Hector Munro - Saki - The Complete Novels And Short Stories

by

SAKI

stories and novels

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 Reginald by SAKI Methuen & Co. Ltd., London 1904 reginald   Reginald  Reginald on Christmas Presents  Reginald on the Academy  Reginald at the Theatre  Reginald’s Peace Poem  Reginald’s Choir Treat  Reginald on Worries  Reginald on House-Parties  Reginald at the Carlton  Reginald on Besetting Sins: The Woman who Told the Truth  Reginald’s Drama  Reginald on Tariffs  Reginald’s Christmas Revel  Reginald’s Rubaiyat  The Innocence of Reginald [ The text follows the 1904 Methuen & Co. edition. ] Reginald

 Reginald in Russia and Other Sketches by SAKI Methuen & Co. Ltd., London 1910 russia   Reginald in Russia  The Reticence of Lady Anne  The Lost Sanjak  The Sex that Doesn’t Shop  The Blood-Feud of Toad-Water A West-Country Epic  A Young Turkish Catastrophe in Two Scenes  Judkin of the Parcels  Gabriel-Ernest  The Saint and the Goblin  The Soul of Laploshka  The Bag  The Strategist  Cross Currents  The Baker’s Dozen  The Mouse [ The text follows the 1910 Methuen & Co. edition. ] TO M. V. P. “ The Baker’s Dozen” originally appeared in ‘The Journal of the Leinster Regiment.The other sketches have appeared from time to time in the “Westminster Gazette.” To the Editors of these publications I am indebted for courteous permission to reproduce the stories in their present form . Reginald in Russia

The Chronicles of Clovis

The Unbearable Bassington

When William Came

Beasts and Super-Beasts

The Toys of Peace and Other Papers

The Square Egg and Other Sketches

Uncollected Stories

 Index

by

SAKI

Methuen & Co. Ltd., London

1904

reginald

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Reginald

Reginald on Christmas Presents

Reginald on the Academy

Reginald at the Theatre

Reginald’s Peace Poem

Reginald’s Choir Treat

Reginald on Worries

Reginald on House-Parties

Reginald at the Carlton

Reginald on Besetting Sins: The Woman who Told the Truth

Reginald’s Drama

Reginald on Tariffs

Reginald’s Christmas Revel

Reginald’s Rubaiyat

The Innocence of Reginald

[ The text follows the 1904 Methuen & Co. edition. ]

I did it—I who should have known better. I persuaded Reginald to go to the McKillops’ garden-party against his will.

We all make mistakes occasionally. “They know you’re here, and they’ll think it so funny if you don’t go. And I want particularly to be in with Mrs. McKillop just now.”

“I know, you want one of her smoke Persian kittens as a prospective wife for Wumples—or a husband, is it?” (Reginald has a magnificent scorn for details, other than sartorial.) “And I am expected to undergo social martyrdom to suit the connubial exigencies”—

“Reginald! It’s nothing of the kind, only I’m sure Mrs. McKillop would be pleased if I brought you. Young men of your brilliant attractions are rather at a premium at her garden-parties.”

“Should be at a premium in heaven,” remarked Reginald complacently.

“There will be very few of you there, if that is what you mean. But seriously, there won’t be any great strain upon your powers of endurance; I promise you that you shan’t have to play croquet, or talk to the Archdeacon’s wife, or do anything that is likely to bring on physical prostration. You can just wear your sweetest clothes and a moderately amiable expression, and eat chocolate-creams with the appetite of a blasé parrot. Nothing more is demanded of you.”

Reginald shut his eyes. “There will be the exhaustingly up-to-date young women who will ask me if I have seen San Toy ; a less progressive grade who will yearn to hear about the Diamond Jubilee—the historic event, not the horse. With a little encouragement, they will inquire if I saw the Allies march into Paris. Why are women so fond of raking up the past? They’re as bad as tailors, who invariably remember what you owe them for a suit long after you’ve ceased to wear it.”

“I’ll order lunch for one o’clock; that will give you two and a half hours to dress in.”

Reginald puckered his brow into a tortured frown, and I knew that my point was gained. He was debating what tie would go with which waistcoat.

Even then I had my misgivings.

* * * * *

During the drive to the McKillops’ Reginald was possessed with a great peace, which was not wholly to be accounted for by the fact that he had inveigled his feet into shoes a size too small for them. I misgave more than ever, and having once launched Reginald on to the McKillops’ lawn, I established him near a seductive dish of marrons glacés , and as far from the Archdeacon’s wife as possible; as I drifted away to a diplomatic distance I heard with painful distinctness the eldest Mawkby girl asking him if he had seen San Toy .

It must have been ten minutes later, not more, and I had been having quite an enjoyable chat with my hostess, and had promised to lend her The Eternal City and my recipe for rabbit mayonnaise, and was just about to offer a kind home for her third Persian kitten, when I perceived, out of the corner of my eye, that Reginald was not where I had left him, and that the marrons glacés were untasted. At the same moment I became aware that old Colonel Mendoza was essaying to tell his classic story of how he introduced golf into India, and that Reginald was in dangerous proximity. There are occasions when Reginald is caviare to the Colonel.

“When I was at Poona in ’76”—

“My dear Colonel,” purred Reginald, “fancy admitting such a thing! Such a give-away for one’s age! I wouldn’t admit being on this planet in ’76.” (Reginald in his wildest lapses into veracity never admits to being more than twenty-two.)

The Colonel went to the colour of a fig that has attained great ripeness, and Reginald, ignoring my efforts to intercept him, glided away to another part of the lawn. I found him a few minutes later happily engaged in teaching the youngest Rampage boy the approved theory of mixing absinthe, within full earshot of his mother. Mrs. Rampage occupies a prominent place in local Temperance movements.

As soon as I had broken up this unpromising tête-à-tête and settled Reginald where he could watch the croquet players losing their tempers, I wandered off to find my hostess and renew the kitten negotiations at the point where they had been interrupted. I did not succeed in running her down at once, and eventually it was Mrs. McKillop who sought me out, and her conversation was not of kittens.

“Your cousin is discussing Zaza with the Archdeacon’s wife; at least, he is discussing, she is ordering her carriage.”

She spoke in the dry, staccato tone of one who repeats a French exercise, and I knew that as far as Millie McKillop was concerned, Wumples was devoted to a lifelong celibacy.

“If you don’t mind,” I said hurriedly, “I think we’d like our carriage ordered too,” and I made a forced march in the direction of the croquet-ground.

I found everyone talking nervously and feverishly of the weather and the war in South Africa, except Reginald, who was reclining in a comfortable chair with the dreamy, far-away look that a volcano might wear just after it had desolated entire villages. The Archdeacon’s wife was buttoning up her gloves with a concentrated deliberation that was fearful to behold. I shall have to treble my subscription to her Cheerful Sunday Evenings Fund before I dare set foot in her house again.