Part 6 (2/2)

”_Whackers!_” said he, checking himself. And then he made a remark which I have often thought was the strangest thing Billy ever uttered. ”I wouldn't be surprised,” came the solemn whisper, ”_if her feet were made of clay_.”

So day by day we ranged the Park, sometimes together, sometimes separate, possessed of one thought only--that of a woman beautiful enough _to be asked the time_. Hundreds of faces--and forms--were examined, sometimes to the surprise of their owners; but the more we examined, the more inexorable, the more difficult to satisfy, became our ideal. At each fresh contact with reality it rose higher and outran the facts of life, until we were on the point of concluding that the world contained no woman beautiful enough to be asked the time. Never were women stared at with greater innocence of heart, but never were they judged by a more fastidious taste. And yet we had no definable criterion. Of each new specimen examined all we could say was, ”That one won't do.” But _why_ she wouldn't do we didn't know. We never disagreed.

What wouldn't do for Billy wouldn't do for me, and _vice versa_.

Once we met a charming little girl about our own age, walking all alone.

”That's the one!” cried I. ”Come on, Billy.”

I started forward, Billy close behind. Presently he clutched my jacket, ”Stop!” he said, ”_What if she has no watch?_”

The little girl was running away.

”We've frightened her,” said Billy, who was a little gentleman. ”We're two beasts.”

”She heard what you said about the watch,” I answered, ”and thought we wanted to steal it. She had one after all. Billy, we've lost our chance.”

As we went home that day, something gnawed cruelly at our hearts. Things had gone wrong. An ideal world had been on the point of realisation, and a freak of contingency had spoiled it. In another moment ”time” would have been revealed to us by one worthy to make the revelation. But the sudden thought of a watch had ruined all. Once more we had tasted the tragic quality of life.

With ardour damped but not extinguished, we continued the quest day after day. But we were now half-hearted and we became aware of a strange falling-off in the beauty of the ladies who frequented the Park.

”We shall never find her here,” said Billy. ”Let's try the walk down by the river. They are better-looking down there, especially on Sunday afternoon. And I'll bet you most of them have watches.”

The very day on which Billy made this proposal another nasty thing happened to us. We were summoned into the Headmaster's study and informed that complaints had reached him concerning two boys who were in the habit of walking about in the Park and staring in the rudest manner at the young ladies, and making audible remarks about their personal appearance. Were we the culprits? We confessed that we were.

What did we mean by it? We were silent: not for a whole Archipelago packed full of buried treasure would we have answered that question. Did we consider it conduct worthy of gentlemen? We said we did not, though as a matter of fact we did. Dark hints of flagitiousness were thrown out, which our innocence wholly failed to comprehend. The foolish man then gave himself away by telling us that whenever we met Miss Overbury's school on their daily promenade we were to walk on the other side of the road.

Billy and I exchanged meaning glances: we knew now who had complained (as though we would ever think of asking _them_ to tell us the time!).

Finally we were forbidden, under threat of corporal chastis.e.m.e.nt, to enter the Park under any pretexts or circ.u.mstances whatsoever.

”The old spouter doesn't know,” said I to Billy as we left the room, ”that we've already made up our minds not to go there again. What a 'suck-in' for him!”

Necessity having thus combined with choice, the scene of our quest was now definitely s.h.i.+fted to the river-bank, where a broad winding path, with seats at intervals, ran under the willows. Here a new order of beauty seemed to present itself, and our hopes ran high. Several promising candidates presented themselves at once. One, I remember, wore a scarlet feather; another carried a gray m.u.f.f. The scarlet feather was my fancy; the gray m.u.f.f Billy's.

I think it was on the occasion of our third visit to the river that the crisis came. We sat down on the bank and held a long consultation.

”Well,” said Billy at last, ”I'm willing to ask Scarlet Feather. She's ripping. Her _nose_ takes the cake; but, mind you, Gray m.u.f.f has the prettier _boots_. And I know Scarlet Feather has a watch--I saw the chain when we pa.s.sed her just now. But before deciding I'm going to have another look at Gray m.u.f.f. She's just round the bend. You wait here--I'll be back in half a second.”

I was left alone, and for some minutes I continued to gaze at the flowing stream in front of me. Suddenly I saw, dancing about on the surface of the water--but doubtless the whole thing was hallucination!

My nerves were in high tension at the moment, and in those days I could have dreams without going to sleep.

The dream was interrupted by the sudden return of Billy. He was white as the tablecloth and trembling all over.

”Come on!” he gasped. ”I've found the very one! Quick, quick, or she'll be gone!”

”Is it Gray m.u.f.f?” I asked.

”No, no. It's another. The Very One, I tell you. The One we've been looking for.”

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