“Yes, isn’t it a sweet colour?” she was saying. “I do like something bright myself. Diana made it for me, she does knit a treat, does Diana, but of course I chose the colour, you know, because, you see, Diana’s taste is all for wishy-washy greys and browns. Mournful, you know. Well, here’s the dad. Lady Circumference was just saying how much she likes my frock what you said was vulgar, so there!”
A stout elderly woman dressed in a tweed coat and skirt and jaunty Tyrolean hat advanced to the Doctor. “Hullo!” she said in a deep bass voice, “how are you? Sorry if we’re late. Circumference ran over a fool of a boy. I’ve just been chaffing your daughter here about her frock. Wish I was young enough to wear that kind of thing. Older I get the more I like colour. We’re both pretty long in the tooth, eh?” She gave Dr. Fagan a hearty shake of the hand that obviously caused him acute pain. Then she turned to Paul.
“So you’re the Doctor’s hired assassin, eh? Well, I hope you keep a firm hand on my toad of a son. How’s he doin’?”
“Quite well,” said Paul.
“Nonsense!” said Lady Circumference. “The boy’s a dunderhead. If he wasn’t he wouldn’t be here. He wants beatin’ and hittin’ and knockin’ about generally, and then he’ll be no good. That grass is shockin’ bad on the terrace, Doctor; you ought to sand it down and resow it, but you’ll have to take that cedar down if ever you want it to grow properly at the side. I hate cuttin’ down a tree—like losin’ a tooth—but you have to choose, tree or grass; you can’t keep ’em both. What d’you pay your head man?”
As she was talking Lord Circumference emerged from the shadows and shook Paul’s hand. He had a long fair moustache and large watery eyes which reminded Paul a little of Mr. Prendergast.
“How do you do?” he said.
“How do you do?” said Paul.
“Fond of sport, eh?” he said. “I mean these sort of sports?”
“Oh, yes,” said Paul. “I think they’re so good for the boys.”
“Do you? Do you think that?” said Lord Circumference very earnestly; “you think they’re good for the boys?”
“Yes,” said Paul; “don’t you?”
“Me? Yes, oh, yes. I think so, too. Very good for the boys.”
“So useful in case of a war or anything,” said Paul.
“D’you think so? D’you really and truly think so? That there’s going to be another war, I mean?”
“Yes, I’m sure of it; aren’t you?”
“Yes, of course, I’m sure of it too. And that awful bread, and people coming on to one’s own land and telling one what one’s to do with one’s own butter and milk, and commandeering one’s horses! Oh yes, all over again! My wife shot her hunters rather than let them go to the army. And girls in breeches on all the farms! All over again! Who do you think it will be this time?”
“The Americans,” said Paul stoutly.
“No, indeed, I hope not. We had German prisoners on two of the farms. That wasn’t so bad, but if they start putting Americans on my land, I’ll just refuse to stand it. My daughter brought an American down to luncheon the other day, and, do you know … ?”
“Dig it and dung it,” said Lady Circumference. “Only it’s got to be dug deep, mind. Now how did your calceolarias do last year?”
“I really have no idea,” said the Doctor. “Flossie, how did our calceolarias do?”
“Lovely,” said Flossie.
“I don’t believe a word of it,” said Lady Circumference. “Nobody’s calceolarias did well last year.”
“Shall we adjourn to the playing-fields?” said the Doctor. “I expect they are all waiting for us.”
Talking cheerfully, the party crossed the hall and went down the steps.
“Your drive’s awful wet,” said Lady Circumference. “I expect there’s a blocked pipe somewhere. Sure it ain’t sewage?”
“I was never any use at short distances,” Lord Circumference was saying. “I was always a slow starter, but I was once eighteenth in the Crick at Rugby. We didn’t take sports so seriously at the ’Varsity when I was up: everybody rode. What college were you at?”
“Scone.”
“Scone, were you? Ever come across a young nephew of my wife’s called Alastair Digby-Vaine-Trumpington?”
“I just met him,” said Paul.
“That’s very interesting. Greta, Mr. Pennyfoot knows Alastair.”
“Does he? Well, that boy’s doing no good for himself. Got fined twenty pounds the other day, his mother told me. Seemed proud of it. If my brother had been alive he’d have licked all that out of the young cub. It takes a man to bring up a man.”
“Yes,” said Lord Circumference meekly.
“Who else do you know at Oxford? Do you know Freddy French-Wise?”
“No.”
“Or Tom Obblethwaite or that youngest Castleton boy?”
“No, I’m afraid not. I had a great friend called Potts.”
“Potts!” said Lady Circumference, and left it at that.
All the school and several local visitors were assembled in the field. Grimes stood by himself, looking depressed. Mr. Prendergast, flushed and unusually vivacious, was talking to the Vicar. As the headmaster’s party came into sight the Llanabba Silver Band struck up “Men of Harlech.”
“Shockin’ noise,” commented Lady Circumference graciously.
The head prefect came forward and presented her with a programme, beribboned and embossed in gold. Another prefect set a chair for her. She sat down with the Doctor next to her and Lord Circumference on the other side of him.
“Pennyfeather,” cried the Doctor above the band, “start them racing.”
Philbrick gave Paul a megaphone. “I found this in the pavilion,” he said. “I thought it might be useful.”
“Who’s that extraordinary man?” asked Lady Circumference.
“He is the boxing coach and swimming professional,” said the Doctor. “A finely developed figure, don’t you think?”
“First race,” said Paul through the megaphone, “under sixteen, Quarter-mile!” He read out Grimes’s list of starters.
“What’s Tangent doin’ in this race?” said Lady Circumference. “The boy can’t run an inch.”
The silver band stopped playing.
“The course,” said Paul, “starts from the pavilion, goes round that clump of elms …”
“Beeches,” corrected Lady Circumference loudly.
“… and ends in front of
