(Continued from page 21)
"Yes—pshaw" said the voice of Uncle Timothy.
"Pshaw yourself," said that of Aunt Judith.
"They're here, anyway," Susan said. "But—it doesn't seem to have worked."
They went in.
Aunt Judith swung round as they entered.
She glared at Hugo.
"Oh, so you've brought my niece home at last, have you?" she jerked out.
Uncle Timothy snorted.
"By all means put the blame on to my nephew, madam," he said. "By all means."
Once more he and Aunt Judith went off into a long cross-talk argument. Susan turned with a hopeless little gesture to Hugo, "Well, our scheme was a frost right enough," she said.
"They're worse than they were before."
Hugo nodded.
"It's a frost all right," he agreed.
"If only your Aunt——"
*What about my Aunt?" inquired Susan.
"If only shed see things sensibly for a moment or two," Hugo went on; "we might get somewhere."
Susan regarded him with an air of astonishment.
"If only shed see things sensibly! I like that! What about your uncle? I suppose he's being quite sensible, is he?"
*Bit more than she is, anyway," said Hugo.
"Well, I think he's worse than she is," said Susan. "Far worse. Coming round here like——"
Meanwhile Uncle Timothy and Aunt. "Absolute nonsense! Rubbish!" Aunt Judith was saying. "And I shall be obliged if you'll take your nephew away with you."
The carol singers at this point informed the world in general that good King Wenceslas once looked out.
"All right, TU go," Hugo was declaring to Susan. "And our appointment for tomorrow is off, I suppose?"
"It is," said Susan. "Right Hugo and Uncle Timothy made for the door together.
They were not very conversational on that walk, however. They both appeared to be deep in thought as they strode along the hard, frosty. roads around Melshurst. So much so that, when about two hours later, they returned to the village, neither had spoken a word beyond except to offer a tobacco pouch or borrow matches.
They were still as silent when they made their way through the village High street. It really seemed that nothing could shake them up this morning. Nothing at all. At least, that was how they were looking until a certain car suddenly have in sight.
It was a large, long and resplendent saloon. Not the sort of car that was usually seen in Melshurst at all. But that wasn't altogether what caught their eye.
Driving it was a decidedly striking-looking man, of round about thirty-eight or so. A man quite as striking-looking as the car itself. The kind of man who would have such a car, in fact.
Hugo and Uncle Timothy took particular note of him as he passed. But they took note of the other two passengers in the car rather more particularly. They were Susan and Aunt Judith.
Hugo stared after them.
"See that?" he inquired.
"I saw it right enough," said Uncle Timothy. "Who the devil' that fellow, I wonder?"
They continued on their way back to the house once more in deep silence.
After all, Hugo was reflecting, the chap was only about thirty-eight or so. And what was Susan—round about the twenty-one mark? Not absolutely out of the question by any means. Besides sometimes a chap of that age appealed to a girl a good bit. Could it be that———And a dashed good looking cove too.
Uncle, Timothy, meanwhile, was biting hard at the stem of his pipe. Thirty-eight or so that fellow had been, and handsome, too, no doubt about it. Just the sort to turn a woman's head. And Judith—what was she? Not a day over forty, he'd stake his life. A very attractive woman too now he came to think it over.
They were still both busy with their thoughts when they reached the house. They hung up their hats and coats. Then, still together, they moved towards the telephone at the side of the hall.
"Oh—er—after you," said Hugo.
"Not at all," said Uncle Timothy. "After you. I was—er—just going to make a little call, that's all. Nothing important.
They both stood irresolute for a moment.
Finally Uncle Timothy sauntered out of the hall with an attempt at an air of nonchalance. Hugo picked up the phone.
"Melshurst 51, please," he asked quickly:
He was given the number. He had a long conversation. And when he put down the phone again his expression had changed considerably. He was smiling. Life seemed to be a good thing to Hugo after that call.
He was still beaming when Uncle Timothy strolled carelessly back into the hall.
"Ah! Finished, my boy?" he inquired.
"Rather!" said Hugo. He lit a cigarette as he made for the drawing room.
Uncle Timothy picked up the phone with a guilty hand.
*Melshurst 51," he whispered.
Not long after lunch Hugo rose to his feet with an air of carelessness.
"Just thought' of dropping in at the Devonish's place this afternoon," he said. *[—er—I—was on the phone to Susan this morning as a matter of fact. And she—er—- asked me round to tea."
Uncle Timothy nodded. He glanced at his watch.
"I think Ill just stroll down with you as far as the gates," he observed. "Sort of walk that turkey down, you know."
"Yes, quite," said Hugo.
They collected their hats and coats. They made their way along to the Devonish abode. And there Uncle Timothy paused.
"Do you know," he said, "I think TU come in, too, just for a second."
*Really?"
They went in together. They were met at the door by Aunt Judith and Susan. They were taken into the drawing-room. And there was the decidedly striking-looking man of about thirty-eight that they had seen that morning. Aunt Judith beckoned to him.
"This is my cousin—Guy," she said. "Guy—this is Mr. Collins and his nephew."
"How do you do?" said Uncle Timothy and Hugo together.
A. weight seemed to have lifted from both their minds suddenly. They beamed at Aunt Judith's cousin. A good fellow in their opinion.
"Gathering win—ter fu—oo—el," said the carol singers as the door closed.
The next morning—Christmas Day—Hugo and Uncle Timothy went for a good sharp walk after breakfast. Each seemed to be in need of something to do.
But Aunt Judith's cousin spent the next day at the house of a friend ten miles away. That was better than feeling odd man out, he thought.
Much better,
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.