The Way to the Dairy Page #2

"The Way to the Dairy" is a short story by Hector Hugh Munro, also known as Saki. It showcases his signature wit and keen observation of human nature. The narrative revolves around a young girl's encounter with her whimsical, self-absorbed relatives as she attempts to navigate the complexities of family life and social expectations. Saki's sharp commentary and playful style reveal the absurdities of adult behavior, ultimately highlighting themes of innocence, curiosity, and the contrasts between childhood and adulthood. The story is a delightful blend of humor and social critique, characteristic of Saki's literary prowess.

• Short story

								


"'Come and watch the dancing, dear,' said Christine nervously.  It was
scarcely a part of their strategy that Roger should come in and find
the old lady backing her fancy at the PETITS CHEVAUX table.

"'Just wait while I put five francs on number eight,' said the aunt,
and in another moment her money was lying on the table.  The horses
commenced to move round, it was a slow race this time, and number eight
crept up at the finish like some crafty demon and placed his nose just
a fraction in front of number three, who had seemed to be winning
easily.  Recourse had to be had to measurement, and the number eight
was proclaimed the winner.  The aunt picked up thirty-five francs.
After that the Brimley Bomefields would have had to have used concerted
force to get her away from the tables.  When Roger appeared on the
scene she was fifty-two francs to the good; her nieces were hovering
forlornly in the background, like chickens that have been hatched out
by a duck and are despairingly watching their parent disporting herself
in a dangerous and uncongenial element.  The supper-party which Roger
insisted on standing that night in honour of his aunt and the three
Miss Brimley Bomefields was remarkable for the unrestrained gaiety of
two of the participants and the funereal mirthlessness of the remaining
guests.

"'I do not think,' Christine confided afterwards to a friend, who
re-confided it to Bertie van Tahn, 'that I shall ever be able to touch
PATÉ DE FOIE GRAS again.  It would bring back memories of that awful
evening.'

"For the next two or three days the nieces made plans for returning to
England or moving on to some other resort where there was no casino.
The aunt was busy making a system for winning at PETITS CHEVAUX.
Number eight, her first love, had been running rather unkindly for her,
and a series of plunges on number five had turned out even worse.

"'Do you know, I dropped over seven hundred francs at the tables this
afternoon,' she announced cheerfully at dinner on the fourth evening of
their visit.

"'Aunt!  Twenty-eight pounds!  And you were losing last night too.'

"'Oh, I shall get it all back,' she said optimistically; 'but not here.
These silly little horses are no good.  I shall go somewhere where one
can play comfortably at roulette.  You needn't look so shocked.  I've
always felt that, given the opportunity, I should be an inveterate
gambler, and now you darlings have put the opportunity in my way.  I
must drink your very good healths. Waiter, a bottle of PONTET CANET.
Ah, it's number seven on the wine list; I shall plunge on number seven
to-night.  It won four times running this afternoon when I was backing
that silly number five.'

"Number seven was not in a winning mood that evening.  The Brimley
Bomefields, tired of watching disaster from a distance, drew near to
the table where their aunt was now an honoured habituée, and gazed
mournfully at the successive victories of one and five and eight and
four, which swept 'good money' out of the purse of seven's obstinate
backer.  The day's losses totalled something very near two thousand
francs.

"'You incorrigible gamblers,' said Roger chaffingly to them, when he
found them at the tables.

"'We are not gambling,' said Christine freezingly; 'we are looking on.'

"'I DON'T think,' said Roger knowingly; 'of course you're a syndicate
and aunt is putting the stakes on for all of you. Anyone can tell by
your looks when the wrong horse wins that you've got a stake on.'

"Aunt and nephew had supper alone that night, or at least they would
have if Bertie hadn't joined them; all the Brimley Bomefields had
headaches.

"The aunt carried them all off to Dieppe the next day and set cheerily
about the task of winning back some of her losses.  Her luck was
variable; in fact, she had some fair streaks of good fortune, just
enough to keep her thoroughly amused with her new distraction; but on
the whole she was a loser.  The Brimley Bomefields had a collective
attack of nervous prostration on the day when she sold out a quantity
of shares in Argentine rails. 'Nothing will ever bring that money
back,' they remarked lugubriously to one another.

"'Veronique at last could bear it no longer, and went home; you see, it
had been her idea to bring the aunt on this disastrous expedition, and
though the others did not cast the fact verbally in her face, there was
a certain lurking reproach in their eyes which was harder to meet than
actual upbraidings.  The other two remained behind, forlornly mounting
guard over their aunt until such time as the waning of the Dieppe
season should at last turn her in the direction of home and safety.
They made anxious calculations as to how little 'good money' might,
with reasonable luck, be squandered in the meantime.  Here, however,
their reckoning went far astray; the close of the Dieppe season merely
turned their aunt's thoughts in search of some other convenient
gambling resort.  'Show a cat the way to the dairy--' I forget how the
proverb goes on, but it summed up the situation as far as the Brimley
Bomefields' aunt was concerned.  She had been introduced to unexplored
pleasures, and found them greatly to her liking, and she was in no
hurry to forgo the fruits of her newly acquired knowledge.  You see,
for the first time in her life the old thing was thoroughly enjoying
herself; she was losing money, but she had plenty of fun and excitement
over the process, and she had enough left to do very comfortably on.
Indeed, she was only just learning to understand the art of doing
oneself well.  She was a popular hostess, and in return her
fellow-gamblers were always ready to entertain her to dinners and
suppers when their luck was in.  Her nieces, who still remained in
attendance on her, with the pathetic unwillingness of a crew to leave a
foundering treasure ship which might yet be steered into port, found
little pleasure in these Bohemian festivities; to see 'good money'
lavished on good living for the entertainment of a nondescript circle
of acquaintances who were not likely to be in any way socially useful
to them, did not attune them to a spirit of revelry.  They contrived,
whenever possible, to excuse themselves from participation in their
aunt's deplored gaieties; the Brimley Bomefield headaches became famous.

"And one day the nieces came to the conclusion that, as they would have
expressed it, 'no useful purpose would be served' by their continued
attendance on a relative who had so thoroughly emancipated herself from
the sheltering protection of their wings. The aunt bore the
announcement of their departure with a cheerfulness that was almost
disconcerting.

"'It's time you went home and had those headaches seen to by a
specialist,' was her comment on the situation.

"The homeward journey of the Brimley Bomefields was a veritable retreat
from Moscow, and what made it the more bitter was the fact that the
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