Part 9 (1/2)

”Not a paying proposition?” said Conroy.

”Oh,” I said, ”it paid very well; but the fact is, what with the agitation about grazing lands, and the trouble about people in congested districts--”

”I reckon,” said Conroy, ”that your ancestors mismanaged the property some.”

I expect they did. But I did not expect to have their misdeeds brought home to me in a vigorous personal way.

”Your father,” said Conroy, ”or your grandfather, turned my grandfather off a patch of land down there in 1850.”

My grandfather had, I have heard, a theory that small holdings of land were uneconomic. He evicted his tenants and made large gra.s.s farms.

Nowadays we hold the opposite opinion. We are evicting large tenants and establis.h.i.+ng small holdings. Our grandsons, I dare say, will go back again to the large farms. I explained to Conroy that he ought not to blame my grandfather who was acting in accordance with the most advanced scientific theories of his time.

Conroy was very nice about the matter. He said he had no grudge against either me or my grandfather. He had, however, so he told me frankly, a prejudice against everything English; an inherited prejudice, and not quite so irrational as it looked. It was after all the English who invented the economic theories on which my grandfather acted. He talked so much about his dislike of England and everything English that I did not like to introduce the subject of the subscription to Lady Moyne's political fund. He did, in the end, subscribe largely. When I heard about his 1000 cheque I supposed that he must have counted the Union with us a misfortune for England and so wished to perpetuate it. Either that was his motive, so I thought, or else Lady Moyne had captivated him as she always captivates me.

CHAPTER IX

I had no sooner settled down quietly at home and got to work again on my history than I was a.s.sailed by G.o.dfrey. I wish very much that he was Conroy's nephew and not mine. Conroy goes driving in a motor in the middle of the night, so he must like disturbances. I hate them.

”I'm sorry, Excellency, but I am afraid I shall have to interrupt you.”

G.o.dfrey, besides being objectionable in other ways, is a liar. He is not sorry, he is very glad, when he gets the chance of interrupting me. I should resent the disturbance less if he acknowledged frankly that he enjoyed annoying me.

”It can't be time,” I said, ”for another garden-party yet; but, if it is, I'd rather you made out the invitation list yourself. I'm busy.

Besides making out lists is one of the things you're good at. I should be sure to leave out somebody.”

”I don't want to talk about garden-parties,” said G.o.dfrey. ”This is something much more serious.”

”There's no use coming to me about it,” I said. ”I told you last time that your tailor could bring you into the County Court if he liked. I shan't pay him again.”

The inference was a natural one. G.o.dfrey had said that he wanted to talk about something more important than a garden-party. But the inference was wrong. G.o.dfrey looked offended.

”I sent Nicholson and Blackett a cheque last week,” he said.

I waited patiently. If G.o.dfrey's business had nothing to do with garden-parties or tailors' bills, I could only suppose that he meant to make some fresh complaint about Crossan.

”Pringle cashed it all right,” said G.o.dfrey, after a short pause. ”I went in there the day after your party and played tennis with his daughter. They were awfully pleased.”

I dare say they were. People attach a surprising amount of importance to G.o.dfrey's social patronage. I myself should be more inclined to cash his cheques for him if he stayed away from my house. But I did not want to argue with G.o.dfrey about Pringle's taste in guests.

”What's Crossan been doing to you?” I asked at last.

”He hasn't been doing anything to me.”

”Then for goodness' sake, G.o.dfrey, let the man alone.”

”I don't like the way he's going on.”

”You never did. There's nothing fresh about that. You've complained about him regularly every week for five years.”