Acting on Impulse Read online

  “And you think this is a proper way to treat me?”

  “It’s not a very usual way,” Kenneth answered. “You must see that it’s your own fault.”

  “My fault! How dare you! I suppose that bohemian put you up to it?”

  “Which bohemian?” asked Kenneth sweetly.

  “That damned girl! That Fenton girl!”

  “Oh, Ursula! No, she doesn’t know anything about it. I don’t know that she’d altogether approve,” he added reflectively.

  The general took him by the arm.

  “Listen! You can do what you damn well like, but I won’t give my consent. Understand me?”

  “I don’t think you quite understand, sir,” said Kenneth. “I shall have to keep you here till you do consent. I don’t mind much myself, because I rather like this place, but I should think you’d find it a bit dull.”

  His father smiled grimly.

  “My good youth, how long do you suppose it will be before Lorton discovers my absence?”

  Lorton was his valet. Kenneth smiled, too.

  “Well sir, I told Lorton that you and I were running down into the country for a few days. So I don’t think he’ll make any trouble.”

  “You told L—” Words failed the general. He grew purple in his rage, and he strutted round the room shaking his fists and spluttering. When his fury had spent itself, he turned to Kenneth. “You’ll be sorry for this. I’d stay here for months rather than give in to you!”

  “There—there isn’t anything to drink, ’cept water,” said Kenneth apologetically. “And there aren’t any cigars.”

  The flood of invective with which the general greeted this piece of information left him weak and trembling. It had no visible effect on his son.

  III.

  THE general opened his eyes to a new day. He had not slept well. It seemed to him that the mattress on which he lay had been stuffed with potatoes. He gazed malevolently at the sun and thought over his unenviable plight. For some time his mind dwelt on a diet similar to last night’s supper. He shuddered. There had been a packet of soup, diluted in water and boiled over a smoky fire. Kenneth had done the cooking, while he had sat apart in frozen silence. Following that unspeakable soup, had come tinned salmon and bully-beef, washed down by water. The general was not the man to deny that water had its uses; but he refused to countenance it as a drink. Kenneth had offered to brew some cocoa with the aid of tinned milk, but the general had refused the offer curtly. He had no opinion of his son’s culinary skill. And he was a notorious bon-vivant, particular to the point of faddiness over his meals. To make matters worse, his cigar-case was empty. He had gone early to bed, ignoring all Kenneth’s attempts at conversation.

  Presently Kenneth tapped on the door.

  “I say, sir, I’ve got your shaving water here, and I’ve got every kettle and saucepan on for your bath. ’Twon’t be long. Can I come in?” He awaited no permission but entered, bearing a jug. This he set down on the rickety washstand. “Topping day, pater!” He dragged a tin bath from under the bed, and eyed it dubiously. “’Fraid it isn’t frightfully large, sir. I’ll bring the water up.”

  He disappeared, and the general crawled out of bed. He was in the middle of shaving when Kenneth came back, bearing a long-handled saucepan, which he emptied into the bath.

  “Have to pump up every drop of water,” he informed his father. “Awful fag!”

  He went out again, returning almost at once with two large kettles. He then departed, leaving the general to his ablutions.

  Breakfast consisted of porridge, slightly burnt, and bacon. The coffee was a little muddy; but, then, as Kenneth remarked, he wasn’t used to cooking. Not until the meal was over did the general vouchsafe a word, then he frowned majestically at his son and growled:

  “Well? Have you come to your senses?”

  Kenneth took a large bite out of a slice of bread and marmalade. He said nothing.

  “You will take me back to town today?”

  “Yes, sir. On one condition.”

  The general’s lips tightened.

  “No!”

  “Then I’m awfully sorry, sir, but—”

  The general stumped out into the “garden”. What he saw appalled him. A tall fence ran round the house, and inside it, some five feet wide, was a veritable maze of barbed-wire entanglement. The gate was stout and tall and on the top Kenneth had arranged more barbed wire and some broken glass.

  During the day the general made two abortive attempts to escape. On both occasions he tore his trousers and became so hopelessly mixed up in wire which scratched him if he moved a finger that he had to roar for his son to come and rescue him. Kenneth came, begging his father not to do it again as he would certainly hurt himself badly. The general wasted half an hour in swearing at him, then he subsided and went to lie down. No word passed his lips during the rest of the day.

  The next day found the general in a mood of black depression. As far as he could see, Kenneth was thoroughly enjoying the simple life. He showed no signs of boredom, he was unfailingly thoughtful and polite towards his father. He did all the work of the cottage, and sang as he worked. With a little encouragement he would have conversed cheerfully with the general, but he did not receive any encouragement. He drove out to buy milk and eggs in the morning, punctiliously locking the gate behind him. It was during his absence that the general tried to escape. After lunch the general descended to coaxing, and found it useless. He snarled at his son for twenty minutes, and then went to pace up and down the clay-field outside. He returned to the attack at dinner, and smashed two cups and a plate. As they had only two cups, they had to drink out of glasses at breakfast on the following day. Tea in a glass broke the general. He made one more attempt to reduce his son to a sense of law and order, and failing, gave in—blasphemously.

  Kenneth was overjoyed. He tried to wring his father’s hand and the general danced with rage. So Kenneth, realising that his father was hardly in the mood to forgive and forget, restrained himself.

  “You’ll come at once to Ursula’s flat and tell her yourself?” he asked anxiously.

  The general swallowed hard.

  “Yes!” he swallowed again. “And I wish her joy of you!”

  “We’ll be off in half-a-shake!” cried Kenneth. “It’s most awfully good of you, sir! But when you see her—”

  The general made an indescribable noise, and Kenneth thought it wise to withdraw. He drove his car down to the village and sent an urgent telegram.

  IV.

  URSULA received the telegram just before one o’clock. She read it calmly, twice. She was a little surprised, but not much so. The telegram was evidently written in great excitement. It might even be termed puzzling.

  “For the love of Mike get in whisky and Corona cigars for tea!—KENNETH.”

  Ursula wasted no time searching for a hidden meaning. She knew Kenneth. She put on her hat and coat and sallied forth in search of whisky. Luckily, it was opening hour, and she had no difficulty in buying it. She then bought the requested cigars, and went home. She supposed that Kenneth would explain when he arrived. Obviously he was coming to tea. So she changed her frock, made the studio look very cosy, and put another log of wood on the fire.

  At four o’clock her front-door bell rang violently. She went to open the door.

  “Hallo, Ken! Where’ve you been all—”

  She broke off, staring at the general. “Who—who—?”

  “My father, Miss Fenton,” announced Kenneth proudly.

  “W–won’t you—come in?” asked the astonished Ursula.

  Her eyes wandered to a jagged rent in the general’s trousers, and widened.

  Kenneth let his father into the studio. The general glared at Ursula.

  “Are you Ursula Fenton?” he demanded.

  Ursula nodded.

  “Then you can marry my son!” snapped the general. “And I wish you joy of him!”

  It seemed to Ursula that all was not as it should be