ISNALLY is a small and inconvenient town, but the neighbourhood is counted an agreeable one. Nowhere else in Ireland are there so many retired military officers. We are not very well off, but we are most friendly and sociable. In summer we have a tennis club. In winter we meet at each other’s houses to play bridge. We possess, both in summer and in winter, fairly good golf links. The place has been unkindly described as a hotbed of gossip. I prefer to say that we are all friendly with our neighbours, and, as friends should, take a deep interest in each other’s affairs. When old Colonel Miles’s boy passed into Sandhurst I was as pleased as he was, and told the news to everyone I met. When Jack Rodgers, the rector’s only son, took first honours in some college examination, old Miles, who was the first to hear of it, called on me and half a dozen other people to tell us, and we were all in a position to congratulate the rector when we met him. I do not call that kind of thing gossip.
Lisnally Castle, the only large house in the neighbourhood, stood empty for years, because Lord Lisnally, who owned it, lived abroad. Last November it was taken by Mrs. Lowe—the Honourable Mrs. Edward Lowe. We all knew something about her beforehand, for her name appears frequently in the fashionable intelligence of the London papers. She is a widow, and very well off. Her tastes, so we gathered from the newspapers, were theatrical, and we all hoped that she would get up something in the way of a play for our benefit during the winter.
I called on her directly after she arrived, and she told me that she intended to do something to brighten us all up. She was as good as her word. Never before or since did Lisnally enjoy so splendid a sensation as that which Mrs. Lowe’s New Year party provided.
Early in December she proposed that we should get up amateur theatricals. I told her that I was too old to take a part, but I offered to act as stage manager. Mrs. Lowe said she intended to be stage manager herself. but that she would be glad of my help in selecting the caste.
“Your local knowledge, Major,” she said, “and your tact will be invaluable.”
They were. I was sorry sometimes, before we were through with the business, that I had so much local knowledge and tact. There were a great many difficulties, and Mrs. Lowe always fell back on me to surmount them.
Our principal lady was Miss Minnie Rodgers, the rector’s eldest daughter. She was a very pretty girl, and had acted several times at school in speech day plays. We had no hesitation about selecting her, and she accepted the part with alacrity. Our troubles began when we came to choose the leading gentleman. There were three candidates for the part of Minnie’s lover, The police officer, Mr. Gunning, put in a strong claim. He said it was the only part he could play really well, The villain, he assured us, was out of the question for him on account of his profession. As a police officer he could not possibly compromise himself by representing a man whom he might in real life be called upon to arrest. He firmly refused to be Minnie’s father, because he did not want to shave off his moustache. George Miles, old Colonel Miles’s eldest son, who was at home for a holiday, said that he wanted the part.
“Gunning,” he said, “is far too old for a lover. The hero of the piece ought to be a man in the prime of life.”
Gunning looks about thirty; George Miles is just nineteen.
The rector read the play as a sort of censor, and told me that he made a point of the lover's part being given to his own son. Minnie, as he pointed out, had to be kissed several times in the last act by her lover, and it would be very embarrassing to the girl if this were done by anyone except her own brother. Mrs, Lowe asked me to settle the matter without hurting anybody’s feelings. She said that she did not really care who had the part, but that George Miles was by far the best suited for it, and that the play would probably be a complete failure if anyone else were chosen,
“Whoever it is,” she said, “will have to wear knee breeches and silk stockings, and you know what Mr. Gunning’s legs are like—walking-sticks, dear major, emaciated walking-sticks. As for that Rodgers boy, he’s shaggy.