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Updated: June 20, 2025
In fact, my wife says that this will be the very thing for you." "Oh," I said. "We're going to get all the people from the other houses over and the girls" this term Beverly-Jones uses to mean his wife and her friends "are going to get up a sort of entertainment with charades and things, all impromptu, more or less, of course " "Oh," I said. I saw already what was coming.
"This lawn," said Beverly-Jones, "we laid down the first year we were here." I answered nothing. He looked me right in the face as he said it and I looked straight back at him, but I saw no reason to challenge his statement. "The geraniums along the border," he went on, "are rather an experiment. They're Dutch." I looked fixedly at the geraniums but never said a word.
The situation has become extreme and I must end it. It happened last night. Beverly-Jones took me aside while the others were dancing the fox-trot to the victrola on the piazza. "We're planning to have some rather good fun to-morrow night," he said, "something that will be a good deal more in your line than a lot of it, I'm afraid, has been up here.
Beverly-Jones shook hands with great warmth as we parted for the night. I knew that he was thinking that my character was about to be triumphantly vindicated, and that he was glad for my sake. Last night I did not sleep. I remained awake all night thinking of the "entertainment."
In club surroundings he always struck me as an ineffable young ass, loud and talkative and perpetually breaking the silence rules. Yet I have to admit that in his summer flannels and with a straw hat on he can do things that I can't. "These big gates," began Beverly-Jones as he showed Poppleton round the place with me trailing beside them, "we only put up this year."
"What makes the sad fatality doubly poignant is that the unhappy victim had just entered upon a holiday visit that was to have been prolonged throughout the whole month. Needless to say, he was regarded as the life and soul of the pleasant party of holiday makers that had gathered at the delightful country home of Mr. and Mrs. Beverly-Jones.
Others say it is from drinking. But let it pass. That at any rate was the kind of mood that I was in when I met Beverly-Jones and when he asked me here. It was in the afternoon, at the club. As I recall it, we were drinking cocktails and I was thinking what a bright, genial fellow Beverly-Jones was, and how completely I had mistaken him.
But presently Miss Larkspur the jolly English girl who arrived last week will throw open her casement window and call across the lawn, "Hullo everybody! What a ripping morning!" And young Poppleson will call back in a Swiss yodel from somewhere in the shrubbery, and Beverly-Jones will appear on the piazza with big towels round his neck and shout, "Who's coming for an early dip?"
I saw the difference at once the very next day, the second day of my visit, when Beverly-Jones took round young Poppleton, the man that I mentioned above who will presently give a Swiss yodel from a clump of laurel bushes to indicate that the day's fun has begun. Poppleton I had known before slightly. I used to see him at the club.
If I should meet my end here and if to put the thing straight out my lifeless body is found floating on the surface of this pond, I should like there to be documentary evidence of that much. They are trying their best. "This is Liberty Hall," Mrs. Beverly-Jones said to me on the first day of my visit. "We want you to feel that you are to do absolutely as you like!" Absolutely as I like!
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