I want to tell you all about dear old Bobbie Cardew. It's a most interesting story. I can't put in any literary style
and all that; but I don't have to, don't you know, because it goes on its Moral Lesson. If you're a man you mustn't miss it, because it'll be a warning
to you; and if you're a woman you won't want to, because it's all about how a girl made a man feel pretty well fed up with things.
If you're a recent acquaintance
of Bobbie's, you'll probably
be surprised to hear that there was a time when he was more for the weakness of his memory
than anything else. Dozens of fellows, who have only met Bobbie since the change took place, have been surprised when I told them that. Yet it's true. Believe me.
In the days when I first knew him Bobbie Cardew was about the most pronounced young rotter inside the four-mile radius
. People have called me a silly ass, but I was never in the same class with Bobbie. When it came to being a silly ass, he was a plus-four man, while my handicap
was about six. Why, if I wanted him to dine with me, I used to post him a letter at the beginning of the week, and then the day before send him a telegram
and a phone-call on the day itself, and-half an hour before the time we'd fixed-a messenger
in a taxi
, whose business it was to see that he got in and that the chauffeur
had the address
all correct. By doing this I generally managed to get him, unless he had left town before my messenger
The funny thing was that he wasn't altogether a fool in other ways. Deep down in him there was a kind of stratum
of sense. I had known him, once or twice, show an almost human intelligence
. But to reach that stratum
you, you needed dynamite
At least, that's what I thought
. But there was another way which hadn't occurred to me. Marriage, I mean
. Marriage, the dynamite
of the soul
; that was what hit Bobbie. He married. Have you ever seen a bull-pup chasing a bee? The pup sees the bee. It looks good to him. But he still doesn't know what's at the end of it till
he gets there. It was like that with Bobbie. He fell in love, got married-with a sort of whoop, as if it were the greatest fun in the world-and then began to find out things.
She wasn't the sort of girl you would have expected
Bobbie to rave
about. And yet, I don't know. What I mean
is, she worked for her living; and to a fellow who has never done a hand's turn in his life there's undoubtedly
a sort of fascination
, a kind of romance
, about a girl who works for her living.
Her name was Anthony. Mary Anthony. She was about five feet six; she had a ton and a half of red-gold hair, grey eyes, and one of those determined
chins. She was a hospital nurse. When Bobbie smashed himself up at polo, she was told off by the authorities to smooth
his brow and rally
round with cooling unguents and all that; and the old boy hadn't been up and about again for more than a week before they popped off to the registrar
's and fixed it up. Quite the romance
Bobbie broke the news to me at the club one evening, and next day he introduced me to her. I admired her. I've never worked myself-my name's Pepper, by the way. Almost forgot to mention
it. Reggie Pepper. My uncle Edward was Pepper, Wells, and Co., the Colliery people. He left me a sizable chunk of bullion-I say I've never worked myself, but I admire
any one who earns a living under difficulties, especially a girl. And this girl had had a rather unusually tough time of it, being an orphan
and all that, and having had to do everything off her own bat for years.
Mary and I got along together splendidly. We don't now, but we'll come to that later. I'm speaking of the past. She seemed to think Bobbie the greatest thing on earth
, judging by the way she looked at him when she thought
I wasn't noticing. And Bobbie seemed to think the same about her. So that I came to the conclusion
that, if only dear old Bobbie didn't forget
to go to the wedding, they had a sporting chance of being quite happy.
Well, let's brisk
up a bit here, and jump a year. The story doesn't really start till
They took a flat and settled down. I was in and out of the place quite a good deal. I kept my eyes open, and everything seemed to me to be running along as smoothly as you could want. If this was marriage
, I thought
, I couldn't see why fellows were so frightened
of it. There were a lot of worse things that could happen to a man.
But we now come to the incident
of the quiet Dinner, and it's just here that love's young dream
hits a snag, and things begin to occur
I happened to meet Bobbie in Piccadilly, and he asked me to come back to dinner at the flat. And, like a fool, instead of bolting and putting myself under police protection
, I went.
When we got to the flat, there was Mrs. Bobbie looking-well, I tell you, it staggered me. Her gold hair was all piled up in waves and crinkles and things, with a what-d'-you-call-it of diamonds in it. And she was wearing the most perfectly ripping dress. I couldn't begin to describe
it. I can only say it was the limit
. It struck me that if this was how she was in the habit
of looking every night when they were dining quietly at home together, it was no wonder
that Bobbie liked domesticity.
"Here's old Reggie, dear," said Bobbie. "I've brought him home to have a bit of dinner. I'll phone down to the kitchen and ask them to send it up now-what?"
She stared at him as if she had never seen him before. Then she turned scarlet. Then she turned as white as a sheet
. Then she gave a little laugh. It was most interesting to watch. Made me wish I was up a tree about eight hundred miles away. Then she recovered herself.
"I am so glad you were able
to come, Mr. Pepper," she said, smiling at me.
And after that she was all right
. At least, you would have said so. She talked a lot at dinner, and chaffed Bobbie, and played us ragtime on the piano afterwards, as if she hadn't a care in the world. Quite a jolly little party it was-not. I'm no lynx-eyed sleuth
, and all that sort of thing, but I had seen her face at the beginning, and I knew that she was working the whole time and working hard, to keep herself in hand, and that she would have given that diamond what's-its-name in her hair and everything else she possessed to have one good scream-just one. I've sat through
some pretty thick evenings in my time, but that one had the rest beaten in a canter
. At the very earliest moment
I grabbed my hat and got away.
Having seen what I did, I wasn't particularly
surprised to meet Bobbie at the club next day looking about as merry
and bright as a lonely
gum-drop at an Eskimo tea-party.
He started in straightway. He seemed glad to have someone to talk to about it.
"Do you know how long I've been married?" he said.
I didn't exactly.
"About a year, isn't it?"
"Not about a year," he said sadly. "Exactly a year-yesterday!"
Then I understood. I saw light-a regular flash
of the wedding. I'd arranged to take Mary to the Savoy, and on to Covent Garden. She particularly
wanted to hear Caruso. I had the ticket for the box in my pocket. Do you know, all through
dinner I had a kind of rummy idea that there was something I'd forgotten, but I couldn't think what?"
"Till your wife mentioned it?"
"She-mentioned it," he said thoughtfully.
I didn't ask for details. Women with hair and chins like Mary's may be angels most of the time, but, when they take off their wings for a bit, they aren't half-hearted about it.
"To be absolutely frank
, old top," said poor old Bobbie, in a broken sort of way, "my stock
's pretty low at home."
There didn't seem much to be done. I just lit a cigarette and sat there. He didn't want to talk. Presently he went out. I stood at the window of our upper smoking-room, which looks out on to Piccadilly, and watched him. He walked slowly along for a few yards, stopped, then walked on again, and finally turned into a jeweller's. Which was an instance
of what I meant when I said that deep down in him there was a certain stratum
It was from now on that I began to be really interested
in this problem
of Bobbie's married life. Of course, one's always mildly interested
in one's friends' marriages, hoping they'll turn out well and all that; but this was different
. The average
man isn't like Bobbie, and the average
girl isn't like Mary. It was that old business of the immovable mass
and the irresistible force
. There was Bobbie, ambling gently through
life, a dear old chap
in a hundred ways, but undoubtedly
of the first water.
And there was Mary, determined
that he shouldn't be a chump
. And Nature, mind
you, on Bobbie's side. When Nature makes a chump
like dear old Bobbie, she's proud
of him, and doesn't want her handiwork disturbed. She gives him a sort of natural
armour to protect
him against outside interference
. And that armour is shortness of memory
. Shortness of memory
keeps a man a chump
, when, but for it, he might cease
to be one. Take my case, for instance
. I'm a chump
. Well, if I had remembered half the things people have tried to teach me during my life, my size in hats would be about number nine. But I didn't. I forgot them. And it was just the same with Bobbie.
For about a week, perhaps a bit more, the recollection
of that quiet little domestic
evening bucked him up like a tonic
. Elephants, I read somewhere, are champions at the memory
business, but they were fools to Bobbie during that week. But, bless you, the shock wasn't nearly big enough. It had dinted the armour, but it hadn't made a hole in it. Pretty soon he was back at the old game.
It was pathetic
, don't you know. The poor girl loved him, and she was frightened
. It was the thin edge
of the wedge
, you see, and she knew it. A man who forgets what day he was married, when he's been married one year, will forget
, at about the end of the fourth, that he's married at all. If she meant to get him in hand at all, she had got to do it now, before he began to drift
I saw that clearly enough, and I tried to make Bobbie see it, when he was by way of pouring out his troubles to me one afternoon. I can't remember
what it was that he had forgotten the day before, but it was something she had asked him to bring home for her-it may have been a book.
"It's such a little thing to make a fuss
about," said Bobbie. "And she knows that it's simply because I've got such an infernal memory
about everything. I can't remember
anything. Never could."
He talked on for a while, and, just as he was going, he pulled out a couple
"Oh, by the way," he said.
"What's this for?" I asked, though I knew.
"I owe it you."
"How's that?" I said.
"Why, that bet
on Tuesday. In the billiard-room. Murray and Brown were playing a hundred up, and I gave you two to one that Brown would win, and Murray beat him by twenty odd."
"So you do remember
some things?" I said.
He got quite excited. Said that if I thought
he was the sort of rotter who forgot to pay when he lost
, it was pretty rotten
of me after knowing him all these years, and a lot more like that.
"Subside, laddie," I said.
Then I spoke
to him like a father.
"What you've got to do, my old college chum
," I said, "is to pull yourself together, and jolly quick, too. As things are shaping, you're due for a nasty
knock before you know what's hit you. You've got to make an effort
. Don't say you can't. This two quid business shows that, even if your memory
is rocky, you can remember
some things. What you've got to do is to see that wedding anniversaries and so on are included in the list. It may be a brainstrain, but you can't get out of it."
," said Bobbie. "But it beats me why she thinks such a lot of these rotten
little dates. What's it matter
if I forgot what day we were married on or what day she was born on or what day the cat had the measles
? She knows I love her just as much as if I were a memorizing freak
at the halls."
"That's not enough for a woman," I said. "They want to be shown. Bear that in mind
, and you're all right
. Forget it, and there'll be trouble."
He chewed the knob of his stick.
"Women are frightfully rummy," he said gloomily.
"You should have thought
of that before you married one," I said.
I don't see that I could have done any more. I had put the whole thing in a nutshell for him. You would have thought
he'd have seen the point, and that it would have made him brace
up and get a hold on himself. But no. Off he went again in the same old way. I gave up arguing with him. I had a good deal of time on my hands, but not enough to amount to anything when it was a question of reforming dear old Bobbie by argument
. If you see a man asking for trouble, and insisting on getting it, the only thing to do is to stand by and wait till
it comes to him. After that you may get a chance. But till
then there's nothing to be done. But I thought
a lot about him.
Bobbie didn't get into the soup all at once. Weeks went by, and months, and still nothing happened. Now and then he'd come into the club with a kind of cloud on his shining morning face, and I'd know that there had been doings in the home; but it wasn't till
well on in the spring that he got the thunderbolt just where he had been asking for it-in the thorax
I was smoking a quiet cigarette one morning in the window looking out over Piccadilly, and watching the buses and motors going up one way and down the other-most interesting it is; I often do it-when in rushed Bobbie, with his eyes bulging and his face the colour of an oyster, waving a piece of paper in his hand.
"Reggie," he said. "Reggie, old top, she's gone!"
"Gone!" I said. "Who?"
"Mary, of course! Gone! Left me! Gone!"
"Where?" I said.
Silly question? Perhaps you're right
. Anyhow, dear old Bobbie nearly foamed at the mouth.
"Where? How should I know where? Here, read this."
He pushed the paper into my hand. It was a letter.
"Go on," said Bobbie. "Read it."
So I did. It certainly
was quite a letter. There was not much of it, but it was all to the point. This is what it said:
"MY DEAR BOBBIE,-I am going away. When you care enough about me to remember
to wish me many happy returns on my birthday, I will come back. My address
will be Box 341, London Morning News."
I read it twice, then I said, "Well, why don't you?"
"Why don't I what?"
"Why don't you wish her many happy returns? It doesn't seem much to ask."
"But she says on her birthday."
"Well, when is her birthday?"
"Can't you understand
?" said Bobbie. "I've forgotten."
"Forgotten!" I said.
"Yes," said Bobbie. "Forgotten."
"How do you mean
, forgotten?" I said. "Forgotten whether it's the twentieth or the twenty-first, or what? How near do you get to it?"
"I know it came somewhere between the first of January and the thirty-first of December. That's how near I get to it."
"Think? What's the use of saying 'Think'? Think I haven't thought
? I've been knocking sparks out of my brain
ever since I opened that letter."
"And you can't remember
I rang the bell and ordered restoratives.
"Well, Bobbie," I said, "it's a pretty hard case to spring on an untrained amateur
like me. Suppose someone had come to Sherlock Holmes and said, 'Mr. Holmes, here's a case for you. When is my wife's birthday?' Wouldn't that have given Sherlock a jolt
? However, I know enough about the game to understand
that a fellow can't shoot off his deductive
theories unless you start him with a clue
, so rouse
yourself out of that pop-eyed trance
and come across with two or three. For instance
, can't you remember
the last time she had a birthday? What sort of weather
was it? That might
fix the month."
Bobbie shook his head.
"It was just ordinary weather
, as near as I can recollect
"Well, fairly cold, perhaps. I can't remember
I ordered two more of the same. They seemed indicated in the Young Detective's Manual. "You're a great help, Bobbie," I said. "An invaluable assistant
. One of those indispensable
adjuncts without which no home is complete
Bobbie seemed to be thinking.
"I've got it," he said suddenly
. "Look here. I gave her a present on her last birthday. All we have to do is to go to the shop, hunt up the date when it was bought, and the thing's done."
"Absolutely. What did you give her?"
"I can't remember
," he said.
Getting ideas is like golf. Some days you're right
off, others it's as easy as falling off a log. I don't suppose
dear old Bobbie had ever had two ideas in the same morning before in his life; but now he did it without an effort
. He just loosed another dry Martini into the undergrowth
, and before you could turn round it had flushed quite a brain
Do you know those little books called When were you Born? There's one for each month. They tell you your character
, your talents, your strong points, and your weak points at fourpence halfpenny a go. Bobbie's idea was to buy the whole twelve, and go through
we found out which month hit off Mary's character
. That would give us the month, and narrow
it down a whole lot.
A pretty hot idea for a non-thinker like dear old Bobbie. We sallied out at once. He took half and I took half, and we settled down to work. As I say, it sounded good. But when we came to go into the thing, we saw that there was a flaw
. There was plenty
, but there wasn't a single month that didn't have something that exactly hit off Mary. For instance
, in the December book it said, "December people are apt
to keep their own secrets. They are extensive
travellers." Well, Mary had certainly
kept her secret, and she had travelled quite extensively enough for Bobbie's needs. Then, October people were "born with original
ideas" and "loved moving." You couldn't have summed up Mary's little jaunt
more neatly. February people had "wonderful
We took a bit of a rest, then had another go at the thing.
Bobbie was all for May, because the book said that women born in that month were "inclined
to be capricious
, which is always a barrier
to a happy married life"; but I plumped for February, because February women "are unusually determined
to have their own way, are very earnest
, and expect a full return in their companion
or mates." Which he owned was about as like Mary as anything could be.
In the end he tore the books up, stamped on them, burnt them, and went home.
It was wonderful
what a change the next few days made in dear old Bobbie. Have you ever seen that picture, "The Soul's Awakening"? It represents a flapper
of sorts gazing in a startled sort of way into the middle distance
with a look in her eyes that seems to say, "Surely that is George's step I hear on the mat! Can this be love?" Well, Bobbie had a soul
too. I don't suppose
he had ever troubled to think in his life before-not really think. But now he was wearing his brain
to the bone. It was painful in a way, of course, to see a fellow human
being so thoroughly
in the soup, but I felt strongly that it was all for the best. I could see as plainly
that all these brainstorms were improving Bobbie out of knowledge
. When it was all over he might
possibly become a rotter again of a sort, but it would only be a pale reflection
of the rotter he had been. It bore
out the idea I had always had that what he needed was a real good jolt
I saw a great deal of him these days. I was his best friend, and he came to me for sympathy
. I gave it him, too, with both hands, but I never failed to hand him the Moral Lesson when I had him weak.
One day he came to me as I was sitting in the club, and I could see that he had had an idea. He looked happier than he had done in weeks.
"Reggie," he said, "I'm on the trail. This time I'm convinced
that I shall pull it off. I've remembered something of vital
"Yes?" I said.
distinctly," he said, "that on Mary's last birthday we went together to the Coliseum. How does that hit you?"
"It's a fine bit of memorizing," I said; "but how does it help?"
"Why, they change the programme every week there."
"Ah!" I said. "Now you are talking."
"And the week we went one of the turns was Professor Some One's Terpsichorean Cats. I recollect
them distinctly. Now, are we narrowing it down, or aren't we? Reggie, I'm going round to the Coliseum this minute
, and I'm going to dig the date of those Terpsichorean Cats out of them, if I have to use a crowbar."
So that got him within six days; for the management
treated us like brothers; brought out the archives, and ran agile
fingers over the pages till
they treed the cats in the middle of May.
"I told you it was May," said Bobbie. "Maybe you'll listen to me another time."
"If you've any sense," I said, "there won't be another time."
And Bobbie said that there wouldn't.
Once you get your memory
on the run, it parts as if it enjoyed doing it. I had just got off to sleep that night when my telephone-bell rang. It was Bobbie, of course. He didn't apologize
"Reggie," he said, "I've got it now for certain
. It's just come to me. We saw those Terpsichorean Cats at a matinee
, old man."
"Yes?" I said.
"Well, don't you see that that brings it down to two days? It must have been either Wednesday the seventh or Saturday the tenth."
"Yes," I said, "if they didn't have daily matinees at the Coliseum."
I heard him give a sort of howl
"Bobbie," I said. My feet were freezing, but I was fond
"I've remembered something too. It's this. The day you went to the Coliseum I lunched with you both at the Ritz. You had forgotten to bring any money with you, so you wrote a cheque."
"But I'm always writing cheques."
"You are. But this was for a tenner, and made out to the hotel. Hunt up your cheque-book and see how many cheques for ten pounds payable to the Ritz Hotel you wrote out between May the fifth and May the tenth."
He gave a kind of gulp.
"Reggie," he said, "you're a genius
. I've always said so. I believe you've got it. Hold the line."
Presently he came back again.
"Halloa!" he said.
"I'm here," I said.
"It was the eighth. Reggie, old man, I--"
"Topping," I said. "Good night."
It was working along into the small hours now, but I thought
as well make a night of it and finish
the thing up, so I rang up an hotel near the Strand.
"Put me through
to Mrs. Cardew," I said.
"It's late," said the man at the other end.
"And getting later every minute
," I said. "Buck along, laddie."
I waited patiently. I had missed my beauty-sleep, and my feet had frozen hard, but I was past regrets.
"What is the matter
?" said Mary's voice.
"My feet are cold," I said. "But I didn't call you up to tell you that particularly
. I've just been chatting with Bobbie, Mrs. Cardew."
"Oh! is that Mr. Pepper?"
"Yes. He's remembered it, Mrs. Cardew."
She gave a sort of scream. I've often thought
how interesting it must be to be one of those Exchange girls. The things they must hear, don't you know. Bobbie's howl
and gulp and Mrs. Bobbie's scream and all about my feet and all that. Most interesting it must be.
"He's remembered it!" she gasped. "Did you tell him?"
Well, I hadn't.
"Was he-has he been-was he very worried
I chuckled. This was where I was billed to be the life and soul
of the party.
"Worried! He was about the most worried
man between here and Edinburgh. He has been worrying as if he was paid to do it by the nation
. He has started out to worry
after breakfast, and--"
Oh, well, you can never tell with women. My idea was that we should pass the rest of the night slapping each other on the back across the wire, and telling each other what bally brainy conspirators we were, don't you know, and all that. But I'd got just as far as this, when she bit at me. Absolutely! I heard the snap. And then she said "Oh!" in that choked kind of way. And when a woman says "Oh!" like that, it means all the bad words she'd love to say if she only knew them.
And then she began.
"What brutes men are! What horrid
brutes! How you could stand by and see poor dear Bobbie worrying himself into a fever
, when a word from you would have put everything right
, I can't--"
"And you call yourself his friend! His friend!" (Metallic laugh, most unpleasant.) "It shows how one can be deceived. I used to think you a kind-hearted man."
"But, I say, when I suggested the thing, you thought
it hateful, abominable
"But you said it was absolutely
"I said nothing of the kind. And if I did, I didn't mean
it. I don't wish to be unjust
, Mr. Pepper, but I must say that to me there seems to be something positively fiendish
in a man who can go out of his way to separate
from his wife, simply in order to amuse
himself by gloating over his agony
"When one single word would have--"
"But you made me promise
not to--" I bleated.
"And if I did, do you suppose
I didn't expect you to have the sense to break your promise
I had finished. I had no further observations to make. I hung up the receiver, and crawled into bed.
I still see Bobbie when he comes to the club, but I do not visit the old homestead
. He is friendly, but he stops short of issuing invitations. I ran across Mary at the Academy last week, and her eyes went through
me like a couple
of bullets through
a pat of butter. And as they came out the other side, and I limped off to piece myself together again, there occurred to me the simple epitaph
which, when I am no more, I intend
to have inscribed on my tombstone. It was this: "He was a man who acted from the best motives. There is one born every minute