"In a way," said George. He was not equal to confiding his troubles
to Reggie.
"Of course, your trouble isn't like mine was. What I mean is, Maud
loves you, and all that, and all you've got to think out is a
scheme for laying the jolly old family a stymie. It's a
pity--almost--that yours isn't a case of having to win the girl,
like me; because by Jove, laddie," said Reggie with solemn
emphasis, "I could help you there. I've got the thing down fine.
I've got the infallible dope."
George smiled bleakly.
"You have? You're a useful fellow to have around. I wish you would
tell me what it is."
"But you don't need it."
"No, of course not. I was forgetting."
Reggie looked at his watch.
"We ought to be shifting in a quarter of an hour or so. I don't
want to be late. It appears that there's a catch of some sort in
this business of getting married. As far as I can make out, if you
roll in after a certain hour, the Johnnie in charge of the
proceedings gives you the miss-in-baulk, and you have to turn up
again next day. However, we shall be all right unless we have a
breakdown, and there's not much chance of that. I've been tuning up
the old car since seven this morning, and she's sound in wind and
limb, absolutely. Oil--petrol--water--air--nuts--bolts--sprockets--
carburetter--all present and correct. I've been looking after them
like a lot of baby sisters. Well, as I was saying, I've got the
dope. A week ago I was just one of the mugs--didn't know a thing
about it--but now! Gaze on me, laddie! You see before you old
Colonel Romeo, the Man who Knows! It all started on the night of
the ball. There was the dickens of a big ball, you know, to
celebrate old Boots' coming-of-age--to which, poor devil, he
contributed nothing but the sunshine of his smile, never having
learned to dance. On that occasion a most rummy and extraordinary
thing happened. I got pickled to the eyebrows!" He laughed happily.
"I don't mean that that was a unique occurrence and so forth,
because, when I was a bachelor, it was rather a habit of mine to
get a trifle submerged every now and again on occasions of decent
mirth and festivity. But the rummy thing that night was that I
showed it. Up till then, I've been told by experts, I was a
chappie in whom it was absolutely impossible to detect the
symptoms. You might get a bit suspicious if you found I couldn't
move, but you could never be certain. On the night of the ball,
however, I suppose I had been filling the radiator a trifle too
enthusiastically. You see, I had deliberately tried to shove
myself more or less below the surface in order to get enough nerve
to propose to Alice. I don't know what your experience has been,
but mine is that proposing's a thing that simply isn't within the
scope of a man who isn't moderately woozled. I've often wondered
how marriages ever occur in the dry States of America. Well, as I
was saying, on the night of the ball a most rummy thing happened.
I thought one of the waiters was you!"