  Miss  Kitty  Grammont  remarked, 
stopping  for  a  moment  after  buying  Truth  at  the 
bookstall  and  gazing  solemnly  into  the  Minister's 
disillusioned  eyes.  "  And  it  would  be  a  damned 
dull  one  if  it  wasn't."  She  sauntered  out  of  Charing 
Cross  tube  station  and  boarded  an  Embankment 
tram.  This  was  the  Monday  morning  after  Brams 
Week  had  run  its  course. 

The  fact  had  to  be  faced  by  the  Ministry  :  Brains 
Week  had  proved  disappointing.  The  public  were 
not  playing  up  as  they  shouM.  -*  * 

"  We  have  said  all  along,"  said  The  Times  (antici- 
pating the  Hidden  Hand,  which  had  not  yet  made 
up  its  mind),  "  that  the  Government  should  take  a 
strong  line  in  this  matter.  They  must  not  trust  to 
voluntary  effort ;  we  say,  and  we  believe  that,  as 


72  WHAT  NOT 

always,  we  voice  the  soundest  opinion  in  the 
country,  that  it  is  up  to  the  Government  to  take  the 
measures  which  it  has  decided,  upon  mature  con- 
sideration, to  be  for  the  country's  good.  Though 
we  have  given  every  possible  support  to  the  great 
voluntary  effort  recently  made,  truth  compels  us  to 
state  that  the  results  are  proving  disappointing. 
Compulsion  must  follow,  and  the  sooner  the  Govern- 
ment make  up  their  minds  to  accept  this  fact  the 
better  advised  it  will  be.  Surely  if  there  is  one  thing 
above  all  others  which  the  Great  War  (so  prolific  in 
lessons)  has  taught  us,  it  is  that  compulsion  is  not 
tyranny,  nor  law  oppression.  Let  the  Government, 
too  long  vacillating,  act,  and  act  quickly,  and  they 
will  find  a  responsive  and  grateful  nation  ready  to 
obey." 

Thus  The  Times,  and  thus,  in  a  less  dignified  choice 
of  language,  many  lesser  organs.  To  which  the 
Herald  darkly  rejoined,  "  If  the  Government  tries 
this  on,  let  it  look  to  itself." 

"  It'll  have  to  come,"  said  Vernon  Prideaux  to 
Kitty  Grammont  at  lunch.  They  were  lunching  at 
one  of  those  underground  resorts  about  which,  as 
Kitty  said,  you  never  know,  some  being  highly 
respectable,  while  others  are  not.  Kitty,  with  her 
long-lashed,  mossy  eyes  and  demure  expression, 
looked  and  felt  at  home  among  divans  for  two, 
screens,  powdered  waitresses,  and  rose-shaded  lights ; 
she  had  taken  Prideaux  there  for  fun,  because  among 
such  environment  he  looked  a  stranger  and  pilgrim, 


OUR  WEEK  73 

angular,  fastidious,  whose  home  was  above.  Kitty 
liked  to  study  her  friends  in  different  lights,  even 
rose-shaded  ones,  and  especially  one  who,  besides 
being  a  friend,  was  her  departmental  superior,  and 
a  coming,  even  come,  young  man  of  exceptional 
brilliance,  who  might  one  day  be  ruling  the  country. 

"If  it  does,"  said  Kitty,  "  we  shall  have  to  go, 
that's  all.  No  more  compulsion  is  going  to  be  stood 
at  present.  Nothing  short  of  another  war,  with  a 
military  dictatorship  and  martial  law,  will  save 
us." 

"  We  stood  compulsory  education  when  there  was 
no  war,"  Prideaux  pointed  out.  "  We've  stood 
vaccination,  taxation,  every  conceivable  form  of 
interference  with  what  we  are  pleased  to  call  our 
liberty.  This  is  no  worse  ;  it's  the  logical  outcome 
of  State  government  of  the  individual.  Little  by 
little,  precept  upon  precept,  line  upon  line,  these 
things  grow,  till  we're  a  serf  state  without  realising 
it.  ...  After  all,  why  not  ?  What  most  people 
mean  by  freedom  would  be  a  loathsome  condition ; 
freedom  to  behave  like  animals  or  lunatics,  to  annoy 
each  other  and  damage  the  State.  What's  the  sense 
of  it  ?  Human  beings  aren't  up  to  it,  that's  the 
fact." 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,"  said  Kitty.  "  Only  the 
weak  point  is  that  hardly  any  human  beings  are  up 
to  making  good  laws  for  the  rest,  either.  We  shall 
slip  up  badly  over  this  Mind  Training  Act,  if  we  ever 
get  it  through ;  it  will  be  as  full  of  snags  as  the 


74  WHAT  NOT 

Mental  Progress  Act.  We  shall  have  to  take  on  a 
whole  extra  Branch  to  deal  with  the  exemptions 
alone.  Chester's  clever,  but  he's  not  clever  enough 
to  make  a  good  Act.  No  one  is.  ...  By  the  way, 
Vernon,  you  nearly  told  me  something  the  other  day 
about  Chester's  category.  You  might  quite  tell  me 
now,  as  we're  in  the  Raid  Shelter  and  not  in  the 
Office." 

"  Did  I  ?  It  was  only  that  I  heard  he  was  un- 
certificated  for  marriage.  He's  got  a  brother  and  a 
twin  sister  half-witted.  I  suppose  he  collared  all 
the  brains  that  were  going  in  his  family." 

"  He  would,  of  course,  if  he  could.    He's  selfish." 

"  Selfish,"  Prideaux  was  doubtful.  "  If  you  can 
call  such  a  visionary  and  idealist  selfish." 

"  Visionaries  .and  idealists  are  always  selfish. 
Look  at  Napoleon,  and  Wilhelm  II,  as  Mr.  Delmer 
would  say.  Visions  and  ideals  are  the  most  selfish 
things  there  are.  People  go  about  wrapped  in  them, 
and  keep  themselves  so  warm  that  they  forget  that 
other  people  need  ordinary  clothes.  ...  So  the 
Minister  is  uncertificated.  .  .  .  Well,  I'm  going  up 
to  Regent  Street  to  buy  a  birthday  present  for  Pansy 
and  cigarettes  for  myself." 

"  I  must  get  back,"  said  Prideaux.  "  I've  a  Leeds 
Manufacturers'  deputation  coming  to  see  me  at  2.30 
about  their  men's  wages.  Leeds  workmen,  appar- 
ently, don't  let  the  Mental  Progress  Act  weigh  on 
them  at  all ;  they  go  calmly  ahead  with  their  un- 
certificated marriages,  and  then  strike  for  higher 


OUR  WEEK  75 

wages  in  view  of  the  taxable  family  they  intend  to 
produce.  These  fellows  coming  to-day  have  got 
wind  of  the  new  agreement  with  the  cutlers  and 
want  one  like  it.  I've  got  to  keep  them  at  arm's 
length." 

He  emerged  above  ground,  breathed  more  freely, 
and  walked  briskly  back  to  the  Ministry.  Kitty 
went  to  Regent  Street,  and  did  not  get  back  to  the 
office  until  3.15. 

3 

Kitty  had  lately  been  returned  from  the  Propa- 
ganda Branch  to  her  own,  the  Exemption  Branch. 
Being  late,  she  slipped  into  her  place  unostenta- 
tiously. Her  in-tray  contained  a  mass  of  files,  as 
yet  undealt  with.  She  began  to  look  through  these, 
with  a  view  to  relegating  the  less  attractive  to  the 
bottom  of  the  tray,  where  they  could  wait  until  she 
had  nothing  better  to  do  than  to  attend  to  them. 
To-day  there  were  a  great  many  letters  from  the 
public  beginning  "  Dear  Sir,  Mr.  Wilkinson  said  in 
parliament  on  Tuesday  that  families  should  not  be 
reduced  to  destitution  through  the  baby-taxes.  ..." 
That  was  so  like  Mr.  Wilkinson  (parliamentary 
secretary  to  the  Brains  Ministry).  Whenever  he 
thoughtlessly  dropped  these  obiter  dicta,  so  sweeping, 
so  far  removed  from  truth,  which  was  almost  when- 
ever he  spoke,  there  was  trouble.  The  guileless 
public  hung  on  his  words,  waiting  to  pick  them  up 
and  send  them  in  letters  to  the  Ministry.  These 


76  WHAT  NOT 

letters  went  to  the  bottom  of  the  tray.  They  usually 
only  needed  a  stock  reply,  telling  the  applicants  to 
attend  their  local  tribunal.  After  several  of  these 
in  succession,  Kitty  opened  a  file  which  had  been 
minuted  down  from  another  branch,  M.B.  4. 
Attached  to  it  were  two  sheets  of  minutes  which  had 
passed  between  various  individuals  regarding  the 
case  in  question  ;  the  last  minute  was  addressed  to 
M.B.  3,  and  said  "  Passed  to  you  for  information 
and  necessary  action."  It  was  a  melancholy  tale 
from  an  aggrieved  citizen  concerning  his  infant, 
who  was  liable  to  a  heavy  tax,  and  who  had  been 
drowned  by  his  aunt  while  being  washed,  before  he 
was  two  hours  old,  and  the  authorities  still  demanded 
the  payment  of  the  tax.  Kitty,  who  found  the  help- 
lessness of  M.B.  4  annoying,  wrote  a  curt  minute, 
"  Neither  information  nor  action  seems  to  us 
necessary,"  then  had  to  erase  it  because  it  looked 
rude,  and  wrote  instead,  more  mildly,  "  Seen, 
thank  you.  This  man  appears  to  be  covered  by 
M.B.I.  187,  in  which  case  his  taxation  is  surely 
quite  in  order  and  no  action  is  possible.  We  see  no 
reason  why  we  should  deal  with  the  case  rather  than 
you." 

It  is  difficult  always  to  be  quite  polite  in  minutes, 
cheap  satire  costing  so  little  and  relieving  the  feel- 
ings, but  it  can  and  should  be  done  ;  nothing  so 
shows  true  breeding  in  a  Civil  Servant. 

Kitty  next  replied  to  a  letter  from  the  Admiralty, 
about  sailors'  babies  (the  family  arrangements  of 


OUR  WEEK  77 

sailors  are,  of  course,  complicated,  owing  to  their 
having  a  wife  in  every  port).  The  Admiralty  said 
that  My  Lords  Commissioners  had  read  the  Minister 
of  Brains'  (i.e.  Kitty's)  last  letter  to  them  on  this 
subject  with  much  surprise.  The  Admiralty's 
faculty  of  surprise  was  infinitely  fresh  ;  it  seemed 
new,  like  mercy,  each  returning  day.  The  Minister 
of  Brains  evoked  it  almost  every  time  he,  through 
the  pens  of  his  clerks,  wrote  to  them.  My  Lords 
viewed  with  grave  apprehension  the  line  taken  by 
the  Minister  on  this  important  subject,  and  They 
trusted  it  would  be  reconsidered.  (My  Lords  always 
wrote  of  themselves  with  a  capital  They,  as  if  they 
were  deities.)  Kitty  drafted  a  reply  to  this  letter 
and  put  it  aside  to  consult  Prideaux  about.  She 
carried  on  a  chronic  quarrel  with  My  Lords,  doubt- 
less to  the  satisfaction  of  both  sides. 

Soothed  and  stimulated  by  this  encounter,  she 
was  the  better  prepared  in  temper  when  she  opened 
a  file  in  which  voluminous  correspondence  concern- 
ing two  men  named  Stephen  Williams  had  been 
jacketed  together  by  a  guileless  registry,  to  whom 
such  details  as  that  one  Stephen  Williams  appeared 
to  be  a  dentist's  assistant  and  the  other  a  young 
man  in  the  diplomatic  service  were  as  contemptible 
obstacles,  to  be  taken  in  an  easy  stride.  The  corre- 
spondence in  this  file  was  sufficiently  at  cross  pur- 
poses to  be  more  amusing  than  most  correspondence. 
When  she  had  perused  it,  Kitty,  sad  that  she  must 
tear  asunder  this  happily  linked  pair,  sent  it  down 


78  WHAT  NOT 

to  the  registry  with  a  regretful  note  that  "  These 
two  cases,  having  no  connection,  should  be  registered 
separately,"  and  fell  to  speculating,  as  she  often  did, 
on  the  registry,  which,  amid  the  trials  that  beset 
them  and  the  sorrows  they  endured,  and  the  manifold 
confusions  and  temptations  of  their  dim  life,  were  so 
strangely  often  right.  They  worked  underground, 
the  registry  people,  like  gnomes  in  a  cave,  opening 
letters  and  registering  them  and  filing  them  and 
sending  them  upstairs,  astonishingly  often  in  the 
file  which  belonged  to  them.  But,  mainly,  looking 
for  papers  and  not  finding  them,  and  writing  "  No 
trace,"  "  Cannot  be  traced,"  on  slips,  as  if  the 
papers  were  wild  animals  which  had  got  loose  and 
had  to  be  hunted  down.  A  queer  life,  questing, 
burrowing,  unsatisfied,  underground.  ...  No  wonder 
they  made  some  mistakes. 

Kitty  opened  one  now — a  bitter  complaint,  which 
should  have  gone  to  M.B.  5,  from  one  who  con- 
sidered himself  placed  in  a  wrong  category.  "  When 
I  tell  you,  sir,"  it  ran,  "  that  at  the  Leamington  High 
School  I  carried  off  two  prizes  (geography  and  recita- 
tion) and  was  twice  fourth  in  my  form,  and  after 
leaving  have  given  great  satisfaction  (I  am  told)  as 
a  solicitor's  clerk,  so  that  there  has  been  some  talk 
of  raising  my  salary,  you  will  perhaps  be  surprised 
to  hear  that  the  Local  Intelligence  Board  placed  me 
in  class  Ci.  I  applied  to  the  County  Board,  and 
(owing,  as  I  have  reason  to  know,  to  local  feeling 
and  jealousy)  I  was  placed  by  them  in  C2.  Sir,  I 


OUR  WEEK  79 

ask  you  for  a  special  examination  by  the  Central 
Intelligence  Board.  I  should  be  well  up  in  Class  B. 
There  are  some  walking  about  in  this  town  who  are 
classed  Bi  and  2,  who  are  the  occasion  of  much  local 
feeling,  as  it  surprises  all  who  know  them  that  they 
should  be  classed  so  high.  To  my  knowledge  some 
of  these  persons  cannot  do  a  sum  right  in  their 
heads,  and  it  is  thought  very  strange  that  they 
should  have  so  imposed  on  the  Intelligence  Officers, 
though  the  reasons  for  this  are  not  really  far  to 
seek,  and  should  be  enquired  into.  .  .  ." 

A  gay  and  engaging  young  man  with  a  wooden 
leg  (he  had  lost  his  own  in  1914,  and  had  during  the 
rest  of  the  war  worked  at  the  War  Office,  and  carried 
the  happy  Q.M.G.  touch)  wandered  in  from  M.B.  5 
while  Kitty  was  reading  this,  and  she  handed  it  over 
to  him.  He  glanced  at  it. 

"  We  shall  perhaps  be  surprised,  shall  we.  .  .  . 
How  likely.  .  .  .  The  public  overestimate  our 
faculty  for  surprise.  They  have  yet  to  learn  that 
the  only  thing  which  would  surprise  the  Ministry  of 
Brains  would  be  finding  someone  correctly  classified. 
...  I  shall  tell  him  I'm  A2  myself,  though  I  never 
.got  a  prize  in  my  life  for  geography  or  recitation,  and 
I  can't  do  sums  in  my  head  for  nuts.  I  ought  to  be 
somewhere  about  63  ;  I  surprise  all  who  know  me. 
.  .  .  What  I  came  in  to  say  was,  do  any  of  you  in 
here  want  a  sure  tip  for  the  Oaks  ?  Because 
I've  got  one.  Silly  Blighter  ;  yes,  you  thought  he 
was  an  absolute  outsider,  didn't  you,  so  did  everyone 


8o  WHAT  NOT 

else  ;  but  he's  not.  You  take  the  tip,  it's  a  straight 
one,  first  hand.  No,  don't  mention  it,  I  always  like 
to  do  M.B.  3  a  good  turn,  though  I  wouldn't  do  it 
for  everyone.  .  .  .  Well,  I'm  off,  I'm  beastly  busy. 
.  .  .  Heard  the  latest  Chester,  by  the  way  ?  Some- 
one tried  the  Wheeldon  stunt  on  him— sent  him  a 
poisoned  thorn  by  special  messenger  in  a  packet 
"To  be  opened  by  the  Minister  Himself."  Jervis- 
Browne  opened  it,  of  course,  and  nearly  pricked  him 
self.  When  he  took  it  to  Chester,  Chester  did  the 
Sherlock  Holmes  touch,  and  said  he  knew  the  thorn, 
it  came  off  a  shrub  in  Central  Africa  or  Kew  Gardens 
or  somewhere.  I  think  he  knew  the  poison,  too  ; 
he  wanted  Jervis-Browne  to  suck  it,  to  make  sure, 
but  J.-B.  wasn't  having  any,  and  Chester  didn't  like 
to  risk  himself,  naturally.  His  little  P.S.  would  have 
done  it  like  a  shot,  but  they  thought  it  would  be  hard 
luck  on  the  poor  child's  people.  And  while  they 
were  discussin'  it,  Chester  ran  the  thing  into  his  own 
finger  by  mistake.  While  J.-B.  was  waitin'  to  see 
him  swell  up  and  turn  black,  and  feelin'  bad  lest 
he  should  be  told  to  suck  it  (he  knows  Chester 
doesn't  really  value  him  at  his  true  worth,  you  see), 
Chester  whipped  out  his  penknife  and  gouged  a 
great  slice  out  of  his  finger  as  you'd  cut  cheese,  all 
round  the  prick.  He  turned  as  white  as  chalk,  J.-B. 
says,  but  never  screamed,  except  to  let  out  one 
curse.  And  when  he'd  done  it,  and  had  the  short- 
hand typist  in  from  J.-B.'s  room  to  tie  it  up,  he 
began  to  giggle — you  know  that  sad,  cynical  giggle 


OUR  WEEK  81 

of  his  that  disconcerts  solemn  people  so  much — and 
said  he'd  have  the  beastly  weapon  cleaned  and  take 
it  home  and  frame  it  in  glass,  with  the  other  memen- 
toes of  a  people's  hate.  ...  I  say,  I  do  waste  your 
time  in  here,  don't  I  ?  And  my  own ;  that's  to  say 
the  government's.  I'm  off." 

"  Gay  child,"  Kitty  murmured  to  her  neighbour 
as  he  went.  "  He  blooms  in  an  office  like  an  orchid 
in  a  dust-bin.  And  very  nice  too.  I  remember 
being  nearly  as  bright  at  his  age;  though,  for  my 
sins,  I  was  never  in  Q.M.G.  A  wonderful  Branch 
that  is." 

Thereupon  she  threw  away  her  cigarette,  wrote 
five  letters  with  extraordinary  despatch  and  un- 
departmental  conciseness  of  style,  and  went  to  have 
tea  in  the  canteen. 

4 

The  Minister  was  having  tea  too,  looking  even 
paler  than  usual,  with  his  left  hand  in  a  sling.  Kitty 
put  up  her  eye-glasses  and  looked  at  him  with  in- 
creased interest.  As  ministers  go,  he  was  certainly 
of  an  interesting  appearance ;  she  had  always 
thought  that.  She  rather  liked  the  paradoxical 
combination  of  shrewdness  and  idealism,  sullenness 
and  humour,  in  his  white,  black-browed,  clever  face. 
He  looked  patient,  but  patient  perforce,  as  if  he 
rode  natural  impatience  on  a  curb.  He  looked  as 
if  he  might  know  a  desperate  earnestness,  but  pre- 
ferred to  keep  it  at  arm's  length  with  a  joke ;  his 


82  WHAT  NOT 

earnestness  would  be  too  grim  and  violent  to  be  an 
easy  and  natural  companion  to  him.  He  looked  as 
if  he  might  get  very  badly  hurt,  but  would  cut  out 
the  hurt  and  throw  it  away  with  the  cold  prompt- 
ness of  the  surgeon.  He  was  not  yet  forty,  but 
looked  more,  perhaps  because  he  enjoyed  bad  health. 
At  this  moment  he  was  eating  a  rock  bun  and  talking 
to  Vernon  Prideaux.  One  difference  between  them 
was  that  Prideaux  looked  an  intelligent  success, 
like  a  civil  servant,  or  a  rising  barrister  or  M.P., 
and  Chester  looked  a  brilliant  failure,  and  more  like 
a  Sinn  Feiner  or  a  Bolshevist.  Only  not  really  like 
either  of  these,  because  he  didn't  look  as  if  he  would 
muff  things.  He  might  go  under,  but  his  revolu- 
tions wouldn't.  Kitty,  who  too  greatly  despised 
people  who  muffed  things,  recognised  the  distinc- 
tion. She  had  a  friend  whose  revolutions,  which 
were  many,  always  did  go  under.  .  .  . 

There  was  a  queer,  violent  strength  about  the 
Minister. 

But  when  he  smiled  it  was  as  if  someone  had 
flashed  a  torch  on  lowering  cliffs,  and  lit  them  into 
extraordinary  and  elf-like  beauty.  Kitty  knew 
already  that  he  could  be  witty ;  she  suddenly  per- 
ceived now  that  he  could  be  sweet — a  bad  word,  but 
there  seemed  no  other. 

He  ate  another  rock  bun,  and  another.  But  they 
were  small.  His  eyes  fell  on  Kitty,  eating  a  jam 
sandwich.  But  his  thoughts  were  elsewhere. 

"  Yes,  it  was  me  that  had  to  tie  it  up  for  him," 


OUR  WEEK  83 

Ivy  Delmer  was  saying  to  another  typist.  "  Luckily 
I've  done  First  Aid.  But  I  felt  like  fainting.  .  .  . 
The  blood.  ...  I  don't  like  him,  you  know ;  his 
manners  are  so  funny  and  his  dictating  is  so  difficult ; 
but  I  must  say  I  did  admire  his  pluck.  .  .  .  He 
never  thanked  me  or  anything — he  wouldn't,  of 
course.  Not  that  I  minded  a  scrap  about  that.  ..." 


5 

When  Kitty  got  home  to  her  flat  that  evening,  she 
found  the  Boomerang  on  the  floor.  (It  was  on  the 
floor  owing  to  the  lack  of  a  letter-box.)  The  Boom- 
erang was  a  letter  from  herself,  addressed  to  Neil 
Desmond,  Esq.,  and  she  wrote  it  and  despatched  it 
every  few  months  or  so,  whenever,  in  fact,  she  had, 
at  the  moment,  nothing  better  to  do.  On  such  days 
as  Bank  Holidays,  when  she  spent  them  at  the  office 
but  official  work  did  not  press,  Kitty  tidied  the 
drawers  of  her  table  and  wrote  to  break  off  her 
engagement.  The  drawers  got  tidied  all  right,  but 
it  is  doubtful  whether  the  engagement  could  ever 
be  considered  to  have  got  broken  off,  owing  to  the 
letter  breaking  it  being  a  boomerang.  It  was  a 
boomerang  because  Neil  Desmond,  Esq.  was  a  person 
of  no  fixed  address.  He  wrote  long  and  thrilling 
letters  to  Kitty  (which,  if  her  correspondence  had 
been  raided  by  the  police,  would  probably  have  sub- 
jected her  to  arrest — he  had  himself  for  long  been 
liable  to  almost  every  species  of  arrest,  so  could 


84  WHAT  NOT 

hardly  be  further  incriminated),  but  when  she  wrote 
to  the  address  he  gave  he  was  no  longer  ever  there, 
and  so  her  letters  returned  to  her  like  homing 
pigeons.  So  the  position  was  that  Neil  was  engaged 
to  Kitty,  and  Kitty  had  so  far  failed  to  disengage 
herself  from  Neil.  Neil  was  that  friend  who  has 
been  already  referred  to  as  qne  whose  revolutions 
always  went  under.  Kitty  had  met  him  first  in 
Greece,  in  April,  1914.  She  had  since  decided  that' 
he  was  probably  at  his  best  in  Greece.  In  July  he 
had  been  arming  to  fight  Carson's  rebels  when  the 
outbreak  of  the  European  War  disappointed  him. 
The  parts  played  by  him  in  the  European  War  were 
many  and  various,  and,  from  the  British  point  of 
view,  mostly  regrettable.  He  followed. Sir  Roger 
Casement  through  many  adventures,  and  only  just 
escaped  sharing  in  the  last  of  all.  He  partook  in  the 
Sinn  Fein  rising  of  Easter,  1916  (muffed,  as  usual, 
Kitty  had  commented),  and  had  then  disappeared, 
and  had  mysteriously  emerged  again  in  Petrograd  a 
year  later,  to  help  with  the  Russian  revolution. 
Wherever,  in  fact,  a  revolution  was,  Neil  Desmond 
was  sure  to  be.  He  had  had,  as  may  be  imagined, 
a  busy  and  satisfactory  summer  and  autumn  there, 
and  had  many  interesting,  if  impermanent,  friends, 
such  as  Kerensky,  Protopopoff  (whom,  however,  he 
did  not  greatly  care  for),  Kaledin,  Lenin,  Trotzky, 
Mr.  Arthur  Ransome,  and  General  Korniloff.  (It 
might  be  thought  that  the  politics  of  this  last-named 
would  not  have  been  regarded  by  Neil  with  a  favour- 


OUR  WEEK  85 

able  eye,  but  he  was,  anyhow,  making  a  revolution 
which  did  not  come  off.)  In  January,  1918,  Neil  had 
got  tired  of  Russia  (this  is  liable  to  occur)  and  gone 
off  to  America,  where  he  had  for  some  time  been 
doing  something  or  other,  no  doubt  discreditable, 
with  an  Irish-American  league.  Then  a  revolution 
which  seemed  to  require  his  assistance  broke  out  in 
Equador,  which  kept  him  occupied  for  some  weeks. 
After  that  he  had  gone  to  Greece,  where  Kitty 
vaguely  believed  him  still  to  be  (unless  he  was  visit- 
ing, with  seditious  intent,  the  island  in  the  Pacific 
where  the  world's  great  Have-Beens  were  harmoni- 
ously segregated). 

"  The  only  thing  for  it,"  Kitty  observed  to  the 
cousin  with  whom  she  lived,  a  willowy  and  lovely 
young  lily  of  the  field,  who  had  had  a  job  once  but 
had  lost  it  owing  to  peace,  and  was  now  having  a 
long  rest,  "  The  only  thing  for  it  is  to  put  it  in  the 
agony  column  of  the — no,  not  The  Times,  of  course 
he  wouldn't  read  it,  but  the  Irish-American  Banner 
or  something.  '  K.  G.  to  N.  D.  All  over. 
Regret/  " 

"  You'll  have  to  marry  him,  darling.  God  means 
you  to,"  sang  her  cousin,  hooking  herself  into  a 
flame-coloured  and  silver  evening  dress. 

"  It  certainly  looks  as  if  he  did,"  Kitty  admitted, 
and  began  to  take  her  own  clothes  off,  for  she  was 
going  to  see  Pansy  in  a  new  revue.  (Anthony 
would  have  been  the  last  man  to  wish  to  tie  Pansy 
down  to  home  avocations  when  duty  called  ;  he  was 


86  WHAT  NOT 

much  too  proud  of  her  special  talents  to  wish  her 
to  hide  them  in  a  napkin.) 

The  revue  was  a  good  one,  Pansy  was  her  best 
self,  lazy,  sweet,  facetious,  and  extraordinarily  supple, 
the  other  performers  also  performed  suitably,  each 
in  his  manner,  and  Kitty  afterwards  had  supper 
with  a  party  of  them.  These  were  the  occasions 
when  office  work,  seen  from  this  gayer  corner  of  life, 
seemed  incredibly  dusty,  tedious  and  sad.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  EXPLANATION   CAMPAIGN 

I 

IT  will  be  generally  admitted  that  Acts  are  not  good 
at  explaining  themselves,  and  call  for  words  to  ex- 
plain them ;  many  words,  so  many  that  it  is  at 
times  wondered  whether  the  Acts  are  worth  it.  It 
occurred  about  this  time  to  the  Ministry  of  Brains 
that  more  words  were  called  for  to  explain  both  the 
Mental  Progress  Act  recently  passed  and  the  Mind 
Training  Act  which  was  still  a  Bill.  For  neither  of 
these  Acts  seemed  to  have  yet  explained  itself,  or 
been  explained,  to  the  public,  in  such  a  manner  as 
to  give  general  satisfaction.  And  yet  explanations 
had  to  be  given  with  care.  Acts,  like  lawyers'  deeds, 
do  not  care  to  be  understood  through  and  through. 
The  kind  of  explaining  they  really  need,  as  Kitty 
Grammont  observed,  is  the  kind  called  explaining 
away.  For  this  task  she  considered  herself  pecu- 
liarly fitted  by  training,  owing  to  having  had  in  her 
own  private  career  several  acts  which  had  demanded 
it.  It  was  perhaps  for  this  reason  that  she  was 
among  those  chosen  by  the  authorities  for  the  Ex- 
planation Campaign.  The  Explanation  Campaign 

87 


88  WHAT  NOT 

was  to  be  fought  in  the  rural  villages  of  England,  by 
bands  of  speakers  chosen  for  their  gift  of  the  ready 
word,  and  it  would  be  a  tough  fight.  The  things 
to  be  explained  were  the  two  Acts  above  men- 
tioned. 

"•  And  none  of  mine,"  Kitty  remarked  to  Prideaux, 
"  ever  needed  so  much  explanation  as  these  will.  .  .  . 
Let  me  see,  no  one  ever  even  tried  to  explain  any  of 
the  Military  Service  Acts,  did  they  ?  At  least  only 
in  the  press.  The  perpetrators  never  dared  to  face 
the  public  man  to  man,  on  village  greens." 

"  It  ought  to  have  been  done  more,"  Prideaux 
said.  "  The  Review  of  Exceptions,  for  instance. 
If  questions  and  complaints  could  have  been  got 
out  of  the  public  in  the  open,  and  answered  on 
village  greens,  as  you  say,  instead  of  by  official 
letters  which  only  made  things  worse,  a  lot  of 
trouble  might  have  been  avoided.  Chester  is  great 
on  these  heart-to-heart  talks.  .  .  .  By  the  way,  he's 
going  to  interview  all  the  Explanation  people  in- 
dividually before  they  start,  to  make  sure  they're 
going  about  it  in  the  right  spirit." 

"That's  so  like  Chester;  he'll  go  to  any  trouble," 
Kitty  said.  "  I'm  getting  to  think  he's  a  really  great 
man." 

2 

Chester  really  did  interview  them  all.  To  Kitty, 
whom  already  he  knew  personally,  he  talked 
freely. 


THE  EXPLANATION  CAMPAIGN         89 

'  You  must  let  the  people  in,"  he  said,  walking 
about  the  room,  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  "  Don't 
keep  them  at  official  arm's  length.  Let  them  feel  part 
of  it  all.  .  .  .  Make  them  catch  fire  with  the  idea  of 
it.  ...  It's  sheer  stark  truth — intelligence  is  the 
thing  that  counts — if  only  everyone  would  see  it. 
Make  them  see  stupidity  for  the  limp,  hopeless,  help- 
less, animal  thing  it  is — an  idiot  drivelling  on  a 
green  " — Kitty  could  have  fancied  that  he  shuddered 
a  little — "  make  them  hate  it — want  the  other 
thing  ;  want  it  so  much  that  they'll  even  sacrifice  a 
little  of  their  personal  comfort  and  desires  to  get  it 
for  themselves  and  their  children.  They  must  want 
it  more  than  money,  more  than  comfort,  more  than 
love,  more  than  freedom.  .  .  .  You'll  have  to  get 
hold  of  different  people  in  different  ways,  of  course  ; 
some  have  imaginations  and  some  haven't ;  those 
who  haven't  must  be  appealed  to  through  their 
common  sense,  if  any,  or,  failing  any,  their  feeling 
for  their  children,  or,  even,  at  the  lowest,  their  fear 
of  consequences.  .  .  .  Tell  some  of  them  there'll  be 
another  war  if  they're  so  stupid  ;  tell  others  they'll 
never  get  on  in  the  world  ;  anything  you  think  will 
touch  the  spot.  But  first,  always,  try  to  collar  their 
imaginations.  .  .  .  You've  done  some  public  speak- 
ing, haven't  you  ?  " 

Kitty  owned  it,  and  he  nodded. 

"  That's  all  right,  then  ;  you'll  know  how  to  keep 
your  finger  on  the  audience's  pulse.  .  .  .  You'll 
make  them  laugh,  too.  ..." 


go  WHAT  NOT 

Kitty  was  uncertain,  as  she  left  the  presence, 
whether  this  last  was  an  instruction  or  a  prophecy. 


3 

The  other  members  of  Kitty's  party  (the  Campaign 
was  to  be  conducted,  in  parties  of  two  or  three  people 
each)  did  not  belong  to  the  Ministry ;  they  were 
hired  for  it  for  this  purpose.  They  were  a  lady 
doctor,  prominent  on  public  platforms  and  decorated 
for  signal  services  to  her  country  during  the  Great 
War,  and  a  free-lance  clergyman  known  for  his  pulpit 
eloquence  and  the  caustic  wit  with  which  he  lashed 
the  social  system.  He  had  resigned  his  incumbency 
long  ago  in  order  to  devote  himself  the  more  freely 
to  propaganda  work  for  the  causes  he  had  at  heart, 
wrote  for  a  labour  paper,  and  went  round  the  country 
speaking.  The  Minister  of  Brains  (who  had  been  at 
Cambridge  with  him,  and  read  his  articles  in  the 
labour  paper,  in  which  he  frequently  stated  that 
muddle-headedness  was  the  curse  of  the  world)  had, 
with  his  usual  eye  for  men,  secured  him  to  assist  in 
setting  forth  the  merits  of  the  Brains  Acts. 

They  began  in  Buckinghamshire,  which  was  one 
of  the  counties  assigned  to  them.  At  Gerrards  Cross 
and  Beaconsfield  it  was  chilly,  and  they  held  their 
meetings  respectively  in  the  National  School  and 
in  the  bright  green  Parish  Hall  which  is  the  one  blot 
on  a  most  picturesque  city.  But  at  Little  Chantreys 
it  was  fine,  and  they  met  at  six  o'clock  in  the  broad 


THE  EXPLANATION  CAMPAIGN         91 

open  space  outside  the  church.     They  had  a  good 
audience.  The  meeting  had  been  well  advertised,  and 
it  seemed  that  the  village  was  as  anxious  to  hear  the 
Brains  Acts  explained  as  the  Ministry  was  to  explain 
them.   Or  possibly  the  village,  for  its  own  part,  had 
something  it  wished  to  explain.  Anyhow  they  came, 
rich  and  poor,  high  and  low,  men,  women,  children, 
and  infants  in  arms  (these  had,  for  the  most  part, 
every   appearance   of   deserving  heavy   taxation ; 
however,  the  physiognomy  of  infants  is  sometimes 
misleading).    Anthony  Grammont  and  Pansy  were 
there,  with  the  Cheeper,  now  proud  in  his  bap- 
tismal name  of  Montmorency.    The  vicar  and  his 
wife  were  there  too,  though  Mr.  Delmer  did  not 
approve  much   of  the   Reverend  Stephen  Dixon, 
rightly  thinking  him  a  disturbing  priest.    It  was  all 
very  well  to  advocate  Life  and  Liberty  in  modera- 
tion (though  Mr.  Delmer  did  not  himself  belong  to 
the  society  for  promoting  these  things  in  the  Church), 
but  the  vicar  did  not  believe  that  any  church  could 
stand,  without  bursting,  the  amount  of  new  wine 
which  Stephen  Dixon  wished  to  pour  into  it.    "  He 
is  very  much  in  earnest,"  was  all  the  approval  that 
he  could,  in  his  charity,  give  to  this  priest.    So  he 
waited  a  little  uneasily  for  Dixon's  remarks  on  the 
Brains  Acts,  feeling  that  it  might  become  his  un- 
gracious duty  to  take  public  exception  to  some  of 
them. 

The  scene  had  its  picturesqueness  in  the  evening 
sunshine — the   open   space   in   which   the   narrow 


92  WHAT  NOT 

village  streets  met,  backed  by  the  little  grey  church, 
and  with  a  patch  of  green  where  women  and  children 
sat ;  and  in  front  of  these  people  standing,  leisurely, 
placid,  gossiping,  the  women  innocently  curious  to 
hear  what  the  speakers  from  London  had  to  say 
about  this  foolish  business  there  was  such  an  upset 
about  just  now  ;  some  of  the  men  more  aggressive, 
determined  to  stand  no  nonsense,  with  a  we'll-know- 
the-reason-why  expression  on  their  faces.  This  ex- 
pression was  peculiarly  marked  on  the  countenance 
of  the  local  squire,  Captain  Ambrose.  He  did  not 
like  all  this  interfering,  socialist  what-not,  which  was 
both  upsetting  the  domestic  arrangements  of  his 
tenants  and  trying  to  put  into  their  heads  more 
learning  than  was  suitable  for  them  to  have.  For 
his  part  he  thought  every  man  had  a  right  to  be  a 
fool  if  he  chose,  yes,  and  to  marry  another  fool,  and 
to  bring  up  a  family  of  fools  too.  Damn  it  all,  fools 
or  not,  hadn't  they  shed  their  blood  for  their  country, 
and  where  would  the  country  have  been  without 
them,  though  now  the  country  talked  so  glibly  of 
not  allowing  them  to  reproduce  themselves  until 
they  were  more  intelligent.  Captain  Ambrose,  a 
fragile-looking  man,  burnt  by  Syrian  suns  and 
crippled  by  British  machine-guns  at  instruction 
classes  (a  regrettable  mistake  which  of  course  would 
not  have  occurred  had  the  operator  been  more  in- 
telligent), stood  in  the  forefront  of  the  audience  with 
intention  to  heckle.  Near  him  stood  the  Delmers 
and  Miss  Ponsonby  and  Anthony  Grammont.  Pansy 


THE  EXPLANATION  CAMPAIGN         93 

was  talking,  in  her  friendly,  cheerful  way,  to  Mrs. 
Delmer  about  the  Cheeper's  food  arrangements, 
which  were  unusual  in  one  so  young. 

In  the  middle  of  the  square  were  Dr.  Cross,  grace- 
ful, capable-looking  and  grey-haired ;  Stephen 
Dixon,  lean  and  peculiar  (so  the  village  thought)  ; 
Kitty  Grammont,  pale  after  the  day's  heat,  and 
playing  with  her  dangling  pince-nez  ;  a  tub  ;  and 
two  perambulators,  each  containing  an  infant ; 
Mrs.  Rose's  and  Mrs.  Dean's,  as  the  village  knew. 
The  lady  doctor  had  been  round  in  the  afternoon 
looking  at  all  the  babies  and  asking  questions,  and 
had  finally  picked  these  two  and  asked  if  they  might 
be  lent  for  the  meeting.  But  what  use  was  going  to 
be  made  of  the  poor  mites,  no  one  knew. 

Dr.  Cross  was  on  the  tub.  She  was  talking  about 
the  already  existing  Act,  the  Mental  Progress  Act  of 
last  year. 

"  Take  some  talking  about,  too,  to  make  us 
swallow  it  whole,"  muttered  Captain  Ambrose. 

Dr.  Cross  was  a  gracious  and  eloquent  speaker ; 
the  village  rather  liked  her.  She  talked  of  babies, 
as  one  who  knew  ;  no  doubt  she  did  know,  having, 
as  she  mentioned,  had  two  herself.  She  grew 
pathetic  in  pleading  for  the  rights  of  the  children  to 
their  chance  in  life.  Some  of  the  mothers  wiped 
their  eyes  and  hugged  their  infants  closer  to  them  ; 
they  should  have  it,  then,  so  they  should.  How, 
said  the  doctor,  were  children  to  win  any  of  life's 
prizes  without  brains  ?  (Jane  Delmer  looked  self- 


94  WHAT  NOT 

conscious  ;  she  had  won  a  prize  for  drawing  this 
term  ;  she  wondered  if  the  speaker  had  heard  this.) 
Even  health — how  could  health  be  won  and  kept 
without  intelligent  following  of  the  laws  nature  has 
laid  down  for  us  ("  I  never  did  none  o'  that,  and  look 
at  me,  seventy-five  next  month  and  still  fit  and  able," 
old  William  Weston  was  heard  to  remark),  and  how 
was  that  to  be  done  without  intelligence  ?  Several 
parents  looked  dubious  ;  they  were  not  sure  that 
they  wanted  any  of  that  in  i^.eir  households ;  it 
somehow  had  a  vague  sound  of  draughts.  .  .  .  After 
sketching  in  outline  the  probable  careers  of  the  in- 
telligent and  the  unintelligent  infant,  between  which 
so  wide  a  gulf  was  fixed,  the  doctor  discoursed  on 
heredity,  that  force  so  inadequately  reckoned  with, 
which  moulds  the  generations.  Appealing  to 
Biblical  lore,  she  enquired  if  figs  were  likely  to 
produce  thorns,  or  thistles  grapes.  This  started 
William  Weston,  who  had  been  a  gardener,  on 
strange  accidents  he  had  met  with  in  the  vegetable 
world ;  Dr.  Cross,  a  gardener  too,  listened  with 
interest,  but  observed  that  these  were  freaks  and 
must  not,  of  course,  be  taken  as  the  normal ;  then, 
to  close  that  subject,  she  stepped  down  from  the 
tub,  took  the  infants  Rose  and  Dean  out  of  their 
perambulators,  and  held  them  up,  one  on  each  arm, 
to  the  public  gaze.  Here,  you  have,  she  said,  a 
certificated  child,  whose  parents  received  a  bonus 
for  it,  and  an  uncertificated  child,  whose  parents 
were  taxed.  Observe  the  difference  in  the  two — look 


THE  EXPLANATION  CAMPAIGN         95 

at  the  bright,  noticing  air  of  the  infant  Rose  ("  Of 
course ;  she's  a-jogglin'  of  it  up  and  down  on  her 
arm,"  said  a  small  girl  who  knew  the  infant  Rose). 
Observe  its  fine,  intelligent  little  head  (Mrs.  Rose 
preened,  gratified).  A  child  who  is  going  to  make  a 
good  thing  of  its  life.  Now  compare  it  with  the 
lethargy  of  the  other  baby,  who  lies  sucking  an 
india-rubber  sucker  (a  foolish  and  unclean  habit  in 
itself)  and  taking  no  notice  of  the  world  about  it. 

"  Why,  the  poor  mite,"  this  infant's  parent  ex- 
claimed, pushing  her  way  to  the  front,  "  she's  been 
ailing  the  last  two  days  ;  it's  her  pore  little  tummy, 
that's  all.  And,  if  you  please,  ma'am,  I'll  take  her 
home  now.  Holdin'  her  up  to  scorn  before  the 
village  that  way — an'  you  call  yourself  a  mother  !  " 

"  Indeed,  I  meant  nothing  against  the  poor 
child,"  Dr.  Cross  explained,  realising  that  she  had, 
indeed,  been  singularly  tactless.  "  She  is  merely  a 
type,  to  illustrate  my  meaning.  .  .  .  And,  of 
course,  it's  more  than  possible  that  if  you  give  her 
a  thoroughly  gflod  mental  training  she  may  become 
as  intelligent  as  anyone,  in  spite  of  having  been  so 
heavily  handicapped  by  her  parents'  unregulated 
marriage.  That's  where  the  Government  Mind 
Training  Course  will  come  in.  She'll  be  developed 
beyond  all  belief.  ..." 

"  She  won't,"  said  the  outraged  parent,  arrang- 
ing her  infant  in  her  perambulator,  "  be  developed 
or  anythin'  else.  She's  comin'  home  to  bed.  And 
I'd  like  to  know  what  you  mean,  ma'am,  by  un- 


96  WHAT  NOT 

regulated  marriage.  Our  marriage  was  all  right ; 
it  was  'ighly  approved,  and  we  got  money  by  this 
baby.  It's  my  opinion  you've  mixed  the  two 
children  up,  and  are  taking  mine  for  Mrs.  Rose's 
there,  that  got  taxed,  pore  mite,  owing  to  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Rose  both  being  in  C  class." 

"  That's  right,"  someone  else  cried.  "  It's  the 
other  one  that  was  taxed  and  ought  to  be  stupid ; 
you've  got  'em  mixed,  ma'am.  Better  luck  next 
time." 

Dr.  Cross  collapsed  in  some  confusion,  amid  good- 
humoured  laughter,  and  the  infant  Rose  was  also 
hastily  restored  to  its  flattered  mother,  who,  being 
only  €3,  did  not  quite  grasp  what  had  occurred  ex- 
cept that  her  baby  had  been  held  up  for  admiration 
and  Mrs.  Dean's  for  obloquy,  which  was  quite  right 
and  proper. 

"  One  of  nature's  accidents,"  apologised  Dr. 
Cross.  "  They  will  happen  sometimes,  of  course. 
So  will  stupid  mistakes.  .  .  .  Better  luck  next 
time,  as  you  say."  She  murmured  to  Stephen 
Dixon,  "  Change  the  subject  at  once,"  so  he  got 
upon  the  tub  and  began  to  talk  about  Democracy, 
how  it  should  control  the  state,  but  couldn't,  of 
course,  until  it  was  better  educated. 

"  But  all  these  marriage  laws,"  said  a  painter  who 
was  walking  out  with  the  vicarage  housemaid  and 
foresaw  financial  ruin  if  they  got  married,  "  they 
won't  help,  as  I  can  see,  to  give  us  control  of  the 
state." 


THE  EXPLANATION  CAMPAIGN         97 

Dixon  told  him  he  must  look  to  the  future,  to  his 
children,  in  fact.  The  painter  threw  a  forward 
glance  at  his  children,  not  yet  born  ;  it  left  him  cold. 
Anyhow,  if  he  married  Nellie  they'd  probably  die 
young,  from  starvation. 

But,  in  the  main,  Dixon's  discourse  on  democracy 
was  popular.  Dixon  was  a  popular  speaker  with 
working-men  ;  he  had  the  right  touch.  But  squires 
did  not  like  him.  Captain  Ambrose  disliked  him 
very  much.  It  was  just  democracy,  and  all  this 
socialism,  that  was  spoiling  the  country. 

Mr.  Delmer  ventured  to  say  that  he  thought  the 
private  and  domestic  lives  of  the  public  ought  not  to 
be  tampered  with. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  enquired  Stephen  Dixon,  and  Mr. 
Delmer  had  not,  at  the  moment,  an  answer  ready. 
"  When  everything  else  is  being  tampered  with/' 
added  Dixon.  "  And  surely  the  more  we  tamper 
(if  you  put  it  like  that)  in  the  interests  of  progress, 
the  further  removed  we  are  from  savages." 

Mr.  Delmer  looked  puzzled  for  a  moment,  then 
committed  himself,  without  sufficient  preliminary 
thought,  to  a  doubtful  statement,  "  Human  love 
ought  to  be  free,"  which  raised  a  cheer. 

"  Free  love,"  Dixon  returned  promptly,  "  has 
never,  surely,  been  advocated  by  the  best  thinkers 
of  Church  or  State,"  and  while  Mr.  Delmer  blushed, 
partly  at  his  own  carelessness,  partly  at  the  delicacy 
of  the  subject,  and  partly  because  Pansy  Ponsonby 
was  standing  at  his  elbow,  Dixon  added,  "  Love, 


98  WHAT  NOT 

like  anything  else,  wants  regulating,  organising, 
turning  to  the  best  uses.  Otherwise,  we  become, 
surely,  no  better  than  the  other  animals."  .  .  . 

"  Isn't  he  just  terribly  fierce,"  observed  Pansy 
in  her  smiling  contralto,  to  the  world  at  large. 

Mr.  Delmer  said  uncomfortably,  "  You  mistake 
me,  sir.  I  was  not  advocating  lawless  love.  I  am 
merely  maintaining  that  love — if  we  must  use  the 
word — should  not  be  shackled  by  laws  relating  to 
things  which  are  of  less  importance  than  itself,  such 
as  the  cultivation  of  the  intelligence." 

"Is  it  of  less  importance  ?  "  Dixon  challenged 
him. 

;'  The  greatest  of  these  three,"  began  the  vicar, 
inaptly,  because  he  was  flustered. 

"  Quite  so,"  said  Dixon  ;  "  but  St.  Paul,  I  think, 
doesn't  include  intelligence  in  his  three.  St.  Paul, 
I  believe,  was  able  enough  himself  to  know  how 
much  ability  matters  in  the  progress  of  religion. 
And,  if  we  are  to  quote  St.  Paul,  he,  of  course,  was 
no  advocate  of  matrimony,  but  I  think,  when 
carried  out  at  all,  he  would  have  approved  of  its 
being  carried  out  on  the  best  possible  principles,  not 
from  mere  casual  impulse  and  desire.  .  .  .  Free- 
dom," continued  Dixon,  with  the  dreamy  and 
kindled  eye  which  always  denoted  with  him  that  he 
was  on  a  pet  topic,  "  what  is  freedom  ?  I  beg — I  do 
beg,"  he  added  hastily,  "  that  no  one  will  tell  me  it 
is  mastery  of  ourselves.  I  have  heard  that  before. 
It  is  no  such  thing.  Mastery  of  ourselves  is  a  fine 


THE  EXPLANATION  CAMPAIGN         99 

thing  ;  freedom  is,  or  would  be  if  anyone  ever  had 
such  a  thing,  an  absurdity,  a  monstrosity.  It  would 
mean  that  there  would  be  nothing,  either  external 
or  internal,  to  prevent  us  doing  precisely  what  we 
like.  No  laws  of  nature,  of  morality,  of  the  State, 
of  the  Church,  of  Society  ..." 
Dr.  Cross  caught  Kitty's  eye  behind  him. 
"  He's  off,"  she  murmured.  "  We  must  stop  him." 
Kitty  coughed  twice,  with  meaning.  It  was  a 
signal  agreed  upon  between  the  three  when  the 
others  thought  that  the  speaker  was  on  the  wrong 
tack.  Dixon  recalled  himself  from  Freedom  with  a 
jerk,  and  began  to  talk  about  the  coming  Mind 
Training  Act.  He  discoursed  upon  its  general 
advantages  to  the  citizen,  and  concluded  by  saying 
that  Miss  Grammont,  a  member  of  the  Ministry  of 
Brains,  would  now  explain  to  them  the  Act  in  detail, 
and  answer  any  questions  they  might  wish  to  put. 
This  Miss  Grammont  proceeded  to  do.  And  this 
was  the  critical  moment  of  the  meeting,  for  the 
audience,  who  desired  no  Act  at  all,  had  to  be  per- 
suaded that  the  Act  would  be  a  good  Act.  Kitty 
outlined  it,  thinking  how  much  weaker  both  Acts 
and  words  sound  on  village  greens  than  in  offices, 
which  is  certainly  a  most  noteworthy  fact,  and  one 
to  be  remembered  by  all  politicians  and  makers  of 
laws.  Perhaps  it  is  the  unappreciative  and  un- 
stimulating  atmosphere  of  stolid  distaste  which  is  so 
often,  unfortunately,  to  be  met  with  in  villages.  .  .  . 
Villages  are  so  stupid  ;  they  will  not  take  the  larger 


ioo  WHAT  NOT 

view,  nor  see  why  things  annoying  to  them  person- 
ally are  necessary  for  the  public  welfare.  Kitty 
wished  she  were  instead  addressing  a  northern  manu- 
facturing town,  which  would  have  been  much  fiercer 
but  which  would  have  understood  more  about  it. 

She  dealt  with  emphasis  on  the  brighter  sides  of 
the  Act,  i.e.  the  clauses  dealing  with  the  pecuniary 
compensation  people  would  receive  for  the  loss  of 
time  and  money  which  might  be  involved  in  under- 
going the  Training  Course,  and  those  relating  to  ex- 
emptions. When  she  got  to  the  Tribunals,  a  murmur 
of  disapproval  sounded. 

"  They  tribunals — we're  sick  to  death  of  them," 
someone  said.  "  Look  at  the  people  there  are  walk- 
ing about  the  countryside  exempted  from  the 
Marriage  Acts,  when  better  men  and  women  has  to 
obey  them.  The  tribunals  were  bad  enough  during 
the  war,  everyone  knows,  but  nothing  to  what  they 
are  now.  We  don't  want  any  more  of  those." 

This  was  an  awkward  subject,  as  Captain  Ambrose 
was  a  reluctant  chairman  of  .the  Local  Mental  Pro- 
gress Tribunal.  He  fidgeted  and  prodded  the 
ground  with  his  stick,  while  Kitty  said,  "  I  quite 
agree  with  you.  We  don't.  But  if  there  are  to  be 
exemptions  from  the  Act,  local  tribunals  are  neces- 
sary. You  can't  have  individual  cases  decided  by 
the  central  authorities  who  know  nothing  of  the  cir- 
cumstances. Tribunals  must  be  appointed  who  can 
be  relied  on  to  grant  exemptions  fairly,  on  the 
grounds  specified  in  the  Act." 


THE  EXPLANATION  CAMPAIGN       101 

She  proceeded  to  enumerate  these  grounds.  One 
of  them  was  such  poverty  of  mental  calibre  that  the 
possessor  was  judged  quite  incapable  of  benefiting 
by  the  course.  A  look  of  hope  dawned  on  several 
faces  ;  this  might,  it  was  felt,  be  a  way  out.  The 
applicant,  Kitty  explained,  would  be  granted  ex- 
emption if  suffering  from  imbecility,  extreme  feeble- 
mindedness, any  form  of  genuine  mania,  acute, 
intermittent,  chronic,  delusional,  depressive,  ob- 
sessional, lethargic.  .  .  . 

Dixon  coughed  twice,  thinking  the  subject  de- 
pressing and  too  technical  for  the  audience,  and 
Kitty  proceeded  to  outline  the  various  forms  of 
exemption  which  might  be  held,  a  more  cheerful 
topic.  She  concluded,  remembering  the  Minister's 
instructions,  by  drawing  an  inspiring  picture  of  the 
changed  aspect  life  would  bear  after  the  mind  had 
been  thus  improved  ;  how  it  would  become  a  series 
of  open  doors,  of  chances  taken,  instead  of  a  dull 
closed  house.  Everything  would  be  so  amusing,  so 
possible,  such  fun.  And  they  would  get  on  ;  they 
would  grow  rich  ;  there  would  be  perpetual  peace 
and  progress  instead  of  another  great  war,  which 
was,  alas,  all  too  possible  if  the  world  remained  as 
stupid  as  it  had  been  up  to  the  present.  .  .  . 

Here  Kitty's  eye  lighted  unintentionally  on  her 
brother  Anthony's  face,  with  the  twist  of  a  cynical 
grin  on  it,  and  she  collapsed  from  the  heights  of 
eloquence.  It  never  did  for  the_Grammonts  to  en- 
counter each  other's  eyes  when  they  were  being 


102  WHAT  NOT 

exalted ;  the  memories  and  experiences  shared  by 
brothers  and  sisters  rose  cynically,  like  rude  gamins, 
to  mock  and  bring  them  down. 

Kitty  said,  "  If  anyone  would  like  to  ask  any 
questions  ..."  and  got  off  the  tub. 

Someone  enquired,  after  the  moment  of  blankness 
which  usually  follows  this  invitation,  what  they 
would  be  taught,  exactly. 

Kitty  said  there  would  be  many  different  courses, 
adapted  to  differing  requirements.  But,  in  the  main, 
everyone  would  be  taught  to  use  to  the  best  advan- 
tage such  intelligence  as  they  might  have,  in  that 
state  of  life  to  which  it  might  please  God  to  call 
them. 

"  And  how,"  pursued  the  enquirer,  a  solid  young 
blacksmith,  "  will  the  teachers  know  what  that  may 
be?" 

Kitty  explained  that  they  wouldn't,  exactly,  of 
course,  but  the  minds  which  took  the  course  would 
be  so  sharpened  and  improved  as  to  tackle  any  work 
better  than  before.  But  there  would  also  be  forms 
to  be  filled  in,  stating  approximately  what  was  each 
individual's  line  in  life. 

After  another  pause  a  harassed-looking  woman  at 
the  back  said  plaintively,  "I'm  sure  it's  all  very 
nice,  miss,  but  it  does  seem  as  if  such  things  might 
be  left  to  the  men.  They've  more  time,  as  it  were. 
You  see,  miss,  when  you've  done  out  the  house  and 
got  the  children's  meals  and  put  them  to  bed  and 
cleaned  up  and  all,  not  to  mention  washing-day,  and 


103 

ironing — well,  you've  not  much  time  left  to  improve 
the  mind,  have  you  ?  " 

It  was  Dr.  Cross  who  pointed  out  that,  the  mind 
once  improved,  these  household  duties  would  take, 
at  most,  half  the  time  they  now  did.  "  I  know  that, 
ma'am,"  the  tired  lady  returned.  "  I've  known 
girls  who  set  out  to  improye  their  minds,  readin' 
and  that,  and  their  house  duties  didn't  take  them 
any  time  at  all,  and  nice  it  was  for  their  families. 
What  I  say  is,  mind  improvement  should  be  left  to 
the  men,  who've  time  for  such  things  ;  women  are 
mostly  too  busy,  and  if  they  aren't  they  should 
be."  ' 

Several  men  said  "  Hear,  hear  "  to  this.  Rural 
England,  as  Dr.  Cross  sometimes  remarked,  was 
still  regrettably  eastern,  or  German,  in  its  feminist 
views,  even  now  that,  since  the  war,  so  many  more 
thousands  of  women  were  perforce  independent 
wage-earners,  and  even  now  that  they  had  the  same 
political  rights  as  men.  Stephen  flung  forth  a  few 
explosive  views  on  invidious  sex  distinctions,  another 
pet  topic  of  his,  and  remarked  that,  in  the  Christian 
religion,  at  least,  there  was  neither  male  nor  female. 
A  shade  of  scepticism  on  the  faces  of  several  women 
might  be  taken  to  hint  at  a  doubt  whether  the 
Christian  religion,  in  this  or  in  most  other  respects, 
was  life  as  it  was  lived,  and  at  a  certainty  that  it  was 
time  for  them  to  go  home  and  get  the  supper.  They 
began  to  drift  away,  with  their  children  round  them, 
gossiping  to  each  other  of  more  interesting  things 


104  WHAT  NOT 

than  Mind  Training.    For,  after  all,  if  it  was  to  be  it 
was,  and  where  was  the  use  of  talking  ? 


4 

It  was  getting  dusk.  The  male  part  of  the  audi- 
ence also  fell  away,  to  talk  in  the  roads  while  supper 
was  preparing.  Only  the  vicar  was  left,  and  Captain 
Ambrose,  and  Anthony  Grammont,  and  Pansy,  who 
came  up  to  talk  to  Kitty. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Pansy,  "  I  feel  absolutely 
flattened  out  by  your  preacher,  with  his  talk  of 
'  the  other  animals,'  and  organised  love.  Now 
Mr.  Delmer  was  sweet  to  me — he  said  it  ought  to  be 
free,  an'  I  know  he  doesn't  really  think  so,  but  only 
said  it  for  my  sake  and  Tony's.  But  your  man's 
terrifyin'.  I'm  almost  frightened  to  have  him  sleep 
at  the  End  House  to-night ;  I'm  afraid  he'll  set  fire 
to  the  sheets,  he's  so  hot.  Won't  you  introduce 
me?  " 

But  Dixon  was  at  this  moment  engaged  in  talk- 
ing to  the  vicar,  who,  not  to  be  daunted  and  brow- 
beaten by  the  notorious  Stephen  Dixon,  was 
manfully  expounding  his  position  to  him  and  Dr. 
Cross,  while  Captain  Ambrose  backed  him  up. 

"  They  may  be  all  night,  I  should  judge  from  the 
look  of  them,"  said  Kitty,  who  by  now  knew  her 
clergyman  and  her  doctor  well.  "  Let's  leave  them 
at  it  and  come  home  ;  Tony  can  bring  them  along 
when  they're  ready." 


THE  EXPLANATION  CAMPAIGN        105 

The  End  House  had  offered  its  hospitality  to- all 
the  three  Explainers,  and  they  were  spending  the 
night  there  instead  of,  as  usual,  at  the  village  inn. 
Kitty  and  Pansy  were  overtaken  before  they  reached 
it  by  Anthony  and  Dr.  Cross  and  Dixon. 

Pansy  said,  with  her  sweet,  ingratiating  smile,  "  I 
was  sayin'  to  Kitty,  Mr.  Dixon,  that  you  made  me 
feel  quite  bad  with  your  talk  about  free  love." 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Dixon,  "  but  it  was  the  vicar 
who  talked  of  that,  not  I.  I  talked  of  organised  love. 
I  never  talk  of  free  love  :  I  don't  like  it." 

"  I  noticed  you  didn't,"  said  Pansy.  "  That's 
just  what  I  felt  so  bad  about.  Mind  you,  I  think 
you're  awfully  right,  only  it  takes  so  much  livin'  up 
to,  doesn't  it  ?  with  things  tangled  up  as  they  are. 
.  .  .  Sure  you  don't  mind  stayin'  with  us,  I  sup- 
pose ?  "  She  asked  it  innocently,  rolling  at  him  a 
sidelong  glance  from  her  beautiful  music-hall  eyes. 

Dixon  looked  at  sea.    "  Mind  .  .  .  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  might,  mightn't  you,  as  ours  is  free." 
Then,  at  his  puzzled  stare,  "  Why,  Kitty,  you  surely 
told  him  !  " 

"  I'm  afraid  I  never  thought  of  it,"  Kitty  faltered. 
''  She  means,"  she  explained,  turning  to  the  two 
guests,  "  that  she  and  my  brother  aren't  exactly 
married,  you  know.  They  can't  be,  because  Pansy 
has  a  husband  somewhere.  They  would  if  they 
could  ;  they'd  prefer  it." 

"  We'd  prefer  it,"  Pansy  echoed,  a  note  of  wist- 
fulness  in  her  calm  voice.  "  Ever  so  much.  It's 


io6  WHAT  NOT 

much  nicer,  isn't  it  ? — as  you  were  sayin'.  We  think 
so  too,  don't  we,  old  man  ?  "  She  turned  to  Anthony 
but  he  had  stalked  ahead,  embarrassed  by  the  turn 
the  conversation  was  taking.  He  was  angry  with 
Kitty  for  not  having  explained  the  situation  before- 
hand, angry  with  Pansy  for  explaining  it  now,  and 
angry  with  Dixon  for  not  understanding  without 
explanation. 

"  But  I  do  hope,"  Pansy  added  to  both  her  guests, 
slipping  on  her  courteous  and  queenly  manner, 
"  that  you  will  allow  it  to  make  no  difference." 

Dr.  Cross  said,  "Of  course  not.  What  do  you 
imagine  ?  "  She  was  a  little  worried  by  the  intru- 
sion of  these  irrelevant  domestic  details  into  a 
hitherto  interesting  evening.  Pansy's  morals  were 
her  own  concern,  but  it  was  a  pity  that  her  taste 
should  allow  her  to  make  this  awkward  scene. 

But  Dixon  stopped,  and,  looking  his  hostess 
squarely  in  the  face — they  were  exactly  of  a  height 
— said,  "  I  am  sorry,  but  I  am  afraid  it  does  make 
a  difference.  I  hate  being  rude,  and  I  am  most 
grateful  to  you  for  your  hospitable  invitation  ;  but 
I  must  go  to  the  inn  instead." 

Pansy  stared  back,  and  a  slow  and  lovely  rose 
colour  overspread  her  clear  face.  She  was  not  used 
to  being  rebuffed  by  men. 

"I'm  frightfully  sorry,"  Stephen  Dixon  repeated, 
reddening  too.  "  But,  you  see,  if  I  slept  at  your 
house  it  would  be  seeming  to  acquiesce  in  something 
which  I  believe  it  to  be  tremendously  important  not 


THE  EXPLANATION  CAMPAIGN        107 

to  acquiesce  in.  ...  Put  it  that  I'm  a  prig  .  .  . 
anyhow,  there  it  is.  ...  Will  you  apologise  for  me 
to  your  brother  ?  "  he  added  to  Kitty,  who  was 
looking  on  helplessly,  conscious  that  the  situation 
was  beyond  her.  "  And  please  forgive  me — I  know 
it  seems  unpardonable  rudeness."  He  held  out  his 
hand  to  Pansy,  tentatively.  She  took  it,  without 
malice.  Pansy  was  not  a  rancorous  woman. 

"  That's  all  right,  Mr.  Dixon.  If  you  can't 
swallow  our  ways,  you  just  can't,  and  there's  an 
end  of  it.  Lots  of  people  can't,  you  know.  Good 
night.  I  hope  you'll  be  comfortable." 


5 

Kitty  looked  after  him  with  a  whistle. 

"  I'm  fearfully  sorry,  Pansy  love.  I  never  thought 
to  expatiate  beforehand  on  Tony  and  you.  ...  I 
introduced  you  as  Miss  Ponsonby — but  I  suppose 
he  never  noticed,  or  thought  you  were  the  Cheeper's 
governess  or  something.  \Vho'd  have  thought  he'd 
take  on  like  that  ?  But  you  never  know,  with  the 
clergy  ;  they're  so  unaccountable." 

"  I'm  relieved,  a  bit,"  Pansy  said.  "  I  was  fright- 
ened of  him,  that's  a  fact." 

Dr.  Cross  said,  "  The  queer  thing  about  Stephen 
Dixon  is  that  you  never  know  when  he'll  take  a 
thing  in  this  way  and  when  he  won't.  I've  known 
him  sit  at  tea  in  the  houses  of  the  lowest  slum 
criminals — by  the  way,  that  is  surely  the  scriptural 


io8  WHAT  NOT 

line — and  I've  known  him  cut  in  the  street  people 
who  were  doing  the  same  things  in  a  different  way 
— a  sweating  shopowner,  for  instance.  I  some- 
times think  it  depends  with  him  on  the  size  and  com- 
fort of  the  house  the  criminal  lives  in,  which  is  too 
hopelessly  illogical,  you'd  think,  for  an  intelligent 
man  like  him.  I  lose  my  patience  with  him  some- 
times, I  confess.  But  anyhow  he  knows  his  own 
mind." 

"  He's  gone,"  Pansy  said  to  Anthony,  who  was 
waiting  for  them  at  the  gate.  "  He  thinks  it's  im- 
portant not  to  acquiesce  in  us.  So  he's  gone  to  the 
inn.  ...  By  the  way,  I  nearly  told  him  that  the 
innkeeper  is  leading  a  double  life  too — ever  so 
much  worse  than  ours— but  I  thought  it  would 
be  too  unkind,  he'd  have  had  to  sleep  on  the 
green." 

"  Well,"  Anthony  said  crossly,  "  we  can  get  on 
without  him.  But  another  time,  darling,  I  wish 
you'd  remember  that  there's  not  the  least  need  to 
explain  our  domestic  affairs  in  the  lane  to  casual 
acquaintances,  even  if  they  do  happen  to  be  spend- 
ing the  night.  It's  simply  not  done,  you  know.  It 
makes  a  most  embarrassing  situation  all  round.  I 
know  you're  not  shy,  but  you  might  remember  that 
I  am." 

"  Sorry,  old  dear,"  said  Pansy.  "  There's  been 
so  much  explainin'  this  evenin'  that  I  suppose  I 
caught  it.  ...  You  people,"  she  added  to  Dr.  Cross 
and  Kitty,  "  have  got  awkwarder  things  to  explain 


THE  EXPLANATION  CAMPAIGN        109 

than  I  have.  I'd  a  long  sight  rather  have  to  explain 
free  love  than  love  by  Act  of  Parliament." 

"  But  on  the  whole,"  said  the  doctor,  relieved  to 
have  got  on  to  that  subject  again  after  the  rather 
embarrassing  interlude  of  private  affairs,  "  I  thought 
the  meeting  this  evening  not  bad.  What  did  you 
think,  Miss  Grammont  ?  " 

"  I  should  certainly,"  said  Kitty,  "  have  expected 
it  to  have*  been  worse.  If  I  had  been  one  of  the 
audience,  it  would  have  been." 


6 

Some  of  the  subsequent  meetings  of  that  cam- 
paign, in  fact,  were.  But  not  all.  On  the  whole,  as 
Dr.  Cross  put  it,  they  were  not  bad. 

"  It's  a  toss-up,"  said  Dixon  at  the  end,  "  how 
the  country  is  going  to  take  this  business.  There's 
a  chance,  a  good  fighting  chance,  that  they  may  rise 
to  the  idea  and  accept  it,  even  if  they  can't  like  it. 
It  depends  a  lot  on  how  it's  going  to  be  worked,  and 
that  depends  on  the  people  at  the  top.  And  for  the 
people  at  the  top,  all  one  can  say  is  that  there's  a 
glimmer  of  hope.  Chester  himself  has  got  imagina- 
tion ;  and  as  long  as  a  man's  got  that  he  may  pull 
through,  even  if  he's  head  of  a  government  depart- 
ment. ...  Of  course  one  main  thing  is  not  to  make 
pledges ;  they  can't  be  kept ;  everyone  knows  they 
can't  be  kept,  as  situations  change,  and  when  they 
break  there's  a  row.  .  .  .  Another  thing — the  rich 


no  WHAT  NOT 

have  got  to  set'  the  example  ;  they  must  drop  this 
having  their  fun  and  paying  for  it,  which  the  poor 
can't  afford.  If  that's  allowed  there'll  be  revolu- 
tion. Perhaps  anyhow  there'll  be  revolution.  And 
revolutions  aren't  always  the  useful  things  they 
ought  to  be ;  they  sometimes  lead  to  reaction.  Oh, 
you  Brains  people  have  got  to  be  jolly  careful." 

A  week  later  the  Mind  Training  Bill  became  an  Act. 
It  did,  in  fact,  seem  to  be  a  toss-up  how  the  public, 
that  strange,  patient,  unaccountable  dark  horse, 
were  going  to  take  it.  That  they  took  it  at  all,  and 
that  they  continued  to  take  the  Mental  Progress 
Act,  was  ascribed  by  observant  people  largely  to  the 
queer,  growing,  and  quite  peculiar  influence  of 
Nicholas  Chester.  It  was  an  odd  influence  for  a 
minister  of  the  government  to  have  in  this  country  ; 
one  would  have  almost  have  supposed  him  instead 
a  power  of  the  Press,  the  music-hall  stage,  or  the 
cinema  world.  It  behoved  him,  as  Dixon  said  to 
be  jolly  careful. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  SIMPLE   HUMAN   EMOTIONS 


DURING  the  period  which  followed  the  Explanation 
Campaign,  Kitty  Grammont  was  no  longer  bored  by 
her  work,  no  longer  even  merely  entertained.  It 
had  acquired  a  new  flavour ;  the  flavour  of  adven- 
ture and  romance  which  comes  from  a  fuller  under- 
standing and  a  more  personal  identification;  from, 
in  fact,  knowing  more  about  it  at  first-hand. 

Also,  she  got  to  know  the  Minister  better.  At  the 
end  of  August  they  spent  a  week-end  at  the  same 
country  house.  They  were  a  party  of  four,  besides 
their  host's  family  ;  a  number  which  makes  for  in- 
timacy. Their  hostess  was  a  Cambridge  friend  of 
Kitty's,  their  host  a  man  high  up  in  the  Foreign 
Office,  his  natural  force  of  personality  obscured 
pathetically  by  that  apprehensive,  defiant,  defensive 
manner  habitual  and  certainly  excusable  in  these 
days  in  the  higher  officials  of  that  department  and 
of  some  of  the  other  old  departments  ;  a  manner  that 
always  seemed  to  be  saying,  "  All  right,  we  know 
we've  made  the  devil  of  a  mess  for  two  centuries  and 
more,  and  we  know  you  all  want  to  be  rid  of  us.  But 

in 


H2  WHAT  NOT 

we'd  jolly  well  like  to  know  if  you  think  you  could 
have  worked  things  any  better  yourselves.  Anyhow, 
we  mean  to  stick  here  till  we're  chucked  out." 

How  soon  would  it  be,  wondered  Kitty,  before  the 
officials  of  the  Ministry  of  Brains  wore  that  same 
look  ?  It  must  come  to  them  ;  it  must  come  to  all 
who  govern,  excepting  only  the  blind,  the  crass,  the 
impervious.  It  must  have  been  worn  by  the  members 
of  the  Witan  during  the  Danish  invasions  ;  by 
Strafford  before  1642  ;  by  Pharaoh's  councillors 
when  Moses  was  threatening  plagues ;  by  M. 
Milivkoff  before  March,  1917 ;  by  Mr.  Lloyd  George 
during  much  of  the  Great  War. 

But  it  was  not  worn  yet  by  Nicholas  Chester. 


He  sat  down  by  Kitty  after  dinner.  They  did  not 
talk  shop,  but  they  were  linked  by  the  strong  bond 
of  shop  shared  and  untalked.  There  was  between 
them  the  relationship,  unlike  any  other  (for  no  re- 
lationship ever  is  particularly  like  any  other)  of 
those  who  are  doing,  though  on  very  different 
planes,  the  same  work,  and  both  doing  it  well ;  the 
relationship,  in  fact,  of  a  government  official  to  his 
intelligent  subordinates.  (There  is  also  the  relation- 
ship of  a  government  official  to  his  unintelligent 
subordinates  ;  this  is  a  matter  too  painful  to  be 
dwelt  on  in  these  pages.) 

But  this  evening,  as  they  talked,  it  became  ap- 


parent  to  Kitty  that,  behind  the  screen  of  this 
relationship,  so  departmental,  so  friendly,  so  emptied 
of  sex,  a  relationship  quite  other  and  more  personal 
and  human,  which  had  come  into  embryo  being 
some  weeks  ago,  was  developing  with  rapidity.  They 
found  pleasure  in  one  another  this  evening  as  human 
beings  in  the  world  at  large,  the  world  outside 
ministry  walls.  That  was  rather  fun.  And  next 
morning  Chester  asked  her  to  come  a  walk  with  him, 
and  on  the  walk  the  new  relationship  burgeoned  like 
flowers  in  spring.  They  did  not  avoid  shop  now  that 
they  were  alone  together  ;  they  talked  of  the  Depart- 
ment, of  the  new  Act,  of  the  efforts  of  other  countries 
on  the  same  lines,  of  anything  else  they  liked.  They 
talked  of  Russian  politics  (a  conversation  I  cannot 
record,  the  subject  being  too  difficult  for  any  but 
those  who  have  the  latest  developments  under  their 
eyes,  and,  indeed,  not  always  quite  easy  even  for 
them).  They  talked  of  the  National  Theatre,  of 
animals  they  had  kept  and  cabinet  ministers  they 
had  known  ;  of  poets,  pictures,  and  potato  puddings; 
of,  in  fact,  the  things  one  does  talk  about  on  walks. 
They  told  each  other  funny  stories  of  prominent 
persons  ;  she  told  him  some  of  the  funny  stories 
about  himself  which  circulated  in  the  Ministry  ;  he 
told  her  about  his  experiences  when,  in  order  to 
collect  information  as  to  the  state  of  the  intelligence 
of  the  country  before  the  ministry  was  formed,  he 
had  sojourned  in  a  Devonshire  fishing  village  dis- 
guised as  a  fisherman,  and  in  Hackney  Wick  dis- 


H4  WHAT  NOT 

guised  as  a  Jew,  and  had  in  both  places  got  the 
better  of  everyone  round  him  excepting  only  the 
other  Hackney  Jews,  who  had  got  the  better  of  him. 
(It  was  in  consequence  of  this  that  Jews — such  Jews 
as  had  not  yet  been  forcibly  repatriated  in  the  Holy 
City — were  exempted  from  the  provisions  of  the 
Mental  Progress  Act  and  the  Mind  Training  Act. 
It  would  be  a  pity  if  Jews  were  to  become  any 
cleverer.) 

It  will  be  seen,  therefore,  that  their  conversation 
was  of  an  ordinary  description,  that  might  take 
place  between  any  two  people  of  moderate  intelli- 
gence on  any  walk.  The  things  chiefly  to  be  ob- 
served about  it  were  that  Chester,  a  silent  person 
when  he  was  not  in  the  mood  to  talk,  talked  a  good 
deal,  as  if  he  liked  talking  to-day,  and  that  when 
Kitty  was  talking  he  watched  her  with  a  curious, 
interested,  pleased  look  in  his  deep  little  eyes. 

And  that  was  all,  before  lunch  ;  the  makings,  in 
fact,  of  a  promising  friendship. 

After  tea  there  was  more.  They  sat  in  a  beech 
wood  together,  and  told  each  other  stories  of  their 
childhoods.  He  did  not,  Kitty  observed,  mention 
those  of  his  family  who  were  less  intelligent  than  the 
rest ;  no  doubt,  with  his  views  on  the  importance  of 
intellect,  he  found  it  too  depressing  a  subject.  And 
after  dinner,  when  they  said  good-night,  he  held  her 
hand  but  as  long  as  all  might  or  so  very  little  longer, 
and  asked  if  she  would  dine  with  him  on  Thursday. 
It  was  the  look  in  his  eyes  at  that  moment  which 


THE  SIMPLE  HUMAN  EMOTIONS      115 

sent  Kitty  up  to  bed  with  the  staggering  perception 
of  the  dawning  of  a  new  and  third  relationship — not 
the  official  relationship,  and  not  the  friendship  which 
had  grown  out  of  it,  but  something  still  more  simple 
and  human.  He,  probably,  was  unaware  of  it ; 
the  simple  human  emotions  were  of  no  great  interest 
to  Nicholas  Chester,  whose  thoughts  ran  on  other 
and  more  complex  businesses.  One  might  surmise 
that  he  might  fall  very  deeply  in  love  before  he  knew 
anything  much  about  it.  Kitty,  on  the  other  hand, 
would  always  know,  had,  in  fact,  always  known, 
everything  she  was  doing  in  that  way,  as  in  most 
others.  She  would  track  the  submersion,  step  by 
step,  amused,  interested,  concerned.  This  way  is 
the  best ;  not  only  do  you  get  more  out  of  the  affair 
so,  but  you  need  not  allow  yourself,  or  the  other 
party  concerned,  to  be  involved  more  deeply  than 
you  think  advisable. 

So,  safe  in  her  bedroom,  standing,  in  fact,  before 
the  looking-glass,  she  faced  the  glimpse  of  a  possi- 
bility that  staggered  her,  bringing  mirth  to  her  eyes 
and  a  flutter  to  her  throat. 

"  Good  God ! "  (Kitty  had  at  times  an  eighteenth- 
century  emphasis  of  diction,  following  in  the  steps 
of  the  heroines  of  Jane  Austen  and  Fanny  Burney, 
who  dropped  oaths  elegantly,  like  flowers.)  "  Good 
God !  He  begins  to  think  of  me."  Then,  quickly, 
followed  the  thought,  to  tickle  her  further,  "  Is  it 
right  ?  Is  it  convenable  ?  Should  ministers  look  like 
that  at  their  lady  clerks  ?  Or  does  he  think  that, 


n6  WHAT  NOT 

as  he's  uncertificated  and  no  hopes  of  an  outcome 
can  be  roused  in  me,  he  may  look  as  he  likes  ?  " 

She  unhooked  her  dress,  gazing  at  her  reflection 
with  solemn  eyes,  which  foresaw  the  potentialities 
of  a  remarkable  situation. 

But  what  was,  in  fact,  quite  obvious,  was  that  no 
situation  could  possibly  be  allowed  to  arise. 

Only,  if  it  did.  .  .  .  Well,  it  would  have  its 
humours.  And,  after  all,  should  one  turn  one's  back 
on  life,  in  whatever  curious  guise  it  might  offer  itself  ? 
Kitty,  at  any  rate,  never  yet  had  done  this.  She  had 
once  accepted  the  invitation  of  a  Greek  brigand  at 
Thermopylae  to  show  her,  and  her  alone,  his  country 
home  in  the  rocky  fastnesses  of  Velukhi,  a  two  days' 
journey  from  civilisation  ;  she  had  spent  a  week- 
end as  guest-in-chief  of  a  Dervish  at  Yuzgat ;  she 
had  walked  unattended  through  the  Black  Forest 
(with,  for  defence,  a  walking-stick  and  a  hat-pin), 
and  she  had  become  engaged  to  Neil  Desmond. 
Perhaps  it  was  because  she  was  resourceful  and 
could  trust  her  natural  wits  to  extricate  her,  that 
she  faced  with  temerity  the  sometimes  awkward 
predicaments  in  which  she  might  find  herself  in- 
volved through  this  habit  of  closing  no  door  on  life 
The  only  precjicament  from  which  she  had  not,  so 
far,  succeeded  in  emerging,  was  her  engagement ; 
here  she  had  been  baffled  by  the  elusive  quality 
which  defeated  her  efforts  not  by  resistance  but  by 
merely  slipping  out  of  hearing. 
And  if  this  was  going  to  turn  into  another  situa- 


THE  SIMPLE  HUMAN  EMOTIONS      117 

tion  .  .  .  well,  then,  she  would  have  had  one  more 
in  her  life.    But,  after  all,  very  likely  it  wasn't. 

"  Ministers,"  Kitty  soliloquised,  glancing  men- 
tally at  the  queer,  clever,  humorous  face  which  had 
looked  at  her  so  oddly,  "  ministers,  surely,  are  made 
of  harder  stuff  than  that.  And  prouder.  Ministers, 
surely,  even  if  they  permit  themselves  to  flirt  a  little 
with  the  clerks  of  their  departments,  don't  let  it  get 
serious.  It  isn't  done.  You  flatter  yourself,  my 
poor  child.  Your  head  has  been  turned  because  he 
laughed  when  you  tried  to  be  funny,  and  because, 
for  lack  of  better  company  or  thinking  your  pink 
frock  would  go  with  his  complexion,  he  walked  out 
with  you  twice,  and  because  he  held  your  hand  and 
looked  into  your  eyes.  You  are  becoming  one  of 
those  girls  who  think  that  whenever  a  man  looks  at 
them  as  if  he  liked  the  way  they  do  their  hair,  he 
wants  to  kiss  them  at  once  and  marry  them  at 
last.  .  .  ." 

3 

"  What's  amusing  you,  Kate  ?  "  her  hostess  en- 
quired, coming  in  with  her  hair  over  her  shoulders 
and  her  Cambridge  accent. 

"  Nothing,  Anne,"  replied  Kitty,  after  a  medita- 
tive pause,  "  that  I  can  possibly  ever  tell  you. 
Merely  my  own  low  thoughts.  They  always  were 
low,  as  you'll  remember." 

"  They  certainly  were,"  said  Anne. 


n8  WHAT  NOT 

4 

This  chapter,  as  will  by  this  time  have  been  ob- 
served, deals  with  the  simple  human  emotions,  their 
development  and  growth.  But  it  will  not  be 
necessary  to  enter  into  tedious  detail  concerning 
them.  They  did  develop  ;  they  did  grow  ;  and  to 
indicate  this  it  will  only  be  necessary  to  select  a  few 
outstanding  scenes  of  different  dates. 

On  September  2nd,  which  was  the  Thursday  after 
the  week-end  above  described,  Kitty  dined  with 
Chester,  and  afterwards  they  went  to  a  picture 
palace  to  see  "  The  Secret  of  Success,"  one  of  their 
own  propaganda  dramas.  It  had  been  composed 
by  the  bright  spirits  in  the  Propaganda  Department 
of  the  Ministry,  and  was  filmed  and  produced  at 
government  expense.  The  cinematograph,  the  stage, 
and  the  Press  were  now  used  extensively  as  organs 
to  express  governmental  points  of  view ;  after  all, 
if  you  have  to  have  such  things,  why  not  make  them 
useful  ?  Chester  smiled  sourly  over  it,  but  acqui- 
esced. The  chief  of  such  organs  were  of  course  the 
new  State  Theatre  (anticipated  with  such  hope  by 
earnest  drama-lovers  for  so  many  years)  and  the 
various  State  cinemas,  and  the  Hidden  Hand,  the 
government  daily  paper ;  but  even  over  the  un- 
official stage  and  film  the  shadow  of  the  State  lay 
black. 

The  Secret  of  Success  depicted  lurid  episodes  in 
the  careers  of  two  young  men  ;  the  contrast  was  not, 


THE  SIMPLE  HUMAN  EMOTIONS      119 

as  in  other  drama,  between  virtue  and  vice,  but 
between  Intelligence  and  the  Reverse.  Everywhere 
Intelligence  triumphed,  and  the  Reverse  was  shamed 
and  defeated.  Intelligence  found  the  hidden 
treasure,  covered  itself  with  glory,  emerged  tri- 
umphant from  yawning  chasms,  flaming  buildings, 
and  the  most  suspicious  situations,  rose  from  obscure 
beginnings  to  titles,  honours  and  position,  and  finally 
won  the  love  of  a  pure  and  wealthy  girl,  who  jilted 
the  brainless  youth  of  her  own  social  rank  to  whom 
she  had  previously  engaged  herself  but  who  had,  in 
every  encounter  of  wits  with  his  intelligent  rival, 
proved  himself  of  no  account,  and  who  was  finally 
revealed  in  a  convict's  cell,  landed  there  by  his  con- 
spicuous lack  of  his  rival's  skill  in  disengaging  him- 
self from  compromising  situations.  Intelligence, 
with  his  bride  on  his  arm,  visited  him  in  his  cell, 
and  gazed  on  him  with  a  pitying  shake  of  the  head, 
observing,  "  But  for  the  Government  Mind  Training 
Course,  I  might  be  in  your  shoes  to-day."  Finally, 
their  two  faces  were  thrown  on  the  screen,  immense 
and  remarkable,  the  one  wearing  over  his  ethereal 
eyes  the  bar  of  Michael  Angelo,  the  other  with  a 
foolish,  vacant  eye  and  a  rabbit  mouth  that  was 
ever  agape. 

This  drama  was  sandwiched  between  The  Habits 
of  the  Kola  Bear,  and  How  his  Mother-in-law  Came 
to  Stay,  and  after  it  Chester  and  Kitty  went  out 
and  walked  along  the  Embankment. 

It  was  one  of  those  brilliant,  moonlit,  raidless 


120  WHAT  NOT 

nights  which  still  seemed  so  strange,  so  almost  rlat, 
in  their  eventlessness.  Instinctively  they  strained 
their  ears  for  guns  ;  but  they  heard  nothing  but  the 
rushing  of  traffic  in  earth  and  sky. 

5 

"  The  State,"  said  Chester,  "  is  a  great  debaucher. 
It  debauches  literature,  art,  the  press,  the  stage, 
and  the  Church ;  but  I  don't  think  even  its  worst 
enemies  can  say  it  has  debauched  the  cinema  stage. 
.  .  .  What  a  people  we  are ;  good  Lord,  what  a 
people  !  " 

"  As  long  as  we  leave  Revue  alone,  I  don't  much 
mind  what  else  we  do,"  Kitty  said.  "  Revue  is 
England's  hope,  I  believe.  Because  it's  the  only  art 
in  which  all  the  forms  of  expression  come  in — talk- 
ing, music,  singing,  dancing,  gesture — standing  on 
your  head  if  nothing  else  will  express  you  at  the 
moment.  ...  I  believe  Revue  is  going  to  be  tre- 
mendous. Look  how  its  stupidities  and  vulgarities 
have  been  dropping  away  from  it  lately,  this  last 
year  has  made  a  new  thing  of  it  altogether ;  it's 
beginning  to  try  to  show  the  whole  of  life  as  lived. 
.  .  .  Oh,  we  must  leave  Revue  alone,  ...  I  some- 
times think  it's  so  much  the  coming  thing  that  I 
can't  be  happy  till  I've  chucked  my  job  and  gone 
into  it,  as  one  of  a  chorus.  I  should  feel  I  was  truly 
serving  my  country  then  ;  it  would  be  a  real  thing, 
instead  of  this  fantastic  lunacy  I'm  involved  in 
now.  ..." 


THE  SIMPLE  HUMAN  EMOTIONS      121 

At  times  Kitty  forgot  she  was  talking  to  the 
Minister  who  had  created  the  fantastic  lunacy. 

"  You  can't  leave  the  Ministry,"  said  the  Minister 
curtly.  "  You  can't  be  spared." 

Kitty  was  annoyed  with  him  for  suddenly  being 
serious  and  literal  and  even  cross,  and  was  just 
going  to  tell  him  she  should  jolly  well  leave  the 
Ministry  whenever  she  liked,  when  some  quality  in 
his  abrupt  gravity  caught  the  words  from  her  lips. 

"  We  haven't  got  industrial  conscription  to  that 
extent  yet,"  she  merely  said,  weakly. 

It  was  all  he  didn't  say  to  her  in  the  moment's 
pause  that  followed  which  was  revealing ;  all  that 
seemed  to  be  forced  back  behind  his  guarded  lips. 
What  he  did  say,  presently,  was  "  No,  more's  the 
pity.  It'll  come,  no  doubt." 

And,  talking  of  industrial  conscription,  they 
walked  back. 

What  stayed  with  Kitty  was  the  odd,  startled, 
doubtful  look  he  had  given  her  in  that  moment's 
pause  ;  almost  as  if  he  were  afraid  of  something. 


6 

Kitty  took  at  this  time  to  sleeping  badly ;  even 
worse,  that  is  to  say,  than  usual.  In  common  with 
many  others,  she  always  did  so  when  she  was  par- 
ticularly interested  in  anyone.  She  read  late,  then 
lay  and  stared  into  the  dark,  her  thoughts  turning 
and  twisting  in  her  brain,  till,  for  the  sake  of  peace, 


122  WHAT  NOT 

she  turned  on  the  light  again  and  read  something  ; 
something  cold,  soothing,  remote  from  life  as  now 
lived,  like  Aristophanes,  Racine,  or  Bernard  Shaw. 
Attaining  by  these  means  to  a  more  detached  phil- 
osophy, she  would  drift  at  last  from  the  lit  stage 
where  life  chattered  and  gesticulated,  and  creep 
behind  the  wings,  and  so  find  sleep,  so  little  before 
it  was  time  to  wake  that  she  began  the  day  with  a 
jaded  feeling  of  having  been  up  all  night. 

On  one  such  morning  she  came  down  to  find  a 
letter  from  Neil  Desmond  in  its  thin  foreign  en- 
velope addressed  in  his  flat,  delicate  hand.  He  wrote 
from  a  Pacific  island  where  he  was  starting  a  news- 
paper for  the  benefit  of  the  political  prisoners 
confined  there  ;  it  was  to  be  called  "  Freedom  "  (in 
the  British  Isles  no  paper  of  this  name  would  be 
allowed,  but  perhaps  the  Pacific  Island  censorship 
was  less  strict)  and  he  wanted  Kitty  to  come  and  be 
sub-editor.  .  .  . 

Kitty,  instead  of  lunching  out  that  day,  took 
sandwiches  to  the  office  and  spent  the  luncheon-hour 
breaking  off  her  engagement  again.  The  reason 
why  Neil  never  got  these  letters  was  the  very  reason 
which  impelled  her  to  write  them — the  lack  of 
force  about  him  which  made  his  enterprises  so 
ephemeral,  and  kept  him  ever  moving  round  the 
spinning  world  to  try  some  new  thing. 

Force.  How  important  it  was.  First  Brains,  to 
perceive  and  know  what  things  we  ought  to  do, 
then  Power,  faithfully  to  fulfil  the  same.  In  another 


THE  SIMPLE  HUMAN  EMOTIONS      123 

twenty  or  thirty  years,  perhaps  the  whole  British 
nation  would  be  full  of  both  these  qualities,  so  full 
that  the  things  in  question  really  would  get  done. 
And  then  what  ?  Kitty's  mind  boggled  at  the 
answer  to  this.  It  might  be  strangely  upsetting.  .  .  . 
She  stamped  her  letter  and  lit  a  cigarette.  The 
room,  empty  but  for  her,  had  that  curious,  flat, 
dream-like  look  of  arrested  activity  which  belongs 
to  offices  in  the  lunch  hour.  If  you  watch  an  office 
through  that  empty  hour  of  suspension  you  may 
decipher  its  silent,  patient,  cynical  comment  (slowly 
growing  into  distinctness  like  invisible  ink)  on  the 
work  of  the  morning  which  has  been,  and  of  the 
afternoon  which  is  to  be.  Kitty  watched  it,  amused, 
then  yawned  and  read  Stop  It,  the  newest  weekly 
paper.  It  was  a  clever  paper,  for  it  had  succeeded 
so  far  (four  numbers)  in  not  getting  suppressed,  and 
also  in  not  committing  itself  precisely  to  any  direct 
statement  as  to  what  it  wanted  stopped.  It  was 
produced  by  the  Stop  It  Club,  and  the  government 
lived  in  hopes  of  discovering  one  day,  by  well-timed 
police  raids  on  the  Club  premises,  sufficient  lawless 
matter  to  justify  it  in  suppressing  both  the  Club 
and  the  paper.  For  Dora  had  recently  been  trying 
to  retrieve  her  character  in  the  eyes  of  those  who 
blackened  it,  and  was  endeavouring  to  act  in  a  just 
and  temperate  manner,  and  only  to  suppress  those 
whose  guilt  was  proven.  Last  Sunday,  for  instance, 
a  Stop  It  procession  had  been  allowed  to  parade 
through  the  city  with  banners  emblazoned  with  the 


124  WHAT  NOT 

ambiguous  words.  There  were,  of  course,  so  many 
things  that,  it  was  quite  obvious,  should  be  stopped  ; 
the  command  might  have  been  addressed  to  those 
of  the  public  who  were  grumbling,  or  to  the  govern- 
ment who  were  giving  them  things  to  grumble  at ; 
to  writers  who  were  producing  books,  journalists 
producing  papers,  parliaments  producing  laws,  provi- 
dence producing  the  weather,  or  the  agents  of  any 
other  regrettable  activity  at  the  moment  in  progress. 
Indeed,  the  answer  to  the  enquiry  "  Stop  what  ?  " 
might  so  very  plausibly  be  "  Stop  it  all,"  that  it  was 
a  profitless  question. 

It  was  just  after  two  that  the  telephone  on 
Prideaux's  table  rang.  (Kitty  was  working  in 
Prideaux's  room  now.)  "  Hullo,"  said  a  voice  in 
answer  to  hers,  "  Mr.  Prideaux  there  ?  Or  anyone 
else  in  his  room  I  can  speak  to  ?  The  Minister 
speaking." 

Not  his  P.S.  nor  his  P.A.,  but  the  Minister  him- 
self ;  an  unusual,  hardly  seemly  occurrence,  due, 
no  doubt,  to  lunch-time.  Kitty  was  reminded  of  a 
story  someone  had  told  her  of  a  pert  little  office 
flapper  at  one  end  of  a  telephone,  chirping,  "  Hullo, 
who  is  it  ?  "  and  the  answer,  slow,  dignified,  and 
crushing,  from  one  of  our  greater  peers — "  Lord 
Blankson  .  .  ."  (pause)  "  HIMSELF." 

"  Mr.  Prideaux  isn't  in  yet,"  said  Kitty.  "  Can 
I  give  him  a  message  ?  " 

There  was  a  moment's  pause  before  the  Minister's 
voice,  somehow  grown  remote,  said,  "No,  thanks, 
it's  all  right.  I'll  ring  him  up  later." 


THE  SIMPLE  HUMAN  EMOTIONS      125 

He  rang  off  abruptly.  (After  all,  how  can  one 
ring  off  in  any  other  way  ?)  He  had  said,  "  Or  any- 
one else  in  his  room  I  can  speak  to,"  as  if  he  would 
have  left  a  message  with  any  chance  clerk  ;  but  he 
had  not,  apparently,  wished  to  hold  any  parley  with 
her,  even  over  the  telephone,  which  though  it  has 
an  intimacy  of  its  own  (marred  a  little  by  a  listening 
exchange)  is  surely  a  sufficiently  remote  form  of 
intercourse.  But  it  seemed  that  he  was  avoiding 
her,  keeping  her  at  a  distance,  ringing  her  off ;  his 
voice  had  sounded  queer,  abrupt,  embarrassed,  as 
if  he  was  shy  of  her.  Perhaps  he  had  thought 
things  over  and  perceived  that  he  had  been  en- 
couraging one  of  his  clerks  to  step  rather  too  far 
out  of  her  position  ;  perhaps  he  was  afraid  her  head 
might  be  a  little  turned,  that  she  might  think  he 
was  seeking  her  out,  .  .  . 

Kitty  sat  on  the  edge  of  Prideaux's  table  and 
swore  softly.  She'd  jolly  well  show  him  she  thought 
no  such  thing. 

"  These  great  men,"  she  said,  "  are  insufferable." 


7 

When  they  next  met  it  was  by  chance,  in  a  street 
aeroplane.  The  aero  was  full,  and  they  didn't  take 
much  notice  of  each  other  till  something  went  wrong 
with  the  machinery  and  they  were  falling  street- 
wards,  probably  on  the  top  of  that  unfortunate  shop, 
Swan  and  Edgar's.  In  that  dizzy  moment  the 


126  WHAT  NOT 

Minister  swayed  towards  Kitty  and  said,  "  Relax 
the  body  and  don't  protrude  the  tongue/'  and  then 
the  crash  came. 

They  only  grazed  Swan  and  Edgar's,  and  came 
down  in  Piccadilly,  amid  a  crowd  of  men  who  scat- 
tered like  a  herd  of  frightened  sheep.  No  one  was 
much  hurt  (street  aeros  were  carefully  padded  and 
springed,  against  these  catastrophes),  but  Kitty 
chanced  to  strike  the  back  of  her  head  and  to  be 
knocked  silly.  It  was  only  for  a  moment,  and  when 
she  recovered  consciousness  the  Minister  was  bending 
over  her  and  whispering,  "  She's  killed.  She's  killed. 
Oh  God." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Kitty,  sitting  up,  very  white. 
"  It  takes  quite  a  lot  more  than  that." 

His  strained  face  relaxed.  "  That's  all  right, 
then,"  he  said. 

"I'm  dining  in  Hampstead  in  about  ten  minutes," 
said  Kitty.  "  I  must  get  the  tube  at  Leicester 
Square." 

"  A  taxi,"  said  the  Minister,  "  would  be  better. 
Here  is  a  taxi.  I  shall  come  too,  in  case  there  is 
another  mischance,  which  you  will  hardly  be  fit 
for  alone  at  present."  He  mopped  his  mouth. 

"  You  have  bitten  your  tongue,"  said  Kitty,  "  in 
spite  of  all  you  said  about  not  protruding  it." 

"  It  was  while  I  was  saying  it,"  said  the  Minister, 
"  that  the  contact  occurred.  Yes.  It  is  painful." 

They  got  into  the  taxi.  The  Minister,  with  his 
scarlet-stained  handkerchief  to  his  lips,  mumbled, 


THE  SIMPLE  HUMAN  EMOTIONS      127 

"  That  was  a  very  disagreeable  shock.  You  were 
very  pale.  I  feared  the  worst." 

"  The  worst,"  said  Kitty,  "  always  passes  me  by. 
It  always  has.  I  am  like  that." 

"  I  am  not,"  he  said.  "  I  am  not.  I  have 
bitten  my  tongue  and  fallen  in  love.  Both  bad 
things." 

He  spoke  so  indistinctly  that  Kitty  was  not  sure 
she  heard  him  rightly. 

"  And  I,"  she  said,  "  only  feel  a  little  sick.  .  .  . 
No,  don't  be  anxious  ;  it  won't  develop." 

The  Minister  looked  at  her  as  she  powdered  her 
face  before  the  strip  of  mirror. 

"  I  wouldn't  put  that  on,"  he  advised  her.  "  You 
are  looking  too  pale  already." 

"  Quite,"  said  Kitty.  "  It's  pink  powder,  you 
see.  It  will  make  me  feel  more  myself." 

"  You  need  nothing,"  he  told  her  gravely.  "  You 
are  all  right  as  you  are.  It  is  fortunate  that  it  is 
3^ou  and  not  I  who  are  going  out  to  dinner.  I 
couldn't  talk.  I  can't  talk  now.  I  can't  even  tell 
you  what  I  feel  about  you." 

"  Don't  try,"  she  counselled  him,  putting  away 
her  powder-puff  and  not  looking  at  him. 

He  was  leaning  forward,  his  elbows  on  his  knees, 
looking  at  her  with  his  pained-humorist's  face  and 
watchful  eyes. 

"  I  expect  you  know  I've  fallen  in  love  with  you  ?  " 
he  mumbled.  "  I  didn't  mean  to  ;  in  fact,  I've  tried 
not  to,  since  I  began  to  notice  what  was  occurring. 


128  WHAT  NOT 

It's  excessively  awkward.     But  ...  I  have  not 
been  able  to  avoid  it." 

Kitty  said  "  Oh,"  and  swallowed  a  laugh.  One 
didn't  laugh  when  one  was  receiving  an  avowal  of 
love,  of  course.  She  felt  giddy,  and  seas  seemed  to 
rush  past  her  ears. 

"  There  are  a  good  many  things  to  talk  about  in 
connection  with  this,"  said  the  Minister.  "  But  it 
is  no  use  talking  about  them  unless  I  first  know 
what  you  feel  about  it — about  me,  that  is.  Will  you 
tell  me,  if  you  don't  mind  ?  " 

He  asked  it  gently,  considerately,  almost  humbly. 
Kitty,  who  did  mind  rather,  said  "  Oh,"  again,  and 
lay  back  in  her  corner.  She  still  felt  a  little  dizzy, 
and  her  head  ached.  It  is  not  nice  having  to  say 
what  one  feels  ;  one  would  rather  the  other  person 
did  it  all.  But  this  is  not  fair  or  honourable.  She 
remembered  this  and  pulled  herself  together. 

"  I  expect,"  she  said,  swinging  her  glasses  by 
their  ribbon,  cool  and  yet  nervous,  "  I  expect  I  feel 
pretty  much  the  same  as  you  do  about  it." 

After  a  moment's  pause  he  said,  "  Thank  you. 
Thank  you  very  much  for  telling  me.  Then  it  is 
of  use  talking  about  it.  Only  not  now,  because  I'm 
afraid  we're  just  getting  there.  And  to-morrow  I 
am  going  to  a  conference  at  Leeds.  I  don't  think 
I  can  wait  till  the  day  after.  May  I  call  for  you  to-, 
night  and  we'll  drive  back  together?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Kitty,  and  got  out  of  the  taxi. 


THE  SIMPLE  HUMAN  EMOTIONS      129 


8 

When  they  were  in  it  again  they  comported  them- 
selves for  a  little  while  in  the  manner  customary  on 
these  occasions,  deriving  the  usual  amount  of 
pleasurable  excitement  therefrom. 

Then  the  Minister  said,  "  Now  we  must  talk.  All 
is  not  easy  about  our  situation." 

"  Nothing  is  easy  about  it,"  said  Kitty.  "  In  fact, 
we're  in  the  demon  of  a  mess." 

He  looked  at  her,  biting  his  lips. 

'  You  know  about  me,  then  ?  That  I'm  uncer- 
tificated  ?  But  of  course  you  do.  It  is,  I  believe, 
generally  known.  And  it  makes  the  position  ex- 
actly what^you  say.  It  means  ..." 

"  It  means,"  said  Kitty,  "  that  we  must  get  over 
this  unfortunate  passion." 

He  shook  his  head,  with  a  shrug. 

"  One  can,  you  know,"  said  Kitty.  "I've  been 
in  and  out  before — more  than  once.  Not  so  badly, 
perhaps,  but  quite  badly  enough.  You  too,  prob- 
ably ?  " 

"  Yes.  Oh,  yes,"  he  admitted  gloomily.  "  But  it 
wasn't  like  this.  Neither  the  circumstances,  nor  the 
— the  emotion." 

Kitty  said,  "  Probably  not.  Why  should  it  be  ? 
Nothing  ever  is  exactly  like  anything  else,  luckily. 
.  .  .  By  the  way,  when  did  you  begin  to  take 
notice  of  me  ?  Don't  worry,  if  you  can't  remember." 


130  WHAT  NOT 

He  thought  for  a  minute,  then  shook  his  head. 

"I'm  bad  at  these  things.  Didn't  we  meet  at 
Prideaux's  one  night  in  the  spring  ?  I  observed  you 
then ;  I  remember  you  amused  me.  But  I  don't 
think  the  impression  went  deep.  .  .  .  Then — oh,  we 
met  about  a  good  deal  one  way  and  another — and  I 
suppose  it  grew  without  my  noticing  it.  And  then 
came  that  week-end,  and  that  did  the  trick  as  far 
as  I  was  concerned.  I  knew  what  I  was  doing  after 
that,  and  I  tried  to  stop  it,  but,  as  you  see,  I  have 
failed.  This  evening  I  told  you,  I  suppose,  under 
the  influence  of  shock.  ...  I  am  not  sorry.  It  is 
worth  it,  whatever  comes  of  it." 

"  Nothing  can  come  of  it,"  said  Kitty.  "  Not  the 
least  thing  at  all.  Except  being  friends.  And  you 
probably  won't  want  that.  Men  don't." 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  want  it  at  all.  But  I 
suppose  I  must  put  up  with  it."  He  began  to 
laugh,  with  his  suppressed,  sardonic  laughter,  and 
Kitty  laughed  too. 

"  We're  fairly  hoist  with  our  own  petard,  aren't 
we  ?  "  he  said.  "  Think  of  the  scandal  we  might 
make,  if  we  did  what  we  chose  now.  ...  I  believe 
it  would  be  the  coup  de grace  for  the  Brains  Ministry." 
He  stated  a  simple  fact,  without  conceit. 

"  It's  a  ro'tten  position,"  he  continued  moodily. 
"  But  there  it  is.  ...  And  you're  A,  aren't  you  ? 
You'll  have  to  marry  someone,  eventually.  If  only 
you  were  B2  or  3 — only  then  you  wouldn't  be  your- 
self. As  it  is,  it  would  be  criminally  immoral  of  me 


THE  SIMPLE  HUMAN  EMOTIONS     131 

to  stand  in  your  way.  The  right  thing,  I  suppose, 
would  be  for  us  to  clear  out  of  each  other's  way  and 
give  each  other  a  chance  to  forget.  The  right  thing. 
...  Oh  damn  it  all,  I'm  as  bad  as  the  most  muddle- 
headed  fool  in  the  country,  who  doesn't  care  that 
for  the  right  thing  if  it  fights  against  his  individual 
impulses  and  desires.  ...  I  suppose  moralists 
would  say  here's  my  chance  to  bear  my  witness,  to 
stand  by  my  own  principles  and  show  the  world 
they're  real.  .  .  .  They  are  real,  too ;  that's  the 
mischief  of  it.  I  still  am  sure  they  matter  more 
than  anything  else ;  but  just  now  they  bore  me. 
I  suppose  this  is  what  a  moral  and  law-abiding 
citizen  feels  when  he  falls  in  love  with  someone 
else's  wife.  .  .  .  What  are  you  laughing  at  now  ?  " 
"  You,"  said  Kitty.  "  This  is  the  funniest  con- 
versation. ...  Of  course  it's  a  funny  position — 
it's  straight  out  of  a  comic  opera.  What  a  pity 
Gilbert  and  Sullivan  didn't  think  of  it ;  they'd  have 
done  it  beautifully.  ...  By  the  way,  I  don't  think 
I  shall  be  marrying  anyone  anyhow,  so  you  needn't 
worry  about  that.  I've  broken  off  my  last  engage- 
ment— at  least  I've  done  my  best  to  ;  it  became  a 
bore.  I  don't  really  like  the  idea  of  matrimony,  you 
know  ;  it  would  be  too  much  of  a  tie  and  a  settling 
down.  Yes,  all  right,  I  know  my  duty  to  my 
country,  but  my  duty  to  myself  comes  first.  ...  So 
there's  no  harm,  from  my  point  of  view,  in  our  going 
on  seeing  each  other  and  taking  each  other  out  and 
having  as  good  a  time  as  we  can  in  the  circum- 


132  WHAT  NOT 

stances.  Shall  we  try  that  way,  and  see  if  it 
works  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we'll  try,"  he  said,  and  took  her  again  in  his 
arms.  "It's  all  we  can  get,  so  we'll  take  it  ...  my 
dear." 

"  I  think  it's  a  good  deal,"  said  Kitty.  "  It  will 
be  fun.  .  .  .  You  know,  I'm  frightfully  conceited  at 
your  liking  me — I  can't  get  used  to  it  yet ;  you're 
so  important  and  superior.  It  isn't  every  day  that 
a  Minister  of  a  Department  falls  in  love  with  one  of 
his  clerks.  It  isn't  really  done,  you  know,  not  by 
the  best  Ministers." 

"  Nor  by  the  best  clerks,"  he  returned.  "  We 
must  face  the  fact  that  we  are  not  the  best  people." 

"  And  here's  my  flat.  Will  you  come  in  and  have 
something  ?  There's  only  my  cousin  here,  and  she's 
never  surprised  ;  her  own  life  is  too  odd." 

"  I  think  it  would  be  inadvisable,"  said  the 
Minister  discreetly.  "  '  We  don't  want  to  coddle  our 
reputations,  but  we  may  as  well  keep  an  eye  on 
them.'  " 

On  that  note  of  compromise  they  parted. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   BREAKING   POINT 

I 

IT  was  six  months  later :  in  fact,  April.  It  was  a 
Saturday  afternoon,  and  many  people  were  going 
home  from  work,  including  Kitty  Grammont  and 
Ivy  Delmer,  who  were  again  in  the  Bakerloo 
tube,  on  their  way  to  Marylebone  for  Little 
Chantreys. 

The  same  types  of  people  were  in  the  train  who 
had  been  in  it  on  the  Monday  morning  in  May  which 
is  described  in  the  opening  chapter  of  this  work, 
The  same  types  of  people  always  are  in  tube  trains 
(except  on  the  air-raid  nights  of  the  Great  War,  when 
a  new  and  less  self-contained  type  was  introduced). 
But  they  were  the  same  with  a  difference  :  it  was  as 
if  some  tiny  wind  had  stirred  and  ruffled  the  face  of 
sleeping  waters.  In  some  cases  the  only  difference 
was  a  puzzled,  half-awakened,  rather  fretful  look, 
where  had  been  peace.  This  was  to  be  observed  in 
the  faces  of  the  impassive  shopping  women.  Still 
they  sat  and  gazed,  but  with  a  difference.  Now  and 
then  a  little  shiver  of  something  almost  like  a  thought 
would  nicker  over  the  calm,  observing,  roving  eyes, 

133 


134  WHAT  NOT 

which  would  distend  a  little,  and  darken  with  a  faint 
annoyance  and  fear.  Then  it  would  pass,  and  leave 
the  waters  as  still  as  death  again  ;  but  it  had  been 
there.  And  it  was  quite  certain  there  were  fewer 
of  these  ruminating  ladies.  Some  had  perhaps  died 
of  the  Mind  Training  Course,  of  trying  to  use  their 
brains.  (They  say  that  some  poor  unfortunates  who 
have  never  known  the  touch  of  soap  and  water  on 
their  bodies  die  of  their  first  bath  on  being  brought 
into  hospital :  so  these.)  Some  who  had  been  in  the 
ruminating  category  six  months  ago  were  now 
reading  papers.  Some  others,  who  still  gazed  at 
their  fellows,  gazed  in  a  different,  manner ;  they 
would  look  intently  at  someone  for  half  a  minute, 
then  look  away,  and  their  lips  would  move,  and  it 
was  apparent  that  they  were,  not  saying  their 
prayers,  but  trying  to  repeat  to  themselves  every 
detail  of  what  they  had  seen.  For  this  was  part  of 
the  Government  Mind  Training  Course  (observation 
and  accuracy).  And  one  large  and  cow-like  lady 
with  a  shopping-bag  containing  circulating  library 
books  and  other  commodities  said  to  her  com- 
panion, in  Kitty  Grammont's  hearing,  two  things 
that  accorded  strangely  with  her  aspect. 

"  I  couldn't  get  anything  worth  reading  out  of  the 
library  to-day — they  hadn't  got  any  of  the  ones  I'd 
ordered.  These  look  quite  silly,  I'm  sure.  There 
aren't  many  good  books  written,  do  you  think  ?  " 

Doubtful  she  was,  and  questioning  :  but  still, 
she  had  used  the  word  "  good  "  and  applied  it  to  a 


THE  BREAKING  POINT  135 

book,  as  she  might  have  to  butter,  or  a  housemaid, 
or  a  hat,  implying  a  possible,  though  still  dimly  dis- 
cerned, difference  between  one  book  and  another. 
And  presently  she  said  a  stranger  thing. 

"  What,"  she  enquired,  "  do  you  think  about  the 
state  of  things  between  Bavaria  and  Prussia  ?  Re- 
lations to-day  seemed  more  strained  than  ever,  I 
thought." 

Her  companion  could  not  be  said  to  rise  to  this  ; 
she  replied  merely  (possibly  having  a  little  missed 
the  drift  of  the  unusual  question)  that  in  her  view 
relations  were  very  often  a  nuisance,  and  exhausting. 
So  the  subject  was  a  little  diverted  ;  it  went  off,  in 
fact,  on  to  sisters-in-law ;  but  still  it  had  been 
raised. 

Beyond  these  ladies  sat  another  who  looked  as  if 
she  had  obtained  exemption  from  the  Mind  Training 
Course  on  the  ground  that  her  mind  (if  any)  was  not 
susceptible  of  training  ;  and  beyond  her  sat  a  little 
typist  eating  chocolates  and  reading  the  Daily 
Minor.  Last  May  she  had  been  reading  "  The  love 
he  could  not  buy  "  ;  this  April  she'  was  reading 
"  How  to  make  pastry  out  of  nuts."  Possibly  by 
Christmas  she  might  be  reading  "  Which  way  shall 
I  Vote  and  Why  ?  " 

Ivy  Delmer,  next  her,  was  reading  the  notices 
along  the  walls.  Between  "  Ask  Mr.  Punch  into 
your  home  "  and  "  Flee  from  the  wrath  to  come  " 
there  was  a  gap,  where  a  Safety  if  Possible  notice 
had  formerly  offered  the  counsel  "  Do  not  sit  down 


136  WHAT  NOT 

in  the  street  in  the  middle  of  the  traffic  or  you  may 
get  killed."  A  month  ago  this  had  been  removed. 
It  had,  apparently,  been  decided  by  the  Safety  if 
Possible  Council  that  the  public  had  at  last  out- 
grown their  cruder  admonitions.  The  number  of 
street  accidents  was,  in  fact,  noticeably  on  the 
decline.  It  seemed  as  if  people  were  learning, 
slowly  and  doubtfully,  to  connect  cause  and  effect. 
A  was  learning  why  he  would  be  killed,  B  why  he 
would  not.  Ivy  Delmer  noticed  the  gap  on  the 
wall,  and  wondered  what  would  take  its  place. 
Perhaps  it  would  be  another  text ;  but  texts  were 
diminishing  in  frequency  ;  one  seldom  saw  one  now. 
More  likely  it  would  be  an  exhortation  to  Take  a 
Holiday  in  the  Clouds,  or  Get  to  Watford  in  five 
minutes  by  Air  (and  damn  the  risk). 

Ivy,  as  she  had  a  year  ago,  looked  round  at  the 
faces  of  her  fellow-travellers — mostly  men  and  girls 
going  home  from  business.  Quite  a  lot  of  young 
men  there  were  in  these  days  ;  enough,  you'd  almost 
think,  for  there  to  be  one  over  for  Ivy  to  marry  some 
day.  .  .  .  Ivy  sighed  a  little.  She  hoped  rather  that 
this  would  indeed  prove  to  be  so,  but  hoped  without 
conviction.  After  all,  few  girls  could  expect  to  get 
married  in  these  days.  She  supposed  that  if  she 
married  at  all,  she  ought  to  take  a  cripple,  or  a  blind 
one,  and  keep  him.  She  knew  that  would  be  the 
patriotic  course ;  but  how  much  nicer  it  would  be 
to  be  taken  by  a  whole  one  and  get  kept !  She  looked 
at  the  pale,  maimed  young  men  round  her,  and 


THE  BREAKING  POINT  137 

decided  that  they  didn't,  mostly,  look  like  keeping 
anyone  at  all,  let  alone  her ;  they  were  too  tired. 
The  older  men  looked  more  robust ;  but  older  men 
are  married.  Some  of  them  looked  quite  capable 
and  pleased  with  themselves,  as  if  they  were  saying, 
"  What  have  I  got  out  of  it,  sir  ?  Why,  £100  more 
per  annum,  more  self-confidence,  and  a  clearer 
head." 

There  was  also  a  brilliant-looking  clergyman, 
engaged  probably  in  reforming  the  Church  ;  •  but 
clergymen  are  different,  one  doesn't  marry  them. 
Altogether,  not  a  hopeful  collection. 

The  train  got  to  Marylebone  pretty  quickly,  be- 
cause it  had  almost  abandoned  its  old  habit  of 
stopping  half-way  between  every  two  stations.  No 
one  had  ever  quite  known  why  it  had  done  this  in  the 
past,  but,  with  the  improvement  in  the  brains  of  the 
employees  of  the  electric  railways,  the  custom  had 
certainly  gradually  decreased. 

Marylebone  too  had  undergone  a  change  :  there 
was  rather  less  running  hither  and  thither,  rather 
less  noise,  rather  less  smoke,  and  the  clock  was  more 
nearly  right.  Nothing  that  would  strike  the  eye  of 
anyone  who  was  not  looking  for  signs,  but  little  mani- 
festations which  made  the  heart,  for  instance,  of 
Nicholas  Chester  stir  within  him  with  satisfaction 
when  he  came  that  way,  or  the  way  of  any  other 
station  (excepting  only  the  stations  of  the  South 
Eastern  line,  the  directors  and  employees  of  which 
had  been  exempted  in  large  numbers  from  the  Mind 


138  WHAT  NOT 

Training  Act  by  the  Railway  Executive  Committee, 
as  not  being  likely  to  profit  by  the  course). 

Certainly  the  train  to  Little  Chantreys  ran  better 
than  of  old,  and  with  hardly  any  smoke.  Someone 
had  hit  on  a  way  of  reducing  the  smoke  nuisance  ; 
probably  of,  eventually,  ending  it  altogether.  Kitty 
Grammont  and  Ivy  Delmer  found  themselves  in  the 
same  compartment,  and  talked  at  intervals  on  the 
journey.  Ivy  thought,  as  she  had  thought  several 
times  during  the  last  few  months,  that  Kitty  looked 
prettier  than  of  old,  and  somehow  more  radiant, 
more  lit  up.  They  talked  of  whether  you  ought  to 
wear  breeches  as  near  to  town  as  West  Ealing,  and 
left  it  unsettled.  They  talked  of  where  you  could 
get  the  best  chocolates  for  the  least  money,  and  of 
what  was  the  best  play  on  just  now.  They  talked 
of  the  excess  of  work  in  the  office  at  the  present 
moment,  caused  by  the  new  Instruction  dealing 
with  the  exemption  of  journalists  whose  mental 
category  was  above  B2.  (This  was  part  of  the  price 
which  had  to  be  paid  by  the  Brains  Ministry  for  the 
support  of  the  press,  which  is  so  important.)  They 
began  to  talk,  at  least  Ivy  did,  of  whether  you  can 
suitably  go  to  church  with  a  dog  in  your  muff ;  and 
then  they  got  to  Little  Chantreys. 


Ivy  found  her  parents  in  the  garden,  weeding  the 
paths.     Jane  and  John  were  playing  football,  and 


THE  BREAKING  POINT  139 

Jelly  was  trotting  a  lonely  trail  round  the  domains 
in  a  character  apparently  satisfactory  to  himself  but 
which  would  have  been  uncertain  to  an  audience. 

"Well,  dear,"  said  the  vicar,  looking  up  at  Ivy 
from  his  knees.  The  vicarage  had  not  yet  adopted 
the  new  plan  of  destroying  weeds  by  electricity  ; 
they  had  tried  it  once,  but  the  electricity  had  some- 
how gone  astray  and  electrified  Jelly  instead  of  the 
weeds,  so  they  had  given  it  up.  The  one-armed 
soldier  whom  they  employed  as  gardener  occasion- 
ally pulled  up  a  weed,  but  not  often,  and  he  was  off 
this  afternoon  anyhow,  somewhat  to  the  Delmers' 
relief.  Of  course  one  must  employ  disabled  soldiers, 
but  the  work  gets  on  quicker  without  them. 

"  Have  you  had  a  hard  day,  darling  ?  "  enquired 
Mrs.  Delmer,  busy  scrabbling  with  a  fork  between 
paving-stones. 

"  Rather,"  said  Ivy,  and  sat  down  on  the  wheel- 
barrow. "  The  Department's  frightfully  rushed  just 
now.  .  .  .  Mr.  Prideaux  says  the  public  is  in  a  state 
of  unrest.  It  certainly  seems  to  be,  from  the  number 
of  grumbling  letters  it  writes  us.  ...  You're  look- 
ing tired,  Daddy." 

"  A  little,  dear."  The  vicar  got  up  to  carry  away 
his  basket  of  weeds  to  the  bonfire.  Mrs.  Delmer  said, 
"  Daddy's  had  a  worrying  time  in  the  parish.  Two 
more  poor  little  abandoned  babies." 

"  Where  were  they  left  this  time  ?  "  Ivy  asked 
with  interest. 

"  One  at  the  Police  Station,  with  a  note  to  say  the 


140  WHAT  NOT 

government  had  driven  the  parents  to  this ;  the 
other  just  outside  our  garden  door,  with  no  note  at 
all,  but  I  suppose  it's  the  same  old  story.  We've 
no  clue  to  either  yet ;  they're  not  from  Little 
Chantreys,  of  course,  but  I  suppose  we  shall  trace 
them  in  time.  Daddy's  been  making  enquiries 
among  the  village  people  ;  none  of  them  will  say, 
if  they  know,  but  Daddy  says  they're  all  in  a  sad 
state  of  anger  and  discontent  about  the  Baby  Laws  ; 
he  thinks  they're  working  up  worse  every  day. 
There's  so  much  talk  of  different  laws  for  rich  and 
poor.  Of  course  when  people  say  that,  what  they 
always  mean  is  that  it's  the  same  law  for  both,  and 
ought  to  be  different.  Even  that  isn't  true,  of 
course,  in  this  case,  as  the  taxes  are  in  proportion 
to  the  income  ;  but  it  certainly  does  come  very  hard 
on  the  poor.  Daddy  thinks  it  his  duty  to  preach 
about  it  again  to-morrow,  and  that  worries  him, 
because  he  may  get  arrested  and  fined.  But  he  feels 
it's  right.  He  thinks  the  country  is  in  real  danger 
of  risings  and  revolts  if  this  goes  on.  He  says  the 
Stop  It  League  is  doing  its  best  to  stir  up  rebellion, 
and  that  would  be  such  a  calamity.  And  all  these 
poor  little  babies  abandoned  or  disowned  all  over 
the  country  ;  it  goes  to  one's  heart.  .  .  .  Don't 
talk  about  it,  darling,  it  worries  Daddy  so.  ...  And 
poor  Brown  is  so  little  use  with  the  vegetable  garden. 
His  Mind  Training  Course  seems  really  to  have  quite 
upset  him  ;  he  talks  and  looks  so  strangely  now. 
And  Daddy's  worried  about  Mr.  Hawtrey  "  (the 


THE  BREAKING  POINT  141 

curate),  "  who's  joined  the  Church  Improvement 
Society  and  has  become  dreadfully  restless,  and 
keeps  saying  Daddy  ought  to  join  it  too." 

Mrs.  Delmer  sighed,  and  changed  the  subject,  as 
the  vicar  came  back,  to  the  amount  of  blossom  there 
was  on  the  white-heart  cherry. 

Ivy  went  indoors.  She  went  up  to  the  room  she 
shared  with  Betty.  Betty  was  there,  staining  a 
straw  hat  with  Jackson's  nut-brown  hat-polish. 

Ivy  said,  "A  nice  mess  you're  making.  I  should 
think  you  might  remember  it's  my  room  as  well  as 
yours,"  and  Betty  said,  "Socks."  From  which  it 
may  be  inferred  that  these  sisters,  good-humoured 
in  the  main  to  others,  were  frequently  short-tempered 
to  one  another. 

Ivy  said  next,  opening  a  drawer,  "  I  won't  stand 
it.  You've  been  pinching  my  handkerchiefs." 

Betty  replied  absently,  and  as  if  from  habit  rather 
than  from  reflection,  "  Haven't  been  near  your  old 
drawer." 

"  Liar.  There  were  twelve  here  this  morning  and 
now  there  are  only  ten.  I've  told  you  before  I 
won't  stand  having  my  things  pinched.  If  you're 
too  slack  to  earn  enough  to  keep  yourself  in  hand- 
kerchiefs, you  must  do  without,  that's  all." 

"  I  suppose  you'd  rather  I'd  used  my  sleeve  at 
the  Whites'  tennis  this  morning,  wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  I  shouldn't  care  if  you  had.  .  .  .  Tennis  in  the 
morning's  a  pretty  rotten  idea  anyhow,  if  you  ask 
me.  You're  the  biggest  slacker  I  ever  came  across. 


142  WHAT  NOT 

If  I  was  Daddy  I  wouldn't  keep  you  eating  your  head 
off,  even  if  you  aren't  clever.  You're  going  on  like 
a  girl  before  the  war.  Your  Training  Course  doesn't 
seem  to  have  done  you  the  slightest  good,  either. 
It's  people  like  you  who'll  rot  up  the  whole 
plan." 

"  It's  rot  anyhow,"  Betty  returned,  without  in- 
terest, turning  her  hat  about  critically.  '  You 
should  just  hear  the  way  they're  all  going  on  about 
it  in  the  village.  Stuff  and  nonsense,  I  call  it.  And 
as  long  as  people  like  me  and  the  village — normal, 
ordinary  people — think  it's  stuff  and  nonsense, 
.  .  .  well,  it  will  be  stuff  and  nonsense,  that's 
all." 

"  People  like  you,"  Ivy  retorted  witheringly,  as 
she  changed  her  skirt  for  her  country  breeches. 

But,  after  all,  that  retort  didn't  dispose  of  Betty, 
or  the  people  like  Betty  ...  or  the  whole  vicarage 
family  .  .  .  or  most  of  Little  Chantreys.  .  .  .  Those 
people,  after  all,  were  going  to  take  more  disposing 
of  than  that.  .  .  .  They  were,  quite  possibly,  going 
to  take  more  disposing  of  than  anyone  yet 
knew. 

"  Silly  ass,"  said  Ivy,  but  with  a  touch  of 
doubt. 

She  thought  her  new  green  breeches  were  rather 
nice,  anyhow,  and  that  seemed  to  matter  more. 


THE  BREAKING  POINT  143 

3 

Kitty  found  her  brother  Cyril  at  the  End  House. 
Cyril  was  in  a  poor  way.  His  publishing  business 
was  on  the  edge  of  bankruptcy. 

"  So  much  for  your  abominable  Brains  Ministry," 
he  complained.  "  The  mass  of  safe,  mediocre  stuff 
on  which  publishers  count  for  a  living  while  they 
adventure  with  the  risks  is  being  gradually  with- 
drawn. It  simply  doesn't  come  in.  Its  producers 
are  becoming — many  of  them — just  too  intelligent. 
I'm  not  imagining  this  ;  I  know  of  several  cases  in 
which  it  has  happened ;  of  people  who  have  de- 
veloped just  enough  distaste  for  their  own  work  to 
dry  them  up  altogether.  What's  worse,  there  isn't 
the  same  sale  for  such  stuff  as  there  was.  When  the 
process  has  gone  much  further  (if  ever  it  does) — so 
far  that  a  lot  of  really  good  stuff  is  turned  out,  and 
read  by  large  numbers  of  people,  business  will  be  all 
right  again.  Till  then,  publishers  are  in  a  poor  way. 
.  .  .  Verse  is  dropping  off,  too,  like  autumn  leaves. 
That's  all  to  the  good.  ...  I  daresay  in  another 
year  or  two  (unless  you're  wrecked  first,  which 
seems  probable,  by  the  way)  there'll  only  be  about 
a  hundred  people  left  in  the  country  writing  any- 
thing at  all.  ...  Newspapers,  of  course,  go  on 
much  the  same ;  that's  because  you're  afraid  of 
them  and  exempt  their  staff.  Insignificant  verse 
and  meaningless  novels  may  die  a  natural  death 
(though  I  think  it  improbable),  but  Myosotis  and  the 


144  WHAT  NOT 

Patriot  and  the  Daily  Idiot  will  go  on  for  ever. 
You're  all  such  cowards  at  Whitehall.  You  dare  to 
ruin  unoffending  publishers,  to  browbeat  the  poor 
and  simple,  and  to  extract  gold  from  the  innocent 
babe  unborn,  but  you  daren't  risk  the  favour  of  the 
press." 

"  No,"  Kitty  agreed.  "  We  certainly  daren't.  .  .  . 
Not  that  we've  got  it,  you  know,  quite  the  contrary  ; 
but  we  strive  for  it.  I  was  reading  the  Herald  and 
Stop  It  in  the  train,  till  I  was  cold  with  fear.  Stop  It 
veils  its  meaning  delicately,  as  usual ;  but  it  means 
business.  .  .  .  However,  I  thought  we  should  have 
been  downed  six  months  ago,  yet  here  we  are  still. 
It's  like  skating  on  rotten  ice  so  fast  that  it  never 
breaks.  It's  fun ;  it's  exciting.  And  I  believe  if 
we  go  on  skating  fast,  it  won't  break  at  all.  You  see, 
the  government  are  getting  cleverer  and  cleverer 
themselves,  which  will  help  them  to  do  it  skilfully. 
Chester  says  his  head  really  does  feel  clearer  after 
taking  the  Course  ;  he  says  so  in  private  life,  I  mean, 
not  only,  when  he's  soft-soaping  the  public." 

"  He'll  need,"  said  Anthony,  "  a  jolly  clear  head 
before  he's  through  with  this  job.  With  every  door- 
step in  our  towns  and  villages  piled  with  exposed 
babies  .  .  .  it's  worse  than  China.  Much  worse, 
because  I  believe  in  China  they  don't  get  put  on 
door-steps,  but  left  harmlessly  out  of  the  way  in 
open  fields  and  no  one  meddles  with  them.  It's 
becoming  a  public  nuisance." 

"There  is  a  new  branch  at  the  Ministry,"  said 


THE  BREAKING  POINT  145 

Kitty,  which  is  concerned  exclusively  with  Uncer- 
tificated  Babies,  how  to  deal  with  them." 

"  An'  how  do  they  deal  with  them,  the  poor  little 
ducks  ?  "  enquired  Pansy,  who  had  just  come  in 
from  the  garden  looking  more  than  usually  gay  and 
lovely  and  fantastic  in  a  pink  sunbonnet  and  the 
kind  of  dress  affected  by  milkmaids  in  a  chorus. 

Kitty  looked  at  her  thoughtfully. 

"  I  should  hardly  like  to  tell  you.  You  mightn't 
like  it.  Besides,  it's  a  private  department,  like  the 
secret  room  in  jam  factories  where  they  make  the 
pips.  No,  Pansy  love,  I  can't  possibly  tell  you.  .  .  . 
But  they  do  deal  with  them,  quite  effectively." 

Pansy  tossed  her  Cheeper  up  and  down  to  a  gentle 
music-hall  ditty. 

"Who'll  buy  babies- 
Babies  better  dead  ? 
Here's  every  mental  category, 
From  C3  down  to  Z.  .  .  ." 

It  was  a  taking  song  as  she  crooned  it  on  the  stage, 
nursing  an  infant  on  each  arm,  and  with  a  baby- 
chorus  crying  behind  her. 


4 

After  breakfast  on  Sunday  morning  Kitty  re- 
marked that  she  was  going  by  train  to  Beaconsfield, 
where  she  had  arranged  to  meet  Chester  for  a  walk 
through  Burnham  Beeches.  She  as  a  rule  made  no 
secret  of  her  walks  with  Chester,  only  occasionally, 


146  WHAT  NOT 

when  self-consciousness  took  her.  After  all,  why 
should  she  ?  One  went  walks  with  all  sorts  of 
people,  with  any  man  or  woman  who  liked  walking 
and  talking  and  whom  one  liked  as  a  companion  ; 
it  implied  nothing.  Kitty  at  times,  with  all  it  meant 
in  this  instance  burning  and  alive  in  her  conscious- 
ness, had  to  pause  to  tell  herself  how  little  it  did 
imply  to  others,  how  she  might  mention  it  freely 
and  casually,  without  fear.  Yet  might  she  ?  The 
intimacy  of  the  Minister  of  a  Department  with  one 
of  his  clerks  was,  no  doubt,  out  of  the  ordinary,  not 
quite  like  other  intimacies  ;  perhaps  it  did  seem  odd, 
and  imply  things.  Perhaps  Kitty  might  have 
thought  so  herself,  in  another  case. 

She  announced  her  plan  this  morning  with  an 
extra  note  of  casualness  in  her  voice. 

Pansy  said,  "  Oh,  you  two.  You'll  be  goin'  baby- 
huntin'  in  the  ditches,  I  should  think,  instead  of 
pickin'  primroses.  I  should  say  you  jolly  well 
ought,  and  you'd  better  take  the  Cheeper's  pram 
with  you." 

Anthony  said,  "  Exactly  what  I  always  try  not  to 
do,  going  out  on  Sundays  with  the  people  from  my 
shop.  It  spoils  the  Sabbath  rest,  the  Pisgah's 
mountain  touch.  You'd  much  better  come  out  with 
Cyril  and  Pansy  and  me." 

"  I,"  said  Cyril,  in  his  detached  manner,  "  shall 
be  going  to  Mass." 


THE  BREAKING  POINT  147 


5       . 

They  walked  up  through  the  depraved  mushroom 
growth  round  Beaconsfield  station  to  the  old  town 
that  city  set  on  a  hill,  lying  wide  and  spacious,  with 
its  four  Ends  stretched  out  like  a  cross.  Old  Beacons- 
field  is  an  enchanted  city ;  as  it  was  in  the  seven- 
teenth and  eighteenth  centuries,  so  it  is  to-day, 
an  ancient  country  town,  full  of  brick  walls  and 
old  houses,  and  courtyards  and  coaching  inns,  and 
dignity  and  romance  and  great  elms.  But  they  left  it 
behind  them,  and  took  the  lane  that  runs  to  Hedger- 
ley,  with  the  cold  April  wind  in  their  faces. 

They  came,  four  miles  on,  to  the  forest  of  great 
beeches,  where  broad  glades  and  grassy  rides  run 
in  and  out  through  thickets  of  wild  undergrowth 
and  bracken,  and  ancient  twisted  boles  and  slim 
smooth  grey-green  stems  are  set  close  together 
under  a  rustling  singing  roof  of  brilliant  green,  the 
young,  new-born,  radiant  green  of  beeches  in  April. 
In  every  hollow  and  dip  of  the  forest's  mossy  floor, 
primroses  glimmered  in  pale  pools. 

They  sat  down  by  one  of  these  pools  to  have  their 
lunch. 

After  lunch  they  lay  on  there  and  smoked. 
Chester  lay  on  his  back,  his  hands  clasped  behind 
his  head,  staring  up  at  the  green  roof.  Kitty,  her 
round  chin  cupped  in  her  two  hands,  lay  and 
watched  his  lean,  sallow,  clever  face,  foreshortened, 


148  WHAT  NOT 

with  the  shadows  of  the  leaves  moving  on  it  and  his 
eyes  screwed  against  the  sun. 

"  Kitty,"  said  Chester  presently,  "  I  want  to  talk 
to  you." 

"  M — m."  Kitty,  having  finished  her  cigarette, 
was  chewing  grass. 

He  sat  up  and  looked  at  her,  and  as  he  looked  his 
face  grew  more  sallow  and  his  smile  died.  He 
stabbed  into  the  soft,  damp  earth  with  his  stick,  and 
frowned. 

"  It's  this,  my  dear.  I  can't  go  on  any  longer 
with  this — this  farce.  We  must  end  it.  I've  been 
meaning  to  tell  you  so  for  some  time,  but  I  thought 
I'd  give  it  a  fair  trial,  just  to  satisfy  us  both.  Well, 
we've  given  it  a  trial,  and  it  won't  work.  It  isn't 
good  enough.  We've  got  to  be  more  to  each  other 
— or  less.  This — this  beastly  half-way  house  was 
all  right  for  a  bit ;  but  we've  got  on  too  far  now  for 
it.  ...  I  should  like  to  know  what  you  think 
about  it." 

Kitty  pulled  a  primrose  to  pieces,  petal  by  petal, 
before  she  answered. 

"  One  thing  I  think,"  she  said  slowly,  "  is  that  I'm 
different  from  you.  Or  is  it  that  women  are  different 
from  men  ?  Never  mind  ;  it  doesn't  really  matter 
which.  But  I  fancy  it's  women  and  men.  Anyhow 
there  it  is.  And  the  difference  is  that  for  me  a  half- 
way house  would  always  be  better  than  nothing, 
while  for  you  it  would  be  worse.  Men  seem  to  value 
being  married  so  much  more  than  women  do — and 


THE  BREAKING  POINT  149 

friendship,  going  about  together,  having  each  other 
to  talk  to  and  play  with,  and  all  that,  seems  to 
matter  to  them  so  little.  Love  seems  to  take  differ- 
ent forms  with  men  and  women,  and  to  want 
different  ways  of  expression.  .  .  .  So  it's  not  much 
use  trying  to  understand  one  another  about  it.  ... 
That's  the  chief  thing  I  think,  Nicky." 

He  moved  impatiently. 

"  In  fact,  you're  contented  with  the  present  state 
of  things." 

"  Oh,  no.  Not  a  bit.  I  want  much  more.  But — 
if  it's  all  we  can  have.  ..." 

"  It  isn't,"  he  said.    "  We  can  get  married." 

She  shook  her  head,  with  decision. 

"No.    No.    No." 

"  Quite  quietly,"  he  pleaded.  "  No  one  would 
know  but  ourselves  and  the  registrar  and  a  witness 
whom  we'd  murder  after  the  ceremony.  Why 
shouldn't  we  ?  What  are  the  reasons  why  not  ? 
There  are  only  two  ;  you  ought  to  marry  a  certifi- 
cated person  and  have  an  intelligent  family ;  and 
I  oughtn't  to  have  a  family  at  all.  Well,  you  say 
you  don't  mean  to  marry  anyone  else  ;  so  you  may 
as  well  marry  me.  So  much  for  the  first  reason. 
And  of  course  we  wouldn't  have  a  family  ;  so  much 
for  the  second.  Well,  then  ?  " 

"  There's  a  third,"  said  Kitty.  "  And  the  only 
important  one.  There's  the  look  of  the  thing.  I 
don't  care  how  many  people  we  murder,  the  secret 
will  leak  out.  Things  always  do  leak  out.  Never, 


150  WHAT  NOT 

in  the  course  of  twenty-nine  years  of  endeavour, 
have  I  been  able  to  keep  anything  shady  from  coming 
to  light  sooner  or  later.  It  isn't  done.  You  ought 
to  know  that,  as  a  government  servant.  Has  any 
government  ever  succeeded  in  keeping  its  own  dark 
doings  secret  for  long  ?  No  ;  they  come  out  like — 
like  flowers  pushing  up  towards  daylight ;  and  then 
there's  the  devil  to  pay.  All  our  shadiest  depart- 
mental transactions  emerge  one  by  one  ;  nothing  is 
hid  that  shall  not  be  revealed.  And  our  marriage 
would  be  the  same.  Be  sure  our  sin  would  find  us 
out.  And  that  would  be  the  end  of  your  career,  and 
probably  of  the  Ministry  as  well ;  I  believe  the 
Ministry  will  stand  or  fall  with  you  ;  and  it's  already 
pretty  tottery.  .  .  .  It's  a  pity  you  can't  get  ex- 
emption ;  but  of  course  your  case  is  one  in  which 
it's  absolutely  never  given.  .  .  .  No,  we  can't  do 
this  thing.  You're  the  Minister  of  Brains  first,  and 
poor  Nicky  Chester,  who  would  like  to  marry  his 
girl,  a  long,  long  way  behind.  And  the  poor  girl  who 
would  like  to  marry  Nicky  Chester — she's  not  got 
to  count  at  all.  ...  I  don't  want  to  be  high- 
falutin  and  to  talk  about  principles,  only  to  have  a 
little  sense." 

He  was  watching  her  moodily  from  under  bent 
brows,  leaning  back  against  a  beech-trunk  and 
pulling  up  little  handfuls  of  damp  moss  with  his 
thin,  unusual  fingers. 

"  Sense,"  he  repeated.  "  It  is  sense,  to  have  what 
one  wants,  if  it  doesn't  harm  anything  or  anyone. 


THE  BREAKING  POINT  151 

And  I'll  tell  you  another  thing — not  having  it  is 
rotting  me  up  altogether — me  and  my  work.  I 
didn't  want  to  fall  in  love  again  ;  I  hoped  I'd  done 
with  all  that ;  I  tried  not  to  take  any  notice  of  you. 
But  it  was  no  go,  and  I  can't  fall  out  again,  and  I'm 
dead  sick  of  going  on  like  this.  And  my  experience 
of  life,  both  private  and  public,  has  been  longer 
than  yours,  and,  as  it  happens,  I've  known  of 
several  transactions  which  haven't  come  to  light 
and  never  will ;  I've  perpetrated  some  myself  in  the 
Ministry,  which  even  that  clear  light  which  beats 
upon  a  hotel  hasn't  yet  exposed,  and,  heaven  help- 
ing us,  won't.  You  don't  suppose  all  the  dark 
secrets  of  the  war  ever  came  out  ?  Of  course  they 
didn't.  There  are  some  that  will  wait  till  .  .  .  well, 
till  the  next  war,  let's  say.  .  .  .  Kitty,  let's  try  it. 
It's  worth  the  risk,  surely.  Let's  be  sporting. 
We're  missing — we're  missing  the  best  thing  in  the 
world,  just  out  of  funk.  I  thought  you  always  did 
things,  just  for  the  sake  of  doing  them.  I  thought 
you  never  turned  your  back  on  life.  It  isn't  like 
you." 

"Oh,"  murmured  Kitty.  "  Life.  .  .  .  There's  so 
much  of  that.  This  is  just  one  thing  out  of  it." 

"  \\'hile  you  want  it,"  he  returned,  indubitably 
correct  as  to  this,  "  it  seems  a  long  way  the  most 
important  thing." 

"  It  does,"  she  agreed.  '  There's  no  comparison 
at  all.  .  .  .  It's  queer,  isn't  it,  how  strong  it  is, 
this  odd,  desperate  wanting  of  one  person  out  of  all 


152  WHAT  NOT 

the  world.  It's  an  extraordinary,  enormously  strong 
thing.  .  .  .  But  there  are  other  things.  There  are 
jokes,  and  shops,  and  music,  and  plays,  and  pictures, 
and  nice  clothes,  and  Russian  politics,  and  absurd 
people,  and  Greek  poetry,  and  the  world's  failures 
caged  together  on  one  island,  and  things  to  eat  and 
to  drink,  and  our  careers,  and  primroses  in  woods, 
and  the  censor.  .  .  .  Good  gracious,  it's  all  like  an 
idiotic,  glorified  revue.  We  mustn't  let  the  one  thing, 
just  because  it  matters  most,  matter  alone.  It's  so 
commonplace.  Our  hearts  aren't  broken,  and  won't 
break.  We're  out  to  have  a  good  time,  and  we'll 
let  love  and  marriage  go  to  the — anywhere  they 
like,  if  we  can't  have  them.  ...  By  the  way,  if 
it's  any  comfort  to  you  (it  is  to  me)  I  shouldn't  make 
at  all  a  good  wife ;  I'm  much  nicer  as  a  friend.  I 
want  too  much  out  of  life.  I'm  grasping  and  selfish. 
You'd  find  me  tiring." 

"  I  do,"  he  returned.  "  You're  tiring  me  to  death 
now.  I've  plenty  of  friends  already,  thank  you. 
And  what  does  it  matter  to  me  what  sort  of  a  wife 
you'd  make  ?  You  talk  as  if  you  were  refusing  a 
secretarial  appointment.  I  want  you,  not  a  wife." 

"  You've  got  me,"  said  Kitty,  "  only  not  as  a 
wife.  ...  If  that's  no  use  to  you,  we'll  give  it  up. 
Nicky,  I  suppose  we'd  better  give  it  up.  It  isn't 
working.  I'll  go  right  away.  I'll  get  another  job." 

"  No,"  he  said  gloomily.  "  There's  no  need  for 
that.  Why  should  you  mess  up  your  career  ?  We 
needn't  meet.  We  shouldn't  naturally  meet,  unless 


THE  BREAKING  POINT  153 

we  made  opportunities.  I  think  you're  right,  that 
we'd  better  not  meet.  What's  the  good  of  meeting, 
just  to  repeat  this  sort  of  scene  again  and  again,  and 
hurt  each  other  ?  We've  reached  the  breaking 
point ;  I  can't  bear  any  more.  ...  I  think  we'd 
better  leave  it  that  you  let  me  know  when  you 
change  your  mind  and  will  marry  me.  You  will, 
won't  you,  when  you  do  ?  " 

'  Yes,"  said  Kitty,  and  could  say  no  more  than 
that  because  she  was  on  the  edge  of  tears. 

For  a  moment  they  clung  together,  holding  each 
other  close.  He  said,  "  My  dearest  dear,  I  love  you. 
Can't  you  ?  .  .  .  can't  you  ?  .  .  ."  and  she  whispered, 
very  pale,  "  I  love  you.  I  think  I  worship  you," 
and  laid  her  cheek  on  his  hand,  so  that  he  felt  her 
tears. 

They  walked  on  together  through  the  April  after- 
noon, and  it~cried  to  them  like  a  child  whom  they 
were  betraying  and  forsaking.  There  would  not  be 
another  day  like  this  day,  through  all  the  lovely 
awakening  spring  and  summer. 


6 

Ivy  and  Betty  Delmer,  who  had  been  spending 
the  afternoon  at  Beaconsfield,  saw  them  at  Beacons- 
field  station. 

Betty  said,  "  Surely  that's  your  Minister  with  Miss 
Grammont." 

Ivy  looked  at  them,  down  the  length  of  the  plat- 


154  WHAT  NOT 

form.  It  seemed  to  her  that  Miss  Grammont's  walk 
with  the  Minister  hadn't  been  altogether  a  success  ; 
they  both  looked  so  pale  and  tired,  and  Miss  Gram- 
mont,  surely,  had  been  crying. 

Something  suddenly  passed  into  Ivy's  conscious- 
ness about  these  two  people  whom  she  admired,  and 
her  soft  mouth  dropped  open  a  little  with  the  amaze- 
ment of  her  thoughts.  The  Minister — and  Miss 
Grammont !  It  was  surely  incredible.  Ministers 
didn't ;  they  were  too  high,  too  superior.  Besides, 
what  had  love  to  do  with  this  Minister,  who  was  un- 
certificated  for  matrimony  ?  Ivy  told  herself  she 
was  mistaken,  she  had  misread  the  look  with  which 
they  had  looked  at  each  other  as  they  parted. 

"  Are  they  thick  ?  "  Betty  was  asking,  with  care- 
less, inquisitive  interest.  Betty  wouldn't  think  it 
odd  ;  Betty  didn't  know  anything  about  ministers 
in  general  or  this  minister  in  particular. 

"  Oh,  I  think  they  know  each  other  quite  well," 
replied  Ivy.  "  Miss  Grammont's  jolly  clever,  you 
know.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  talks  about  quite 
important  things  to  her." 

"  How  dull,"  returned  Betty,  swinging  her  prim- 
roses. "  Don't  let's  get  into  the  same  carriage  as 
her.  I  never  know  if  I  know  those  End  House  people 
or  not ;  Daddy  and  mother  think  I  don't,  and  it's 
awkward.  ...  I'd  rather  enjoy  knowing  Miss 
Ponsonby  and  that  ducky  baby,  even  if  they  aren't 
respectable,  she  looks  so  sweet,  and  I'd  like  to  hear 
all  about  the  stage.  But  I've  no  use  for  your  Miss 


THE  BREAKING  POINT  155 

Grammont.  Her  clothes  are  all  right,  but  I'm  sure 
she's  stuck  up.  .  .  .  Fancy  going  out  for  Sunday 
with  the  Minister  of  a  government  department ! 
Rather  her  than  me." 

Ivy  said,  "  Don't  you  worry,  my  child.  No 
Minister'!]  ever  trouble  you  to  go  out  with  him.  As 
for  Chester,  I  should  think  he'd  have  you  executed 
after  one  talk  ;  he's  great  on  ridding  the  world  of 
the  mentally  deficient."  But  what  she  was  think- 
ing was,  "  How  fearfully  interesting  if  there  is  any- 
thing between  them."  She  wondered  what  the 
other  people  at  the  office  thought  about  it,  or  if  they 
had  ever  thought  about  it  at  all. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ON   FIXED  HEARTS  AND  CHANGING  SCENES 

I 

To  Kitty  it  was  manifest  that  the  time  had  come 
for  a  change  of  employment.  Such  times  came  fre- 
quently in  her  life ;  often  merely  because  she  got 
bored,  yawned,  wanted  a  change,  heard  life  summon- 
ing her  to  fresh  woods  and  pastures  new,  and  obeyed 
the  call.  Many  occupations  she  had  thus  thrown  up 
lightly ;  this  is  one  reason  why  those  who  regard 
life  as  a  variety  entertainment  do  not  really  get  on  ; 
they  forget  that  life  is  real,  life  is  earnest,  and  depart- 
ing leave  behind  them  no  footprints  on  the  sands  of 
time.  They  do  not  make  a  career ;  they  do  not 
make  good ;  they  do  not,  in  the  long  run,  even 
make  much  money,  though  that  rolls  in  by  fits  and 
starts,  and  at  times  plentifully.  They  do  not  so 
much  hide  their  talents  in  napkins  as  play  ball  with 
them. 

This  is  as  much  as  to  say  that  it  was  not  to  Kitty 
Grammont  the  effort  and  the  wrench  that  it  would 
have  been  to  many  people  to  contemplate  a  change 
of  avocation.  And  it  certainly  seemed  desirable. 
Chester  had  said,  "  We  needn't  meet " ;  but  the  fact 

156 


CHANGING  SCENES  157 

remained  that  when  two  people  who  love  each  other 
work  in  the  same  building,  however  remote  their 
spheres,  they  disturb  each  other,  are  conscious  of 
each  other's  nearness.  And  Chester's  presence  per- 
vaded the  whole  Ministry  ;  he  had  stamped  himself 
everywhere  ;  there  was  no  getting  away  from  him. 
His  name  was  constantly  on  the  lips  and  on  the 
pens  of  his  subordinates,  and  clicked  forth  from 
every  typewriter  ;  you  could  not  so  much  as  write 
an  official  letter  without  beginning  "  I  ani  directed 
by  the  Minister  of  Brains  to  state,"  and  signing  it 
"  for  the  Minister  of  Brains."  Besides  which,  he 
was  to  be  seen  going  out  and  coming  in,  to  be  met 
in  passages  and  lifts,  to  be  observed  taking  his  food 
in  the  canteen,  and  his  Personal  Assistant  de- 
manded continual  attention  to  him  on  the  telephone. 
No,  there  was  no  getting  away  from  the  Minister. 
And  that  meant  no  peace  of  mind,  none  of  the  old 
careless  light-hearted  living  and  working  ;  nothing 
but  a  continual,  disturbing,  restless,  aching  want. 
Kitty  had  no  intention  of  facing  this,  so  she  told 
Vernon  Prideaux  that  when  she  found  another  job 
she  was  going  to  leave.  He  looked  at  her  in  annoy- 
ance and  dismay,  and  said,  "  Good  lord,  why  ?  " 

Kitty  said,  "I'm  bored.  I  want  a  change.  I'm 
tired  of  working  for  this  autocratic  government. 
I  want  something  with  more  variety  in  it,  and  more 
soul — a  travelling  circus,  or  a  companionship  to  a 
rich  American  seeing  the  world  ;  or  any  old  thing, 
so  long  as  it  amuses  me." 


158  WHAT  NOT 

"  There's  going  to  be  quite  enough  amusement  in 
this  circus,"  said  Prideaux,  "  before  we're  through 
with  it,  to  satisfy  anyone,  I  should  say.  .  .  .  Really, 
Kitty,  I  think  you're  foolish.  You're  throwing  up 
your  chances  ;  you're  climbing  up,  and  will  climb 
higher  if  you  stay.  Even  if  the  thing  founders,  as 
is  quite  likely,  you'll  climb  out  of  it  into  another  job, 
you're  good  enough.  You  ought  to  think  of  your 
career.  And  besides,  you  can't  be  spared.  Who  on 
earth  do  you  think  is  going  to  do  your  job  ?  I  think 
you  ought  to  see  this  thing  through." 

But  Kitty  did  not  think  so.  "  It  will'  go  to  its 
own  place  quite  quickly  enough  without  my  help. 
And  as  for  my  career — funny  word — I'm  not  sure 
I've  got  one.  If  I  have  it's  such  a  chequered  one 
that  a  few  more  ups  and,  downs  won't  make  much 
difference  to  it.  And  as  for  being  spared,  oh  anyone 
can  be  spared,  out  of  any  ministry ;  there  are  too 
many  of  us.  Anyhow — well  anyhow  I  must  go." 

Prideaux  thought  this  so  frivolous,  so  foolish,  so 
unworthy,  so  tiresome,  and  so  like  a  woman,  that 
he  was  exasperated.  He  rang  for  a  shorthand  typist, 
remarking,  "  If  you  must  you  must.  Miss  Egerton  " 
(Miss  Egerton  had  succeeded  Miss  Pomfrey,  and 
was  better),  "send  to  the  Establishment  Branch  for 
Miss  Grammont's  papers  sometime,"  which  closed 
the  subject  for  the  present. 

Kitty  went  back  to  her  table  and  wrote  a  letter 
to  the  A.S.E.  about  some  unfortunate  agreement 
which  had  been  made  with  them  concerning  the 


CHANGING  SCENES  159 

exemption  of  some  of  their  members  from  the  Mind 
Training  Course.  Personally  Kitty  was  of  the 
opinion  that  it  was  a  pity  the  agreement  had  not 
been  made  as  extensive  as  the  A.S.E.  desired  ;  she 
thought  that  this  Union  were  already  too  clever  by 
half.  She  almost  went  to  the  length  of  thinking  it 
was  a  pity  the  promises  made  to  them  had  not  been 
kept ;  a  revolutionary  opinion  which  in  itself  indi- 
cated that  it  was  time  she  left.  Having  dealt  with 
the  A.S.E.  she  turned  her  attention  to  a  file  sent 
down  from  M.B.  i  and  minuted  "  Passed  to  you  to 
deal  with  this  man's  imaginary  grievance."  The 
imaginary  grievance  was  that  the  wife  of  the  man 
in  question  had  been  killed  by  a  motor  bus,  and  he 
wanted  a  week's  postponement  of  his  Mind  Training 
Course  in  order  that  he  might  arrange  about  the 
funeral.  M.B.  i  were  like  that ;  they  did  not  mean 
to  be  unkind,  but  were  a  little  lacking  in  flexibility 
and  imagination. 

Ivy  Delmer,  who  had  answered  Prideaux's  bell, 
sat  with  her  pencil  ready  and  her  round  face  bent 
over  her  notebook.  She  had  heard  Prideaux's  order 
to  his  secretary,  and  concluded,  correctly,  that  Miss 
Grammont  was  either  going  to  have  her  pay  raised 
or  to  leave,  and  from  Prideaux's  manner  and  voice 
she  thought  it  was  the  second.  She  wondered 
whether  this  could  have  anything  to  do  with  the 
Minister,  and  what  he  had  been  saying  to  Miss 
Grammont  on  Sunday.  She  was  curious  and  inter- 
ested, even  more  so  than  she  had  been  on  Sunday, 


160  WHAT  NOT 

because  the  people  to  whom  she  had  mentioned  the 
subject  had  all  noticed  the  intimacy ;  everyone 
seemed  to  have  seen  the  Minister  out  with  Miss 
Grammont  at  one  time  or  another.  No  one  but  Ivy 
thought  it  was  anything  more  than  friendship,  but 
no  one  else  had  seen  them  look  at  one  another  on 
Beaconsfield  platform.  Ivy  had,  and  said  so.  .  .  . 

Kitty  was  right ;  nothing  remained  hidden  in 
government  departments,  or,  indeed,  anywhere  else- 
Healthily,  persistently,  inevitably,  everything  pushed 
up  towards  the  clear  light  of  day  ;  and  quite  right, 
too. 

2 

In  the  evenings  Kitty,  seeking  jobs,  studied  the 
advertisement  columns  of  the  daily  papers.  She  had 
always  read  them  ;  they,  with  Mr.  Selfridge  and  the 
Pelman  system,  form  the  lighter  and  more  enter- 
taining part  of  any  daily  paper  ;  .but  now  she  took 
to  perusing  them  with  care.  The  personal  column 
of  the  Times  she  found  peculiarly  edifying. 

"  Quiet,  refined  gentleman  (served  in  war,  musical) 
would  like  to  get  into  touch  with  bright  and  sympa- 
thetic lady."  Kitty  rejected  that ;  she  was  not  sure 
that  she  was  sympathetic,  and  the  terms  were  too 
vague.  Better  was  "  Lady,  high  standard  of  taste 
and  culture  and  large  means,  wants  capable  travel- 
ling companion.  Knowledge  of  art  essential,  good 
breeding  preferred.  Must  talk  continental  languages 
fluently  and  understand  railway  guides."  Kitty, 


[ANGING  SCENES 

making  a  mental  note  of  that  (for,  with  the  possible 
exception  of  the  breeding,  she  had  all  these  quali- 
fications), ran  her  eyes  down  the  column,  past 
"Write  to  me,  darling,  all  is  forgiven,"  "Will  the 
lady  in  a  fur  toque  riding  in  a  Hammersmith  aero 
on  Saturday  last  at  3.30  communicate  with  A.C.", 
"  No  man  hath  seen  God, at  any  time,"  until  she 
came  to  "  Young,  accomplished,  well-educated  War 
Widow  would  like  position  as  secretary  or  con- 
fidential clerk  to  nobleman,  member  of  parliament, 
or  gentleman."  She  rested  her  finger  on  that.  "  I'll 
put  one  in  like  this,"  she  remarked  to  her  cousin. 
'  War  Widow.  That's  what  I've  always  wanted  to 
be.  It  sounds  so  well.  Elspeth,  I  shall  buy  some 
weeds  and  commence  widow.  A  war  widow.  ..." 

"  If  you  want  a  new  job,  and  a  job  with  travel 
and  life  in  it,"  said  her  cousin,  sounding  her,  "  I 
don't  know  why  you  don't  go  out  to  the  Pacific 
Islands  and  join  Neil.  You  may  be  sure  that  wher- 
ever Neil  is  there'll  be  travel  enough  and  life  enough." 
She  watched  Kitty  idly  through  a  little  whirl  of 
cigarette  smoke.  But  Kitty  looked  no  more  than 
bored,  bending  over  the  Times  and  manicuring  her 
nails. 

"  Neil  would  tire  me.  I've  grown  too  old  for  Neil. 
Besides,  it  wouldn't  be  proper  ;  I've  broken  off  my 
engagement.  I've  not  had  the  last  letter  back  yet, 
you  know,  so  he  may  have  got  it.  Besides  ..." 
Kitty  paused  only  for  a  moment,  and  added  in  the 
same  casual  tone,  "  besides,  I'm  too  much  in  love 

M 


i62  WHAT  NOT 

with  Nicky  Chester,  though  I  can't  have  him,  to 
have  any  use  for  anyone  else  just  now." 

Her  cousin  nodded.  "  I  knew  that,  darling,  of 
course.  And  so  you've  renounced  each  other.  How 
silly.  But  it  won't  last.  It  never  does.  Go  and  be 
a  Young  Accomplished  War  Widow,  then,  to  pass 
the  time." 

3 

But  there  were  hours  of  the  night  when  it  seemed 
to  Kitty  that  she  could  not  go  and  be  a  Young 
Accomplished  War  Widow,  that  she  could  not  be 
companion,  however  capable,  to  any  travelling  lady 
of  taste,  culture  and  means,  or  clerk,  however  con- 
fidential, to  any  peer,  M.P.,  or  even  gentleman ; 
that  none  of  these  careers  (were  they  careers  ?  She 
still  sought  to  define  that  word)  would  pass  the  time 
at  all ;  that  nothing,  in  fact,  would  pass  it  except 
working  for  Nicholas  Chester,  seeing  him  some- 
times, hearing  his  voice.  .  .  .  Always  addicted  to 
metaphysical  speculation  in  the  night,  even  in 
nights  of  anguish,  she  would  speculate  on  this  queer 
disease,  so  common  to  the  race,  which  had  over- 
taken (and  not,  as  they  had  both  candidly  remarked, 
for  the  first  time,  possibly  not  even  for  the  last) 
herself  and  Nicholas  Chester.  What  was  it,  this 
extraordinary  driving  pressure  of  emotion,  this 
quite  disproportionate  desire  for  companionship 
with,  for  contact  with,  one  person  out  of  all  the  world 
of  people  and  things,  which  made,  while  it  lasted,  all 


CHANGING   SCENES  163 

other  desires,  all  other  emotions,  pale  and  faint 
beside  it  ?  Which  so  perverted  and  wrenched  from 
its  bearings  the  mind  of  a  man  like  Nicholas  Chester 
that  he  was  for  throwing  overboard  the  cherished 
principles  which  were  the  cargo  he  had  for  long  been 
so  desperately  bent  on  carrying,  through  storm  and 
stress,  to  the  country  of  his  dreams  ?  Which  made 
him  say,  "  No  one  will  find  out,  and  if  they  do,  let 
them  and  be  damned  to  them  "  ?  .  .  .  Desire  for  a 
person ;  it  had,  it  had  always  had,  an  extraordi- 
narily dynamic  effect  on  the  lives  of  men  and  women. 
When  it  came  into  play,  principle,  chivalry,  common 
sense,  intellect,  humour,  culture,  sweetness  and 
light,  all  we  call  civilisation,  might  crumple  up  like 
match-board  so  this  one  overwhelming  desire, 
shared  by  all  the  animal  creation,  might  be  satisfied. 
On  this  rock  the  world,  the  pathetic,  eager,  clever, 
foolish,  so  heavily  handicapped  world,  might  be 
wrecked.  It  was,  perhaps,  this  one  thing  that  would 
always  prevent  humanity  from  being,  in  fact,  a 
clever  and  successful  race,  would  always  keep 
them  down  somewhere  near  the  level  of  the  other 
animals. 

Faces  passed  before  Kitty's  wakeful  eyes ;  the 
fatuous,  contented  faces  of  mothers  bending  over 
the  rewards  of  love  clinging  to  their  breasts  ;  slow, 
placid,  married  faces  everywhere.  .  .  .  This  thing 
was  irresistible,  and  certainly  inevitable ;  if  it 
ceased,  humanity  itself  would  cease,  since  it  is  the 
one  motive  which  impels  the  continued  population 


164  WHAT  NOT 

of  the  already  over-populated  earth.  There  it  was  ; 
one  had  to  accept  it ;  there  was,  perhaps,  no  one 
who  grew  to  years  of  maturity  who  escaped  it,  no 
one  whose  life  would  not,  at  some  period,  be  in  some 
degree  disorganised  by  this  strange  force.  It  was 
blind  instinct ;  its  indulgence  did  not,  in  the  end, 
even  make  for  good,  so  far  as  good  meant  adven- 
ture, romance,  and  the  gay  chances  of  life,  the 
freedom  of  the  cities  of  the  world — anything  beyond 
mere  domesticity.  For  what,  after  all,  was  marriage  ? 
A  tying  down,  a  shutting  of  gates,  the  end  of  youth, 
the  curbing  of  the  spirit  of  adventure  which  seeks 
to  claim  all  the  four  corners  of  the  world  for  its 
heritage.  It  meant  a  circumscribed  and  sober  life, 
in  one  place,  in  one  house,  with,  perhaps,  children 
to  support  and  to  mind  ;  it  meant  becoming  respect- 
able, insured,  mature,  settled  members  of  society, 
with  a  stake  in  the  country.  No  longer  may  life  be 
greeted  with  a  jest  and  death  with  a  grin ;  both 
these  (of  course  important  but  not  necessarily 
solemn)  things  have  come  to  matter  too  much  to  be 
played  with. 

To  this  sedate  end  do  the  world's  gay  and  careless 
free-lances  come ;  they  shut  the  door  upon  the 
challenging  spirit  of  life,  and  Settle  Down.  It  is  to 
this  end  that  instinct,  not  to  be  denied,  summons 
men  and  women,  as  the  bit  of  cheese  summons  the 
mouse  into  the  trap. 

Musing  thus,  Kitty  turned  her  pillow  over  and 
over,  seeking  a  softer  side.  How  she  detested 


CHANGING  SCENES  165 

stupidity !  How,  even  more,  Nicholas  Chester 
loathed  stupidity  !  To  him  it  was  anathema,  the 
root  of  all  evil,  the  Goliath  he  was  out  to  destroy, 
the  blind  beast  squatting  on  men's  bones,  the  idiot 
drivelling  on  the  village  green.  And  here  he  was, 
caught  in  the  beast's  destroying  grip,  just  because 
he  had,  as  they  call  it,  fallen  in  love.  .  .  .  What  a 
work  is  man  !  .  .  .  And  here  was  Kitty  herself,  all 
her  gay  love  of  living  in  danger,  tottering  un- 
steadily on  its  foundations,  undermined  by  this 
secret  gnawing  thing. 

At  last,  as  a  sop  to  the  craving  which  would  not 
be  denied,  she  sat  up,  with  aching,  fevered  head, 
and  turned  the  light  on,  and  wrote  on  a  piece  of 
paper,  "  Nicky,  I'll  marry  you  any  time  you  like,  if 
you  want  me  to,"  and  folded  it  up  and  laid  it  on  the 
table  at  her  side,  and  then  lay  quite  quiet,  the  rest- 
less longing  stilled  in  her,  slow  tears  forcing  them- 
selves from  under  her  closed  lashes,  because  she 
knew  she  would  not  send  it.  She  would  not  send  it 
because  Chester  too,  in  his  heart,  knew  that  they 
had  better  part ;  he  too  was  fighting  for  the  cause 
he  believed  in  ;  he  wanted  her,  but  wanted  to 
succeed  in  doing  without  her.  She  must  give  him 
his  chance  to  stick  by  his  principles,  not  drag  him 
down  below  them. 

There  were  moments  when  Kitty  wished  that  she 
could  believe  in  a  God,  and  could  pray.  It  must,  she 
thought,  be  a  comfort.  She  even  at  times  wished 
she  were  a  Christian,  to  find  fulfilment  in  loss. 


166  WHAT  NOT 

That  was,  at  least,  what  she  supposed  Christians 
to  do. 

But  she  could  not  be  a  Christian,  and  she  could 
not  pray ;  all  she  could  do  was  to  nerve  herself  to 
meet  life  in  the  spirit  of  the  gay  pierrette,  with  cap 
and  bells  on  her  aching  head,  and  a  little  powder  to 
hide  the  tears,  and  to  try  not  to  snap  at  Elspeth  or 
the  people  at  the  office.  This  last  endeavour  usually 
failed.  The  little  gaping  messengers  who  answered 
(when  they  thought  they  would)  Miss  Grammont's 
bell,  told  each  other  Miss  Grammont  was  cross. 
The  typists  grew  tired  of  having  letters  sent  back 
to  be  retyped  because  of  some  trifling  misapprehen- 
sion of  Miss  Grammont's  caligraphy  or  some  trifling 
misspelling  on  their  own  account.  Surely  these 
things  could  be  set  right  with  a  pen  and  a  little  skill. 

These  moods  of  impatience,  when  frustration 
vented  itself  in  anger,  alternated  with  the  gaiety, 
the  irreverent  and  often  profane  levity,  which  was 
Kitty's  habitual  way  of  braving  life  in  its  more 
formidable  aspects.  Some  people  have  this  instinct, 
to  nail  a  flag  of  motley  to  the  mast  of  the  foundering 
ship  and  keep  it  flying  to  the  last. 


4 

While  Kitty  was  debating  as  to  her  future,  toying 
with  the  relative  advantages  and  entertainment  to 
be  derived  from  the  careers  of  War  Widow,  Con- 
fidential Clerk,  Travelling  Companion,  archaeo- 


CHANGING  SCENES  167 

logical  explorer  in  Macedonia  or  Crete,  beginner  on 
the  music-hall  stage,  under  Pansy's  auspices,  all  of 
which  seemed  to  have  their  bright  sides,  two  sugges- 
tions were  made  to  her.  One  was  from  a  cousin  of 
hers  who  was  sub-editor  of  Stop  It,  and  offered  to  get 
her  a  place  on  the  staff. 

"  Would  it  bind  me  to  a  point  of  view  ?  "  Kitty 
enquired.  "  I  can't  be  bound  to  a  point  of  view." 

"  Oh  dear  no,"  her  cousin  assured  her.  "  Cer- 
tainly not.  Rather  the  contrary,"  and  Kitty  said, 
"  All  right,  I'll  think  it  over."  She  was  rather 
attracted  by  the  idea. 

You  cannot,  of  course,  exactly  call  it  being  bound 
to  a  point  of  view  to  be  required  to  hint  every  week 
that  certain  things  want  stopping,  in  a  world  whose 
staunchest  champions  must  admit  that  this  is 
indeed  so. 

Stop  It  was  certainly  eclectic,  in  its  picking  out, 
from  all  the  recognised  groups  associated  for  thought 
and  action,  activities  whose  cessation  seemed  good 
to  it.  The  question  that  rather  suggested  itself  to 
its  readers  was,  if  Stop  It  had  its  way,  what,  if  any- 
thing, would  be  left  ? 

"  Very  little,"  the  editor  would  have  answered. 
"  A  clean  sheet.  Then  we  can  begin  again." 

Stop  It  had  dropped  some  of  the  caution  with 
which  it  had  begun  :  it  was  now  quite  often  possible 
to  deduce  from  its  still  cryptic  phraseology  what  were 
some  of  the  things  it  wanted  stopped.  Having  for 
some  time  successfully  dodged  Dora,  it  was  now 


168  WHAT  NOT 

daring  her.  As  in  all  probability  it  would  not  have 
a  long  life,  and  appeared  to  be  having  a  merry  one, 
Kitty  thought  she  might  as  well  join  it  while  she 
could. 

To  desert  abruptly  from  the  ranks  of  the  bureau- 
cracy to  those  of  the  mutineers  seemed  natural  to 
Kitty,  who  had  always  found  herself  at  home  in  a 
number  of  widely  differing  situations.  Really  this 
is  perhaps  the  only  way  to  live,  if  all  the  various 
and  so  greatly  different  needs  of  complicated  human 
nature  are  to  be  satisfied.  It  is  very  certain  that 
they  cannot  be  satisfied  simultaneously ;  the  best 
way  seems,  therefore,  to  alternate.  It  is  indeed 
strange  that  this  is  not  more  done,  that  Radicals, 
Tories,  and  Labour  members,  for  instance,  do  not 
more  frequently  interchange,  play  general  post,  to 
satisfy  on  Tuesday  that  side  of  their  souls  and  in- 
tellects which  has  not  been  given  free  play  on  Mon- 
day ;  that  Mr.  Ramsay  Macdonald  and  Lord  Curzon 
do  not,  from  time  to  time,  deliver  each  other's 
speeches,  not  from  any  freakish  desire  to  astonish, 
but  from  the  sheer  necessities  of  their  natures  ; 
that  Mr.  Massingham  and  Mr.  Leo  Maxse,  or 
Mr.  A.  G.  Gardiner  and  Mr.  Gwynne,  or  Mr.  J.  C. 
Squire  and  Mr.  J.  St.  Loe  Strachey,  or  Mr.  Garvin 
and  Mr.  J.  A.  Spender,  do  not  from  time  to  time 
arrange  together  to  change  offices  and  run  each 
other's  papers  ;  or  that  Mr.  Arthur  Ransome  and 
Mr.  Stephen  Graham  do  not,  during  their  tours  of 
Russia,  sometimes  change  pens  with  each  other 


CHANGING  SCENES  169 

when  they  write  home.  There  must  be  in  many 
people  some  undemocratic  instinct  of  centralisation, 
of  autocratic  subversion  of  the  horde  of  their  lesser 
opinions  and  impulses  to  the  most  dominant  and 
commanding  one,  a  lack  of  the  true  democrat's 
desire  to  give  a  chance  to  them  all.  They  say  with 
the  Psalmist,  "  My  heart  is  fixed,"  and  "  I  have 
chosen  the  way  and  I  will  run  it  to  the  end,"  and 
this  is  called,  by  some,  finding  one's  true  self.  Per- 
haps it  may  be  so  ;  it  certainly  entails  the  loss  of 
many  other  selves  ;  and  possibly  the  dropping  of 
these,  or  rather  their  continual  denial  and  gradual 
atrophy,  simplifies  life. 

But  Kitty,  whose  heart  was  not  fixed,  entered 
upon  all  the  changing  scenes  of  life  with  a  readiness 
to  embrace  any  point  of  view,  though  not  indeed  to 
be  bound  to  it,  and  an  even  greater  willingness  to 
tell  anything  in  earth  or  heaven  that  it  ought  to  be 
stopped. 

She  told  Prideaux  that  she  was  considering  this 
offer.  Prideaux  said,  "  That  thing !  Its  very  name 
condemns  it.  It's  on  the  wrong  tack.  You  shouldn't 
be  out  to  stop  things ;  they've  got  to  go  on.  ...  If 
it's  journalism  you  want,  why  don't  you  apply  for 
a  job  on  Intelligence?"  Intelligence,  or  the  Weekly 
Bulletin  of  the  Brains  Ministry  (to  give  it  its  sub- 
title, humorously  chosen  by  one  who  visualised 
either  the  public  or  the  Ministry  as  a  sick  man)  was 
a  weekly  journal  issued  by  the  Ministry,  and  its  aim 
was,  besides  reporting  the  Ministry's  work,  deci- 


170  WHAT  NOT 

sions  and  pronouncements  for  each  week,  to  correlate 
all  its  local  activities  and  keep  them  in  touch  with 
headquarters,  and  to  collect  reports  from  over  the 
country  as  to  the  state  of  the  public  mind.  It  was 
for  official  circulation  only.  "  Why  not  ?  "  repeated. 
Prideaux,  struck  by  this  idea.  "  It  would  be  quite 
enough  of  a  change  :  you  would  probably  be  one 
of  the  travelling  reporters  and  send  bright  little 
anecdotes  from  the  countryside ;  I  know  they 
want  some  more  reporters.  Why  don't  you  apply  ? 
I'll  speak  to  M.B.B.  about  you  if  you  like."  (M.B.B. 
was  the  department  which  edited  the  Bulletin.) 

"  Would  it  be  interesting  ?  "  Kitty  wondered. 

Prideaux  thought  it  would.  "  Besides,"  he  addedi 
"  you'd  remain  attached  to  the  Ministry  that  way, 
and  could  return  to  headquarters  later  on  if  you 
wanted  to.  ...  And  meanwhile  you'd  see  all  the 
fun.  .  .  .  We're  in  for  a  fairly  lively  time,  and  it 
would  be  a  pity  to  miss  it.  We're  bound  to  slip  up 
over  the  A.S.E.  before  the  month's  over.  And  prob- 
ably over  the  exemption  of  Imbeciles  and  the  Aban- 
doned Babies,  too.  And  the  journalists  ;  that's 
going  to  be  a  bad  snag.  Oh,  it'll  be  interesting  all 
right.  If  it  wasn't  for  Chester's  remarkable  gift  of 
getting  on  people's  right  side,  it  would  be  a  poor 
look-out.  But  Chester'd  pull  most  things  through. 
If  they'd  put  him  at  the  head  of  the  Recruiting  job 
during  the  war,  I  believe  he'd  have  pulled  even  the 
Review  of  Exceptions  through  without  a  row.  .  .  . 
Well  now,  what  about  trying  for  this  job  ?  " 


CHANGING  SCENES  171 

"  All  right,"  Kitty  agreed.  "  If  you  think  there's 
any  chance  of  my  getting  it.  I  don't  mind  much  what 
I  do,  so  long  as  I  have  a  change  from  this  hotel." 

On  Prideaux's  recommendation  she  did  get  the 
job,  and  was  transferred  from  her  branch  to  M.B.B. 
as  a  travelling  reporter  for  Intelligence.  She  re- 
nounced Stop  It  with  some  regret ;  there  was  a 
whimsical  element  about  Stop  It  which  appealed  to 
her,  and  which  must  almost  necessarily  be  lacking 
in  an  official  journal ;  but  the  career  of  travelling 
reporter  seemed  to  have  possibilities.  Besides  the 
more  weighty  reports  from  the  countryside,  a  page 
of  Intelligence  was  devoted  each  week  to  anecdotes 
related  in  the  engagingly  sudden  and  irrelevant 
manner  of  our  cheaper  daily  Press ;  as,  "  A  woman 
appealed  before  the  Cuckfield  Tribunal  for  exemption 
from  the  Mind  Training  Course  on  the  grounds  that 
she  had  made  an  uncertificated  marriage  and  had 
since  had  twins,  and  must,  therefore,  be  of  a  mental 
level  which  unfitted  her  to  derive  benefit  from  the 
Course."  "  Three  babies  have  been  found  aban- 
doned in  a  ditch  between  Amersham  and  Chesham 
Bois."  "  The  Essex  Farmers'  Association  have  pro- 
duced a  strain  of  hens  which  lay  an  egg  each  day  all 
the  year  round.  The  farmers  ascribe  this  to  the  im- 
provement in  their  methods  caused  by  the  Mind 
Training  Course."  "  In  reply  to  a  tinplate  worker 
who  applied  for  Occupational  Exemption  from  the 
Mental  Progress  Act,  the  Chairman  of  the  Margam 
Tribunal  said  ..."  (one  of  the  witty  things  which 


172  WHAT  NOT 

chairmen  do  say,  and  which  need  not  here  be  re- 
ported). It  was,  apparently,  the  business  of  the 
reporters  to  collect  (or  invent)  and  communicate 
these  trivial  anecdotes,  as  well  as  more  momentous 
news,  as  of  unrest  at  Nottingham,  the  state  of  in- 
telligence or  otherwise  among  Suffolk  agriculturists, 
and  so  forth. 

Kitty  rather  hoped  to  be  sent  to  Ireland,  which 
was,  as  often,  in  an  interesting  and  dubious  state. 
Ireland  was  excluded  from  the  Brains  Acts,  as  from 
other  Acts.  But  she  was  being  carefully  watched, 
with  a  view  to  including  her  when  it  seemed  that  it 
might  be  safe  to  do  so.  Meanwhile  those  of  her  popu- 
lation who  were  considered  by  the  English  govern- 
ment to  be  in  no  need  of  it  were  profiting  by  the 
Mind  Training  Course,  while  the  mass  of  the  peas- 
antry were  instructed  by  their  priests  to  shun  such 
unholy  heretic  learning  as  they  would  the  devil. 
But  on  the  whole  it  seemed  possible  that  the  strange 
paths  pointed  out  by  the  Brains  Ministry  might 
eventually  lead  to  the  solution  of  the  Irish  Ques- 
tion. (What  the  Irish  Question  at  that  moment 
was,  I  will  not  here  attempt  to  explain  :  it  must  be 
sufficient  to  remark  that  there  will  always  be  one.) 


5 

But  Kitty  was  not  sent  to  Ireland.  She  was  sent 
about  England ;  first  to  Cambridge.  Cambridge 
was  not  averse  to  having  its  mind  improved  ;  there 


CHANGING  SCENES  173 

is  a  sweet  reasonableness  about  Cambridge.  It  knows 
how  important  brains  are.  Also  it  had  an  affection 
for  Chester,  who  had  been  at  Trinity.  So  reports 
from  Cambridge  as  regards  the  Brains  Acts  were 
on  the  whole  favourable,  in  spite  of  some  unrest  (for 
different  reasons)  at  Kings,  Downing,  and  Trinity 
Hall,  and  slight  ferment  of  revolt  down  at  Barnwell. 
There  was,  indeed,  a  flourishing  branch  of  the  S.I.L. 
(Stop  It  League)  in  the  University,  but  its  attention 
was  not  directed  at  the  moment  particularly  to 
stopping  the  work  of  the  Ministry  of  Brains. 

It  was,  of  course,  a  queer  and  quite  new  Cambridge 
which  Kitty  investigated.  She  had  known  the  pre- 
war Cambridge ;  there  had  intervened  the  war 
Cambridge,  that  desolated  and  desolating  thing, 
and  now  there  had  sprung  up,  on  the  other  side  of 
that  dividing  gulf,  a  Cambridge  new  and  without 
precedent ;  a  Cambridge  half  full  of  young  war 
veterans,  with  the  knowledge  of  red  horizons,  battle, 
murder,  and  sudden  death,  in  their  careless,  watchful, 
experienced  eyes ;  when  they  lounged  about  the 
streets  or  hurried  to  lectures,  they  dropped,  against 
their  will,  into  step  ;  they  were  brown,  and  hard,  and 
tired,  and  found  it  hard  to  concentrate  on  books ; 
they  had  forgotten  their  school  knowledge,  and 
could  not  get  through  Littlegoes,  and  preferred 
their  beds  to  sleeping  in  the  open,  that  joy  ol  pam- 
pered youth  which  has  known  neither  battle-fields 
or  Embankment  seats. 

The  other  half  were  the  boys  straight  from  school ; 


174  WHAT  NOT 

and  between  these  two  divisions  rolled  the  Great 
European  War,  across  which  they  could  with  diffi- 
culty make  themselves  understood  each  by  the 
other. 

It  was  a  Cambridge  which  had  broken  with 
history,  for  neither  of  these  sections  had  any  links 
with  the  past,  any  traditions  to  hand  down.  The 
only  people  who  had  these  were  the  dons  and  Fellows 
and  the  very  few  undergraduates  who,  having 
broken  off  their  University  career  to  fight,  had,  after 
long  years,  returned  to  it  again.  These  moved  like 
ghosts  among  their  old  haunts  ;  but  their  number 
was  so  inconsiderable  as  hardly  to  count.  It  was, 
to  all  intents  and  purposes,  a  new  Cambridge,  a 
clean  sheet ;  and  it  was  interesting  to  watch  what 
was  being  inscribed  upon  it. 

But  with  such  observations,  apart  from  those  of 
them  which  were  connected  with  the  attitude  of 
Cambridge  towards  the  Brains  Ministry,  neither 
Kitty  nor  this  story  are  concerned.  The  story  of 
the  new  Cambridge  will  have  to  be  written  some 
day  by  a  member  of  it,  and  should  be  well  worth 
reading. 

From  Cambridge  Kitty  went  to  travel  Cam- 
bridgeshire, which  was  in  a  state  of  quiet,  albeit 
grudging,  East  Anglian  acceptance  and  slow  assim- 
ilation. 

Far  different  were  the  northern  midlands,  which 
were  her  next  destination.  Here,  indeed,  was  revolt 
in  process  of  ferment ;  revolt  which  had  to  be  con- 


CHANGING  SCENES  175 

tinually   uncorked   and   aired   that   it   might   not 
ferment  too  much.    The  uncorking  and  airing  was 
done  by  means  of  conferences,  at  which  the  tyran- 
nised and  the  tyrants  each  said  their  say.    These 
heart-to-heart  talks  have  a  soothing  effect  (some- 
times) on  the  situation  ;    at  other  times  not.     As 
conducted  by  the  Minister  of  Brains,  they  certainly 
had.    Chester  was  something  more  than  soothing ; 
he  was  inspiring.    While  he  was  addressing  a  meet- 
ing, he  made  it  believe  that  intelligence  was  the 
important   thing ;    more  important   than   liberty, 
more  important  than  the  satisfaction  of  immediate 
desires.     He  made  intelligence  a  flaming  idea,  like 
patriotism,  freedom,  peace,  democracy,  the  eight- 
hour  day,  or  God  ;  and  incidentally  he  pointed  out 
that  it  would  lead  to  most  of  these  things  ;  and  they 
believed  him.    When  he  showed  how,  in  the  past, 
the  lack  of  intelligence  had  led  to  national  ruin, 
economic  bondage,  war,  autocracy,  poverty,  sweat- 
ing, and  vice,  they  believed  that  too.   When  he  said, 
"  Look  at  the  European  War,"  they  looked.    When 
he  went  on,  "  Without  centuries  of  stupidity  every- 
where the  war  would  never  have  been  ;    without 
stupidity  the  war,  if  it  had  been,  would  have  been 
very  differently  conducted  ;    without  stupidity  we 
need  never  have  another  war,  but  with  stupidity  we 
inevitably  shall,  League  of  Nations  or  not,"  they  all 
roared  and  cheered. 

So  he  went  about  saying  these  things,  convincing 
and  propitiating  labour  everywhere ;    labour,  that 


176  WHAT  NOT 

formidable  monster  dreaded  and  cajoled  by  all  good 
statesmen  ;  labour,  twice  as  formidable  since  in  the 
Great  War  it  had  learned  the  ways  of  battle  and  the 
possibility  and  the  power  of  the  union  of  arms  and 
the  man. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   COMMON   HERD 

I 

IT  was  after  such  a  meeting,  at  Chesterfield,  at  the 
end  of  July,  that  Kitty  and  the  Minister  next  met. 
Kitty  was  at  that  time  writing  up  the  Derbyshire 
towns  for  the  Bulletin.  She  attended  the  Chester- 
field meeting  officially.  It  was  a  good  one  ;  Chester 
spoke  well,  and  the  audience  (mainly  colliers) 
listened  well. 

It  was  a  very  hot  evening.  The  Town  Hall  was 
breathless,  and  full  of  damp,  coal-grimed,  imper- 
fectly-cleaned faces.  Kitty  too  was  damp,  though 
she  was  wearing  even  less  than  usual.  Chester  was 
damp  and  white,  and  looked,  for  all  his  flame  and 
ardour,  which  carried  the  meeting  along  with  him, 
fatigued  and  on  edge.  Kitty,  herself  fatigued  and 
on  edge,  watched  him,  seeing  the  way  his  hands 
moved  nervously  on  the  table  as  he  spoke. 

It  was  while  he  was  talking  about  the  demand  for 
increased  wages  among  colliers  to  facilitate  the  pay- 
ment of  the  taxes  on  uncertificated  babies,  that  he 
saw  Kitty.  His  eyes  stayed  on  hers  for  a  moment, 
and  he  paused  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  .  .  . 
N  177 


178  WHAT  NOT 

"  defeat  the  whole  purpose  of  the  Act,"  he  finished 
it,  and  looked  elsewhere.  Kitty  was  startled  by  his 
pause  ;  it  was  not  like  him.  Normally  he,  so  used 
to  public  speaking,  so  steeled  against  emergencies, 
so  accustomed  to  strange  irruptions  into  the  flow  of 
his  speech,  would  surely  have  carried  on  without  a 
break  or  a  sign.  That  he  had  not  done  so  showed 
him  to  be  in  a  highly  nervous  state,  thought  Kitty, 
something  like  her  own  in  this  hot  weather,  through 
her  continual  travellings  by  train  and  staying  in 
lodgings  and  writing  absurd  reports. 

Across  the  length  of  the  hall  she  saw  nothing  now 
but  that  thin,  slouching  figure,  the  gestures  of  those 
nervous,  flexible  hands,  that  white,  damp  face,  with 
its  crooked  eyebrows  and  smile. 

It  was  so  long  since  she  had  seen  him  and  spoken 
to  him  ;  something  in  her  surged  up  at  the  sight  of 
him  and  turned  her  giddy  and  faint.  It  was  peril- 
ously hot ;  the  heat  soaked  all  one's  will  away  and 
left  one  limp.  .  .  .  Did  he  too  feel  like  that  ? 


2 

He  looked  at  her  once  more,  just  before  the  end, 
and  his  eyes  said,  "  Wait  for  me." 

She  waited,  in  the  front  of  a  little  group  by  the 
door  through  which  he  was  to  come  out.  He  came 
out  with  his  secretary,  and  the  mayor,  and  others  ; 
he  was  talking  to  them.  When  he  saw  her  he 
stopped  openly,  and  said,  so  that  all  could  hear, 


THE  COMMON  HERD  179 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Grammont.  I  haven't  seen 
you  for  some  time.  You're  doing  this  reporting 
work  for  the  Bulletin  now,  aren't  you  ?  I  want  to 
talk  to  you  about  that.  If  you'll  give  me  the 
address  I'll  come  round  in  about  half  an  hour  and 
see  you  about  it." 

She  gave  him  the  address  of  her  rooms  in  Little 
Darkgate  Street,  and  he  nodded  and  walked  on. 
He  had  done  it  well ;  no  one  thought  it  strange,  or 
anything  but  all  in  the  way  of  business.  Ministers 
have  to  be  good  at  camouflage,  at  throwing  veils  over 
situations  ;  it  is  part  of  their  job. 

Kitty  went  back  to  her  lodgings,  and  washed 
again,  for  the  seventeenth  time  that  day,  and  tried 
if  she  would  feel  less  hot  and  less  pale  and  more  the 
captain  of  her  soul  in  another  and  even  filmier  blouse. 
But  she  grew  hotter,  and  paler,  and  less  the  captain 
of  anything  at  all. 

At  9.30  Chester  came.  He  too  was  hot  and  pale 
and  captain  of  nothing.  He  had  not  even  the  com- 
fort of  a  filmy  blouse. 

He  said,  "  My  dear— my  dear,"  and  no  more  for  a 
little  time.  Then  he  said,  "  My  dearest,  this  has  got 
to  stop.  I  can't  stand  it.  We've  got  to  marry." 

Kitty  said,  "  Oh  well.  I  suppose  we  have."  She 
was  too  hot,  too  limp,  too  tired,  to  suppose  anything 
else. 

"  At  once,"  said  Chester.  "  I'll  get  a  licence.  .  .  . 
\Ye  must  get  it  done  at  some  small  place  in  the 
country  where  they  don't  know  who  we  are.  I  must 


i8o  WHAT  NOT 

take  another  name  for  it.  ...  There's  a  place  I 
sometimes  stay  at,  in  the  Chilterns.  They  are  rather 
stupid  there — even  now,"  he  added,  with  the  twist 
of  a  rueful  smile.  "  I  think  it  should  be  pretty  safe. 
Anyhow  I  don't  think  I  much  care  ;  we're  going  to 
do  it." 

They  spoke  low  in  the  dim,  breathless  room,  with 
its  windows  opened  wide  on  to  the  breathless  street. 

"  I  have  wanted  you,"  s?id  Chester.  "  I  have 
wanted  you  extremely  badly  these  last  three  months. 
I  have  never  wanted  anything  so  much.  It  has  been 
a — a  hideous  time,  taking  it  all  round." 

"  You  certainly,"  said  Kitty,  "  look  as  if  it  had. 
So  do  I — don't  I  ?  It's  partly  heat  and  dirt,  with 
both  of  us — the  black  of  this  town  soaks  in — and 
partly  tiredness,  and  partly,  for  you,  the  strain  of 
your  ministerial  responsibilities,  no  doubt ;  but  I 
think  a  little  of  it  is  our  broken  hearts.  .  .  .  Nicky, 
I'm  too  limp  to  argue  or  fight.  I  know  it's  all  wrong, 
what  we're  going  to  do  ;  but  I'm  like  you — I  don't 
think  I  much  care.  We'll  get  married  in  your 
stupid  village,  under  a  false  name.  That  counts, 
does  it  ?  Oh,  all  right.  I  shouldn't  particularly 
mind  if  it  didn't,  you  know.  I'll  do  without  the 
registry  business  altogether  if  you  think  it's  safer. 
After  all,  what's  the  odds  ?  It  comes  to  the  same 
thing  in  the  end,  only  with  less  fuss.  And  it's  no 
one's  business  but  ours." 

"  No,"  Chester  said.  "  I  think  that  would  be  a 
mistake.  Wrong.  I  don't  approve  of  this  omitting 


THE  COMMON  HERD  181 

of  the  legal  bond  ;  it  argues  a  lack  of  the  sense  of 
social  ethics  ;  it  opens  the  door  to  a  state  of  things 
which  is  essentially  uncivilised,  lacking  in  self- 
control  and  intelligence.  I  don't  like  it.  It  always 
strikes  me  as  disagreeable  and  behind  the  times  ;  a 
step  backwards.  No,  we  won't  do  that.  I'd  rather 
take  the  greater -risk  of  publicity.  I'm  dropping 
one  principle,  but  I  don't  want  to  drop  more  than 
I  need." 

Kitty  laughed  silently,  and  slipped  her  hand  into 
his.  "  All  right,  you  shan't.  We'll  get  tied  up 
properly  at  your  country  registry,  and  keep  seme 
of  our  principles  and  hang  the  risk.  ...  I  oughtn't 
to  let  you,  you  know.  If  it  comes  out  it  will  wreck 
your  career  and  perhaps  wreck  the  Ministry  and 
endanger  the  intellect  of  the  country.  We  may  be 
sowing  the  seeds  of  another  World  War  ;  but — oh, 
I'm  bored  with  being  high-principled  about  it." 

"  It's  too  late  to  be  that,"  said  Chester.  "  We've 
got  to  go  ahead  now." 

He  consulted  his  pocket-book  and  said  that  he 
was  free  on  August  loth,  and  that  they  would  then 
get  married  and  go  to  Italy  for  a  fortnight's  holiday 
together.  They  made  the  other  arrangements  that 
have  to  be  made  in  these  peculiar  circumstances, 
and  then  Chester  went  back  to  his  hotel. 

The  awful,  airless,  panting  night  through  which 
the  Chesterfield  furnaces  flamed,  lay  upon  the  queer, 
crooked  black  city  like  a  menace.  Kitty,  leaning 
out  of  her  window  and  listening  to  Chester's  retreat- 


i82  WHAT  NOT 

ing  steps  echoing  up  the  street,  ran  her  fingers 
through  her  damp  dark  hair,  because  her  head  ached, 
and  murmured,  "  I  don't  care.  I  don't  care. 
What's  the  good  of  living  if  you  can't  have  what 
you  want  ?  " 

Which  expressed  an  instinct  common  to  the  race, 
and  one  which  would  in  the  end  bring  to  nothing 
the  most  strenuous  efforts  of  social  and  ethical 
reformers. 

3 

They  got  married.  Chester  took,  for  the  occa- 
sion, the  name  of  Gilbert  Lewis ;  it  was  surprising 
how  easy  this  was.  The  witness  looked  attentively 
at  him,  but  probably  always  looked  like  that  at  the 
people  getting  married.  Neither  he  nor  the  registrar 
looked  intelligent,  or  as  if  they  were  connecting 
Chester's  face  with  anything  they  had  seen  before. 

After  the  performance  they  went  to  Italy  for  a 
fortnight.  Italy  in  August  is  fairly  safe  from 
English  visitors.  They  stayed  at  Cogoleto,  a  tiny 
fishing  town  fifteen  miles  up  the  coast  from  Genoa, 
shut  in  a  little  bay  between  the  olive  hills  and  the 
sea.  To  this  sheltered  coast  through  the  summer 
months  people  come  from  the  hot  towns  inland  and 
fill  every  lodging  and  inn  and  pitch  tents  on  the 
shore,  and  pass  serene,  lazy,  amphibious  days  in  and 
out  of  a  sea  which  has  the  inestimable  advantage 
over  English  seas  that  it  is  always  at  hand. 

The  Chesters  too  passed  amphibious  days.    They 


THE  COMMON  HERD  183 

would  rise  early,  while  the  sea  lay  cool  and  smooth 
and  pale  and  pearly  in  the  morning  light,   and 
before  the  sand  burnt  their  feet  as  they  walked  on 
it,  and  slip  in  off  the  gently  shelving  shore,  and 
swim  and  swim  and  swim.    They  were  both  good 
swimmers.    Chester  was  the  stronger  and  faster,  but 
Kitty  could  do  more  tricks.    She  could  turn  somer- 
saults like  an  eel,  and  sit  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea 
playing  with  pebbles,  with  open  eyes  gazing  up 
through  clear  green  depths.     When  they  bathed 
from  a  boat,  she  turned  head  over  heels  backwards 
from  the  bows,  and  shot  under  the  boat  and  came 
up  neatly  behind  the  stern.    Chester  too  could  per- 
form fairly  well ;  their  energy  and  skill  excited  the 
amazed  admiration  of  the  bagnanti,  who  seldom  did 
more  than  splash  on  the  sea's  edge  or  bob  up  and 
down  with  swimming  belts  a  few  yards  out.    Chester 
and  Kitty  would  swim  out  for  a  mile,  then  lie  on 
their  backs  and  float,  gazing  up  into  the  sea-blue 
sky,  before  the  sun  had  climbed  high  enough  to 
burn  and  blind.    Then  they  would  swim  back  and 
return  to  the  inn  and  put  on  a  very  few  clothes  and 
have  their  morning  coffee,  and  then  walk  up  the 
coast,  taking  lunch,  to  some  little  lonely  cove  in  the 
shadow  of  rocks,  where  they  would  spend  the  heat 
of  the  day  in  and  out  of  the  sea.    When  they  came 
out  of  the  water  they  lay  on  the  burning  sands  and 
dried  themselves,  and  talked  or  read.     When  the 
heat  of  the  day  had  passed  a  little,  and  the  sea  lay 
very  smooth  and  still  in  the  late  afternoon,  with  no 


184  WHAT  NOT 

waves  at  all,  only  a  gentle,  whispering  swaying  to 
and  fro,  they  would  go  further  afield,  climbing  up 
the  steep  stone-paved  mule-tracks  that  wound  up 
the  hills  behind,  passing  between  grey  olive  groves 
and  lemon  and  orange  gardens  and  vineyards  of 
ripening  vines  and  little  rough  white  farmhouses, 
till  they  reached  the  barer,  wilder  hill  slopes  of  pines 
and  rocks,  where  the  hot  sweetness  of  myrtle  and 
juniper  stirred  with  each  tiny  moving  of  sea  air. 

They  would  climb  often  to  the  top  of  one  or  other 
of  this  row  of  hills  that  guarded  the  bay,  and  from 
its  top,  resting  by  some  old  pulley  well  or  little  shrine, 
they  would  look  down  over  hills  and  sea  bathed  in 
evening  light,  and  see  to  the  east  the  white  gleam  of 
Genoa  shimmering  like  a  pearl,  like  a  ghost,  between 
transparent  sea  and  sky,  to  the  west  the  point  of 
Savona  jutting  dark  against  a  flood  of  fire. 

There  was  one  hill  they  often  climbed,  a  steep 
little  pine-grown  mountain  crested  by  a  little  old 
chapel,  with  a  well  by  its  side.  The  chapel  was 
dedicated  to  the  Madonna  dell^Mare,  and  was  hung 
about  inside  with  votive  offerings  of  little  ships, 
presented  to  the  Madonna  by  grateful  sailors  whom 
she  had  delivered  from  the  perils  of  the  sea.  Out- 
side the  chapel  a  shrine  stood,  painted  pink,  and 
from  it  the  mother  and  "child  smiled  kindly  down 
on  the  withered  flowers  that  nearly  always  lay  on 
the  ledge  before  them. 

By  the  shrine  and  the  well  Chester  and  Kitty 
would  sit,  while  the  low  light  died  slowly  from  the 


THE  COMMON  HERD  185 

hills,  till  its  lower  slopes  lay  in  evening  shadow, 
and  only  they  on  the  summit  remained,  as  if  en- 
chanted, in  a  circle  of  fairy  gold. 

One  evening  while  they  sat  there  a  half-witted 
contadino  slouched  out  of  the  chapel  and  begged 
from  them.  Chester  refused  sharply,  and  turned 
his  face  away.  The  imbecile  hung  about,  mouthed 
a  confused  prayer,  bowing  and  crossing,  before  the 
shrine,  got  no  help  from  that  quarter  either,  and  at 
last  shambled  disconsolately  down  the  hillside, 
crooning  an  unintelligible  song  to  himself. 

Kitty,  looking  at  Chester,  saw  with  surprise  that 
his  face  was  rigid  with  disgust ;  he  looked  as  if  he 
were  trying  not  to  shudder. 

"  How  you  hate  them,  Nicky,"  she  said  curiously. 

He  said  "  I  do,"  grimly,  and  spoke  of  something 
else. 

But  a  little  later  he  said  abruptly,  "  I've  never 
told  you  much  about  my  people,  Kitty,  have  I,  or 
what  are  called  my  early  years  ?  " 

'  You  wouldn't,  of  course,"  she  replied,  "  any 
more  than  I  should.  We're  neither  of  us  much  in- 
terested in  the  past ;  you  live  in  the  future,  and  I 
live  in  the  present  moment.  .  .  .  But  I  should  be 
interested  to  hear,  all  the  same." 

"  That  imbecile  reminded  me,"  Chester  said 
grimly.  "  I  had  a  twin  sister  like  that,  and  a  brother 
not  very  far  removed  from  it.  You  know  that,  of 
course  ;  but  you'll  never  know,  no  one  can  ever 
know  who's  not  experienced  it,  what  it  was  like. 


186  WHAT  NOT 

...  At  first,  when  I  began  to  do  more  than  just 
accept  it  as  part  of  things  as  they  were,  it  only  made 
me  angry  that  such  things  should  be  possible,  and 
frightfully  sorry  for  Joan  and  Gerald,  who  had  to  go 
about  like  that,  so  little  use  to  themselves  or  any- 
one else,  and  so  tiresome  to  me  and  Maggie  (she's 
my  eldest  sister  ;  I'd  like  you  to  meet  her  one  day). 
I  remember  even  consulting  Maggie  as  to  whether 
it  wouldn't  be  a  good  thing  to  take  them  out  into  a 
wood  and  lose  them,  like  the  babes  in  the  wood.  I 
honestly  thought  it  would  be  for  their  own  good  ; 
I  knew  I  should  have  preferred  it  if  I  had  been  them. 
But  Maggie  didn't  agree  ;  she  took  a  more  patient 
line  about  it  than  I  did  ;  she  always  does.  Then,  as 
I  grew  older,  I  became  angry  with  my  parents,  who 
had  no  right,  of  course,  to  have  had  any  children  at 
all ;  they  were  first  cousins,  and  deficiency  was  in  the 
family.  ...  It  was  that  that  first  set  me  thinking 
about  the  whole  subject.  I  remember  I  asked  my 
father  once,  when  I  was  about  seventeen,  how  he 
had  reconciled  it  with  his  conscience  (he  was  a  dean 
at  that  time)  to  do  such  a  thing.  I  must  have  been 
an  irritating  young  prig,  of  course ;  in  fact,  I  re- 
member that  I  was.  He  very  properly  indicated  to 
me  that  I  was  stepping  out  of  my  sphere  in  ques- 
tioning him  on  such  a  point,  and  also  that  whatever 
is  must  be  sent  by  Providence,  and  therefore  right. 
I  didn't  drop  it  at  once  ;  I  remember  I  argued  that 
it  hadn't  "  been  "  and  therefore  had  not  neces- 
sarily been  right,  until  he  and  my  mother  made  it 


THE  COMMON  HERD  187 

so  ;  but  he  closed  the  conversation  ;  quite  time  too, 
I  suppose.  It  was  difficult  to  argue  with  my  father 
in  those  days  ;  it's  easier  now,  though  not  really 
easy.  I  think  the  reduction  of  the  worldly  condition 
of  bishops  has  been  good  for  him  ;  it  has  put  him 
in  what  I  suppose  is  called  a  state  of  grace.  I  don't 
believe  he'd  do  it  now,  if  he  lived  his  life  again. 
However,  he  did  do  it,  and  the  result  was  two 
deficient  children  and  one  who  grew  up  loathing 
stupidity  in  the  way  some  few  people  (conceivably) 
loathe  vice,  when  they've  been  brought  into  close 
contact  with  its  effects.  It  became  an  obsession 
with  me  ;  I  seemed  to  see  it  everywhere,  spoiling 
everything,  blocking  every  path,  tying  everyone's 
hands.  The  Boer  war  happened  while  I  was  at 
school.  .  .  .  Good  Lord.  .  .  .  Then  I  went  to  Cam- 
bridge, and  it  was  there  that  I  really  began  to  think 
the  thing  seriously  out.  What  has  always  bothered 
me  about  it  is  that  human  beings  are  so  astound- 
ingly  clever ;  miraculously  clever,  if  you  come  to 
think  of  it,  and  compare  us  with  the  other  animals, 
so  like  us  in  lots  of  ways.  The  things  we've  done  ; 
the  animal  state  we've  grown  out  of ;  the  things 
we've  discovered  and  created — it  makes  one's  head 
reel.  And  if  we  can  be  clever  like  that,  why  not  be 
a  little  cleverer  still  ?  Why  be  so  abysmally  stupid 
about  many  things  ?  The  waste  of  it.  ...  The 
world  might  get  anywhere  if  we  really  developed 
our  powers  to  their  full  extent.  But  we  always  slip 
up  somewhere  :  nothing  quite  comes  off  as  it  should. 


i88  WHAT  NOT 

Think  of  all  these  thousands  of  years  of  house- 
managing,  and  the  reaJly  clever  arrangements  which 
have  been  made  in  connection  with  it — and  then 
visit  a  set  of  cottages  and  see  the  mess  ;  a  woman 
trying  to  cook  food  and  clean  the  house  and  look 
after  children  and  wash  clothes,  all  by  hand,  and 
with  the  most  inadequate  contrivances  for  any  of 
it.  Why  haven't  we  thought  of  some  way  out  of 
that  beastly,  clumsy  squalor  and  muddle  yet  ?  And 
why  do  houses  built  and  fitted  like  some  of  those 
still  exist  ?  If  we're  clever  enough  to  have  in- 
vented and  built  houses  at  all,  why  not  go  one  better 
and  do  it  properly  ?  It's  the  same  with  everything. 
Medical  science,  for  instance.  The  advances  it's 
made  fill  one  with  amaze  and  admiration  ;  but  why 
is  there  still  disease  ?  And  why  isn't  there  a  cure 
for  every  disease  ?  And  why  do  doctors  fail  so  hope- 
lessly to  diagnose  anything  a  little  outside  their 
ordinary  beat  ?  There  it  is  ;  we've  been  clever 
about  it  in  a  way,  but  nothing  like  clever  enough, 
or  as  clever  as  we've  got  to  be  before  we've  done. 
The  same  with  statesmanship  and  government ; 
only  there  we've  very  seldom  been  clever  at  all ; 
that's  still  to  come.  And  our  educational  system 
...  oh  Lord.  ...  The  mischief  is  that  people  in 
general  don't  want  other  people  to  become  too  clever ; 
it  wouldn't  suit  their  turn.  So  the  popular  instinct 
for  mucking  along,  for  taking  things  as  you  find 
them  (and  leaving  them  there),  the  popular  taste 
for  superficial  twaddle  in  literature  and  politics  and 


THE  COMMON  HERD  189 

science  and  art  and  religion  is  pandered  to  on  its 
own  level.  .  .  . 

"  But  I  didn't  mean  to  go  off  on  to  all  this  ;  I 
merely  meant  to  tell  you  what  first  started  me  think- 
ing of  these  things." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Kitty.  "  I  like  it.  It  makes  me 
feel  at  home,  as  if  I  was  sitting  under  you  at  a 
meeting.  .  .  .  What  I  infer  is  that  if  your  parents 
hadn't  been  first  cousins  and  had  deficiency  in  their 
family,  there  would  have  been  no  Ministry  of  Brains. 
I  expect  your  father  was  right,  and  whatever  is  is 
best.  ...  Of  course  the  interesting  question  is, 
what  would  happen  if  ever  we  were  much  cleverer 
than  we  are  now  ?  What  would  happen,  that  is, 
besides  houses  being  better  managed  and  disease 
better  treated  and  locomotion  improved  and  books 
better  written  or  not  written  at  all,  and  all  that  ? 
What  would  happen  to  nations  and  societies  and 
governments,  if  people  in  general  became  much  more 
intelligent  ?  I  can't  imagine.  But  I  think  there'd 
be  a  jolly  old  row.  .  .  .  Perhaps  we  shall  know 
before  long." 

"No,"  said  Chester.  "  \Ve  shan't  know  that. 
There  may  be  a  jolly  old  row  ;  I  daresay  there  will ; 
but  it  won't  be  because  people  have  got  too  clever  ; 
it  will  be  because  they  haven't  got  clever  enough. 
It'll  be  the  short-sighted  stupidity  of  people  revolt- 
ing against  their  ultimate  good." 

"  As  it  might  be  you  and  me." 

"  Precisely.     As  it  might  be  you  and  me.  .  .  . 


igo  WHAT  NOT 

What  we're  doing  is  horribly  typical,  Kitty.  Don't 
let's  ever  blind  ourselves  to  its  nature.  WV11  do  it, 
because  we  think  it's  worth  it ;  but  we'll  do  it  with 
our  eyes  open.  Thank  heaven  we're  both  clear- 
headed and  hard-headed  enough  to  know  what 
we're  doing  and  not  to  muddle  ourselves  with  cant 
about  it.  ...  That's  one  of  the  things  that  I  sup- 
pose.I  love  you  for,  my  dear — your  clear-headedness. 
You  never  muddle  or  cant  or  sentimentalise.  You're 
hard-headed  and  clear-eyed." 

"  In  fact,  cynical,"  said  Kitty. 

"  Yes.  Rather  cynical.  Unnecessarily  cynical,  I 
think.  You  could  do  with  some  more  faith." 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  catch  some  from  you.  You've 
got  lots,  haven't  you  ?  As  the  husband  is  the  wife 
is  ;  I  am  mated  to,  etc.  .  .  .  And  you're  a  lot 
cleverer  than  I  am,  so  you're  most  likely  right.  .  .  . 
We're  awfully  different,  Nicky,  my  love,  aren't 
we?" 

"  No  doubt  we  are.    Who  isn't  ?  " 

For  a  while  they  lay  silent  in  the  warm  sweetness 
of  the  hill-top,  while  the  golden  light  slipped  from 
them,  leaving  behind  it  the  pure  green  stillness  of 
the  evening  ;  and  they  looked  at  one  another  and 
speculated  on  the  strange  differences  of  human 
beings  each  from  each,  and  the  mystery  of  person- 
ality, that  tiny  point  on  to  which  all  the  age-long 
accumulated  forces  of  heredity  press,  so  that  you 
would  suppose  that  the  world  itself  could  not  con- 
tain them,  and  yet  they  are  contained  in  one  small, 


THE  COMMON  HERD  191 

ordinary  soul,  which  does  not  break  under  the 
weight. 

So  they  looked  at  one  another,  speculating,  until 
speculation  faded  into  seeing,  and  instead  of  person- 
alities they  became  to  one  another  persons,  and 
Chester  saw  Kitty  red-lipped  and  golden-eyed  and 
black-lashed  and  tanned  a  smooth  nut-brown  by 
sun  and  sea,  and  Kitty  saw  Chester  long  and  lean 
and  sallow,  with  black  brows  bent  over  deep,  keen, 
dreaming  eyes,  and  lips  carrying  their  queer  sugges- 
tion of  tragedy  and  comedy. 

"  Isn't  it  fun,"  said  Kitty,  "  that  you  are  you  and 
I  am  I  ?  I  think  it  must  be  (don't  you  ?)  the  greatest 
fun  that  ever  was  since  the  world  began.  That's 
what  I  think  .  .  .  and  everywhere  millions  of 
people  are  thinking  exactly  the  same.  We're  part 
of  the  common  herd,  Nicky — the  very,  very  com- 
monest herd  of  all  herds.  I  think  I  like  it  rather — 
being  so  common,  I  mean.  It's  amusing.  Don't 
you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  and  smiled  at  her.   "  I  think  I  do." 

Still  they  lay  there,  side  by  side,  in  the  extra- 
ordinary hushed  sweetness  of  the  evening.  Kitty's 
cheek  was  pressed  against  short  warm  grass.  Close 
to  her  ear  a  cicale  chirped,  monotonously  bright ; 
far  off,  from  every  hill,  the  frogs  began  their  evening 
singing. 

Kitty,  as  she  sometimes  did,  seemed  to  slip  sud- 
denly outside  the  circle  of  the  present,  of  her  own 
life  and  the  life  around  her  ;  far  off  she  saw  it,  a 


192  WHAT  NOT 

queer  little  excited  corner  of  the  universe,  where 
people  played  together  and  were  happy,  where  the 
funny  world  spun  round  and  round  and  laughed  and 
cried  and  ran  and  slept  and  loved  and  hated,  and 
everything  mattered  intensely,  and  yet,  as  seen 
from  outside  the  circle,  did  not  matter  at  all.  .  .  . 
She  felt  like  a  soul  unborn,  or  a  soul  long  dead, 
watching  the  world's  antics  with  a  dispassionate, 
compassionate  interest.  .  .  . 

The  touch  of  Chester's  hand  on  her  cheek  brought 
her  back  abruptly  into  the  circle  again. 

"  Belovedest,"  he  said,  "  let's  come  down  the  niil. 
The  light  is  going." 

4 

One  day  they  had  a  shock ;  they  met  someone 
they  knew.  They  met  him  in  the  sea  ;  at  least  he 
was  in  a  boat  and  they  were  in  the  sea.  They  were 
swimming  a  mile  from  shore,  in  a  pearl-smooth, 
golden  sea,  in  the  eye  of  the  rising  sun.  Half  a  mile 
out  from  them  a  yacht  lay,  as  idle  as  a  painted  ship 
upon  a  painted  ocean.  From  the  yacht  a  boat  shot 
out,  rowed  by  a  man.  It  shot  between  the  swimmers 
and  the  rising  sun.  Chester  and  Kitty  were  lying 
on  their  backs,  churning  up  the  sun's  path  of  gold 
with  their  feet,  and  Kitty  was  singing  a  little  song 
that  Greek  goat-herds  sing  on  the  hills  above 
Corinth  in  the  mornings. 

Leaning  over  the  side  and  resting  on  his  oars,  the 
man  in  the  boat  shouted,  "  Hullo,  Chester  !  " 


THE  COMMON  HERD  193 

An  electric  shock  stabbed  Kitty  through  at  the 
voice,  which  was  Vernon  Prideaux's.  Losing  her 
nerve,  her  head,  and  her  sense  of  the  suitable,  she 
splashed  round  on  to  her  chest,  kicked  herself 
forward,  and  dived  like  a  porpoise,  travelling  as 
swiftly  as  she  could  from  Chester,  Prideaux,  and  the 
situation.  When  she  came  up  it  was  with  a  splutter, 
because  she  had  laughed.  Glancing  backwards  over 
her  shoulder,  she  saw  Chester  swimming  towards 
the  boat.  What  would  he  say  ?  Would  he  speak 
<-\r  her,  or  wrap  her  in  discreet  silence  ?  And  had 
Prideaux  recognised  her  or  not  ? 

"  Lunatic,"  said  Kitty.  "  Of  course  he  did.  I 
'<ave  taken  the  worst  way,  in  my  excitement." 

Promptly  she  retraced  her  path,  this  time  on  the 
water's  surface,  and  hailed  Prideaux  as  she  came. 

"  Hullo,  Vernon.  The  top  of  the  morning  to  you. 
I  thought  I'd  show  you  I  could  dive.  .  .  .  What 
brings  you  here  ?  Oh  the  yacht,  of  course.  ..." 
She  paused,  wondering  what  was  to  be  their  line, 
then  struck  one  out  on  her  own  account.  "  Isn't  it 
odd  ;  Mr.  Chester  and  I  are  both  staying  near  here." 

Prideaux's  keen,  well-bred,  perfectly  courteous 
face  looked  for  one  moment  as  if  it  certainly  was  a 
little  odd  ;  then  he  swallowed  his  surprise. 

"  Are  you  ?  It's  a  splendid  coast,  isn't  it  ? 
Cogoleto  in  there,  I  suppose  ?  We're  not  stopping 
at  all,  unfortunately  ;  we're  going  straight  on  to 
Genoa.  .  .  .  I'm  coming  in." 

He  dived  neatly  from  the  bows,  with  precision 


I94  WHAT  NOT 

and  power,  as  he  wrote  minutes,  managed  deputa- 
tions, ignored  odd  situations,  and  did  everything 
else.  One  was  never  afraid  with  Prideaux  ;  one 
could  rely  on  him  not  to  bungle. 

They  bathed  together  and  conversed,  till  Kitty 
said  she  must  go  in,  and  swam  shoreward  in  the 
detached  manner  of  one  whose  people  are  expecting 
her  to  breakfast.  Soon  afterwards  she  saw  that 
Prideaux  was  pulling  back  to  the  yacht,  and  Chester 
swimming  westward,  as  if  he  were  staying  at  Varazze. 

"  Tact,"  thought  Kitty.  "  This,  I  suppose,  is 
how  people  behave  while  conducting  a  vulgar  in- 
trigue. Ours  is  a  vulgar  marriage  ;  there  doesn't 
seem  much  difference.  ...  I  rather  wish  we  could 
have  told  Vernon  all  about  it ;  he's  safe  enough, 
and  I  should  like  to  have  heard  his  comments  and 
seen  his  face.  How  awful  he  would  think  us.  ... 
I  don't  know  anyone  who  would  disapprove  more. 
.  .  .  Well,  I  suppose  it's  more  interesting  than  a 
marriage  which  doesn't  have  to  be  kept  dark,  but 
it's  much  less  peaceful." 

They  met  at  the  inn,  at  breakfast. 

"  Did  you  have  to  swim  right  across  the  bay, 
darling  ?  "  Kitty  enquired.  "  I'm  so  sorry.  By  the 
way,  I  noticed  that  Vernon  never  asked  either  of  us 
where  we  were  staying,  nor  invited  us  to  come  and 
visit  the  yacht.  Do  you  suppose  he  believed  a  word 
we  said  ?  " 

Chester  lifted  his  eyebrows.  "  His  mental  cate- 
gory is  A,  I  believe,"  he  replied. 


THE  COMMON  HERD  195 

"  Well,"  said  Kitty,  "  anyhow  he  can't  know 
we're  married,  even  if  he  does  think  we've  arranged 
to  meet  here.  And  Vernon's  very  discreet ;  he 
won't  babble." 

Chester  ate  a  roll  and  a  half  in  silence.  Then  he 
remarked,  without  emotion,  "  Kitty,  this  thing  is 
going  to  come  out.  We  may  as  well  make  up  our 
minds  to  it.  We  shall  go  on  meeting  people,  and 
they  won't  all  be  discreet.  It  will  come  out,  as 
certainly  as  flowers  in  spring,  or  the  Clyde  engineers 
next  week." 

They  faced  one  another  in  silence  for  a  moment 
across  the  coffee  and  rolls.  Then,  because  there 
seemed  nothing  else  which  could  meet  the  situation, 
they  both  began  to  laugh  helplessly. 

Three  days  later  they  returned  to  England,  by 
different  routes. 


CHAPTER  X 

A   MINISTRY  AT   BAY 


THAT  autumn  was  a  feverish  period  in  the  Ministry's 
career.  Many  persons  have  been  called  upon,  for 
one  cause  or  another,  to  wait  in  nervous  anticipa- 
tion hour  by  hour  for  the  signal  which  shall  herald 
their  own  destruction.  Thus  our  ancestors  at  the 
latter  end  of  the  tenth  century  waited  expectantly 
for  the  crack  of  doom  ;  but  the  varying  emotions 
with  which  they  awaited  it  can  only  be  guessed  at. 
More  vivid  to  the  mind  and  memory  are  the  expectant 
and  waiting  first  days,  of  August,  1914.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  emotions  of  cabinets  foreseeing 
their  own  resignation,  of  the  House  of  Lords  antici- 
pating abolition,  of  criminals  awaiting  sentence,  of 
newspapers  desperately  staving  off  extinction,  of  the 
crews  of  foundered  ships  struggling  to  keep  afloat, 
of  government  departments  anticipating  their  own 
untimely  end,  are  mysteries  veiled  from  the  outside 
world,  sacred  ground  which  may  not  be  trodden  by 
the  multitude. 

The  Ministry  of  Brains  that  autumn  was  fighting 
hard  and  gallantly  for  its  life.     It  was  an  uphill 

196 


A  MINISTRY  AT  BAY  197 

struggle  ;  Sisyphus  pushing  up  the  mountain  the 
stone  of  human  perverseness,  human  stupidity, 
human  self-will,  which  threatened  all  the  time  to 
roll  back  and  grind  him  to  powder.  Concessions 
were  made  here,  pledges  given  there  (even,  here  or 
there,  occasionally  fulfilled) .  New  Instructions  were 
issued  daily,  old  ones  amended  or  withdrawn,  far- 
reaching  and  complicated  arrangements  made  with 
various  groups  and  classes  of  people,  "  little  minis- 
tries "  set  up  all  over  the  country  to  administrate 
the  acts  regionally,  soothing  replies  and  promises 
dropped  like  leaves  in  autumn  by  the  Parliamentary 
Secretary,  to  be  gathered  up,  hoarded,  and  brooded 
over  in  many  a  humble,  many  a  stately  home.  It 
is  superfluous  to  recapitulate  these  well-worn,  oft- 
enacted,  pathetic  incidents  of  a  tottering  ministry. 
Ministries,  though  each  with  a  special  stamp  in 
hours  of  ease,  are  all  much  alike  when  pain  and 
anguish  wring  their  brows.  With  arts  very  similar 
each  to  other  they  woo  a  public  uncertain,  coy  and 
hard  to  please  ;  a  public  too  ready  to  believe  the 
worst  of  them,  too  pitiless  and  unimaginative 
towards  their  good  intentions,  too  extreme  to  mark 
what  is  done  amiss,  too  loth  to  admit  success,  too 
ready  to  condemn  failure  without  measuring  the 
strength  of  temptation. 

Ministries  have  a  bitter  time ;  their  hand  is 
against  every  man  and  every  man's  hand  against 
them.  For  their  good  men  return  them  evil  and  for 
their  evil  no  good.  And — let  it  not  be  forgotten — 


ig8  WHAT  NOT 

they  are  really,  with  all  their  faults,  more  intelligent, 
and  fuller  of  good  intentions,  than  the  vast  majority 
of  their  critics.  The  critics  cry  aloud  "  Get  rid  of 
them,"  without  always  asking  themselves  who  would 
do  the  job  any  better,  always  providing  it  has  to  be 
done.  In  the  case  of  the  Ministry  of  Brains,  the 
majority  of  the  public  saw  no  reason  why  the  job 
should  be  done  at  all,  which  complicated  matters.  It 
was  like  the  Directorate  of  Recruiting  during  the  war, 
or  the  Censor's  office,  or  the  Ministry  of  Food  ;  not 
merely  its  method  but  its  function  was  unwelcome. 
As  most  men  did  not  want  to  be  recruited  by  law, 
or  to  have  their  reading  or  their  diet  regulated  by 
law,  so  they  did  not  want  to  be  made  intelligent  by 
law.  All  these  things  might  be,  and  doubtless  were, 
for  the  ultimate  good  of  the  nation,  but  all  were  in- 
convenient at  the  moment,  and  when  ultimate  good 
(especially  not  necessarily  one's  own  good)  and 
immediate  convenience  come  to  blows,  it  is  not 
usually  ultimate  good  which  wins. 

So  the  Ministry  of  Brains,  even  more  than  other 
ministries,  was  fighting  against  odds.  Feverish 
activity  prevailed,  in  all  departments.  From 
morning  till  night  telephones  telephoned,  clerks 
wrote,  typists  typed  against  time,  deputations 
deputed,  committees  committeed,  officials  conferred 
with  each  other,  messengers  ran  to  and  fro  with 
urgent  minutes  and  notes  by  hand.  Instructions  and 
circular  letters  poured  forth,  telegrams  were  de~ 
spatched  in  hot  haste  to  the  local  Ministries  and  to 


A  MINISTRY  AT  BAY  199 

the  Brains  Representatives  on  the  local  tribunals, 
the  staff  arrived  early  and  stayed  late,  and  often 
came  on  Sundays  as  well,  and  grew  thin  and 
dyspeptic  and  nervy  and  irritable. 


Even  Ivy  Delmer  grew  pale  and  depressed,  not  so 
much  from  official  strain  as  from  private  worries. 
These  she  confided  one  day  to  Kitty,  who  had  got 
transferred  back  to  headquarters,  through  a  little 
quiet  wire-pulling  (it  is  no  use  being  married  to  a 
Minister  if  little  things  like  that  cannot  easily  be 
arranged),  and  was  now  working  in  her  old  branch. 
They  were  travelling  together  one  Monday  morning 
up  from  Little  Chantreys. 

"  Now  I  ask  you,  Miss  Grammont,  what  would 
you  do  ?  I'm  63  and  he's  Ci  (I'm  certain  they've 
classified  him  wrong,  because  he's  not  a  bit  stupid 
really,  not  the  way  some  men  are,  you  know,  he's 
jolly  clever  at  some  things — ideas,  and  that),  but  of 
course  it's  against  the  regulations  for  us  to  marry 
each  other.  And  yet  we  care  for  each  other,  and  we 
both  of  us  feel  we  always  shall.  And  we  neither  of 
us  want  a  bit  to  marry  an  A  person,  besides,  I  don't 
suppose  an  A  would  ever  think  of  us  in  that  way, 
you  know  what  I  mean,  Miss  Grammont,  don't 
laugh,  and  to  give  each  other  up  would  mean  spoiling 
both  our  lives.  .  .  .  Yet  I  suppose  everyone  would 
think  it  awfully  wrong  if  we  got  regularly  engaged, 


200  WHAT  NOT 

and  me  working  at  the  Ministry  too.  I  suppose  I 
ought  to  leave  it  really,  feeling  the  way  I  do.  .  .  . 
The  fact  is,  I've  come  to  feel  very  differently  about 
the  Ministry,  now  I've  thought  it  more  over,  and — 
you'll  be  horrified,  I  know — but  I'm  not  at  all  sure 
I  approve  of  it." 

"  Good  gracious  no,"  Kitty  said.  "  I  never  ap- 
prove of  any  Ministries.  That  isn't  what  one  feels 
for  them.  Sympathy  ;  pity  ;  some  affection,  even  ; 
but  approval — no." 

:'  Well,  you  see  what  I  mean,  it's  all  very  well  in 
theory,  but  I  do  honestly  know  so  many  people 
whose  lives  have  been  upset  and  spoilt  by  it — and  it 
does  seem  hard.  Heaps  of  people  in  Little  Chantreys 
alone  ;  of  course  we  come  across  them  rather  a  lot, 
because  they  tell  father  and  mother  about  it.  ... 
And  all  the  poor  little  deserted  babies.  ...  Oh  I 
suppose  it's  all  right.  .  .  .  But  I'm  feeling  a  bit  off 
it  just  now.  .  .  .  Now  I  ask  you,  feeling  as  I  do 
about  it,  and  meaning  to  do  what  I'm  going  to  do 
(at  least  we  hope  we're  going  to  do  it  sometime), 
ought  I  to  go  on  at  the  Ministry  ?  Is  it  honest  ? 
Would  you,  Miss  Grammont  ?  " 

Kitty  blushed  faintly,  to  her  own  credit  and  a 
little  to  Ivy's  surprise.  She  did  not  associate  blush- 
ing with  Miss  Grammont,  and  anyhow  there  seemed 
no  occasion  for  it  just  now. 

"  Well,  yes,  I  think  I  would.  I  don't  see  that 
you're  called  on  to  give  it  up — unless,  of  course, 
you  hate  it,  and  want  to.  ...  After  all",  one  would 


A  MINISTRY  AT  BAY  201 

very  seldom  stick  to  any  work  at  all  if  one  felt 
obliged  to  approve  entirely  of  it.  No,  I  don't  think 
there's  much  in  that." 

'  You  truly  don't  ?  Well,  I  expect  I'll  carry  on 
for  a  bit,  then.  I'd  rather,  in  one  way,  of  course, 
especially  as  we  shall  need  all  the  money  we  can  get 
if  we  ever  do  marry.  Not  that  I'm  saving  ;  I  spend 
every  penny  I  get,  I'm  afraid.  But  of  course  it  takes 
me  off  father's  hands.  .  .  .  Don't  you  feel,  Miss 
Grammont,  that  all  this  interference  with  people's 
private  lives  is  a  mistake  ?  It's  come  home  to  me 
awfully  strongly  lately.  Only  when  I  read  the 
Minister's  speeches  I  change  my  mind  again  ;  he 
puts  it  so  rippingly,  and  makes  me  feel  perhaps 
I'm  being  simply  a  selfish  little  beast.  I  don't 
care  what  anybody  says  about  him,  I  think  he's 
wonderful." 

"  I  suppose  he  is,"  said  Kitty. 

"  My  word,  he  jolly  well  would,  despise  me  if  he 
knew,  wouldn't  he  ?  " 

"  Well  ..."  said  Kitty.  And  perhaps  it  was 
well  that  at  that  moment  they  reached  Maryle- 
bone. 

That  conversation  was  typical,  even  as  Ivy 
Delmer's  standpoint  was  itself  typical,  of  a  large 
body  of  what,  for  lack  of  a  better  name,  we  must 
call  thought,  all  over  the  country.  Laws  were  all 
very  well  in  theory,  or  when  they  only  disarranged 
the  lives  of  others,  but  when  they  touched  and  dis- 
organised one's  own  life — hands  off.  Was  the  only 


202  WHAT  NOT 

difference  between  such  as  Ivy  Delmer  and  such  as 
Nicholas  Chester  that  Ivy  deceived  herself  ("  It's 
not  that  I  care  a  bit  for  myself,  but  it's  the  principle 
of  the  thing  ")  and  that  Chester  fell  with  open  eyes  ? 
Which  was  perhaps  as  much  as  to  say  that  Ivy  was 
classified  63  and  Chester  A. 

All  over  the  country  people  were  saying,  accord- 
ing to  their  different  temperaments,  one  or  another 
of  these  things.  "  Of  course  I  don't  care  for  myself, 
but  I  think  the  system  is  wrong,"  or  (the  other  way 
round)  "  It  may  be  all  right  in  theory,  but  I'm  jolly 
well  not  going  to  stand  being  inconvenienced  by  it," 
or  "  I'm  not  going  to  stand  it  and  it's  all  wrong." 
Of  course  there  were  also  those  more  public-spirited 
persons  who  said,  "  It's  a  splendid  system  and  I'm 
going  to  fall  in  with  it,"  or  "  Though  it's  a  rotten 
system  I  suppose  we  must  put  up  with  it."  But 
these  were  the  minority. 


3 

Up  till  November  the  campaign  against  the  Brains 
Ministry  was  quite  impersonal,  merely  resentment 
against  a  system.  It  was  led,  in  the  Press,  by  the 
Labour  papers,  which  objected  to  compulsion,  by 
the  Nation,  which  objected  to  what  it,  rightly  or 
wrongly,  called  by  that  much-abused  name,  Prus- 
sianism,  by  the  New  Witness,  which  objected  to 
interference  with  the  happy  stupidity  of  merry 
Gentiles  (making  them  disagreeably  clever  like 


A  MINISTRY  AT  BAY  203 

Jews),  and  by  Stop  It,  which  objected  to  every- 
thing. It  was  supported  by  the  more  normal  organs 
of  opinion  of  the  kind  which  used  before  and  during 
the  war  to  be  called  conservative  and  liberal.  And,  of 
course,  through  thick  and  thin,  by  the  Hidden  Hand. 

But  in  the  course  of  November  a  new  element 
came  into  the  attack — the  personal  element.  Certain 
sections  of  the  Press  which  supported  the  Ministry 
began  to  show  discontent  with  the  Minister.  The 
Times  began  to  hint  guardedly  that  new  blood 
might  perhaps  be  desirable  in  certain  quarters.  The 
Daily  Mail,  in  its  rounder  and  directer  manner, 
remarked  in  large  head-lines  that  "  Nicky  is  played 
out."  Ministers  have  to  bear  these  intimations 
about  themselves  as  they  walk  about  London ; 
fleeing  from  old  gentlemen  selling  the  Daily  Mail 
outside  Cox's,  Chester  was  confronted  in  the  Strand 
by  the  Herald  remarking  very  loudly  "  CHESTER 
MUST  GO."  And  then  (but  this  was  later)  by  the 
Patriot,  which  was  much,  much  worse. 

The  Patriot  affair  was*  different  from  the  others. 
The  Patriot  was,  in  fact,  a  different  paper.  The 
Patriot  had  the  personal,  homely  touch  ;  it  dealt 
faithfully  not  only  with  the  public  misdemeanours 
of  prominent  persons,  but  with  the  scandals  of  their 
private  lives.  It  found  things  out.  It  abounded  in 
implications  and  references,  arch  and  jocose  in 
manner  and  not  usually  discreet  in  matter.  The 
Patriot  had  been  in  the  law  courts  many  times,  but 
as  it  remarked,  "  We  are  not  afraid  of  prosecution." 


204  WHAT  NOT 

It  had  each  week  a  column  of  open  letters  adHressed 
to  persons  of  varying  degrees  of  prominence,  in 
which  it  told  them  what  it  thought  of  them.  The 
weak  point  of  these  letters  was  that  the  Patriot  was 
not  a  paper  which  was  read  by  persons  of  promi- 
nence ;  its  readers  were  the  obscure  and  simple, 
who  no  doubt  extracted  much  edification  from  them. 
Its  editor  was  a  Mr.  Percy  Jenkins,  a  gentleman  of 
considerable  talents,  and,  it  was  said,  sufficient  per- 
sonal charm  to  be  useful  to  him.  What  he  lacked  in 
aesthetic  taste  he  made  up  in  energy  and  patriotism, 
and  the  People  hailed  him  affectionately  as  the 
People's  friend.  Throughout  October  Mr.  Jenkins 
suffered  apparently  from  a  desire  to  have  a  personal 
interview  with  the  Minister  of  Brains.  He  ad- 
dressed private  letters  to  him,  intimating  this  desire , 
which  were  answered  by  his  secretary  in  a  chilly 
negative  strain.  He  telephoned,  enquiring  when,  if  at 
all,  he  could  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the  Minister, 
and  was  informed  that  the  Minister  had,  unfortu- 
nately, no  time  for  pleasures  just  now.  He  called  at 
the  Ministry  and  sent  up  his  card,  but  was  told  that,  as 
he  had  no  appointment  it  was  regretted  that  he  could 
not  penetrate  further  into  the  Ministry  than  the 
waiting-room.  He  called  in  the  evening  at  the 
Minister's  private  address,  but  found  him  engaged. 

After  that,  however,  the  Minister  apparently 
relented,  for  Mr.  Jenkins  received  a  letter  from  his 
secretary  informing  him  that,  if  he  wished  to  see 
the  Minister,  he  might  call  at  his  house  at  9.30  p.m. 


A  MINISTRY  AT  BAY  205 

on  the  following  Monday.  Mr.  Jenkins  did  so.  He 
was  shown  into  the  Minister's  study.  Chester  was 
sitting  by  the  fire,  reading  Tales  of  my  Grandfather. 
He  was  never  found  writing  letters,  as  one  might 
expect  a  public  man  to  be  found  ;  his  secretary 
wrote  all  his  official  letters,  and  his  unofficial  letters 
were  not  written  at  all,  Chester  being  of  the  opinion 
that  if  you  leave  the  letters  you  receive  long  enough 
they  answer  themselves. 

Mr.  Jenkins,  having  been  invited  to  sit  down, 
did  so,  and  said,  "  Very  kind  of  you  to  give  me  this 
interview,  sir." 

Chester  did  not  commit  himself,  however,  to  any 
further  kindness,  but  said  stiffly,  "  I  have  very  little 
time.  I  am,  as  you  see,  occupied  " — he  indicated 
Tales  of  my  Grandfather — "  and  I  shall  be  glad  if 
you  will  state  your  business  at  once,  sir,  and  as 
plainly  as  you  can." 

Mr.  Jenkins  murmured  pleasantly,  "  Well,  we 
needn't  be  blunt,  exactly.  .  .  .  But  you  are  quite 
right,  sir ;  I  have  business.  As  you  are  no  doubt 
aware,  I  edit  a  paper — the  Patriot — it  is  possible 
that  you  are  acquainted  with  it." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  said  Chester,  "  such  an  ac- 
quaintance would  be  quite  impossible.  But  I  have 
heard  of  it.  I  know  to  what  paper  you  refer.  Please 
go  on." 

"  Everybody,"  retorted  Mr.  Jenkins,  a  little  nettled, 
"  does  not  find  close  acquaintance  with  the  Patriot 
at  all  impossible.  Its  circulation  ..." 


206  WHAT    NOT 

"  We  need  not,  I  think,  have  that,  Mr.  Jenkins. 
Will  you  kindly  go  on  with  your  business  ?  " 

Mr.  Jenkins  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Your  time  appears  to  be  extremely  limited, 
sir." 

"  All  time,"  returned  the  Minister,  relapsing,  as 
was  often  his  habit,  into  metaphysics,  "  is  limited. 
Limits  are,  in  fact,  what  constitute  time.  What 
'  extremely  limited  '  may  mean,  I  cannot  say.  But 
if  you  mean  that  I  desire  this  interview  to  be  short, 
you  are  correct." 

Mr.  Jenkins  hurried  on. 

"  The  Patriot,  as  you  may  have  heard,  sir,  deals 
with  truth.  Its  aim  is  to  disseminate  correct  in- 
formation with  regard  to  all  matters,  public  and 
private.  This,  I  may  say,  it  is  remarkably  success- 
ful in  doing.  Well,  Mr.  Chester,  as  of  course  you  are 
aware,  the  public  are  very  much  interested  in  your- 
self. There  is  no  one  at  the  present  moment  who 
is  more  to  the  fore,  or  if  I  may  say  so,  more  dis- 
cussed. Naturally,  therefore,  I  should  be  glad  if  I 
could  provide  some  items  of  public  interest  on  this 
subject,  and  I  should  be  very  grateful  for  any  assist- 
ance you  could  give  me.  .  .  .  Now,  Mr.  Chester,  I 
have  heard  lately  a  very  interesting  piece  of  news 
about  you.  People  are  saying  that  you  are  being 
seen  a  great  deal  in  the  company  of  a  certain  lady." 
He  paused. 

"  Go  on,"  said  Chester. 

"  It  has  even  been  said,"  continued  Mr.  Jenkins, 


A  MINISTRY  AT  BAY  207 

"  that  you  have  been  seen  staying  in  the  country 
together  .  .  .  alone  together,  that  is  ...  for  week- 
ends. .  .  ." 

"  Go  on,"  said  Chester. 

Mr.  Jenkins  went  on.  "  Other  things  are  said  ; 
but  I  daresay  they  are  mere  rumour.  Queer  things 
get  said  about  public  men.  I  met  someone  the  other 
day  who  lives  in  Buckinghamshire,  somewhere  in 
the  Chilterns,  and  who  has  a  curious  and  no  doubt 
entirely  erroneous  idea  about  you.  .  .  .  Well,  in 
the  interests  of  the  country,  Mr.  Chester  (I  have  the 
welfare  of  the  Ministry  of  Brains  very  much  at  heart, 
I  may  say  ;  I  am  entirely  with  you  in  regarding 
intelligence  as  the  Coming  Force) ,  I  should  like  to  be 
in  a  position  to  discredit  these  rumours.  If  you 
won't  mind  my  saying  so,  they  tell  against  you  very 
seriously.  You  see,  it  is  generally  known  that  you 
are  uncertificated  for  matrimony  and' parentage,  if 
I  may  mention  it.  And  once  people  get  into  their 
heads  the  idea  that,  while  forcing  these  laws  on 
others,  you  are  evading  them  yourself  .  .  .  well, 
you  may  imagine  it  might  damage  your  work  con- 
siderably. You  and  I,  Mr.  Chester,  know  what 
the  public  are.  ...  I  should  be  glad  to  have 
your  authority  to  contradict  these  rumours,  there- 
fore." 

Chester  said,  "  Certainly.  You  may  contradict 
anything  you  please.  I  shall  raise  no  objection.  Is 
that  all  ?  " 


208  WHAT  NOT 

Mr.  Jenkins  hesitated.  "  I  cannot,  of  course, 
contradict  the  rumours  without  some  assurance 
that  they  are  false.  ..." 

They  had  an  interesting  conversation  on  this  topic 
for  ten  minutes  more,  which  I  do  not  intend  to 
record  in  these  pages. 

So  many  conversations  are,  for  various  reasons, 
not  recorded.  Conversations,  for  instance,  at 
Versailles,  when  the  allied  powers  of  the  world  sit 
together  there  behind  impenetrable  curtains,  through 
the  rifts  of  which  only  murmurs  of  the  unbroken 
harmony  which  always  prevails  between  allies  steal 
through  to  a  waiting  world.  Conversations  between 
M.  Trotzky  and  representatives  of  the  German 
Government  before  the  Treaty  of  Brest-Litovsk. 
Conversations  between  the  President  of  the  Board 
of  Trade  and  the  Railway  Companies  when  the  price 
of  travel  is  being  increased  ;  between  governments 
and  capitalists  when  elections  are  to  be  fought  or 
newspapers  to  be  bought  ;  between  Jane  Austen's 
heroes  and  heroines  in  the  hour  when  their  passion 
is  declared. 

For  quite  different  reasons,  all  these  conversations 
are  left  to  the  imagination,  and  I  propose  to  leave 
to  the  same  department  of  the  reader's  mind  the 
interview  between  Mr.  Percy  Jenkins  and  the 
Minister  of  Brains.  I  will  merely  mention  that  the 
talking  was,  for  the  most  part,  done  by  Mr.  Jenkins. 


A  MINISTRY  AT  BAY  209 

The  reasons  for  this  were  two.  One  was  that 
Mr.  Jenkins  was  a  fluent  talker,  and  the  Minister 
capable  of  a  taciturnity  not  invariably  to  be 
found  in  our  statesmen.  Both  have  their  uses  in 
the  vicissitudes  of  public  life.  Both  can  be,  if 
used  effectively,  singularly  baffling  to  those  who 
would  probe  the  statesman's  mind  and  purposes. 
But  fluency  is,  to  most  (it  would  seem)  the  easier 
course. 

Anyhow   this    was    how   the    Patriot   campaign 
started.    It  began  with  an  Open  Letter. 


"  To  the  Minister  of  Brains. 
"  Dear  Mr.  Nicholas  Chester, 

"There  is  a  saying  '  Physician,  heal  thyself.' 
There  is  also,  in  the  same  book  (a  book  which, 
coming  of  clerical,  even  episcopal,  parentage,  you 
should  be  acquainted  with),  '  Cast  out  the  beam 
which  is  in  thine  own  eye,  and  then  thou  shalt  see 
more  plainly  to  pull  out  the  mote  which  is  in  thy 
brother's  eye.'  We  will  on  this , occasion  say  no 
more  than  that  we  advise  you  to  take  heed  to  these 
sayings  before  you  issue  many  more  orders  relating 
to  matrimony  and  such  domestic  affairs.  And  yet  a 
third  saying,  '  Can  the  blind  lead  the  blind  ?  Shall 


2io  WHAT  NOT 

they  not  both  fall  into  the  ditch  ?  '  you  would  do 
well  to  ponder  in  your  heart." 


That  was  all,  that  week.  But  it  was  enough  to 
start  speculation  and  talk  among  the  Patriot's 
readers.  Next  week  and  other  weeks  there  were 
further  innuendoes,  and  more  talk.  One  week  there 
v/as  a  picture  of  Chester  with  several  unmistakable, 
but  also  unmistakably  deficient,  little  Chesters 
clinging  to  his  coat.  This  picture  was  called  "  Fol- 
lowing the  dear  old  dad.  What  we  may  expect  to 
see  in  the  near  future." 

Mr.  Percy  Jenkins  knew  his  business.  And, 
during  his  interview  with  the  Minister  of  Brains,  he 
had  conceived  an  extreme  dislike  towards  him. 


4 

"  He'll  feel  worse  before  I've  done  with  him," 
Chester  said  to  Kitty.  They  were  sitting  together 
on  Kitty's  sofa,  with  a  copy  of  the  Patriot  between 
them.  Kitty  was  now  alone  in  her  flat,  her  cousin 
having  suddenly  taken  it  into  her  head  to  get 
married. 

"  I  always  said  it  would  come  out,"  was  Kitty's 
reply.  "  And  now  you  see." 

"  Of  course  I  knew  it  would  come  out,"  Chester 
said  calmly.  "  It  was  bound  to.  However,  it 
hasn't  yet.  All  this  is  mere  talk.  It's  more  often- 


A  MINISTRY  AT  RAY  211 

sive,  but  not  really  so  serious,  as  the  Labour  attacks 
on  the  Ministry,  and  the  Stop  It  campaign,  and  the 
cry  for  a  Business  Government.  Business  Govern- 
ment, indeed  !  The  last  word  in  inept  futility.  ..." 

"  All  the  same,"  Kitty  said,  rather  gravely,  "  you 
and  I  have  got  to  be  rather  more  careful,  Nicky. 
We've  been  careful,  I  think,  but  not  enough,  it 
seems." 

"  There's  no  such  thing,"  said  Chester,  who  was 
tired,  "  as  being  careful  enough,  in  this  observant 
world,  when  one  is  doing  wrong.  You  can  be  too 
careful  (don't  let's,  by  the  way)  but  you  can't  be 
careful  enough." 


5 

But  Chester  did  not  really  see  Kitty  very  often  in 
these  days,  because  he  had  to  see  and  confer  with 
so  many  others — the  Employers'  Federation,  and 
the  Doctors,  and  the  Timber  Cutters,  and  the 
Worsted  Industries,  and  the  Farmers,  and  the  Cotton 
Spinners,  and  the  Newspaper  Staffs,  and  the  Church, 
and  the  Parents,  and  the  Ministerial  Council,  and 
the  Admiralty,  and  the  Board  of  Education,  and 
the  War  Office,  and  the  Ministry  of  Reconstruc- 
tion, and  the  Directorate  of  Propaganda.  And  the 
A.S.E. 

It  is  much  to  be  hoped  that  conferences  are  use- 
ful ;  if  they  are  not,  it  cannot,  surely,  be  from  lack 
of  practice. 


212  WHAT  NOT 

Prideaux  also,  and  the  other  heads  of  sections,  on 
their  humbler  scale  received  deputations  and  con- 
ferred. Whether  or  not  it  was  true  to  say  of  the 
Ministry  (and  to  do  Ministries  justice,  these  state- 
ments are  usually  not  true)  that  it  did  not  try  to 
enter  sympathetically  into  the  difficulties  and 
grievances  of  the  public,  it  is  anyhow  certain  that 
the  difficulties  and  grievances  entered  into  the 
Ministry,  from  9.30  a.m.  until  7  p.m.  After  7  no 
more  difficulties  were  permitted  to  enter,  but  the 
higher  staff  remained  often  till  late  into  the  night  to 
grapple  with  those  already  there. 

Meanwhile  the  government  laid  pledges  in  as  many 
of  the  hands  held  out  to  them  as  they  could.  Pledges, 
in  spite  of  a  certain  boomerang  quality  possessed 
by  them,  are  occasionally  useful  things.  They  have 
various  aspects ;  when  you  give  them,  they  mean 
a  little  anger  averted,  a  little  content  generated,  a 
little  time  gained.  When  you  receive  them,  they 
mean,  normally,  that  others  will  (you  hope)  be 
compelled  to  do  something  disagreeable  before  you 
are.  When  others  receive  them,  they  mean  that 
there  is  unfair  favouritism.  When  (or  if)  you  fulfil 
them,  they  mean  that  you  are  badly  hampered 
thereby  in  the  competent  handling  of  your  job. 
When  you  break  them,  they  mean  trouble.  And 
when  you  merely  hear  about  them  from  the  outside 
they  mean  a  moral  lesson — that  promises  should 
be  kept  if  made,  but  certainly  never,  never 
made. 


A  MINISTRY  AT  BAY  213 

It  is  very  certain,  anyhow,  that  the  Ministry  of 
Brains  made  at  this  time  too  many.  No  Ministry 
could  have  kept  so  many.  There  was,  for  instance, 
the  Pledge  to  the  Married  Women,  that  the  un- 
married women  should  be  called  up  for  their  Mind 
Training  Course  before  they  were.  There  was  the 
Pledge  to  the  Mining  Engineers,  that  unskilled 
labour  should  take  the  Course  before  skilled.  There 
was  the  Pledge  to  the  Parents  of  Five,  that,  how- 
ever high  the  baby  taxes  were  raised,  the  parents  of 
six  would  always  have  to  pay  more  on  each  baby. 
There  was  the  Pledge  to  the  Deficient,  that  they 
would  not  have  to  take  the  Mind  Training  Course 
at  all.  This  last  pledge  was  responsible  for  much 
agitation  in  Parliament.  Distressing  cases  of 
imbeciles  harried  and  bullied  by  the  local  Brains 
Boards  were  produced  and  enquired  into.  (Ques- 
tion, "  Is  it  not  the  case  that  the  Ministry  of  Brains 
has  become  absolutely  soulless  in  this  matter  of 
harrying  the  Imbecile  ?  "  Answer,  "  I  have  received 
no  information  to  that  effect."  Question,  "  Are 
enquiries  being  made  into  the  case  of  the  deficient 
girl  at  Perivale  Halt  who  was  rejected  three  times 
as  unfit  for  the  Course  and  finally  examined  again 
and  passed,  and  developed  acute  imbecility  and 
mumps  half-way  through  the  Course  ?  "  Answer, 
"  Enquiries  are  being  made."  And  so  on,  and  so  on, 
and  so  on.) 

But,  in  the  eyes  of  the  general  public,  the  chief 
testimony  to  the  soullcssness  of  the  Ministry  was 


214  WHAT  NOT 

its  crushing  and  ignoring  of  the  claims  of  the  human 
heart.  What  could  one  say  of  a  Ministry  who 
deliberately  and  coldly  stood  between  lover  and 
lover,  and  dug  gulfs  between  parent  and  unborn 
child,  so  that  the  child  was  either  never  born  at  all, 
or  abandoned,  derelict,  when  born,  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  the  state,  or  retained  and  paid  for  so 
heavily  by  fine  or  imprisonment  that  the  parents 
might  well  be  tempted  to  wonder  whether  after  all 
the  unfortunate  infant  was  worth  it  ? 

"  Him  to  be  taxed  !  "  an  indignant  parent  would 
sometimes  exclaim,  admiring  her  year-old  infant's 
obvious  talents.  "  Why  he's  as  bright  as  anything. 
Just  look  at  him.  .  .  .  And  little  Albert  next  door, 
what  his  parents  got  a  big  bonus  for,  so  as  you  could 
hear  them  for  a  week  all  down  the  street  drinking 
it  away,  he  can't  walk  yet,  nor  hardly  look  up  when 
spoke  to.  Deficient,  /  calls  him.  It  isn't  fair  deal- 
ing, no  matter  what  anyone  says." 

"  All  the  same,"  said  Nicholas  Chester  to  his 
colleagues,  "  there  appears  to  me  to  be  a  consider- 
ably higher  percentage  of  intelligent  looking  infants 
of  under  three  years  of  age  than  there  were  for- 
merly. Intelligent  looking,  that  is  to  say,  for 
infants.  Infants,  of  course,  are  not  intelligent 
creatures.  Their  mental  level  is  low.  But  I  observe 
a  distinct  improvement." 

A  distinct  improvement  was,  in  fact,  discernible. 

But,  among  the  Great  Unimproved,  and  among 
those  who  did  not  want  improvement,  discontent 


A  MINISTRY  AT  BAY  215 

grew  and  spread  ;  the  slow,  aggrieved  discontent  of 
the  stupid,  to  whom  personal  freedom  is  as  the  breath 
of  life,  to  whom  the  welfare  of  the  race  is  as  an  idle, 
intangible  dream,  not  worth  the  consideration  of 
practical  men  and  women. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  STORMING  OF  THE  HOTEL 

I 

IN  December  Dora  did  a  foolish  thing.  It  is  needless 
to  say  that  she  did  other  foolish  things  in  other 
months ;  it  is  to  be  feared  that  she  had  been  born 
before  the  Brains  Acts  ;  her  mental  category  must 
be  well  below  €3.  But  this  particular  folly  is 
selected  for  mention  because  it  had  a  disastrous 
effect  on  the  already  precarious  destiny  of  the 
Ministry  of  Brains.  Putting  out  a  firm  and  practised 
hand,  she  laid  it  heavily  and  simultaneously  upon 
four  journals  who  were  taking  a  rebellious  attitude 
towards  the  Brains  Act — the  Nation,  Stop' It,  the 
Herald,  and  the  Patriot.  Thus  she  angered  at  one 
blow  considerable  sections  of  the  Thoughtful,  the 
Advanced,  the  Workers  (commonly  but  erroneously 
known  as  the  proletariat)  and  the  Vulgar. 

"  Confound  the  fools,"  as  Chester  bitterly  re- 
marked ;  but  the  deed  was  then  done. 

"  How  long,"  Vernon  Prideaux  asked,  "  will  it 
take  governments  to  learn  that  revolutionary 
propaganda  disseminated  all  over  the  country  don't 
do  as  much  harm  as  this  sort  of  action  ?  " 

216 


THE  STORMING  OF  THE  HOTEL     217 

Chester  was  of  opinion  that,  give  the  Ministry  of 
Brains  its  chance,  let  it  work  for,  say,  fifty  years, 
and  even  governments  might  at  the  end  of  that 
time  have  become  intelligent  enough  to  acquire 
such  elementary  pieces  of  knowledge.  If  only  the 
Ministry  were  given  its  chance,  if  it  could  weather 
the  present  unrest,  let  the  country  get  used  to  it.  ... 
Custom  :  that  was  the  great  thing.  People  settled 
down  under  things  at  last.  All  sorts  of  dreadful 
things.  Education,  vaccination,  taxation,  sanita- 
tion, representation.  ...  It  was  only  a  question 
of  getting  used  to  them. 

2 

Though  the  authorities  were  prepared  for  trouble, 
they  did  not  foresee  the  events  of  Boxing-day,  that 
strange  day  in  the  history  of  the  Ministry. 

The  Ministry  were  so  busy  that  many  of  the  staff 
took  no  holiday  beyond  Christmas  Day  itself.  Bank 
Holidays  are,  as  everyone  who  has  tried  knows,  an 
excellent  time  for  working  in  one's  office,  because 
there  are  no  interruptions  from  the  outside  world, 
no  telephoning,  no  visitors,  no  registry  continually 
sending  up  incoming  correspondence.  The  clamor- 
ous, persistent  public  fade  away  from  sound  and 
sight,  and  ministries  are  left  undistracted,  to  deal 
with  them  for  their  good  in  the  academic  seclusion 
of  the  office.  If  there  was  in  this  world  an  eternal 
Bank  Holiday  (some,  but  with  how  little  reason, 
say  that  this  awaits  us  in  heaven)  ministries  would 


2i8  WHAT  NOT 

thrive  better ;  governing  would  then  become  like 
pure  mathematics,  an  abstract  science  unmarred 
by  the  continual  fret  and  jar  of  contact  with  human 
demands,  which  drag  them  so  roughly,  so  continu- 
ally, down  to  earth. 

On  Boxing  Day  the  Minister  himself  worked  all 
day,  and  about  a  quarter  of  the  higher  staff  were  in 
their  places.  But  by  seven  o'clock  only  the  Minister 
remained,  talking  to  Prideaux  in  his  room. 

The  procession,  at  first  in  the  form  of  four  clouds 
each  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand,  trailed  from  out 
the  north,  south,  east  and  west,  and  coalesced  in 
Trafalgar  Square.  From  there  it  marched  down 
Whitehall  to  Westminster,  and  along  the  Embank- 
ment. It  seemed  harmless  enough ;  a  holiday 
crowd  of  men  and  women  with  banners,  like  the 
people  who  used  to  want  Votes,  or  Church  Dis- 
establishment, or  Peace,  or  Cheap  Food.  The  chief 
difference  to  be  observed  between  this  and  those 
old  processions  was  that  a  large  number  in  this  pro- 
cession seemed  to  fall  naturally  and  easily  into  step, 
and  marched  in  time,  like  soldiers.  This  was  a 
characteristic  now  of  most  processions ;  that 
soldier's  trick,  once  learnt,  is  not  forgotten.  It 
might  have  set  an  onlooker  speculating  on  the  ad- 
vantages and  the  dangers  of  a  nation  of  soldiers, 
that  necessary  sequence  to  an  army  of  citizens. 

The  procession  drew  up  outside  the  Ministry  of 
Brains,  and  resolved  itself  into  a  meeting.  It  was 
addressed  in  a  short  and  stirring  speech  from  the 


THE  STORMING  OF  THE  HOTEL     219 

Ministry  steps  by  the  president  of  the  Stop  It 
League,  a  fiery  young  man  with  a  megaphone,  who 
concluded  his  remarks  with  "  Isn't  it  up  to  all  who 
love  freedom,  all  who  hate  tyranny,  to  lose  no  time, 
but  to  wreck  the  place  where  these  things  are  done  ? 
That's  what  we're  here  to  do  to-night — to  smash 
up  this  hotel  and  show  the  government  what  the 
men  and  women  of  England  mean !  Come  on, 
boys !  " 

Too  late  the  watching  policemen  knew  that  this 
procession  and  this  meeting  meant  business,  and 
should  be  broken  up. 

The  Minister  and  Prideaux  listened,  from  an 
open  window,  to  the  speaking  outside.  "  Rendle," 
said  Prideaux.  "  Scandalous  mismanagement. 
What  have  the  police  been  about  ?  It's  too  late 
now  to  do  much.  ...  Do  they  know  we  are  here, 
by  the  way  ?  Probably  not." 

"  They  shall,"  replied  Chester,  and  stepped  out 
on  to  the  balcony. 

There  was  a  hush,  then  a  tremendous  shout. 

"  It's  the  Minister  !  By  God,  it's  Nicky  Chester, 
the  man  who's  made  all  the  trouble  !  " 

A  voice  rose  above  the  rest. 

"  Quiet !  Silence  !  Let  him  speak.  Let's  hear 
what  he's  got  to  say  for  himself." 

Silence  came,  abruptly  ;  the  queer,  awful,  terri- 
fying silence  of  a  waiting  crowd. 

Into  it  Chester's  voice  cut,  sharp  and  incisive. 

"  You  fools.    Get  out  of  this  and  go  home.    Don't 


220  WHAT  NOT 

you  know  that  you're  heading  for  serious  trouble — 
that  you'll  find  yourselves  in  prison  for  this  ?  Get 
out  before  it's  too  late.  That's  all  I  have  to  say." 

"  That's  all  he's  got  to  say,"  the  crowd  took  it  up 
like  a  refrain.  "  That's  all  he's  got  to  say,  after  all 
the  trouble  he's  made  !  " 

A  suave,  agreeable  voice  rose  above  the  rest. 

"  That  is  not  quite  all  he's  got  to  say.  There's 
something  else.  He's  got  to  answer  two  plain 
questions.  Number  one  :  Are  you  certificated  for 
marriage,  Mr.  Chester,  or  have  you  got  mental  de- 
ficiency in  your  family  ?  " 

There  was  an  instant's  pause.  Then  the  Minister, 
looking  down  from  the  balcony  at  the  upturned 
faces,  white  in  the  cold  moonlight,  said,  clearly, 
"  I  am  not  certificated  for  marriage,  owing  to  the 
cause  you  mention." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  voice.  "  Have  you  all 
noted  that,  boys  ?  The  Minister  of  Brains  is  not 
certificated  for  marriage.  He  has  deficiency  in  his 
family.  Now,  Mr.  Chester,  question  number  two, 
please.  Am  I  correct  in  stating  that  you — got — 
married — last — August  ?  " 

"  You  are  quite  correct,  Mr.  Jenkins." 

Chester  heard  beside  him  Prideaux's  mutter — 
"  Good  God  !  "  and  then,  below  him,  broke  the  roar 
of  the  crowd. 

"  Come  on,  boys  !  "  someone  shouted.  "  Come 
on  and  wreck  the  blooming  show,  and  nab  the 
blooming  showman  before  he  slips  off !  " 


THE  STORMING  OF  THE  HOTEL     221 

Men  flung  themselves  up  the  steps  and  through 
the  big  doors,  and  surged  up  the  stairs. 

'  This,"  remarked  Prideaux,  "  is  going  to  be 
some  mess.  I'll  go  and  get  Rendle  to  see  sense,  if 
I  can.  He's  leading  them  up  the  stairs,  probably." 

"  I  fancy  that  won't  be  necessary,"  said  Chester. 
"  Rendle  and  his  friends  are  coming  in  here,  ap- 
parently." 

The  door  was  burst  open,  and  men  rushed  in. 
Chester  and  Prideaux  faced  them,  standing  before 
the  door. 

"  You  fools,"  Chester  said  again.  "  What  good 
do  you  think  you're  going  to  do  yourselves  by 
this  ?  " 

"  Here  he  is,  boys !  Here's  Nicky  Chester,  the 
married  man !  " 

Chester  and  Prideaux  were  surrounded  and 
pinioned. 

"  Don't  hurt  him,"  someone  exhorted.  "  We'll 
hang  him  out  over  the  balcony  and  ask  the  boys 
down  there  what  to  do  with  him." 

They  dragged  him  on  to  the  balcony  and  swung 
him  over  the  rail,  dangling  him  by  a  leg  and  an  arm. 
One  of  them  shouted,  "  Here's  the  Minister,  boys  ! 
Here's  Nicky,  the  Minister  of  Brains  !  " 

The  crowd  looked  up  and  saw  him,  swinging  in 
mid  air,  and  a  great  shout  went  up. 

"  Yes,"  went  on  the  speaker  from  the  balcony, 
"  Here's  Nicky  Chester,  the  man  who  dares  to 
dictate  to  the  people  of  Britain  who  they  may  marry 


222  WHAT  NOT 

and  what  kids  they  may  have,  and  then  goes  and 
gets  married  himself,  breaking  his  own  laws,  and 
hushes  it  up  so  that  he  thought  it  would  never  come 
out."  ("  I  always  knew  it  would  come  out,"  the 
Minister  muttered,  inarticulately  protesting  against 
this  estimate  of  his  intelligence.)  "  But  it  7ms  come 
out,"  the  speaker  continued.  "  And  now  what  are 
we  to  do  with  him,  with  this  man  who  won't  submit 
to  the  laws  he  forces  on  other  people  ?  This  man 
who  dares  to  tell  other  people  to  bear  what  he  won't 
bear  himself  ?  What  shall  we  do  with  him  ?  Drop 
him  down  into  the  street  ?  " 

For  a  moment  it  seemed  that  the  Minister's  fate, 
like  himself,  hung  suspended. 

They  swung  him  gently  to  and  fro,  as  if  to  get  an 
impetus.  .  .  . 

Then  someone  shouted,  "  We'll  let  him  off  this 
time,  as  he's  just  married.  Let  him  go  home  to  his 
wife,  and  not  meddle  with  government  any  more  !  " 

The  crowd  rocked  with  laughter ;  and  in  that 
laughter,  rough,  good-humoured,  scornful,  the 
Ministry  of  Brains  seemed  to  dissolve. 

They  drew  Chester  in  through  the  window  again. 
Someone  said,  "  Now  we'll  set  the  blooming  hotel 
on  fire.  No  time  to  waste,  boys." 

Chester  and  Prideaux  were  dragged  firmly  but 
not  unkindly  down  the  stairs  and  out  through  the 
door.  Their  appearance  outside  the  building,  each 
pinioned  by  two  stalwart  ex-guardsmen,  was  hailed 
by  a  shout,  partly  of  anger,  but  three  parts  laughter. 


THE  STORMING  OF  THE  HOTEL     223 

To  Chester  it  was  the  laughter,  good-humoured, 
stupid,  scornful,  of  the  British  public  at  ideas,  and 
particularly  at  ideas  which  had  failed.  But  in  it, 
sharp  and  stinging,  was  another,  more  contemptuous 
laughter,  levelled  at  a  man  who  had  failed  to  live 
up  to  his  own  ridiculous  ideas,  the  laughter  of  the 
none  too  honest  world,  which  yet  respected  honesty, 
at  the  hypocrisy  and  double-dealing  of  others. 

"  They're  quite  right  to  laugh,"  thought  Chester. 
"  It  is  funny  :  damned  funny." 

And  at  that,  standing  pinioned  on  the  steps  of  his 
discredited  Ministry,  looking  down  on  the  crowd  of 
the  injured,  contemptuous  British  public,  who  were 
out  to  wreck  the  things  he  cared  for,  he  began  to 
laugh  himself. 

His  laughter  was  naturally  unheard,  but  they 
saw  his  face,  which  should  have  been  downcast  and 
ashamed,  twist  into  his  familiar,  sad,  cynical  smile, 
which  all  who  had  heard  him  on  platforms  knew. 

"  Laughing,  are  you,"  someone  shouted  thickly. 
''  Laughing  at  the  people  you've  tricked  !  You've 
ruined  me  and  my  missus — taken  every  penny  we 
had,  just  because  we  had  twins — and  you — you 
stand  there  and  laugh  !  You — you  bloody  married 
imbecile  !  " 

Lurching  up  the  steps,  he  flung  himself  upon 
Chester  and  wrenched  him  from  the  relaxed  hold  of 

s  captors.  Struggling  together,  the  Minister  and 
his  assailant  stumbled  down  the  steps,  and  then  fell 
headlong  among  the  public. 


224  WHAT  NOT 

3 

When  the  mounted  police  finally  succeeded  in 
dispersing  the  crowd,  the  Ministry  of  Brains  was  in 
flames,  like  Sodom  and  Gomorrah,  those  wicked 
cities.  Unlike  Sodom  and  Gomorrah,  the  confla- 
gration was  at  last  quenched  by  a  fire  engine.  But 
far  into  the  night  the  red  wreckage  blazed,  testimony 
to  the  wrath  of  a  great  people,  to  the  failure  of  a 
great  idea,  to  the  downfall  of  him  who,  whatever 
the  weakness  he  shared  in  common  with  the  public 
who  downed  him,  was  yet  a  great  man. 


CHAPTER  XII 

DEBRIS 

I 

CHESTER  lay  with  a  broken  head  and  three  smashed 
ribs  in  his  flat  in  Mount  Street.  He  was  nursed  by 
his  elder  sister  Maggie,  a  kind,  silent,  plain  person 
with  her  brother's  queer  smile  and  more  than  his 
cynical  patience.  With  her  patience  took  the  form 
of  an  infinite  tolerance  ;  the  tolerance  of  one  who 
looks  upon  all  human  things  and  sees  that  they  are 
not  much  good,  nor  likely  to  be.  (Chester  had  not 
his  fair  share  of  this  patience  :  hence  his  hopes  and 
his  faiths,  and  hence  his  downfall.)  She  was  kind 
to  Kitty,  whose  acquaintance  she  now  made.  (The 
majority  of  the  Ministry  of  Brains  staff  were  having 
a  short  holiday,  during  the  transference  to  other 
premises.) 

Maggie  said  to  Kitty,  "  I'm  not  surprised.  It 
was  a  lot  to  live  up  to.  And  it's  not  in  our  family, 
living  up  to  that.  Perhaps  not  in  any  family.  I'm 
sorry  for  Nicky,  because  he'll  mind." 

She  did  not  reproach  Kitty ;  she  took  her  for 
granted.  Such  incidents  as  Kitty  were  liable  to 
happen,  even  in  the  best  regulated  lives.  When 
Q  225 


226  WHAT  NOT 

Kitty  reproached  herself,  saying,  "  I've  spoilt  his 
life,"  she  merely  replied  tranquilly,  "  Nicky  lets 
no  one  but  himself  spoil  his  life.  When  he's  deter- 
mined to  do  a  thing,  he'll  do  it."  Nor  did  she 
commit  herself  to  any  indication  as  to  whether  she 
thought  that  what  Nicky  had  gained  would  be  likely 
to  compensate  for  what  he  had  lost. 

For  about  what  he  had  lost  there  seemed  no 
doubt  in  anyone's  mind.  He  had  lost  his  reputa- 
tion, his  office,  and,  for  the  time  being,  his  public 
life.  The  Ministry  of  Brains  might  continue,  would 
in  fact,  weakly  continue,  without  power  and  with- 
out much  hope,  till  it  trailed  into  ignominious  death  ; 
even  the  wrecked  Hotel  would  continue,  when  re- 
paired ;  but  it  was  not  possible  that  Chester  should 
continue. 

The  first  thing  he  did,  in  fact,  when  he  could  do 
anything  at  all  intelligent,  was  to  dictate  a  letter  to 
the  Ministerial  Council  tendering  his  resignation 
from  office.  There  are,  of  course,  diverse  styles 
adopted  by  the  writers  of  such  letters.  In  the  old 
days  people  used  to  write  (according  to  the  peculiar 
circumstances  of  their  case) — 

"  Dear  Prime  Minister, 

"  Though  you  have  long  and  often  tried  to 
dissuade  me  from  this  course  .  .  .  etc.,  etc.  ...  I 
think  you  will  hardly  be  surprised  .  .  .  deep  regret 
in  severing  the  always  harmonious  connection 
between  us  .  .,"  and  so  forth. 


DEBRIS  227 

,  Or  else  quite  otherwise — 

"  Dear  Prime  Minister, 

'  You  will  hardly  be  surprised,  I  imagine, 
after  the  strange  occurrence  of  yesterday,  when  I 
had  the  interest  of  reading  in  a  daily  paper  the  first 
intimation  that  you  desired  a  change  at  the  Ministry 
I  have  the  honour  to  adorn.  ..." 

Neither  of  these  styles  was  used  by  Chester,  who 
wrote  briefly,  without  committing  himself  to  any 
opinion  as  to  the  probable  surprise  or  otherwise  of 
the  Ministerial  Council — 

"  Dear  Sirs, 

"  I  am  resigning  my  office  as  Minister  of 
Brains,  owing  to  facts  of  which  you  will  have 
doubtless  heard,  and  which  make  it  obviously  un- 
desirable for  me  to  continue  in  the  post." 

Having  done  this,  he  lay  inert  through  quiet, 
snow-bound  days  and  nights,  and  no  one  knew 
whether  or  not  he  was  going  to  recover. 


2 

After  a  time  he  asked  after  Prideaux,  and  they 
told  him  Prideaux  had  not  been  hurt,  only  rumpled. 

"  He  calls  to  ask  after  you  pretty  often,"  said 
Kitty.  "  Would  you  like  to  see  him  sometime  ? 
When  the  doctor  says  you  can  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care,"  Chester  said.  "  Yes,  I  may  as 
well." 


228  WHAT  NOT 

So  Prideaux  came  one  afternoon  (warned  not  to 
be  political  or  exciting)  and  it  was  a  queer  meeting 
between  him  and  Chester.  Chester  remembered  the 
last  shocked  words  he  had  had  from  Prideaux — 
"  Good  God  !  "  and  wondered,  without  interest, 
what  Prideaux  felt  about  it  all  now. 

But  it  was  not  Prideaux's  way  to  show  much  of 
what  he  felt. 

They  talked  mainly  of  that  night's  happenings. 
Chester  had  already  had  full  reports  of  these  ;  of 
the  fire,  of  the  fight  between  the  police  and  the 
crowd,  in  which  several  lives  had  been  lost,  of  the 
arrest  of  the  ringleaders  and  their  trials.  To  Chester's 
own  part  in  the  proceedings  they  did  not  refer,  till, 
after  a  pause,  Chester  suddenly  said,  "  I  have  been 
wondering,  but  I  can't  make  up  my  mind  about  it. 
How  much  difference  to  the  business  did  the  dis- 
covery about  me  make  ?  Would  they  have  gone  to 
those  lengths  without  it  ?  " 

Prideaux  was  silent.  He  believed  that  Chester 
that  night  on  the  balcony,  had  his  hands  been  clean, 
could  have  held  the  mob. 

Chester  interpreted  the  silence. 

"  I  suppose  they  wouldn't,"  he  said  impassively. 
"  However,  I  fancy  it  only  precipitated  the  catas- 
trophe. The  Ministry  was  down  and  under,  in 
any  case.  People  were  determined  not  to  stand 
laws  that  inconvenienced  them — as  I  was.  I 
was  merely  an  example,  not  a  cause,  of  that 
disease. 


DEBRIS  229 

That  was  the  nearest  he  ever  got  with  Prideaux  to 
discussion  of  his  own  action. 

"  Anyhow,"  said  Prideaux  sadly,  "  the  Ministry 
is  down  and  under  now.  Imagine  Frankie  Lyle, 
poor  little  beggar,  trying  to  carry  on,  after  all  this  !  '' 
(This  gentleman  had  been  nominated  as  Chester's 
successor.) 

Chester  smiled  faintly.  "  Poor  little  Frankie.  .  .  . 
I  hear  Monk  wouldn't  touch  it,  by  the  way.  I  don't 
blame  him.  .  .  .  Lyle  won't  hold  them  for  a  week  ; 
he'll  back  out  on  every  point." 

There  was  regret  in  his  tired,  toneless  voice,  and 
bitterness,  because  the  points  on  which  Lyle  would 
back  out  were  all  points  which  he  had  made.  He 
could  have  held  them  for  a  week,  and  more ;  he 
might  even — there  would  have  been  a  fighting 
chance  of  it — have  pulled  the  Ministry  through 
altogether,  had  things  been  otherwise.  But  things 
were  not  otherwise,  and  this  was  not  his  show  any 
more.  He  looked  at  Prideaux  half  resentfully  as 
Prideaux  rose  to  leave  him.  Prideaux  had  not 
wrecked  his  own  career.  .  .  . 

To  Kitty,  the  first  time  he  had  met  her  after  the 
events  of  Boxing  Night,  Prideaux  had  shown  more 
of  his  mind.  He  had  come  to  ask  after  Chester, 
and  had  found  Kitty  there.  He  had  looked  at  her 
sharply  and  coolly,  as  if  she  had  made  a  stupid 
mistake  over  her  work  in  the  office. 

"  So  you  didn't  guess,  all  this  time,"  she  had  said 
to  him,  coolly  too,  because  she  resented  his  look. 


230  WHAT  NOT 

"  Not,"  he  had  returned,  "  that  things  had  gone 
as  far  as  this.  I  knew  you  were  intimate,  of  course. 
There  was  that  time  in  Italy.  .  .  .  But — well, 
honestly,  I  thought  better  of  both  your  brains." 

She  ..gave  up  her  momentary  resentment,  and 
slipped  again  into  remorse. 

"  We  thought  better  of  them  too — till  we  did  it. 
.  .  .  Have  I  spoilt  his  life,  Vernon  ?  I  suppose  so." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  You've  spoilt,  and 
he's  spoilt  his  own,  career  as  Minister  of  Brains. 
There  are  other  things,  of  course.  Chester  can't  go 
under  ;  he's  too  good  a  man  to  lose.  They'll  stick 
on  to  him  somehow.  .  .  .  But  .  .  .  well,  what  in 
heaven  or  earth  or  the  other  place  possessed  you 
both  to  do  it,  Kitty  ?  " 

To  which  she  had  no  answer  but  "  We  just  thought 
we  would,"  and  he  left  her  in  disgust. 

Even  in  her  hour  of  mortification  and  remorse, 
Kitty  could  still  enjoy  getting  a  rise  out  of  Prideaux. 


3 

Pansy,  who  called  often  with  showers  of  hot- 
house flowers,  which  Chester  detested,  was  much 
more  sympathetic.  She  was  frankly  delighted.  She 
could  not  be  allowed  to  see  Chester ;  Kitty  was 
afraid  that  her  exuberance  might  send  his  tempera- 
ture up. 

"  You  won't  mind  my  tellin'  you  now,  darlin', 
but  I've  been  thinkin'  it  was  free  love  all  this  time. 


DEBRIS  231 

I  didn't  mind,  you  know.  But  this  is  more  respect- 
able. This  family  couldn't  really  properly  afford 
another  scandal ;  it  might  lose  its  good  name,  then 
what  would  Cyril  say  ?  It  would  come  hard  on  the 
Cheeper,  too.  Now  this  is  some  marriage.  So 
sensible  of  you  both,  to  throw  over  those  silly  laws 
and  do  the  jolly  thing  and  have  a  good  time.  As  I 
said  to  Tony,  what  is  the  good  of  making  laws  if 
you  can't  break  them  yourself  ?  Now  that  your 
Nicky's  set  a  good  example,  it  really  does  seem  as 
if  all  this  foolishness  was  goin'  to  dwine  away  and  be 
forgotten.  ...  I  guess  it's  doin'  what  we  like  and 
havin'  a  good  time  that  matters,  in  the  long  run, 
isn't  it.  Not  keepin'  laws  or  improvin'  the  silly  old 
world." 

"  Ask  me  another,"  said  Kitty.  "  I  haven't  the 
slightest  idea,  Pansy,  my  love.  You're  usually  right, 
so  I  daresay  you're  right  about  this.  But  you  mustn't 
talk  like  that  to  Nicky,  or  he'll  have  a  relapse." 

"  And  fancy,"  Pansy  mused,  "  me  havin'  got  the 
great  Minister  of  Brains  for  a  brother-in-law  !  Or 
anyhow  somethin'  of  the  sort ;  as  near  as  makes  no 
difference.  I  shall  never  hear  the  last  of  it  from  the 
girls  and  boys.  .  .  .  Good-bye,  old  thing ;  I'm 
ever  so  pleased  you're  a  happy  wife  now  as  well 
as  me." 

4 

Chester  handed  Kitty  a  letter  from  his  mother, 
the  wife  of  a  struggling  bishop  somewhere  in  the 


232  WHAT  NOT 

west  country.  It  said,  "  Directly  you  are  well 
enough,  dear,  you  must  bring  Kitty  to  stay  with  us  ; 
She  won't,  I  am  sure,  mind  our  simple  ways.  .  .  .  My 
dear,  we  are  so  thankful  you  have  found  happiness. 
We  are  distressed  about  your  accident,  and  about 
your  loss  of  office,  which  I  fear  you  will  feel.  .  . 
But,  after  all,  love  and  happiness  are  so  much  more 
important  than  office,  are  they  not  ?  .  .  ." 

"  Important,"  Kitty  repeated.  "  Queer  word. 
Just  what  love  and  happiness  aren't,  you'd  think. 
Comfortable — jolly — but  not  important.  .  .  .  Never 
you  mind,  Nicky,  you'll  be  important  always : 
Vernon  is  right  about  that.  They'll  put  you  some- 
where where  '  domestick  selvishenesse '  doesn't 
matter  :  perhaps  they'll  make  you  a  peer.  ..." 

Chester  said  he  would  not  be  at  all  surprised. 

Kitty  said,  "  Shall  we  go  and  see  your  people  ?  " 
and  he  replied  gloomily,  "  I  suppose  we  must.  It 
will  be  ...  rather  trying." 

"  Will  they  condole  with  you?  "  she  suggested, 
and  he  returned,  "  No.  They'll  congratulate  me." 

A  fortnight  later  they  went  down  to  the  west. 
Bishop  Chester  lived  in  a  little  old  house  in  a  slum 
behind  his  cathedral.  Bishops'  palaces  were  no 
longer  bishops',  homes  ;  they  had  all  been  turned 
into  community  houses,  clergy  houses,  retreat 
houses,  alms  houses,  and  so  forth.  Celibate  bishops 
could  live  in  them,  together  with  other  clergy  of 
their  diocese,  but  bishops  with  families  had  to  find 
quarters  elsewhere.  And,  married  or  unmarried, 


DEBRIS  233 

their  incomes  were  not  enough  to  allow  of  any  style 
of  living  but  that  apostolic  simplicity  which  the 
Church,  directly  it  was  freed  from  the  State  and 
could  arrange  its  own  affairs,  had  decided  was  right 
and  suitable. 

Not  all  bishops  took  kindly  to  the  new  regime ; 
some  resigned,  and  had  to  be  replaced  by  bishops 
of  the  new  and  sterner  school.  But,  to  give  bishops 
their  due,  which  is  too  seldom  done,  they  are  for 
the  most  part  good  Christian  men,  ready  to  do  what 
they  believe  is  for  the  good  of  the  Church.  Many 
of  their  detractors  were  surprised  at  the  amount  of 
good-will  and  self-sacrifice  revealed  in  the  episcopal 
ranks  when  they  were  put  to  the  test.  If  some  failed 
under  it — well,  bishops,  if  no  worse  than  other  men, 
are  human. 

Bishop  Chester  had  not  failed.  He  had  taken  to 
plain  living  and  plainer  thinking  (how  often,  alas, 
these  two  are  to  be  found  linked  together  !)  with 
resignation,  as  a  Christian  duty.  If  it  should  bring 
any  into  the  Church  who  had  been  kept  outside  it 
by  his  purple  and  fine  linen,  he  would  feel  himself 
more  than  rewarded. .  If  it  should  not,  that  was  not 
his  look-out.  Which  is  to  say  that  Bishop  Chester 
was  a  good  man,  if  not  clever. 

He  and  his  wife  were  very  kind  to  Chester  and 
Kitty.  Chester  said  he  could  not  spare  more  than 
a  day  and  night  ;  he  had  to  get  back  to  town,  where 
he  had  much  business  on  hand,  including  the  in- 
stituting of  an  action  for  malicious  libel  against 


234  WHAT  NOT 

Mr.  Percy  Jenkins  and  the  publishers  and  proprietors 
of  the  Patriot.  Kitty  was  not  surprised  at  the  short- 
ness of  the  visit,  for  it  was  a  humiliating  visit.  The 
bishop  and  Mrs.  Chester,  as  their  son  had  known 
they  would,  approved  of  his  contravention  of  his 
own  principles.  They  thought  them,  had  always 
thought  them,  monstrous  and  inhuman  principles. 

The  bishop  said,  "  My  dear  boy,  I  can't  tell  you 
how  thankful  I  am  that  you  have  decided  at  last 
to  let  humanity  have  its  way  with  you.  Humanity  ; 
the  simple  human  things  ;  love,  birth,  family  life. 
They're  the  simple  things,  but,  after  all,  the  deep 
and  grand  things.  No  laws  will  ever  supersede 
them." 

And  Mrs.  Chester  looked  at  Kitty  with  the  inde- 
scribable look  of  mothers-in-law  who  hope  that  one 
day  they  may  be  grandmothers,  and  whispered  to 
her  when  she  said  good-night,  "  And  some  day, 
dear.  .  .  ." 

And  they  saw  Chester's  twin  sister.  She  was 
harmless  ;  she  was  even  doing  crochet  work  ;  and 
her  face  was  the  face  of  Chester  uninformed  by 
thought.  Mrs.  Chester  said,  "  Nicky  will  have  told 
you  of  our  poor  ailing  girl.  ..." 


5 

They  came  away  next  morning.  They  faced  each 
other  in  the  train,  but  they  read  the  Times  (half 
each)  and  did  not  meet  each  other's  eyes.  They 


DEBRIS  235 

could  not.  They  felt  as  thieves  who  still  have  con- 
sciences must  feel  when  congratulated  on  their 
crimes  by  other  thieves,  who  have  not.  Between 
them  stood  and  jeered  a  Being  with  a  vacant  face 
and  a  phrase  which  it  repeated  with  cynical  reitera- 
tion. '  You  have  let  humanity  have  its  way  with 
you.  Humanity  ;  the  simple  human  things.  .  . 
No  laws  will  ever  supersede  them.  ..."  And  the 
Being's  face  was  as  the  face  of  Chester's  twin 
sister,  the  poor  ailing  girl. 

To  this  they  had  come,  then  ;  to  the  first  of  the 
three  simple  human  things  mentioned  by  the  bishop. 
What  now,  since  they  had  started  down  the  long 
slope  of  this  green  and  easy  hill,  should  arrest  their 
progress,  until  they  arrived,  brakeless  and  unheld, 
into  the  valley  where  the  other  two  waited,  cynical, 
for  all  their  simplicity,  and  grim  ? 
•  Kitty,  staring  helplessly  into  the  problematical 
future,  saw,  as  if  someone  had  turned  a  page  and 
shown  it  to  her,  a  domestic  picture — herself  and 
Chester  (a  peer,  perhaps,  why  not  ?)  facing  one 
another  not  in  a  train  but  in  a  simple  human  home, 
surrounded  by  Family  Life  ;  two  feckless,  fallen 
persons,  who  had  made  a  holocaust  of  theories  and 
principles,  who  had  reverted  to  the  hand-to-mouth 
shiftlessness  and  mental  sloppiness  of  the  primitive 
Briton.  Kitty  could  hear  Chester,  in  that  future, 
vaguer,  family,  peer's  voice  that  might  then  be  his, 
saying,  "  We  must  just  trust  to  luck  and  muddle 
through  somehow." 


236  WHAT  NOT 

Even  to  that  they  might  come.  .  .  . 

In  the  next  Great  War — and  who  should  stay  its 
advent  if  such  as  these  failed  ? — their  sons  would 
fight,  without  talent,  their  daughters  would  perhaps 
nurse,  without  skill.  And  so  on,  and  so  on,  and  so 
on.  .  .  . 

So  turned  the  world  around.  Individual  desire 
given  way  to,  as  usual,  ruining  principle  and  ideals 
by  its  soft  pressure.  What  would  ever  get  done  in 
such  a  world  ?  Nothing,  ever. 

Suddenly,  as  if  both  had  seen  the  same  picture, 
they  met  one  another's  eyes  across  the  carriage,  and 
laughed  ruefully. 

That,  anyhow,  they  could  always  do,  though 
sitting  among  the  debris  of  ruined  careers,  ruined 
principles,  ruined  Ministries,  ruined  ideals.  It  was 
something  ;  perhaps,  in  a  sad  and  precarious  world, 
it  was  much. 


THE   END 


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