THREE FRIENDS

Percy Hudson sprawled in an old wicker-chair in the room which was still known as the nursery and smoked a pipe of disreputable tobacco while his college friend, affectionately known to all and sundry as The Old Bean, sat cross-legged on the floor and oiled his shooting-boots. His real name was Donald Ross, but Mrs. Hudson was the only person at the Vicarage who ever remembered the fact. Even the servants knew him as "Mr. Bean."

The friendship between himself and Percy Hudson was one which no one could understand, for Percy was of a most energetic and restless temperament while The Old Bean was supremely quiet and self-contained. He never did anything in a hurry, though as Percy ungrudgingly admitted, he always got there in the end. One of his main characteristics was that he knew exactly what he wanted to do and therefore he never wasted his time in futile effort. There were some who thought him lazy, but Percy would never allow this.

"He's just economical by nature, that's all," he said. "What's the good of running after things you've no use for? He's game enough when he's keen."

This natural economy was a trait which in himself was conspicuously lacking. Unless at the end of the day he could feel that he had been "all out," as he expressed it, then the day, as far as he was concerned, had been a failure. He had an absolute passion for sport of all kinds, and spent much of his time in training. The Old Bean on the contrary merely took sport--as he took wine--when it came his way, made the most of it and thoroughly enjoyed it. He was a little older than Percy and a man of independent means. He had chosen to go to the University because a certain amount of learning seemed to him worth while and, since he had become a close friend of the turbulent Percy, a certain amount of sport also attracted him. He never overdid things in either direction while acquitting himself with fair credit in both.

"I want," he would say, "to feel that I could earn my own living if I ever had to, and so I shall take my degree as that carries a certain amount of prestige. I shall also study game-keeping as I believe I could make a success of it if I had to. And engineering as a matter of course, though I know the trade is hopelessly overcrowded."

Engineering was his hobby. Nothing in the world appealed to him so much. But, as he said, engineers were a glut in the market and he could regard it as no more than a pastime. He had not the genius for invention, and he could scarcely hope to make his mark as an engine-driver, but he could drive an engine at a pinch. A long line of Scotch ancestry had induced this line of reasoning. He had inherited an ancient castle in the Highlands and a good many acres of forest that were quite useless for anything but stag-hunting. He was not rich, but he had no need to work. He worked merely out of that sense of natural economy for which Percy respected him.

Percy on the other hand did not work. He spent himself to the utmost in a fever of occupation. But it was not work. He did nothing from the valid motive of rendering himself independent. To his father's grief he displayed no aptitude for matters clerical. The only desire he had ever expressed was to become a professional boxer. He supposed he would have to scrape into the Church some day, but he avoided the thought at all times. He wanted to enjoy himself. Life in his eyes was a priceless gift that must on no account be squandered. He had an immense capacity for enjoyment, and an almost fierce resentment against anything that threatened to interfere with its indulgence.

"Dash it all! We're only young once!" he would exclaim if The Old Bean ever ventured to expostulate, which was not often, being waste of time and effort. "It's a damn' shame if we mayn't enjoy ourselves while we can. We'll never get the chance later in life. What's the good of saving up for mouldy old age?"

The Old Bean might then point out mildly that to die in the workhouse was not an enviable end to a glorious beginning, but Percy never listened. He had a horror of death and old age and refused point-blank to contemplate either.

"Time enough for them!" he would say. "And all the more reason to enjoy ourselves while we may!"

And The Old Bean, despite the fact that he was of a far more philosophical turn, would yield the point without demur. He was very fond of Percy in a calm and unobtrusive fashion and he seldom raised objection to anything that he did or said.

Mrs. Hudson regarded him as an excellent companion for her boy, and so in the matter of solid worth he was. But--if she had only known it--he was too economical to throw himself away in fruitless exhortations, and Percy always went his own way in his company. It was generally Percy who did most of the talking.

He was talking now in between whiffs at his execrable tobacco which mingling with the odour of the oil with which The Old Bean was treating his boots rendered the atmosphere practically unfit for human consumption.

"It's all very fine for you, Old Bean," he was saying somewhat moodily, being tired after five hours' tramp with the guns and a meagre bag. "You've got everything in life that you want. You don't need even to walk up your game if you don't feel like it."

"I like walking 'em up," observed The Old Bean. "Better fun I always think."

"It's the fashion to say that," said Percy discontentedly.

The Old Bean smiled a little over his job. He had sandy hair and eyebrows and a red face of many freckles. "Oh, I'm nothing if not fashionable," he said.

Percy laughed, half against his will. "You look it, tinkering up those old boots. P'raps you'd like to have a go at mine when they're finished. They need it quite as much."

"I will if I feel like it," said The Old Bean placidly. "You might stick a cigarette in my mouth and light it for me! I'm a mass of oil."

Percy complied. "Can't think why you don't smoke a pipe," he said, as he did so. "Much better value."

"Yes, I believe it is," said The Old Bean. "But I'm waiting till I get married. I shall have more time then."

"You'll never get married," said Percy scathingly. "You're much too stuffy and middle-aged."

"To the casual observer--perhaps," said The Old Bean.

"Why, you can't even dance," said Percy.

"I try," said The Old Bean.

Percy laughed again with more good-will. "Would you like to learn, my dear old stodger?"

"Not from you, thank you very much," said The Old Bean, with courteous decision.

"You'll never get anyone else to teach you unless you pay for it," observed Percy unkindly.

"Never mind!" said The Old Bean.

The sudden opening of the door disturbed the discussion, and both young men started at the intrusion of a laughing face surrounded by a shiny black sou'-wester.

"Anybody at home?" asked a gay voice.

Percy leaped to his feet with a whoop of welcome. "Hullo, scaramouche! Come right in! How ripping of you to look us up!"

"I didn't," said Rosemary, entering. "I brought the eggs, and as everyone seemed out, I thought I'd have a look round. What a filthy smell! Hullo! Here's The Old Bean! Don't get up for goodness' sake! You'll only spread it. How do you both manage to breathe?"

"Oh, we don't bother about breathing," said Percy. "It's a waste of time in any case. Don't say you've turned hygienic since I saw you last!"

"Oh no!" said Rosemary. "Nobody turns anything but mouldy in these parts. Do give me one of your cigarettes, Old Bean! I haven't smoked one since I saw you last."

"Here! Have one of mine!" said Percy jealously. "They're much nicer than his."

"Oh no, they're not!" declared Rosemary. "The Scotch laddie knows what's what. Where are they, Old Bean? In your pocket? Hoots, mon, don't disturb yourself! I can find them."

She thrust a hand into his jacket-pocket without ceremony and drew forth his cigarette-case with the words.

"All I have is yours," murmured The Old Bean, continuing his loathsome occupation with scarcely a pause.

"You here for Christmas?" asked Rosemary, choosing her cigarette. "Hullo! Here's a snap of someone in the lid! Who is it? Why--why, it's me!"

"Yes, it is you," said The Old Bean, without looking up. "I got you at the meet. Don't you remember? It must have been last Easter Monday, for I wasn't here in the summer."

"What cheek!" said Rosemary.

"Tear it up if you don't like it!" said The Old Bean pacifically. "You grow so fast. It isn't a bit like you now."

"Tear it up yourself if you want to!" retorted Rosemary. "Isn't he an ass, Percy?"

"A. One. Outsize!" said Percy. "A braw Hieland loon, in short. Want a match? You can sit in that chair if you like. It's more dependable than the rest."

He lighted her cigarette for her, and returned the case with the snapshot still intact to The Old Bean's pocket.

Rosemary subsided in the chair he had just vacated. "Do open the window!" she pleaded, "or I shall die!"

"Oh, don't do that!" said Percy, complying. "You're the only bright spot in the universe at the present moment. Now tell us all the news! Stapleton is the same giddy whirl of frivolous activities, I suppose?"

"Oh, rather!" said Rosemary. "And you're home just in time for the Rummage Sale. Is that what The Old Bean is disguising his boots for?"

"Not only his boots," laughed Percy. "He's going to sell himself as a scarecrow for Silas Hickory's crops this time."

"Is he really?" said Rosemary, interested. "What price is he going to ask?"

"That's the point under consideration!" declared Percy. "What do you think he'd fetch?"

Rosemary considered. "I don't believe Silas would give much for him. He's much too keen on a good bargain."

"What would you give?" suggested The Old Bean amicably.

Rosemary pulled the pockets of her mackintosh inside out with an eloquent gesture.

"He means what would you give if you had it," said Percy, seating himself on the arm of her chair.

"I don't know," said Rosemary. "I don't think he'd be much good to me in that capacity."

"Perhaps you could suggest another," said The Old Bean.

She shook her head. "You're not adaptable enough, I'm afraid."

"You'd better be nice to him," said Percy. "He's brought his car this time. When he's not oiling his boots, he's oiling her. She's rather a beauty. You'll have to learn to drive her."

"Oh, I should like that!" exclaimed Rosemary, dropping her cigarette in her enthusiasm. "Will you teach me, Old Bean? Will you? It would be ripping of you."

The Old Bean looked up at her, blinking a little. He was short-sighted, and usually wore glasses. "I'll try if you like," he said.

Percy uttered a rude laugh. "Isn't he flattering? The woman driver, you must know, does not hold a very strong appeal for The Old Bean. He maintains that the driving-bump is lacking."

"I prefer her as a mascot certainly," murmured The Old Bean.

"Pig!" said Rosemary tersely. "Well, I refuse to be your mascot or anyone else's. Talking of meets, there's one at Ravencombe next Saturday, Percy. Shall we go?"

"Rather!" said Percy. "I'll call for you, shall I? It's a good five miles. We shall have to start early. No, dash it, we'll motor! The Old Bean can take us."

"Delighted, I'm sure!" said The Old Bean. "Is there anywhere where one can leave the car?"

"Oh, yes," said Rosemary. "You can put it in the yard at The Ravencombe Arms. It's almost at the gates. We'll all take our lunch and make a day of it."

"Is old Ravencombe still alive?" said Percy. "He must be at least a hundred."

"More, I should think," said Rosemary. "He looked like an Egyptian mummy the last time I saw him. They say he's quite mad, has been for years."

"Rum old bird!" commented Percy. "Who's his heir?"

"Goodness knows! Don't think he's got one. Probably outlived them all," laughed Rosemary. "How awful it must be to get old like that! Oh, bother! My fag's gone out. Light it again for me, there's a dear!"

"Oh, I'm always that!" declared Percy. "All right then! We'll go to Ravencombe on Saturday. And I say! What about one of those subscription dances at Bode Town Hall some evening? There's going to be a regular swell affair on Boxing Day. Can't you come to it?"

"With you?" said Rosemary, with dancing eyes. "My hat! How I should love to!"

"Well, can't you?" said Percy. "I'll look after you and see you don't dance with the wrong people."

"How I should love it!" said Rosemary. "But--" she heaved a big sigh--"I'm sure Aunt Bobby would never let me. Besides,--I've nothing to wear."

"Fancy dress is optional," he said lightly, "so you can come in any old thing, you like--or nothing at all if it pleases you."

"Be quiet, and let me think!" said Rosemary.

"Wear a red shirt and riding-breeches and come as Garibaldi!" he suggested.

"Yes, that's an idea! But I couldn't dance in top-boots, could I?" she objected.

"Bare feet would be better and more realistic," he assured her.

She made a face at him. "And have them trodden on by you! No, thank you very much! I think I'll come as an old gipsy woman and tell all your fortunes."

"Oh rot! You can't come as anything old! I won't allow it," said Percy. "Can't you think of something really jolly?"

"Wait!" cried Rosemary suddenly. "I've got an idea! I know where I can get a dress and shoes and everything! It'll be very long and old-fashioned, but it'll fit. But I shall have to creep away without being seen and bring the things with me. I shan't be able to dress at home."

"Oh, that doesn't matter," said Percy. "We'll stop at _The King's Head_ and you can change there. It's close to the Town Hall. I say, this is ripping! What do you say to the scheme, Old Bean?"

The Old Bean looked up. There was a streak of oil smeared down one side of his face and his general appearance was thoroughly dishevelled. But there was a certain quality in his green-brown eyes that discounted any suggestion of rakishness.

He looked straight at Rosemary as he said, "I don't know if it's a good scheme or not, but if it comes off, I shall be there."

"Hear, hear!" cried Rosemary gaily. "The more the merrier!"