CHAPTER XIV
THE PHILOSOPHY OF UNCLE TONY
Denny leaped back a clear four feet. Simmons uttered a muffled shriek, and bolted through the swing door like a panic-stricken blonde rabbit.
‘H’m!’ said Uncle Tony. ‘I have found my text!’
‘Oh, Denny! Denny!’ cried Mildred, genuinely distressed.
Denny raised distracted fists heavenward.
‘Mother! Mother!’ he cried. ‘I wonder why God made all girls so pretty!’
‘A most apposite reflection,’ observed Sir Anthony. ‘You are not the first who has made it either, Denny.’
By this time Mildred had recovered most of her usual cheerful composure.
‘I’m sorry you did that, old man,’ she said. ‘Simmons is a feather-headed little thing, but a very decent girl. Now she will have to go; and I may find it difficult to get her as good a place as this. Wasn’t it a little bit—selfish?’
‘Yes,’ said Denny, all contrition now; ‘I can see it was—rottenly! But it’s awfully hard to resist them, Mother—especially when they’re—’
‘I know. But is it the game? Is it up to the standard? You know the standard I mean?’
Mildred walked slowly out of the room and upstairs, with an appealing backward glance in the direction of Uncle Tony. That embarrassed diplomat cleared his throat in a distressing fashion, and gazed awkwardly upon his godson.
‘We will now improve the occasion,’ he said. ‘Will you smoke a cigar?’
Denny declined, but he appreciated the gesture. Uncle Tony was not going to treat him as a child: it was to be man’s talk.
‘Don’t you think, Uncle Tony,’ he said presently, ‘that Mother’s standards are a bit high?’
‘Women’s standards are always higher than men’s, Denny. That is why, when they fall from them, they come down more heavily than we do.’
‘But the standards Mother sets up for me are supposed to be my father’s standards, and—well, things have changed since his time. Very few of my friends seem to have any standards at all; they have a lot of fun, instead. It’s a rotten jog,’ concluded Denny ruefully, ‘being a righteous man in a wicked world.’
Uncle Tony lit his cigar reflectively.
‘Are you quite sure it is such a wicked world, Denny?’
‘Well—look at it!’
‘If this world were as wicked as it would have you believe, it would have perished—collapsed upon itself—centuries ago. Humanity—the sort of humanity that you and I mix with—isn’t really depraved. It’s only timid.’
‘Timid?’
‘Yes—timid, and sheep-like. Denny, there are far more good people walking this earth pretending to be bad than bad people pretending to be good. There’s nothing makes a poor human sheep feel so safe as trying to make a noise like a wolf. That has been my experience over and over again. Scratch a devil of a fellow, and in nine cases out of ten you’ll find a man with the soul of a churchwarden doing his darnedest to avoid being found out. So—never be discouraged by appearances. That’s my philosophy of life. Incidentally, there’s my birthday homily safely off my chest! Now’—Uncle Tony suddenly produced an envelope from his pocket—‘here you will find a small cheque, which my banker may or may not cash—’
‘Oh, I say, Uncle Tony, thanks most awfully!’ cried Denny, all of a schoolboy again.
—‘And good luck to you in life! May the Gods give you two things—rather more work than you can comfortably do, and an absolutely reliable sense of humour. They are about all a man really needs in this world. And—always play the game by your mother.’
Unmanly tears sprang to impulsive Denny’s eyes.
‘I will, Uncle—I will! By Jove, you are a sportsman! And I’m sorry about that little girl: it was a mouldy thing to do. I’m afraid I’m rather a rotter at times,’ he continued, in an unaccustomed mood of self-abasement. ‘I sort of give way to things, suddenly. Luckily, with my family history-sheet, it can’t be anything very deep.’
‘You regard your malady as functional, not organic, eh?’
‘I don’t know what that means; but I’m sure you’re right. Do you mind shaking hands, Uncle?’