Forthwith he pours it out.

The next minute we are all cramming our handkerchiefs to our faces, and making for the door.

"Open the windows!" cries Medford, in a fit of coughing.

"O my"--cough--"Jo!" exclaims the Signor. "I shall be,"--cough and sneeze, "so ill,"--cough, "eet ees in my nose."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "BUST UP."]

As for the Professor, being just over the horrible compound, he has nearly fainted.

The room is cleared.

Servants sent to open windows. Sneezing, coughing, and a suffocating, nauseating sensation, experienced by everyone except Layder, who now enters the drawing-room with a jar.

_Happy Thought._--To speak with an air of authority as President, and tell him that it is really too bad of him to carry such a liquid about.

He exculpates himself by saying that the Professor didn't know how to use it, and that he oughtn't to have taken the things out of his Practical Joke Box.

"His _what_ box?" we ask.

"My practical joke box," he replies, quite calmly. "I've got a box full of practical jokes in chemicals. They're very amusing," he adds, "if used properly."

The horrid smell is gradually spreading itself throughout the lower part of the house. It is stealing into the drawing-room, it is getting into the morning-room, into the hall, into the pa.s.sages.

"You can't get rid of it," Layder informs us, "for two or three days.

But it's first-rate for killing all insects."

There is, we find, only one room in the house which the nuisance has not reached. The smoking-room. Here we all congregate. Everybody glum.

Windows all over the place open.

Next morning.

_Happy Thought._--Layder gone. Early.

He leaves us a note bequeathing us his box of Practical Jokes, and a paper of 'directions for use,' with 'hints for further practical jokes, being jottings for a manual with a practical joke for every day in the year.'

In consequence of the draughts last night, everyone has caught violent colds.

The Chertons won't leave their room. Madame Regniati doesn't come down until dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Frimmely pretend to have received a telegram, and say they must go to-morrow. Miss Medford accompanies them; her brother stays.

The Signor suddenly remembers that he must proceed to his leet-tel shoot-box at Bodge-bee.

Jenkyns Soames writes me a letter from his bedroom, commencing "Sir,"

and, considering himself insulted, leaves without saying good-bye to anybody.

Committee meeting. Complaints. Examination of accounts. Row in consequence. Amount divided into shares. Chilvern says he's sorry he's left his cheque-book in town.

_Happy Thought._--Write it on a piece of paper or telegraph for it.

Chilvern genially says he's going up to town to-morrow, and will get it then. Will I pay for him now?

Cazell says to me, "I tell you what you ought to do as President. You ought to draw one cheque for the whole expenses, and we'll pay you back.

That's the most simple way of doing it."

Put to the vote and the plan carried, with a minority of one (myself).

The party gradually broken up. This evening Adelaide Cherton and Madame appear with apologies for leaving us soon after dinner. The smell not nearly evaporated. Byrton and Milburd are gone to join the Signor for some sport. Medford offers to show us his trick with a shilling, and Milburd, being asked to sing, refuses. Boodels (who is melancholy, and in love), asks Medford to play a tune, but Medford says he'd rather not, because n.o.body will attend to his trick with a shilling, whereupon Chilvern sits down to what he calls "try something" on the piano. What he _does_ try is our temper. Gradually we leave the room and meet to smoke.

_Next Morning._ Violent cold.

_Happy Thought._--Stay in bed.

When I come down-stairs at one o'clock, I notice the desolate appearance of the Hall. Hats, coats, rugs, sticks and whips, all gone. Nothing lying about. Letters on table--"Sorry you are not up--spent a very pleasant time, &c," from Madame and the Chertons, with whom have also departed Chilvern and Cazell.

The only three in the house are Boodels, Medford, and myself.

I say, genially, "Well, a little quiet will be pleasant."

Boodels replies, "Yes," and adds that he's going off this afternoon. I press him to stay. He won't, because, as he tells me privately, that fellow Medford is so confoundedly insulting. They've had a row.

Boodels _will_ go. He promises to write to me about his going to be married. At present I'm not to mention it. He takes the butler and cook with him. He says he's very sorry but he'll want them at home now.

The housemaid and charwoman officiate.

No other servants in the house.

Medford and I dine alone.

Somebody's taken the keys away by mistake, and we have to break into the cellar to get out the wine. Very little left.

As host or president, I must stop and attend to Medford who is our guest.

After dinner he says, "You heard me talking to Cazell about the shilling and the gla.s.s." I did. I know what's coming, "It's a capital trick," he goes on; "I'll show it you. Look here." He shows it me. I am not at all interested. He offers to teach it me. Declined with thanks. He then explains it to me.

_Happy Thought._--Having done all this once, he'll never try it again with me.

Getting comfortable in the smoking-room. We commence talking over all our friends. The difficulty appears to consist in finding any good qualities in them. Medford depreciates everybody, specially if they can do anything in music or theatricals. Getting more comfortable and confidential, I tell Medford that Boodels is going to be married, but doesn't want anyone to know it just yet. Medford says, "Pooh! Boodels is an a.s.s." Subject dropped.