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Toys of Peace-Part21_H.H.Munro(Saki)(1870-1916)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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do you suppose a reform of character is entailed along with the

estate?"



"Oh, of course, there is still that drawback," admitted the wife,

"but one would like to make the acquaintance of the future head of



the family, if only out of mere curiosity. Besides, cynicism apart,

his being rich will make a difference in the way people will look at



his failing. When a man is absolutelywealthy, not merely well-to-

do, all suspicion of sordidmotive naturally disappears; the thing



becomes merely a tiresome malady."

Wilfrid Pigeoncote had suddenly become heir to his uncle, Sir



Wilfrid Pigeoncote, on the death of his cousin, Major Wilfrid

Pigeoncote, who had succumbed to the after-effects of a polo



accident. (A Wilfrid Pigeoncote had covered himself with honours in

the course of Marlborough's campaigns, and the name Wilfrid had been



a baptismal weakness in the family ever since.) The new heir to the

family dignity and estates was a young man of about five-and-twenty,



who was known more by reputation than by person to a wide circle of

cousins and kinsfolk. And the reputation was an unpleasant one.



The numerous other Wilfrids in the family were distinguished one

from another chiefly by the names of their residences or



professions, as Wilfrid of Hubbledown, and young Wilfrid the Gunner,

but this particular scion was known by the ignominious and



expressive label of Wilfrid the Snatcher. From his late schooldays

onward he had been possessed by an acute and obstinate form of



kleptomania; he had the acquisitive instinct of the collector

without any of the collector's discrimination. Anything that was



smaller and more portable than a sideboard, and above the value of

ninepence, had an irresistibleattraction for him, provided that it



fulfilled the necessary condition of belonging to some one else. On

the rare occasions when he was included in a country-house party, it



was usual and almost necessary for his host, or some member of the

family, to make a friendly inquisition through his baggage on the



eve of his departure, to see if he had packed up "by mistake" any

one else's property. The search usually produced a large and varied



yield.

"This is funny," said Peter Pigeoncote to his wife, some half-hour



after their conversation; "here's a telegram from Wilfrid, saying

he's passing through here in his motor, and would like to stop and



pay us his respects. Can stay for the night if it doesn't

inconvenience us. Signed 'Wilfrid Pigeoncote.' Must be the



Snatcher; none of the others have a motor. I suppose he's bringing

us a present for the silver wedding."



"Good gracious!" said Mrs. Peter, as a thought struck her; "this is

rather an awkward time to have a person with his failing in the



house. All those silver presents set out in the drawing-room, and

others coming by every post; I hardly know what we've got and what



are still to come. We can't lock them all up; he's sure to want to

see them."



"We must keep a sharp look-out, that's all," said Peter

reassuringly.



"But these practised kleptomaniacs are so clever," said his wife,

apprehensively, "and it will be so awkward if he suspects that we



are watching him."

Awkwardness was indeed the prevailing note that evening when the



passing traveller was being entertained. The talk flitted nervously

and hurriedly from one impersonal topic to another. The guest had



none of the furtive, half-apologetic air that his cousins had rather

expected to find; he was polite, well-assured, and, perhaps, just a



little inclined to "put on side". His hosts, on the other hand,

wore an uneasy manner that might have been the hallmark of conscious



depravity. In the drawing-room, after dinner, their nervousness and

awkwardness increased.



"Oh, we haven't shown you the silver-wedding presents," said Mrs.

Peter, suddenly, as though struck by a brilliant idea for



entertaining the guest; "here they all are. Such nice, useful

gifts. A few duplicates, of course."



"Seven cream jugs," put in Peter.

"Yes, isn't it annoying," went on Mrs. Peter; "seven of them. We



feel that we must live on cream for the rest of our lives. Of

course, some of them can be changed."



Wilfrid occupied himself chiefly with such of the gifts as were of

antique interest, carrying one or two of them over to the lamp to






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