Page:Punch Vol 148.djvu/222

"The Dardanelles," I said, "are now———"

"I'm sorry I can't attend to the Dardanelles just at present," said Francesca.

"Why not?" I said. "Do you take no interest in them?"

"Yes," she said, "lots. But at this moment I'm knitting a bed-sock for some frost-bitten soldier, and it's got to be finished to-night."

"Won't to-morrow do?" I said.

"No," she said, "it won't. The whole parcel must go off to-morrow morning to the hospital."

"Oh, very well," I said, "if you won't liston, you won't, and there's an end of it. I only thought you might like to have a little intellectual conversation even while you were knitting. Some people would prefer to have a certain amount of outside intellect thrown into a bed-sock, especially as I understand that bed-socks have no heels and are, therefore, not in themselves of the highest interest."

"This bed-sock," said Francesca, "doesn't aim at being interesting; it hopes to be comfortable. So please go on reading your evening paper to yourself. I'm not one of those geniuses who can knit and talk and write letters and read papers all at one and the same time."

"All right," I said; "but when Mrs. Archdale comes into the room I warn you I shall talk to her whether she's knitting or not. I simply insist on telling her about the Dardanelles."

"And that," said Francesca, "would be conduct unworthy of a host. But she hasn't brought her knitting with her."

"How terrible for her," I said. "What does it feel like to forget one's knitting?"

At this moment Mrs. Archdale entered the room. She was staying with us for two nights, and, having left her knitting behind, she was for the moment a sort of free lance among women. Now Mrs. Archdale, who is the kindest of women, has two main characteristics. Either she is wanting to help somebody else or she is actually helping somebody else. She came in trailing clouds of glory behind her in the shape of a huge skein of white wool and she showed only a faint interest in the Dardanelles.

"I must help," she said, "and as all the knitting needles in the house are occupied I am going to wind this wool into a ball."

"And he," said Francesca, thus lightly indicating me, "will help you. It's time he did something. He can hold the skein while you wind off."

"Splendid!" I said with an alacrity which, I am sure, was hollow. "Give me the skein. Let me hold it. Of course I'm a champion tangler. All the skeins I've ever held have had thousands of knots in them. I suppose it's because of my thumbs; but a man can't help his thumbs, can he? Let us begin at once;" and I sprang from my chair and seized the nearer parts of Mrs. Archdale's skein.

Gently, but with the utmost firmness, Mrs. Archdale declined my help. She could never dream, she said, of separating a man from his evening paper. It would be unforgivable. Besides, she could manage quite well without me.

"Use the back of his armchair," said Francesca. "It's the only suitable one in the room. He can bend forward."

"Yes," I said, "I'm the best bend-forward in the neighbourhood. You'll miss me nearly every time. Besides, if you do catch me, what does it matter? To be strangled is nothing so long as it's in a good cause."

But Mrs. Archdale said No, it was quite unnecessary. She thanked me warmly for my offer of assistance, but she had a patent and infallible plan for winding wool unaided. All she had to do was to put the skein round her foot and knee―like this―and the thing was as good as done. Even if she did happen to want a chair-back, there were plenty in the room that she could use at a pinch without inconveniencing me. Thereupon she began.

It might be supposed that in the contest which followed all the odds were on the side of a resolute and resourceful woman, as against a mere inanimate bundle of wool, but to suppose thus would be doing an injustice to the innumerable wiles and the worse than devilish traps of this memorable skein. It was not one duel, but a whole series of duels, in which Mrs. Archdale seemed to compose herself against her will into a succession of momentary tableaux vivants. Sometimes she was foiled, sometimes she triumphed. Her arms, her hands, her feet, her head involved themselves in the most remarkable positions, but, though the dastardly skein seemed never to diminish, the white ball, the symbol of hope, the proof of a woman's unconquerable mind, steadily grew in size. I could not remove my fascinated eyes from her, but Francesca kept hers imperturbably on her bed-sock, while her fingers moved and her needles clicked with a dreadful and dauntless celerity. Let me describe what I saw.

Tableau No. 1. Industry Depressed by Care.―Mrs. Archdale on the sofa, with the skein firmly bound round her right foot and knee. She makes a few rapid passes with both hands, meets an obstruction, attempts in vain to separate it into its component parts, says "Tut-tut" several times, bends down suddenly and seizes her feet in an attitude of lowly despair.

Tableau No. 2. Victory Crowning the Brave.―Mrs. Archdale disengages the skein from her foot and knee, hangs it over the back of a chair and rises to her full height. She then winds wool feverishly round her waist and neck, and, with strands of wool dependent from her hands, spreads out both her arms in a posture strongly resembling that of the Crimean monument in Waterloo Place.

Tableau No. 3. Thought Ruling the World.—Mrs. Archdale, still standing, passes the wool round the back of her head, bites it, presses it against her breast with her chin and drops her arms to her sides.

After this there were several minor tableaux, and it was evident that both parties were feeling their punishment severely. Mrs. Archdale, however, lasted the better of the two, and eventually we came to

The Final Tableau. The Lure of the Spider.―Mrs. Archdale, standing, with tight strands of wool radiating from her feet, her body and head to all her fingers and both her wrists and elbows. Through these she looms, dimly visible. She attempts to untie herself, trips and falls backwards into the sofa. "At last," she murmurs, and, lo, with a few frantic circular movements the ball is completed and the spider emerges from her web.

After this it hardly seemed necessary to discuss the Dardanelles.

"Riding Master in S.W. district will Exchange Lessons and loan of mounts for professional services of Solicitor resident in same district."―Advt. in "Times."

An excellent arrangement. The solicitor will send in his bill; the riding-master will reply, "To a mount rendered," and neither will be saddled with costs.

"Erratum.―In the December number 1914, under heading 'Our Church Bells,' for Fleur de legs read Fleur de lys."―Parish Magazine.

It was, of course, her "lily hand" (not leg) that the lady waved.