CHAPTER XXV

NEARLY EVERYBODY HAPPY

Mrs. Crocker turned to her husband.

“Well, Bingley?” she said, a steely tinkle in her voice.

“Well, Eugenia?” said Mr. Crocker.

A strange light was shining in Mr. Crocker’s mild eyes.  He had seen a miracle happen that night.  He had seen an even more formidable woman than his wife dominated by an even meeker man than himself, and he had been amazed and impressed by the spectacle.  It had never even started to occur to him before, but apparently it could be done.  A little resolution, a little determination . . . nothing more was needed.  He looked at Mr. Pett.  And yet Mr. Pett had crumpled up Eugenia’s sister with about three firm speeches.  It could be done. . . .

“What have you to say, Bingley?”

Mr. Crocker drew himself up.

“Just this!” he said.  “I’m an American citizen, and the way I’ve figured it out is that my place is in America.  It’s no good talking about it, Eugenia.  I’m sorry if it upsets your plans, but I—­am—­not—­going—­back—­to—­London!” He eyed his speechless wife unflatteringly.  “I’m going to stick on here and see the pennant race out.  And after that I’m going to take in the World’s Series.”

Mrs. Crocker opened her mouth to speak, closed it, re-opened it.  Then she found that she had nothing to say.

“I hope you’ll be sensible, Eugenia, and stay on this side, and we can all be happy.  I’m sorry to have to take this stand, but you tried me too high.  You’re a woman, and you don’t know what it is to go five years without seeing a ball game; but take it from me it’s more than any real fan can stand.  It nearly killed me, and I’m not going to risk it again.  If Mr. Pett will keep me on as his butler, I’ll stay here in this house.  If he won’t, I’ll get another job somewhere.  But, whatever happens, I stick to this side!”

Mr. Pett uttered a whoop of approval.

“There’s always been a place for you in my house, old man!” he cried.  “When I get a butler who—­”

“But, Bingley!  How can you be a butler?”

“You ought to watch him!” said Mr. Pett enthusiastically.  “He’s a wonder!  He can pull all the starchy stuff as if he’d lived with the Duke of Whoosis for the last forty years, and then go right off and fling a pop-bottle at an umpire!  He’s all right!”

The eulogy was wasted on Mrs. Crocker.  She burst into tears.  It was a new experience for her husband, and he watched her awkwardly, his resolute demeanour crumbling under this unexpected assault.

“Eugenia!”

Mrs. Crocker wiped her eyes.

“I can’t stand it!” she sobbed.  “I’ve worked and worked all these years, and now, just as success has nearly come—­Bingley, do come back!  It will only be for a little longer.”

Mr. Crocker stared.

“A little longer?  Why, that Lord Percy Whipple business—­I know you must have had excellent reasons for soaking him, Jimmy, but it did put the lid on it—­surely, after that Lord Percy affair there’s no chance—?”