THE ELEVATION OF UNCLE

By Jerome Kessler

Uncle and I were always simple folk. We drank tea every afternoon, but took only one lump. We walked in the park or the square, and seldom engaged a taxi. We whistled as we walked, but didn’t attend the opera. And although he didn’t go to the meetings of the Bird and Tree Society, Uncle knew all the birds he saw, and introduced them to me.

One day in the park we chanced to meet Miss Gwendolyn Wright-B_____, who was -- and is –- perfect. She wore gloves, except at tea. She never, ever wandered off the path when she strolled with her uncle, Lord B_____. She seldom strolled at all, unless there were no opera or Society meeting or her uncle’s driver were on vacation in Wales, and when she did, she never walked on the cracks. Naturally, I loved her, tho’ by some grace did not tell her so. She was far beyond my years, tho’ we were both nine.

Miss Gwendolyn Wright-B_____ wouldn’t play hide-and-seek with me, but did let me walk with her to the fountain and back -- tho’ never on the cracks. She introduced me to her uncle, a judge-like man who knew what and whom. (I think Uncle had never heard of Lord B_____, tho’ kindness forbade him from saying so.)

Miss Gwendolyn Wright-B_____ invited me to tea, next Wednesday (a week). Uncle said I might go if I wished. “May I bring Uncle?” I asked. Miss Gwendolyn look alarmed, but Lord B_____ had the courtesy to say “M-hmmph”, so it was all arranged.

Miss Gwendolyn Wright-B_____ poured tea for Uncle and me, while his Lordship read in the library and sent smoke-signals to the downstairs maid to keep an eye on our party.

“Uncle reads in the afternoon,” Miss Gwendolyn explained. “One must always broaden oneself.” Clearly, she was correct: Lord B_____ was exceedingly broad.

“My Uncle reads, too,” I ventured.

“Truly?” she asked. “What are his favorite authors?”

Uncle rescued me: “I read whatever strikes my fancy, young Miss.”

“Well, you really should read Proust, in case he hasn’t yet” – she wrinkled her nose – “struck your fancy.”

After tea, Miss Gwendolyn Wright-B_____ showed me paintings of his Lordship’s setters and the prizes they’d won. Then Uncle said it was time for us to go.

“May I see Miss Gwendolyn again, your Lordship?” I asked.

Lord B_____ looked alarmed. “Do you fancy her company?”

“I’d like to learn more about your setters,” said I.

Lord B_____ looked relieved and Uncle smiled.

“In that case, very well.”

“You may come next Wednesday (a week) for tea,” said Miss Gwendolyn Wright-B_____.

I asked Uncle to read Proust that autumn, and Browning, and (This) and (That), because Miss Gwendolyn said one should. He read them all, for me, and read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle for himself. At times he read aloud to me. I don’t remember much Proust, but can’t forget Holmes and his Dr. Watson, of whom I told Miss Gwendolyn only once, by mistake.

“I trust your Uncle reads Proust in French,” she said.

Dear Uncle went to his library and, holding his nose, read in French aloud. Cook alternately laughed and snorted, “What good’s that ruddy beggar tongue?” “Never mind, Uncle,” I said, and I was very grateful for his efforts and very proud of his achievement.

I said that Miss Gwendolyn Wright-B_____ was perfect, and she was – until Easter, when I told her that Uncle was away on his new job. “A gentleman must never work” she directed. “But Uncle likes his work,” I insisted, “and a man should do what he likes.”

“Work is demeaning”, she said.

“But Uncle says that to serve others is uplifting,” said I, noticing for the first time that Miss Gwendolyn Wright-B_____ had marmalade on her cuff.

“Only servants should do the bidding of others,” she sniffed. Her bow was out of place. I dropped the subject, and sought refuge in a new prize beagle.

Lord B_____ graciously explained the hound’s lineage, or whatever hounds have. “Does your Uncle hunt?” he ventured.

“Not now, sir. He’s away.”

“M-hmmph”, Lord B_____ replied, and returned to his paper, in which he read that Uncle had been named Ambassador to France.

I haven’t seen Miss Gwendolyn Wright-B_____ since spring. I haven’t often thought of her lately. Uncle says I’m older now, and besides, there may be some young ladies in Paris, too.