Part 8 (1/2)

WENTWORTH (quickly). Why, _poor_ old Bob?

TOMMY. I don't know; everybody seems to call him that. After all, he isn't quite like Gerald, is he?

WENTWORTH. Paderewski isn't quite like Tommy Todd, but I don't say ”poor old Paderewski”--nor ”poor old Tommy,” if it comes to that.

TOMMY. Well, hang it, old man, there's a bit of a difference. Paderewski and I--well, I mean we don't compete.

WENTWORTH. Oh, I don't know. I daresay he's as rotten at golf as you, if the truth were really known.

TOMMY. No, but seriously, it's a bit different when you get two brothers like Gerald and Bob; and whatever the elder one does, the younger one does a jolly sight better. Now Paderewski and I--

WENTWORTH. Good heavens! I wish I hadn't started you on that. Get back to Bob. I thought Bob was on the Stock Exchange and Gerald in the Foreign Office. There can't be very much compet.i.tion between them there.

TOMMY. Well, but there you are! Why isn't Bob in the Foreign Office and Gerald on the Stock Exchange? Why, because Gerald's the clever one, Gerald's the popular one, the good-looking one, the lucky one, the county cricketer, the plus three at golf--

WENTWORTH. Oh Lord! I thought you'd get golf into it. I suppose you were working up to your climax. Poor old Bob is about eighteen at golf, eh?

TOMMY. As a matter of fact, he's a very decent five. And there you are again. In any other family, Bob would be thought rather a nut. As it is--

WENTWORTH. As it is, Tommy, there are about thirty-five million people in England who've never played golf and who would recognize Bob, if they met him, for the decent English gentleman that he is.

TOMMY. I think you exaggerate, old chap. Golf's been getting awfully popular lately.

WENTWORTH. Personally I am very fond of Bob.

TOMMY. Oh, so am I. He's an absolute ripper. Still, _Gerald_, you know--I mean it's jolly bad luck on poor old Bob. Now Paderewski and I--

[Enter GERALD from the garden, a charming figure in a golfing coat and white flannels. Perhaps he is a little conscious of his charm; if so, it is hardly his fault, for hero-wors.h.i.+p has been his lot from boyhood. He is now about twenty-six; everything that he has ever tried to do he has done well; and, if he is rather more unembarra.s.sed than most of us when praised, his unself-consciousness is to a stranger as charming as the rest of him. With it all he is intensely reserved, with the result that those who refuse to succ.u.mb to his charm sometimes make the mistake of thinking that there is nothing behind it.]

GERALD. Hallo, Wentworth, how are you? All right?

WENTWORTH (getting up and shaking hands). Yes, thanks. How are you?

GERALD. Simply bursting. Have you seen your room and all that sort of thing?

WENTWORTH. Yes, thanks.

GERALD. Good. And Tommy's been entertaining you. (To TOMMY) Tommy, I interrupted your story about Paderewski. I don't think I know it. (To WENTWORTH) You must listen to this; it may be fairly new.

TOMMY. Don't be an a.s.s. As a matter of fact, we were discussing something quite serious.

GERALD (to WENTWORTH). How long have you been here?

WENTWORTH. About ten minutes.

GERALD. And Tommy hasn't told you that he did the eighth in one this morning?

WENTWORTH. He hasn't really told me yet. He's only mentioned it once or twice in pa.s.sing.

TOMMY (modestly). Well, I mean it's bound to appear in the papers, so naturally one--