“Thank goodness,” said Aunt Agatha, “arrangements have at last been made about Eustace and Claude.”
“Arrangements?” I said, not having the foggiest.
“They sail on Friday for South Africa. Mr. Van Alstyne, a friend of poor Emily’s, has given them berths in his firm at Johannesburg, and we are hoping that they will settle down there and do well.”
“Friday? The day after to-morrow, do you mean?”
“Yes. They leave on the _Edinburgh Castle_.”
“But what’s the idea? I mean, aren’t they in the middle of their term at Oxford?”
“Do you positively mean to tell me, Bertie, that you take so little interest in the affairs of your nearest relatives that you are not aware that Claude and Eustace were expelled from Oxford over a fortnight ago?”
“You are hopeless, Bertie. I should have thought that even you----”
“They poured lemonade on the Junior Dean of their college.... I see nothing amusing in the outrage, Bertie.”
“No, no, rather not,” I said hurriedly. “I wasn’t laughing. Choking. Got something stuck in my throat, you know.”
“Poor Emily,” went on Aunt Agatha, “being one of those doting mothers who are the ruin of their children, wished to keep the boys in London. She suggested that they might cram for the Army. But I was firm. The Colonies are the only place for wild youths like Eustace and Claude. So they sail on Friday. They have been staying for the last two weeks with your Uncle Clive in Worcestershire. They will spend to-morrow night in London and catch the boat-train on Friday morning.”
“Bit risky, isn’t it? I mean, aren’t they apt to cut loose a bit to-morrow night if they’re left all alone in London?”
“They will not be alone. They will be in your charge.”
“Yes. I wish you to put them up in your flat for the night, and see that they do not miss the train in the morning.”
“Well, I mean, quite jolly coves both of them, but I don’t know. They’re rather nuts, you know---- Always glad to see them, of course, but when it comes to putting them up for the night----”
“Bertie, if you are so sunk in callous self-indulgence that you cannot even put yourself to this trifling inconvenience for the sake of----”
It was no good arguing, of course. Aunt Agatha always makes me feel as if I had gelatine where my spine ought to be. She’s one of those forceful females. I should think Queen Elizabeth must have been something like her. When she holds me with her glittering eye and says, “Jump to it, my lad,” or words to that effect, I make it so without further discussion.